#of course . . she is a superstar | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

loaksky · 7 months ago

Text

— come a little closer

hockey jock!vi x tutor!reader, fluff / humor / angst / kinda slowburn / smut (18+ mdni!), wc: 16k+ [buckle your seatbelts bc i could not shut the fuck up about vi if i wanted to !]

synopsis: you’re many things; an exemplary student, quiet and well-mannered, loved immensely by those who bother to get to know you, but most importantly, the newfound object of superstar athlete vi’s every affection. or, in other words, hockey jock!vi is lowkey a loser, atrociously down bad, and will stop at nothing to make you hers.

content warnings: language (duh), brief mentions of familial issues, latent insecurity, miscommunication & lack of communication, kissing, groping, SEX! mdni, seriously, i’ll THROW UP!, more specifically fingering (r!receiving), oral (r!receiving), spitting, makeup sex idk, just good old fashioned lesbian BANGING! also! jazz cabbage, lets pretend for the sake of this au that student athlete’s don’t get tested bc i NEED hockey jock!vi to hotbox reader PLS.

fic soundtrack: i could imagine —alina baraz /snooze — sza /tonight — summer walker / pressure — james vickery + sg lewis / wish that i could — umi

author’s note: of course it’d be arcane s2 that resurrects me from my almost yearlong hiatus...pls enjoy this fic even though i’m pretty rusty; she’s been cooking in the drafts for weeks T-T i’ll be answering some (very long overdue) asks and chatting with you guys <3 and finally, this shit is barely proofread bc my brain is fried lol

main masterlist | arcane masterlist

VI HAS A HUGE PROBLEM.

One that supersedes every issue she’d ever given weight to in all of her four (and a half) years of university. Is way larger than twice-a-day practices on and off the ice that go hand-in-hand with studying so hard to make sure that her grades don’t slip a fraction. Probably way bigger than the fact that her little sister’s graduating high school soon and she’s trying her absolute best to be as great a role model as she can despite wanting to crack under the pressure. And most definitely bigger than her favorite on-again-off-again fling, Cait Kiramann, who’s rare to come by these days.

Vi has a huge problem, and quite frankly, it’s you.

In hindsight, she’s been relatively good at overlooking you, not that it’d been intentional to begin with, but Vi knows a lot of people. Too many, she feels sometimes. So it's easy for you to slip through the cracks when everyone’s vying for even a shred of her attention.

Perhaps it’s what piques her interest when your orbits finally do collide. Because, admittedly, you know all about Vi. Know that she’s probably one of the most valuable players on the uni’s hockey team (she’s an absolute beast on the ice). Also know that she’s a biomedical physics major and actually incredibly smart. But most of all, you know that not only is Violet a flirt, she’s a player.

Not necessarily that you’ve ever really been on the receiving end, but mostly because her reputation precedes her and you’ve seen it all from a distance. Can't not when the decorated hockey star is such a charmer whether she intends to be or not. Vi has girls both certain and questioning stumbling for a single glance.

You often think it’s pitiful, but it’s not like it’s really your problem.

Until it is.

It all starts at The Afterparty.

Hours after a big victory in the first game of three that solidifies whether the university hockey team participates in the championships, Violet is the star of tonight’s celebration.

She’d sunk the winning shot, and for that she’s being poured shot after celebratory shot. By eleven she’s practically hammered and it’s when her teammate, Ellie, and the captain, Abby, finally show up.

The three of them together, drunk, is like a minefield of obnoxious laughter, dirty innuendos, and rowdy behavior.

And for a while it’s funny, has Vi feeling like she’s on cloud nine, but eventually, the drunken high begins to evaporate and she starts to feel a little overwhelmed.

The spotlight shifts and even though Vi typically preens under the attention, she’s grateful to finally breathe.

With a plastic cup full of water, she’s sliding the back door open and stepping out onto the back patio to take in the cool air for a breather.

She makes a move towards the stairs, but nearly jumps out of her skin when she registers the silhouette at the base of the steps.

“Jesus, fuck,” Vi hisses to herself. “You scared the shit outta me.”

You don’t even spare her a glance over your shoulder, just take a sip from your drink.

“Sorry,” you hum passively.

She catches her breath, doesn’t even bother to ask permission as she drops all of her weight next to you.

The step creaks under pure muscle.

Her strong legs stretch out, elbows settling back against the step up as she waits. And waits. And waits.

The amount of silence that lapses is unusual, uncharacteristic for Vi, especially so because people are typically babbling enough to fill the void when it comes to her.

But you just sit there, nursing your beer and staring up at the stars. The moon hangs half in the sky, softly illuminating the planes of your features.

It’s her first good look at your face and Vi’s definitely drunk, but the immediate thought that comes to her mind is pretty, pretty, pretty. Undeniably and painfully pretty. And not Caitlyn pretty, the only girl she’s ever really used as a benchmark, but intimidatingly so in your own right. Makes her swallow hard, throat bobbing as she watches you unapologetically.

“It’s rude to stare, Violet,” you say simply, eyes finally flitting to meet hers.

Her breath catches in her throat, earthy flecks dancing in your moonlit irises. God, your eyes. Framed by thick lashes and round as you look up at her.

“You know who I am?” she asks stupidly as if point fives of her face aren’t blown up into memes and plastered all over the house.

“Who doesn’t?” you ask, breathing a puff of humorless laughter as you crush the can in your ringed fingers.

And perhaps you got her there, but Vi’s feeling exceptionally small under your gaze despite usually filling out a room. Something about you makes her shrink.

“I— fuck,” Vi stumbles, cheeks red because you’re looking at her with an indecipherable gleam in your gaze that has her squirming. “What’s your name?”

She cringes at herself, rolls the piercing in her nose once, twice, for comfort.

You laugh again, a little more genuine this time because, from a distance, the athlete’s usually so suave, undeniably gorgeous and composed. Right now, the girl in front of you only ticks one of those boxes.

“________,” you offer.

She weighs the name on her tongue, decides she likes it a lot, and tries to shake off whatever this feeling you’re giving her is.

“And you go to school here?” she asks.

You nod once.

“Neuroscience, fourth year.”

“Huh, we’re in similar fields, but I’ve never seen you around,” Vi observes. Because she’s certain she’d bookmark a face like yours, absolutely no doubt about it.

“We had organic chemistry together sophomore year with Dr. Talis,” you say matter-of-factly, like you’re not blowing her mind right now. “And I’m auditing Medarda’s biometry class this semester.”

Vi’s floored.

“Wait, wait, but...” She’s trying to piece the puzzle together, but her brain’s still a little fuzzy, equal parts from the alcohol, but also because she’s caught a whiff of your perfume and you smell so sweet.

“I pop in every once in a while,” you tell her. “But I tutor in that time slot every Tuesday and Thursday, only really go when I don’t have any appointments.”

“Hold on, this is nuts,” Violet says, body easing to face you. You flinch because she doesn’t realize she’s practically yelling. “There’s no way, I definitely would’ve remembered you if that was the case.”

You hum, corners of your lips quirking as you shrug your shoulders.

“Doubt it,” you counter. “I’m nothing particularly spectacular.”

“Nothing particularly spectacular,” Vi repeats under her breath.

And under normal circumstances, she’d be flirting up a storm right now, trying to charm her way into getting you to bite, but this is one of the first semblances of normalcy she’s experienced in a while. No ulterior motives, no exaggerated kindness, no outright asking her to fuck.

Suddenly your phone lights up in your lap and you’re turning your attention to the device.

“DD duties call,” is all you say as you make a move to stand up.

No, this can’t be all she gets from you tonight. Not when she’s been narrowly missing someone like you for the past four years and you’re just now coming to light.

The dormant liquid courage bubbles and Vi’s gently grabbing your wrist to pull you to a stop.

“Maybe I’ll see you around?” she asks, steely eyes liquid as she stares up at you.

You eye the scar on her lip, gaze lingering there before flitting to meet hers.

“Maybe.”

Vi decides that she needs to see you again.

You’d left her with crumbs this past Friday night and she’d spent the better part of the weekend trying (and failing) to cross paths with you again.

“Jesus, you’re down bad,” Ellie chuffs Monday morning on their walk to the campus coffee shop.

“You don’t understand,” Vi defends. “She’s so...so...”

“So?”

“Different, I dunno,” Vi sighs, fiddling with the strap of her backpack as they walk. “We didn’t even talk about much, but that was the most normal I’ve felt around someone in a while.”

Her teammate snorts.

“Probably the gayest thing I’ve heard you say,” Ellie deadpans. “She isn’t immediately trying to munch and you’re already in love. Pathetic.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Vi scoffs as they approach the coffee shop, inside packed full with half-functioning college students so early in the morning. “Trust me, if you met her, you’d—”

The words die in her throat because halle-fucking-lujah, the universe or god, or whatever has answered her every prayer this past weekend as she clocks you a few paces ahead in line.

Ellie follows her friend’s line of vision to find exactly what she’s staring at and she lets out a low whistle when her gaze finds your frame.

From a completely aesthetic standpoint, she can see why Vi’s immediately hooked.

“Hah,” she makes a noise in her throat. “Okay, so maybe it makes sense.”

Vi can’t help but stare because, if it were possible, you were far prettier under the warm lighting of the cafe’s ambiance. The curls of your hair frame your face beautifully and it’s so fucking cute how focused you are on your phone.

“Hate to break it to you, though. That girl’s way out of your league,” Ellie says like it’s common knowledge.

“Wow, way to boost my ego,” Vi mutters drily.

“Just being realistic,” Ellie argues. “If you bag her, she’s easily the hottest girl you’ve been with.”

And Vi can’t really contest that, not when the proof’s in the fucking pudding.

Her body’s moving of its own accord and before she can register her own actions, she’s mumbling quiet s’cuse me’s under her breath as she squeezes between patrons to close a bruised hand over your shoulder.

You nearly jump out of your skin, fumbling with your phone as an earbud falls out.

“Shit, sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” Vi says quickly.

Your gaze snaps to her, brows furrowing almost imperceptibly before your expression settles.

“Violet,” you acknowledge.

And she realizes that she didn’t really have a game plan coming up to you so abruptly. Had been so focused on actually just seeing you again, that she hadn’t thought through the rest of it.

The way you stare up at her is thoroughly disarming because she doesn’t have the shield of night or alcoholic courage to carry her through it.

“Can I help you?” you ask, but not unkindly.

“Oh, uh, I...” She chances a glance over her shoulder to find that Ellie is watching her from a few customers away, eyebrow cocked and smirk testing. She word vomits before she can think of a coherent thought. “You mentioned tutoring...the last time we talked.”

You don’t even bat an eye.

“I did.”

“You’re also auditing Medarda’s biometry class.”

“I am.”

“I’m...I’m not really doing too hot in Medarda’s right now,” Vi says, brain nearly short-circuiting and freezing up because, lie! She’s doing phenomenally in Medarda’s session and, truthfully, she’s just downright scared to ask you to hang out.

Especially when you look up at her like that.

You shift and she’s swallowing down around nothing.

“Hmm, can’t have that, can we?” you hum.

Vi could melt.

“No,” she breathes out a laugh. “Can’t.”

“You can sign up for a slot through the library’s website,” you say after you weigh the thought.

Vi’s pausing, staring at you like a deer caught in the headlights.

“So I can get paid?” you fill in.

“Oh, right,” Vi chokes. “Right.”

You give her a soft smile before plugging your earbud back in, leaving Vi to rejoin her obviously amused friend.

“You’re fucking joking!”

The librarian gives you and your incredulous roommate a look from the circulation desk and you return it with a sheepish smile from where you’re tucked by a wall of looming floor-to-ceiling windows.

“Maddie,” you whisper.

“You’re telling me that The Violet asked you personally to tutor her?” Maddie asks you, leaned over the tabletop with wide eyes.

“Yeah, cornered me at Brew House this morning and asked me to tutor her in Medarda’s class.”

“Just that?” she asks. “Nothing else?”

You look around in disbelief.

“Uh, yeah?” you scoff. “What else would she want?”

“What else would she— are you serious?” Maddie leans back in her seat, arms crossing over her chest as she gives you a plain look. “You know all about Vi, you’re actually gonna play stupid?”

“Oh, come on.” You roll your eyes. “You’ve seen the girls Violet’s fucked, right? Kiramann? The blonde from the tennis team? She’s got a type and you know it.”

It’s Maddie’s turn to roll her eyes and you see the exasperated groan she’s staving off.

“None of that self-deprecating bullshit—”

“It’s not self-deprecating!” you argue. “Not everyone wants to fuck Violet, Maddie. Put me in the number one spot.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Don’t start.”

“All I’m saying is that anyone with eyes can see that Vi’s hot as fuck. That being said, you’re also hot as fuck. Not only that, but rumor has it, she gives the most toe-curling—”

You’re rolling your eyes again, gaze fluttering out the window momentarily only to find that, speak of the devil, Violet’s approaching the library with a skip in her step.

Maddie stops her spiel to trace your gaze and nearly falls out of her seat when she finds the object of your conversation is advancing, fast.

“No fucking way,” you whisper to yourself, pulling up your tutoring log on your tablet to find that, yup, Violet has most-definitely taken your advice and signed up for a tutoring slot.

If the time reads correctly, you’ve got three minutes before she’s due to be taking Maddie’s seat.

Your friend is grinning at you mischievously, stuffing her backpack quickly to vacate the space across from you.

“Un-fucking-believable,” you scoff, slumping back in your seat.

“Tell me how it goes,” she giggles, slinging her bag over her shoulder as she stands.

“Maddie,” you warn.

“Love you, see you at home!”

Violet’s strolling into the library just as Maddie leaves through the other doors and try as you might make yourself small in the open air near the research center, her gaze falls on you as soon as she enters.

“Hey,” she breathes once breaches your vicinity.

“Hi.”

A moment lapses before you’re nodding towards the seat before you.

“We can get started whenever you’re ready.”

Right. Right! Vi’s mentally cringing, pulling the chair out with a squeak and dropping onto the worn cushion.

Her eyes are locked, watching as you pull the biometry textbook from your little messenger bag.

“Any particular areas you’re struggling in?” you ask, flipping to a clean sheet of paper in your notepad and clicking open your pen.

Vi combs her brain, tries to think of anything she’s not really grasping in Medarda’s class, but she’s been acing all the exams with flying colors, so she spits out the first thing that comes to mind.

“Logistic regression, probably,” she answers.

“In relation to...?” You tilt your head and Vi’s breath is hitching.

“The Confusion Matrix,” she answers, even though she knows all about it.

It’s only when you start breaking it down from the bare bones that she realizes that she could listen to you talk for-probably-ever.

You obviously have a great understanding of the subject if the way you deconstruct the relationship between sensitivity and specificity (or whatever the fuck) is anything to go by, and she doesn’t realize that she hasn’t even blinked until you’re glancing up at her.

“Am I making any sense?” you ask softly, taking in the almost confused look on Violet’s face.

“Huh?”

Vi snaps out of it, cheeks coloring pink when she notes the way you straighten in your seat.

“Am I going too fast?”

“No, no!’ Vi practically shouts before chancing an embarrassed gaze around the library to find a few wandering eyes. She clears her throat and tries to relax. “No, you’re doing great. I get it.”

You don’t seem convinced, but the faster you get through the material, the faster Violet can leave and you can finally catch your breath.

Because maybe Maddie’s a little right. That while you know, one hundred percent, without-a-doubt, that you and Violet are cut from two different cloths and that you ultimately won’t mesh, there’s still a sliver of want that settles somewhere confined in the pit of your gut.

You don’t know how long you continue before you notice that sun has begun to set in the horizon, but Vi’s effort is unwavering. She’s probably on her tenth practice problem by now and so far, she’s only flubbed once.

You decide to fold your cards first.

“O-kay,” you say, sucking in a sharp breath as you roll your shoulders and squeeze your hands shut so tight your knuckles crack. “This is a good stopping point, don’t you think?”

No, Vi could keep going forever if it meant hearing you talk all night, but the little G-shock wristwatch winks the time and she realizes that the two of you have been going at it for going on two hours and you’re probably exhausted.

“Yeah, sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you so long,” Vi says sheepishly. “Thanks a lot for your help, I...”

You look up from where you’re shuffling your papers together, pausing when she hesitates.

“I really appreciate you. I know you probably help dozens of people every week and—”

She stops talking when she sees you crack what seems to be the first genuine smile she could get out of you since Friday.

“It’s my job, Violet,” you tell her. “I’m happy to help.”

And she’d done well enough during the tutoring session, had a successful run with the practice problems. You were confident it was just a one and done. Perhaps served as a review for the upcoming exam Medarda had posted on the class page.

But then you see her name in the final time slot on Thursday, don’t really think much of it until you’re tabbing to next week’s schedule for shits and giggles. Tuesday and Thursday are booked through again, her name highlighted in yellow.

You minimize the calendar and pull up the aggregate schedule only to find that every 4 o’clock slot every Tuesday and Thursday’s been booked until the end of the semester.

You refresh for good measure.

“Oh, you’re so shitting me.”

You don’t know what kind of joke this is, if Violet thinks that this is funny, but you’re not amused.

Especially when you’re stalking all the way to the athletic hall, ignoring the wolfish stares from shameless student athletes to whip into the women’s hockey team’s reserved conditioning space.

You find her benching near the center of the room, Abigail Anderson spotting her while the rest of the team engages in various workouts and exercises.

A hush ripples over the weight room as you approach the hockey star, standing at the end of the bench where her knees are bent. One of Abigail Anderson’s eyebrows quirk up as you stand there with your hands on your hips and you hope the chill that runs down your spine as she checks you out doesn’t visibly vibrate your body.

When the barbell nearly crushes Vi’s chest on her last rep, Abby’s quick to help her re-rack and takes the biggest step back as Vi sits up.

Her expression falls and her face pales when she locks eyes with you, your features severe and gaze stony.

“Oh, hey,” she squeaks.

Truthfully, she hadn’t really pinned you as the type to be confrontational. Thought she’d have enough time to build a strong enough story as to why she booked out all of your tutoring sessions when in actuality she panicked when Ellie started grilling the fuck out of her about being a fucking pussy and begging her to just ask you out.

“You have some explaining to do, Violet.”

And she should definitely be embarrassed, not at all turned on, but she can’t help it as she gulps. Because when you stand before her like this, she can easily admit that she’d die for a private version of the view.

The silence in the weight room is palpable and you want to back down, but if this is some running joke and Vi’s going to make a show of humiliating you in front of her teammates, then you’d give her a show.

“Violet.”

Someone in the back snickers, another whistles, and Vi’s cheeks go red.

She’s standing, sweaty hands closing around your biceps as she spins you around and quickly guides you out of the conditioning room and out of her teammates’ line of ogling sight.

“V—”

“I’m sorry,” Violet splutters. “I’m just not really confident in Medarda’s class right now and I don’t trust myself to study alone, plus you’re a really good tutor and—”

“You do realize that those tutoring sessions are added to your tuition, right?” you ask incredulously. “It’s fifteen dollars an hour.”

Vi’s smile is crooked.

“That’s what my scholarship’s for,” she grins.

“Don’t you think that’s a bit excessive?” you try again. “I feel that before an exam for a little refresh is fair, but this would be like relearning the material after every class, all over again.”

“If it’s taught by you, I’ll take it,” Vi says quickly, and you pause because what does she mean by that?

You don’t really have much rebuttal left even though you’d marched up here with a fire under your ass. Vi’s looking down at you with a softened edge in her gaze and she’s wearing nothing but a pair of black sweatpants and sweat-soaked grey tank that reveals swathes of ink that curls up her arms and disappears under the fabric of her shirt.

She breathes out a small laugh when she notices the way your eyes dance.

“Anymore concerns, cupcake?”

Your gaze snaps to hers and her grin widens when she sees you fidget, little pet name obviously eliciting a semblance of a reaction from you.

“N-No,” you stammer.

“Great, see you tomorrow?“

You swallow.

“Okay,” you agree. “See you tomorrow.”

Violet pops into the library at four on the dot.

Her hair’s wet from an obvious shower and you smell her, warm like honey and cedar as she takes the seat across from you.

“Afternoon, cupcake,” she greets, slinging her backpack into the seat next to her.

You give her a warning look, but she just flashes you a toothy smile and nods towards the opened biometry textbook before you.

“What’s the lesson today, Teach?”

And this feels an awful lot like mocking, but you can’t be sure, not when Vi’s been somewhat respectful, sweet even.

“What do you know about the the sigmoid function?” you probe.

“Jack shit,” she laughs.

And maybe you’d find it endearing if the entirety of the situation wasn’t still absolutely mindfucking you at moment.

“Can I ask you something, Violet?” you ask, leaning back in your seat as you cross your arms to level her with as an intimidating look as you can.

“Sure, anything.”

“Are you messing with me?” you ask. “Is this some joke you and your friends are playing? Because I can’t really think of an outcome that would be funny.”

And you’d like to say that the look of horror on Violet’s face is consolation enough, but you know how being loved and being popular can make people act sometimes.

Vi contemplates telling you the truth, that she’s too chickenshit to ask you out, that getting close to you in any other way scares the fuck out of her. That maybe getting you to tutor her will segue into some form of friendship that’ll allow her to ease her way in. And maybe she’s going about it the hard way, but maybe Vi also likes a challenge.

“No jokes, just bad at statistics,” she says weakly.

You’re silent for way longer than comfort allows before you turn your attention to the textbook and Vi’s letting out a breath she doesn’t realize she’s holding.

“Fine,” you give in. “Let’s talk about sigmoid function and practice some applications...”

Vi’s happy to listen, goes through your preselected practice problems with ease (and maybe fucks up a value or two here and there to really sell her need for you). But the sun’s going down again, and it’s nearing six when Vi folds her hand this time around.

It comes in the form of her stomach grumbling in the emptying library and she looks up at you in embarrassment as you crack the first smile of the evening.

“Hungry?” you ask.

“Starving,” she replies dramatically, leaning so far back in her seat, her knees bump yours under the table.

Your toes curl at the contact, heart skipping when she doesn’t make a move to reposition herself.

“Have you eaten yet?” she asks, eyes looking everywhere but yours.

“Not since breakfast,” you admit.

“You like pizza?”

“Only the good kind,” you challenge.

“Beautiful,” Vi hums, shuffling her papers into her textbook and chucking it back into her bookbag. “I know the best place.”

Valentino’s is a hole-in-the-wall right outside of campus, a short walk from the library that Violet leverages as a way to get to know you outside of being lectured about statistical curves and correlation.

“Did you grow up around here?” Vi asks once the waiter sets two glasses of water down between the two of you.

You shake your head.

“No, grew up on the east coast and decided I needed a break from my life there,” you admit easily.

It’s almost as if the facade of professionalism fades away, melting to reveal you.

Vi’s desperate for more.

“As in?”

You look at her for a moment, wonder if you should divulge because you’re not really sure if Vi would get it, but she watches you like she’s hanging onto every single word you say, so you’re spilling.

“My dad died when I was little, left me and three other siblings with my Mom,” you offer. “And I love my siblings. Love my mom. She’s been a great parent, better than great actually, but most of our family disowned me when I came out and it was easier to run away than to deal with it.”

Violet’s expression falls, a furrow settling deep between her brows.

“Wow, I’m, uh, I’m really sorry to hear that,” she says, and she sounds sincere. A long moment lapses before she’s adding, “for what it’s worth, I think that’s very brave of you.”

And you seem a little surprised at the sentiment.

“Thanks.” You smile. “That’s sweet of you to say.”

Vi could turn to goo in this dimly lit booth, stained-glass wall sconce casting a warm glow over your pretty face.

“You—” She sniffs, changes the subject because she doesn’t know if she can do this on an empty stomach. “You like pineapple on your pizza?”

“Oh yeah,” you confirm proudly. “It’s a hill I’ll die on, I’m not sorry.”

“God, marry me now.”

She doesn’t realize she says it out loud until you’re bursting into a fit of laughter on your side of the booth.

“So this is something we can agree on?” you ask, head tilting in the way that makes Vi want to grab your face and taste you.

“Oh yeah,” she parrots instead. “One hundred percent.”

Valentino’s becomes routine just as much as Vi seeing you at four every Tuesday and Thursday becomes routine. It’s always after the Thursday session (because they have a three dollar slice from 6 to close) that you and Vi cram yourselves in the same booth near the kitchen and giggle over half a Hawaiian pizza.

“...And my little sister blew up her science project in the fourth grade—”

You choke on your bite, eyes wide as Violet recalls Powder’s little mishap that sent the entire gymnasium evacuating despite the tiniest fire.

“Now she’s about graduate and start school for chemical engineering,” she says, obviously proud.

“She seems like a smart girl,” you observe, if the countless stories Violet shares with you is anything to go by.

You figure being related to someone as great as the new friend you’ve made also speaks for itself.

“The smartest,” she agrees. “I’m proud of her.”

“I’m sure she’s proud of you too,” you assure her. “You’re a good big sister.”

And it’s in these moments that Vi realizes that she’s in far, far deeper than she initially gave stock. Because these past few weeks, she realizes that there’s a lot more to your big brain and your pretty face. You’re an attentive listener, way funnier than she could have anticipated, and just a lot more laid back than you let on.

That much she finds out after the two of you graduate from emailing with silly sign-offs to exchanging phone numbers and texting. It starts off rather irregular, a coffee order here and there, maybe a TikTok that Vi swears is funny, you just have to watch it all the way through! But then she starts texting you when she’s bored, when she’s in class, before practice, after. Even pops the question that’s been niggling at her since she met you: on a scale from 1 - 10 how down are you to smoke?

Like cigarettes?

no, weed, dummy.

Oh. Hmm. 7. 10 if I’m drunk.

She could not wipe the smile from her face even if she tried.

And then she gets the invite.

Ellie swears it’s her in.

“Jesus Christ if you even consider me a friend, you’ll bang,” Ellie calls from the couch.

“It’s just tutoring,“ Vi argues.

“Yeah, at her place,” she scoffs. “At least test the waters, maybe cop a feel.”

“You’re a pig,” Vi snorts, making sure her laptop and all of the worksheets Medarda’s assigned over the course of the week is in her backpack.

“You’ve been wet dreaming over this girl for months.”

“Fuck all the way off.” Vi’s face warms because her best friend isn’t necessarily wrong.

You’re too hot for your own good, but you don’t even know it and Vi thinks she could die sometimes. Especially when you wear your favorite pair of jeans, the ones that hug the swell of your ass just right. Or swipe on that shimmery lipgloss she swears makes your mouth look edible.

If you were willing, Vi would be all over you, but thinking about taking advantage of the fact that you trust her enough to invite her into your space feels a little grimy.

“Whatever, bang, don’t bang,” Ellie says nonchalantly. “Blueball yourself for all I care.”

Vi rolls her eyes, slings her bag over her shoulder before sliding on her shoes and leaving her friend on the couch with a resounding click.

You live off-campus, maybe a ten minute drive, in a cozy little complex near the suburbs. Your roommate, Maddie, a chipper blonde with a bob, is all too eager to leave when Vi arrives.

“Hi, sorry we couldn’t meet anywhere else,” you apologize as you let her into your space. “Even if the library wasn’t closed, the vet said I have to monitor Pip for the next 48 hours.”

Vi raises a brow.

“My cat,” you clarify.

“Oh.” Vi doesn’t know why she suddenly feels like she’s intruding as she hesitantly toes off her shoes and follows you down the hall.

But she does take the opportunity to take you in in all your glory; all cozy and cuddly in an oversized sweatshirt, plaid pajama shorts and mismatched egg socks.

Cute. So fucking cute.

You spare her a glance over your shoulder and she’s clearing her throat.

“We don’t have to have a session tonight," she says, stopping at the threshold of the living room. “I would’ve understood if you had to cancel.”

You shake your head, give her a soft smile that has her knees feel like jelly.

“S’okay,” you assure her. “A promise is a promise.”

And you do start off studying, shoulder to shoulder in front of your coffee table, but then Pip crawls from his little hiding spot under the TV console to curiously nose along Vi’s feet and she’s a goner.

“He’s so sweet,” she practically wails as he paws at her thigh and nudges against her arm so that he can climb into her lap.

You warm at the sight, can’t help but snap a picture, much to Violet’s dismay.

“Stop,” she laughs. “That picture can’t see the light of day.”

“Why?” you whine, making a show of climbing onto your wooden coffee table to get a funny top down photo of the hockey star with your cat. “You and Pip look so cute together.”

She feigns a scowl even though her shoulders shake with laughter.

“I have a bad boy image to uphold, sweetheart.”

You snort, reach into her lap to scratch behind Pip’s ear, and her heart melts, body warm from her ears to her toes.

“Is he sick?” she asks cautiously, petting him softly.

“Just a little,” you say. “Something some rest and medicine won’t fix.”

It’s how the two of you end up on the couch, study materials long forgotten as Animal Planet plays in the background. Pip’s moved to lounge atop the covers draped over your lap and you’re blowing your nose into a tissue as an especially sad segment about baby animals being rejected by their mothers finishes.

Vi knows she shouldn’t laugh, but you’re too fucking cute and she can’t help but coo at you.

“You can’t tell anyone about this,” you hiccup.

“What, that you’re a big soft baby?” she teases.

“Vi,” you whimper.

And something in her brain tickles because she can’t recall a time you’d ever called her by her nickname, only ever referred to her as Violet and nothing else.

She resists a smile.

“Okay, okay,” she gives in. “Lets change the subject.”

You make a noise of agreement as you cuddle your sleepy Pip.

“I actually wanted to ask you something,” she says, arm slung over the back of the couch, fingers a hairsbreadth from your figure.

Test the waters, cop a feel.

Vi’s not particularly into the idea, but the opportunity’s right there in the way wisps of your hair falls from its hold. Her fingers move of their own device, tucking the strands behind your ear.

She feels you still for the slightest, most imperceptible of moments, but then you’re relaxing, letting her fingers brush from your ear down to your shoulder, then back to where it rests on the back of the couch.

“You doing anything on Saturday?” she asks, really hopes you’ll say no.

“Not that I know of,” you say without second thought.

Not that you really need to. Your tight circle of friends are all alike, tethered to their hobbies and their homes.

“I have a game on Saturday,” Vi starts, fiddling with a little hole in the cushion. “If you wanted to come.”

You don’t agree or disagree immediately, and Vi’s scrambling to soothe over any potential discomfort.

“You don’t have to if you don’t wanna, of course,” she says quickly. “I just— I thought you might be interested in going and I’d really like to see you there and—”

A small little laugh puffs from your lips.

“Of course I’ll go,” you agree easily.

Vi deflates in relief.

“Great,” she sighs. “Awesome.”

Vi doesn’t know why she invites you. More so, she doesn’t know why she tells her teammates that she’s invited you because now they’re whooping and hollering in the locker room, towel-whipping her and sing-songing that their star player’s gonna get laid.

Doesn’t know why she invites you because as soon as she glides on the ice, she’s searching the stands high and low for your familiar figure. When she clocks you nestled in the middle with your roommate and another friend she vaguely recognizes, her heart’s soaring and her stomach’s twisting in knots.

Vi’s never nervous, but somehow you bring out the worst of it.

It only takes a few moments, though. The blare of the horn snaps her back into her zone and she leaves all the noise off-rink. In this moment, all she knows is cutting ice, dodging the other team’s most aggressive players and sinking shot after shot.

It’s nearing the end of the second period when she finally glances at the score.

5—4.

The opposing team’s giving them a run for their money and this is probably one of the tightest matches they’ve played all season. She takes a moment to find you in the stands again, and you’re right where she left you, eyes already glued to her as you hover over the edge of your seat.

She hadn’t realized it before, but you’ve got her number painted on her face and another surge of warmth layers over the exertion.

You give her a thumbs up and she feels like lightning.

They reset and she’s off, like a streak of light in the night sky, she’s shuffling the puck towards the goal.

Then you see the navy uniform barreling towards her, voice caught in your throat as Vi gives the puck one last shot before that damned Jersey Number Six shoves her so hard, she’s flinging into the rink’s wall.

The horn chugs, signaling the end of the second period and the stands erupt in a ceremonious cheer as the playback reveals that Vi had sunk the puck before time.

“Fuck yeah!” you cry out, shooting to your feet to clap your hands.

Vi ignores the instigating chants to fight, only really pays attention to your little dance of excitement as she shakes off the other player and rejoins her team for intermission.

“Fuck, Vi, you got it bad, huh?” Abigail Anderson’s spearheading the teasing once they all return to the locker room at the end of the game.

Vi’s body heats at the thought, isn’t really in the business of denying it anymore, because, you know what? Yeah. Vi’s got it so fucking bad for you, she doesn’t even know what to do with herself. You’re her first thought, her final prayer, and everything in between.

So all she does he shrug, can’t help the grin that splits her lips as she rubs her towel through her sweat-damp hair.

She’s the first one out of the locker room, dressed in some sweats and a pullover, towel slung around her neck as she steps into the tunnel. Your contact’s pulled up, and she’s ready to fire off a text asking where you want her to meet you, but she stops short to see you already leaned outside of the change room’s doors.

“Hey, cupcake,” she murmurs, smiling hard when she finds the smudged number 5 still chalked on your face.

“Hi, Violet,” you return shyly, hands clasped behind your back.

She hears the telltale whoosh of the locker room doors, the chattering of her teammates as they poke their heads out into the hall to be nosy, but she’s guiding you along, throwing a wink over her shoulder as the two of you fall into step.

“Thank you for coming,” Vi says after a moment. “You being here really meant a lot to me.”

You don’t know if Vi’s always been this sentimental, but just never given the opportunity to showcase it, or if she’s just buttering you up, but you can’t help but beam at her with pearly teeth and dimpled cheeks.

“God, Violet, you were so good!” you say excitedly, a little skip in your step. “You were in the rink, skating circles around them, like this, and like this.”

She bursts into laughter as you start speeding down the tunnel, dodging garbage bins and jumping up into the air to click your heels.

Something falls out of your little fannypack when you land, and Vi’s crouching down to pick up the tulle baggie to find a little beaded bracelet with a gold clasp that reads puck off.

“What’s this?” Vi asks, and you stop your shenanigans to turn your attention to her.

When your expression falters and you’re running back to her at full speed, she’s holding the baggie up just a little too out of reach for you, grin smug.

“Is this for me, sweetheart?” she asks presumptuously, even though her heart’s thrumming hard in her ribcage.

You’re on your tiptoes, chest pressed against hers, and god, please! is all Vi can think when your head tilts up, a little defeated knit between your eyebrows.

She milks the fuck out of whatever this is, arm banding around your waist as she returns the baggie to you.

“Maybe,” you whisper finally.

“Maybe what?” Vi teases.

“Maybe it’s for you,” you respond, free hand coming to rest on her chest.

“And what do I have to do to get it?” she asks, voice low.

It makes your body jolt hard as a shiver slinks down your spine because there she is, the insufferable flirt who knows exactly what to say to have your brain turn to mush.

You seem like you’re contemplating for a moment and Vi’s breath is hitching in her throat, wondering if you’re willing to play this cat and mouse game with her.

You smile, something glinting in your warm eyes.

“Puck off.”

Your giggle is maniacal as you slip away, leaving her temporarily stunned before she chases you down the tunnel. And she should expect your speed, especially because you’ve got legs, but it takes her a moment to catch up with you when her practice bag’s thumping on her back like that. Her calloused fingers are closing around the flesh of your hips in no time and she’s pulling you back into her arms.

“Cough it up, sweetheart,” she huffs.

You whine.

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” you counter.

“Gimme, gimme, gimme.”

And you give in because Violet’s made you weak. She’s holding out her wrist as you free the multi-colored bracelet.

You barely clasp the closure in the ring before Violet’s stumbling into you, a big burly girl from the other team shoulder checking the fuck out of her.

“Nice job standing in the middle of the walk way,” she bites.

Violet only snorts a laugh.

“Whatever, good game,” she calls.

Whoever she is, stops, levels Vi with a deadly look before her gaze flits to the bracelet you’ve just fixed around her wrist to you who stands frozen into place as the tension crackles between them.

“Cute,” she observes and your skin prickles. “Let me take her for a spin?”

“Violet,” you warn when her shoulders square and she takes a step forward.

She looks torn between walking away and beating the shit out of whoever this instigator is, but one of her teammates is shoving her along.

“Leave it.”

Whatever that was shatters the moment between the two of you and Vi’s taking in a deep breath as Abby trails behind the two of you.

The girl whistles for good measure and you throw a dirty look over your shoulder.

She winks.

You’ve still yet to find out who hosts these parties, but this time around gives you a weird sense of deja vu as you climb the steps with Maddie in tow.

You and Vi had parted ways at the rink, not before extending you an invite to the celebration later in the evening.

You should come, I can pick you up.

But per usual, DD duties call, and you’d smiled up at her despite the lingering pressure from the prior confrontation and promised her that yes, you’d absolutely be there.

Maddie squeals from the step below as you climb the front porch, breaths coming out in puffs of steam.

“You look so hot,” she says excitedly.

You giggle nervously, sure hope you do because you’re freezing your ass off!

“Yeah?”

Maddie gives you an incredulous look, eyelids powdered with glitter and gaze lined charcoal. She’s looking extra cute tonight too and you know that the two of you could fall into an endless cycle of teasing because a certain someone’s probably inside tonight.

“If she doesn’t fuck you before the night ends, I will,” Maddie teases, and you’re warming unceremoniously at the thought.

Because maybe you’ve been thinking about it a lot more recently despite only going into this trying to get through these tutoring sessions and dipping. Especially as of late now that Vi’s made it a habit to FaceTime you after practice, on your walk to the library, dripping sweat and chest heaving.

You’d always seen the appeal, but now you feel it.

You smooth down your asymmetrical skirt and Maddie steps up to adjust your tits in your lowcut lace blouse just as the door swings open to reveal none other than Violet.

“Oh—” Her voice catches as she takes you in.

Maddie gives your ass a little swat and Vi’s gaze is following the movement as your roommate pushes past her to slip inside.

“I was— I was just about to step out. To, uh, to call you,” she stammers.

You breath out a little laugh.

“Here I am.”

“Yeah,” she agrees. “Here you are.”

Jesus, fuck Vi could burst into flames right now. Your boots hug your thighs and Violet’s not gonna lie, she really wishes it were her head squeezed between—

“You look...” Hot, so fucking edible, downright fuck— “...really nice.”

You smile, but you can’t help the way your teeth chatters.

“Fuck, shit, you’re probably cold,” she curses, warm hands closing around your shoulders to pull you inside. “Why didn’t you wear a jacket? You’re gonna get sick.”

I wanted you to want me.

“Guess I just forgot,” you say quietly.

She looks like she wants to scold you, but instead, she’s pulling down her coat, a big black work jacket, hanging from the banister of the stairs around your shoulders and you’re relishing the residual warmth that lingers there and her familiar scent.

“Can I get you a cider?” she asks. “It’s still warm.”

It hits you as her fingers curl through yours, that Vi’s truly nothing like what you initially thought. She’s sweet, and she’s respectful, and she’s everything you could ever hope for.

You freeze at the thought, and Vi’s glancing at you when she’s tugged to a stop.

“You okay?” she hums.

Your eyes search her face, gliding over the scar on her lip and the one slit through her eyebrow. The gold hoop pierced through her nose glints under the lowlight and her thick lashes flutter as she looks down at you.

You give her a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes because wow, you’re in deep.

“I’m okay,” you assure her, give her fingers a squeeze for good measure.

When she finally secures you a mug of steaming cider, she’s guiding you to her group of friends that occupy the living room.

You only recognize Ellie, her best friend and her roommate, and Abby, the captain. Everyone else is a jumbled mix of names and faces and you stick close to Vi as she settles into the left corner of the couch.

You make a move to sit on the armrest, legs crossed and hands folded around your mug, but Vi’s spreading her legs and pulling you into her lap before you can effectively protest.

Her warmth immediately engulfs you and it takes every ounce of self control not to curl up into a ball in front of all her friends and classmates.

As they recap the game and catch up with each other, you remain hushed, eyes flitting from person to person as they speak. Toes curling whenever Violet’s voice vibrates in her chest as she talks big about sports and the hot teams this season.

You’re caught off caught when Ellie’s directing a question towards you and you barely register.

“What do you like to do?” she asks you.

All eyes audibly shift to where you’re cozied up in Vi’s lap, cider empty and abandoned on the side table.

“Uh.”

Your words are lodged in your throat because you’re so used to talking Vi’s ear off about your interests (namely, Animal Planet and your son Pip), showing her your little craft projects you like to do in front of the television on a weekend evening (you’d taken a break from the scarf / hat combo you were knitting to finish the bracelet you designed for Vi), and yapping about some obscure film you’d watched while finishing said projects.

But here, now, you don’t know what to say. Not when this isn’t your typical crowd and you don’t know what to expect from her friends.

Vi must feel your hesitation because her digits are slipping into her jacket, fingertips ghosting the small of your back as she presses a palm against your spine to smooth the tension there.

It’s okay, is a silent insinuation.

You give her a look from the corner of your eye before you turn your attention back to Ellie.

“I don’t do much,” you offer honestly. “Just starting my old cat lady duties early, I suppose.”

Ellie laughs benevolently.

“You have a cat?”

“Yes, his name’s Pip, and he’s basically my kid.”

“Cute,” Ellie coos. “You got any pictures?”

And you seem to light up, spare Vi one more glance as you dig in her coat pocket to produce your cellphone, charms jangling as you power it back on to show Ellie the lockscreen.

“I contemplated naming him Toothless from—”

“—How To Train Your Dragon!” Abby fills in from across the couch. “That’s such a good ass movie.”

It warms Vi to the bone, seeing you and her friends nerd out. Seeing them put in the effort because they know she likes you and seeing you reciprocate because, well, you’re you, and you just need a little warming up.

She doesn’t know how long you and her friends chat for until you’re shifting a little and turning your attention back to her.

“Can you show me the bathroom, please?”

Her gaze flits to her circle, and they’re smirking, obviously under the impression that this must be some sort of code the two of you concocted.

She ignores them, and most importantly she ignores the way her pulse jumps when you stand from your seat and perch between her legs, offering both of your neatly manicured hands to her.

This is getting fucking ridiculous.

The bathroom is tucked under the stairs near the front of the house and she stands post outside the door as you finish up.

It’s only when you’re poking your head outside the door sheepishly that she stands up straight.

“Can you help me with my zipper?” you ask timidly.

She puffs a laugh, slips in through the space you crack for her to find you holding the two sides of your skirt together.

And she knows she shouldn’t look, but the space allows her to see the pink lace of your panties. She’s shoving her tongue in her cheek, focusing on lining up the seams and pulling up your zipper as you hold the fabric taut.

“Thanks,” you whisper, looking up to see that Vi’s impossibly close to you in this cramped little powder room.

“Anytime, sweetheart,” she croaks, leaning against the counter as you wash your hands.

She thumbs the hem of your skirt absently.

“I like this,” she admits, gaze trailing up to meet yours. “You look pretty.”

Your ears burn, unable to meet the smolder of her steely eyes. You’d probably find that her pupils are blown wide if you did. Instead, you’re watching her mouth, lips stained cherry and tongue coming out to wet the dry patch.

You hold your breath as you reach across her for the hand towel, but her hands find your hips, teetering into dangerous territory as she moves almost close enough to slip her hands under your skirt.

“You’re not gonna say thank you?” she asks, watching you through hooded eyes.

A nervous giggle bubbles.

“Thanks, Violet,” you murmur.

“‘Course,” she agrees easily. “You gonna wear it again?”

You bite.

“If you ask nicely.”

She licks her lips again, body flexed as you allow her to press you closer. One of your hands splays on the counter behind her, the other brushing over the blooming bruise on her jaw.

“Can I?” she husks.

You don’t need to ask for clarification, not when her nose is nudging yours and your breaths are mingling.

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Pl—”

The door rattles with the ferocity of whoever’s knocking on the other side.

“Hurry up in there, I gotta piss!”

To your dismay, the two of you don’t talk about Saturday night. And things’s aren’t particularly bad, but something’s definitely shifted and it’s driving you nuts.

Vi’s on the ice practicing the following morning and after classes on Monday, so you wait for your session with bated breath on Tuesday. You try extra hard despite every voice of reason telling you that you’re reading into it too much.

Vi smiles at you easily as she drops into the seat across from you, pulling out her biometry textbook without so much as a peep about the fact that the two of you almost kissed in whoever the fuck’s bathroom that was over the weekend.

You’re staring, hard.

Because that familiar feeling’s coming back. The seedling of doubt that had rooted in the beginning about Vi’s intentions with you. She’d done a good job of weeding it out over the weeks, of dismantling whatever image you’d built of her in your head, but it plants itself again.

She’s squeezing your hand across the table and your gaze flits down to her rough fingers. That’s when you notice it, the bracelet, still fastened where you clasped it on game night.

You relax a fraction.

“Everything okay?”

You smile, something small.

“Yeah, good,” you assure her.

The rest of your tutoring session is uneventful, goes off without a hitch. And you’re shameless in admitting that you hate to see her go as she walks you to your car in the student lot near the library.

You’re grasping at straws, clearing your throat before she closes your door for you.

“Uh,” you squeak. “Do you want to come over?”

Vi’s pausing, hand still on the edge of your door as her lips twitch.

“Like right now?”

You nod because you’ve already pulled the trigger.

“Like right now,” you confirm.

She checks her wristwatch, sighs heavily because fuck yes, she’d love to come over right now, but Anderson and Williams are expecting her for a strategy meeting with the coach and—

“Sorry,” you say quickly. “You don’t have to, I know we only really—”

She pinches your cheek before tucking some of your hair behind your ear.

“I can’t tonight, sweetheart, I’m sorry,” she says. “But tell you what, if you’re willing to free up your Friday night, I’d really like to plan something.”

Your heartbeat skips.

“All yours,” you say without missing a beat.

Vi’s grinning wide.

“Perfect, drive safe,” she bids. “See you tomorrow.”

And you don’t know why you’re so fucking high strung, not when Vi hasn’t done anything to make you doubt that this isn’t all in your head, but it only gets worse as the days go by.

It doesn’t come to a head until Thursday, when your tutoring slots are miraculously empty until Vi’s and you receive an email from Medarda to meet in her office after her string of lectures.

“Afternoon,” the older woman greets, smiling warmly at you as she lets you into her office. “Just wanted to check in with your audit and request any feedback you have.”

You think for a moment before shaking your head.

“Nothing in particular that I can think of,” you say easily, then add with a laugh, “feel like I’ll be a professional by the end of the semester.”

“Why do you say that?” Medarda chuckles as she logs into her computer.

“I have a student sitting every Tuesday and Thursday for tutoring in your class,” you reveal.

She gives you look crossed between surprise and amusement.

“Really?”

“Yeah.” You giggle at the distant memory of Vi’s expression in the weight room. “She seems to be picking it up well enough, though.”

“Huh, every Tuesday and Thursday?” she asks, fingers flying over her keyboard. “I must be doing something wrong.”

“I’d hardly say that,” you say. “When Violet booked all my sessions, I thought it was a joke, but I think she’s just really dedicated to doing well.”

“Violet?” Medarda repeats, hands stilling over her mouse.

“Yeah, Violet, on the women’s hockey team?”

Your professor’s eyebrows twitch.

“Why would you— huh. Weird,” she comments.

“I admit it was a little strange, but—”

“Violet’s a consistent top scorer on the exams,” Medarda shares. “She’s been top of the class since the beginning of the semester.”

And it’s like the world stills as she reveals that information, fragile pieces shattering as the gears start turning in your brain and you try to put the puzzle together.

You glance at the clock, find that you’re due to meet Violet in half an hour.

“Uh, if you’ll excuse me,” you say politely, try to ignore the concerned expression etched on your professor’s face at your sudden departure. “It was nice chatting with you. If I think of anything feedback-wise, I’ll be sure to email you.”

And you’re running.

Vi’s in the locker room after practice, toweling off after an extra long shower because she’s been looking a little extra forward to seeing you today, but perhaps that’s everyday as of late.

She’s hooking the bracelet you gave her back on when her phone vibrates and she’s practically diving into her locker when your text tone bleats.

sweetheart: I have to cancel your session this afternoon. I’m sorry.

Her expression screws up.

everything ok? can i do anything for you?

sweetheart: Personal things to take care of. I’ll see you next week.

I’ll see you next week.

But what about tomorrow? She’d been working so fucking hard on tomorrow, on finally pulling her head far enough out of her ass to ask you to give the two of you a shot.

She sets her phone down, slumps down on the bench as she turns her wrist and takes in the smooth glass beads of the bracelet.

She sighs. Hard.

You hole up all weekend long, put your phone on do not disturb, and try your best to get whatever this is out of your system. But you’re a slave to your emotions and you can’t help but check your messages every time you know Vi’s free.

It’s a single text on a Saturday night, one that surprises you because you know she has practice now that the big game’s fast approaching.

violet <3: hey sweetheart, just checking in. i know you said you had a few personal things going on, but i’m here if you feel like you need someone <3

You’re texting back before your better judgement can stop you.

Just been a little stressed. You wanna come over?

Then you add, We can smoke.

Vi’s sending you three running emojis and you crack a smile at your screen before realizing that you need to shower.

You lay out some clothes beforehand, ultimately settling on last Saturday’s skirt.

Vi’s giggling as you fumble with the wrapper, rolling it with clumsy fingers because, truthfully, you don’t do this often, but she shuts right up when you don’t break eye contact as the tip of your tongue slides across the seam to seal the joint.

She’d picked you up with a Sprite and a slice to split from Valentino’s, throat drying as you bounded down the stairs in the same fucking skirt that had her touching herself after she’d gotten home from the party, guilty and wound tight. Now the two of you are tucked away behind some abandoned strip.

“Ready?” Her voice rasps as you pop the end between your lips and she brings the lighter to ignite the end for you.

It burns as you inhale and Vi’s thighs squeeze together involuntarily. She’d smoked with you twice before, both times on the roof of your apartment building and at a reasonable distance. But now, she knows what your body feels like, almost knows what your lips taste like.

You take a few more puffs before offering it to her and the smoke begins to plume to fill the space of her little coupe. It’s moments like these, tucked away from prying eyes, that it’s just you and Vi.

Not Vi, the supposed womanizing hockey star, or you, the nerdy homebody tutor. Just the two of you, two souls trying to get through university and carve your paths.

“I aced Medarda’s exam this week,” Vi says softly, jay pinched between her fingers as she watches you with lowering eyes.

“Oh, yeah? I wonder why,” you quip in return, face impossibly close to hers despite the console between you.

“I have a smartypants tutor that does an especially good job when she’s motivated,” she answers.

Your cheeks flame, but you don’t back down. Vi’s been extra good at pushing your buttons and flirting hard as of late, and maybe you’re a little more than willing to receive and reciprocate, but the two of you have been toeing the line, yet neither of you have taken the leap.

This moment, however, feels like it could be it. Like you’re going to find out what the fuck all of this even is.

“I have to meet this tutor of yours,” you play along. “She sounds like a miracle worker.”

“Among other things,” Vi teases, sucking in the smoke and blowing it through her nostrils.

“Like?”

“She’s also funny as fuck,” she hums. “A big baby when we watch Animal Planet.”

You narrow your eyes at her and Vi lets out a little laugh that makes your toes curl.

“Uh-huh?”

“She’s really fucking pretty too,” she says quietly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she affirms. “Kind of pretty that makes you wanna do bad, bad things.”

You smile falters as a shiver rips down your spine and before you know it, Vi’s putting out the joint before climbing in the cramped backseat of her car to spread her legs.

Doesn’t even give you a moment to process before she’s pulling you on top of her and allowing you to settle comfortably in her lap. Her hands run up your thighs and disappear under your skirt to grab the fat of your ass.

You breathe out a little giggle as your slender fingers come up to cup her jaw.

“Think my tutor’ll be mad at me?” Vi murmurs, nose brushing yours. “‘Cuz I really, really wanna kiss this pretty girl in my lap right now.”

You let out a broken little sigh when her hips buck.

“Maybe she’ll forgive you,” you whisper. “I know I would.”

And that’s all the affirmation Vi needs from you before she’s taking the plunge and slotting her lips with yours; kissing you with so much fervor, you’d think she needs you to breathe. She tastes like mint and weed and you can’t get enough.

Vi’s all-consuming, her kiss a delicious mix of teeth and tongue. And, god, her hands. Rough and calloused, but gentle in the way she explores your body. It isn’t until she’s snapping the band of your thong and her fingertips ghost the seam of your sticky heat that you’re hyper-focusing.

“Mmmph, Violet, Vi—” Your voice cracks as she breaks from your lips to map a series of kisses from your jaw, to the juncture behind your ear, down the column of your neck. “Wait.”

She stops, hands pulling from under your skirt like you’ve burned her. And perhaps you have, branded nearly every part of her because she can’t really think of a sound moment if you’re not there.

“Sorry, sorry,” she shudders as the arousal ebbs through her tightened body. “I—”

I’m caught up. I’m losing it, and it’s all your fault, and—

“Violet,” you swallow, fingers toying with the collar of her varsity sweatshirt. “I have something to say.”

Her throat bobs and her grey eyes gleam like ash in the lowlight of the backseat of her car. The windows are smoked out and it’s exceptionally warm, equal parts sexual tension and another thing Vi can’t quite pinpoint.

“Yeah, anything,” she assures you, hands resting on your waist instead. “You can tell me anything.”

One of your palms settles over her chest, right where her heart is and you suck in a sharp breath.

“I— uh, I really like you, Violet,” you admit quietly. “A lot more than I think I’ve ever liked someone in a long, long time.”

Oh.

Oh. Here it comes, the big fat rejection. The coming to your senses.

“But?”

The look on your face is devastating and Vi’s scared.

“I have to know that if I give you a chance, you won’t abuse it,” you hiccup, and wow, that’s definitely not what she expects you to say, but fuck does it leave a sour taste in her mouth.

“Abuse it?” she repeats, face crumpling.

“Violet,” you sigh.

“Abuse what?” she husks.

“I know you—”

“Do you?” she scoffs, a wave of irritation washing over her as she looks you with disappointment. “What gave you the idea that I would ever even dream of taking advantage of you giving me a chance?”

“You don’t necessarily have a spotless record, Violet,” you say, voice edged. “And I know that I’m not your usual—”

“Not my usual what?” The venom in Vi’s tone is uncharacteristic, but this is not at all how she expected tonight to go and she’s frustrated. “Not my usual type? You internalized all this shit that people say about me even though I’ve been trying to get you to see me for months.”

Emotion clogs your throat because a small part of you knows that Vi’s right. She’s never given you an outright reason to doubt her interest in you, but it all just seems too good to be true.

“Sue me for wanting to protect myself,” you choke, climbing out of her lap and back into the front seat. “Especially because I know that you don’t actually need help in Medarda’s class.”

And that catches Vi off guard. You see as much in the rearview mirror when she pales.

She clambers back into the driver’s seat.

“Who told you that?” she asks, not even bothering to deny the fact.

“I mentioned that I was tutoring you in passing when Medarda asked for feedback on her class,” you respond, crossing your arms over your chest. “She asked why I’d be doing that when you’re top of all her sections.”

Violet’s voice is stuck in her chest.

“And then your past hook ups parade around campus like a reminder that—,” you cut yourself off, obviously hurt after bottling this all up. “And it isn’t any of my business, nor are we anything enough for me to plausibly upset—”

“Yes, I lied,” Vi admits quietly. “But only about one thing.”

Your breath catches.

“You’re right, I don’t need help in Medarda’s class. I lied about being clueless and I signed up for tutoring even though I didn’t need it,” she says.

“Why?”

“You know why,” Vi huffs. “From the moment I met you, I knew.”

It’s a glaring insinuation that makes you crack.

“No one ever says it out loud, but I know what everyone thinks,” you choke. “Violet’s fucking that loser?”

“You really believe that?”

“God, Violet, I don’t know what to fucking believe,” you cry out. “My life’s fucking fine and dandy and then you show up and make me fucking question everything I—”

Vi lets out a humorless laugh, can’t even look at you and it could make you sick.

“You’re so fucking loved by everyone, even those who won’t admit it,” you croak. “And you’re incredible at everything you do, turn everything you touch to gold, and I’m just...”

Vi’s brows furrow.

“You’re what?”

“I’m me,” you whisper meekly. “I’m just me and you’re you, and I just don’t see what makes me so different.”

And Vi realizes that she’d read it all wrong.

“Look at me,” she says softly, fingers tracing your jaw.

You knuckle your tears away, make a petulant noise in your throat.

“You wanna know why I booked all your stupid tutoring sessions?” she huffs. “Because I really fucking like you, ________. And it’s beyond wanting to fuck you even though god knows I’d fucking die if you let me. It’s so much more than having you physically. Because I’ll take being just friends with you if it means having you around. I don’t give a shit about anything else but you.”

It’s the most sound declaration you hear from the girl in the semester you’ve known her and it makes you cry.

“You make me feel so fucking normal and you remind me that I don’t need to be anything else but me,” she breathes. “And I get where you’re coming from, I hear you. I just really hope you hear me too.”

“I do,” you whisper. “I’m just—”

Vi squeezes your thigh, takes your hand in hers and brings your knuckles to her lips.

“Let’s get you home, okay?” she offers gently.

Vi only has one more game before the championships and she won’t lie and say that this limbo with you has her feeling like she’s going to be ill.

You’d cancelled her tutoring sessions this week, told her that maybe the two of you needed to spend some time apart and that she was clearly doing a number on you. So she agrees, tries to give you space to work through what’s weighing on you.

sweetheart: Good luck at your game tonight, Violet. I’m rooting for you.

She really wishes you’d be there, but she knows you need the time alone.

thanks, sweetheart. i appreciate you.

“Alright Vi, we have fifteen til puck drop,” Ellie says carefully, has been front row to everything transpiring between you and her best friend.

Vi tucks her phone away in her backpack, unhooks your bracelet from around her wrist and fastens it to the handle of her bag, and grabs her stick from the rack before she lets her teammates jostle her into the tunnel.

And she wishes she could lock in, clear her head and get into the game, but all she can think about is you.

It’s a narrow victory once the game ends, but she can’t find it in herself to celebrate, especially not at the kickback afterwards because fucking Sev and her assholes are there.

“Where’s your little dime piece?” she taunts.

“Fuck off,” Vi warns, obviously not in the mood.

“Shame,” she whistles. “She looks like a fucking weirdo, but she sure does have a fat ass—”

Ellie’s fist cracks so hard across her jaw.

“She told you to fuck off,” she hisses.

Sev spits the blood in her mouth on the toe of Ellie’s shoe, fists bunching the collar of her sweater.

“Keep that fucking energy on the ice because I’m gonna wipe the floor with your fucking pissbaby team.”

You wake up on Monday morning to a text from Vi and a handful of notifications from Instagram.

violet <3: can i see you this week?

You open Instagram.

sev.94 has requested to follow you! sev.94 has sent you a message request!

Your brows furrow, opening the message request hesitantly. There’s a few DMs and a video from this Sev person.

sev.94 hey pretty, sorry to text you like this. sev.94 just thought you should know the kind of person your little girlfriend is sev.94 sent a video. sev.94 i don’t really do relationships, but i’d take your mind off of it if you let me.

You’re playing the video, quality grainy and audio blasted. You don’t know what you’re looking at at first, it’s dark, and there’s so many voices. But you see skin, see the outline of a girl’s naked back, delicate and arched in pleasure.

You think this Sev person’s just fucking with you, playing some stupid joke with a shitty punchline as someone’s hands snake around to palm the flesh of the unnamed girl’s ass, but then you see it.

The bracelet.

Vi going to lose her shit for two reasons.

(1) Because you haven’t responded to her message despite your read receipts being on, and (2) she can’t fucking find the bracelet you’d gifted to her.

She’s barging into Ellie’s room, shirtless and hair dripping.

“Jesus, fuck, do you knock?” Ellie hisses, buds she was in the midst of grinding scattering across the floor.

“I can’t find the bracelet she gave me,” Vi says quickly.

Ellie’s face scrunches.

“Huh?”

“The bracelet ________ gave to me,” Vi says. “I hooked it on my backpack before practice on Saturday but it’s not there anymore.”

Ellie’s expression morphs, eyes narrowing in thought.

“Maybe you misplaced it,” Ellie offers. “Regardless, we practice tonight, I’ll help you look for it.”

Vi’s chest is tight, doesn’t want to admit that the stupid little bracelet means way more to her than she lets on. She only ever takes it off when she’s on the ice, won’t risk losing it when she’s got a target on her back and everyone plays rough.

It turns out to be futile when they enter the rink and she retraces her steps only to come up empty-handed.

This, she realizes, is the start of a very long week.

You should’ve seen it coming, really. Don’t know why you tried to psyche yourself into thinking that Vi could ever really want something with you when the world’s her fucking oyster and she can have anything she wants.

And you want to feel bad when she texts you intermittently through the days, checking in, offering to meet you, anything. But part of you is angry, unforgiving, tired.

You could’ve gone the rest of the school year unscathed if she’d just left you the fuck alone, but she pried and she tugged and she settled, and she made a home inside of you and you hate that you let her.

xxxx: i really miss you.

You block her number, block her social media, and even though finals are imminent, you now know that Vi’s been playing you for a fool this whole time and you cancel every last one of the sessions she’s booked.

You hope she’d get the message, figure that you’d caught onto her little game and aren’t willing to play anymore, but she doesn’t, that much is clear when you’re finishing up your two thirty session and find her stalking into the library just as the student leaves your table.

“Are we going to talk like adults or are you going to keep acting like—”

You don’t entertain a response, just pack your bag and sling the strap over your shoulder because the tears are bubbling and you don’t trust yourself not to break.

“Seriously?” Vi bites, hot on your heels as you throw all of your weight against the library doors and suck in the icy air.

“Leave me alone, Violet,” you warn.

“No, fuck that,” Vi spits, hand closing around your bicep. “You don’t— You don’t get to make me fall for you and then try to leave with no explanation.”

“Fuck you,” you whisper.

“What?”

“Fuck you, Violet,” you hiccup, yanking your arm from her grasp and putting as much distance as you can between the two of you. “I hope you and your friends got a good laugh out of it.”

Her face is screwing up and if she wasn’t confused before, she’s definitely confused now.

“Listen, I can’t fix something if I don’t know what’s wrong,” Vi argues. “I’m so fucking lost right now.”

You hate how believable she is. How the thought of hurting you seems so inconceivable to her. But that grainy video was clear enough.

“I hate you,” you murmur. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.”

Your name comes out broken, like you’ve wounded her. But you’ve officially folded your hand, won’t dare look her in her eyes because the both of you know it’s not true.

The championships roll in fast like a tide and neither your or Violet are ready for it.

You hear they’re live streaming the game, it’s the most anticipated one in the season. Piltover Stallions against the Zaun City Tigers. A part of you wishes you could support them, but then you’re starkly reminded that you’re a laughingstock amongst them.

The library on a Friday night is as quiet as can be, the hum of the fluorescents background to the voices in your head that are loud. You’re so engrossed in the study material that you don’t realize someone’s making a beeline for you until they’re knocking on the tabletop.

Ellie Williams stands before you in all her lean glory, hands sunk in her pockets as she stares down at you.

“Aren’t you supposed to be playing?” Your tone is clipped, disinterested because you believed that you and Ellie could be friends once upon a time.

“Coach sat me out because I socked one of those dickhead Zaun City Tigers in the mouth last weekend.”

You humph.

“Listen, we don’t have much time left, so I’m going to make this short and sweet,” she says. “Whatever happened between you and Vi is obviously personal and that typically would have nothing to do with me, but she can’t get her shit together because all she can think of is you.”

“And that’s my problem because...?”

“I know that Vi comes off a certain way, but she’s my best friend, like my best friend in this entire shithole of a world, and she’s—”

“No offense, Ellie,” you cut her off. “But if Vi sent you here to plead her case, I think that’s pathetic and—”

“Okay, well maybe if you shut up for three seconds and let me get to my point—”

You close your textbook and shove it in your backpack before standing to signal the end of the conversation.

“Whatever, I don’t have time for this.”

Ellie watches you walk away, takes in a deep breath because wow, you’re a bitch when you’re mad, but she absolutely gets why Vi is whipped.

“Violet’s in love with you.”

And that statement makes you freeze. Tears cloud your vision as your fists tighten around the strap of your bag.

“If you fuck someone else while you’re in love, I want nothing to do with it,” you bite.

Ellie’s brows shoot up.

“Whoa, what?”

“Violet fucked someone else as soon as things got tough, and if that’s the kind of person she is in love, I’d rather be alone,” you say stiffly.

“Respectfully, there’s no way Vi’s interested in getting pussy from anywhere else with how down bad that bitch is for you, but even if she was, I spend over seventy percent of my day with her and know that all she’s been doing the past two weeks is moping over the fact that you handed her ass to her on a silver platter.”

“There’s a video.”

Ellie’s brows must be mingling with her hairline right about now.

She reaches a palm out.

Show me.

You open the DM from sev.94, watching as Ellie’s expression morphs from morbid curiosity to disbelief, to a quiet rage.

She’s handing your phone back to you and grabbing you by your forearm.

“She’s fucking dead.”

When you enter the rink, the ice is tense.

It’s the middle of the second period and the game is tied 3—3.

Your eyes comb the playing area, can’t find Vi’s jersey number in the mix, but finally settle on her on the bench, shoulders terse and obviously on edge.

She doesn’t clock you yet, had given up on the idea of patching things up with you after your last conversation.

“Vi’s been missing her bracelet since practice on Saturday,” Ellie’d told you on the way there, then pulled out her phone to show you the photo she’d taken of Vi passed out in nothing but her boxers on the couch the night of the last game, fucked up and sad. “We went out for like an hour after the game, but that was it. Vi was too fucking in her head.”

The girl from the tunnel, the one who’d been taunting the two of you, you piece together, has been the one behind it all, stirring the pot.

Throughout the end of the second period and all through intermission, Vi doesn’t notice you, too busy trying to get off the fucking bench to survey the crowd.

It’s only during final puck drop in the third period that their coach finally gives in, smacks the back of her helmet and tells her to make him proud that she lifts her head up.

And there, front and center of the student section is you.

Her eyes are wide, body frozen in place as she tries to figure if you’re just a figment of her imagination, but then the horn’s blaring and she’s having to zone back in.

At this point in time, she doesn’t give a fuck if they win or lose, she just needs to get to you.

“Your little bitch looks cute tonight,” Sevika comments wolfishly. “Bet she tastes as good as she looks.”

Vi easily intercepts her pass, cuts between two players as she shuffles it along with practiced precision. She sends the rubber flying and the goalie narrowly misses block.

“Maybe if you played as good as you ran your mouth, you’d wipe the floor with my pissbaby team you big bitch,” Vi calls, resetting in their corner.

And perhaps you’re her good luck charm, the only thing she needed to see to get back into it, because Vi reignites. The adrenaline pumping through her veins fuels every shot, and soon the timer’s buzzing.

7—5.

The roar is deafening, but you’re all she sees in the ocean of cowbells and pompoms.

She barely inches forward before something arcs through the sky and lands before her feet.

Her bracelet.

You watch from the sidelines, the final confirmation as Vi picks up the loop and launches herself at Sevika.

The crowd cheers.

Fight, fight fight!

You don’t know how many swings Vi gets in, just know that she’s flashing you a bloody smile before she skates off the ice.

Ellie emerges from the locker room and you’re perking up.

Most, if not all, of Vi’s teammates had come and gone and you’d been waiting patiently, anxiously, for her to emerge since the end of the game nearly an hour ago.

“She’s the last one in there,” is all Ellie says before strolling off.

“What if...what if she doesn’t want to see me?” you ask hesitantly.

Ellie chuffs a little laugh, doesn’t bother turning as she calls from halfway down the hall, “Find out for yourself, sweetheart.”

Vi’s pulling a tank top over her head as soon as you enter and your cheeks bloom when you catch a split-second of her tits.

She glances up at you, nose bruising and lip busted.

“Hey,” she spares you, stuffing her uniform and skates into her gym bag.

“Hi,” you squeak.

A pregnant pause as you take her in, hesitant to close the distance between the two of you.

“Didn’t think you’d make it,” she observes.

And you don’t really have a bullshit response, know that you had every intention of staying as far away as humanly possible, so you settle on humming your agreement.

“Ellie told me,” she starts. “Why you lashed out on me.”

You swallow.

“And part of me gets it, I really do,” she continues, “but I also thought you had more faith in me than that.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “Fuck, Violet, I’m so sorry.”

“I told you to free up Friday night a few weeks ago,” she says, shuts her locker door and slumps down on the bench behind her. “I was going to tell you everything, officially ask you out, but then all that shit happened and it caught up to me.”

You take a step forward, and then another, and another until you’re standing in front of her.

“You have to know that I would never do something like to anyone, but especially not to you,” she says softly, taking your hands in hers.

“I know.”

She brushes her lips against your knuckles, pulls you in closer so that you’re standing between her legs.

“You’re right,” she continues, voice hoarse. “I don’t have a spotless track record, but I meant it when I said that I don’t give a shit about anyone else but you. I would give you anything I can if you let me.”

Your hands rest on her shoulders, her chin resting against the plush of your belly as you look down at her, speechless.

“That night, in the car, you said that you didn’t see what made you so different.”

“I don’t,” you admit.

Vi stands, caging you between strong arms as she drops her face into the hollow of your neck. You shiver when you feel her lips press to the skin there.

“We could start off with the obvious.”

One of her hands rests on the small of your back, pulls you flush so that the only things that separate you are the flimsy fabrics of your clothes. The other grabs a handful of your ass.

“I meant it when I said that you’re the kind of pretty that makes me wanna do bad things.”

You gulp, thighs squeezing as her lips part and she bites.

“Vi.”

“You got a giant brain,” she laughs breathily, fingers coming around the fiddle with your belt.

She kisses you, mouth hot and breath warm. It’s better the second time around, no doubt obscuring you from truly indulging.

“Pl—ease.”

“You’re kind and you’re selfless, and you’re my sweet, sweet little crybaby.”

“Violet,” you sigh breathlessly. “Listen to me.”

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Fuck me,” you pant. “Please.”

Violet nearly runs two red lights and whips into your neighborhood on two wheels.

The two of you are stumbling up the stairs and she’s spanking your ass on the last step as you fiddle with your keys and try to find the right one under the dim light of the complex hall.

Violet’s already unbuckling her belt as you turn the key, nearly taking you down as she shoves you inside and up against the front door.

“Maddie home?” she breathes.

“Out of town,” you answer quickly, kicking off your sneakers and pulling your sweater over your head. “Visiting her family upstate.”

“Perfect,” Vi hums. “I’ve been fantasizing about fucking you on your couch.”

“Oh–”

One of her rough hands comes to cup your tit over your bra, her tongue laving over the other while her free hand makes work of the clasp.

You walk her back to the couch, stand between her knees as she flops back into the seat. Her arms spread over the back as she settles in, legs widening to give you ample room to strip.

Her eyes never leave yours as you easily unclasp your bra and shimmy out of your jeans, leaving you in nothing but a tight pair of little lace panties and pink socks that has Vi wet.

“C’mere,” she rasps, pulling you to straddle her lap.

Her lips immediately latch onto one of your pebbled nipples, tongue hot as her hands wander.

“Fuck.”

“Tell me what you want,” she husks, biting down on the swell of your breast.

And having Violet this close, her touch excruciatingly featherlight and tempting, you wind tight.

“Want you inside of me,” you whimper, fingers fixing around her throat. “Please.”

“Yeah?” she eggs you on, lips brushing yours as her palms settle on your ass. “You want me to fuck you?”

You nod eagerly, hips rolling in her lap as her breath pitches.

“Vi.”

Her nickname puffing from your lips makes her crack. You’re wound in her arms, face in her neck as she peels your thong taut, away from your waiting cunt, and runs her fingertips from your slit down to your clit.

“F...F—uck,” you sigh.

“Holy shit,” she marvels, licking her lips when she easily glides through your folds. “You’re really fucking wet.”

You grind down against her, clothed clit catching against her belt buckle. The cool metal sends a jolt through your pussy and you’re moaning loud in her ear.

And Violet really wants to take her time with you, wants to milk the first time she ever gets to fuck you for as long as she humanly can, but she’s still fully dressed and you’re practically naked, perfect tits pressed to her chest and fat ass in the palm of her hand.

She shifts you further into her, so that she can peek over the arch of your back as she sinks her middle and ring finger three knuckles deep into your needy heat.

“Ah, fuck, Violet.” Your voice breaks as she starts pumping into you, your arousal coating her fingers and the sound of her easily slipping through your pussy reverberating through the living room. “Fuckfuckfuck.”

She kisses your jaw, litters them until she’s catching your lips and licking crudely into your mouth.

You cry out when her fingers slip out.

She’s leaning the both of you forward, easing you from her lap and onto the couch as she takes a moment to shuck her shirt off and pull her belt through the loops in one tug.

You watch her through it all, the way the trim muscles of her biceps and shoulders flex as she leans over you, takes you by the ankles and yanks you until your ass is half-hanging from the edge of the couch.

She kneels before you, strips you out of your thong.

You don’t miss the way she shoves the soiled fabric in her jeans pocket.

“Jesus,” she breathes, gaze fluttering between your eyes and your pussy. “You’re so fucking pretty, sweetheart.”

Your toes curl at the praise, fingers closing around where Vi’s holding your legs apart.

“You know how bad I’ve been wanting to taste your pussy?” she rasps, gathering the lewdest amount of spit to dribble onto your clit. When you don’t answer, she’s freeing a hand to slap your slit.

“Nnngh, fuck!”

“Think I’ve always wanted to have you,” she admits. “But it was that stupid party fucking party and that stupid fucking skirt. God, I would’ve fucked you in that skirt if you let me.”

“Yeah?” you whine breathlessly. “Tell me.”

She’s stuffing you again without warning, curling her fingers in a way that has your back arching off the couch.

“Would’ve bent you over that sink and made you watch yourself while I ate you out,” she says easily.

And it’s so fucking delicious, the nasty shit Vi’s saying to you while she pounds your aching heat; the way she finally gives in and tastes you, sucking on your clit like she’s starved and you’re the only thing that can sate her hunger.

Your fingers curl through her hair as you teeter dangerously over the edge, nails grazing her scalp and tugging when she hits the spot deep inside of you that has you keening for more.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ cum,” you choke. “Holy fuck.”

You feel Vi grin against your pussy, watch her with a slack jaw and half-lidded eyes because the sight of her between your legs in your moonlit living room has your insides twisting hard.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” she encourages you. “Cum all over my fingers. Wanna see you gush.”

“Hah, h—” Your thighs tighten around her head, fingers curled so hard in her hair, she moans in a mix of pleasure and pain. “Don’t stop, Vi, please.”

She moans into your cunt, savoring the heady taste of you as you practically ride her face.

The sound that fills the room is downright filthy, the sight that Vi beholds when she peeks from where she’s devouring you equally so. It’s picturesque, the way she has you writhing. A sheen of perspiration glistens over your flesh as she eats you out and it’s a perfect mix of her tongue and her fingers that send you soaring over the edge.

It’s a pitched whine that echos, the staccato of your shaky breathing that sings like music in her ears as you cum. And hard.

Her lashes flutter against the skin of your inner thighs as she peppers kisses there, her lips slick with spit and arousal.

“Fuck, babe,” she whispers. “That was...”

She can’t really choose a specific word, is just mind blown at the fact that she’d just made you cum so hard and so fast. It makes her tense and tingle, a smug wave of pride washing over her as she starts mouthing a trail from your belly, between the valley of your tits, up your throat, to finally press a chaste one on your lips.

You taste yourself first and foremost, but then you taste everything she’s ever wanted to say to you, all the unspoken words and the things she’d been too scared to share. Feel it in the way her hands are roaming, squeezing, caressing.

You breathe a disbelieving laugh, peck her lips again when she pulls away to brush your hair from your face.

“Vi—” Your breath hitches and your eyes glaze.

“I know, I know.”

You wrap your arms around her shoulders, legs hooking around the narrow of her waist as she bears your weight and picks up your boneless figure.

“I’m not done with you yet, sweetheart.”

The sun is warm against your skin when you wake up the following morning, your bedroom bathed in an orange glow.

You feel bone tired, body sore and muscles tight as your arm sweeps the other side of the bed in search of balmy skin, but instead you’re met with cool sheets and swelling dread.

You sit up quickly, find that you’re still naked, and take a moment to asses your bedroom. The bathroom door’s cracked, light off, and everything else is exactly where you left it.

Everything except Vi.

Oh, you think to yourself.

Almost don’t want to leave your room because your empty apartment will be confirmation enough that Vi really did get the last laugh in the end.

But you force yourself out of bed, shrug on an oversized t-shirt before finding the living room just as still as it had been before the two of you had barreled in the night before and she’d left her mark on you.

The only sign that the entire thing wasn’t just a figment of your imagination was Vi’s belt strewn haphazardly on the coffee table.

You feel hollow, almost numb, and even if a persistent part of your brain was consistently telling you that you should’ve known better, the tears well in your eyes because you’d really hoped Violet was different.

You knuckle the tears away angrily, mind racing far too fast to register the door quietly unlocking and the soft footfalls coming down the hall.

“Babe?”

Your gaze snaps up.

Like a vision, Vi’s standing in the doorway, a handful of plastic bags in tow. She’s wearing her clothes from last night and the puffs under her eyes make her a little worse for wear.

She sets the bags down on the eat-in, rounds the couch to take you by the shoulders.

“What’s wrong?” she worries. “What’s going on?”

You hiccup, crumpling in her arms because you were so fucking scared.

“Thought you left,” you croak.

Vi breathes a sigh of relief, blowing out a hollow laugh because her girl’s such a baby.

“You have jack shit in your fridge,” she teases lightly. “How am I supposed to make you a five star breakfast with greek yogurt and carrot sticks?”

You whine.

“Don’t care about breakfast,” your muffled voice sounds from where your face is pressed in her chest. “Just wanted to wake up to you.”

Violet groans.

“You’re so cute,” she laughs, kissing the top of your head.

“I wanna go back to bed,” you mutter petulantly, emotional whiplash making your eyes droop.

“You’re not gonna let me make you breakfast?” Vi picks, smoothing the hair from your face.

Your eyes catch the bracelet refastened around her wrist and you grin softly, taking her fingers to press a kiss to her palm.

She could combust, gaze gooey as she watches you watch her.

Yeah, Vi has a huge problem.

One that’s particular, and overarching; one she doesn’t think she can go without.

And frankly, she wouldn’t have it any other way.

#arcane #arcane fanfic #vi x reader #vi arcane #vi fanfic #vi smut #vi league of legends #wlw #sapphic #arcane x reader

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mywritersmind · 2 months ago

Note

could you kimi antonelli x famous movie star reader! who is at the met gala and kimi is just thirsting over how good she looks. it can be like set when they do those vogue grwms of he is at the paddock watching the livestream?

PRETTY IN PINK - KA12

listen up : No warnings!! thanks for the request it’s not exactly the vogue grwm but i hope u still like it!! supportive kimi 4L!

words : 555

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Everyone in the paddock knows Kimi Antonelli. Youngest F1 driver on the grid, superstar in the making, italian mercedes driver, but most importantly: He is Y/n L/n’s boyfriend.

It’s not something people push onto him, it’s something he brings up at any chance he gets. The first time she came to the paddock, photos went viral of Kimi and Y/n, news spreading fast of the up and coming movie star and formula one prodigy.

Now, Kimi is sitting in his garage, a camera on him that he doesn’t even notice. He’s busy staring at his phone.

“Kimi.” The camera man laughs, “What’cha watching?” The curly haired boy looks up in surprise, smiling when he registers his words.

“My girlfriend!” He turns his phone to show him, the scene switching to a close up of Y/n’s outfit. He moves his phone back in front of him, smiling genuinely as if his girlfriend was in front of him.

She’s beautiful, a vision in pink and something Kimi is jealous that everyone else gets to see in person while he’s stuck around cars. Sure, the things he races are incredible… but to Kimi, his girlfriend can make his heart race just as fast as his car.

“It’s the Met Gala today, her first one.” He beams, his eyes locked on his screen while he talks.

“That’s awfully impressive-” The man is quickly cut off by Kimi.

“Sh sh! She’s talking!” He waves his hands as the man shuts up. Everyone around them is focused on the boy now, the screens all showing his face now.

Y/n smiles politely at the interviewer, “Y/n!” The woman says, “You look stunning, tell us about your look!” She goes, going into every detail that Kimi already knows because she’s been excited about this for months.

“You’re very supportive.” The camera man says to Kimi.

“Of course I am, I love her. She’s at every race she can be but- I definitely understand missing one for the biggest fashion night of the year… at least, that’s what she says. I don’t know anything about fashion.” He watches her push her hair behind her ear, the girl laughing elegantly.

The question shifts and Kimi focuses back on her words, “I’d like to say hi to my lovely boyfriend who I know is watching instead of preparing for his race.” She holds the microphone high, looking directly into the camera. “Kimi, get into that car and fucking kick ass.”

Kimi laughs, she’s definitely not supposed to swear but she’s never been one for following rules. “Oh!” She turns back just before she’s about to go, grabbing the microphone again, “Don’t break a tooth kissing the screen, K.” and then she winks, being ushered back up the stairs without another look.

He laughs again, and so does the rest of the paddock. Kimi sets his phone down, “I guess I'll wait to kiss her when she’s actually in front of me.” The camera zooms out, showing him sigh in his chair.

He slips his phone into his pocket, his fingers tingling in anticipation because all he wants to do is talk to her. He smiles while walking farther into the garage, the image of his girlfriend in pink fresh in his memory and motivating for the day ahead.

#formula 1 fanfic #fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #kimi antonelli fan fic #kimi antonelli fic #kimi antonelli fluff #kimi antonelli x reader

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ijustmissyouraccenths · 6 months ago

Text

It’s You

Where Y/N’s chaotic energy clashes with her grumpy, tattooed neighbor, her mission to get on his good side turns into stolen glances, quiet moments, and a connection she never expected.

Au Harry

Word count: 13,395

Content warning: Cursing, smut, alcohol.

The warm glow of string lights illuminated Y/N’s cozy Los Angeles apartment as the sound of laughter filled the air. The small space was a mix of bohemian chic and personal touches—a gallery wall of polaroids, a cluttered coffee table covered with open bags of snacks, and a few empty wine bottles standing like trophies from their earlier indulgence.

Y/N flopped back onto the couch, a glass of red wine in hand, her cheeks flushed from both the alcohol and nonstop giggling. Her two best friends, Harper and Lila, sat cross-legged on the floor, snacking on popcorn and chips, fully embracing the childlike joy of their adult sleepover.

“This feels so right,” Y/N said, her voice slightly tipsy. “Why don’t we do this more often?”

“Because we’re responsible adults now, remember?” Harper teased, adjusting her oversized hoodie. “Nine-to-five, bills, and pretending we know what we’re doing.”

“Speak for yourself,” Lila quipped, popping a gummy bear into her mouth. “I’m thriving in my chaos era.”

Y/N snorted, and Harper rolled her eyes with an affectionate grin. Lila was the wild card of the group, always coming up with unpredictable ideas. And she didn’t disappoint tonight.

“You know what we should do?” Lila suddenly said, sitting up straighter. “Karaoke.”

“Yes!” Harper exclaimed, clapping her hands. “Oh my God, yes. Do you still have that mic we bought for New Year’s Eve?”

Y/N groaned dramatically, but her smile betrayed her fake reluctance. “You mean the mic that nearly got us evicted? Of course, I still have it.”

Lila grinned wickedly. “Perfect. Let’s wake up the entire building with our stunning renditions of 2000s throwbacks.”

Without waiting for further approval, Lila dashed to the hall closet and pulled out the karaoke mic, triumphantly waving it in the air. Harper grabbed her phone, already scrolling through a playlist.

“You’re starting,” Harper declared, pointing the mic at Y/N.

“What? No!” Y/N laughed, holding her hands up defensively. “I’m not ready!”

“Too bad,” Lila said, shoving the mic into Y/N’s hands. “You can’t escape destiny. Pick your song.”

Y/N sighed theatrically before smirking. “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you when your ears bleed.”

As Y/N queued up Since U Been Gone by Kelly Clarkson, the room erupted in cheers. The first few notes played, and soon enough, Y/N was belting out the lyrics with unrestrained enthusiasm, her friends joining in for the chorus. It didn’t matter that they were slightly off-key; in that moment, they were superstars in their own private concert.

Wine glasses were forgotten, snacks spilled, and every lyric was sung at full volume. It was the kind of night they’d remember for years—a reminder that no matter how grown-up they pretended to be, some things never lost their magic.

The girls were in full swing, harmonizing (poorly) to “I Want It That Way” by the Backstreet Boys. Lila stood on the couch holding the mic as if she were performing at Madison Square Garden, while Harper played air guitar with a half-empty wine bottle. Y/N was doubled over in laughter, her cheeks aching from smiling so much.

Just as they hit the iconic, “Tell me why—” part, a loud knock echoed through the apartment, cutting through their drunken fun like a record scratch. The girls froze, their voices trailing off mid-note. Y/N straightened up, exchanging wide-eyed looks with Harper and Lila.

“Uh… did someone order pizza?” Lila whispered, her voice unsure.

“Nope,” Y/N said, setting her wine glass on the coffee table. “Stay here. I’ll get it.”

With a mix of nerves and annoyance, Y/N padded to the door. She peered through the peephole and groaned. It was her new neighbor, Harry. She’d only exchanged a polite “hello” with him in passing, but he’d already struck her as the brooding, grumpy type.

Bracing herself, she opened the door.

There he stood: tall, disheveled hair pushed back in a lazy attempt at taming it, wearing a faded gray hoodie and black joggers. His sharp green eyes narrowed as he took in her flushed face and the muffled chaos behind her.

“Good evening,” he started, his British accent dripping with sarcasm. “I just wanted to say how much I’ve been enjoying your concert tonight. It’s like living next door to a live music venue. Only… worse.”

Y/N blinked, momentarily stunned by his dry humor. “Oh. Uh, sorry about that. We didn’t realize how loud we were being.”

Harry crossed his arms, leaning casually against the doorframe. “I figured. Thought I’d come over before I lost the ability to hear entirely.”

From behind her, Lila’s voice chimed in drunkenly. “Is it a noise complaint? Tell him to sing with us!”

Y/N turned and shot Lila a glare. Harper muffled a laugh.

Y/N sighed and looked back at Harry. “We’ll keep it down. Promise.”

He tilted his head, lips twitching into the faintest smirk, though his tone remained gruff. “Appreciated. Just… try not to turn it into a full-on festival.”

With that, he turned to leave, but Y/N couldn’t help herself. “You know, you could’ve just sent a passive-aggressive text or something.”

Harry glanced back over his shoulder, one brow arched. “I thought this had more impact.”

And then he was gone.

Y/N closed the door, leaning her forehead against it for a moment. When she turned around, Lila and Harper were staring at her like she’d just walked off the set of a rom-com.

“Um, who was that?” Lila asked, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Harry. My new neighbor,” Y/N replied, walking back to the couch.

“And Mr. Grumpy Pants is cute,” Harper added, grinning.

Y/N rolled her eyes, picking up her wine glass. “Yeah, yeah. He’s cute and cranky. Now can we please move on before you two start planning a love story?”

But the mischievous glint in her friends’ eyes told her they weren’t letting this go anytime soon.

The karaoke mic had been put away, and the girls now lounged in the cozy living room, passing a bottle of wine between them. The earlier buzz of excitement had mellowed, but the energy was still warm and lively. Lila was sprawled on the couch with her legs dangling over Harper’s lap, while Y/N sat cross-legged on the floor, sipping from her glass.

“I mean, let’s just talk about him for a second,” Lila began, her voice dramatic. “The mopey neighbor with the accent? And did you see those tattoos? They were peeking out, Y/N. He’s giving mysterious bad boy energy.”

Y/N groaned, her cheeks warming instantly. “Oh my God, Lila. He was literally just here to tell us to shut up.”

“Doesn’t mean he’s not hot,” Harper chimed in, grinning. “He has that whole ‘I’m grumpy but secretly charming’ vibe. Like, did you see the way he smirked when he made that little joke?”

Y/N tried to hide her flustered reaction by taking another sip of wine, but she couldn’t stop the blush creeping up her neck. She’d noticed too—his smirk, his sharp jawline, the tattoos curling up his forearm, just barely visible under his hoodie sleeves. She’d noticed everything.

“I mean, he’s okay, I guess,” Y/N mumbled, keeping her tone nonchalant.

“Okay?” Lila shot up, nearly spilling her wine. “You’re lying. You’re the worst liar ever.”

“Shut up,” Y/N said, laughing as she buried her face in her hands. “Fine, he’s cute. So what? He’s also my neighbor, and he’s probably annoyed with me forever now.”

“He’s not annoyed,” Harper said, nudging her with her foot. “If he were, he wouldn’t have made the effort to come over himself. He would’ve sent an email to management or something. He wanted an excuse to see you.”

“Right,” Y/N said, rolling her eyes. “Because nothing’s more attractive than a drunk girl singing Backstreet Boys at full volume.”

“Exactly!” Lila exclaimed, throwing her arms in the air. “You’re memorable. He’ll never forget you now.”

Y/N shook her head, laughing despite herself. “You two are ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” Harper said, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “But I bet he thinks you’re cute too.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed deeper, and she quickly changed the subject. But as the night went on, she couldn’t shake the image of Harry standing in her doorway, his messy hair, his smirk, and those tattoos. Maybe her friends weren’t entirely wrong.

The morning sunlight filtered through the blinds of Y/N’s apartment, illuminating the chaos left behind from the night before. Wine glasses, half-eaten snacks, and the abandoned karaoke mic were scattered around the living room. The girls were tangled up in blankets, sprawled across the couch and the floor like a scene from a sitcom.

Y/N was the first to stir, groaning as she rubbed her eyes and sat up. Harper was curled up on the couch with a throw pillow over her head, while Lila lay on the floor in a makeshift nest of cushions, one arm dramatically draped over her face.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Y/N teased, nudging Lila with her foot.

Lila groaned. “Why are you awake? It’s illegal to be this alive right now.”

Harper peeked out from under her pillow, her voice muffled. “What time is it? Do we even have the energy to exist today?”

“Barely,” Y/N replied, standing and stretching. “But I’m starving, so I’m making breakfast. Come help me.”

Harper and Lila grumbled but eventually dragged themselves up and into the kitchen, where Y/N was already cracking eggs into a bowl. Together, they whipped up a chaotic but delicious breakfast of scrambled eggs, toast, bacon, and a mountain of coffee.

The girls sat around the small dining table, eating in comfortable silence at first. Then Lila broke the quiet with a wicked grin.

“So… Harry.”

“Oh my God,” Y/N groaned, covering her face. “Not again.”

“Listen, I was just thinking,” Lila said, smirking. “Next time we do this, we should make it even louder. Really make him come back over.”

Harper snorted into her coffee. “Yes! Like, full-blown karaoke night but with amps and disco lights.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t stop the smile tugging at her lips. “You two are the worst.”

“But you love us,” Harper said, nudging her with an elbow.

After breakfast, the girls cleaned up and packed their things before heading out. Harper hugged Y/N tightly. “We definitely need to do this again.”

Lila nodded enthusiastically. “Louder next time. You know, for research purposes.”

Y/N shook her head, laughing as she walked them to the door. “You’re both insane, but I love you. Drive safe.”

Once they were gone, Y/N flopped onto the couch and opened their group chat. Almost immediately, messages started flooding in.

Lila: Next sleepover, let’s bring a fog machine. If Harry shows up, we’ll just act like it’s a concert.

Harper: Or we could rent a spotlight. Make it an event

Y/N: You guys are unbelievable. No more wine for you next time.

Lila: Admit it, you want him to show up again.

Y/N: …maybe.

Harper: KNEW IT.

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh at her phone, her cheeks warming yet again. As ridiculous as her friends were, they weren’t entirely wrong.

The day passed in a blur of cleaning and tidying as Y/N tried to get her apartment back to its usual organized state. By the time the sun started to dip low in the sky, the chaos from the night before had been erased, leaving her apartment looking like a picture of calm domesticity. Feeling accomplished, Y/N decided to check her mailbox before settling in for a quiet evening.

She padded down to the mailroom in her building, dressed in a casual but presentable outfit—high-waisted jeans and a simple white top. As she rifled through the usual junk mail and a couple of bills, the sound of someone entering the room caught her attention.

Glancing to the side, she saw Harry walking in, his hoodie replaced by a fitted black t-shirt and dark jeans. His tattoos were on full display now—intricate designs that wound up his forearm and disappeared under the sleeve of his shirt. He barely glanced at her as he moved to his mailbox, unlocking it with practiced ease.

Y/N swallowed her nerves and decided to seize the moment. It was better to make a proper introduction now than to let the awkwardness from last night linger. Turning slightly toward him, she cleared her throat.

“Hey, neighbor,” she began, keeping her tone light. “Figured I should introduce myself officially now that I’m not, you know, half-drunk and screaming karaoke at midnight. I’m Y/N.”

Harry turned his head, his green eyes locking onto hers. His expression was neutral, almost unreadable, as he gave her a quick once-over. “Harry,” he said simply, his voice low and clipped.

Y/N bit back a grin, determined not to let his gruff demeanor throw her off. “Nice to meet you, Harry. Sorry again about last night. I promise we don’t usually host impromptu concerts. Unless, of course, you’re a fan of boy band throwbacks.”

Harry let out a soft exhale that could’ve been a laugh—or just a sigh. “I’ll survive.”

Encouraged by the hint of amusement, Y/N decided to keep the conversation going. “You know, if you’re ever feeling nostalgic, you’re welcome to join us. We could use a fourth member for our extremely off-key girl group.”

Harry’s lips twitched slightly, but his expression remained mostly stoic. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Y/N tilted her head, giving him a mock-serious look. “You’re really hard to read, you know that? Most people at least chuckle at my jokes.”

Harry glanced at her, his gaze steady and calm. “Maybe I’m just not most people.”

For a moment, Y/N didn’t know how to respond. There was something almost challenging in his tone, but it wasn’t harsh. If anything, it piqued her curiosity even more.

“Well, Harry,” she said finally, flashing him a bright smile. “Challenge accepted. I’ll make you laugh one of these days.”

He didn’t respond right away, instead closing his mailbox and tucking the letters under his arm. As he moved to leave, he paused, looking over his shoulder.

“We’ll see about that.”

And just like that, he was gone, leaving Y/N standing there with her stack of mail and a strange mix of frustration and intrigue swirling in her chest. One thing was for sure—Harry might be grumpy, but he was far from boring.

As soon as Y/N got back to her apartment, she tossed her mail onto the counter and grabbed her phone, already smirking to herself. She opened the group chat with Harper and Lila, her fingers flying across the keyboard.

Y/N:

Guess who I just ran into in the mailroom?

It didn’t take long for her phone to buzz with replies.

Lila:

Was it… oh, I don’t know… Mr. Grumpy Hot Neighbor?

Harper:

Harry! Tell us everything right now.

Y/N rolled her eyes fondly, typing out her reply.

Y/N:

Yes, it was Harry. I introduced myself properly. You know, as a fully functional adult and not a drunken mess.

Lila:

And? Did he swoon? Did he drop all his mail and propose on the spot?

Harper:

Or at least crack a smile?

Y/N sighed and leaned back against the counter, smirking to herself as she typed.

Y/N:

Absolutely not. He was… well, Harry. Polite but distant. He might’ve almost smiled, but I can’t be sure.

Lila:

Ugh, he’s really sticking to the mysterious moody thing. It’s so hot. What did you say to him?

Y/N:

I told him he was hard to read and said I’d make him laugh one day.

Harper:

Bold move, I love it. What did he say?

Y/N:

He said, ‘We’ll see about that.’

Lila:

STOP. That’s basically flirting.

Harper:

Right? That’s flirty! Subtle, broody flirting.

Y/N:

You two are ridiculous. It wasn’t flirting. He’s just… like that.

Lila:

Y/N, this is your rom-com moment, and you’re living in denial. Grumpy guy + sunshine girl is literally a trope for a reason.

Harper:

Exactly. Next step: get him to join us for karaoke.

Y/N:

Oh, sure, because he definitely seems like the kind of guy who wants to sing ‘Toxic’ with us.

Lila:

You never know. Maybe he has a secret karaoke voice that’ll blow us all away.

Y/N laughed to herself, shaking her head. Her friends were relentless, but she couldn’t deny that their enthusiasm made her smile. As much as she tried to brush off the encounter, she couldn’t stop replaying it in her head—the way Harry’s green eyes lingered just a second too long, the faintest hint of a smirk on his lips.

It had been a couple of weeks since Y/N’s encounter with Harry in the mailroom, and she’d managed to push him to the back of her mind. Between work, friends, and her usual routine, she hadn’t bumped into him in the halls or around the building. Life went on, and the memory of his grumpy smirk became just another amusing anecdote to share with Harper and Lila.

Until one night.

Y/N was jolted awake by the blaring sound of the fire alarm. Disoriented and groggy, she stumbled out of bed and grabbed a sweatshirt, pulling it over her pajama tank top. She shoved her feet into sneakers, grabbed her phone, and headed for the door. The hallway was chaotic, filled with neighbors in various states of sleepiness and confusion, all heading for the exits.

Once outside, Y/N joined the crowd of residents gathering on the sidewalk. The chilly night air bit at her skin, and she crossed her arms to keep warm. She craned her neck, scanning the crowd to see if there was anyone she knew—until her eyes landed on a familiar figure leaning against a lamppost.

It was Harry. His hair was a mess, sticking out in every direction, and he wore a hoodie over loose sweatpants. He looked like he’d just rolled out of bed, which, to be fair, he probably had. His expression was pure exhaustion, and he rubbed the back of his neck as he yawned.

Y/N didn’t hesitate. She made her way over, her footsteps crunching on the gravel. “Hey, neighbor,” she said, coming to a stop next to him.

Harry turned his head, his green eyes narrowing slightly as he registered her. “Y/N,” he said, his voice rough from sleep. “This is… unexpected.” He waved his hand around.

She grinned, shifting her weight to one foot. “Yeah, I was thinking the same thing. But hey, at least it’s the fire alarms being obnoxiously loud this time and not me.”

Harry’s lips twitched, and for a second, she thought she’d finally gotten him to crack a smile. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?” he asked dryly.

“Never,” Y/N replied, a teasing lilt in her voice. “It’s too good of a story.”

Harry exhaled softly, almost like a laugh, and shook his head. “Fair enough.”

They stood in silence for a moment, watching as a fire truck pulled up and a couple of firefighters headed inside to investigate. The air was crisp and carried a faint chill, but Y/N barely noticed. She glanced at Harry out of the corner of her eye.

“Do you think it’s an actual fire?” she asked.

“Doubt it,” he said, crossing his arms. “Probably just someone burning their midnight snack.”

“Sounds like a riveting Saturday night,” Y/N joked, earning another small exhale from him.

“Tell me about it,” he muttered, glancing down at her. His gaze lingered for a moment, and Y/N could feel her cheeks warm, though she tried to play it cool.

“Well,” she said, rocking back on her heels. “If it turns out to be a drill, I’m demanding a formal apology from management for ruining my beauty sleep.”

Harry’s lips quirked, just enough for her to notice. “I’m sure they’ll get right on that.”

For the first time, standing outside in the middle of the night with Harry didn’t feel awkward or forced. It was easy, natural even, despite his perpetually tired and broody demeanor. Maybe it was the ridiculousness of the situation, or maybe her persistence was finally wearing him down.

Before either of them could say more, a firefighter emerged from the building, shouting to the crowd that it was a false alarm. People groaned, some laughing as they shuffled back toward the entrance.

Harry pushed off the lamppost and looked at Y/N. “Guess that’s our cue.”

“Looks like it,” she said. “Catch you later, Harry.”

He nodded, his expression unreadable but not unkind. “Night, Y/N.”

As she headed back to her apartment, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a small spark of satisfaction. Sure, he was still grumpy, but she was getting closer to breaking through. And honestly, she didn’t mind the challenge.

By the time Y/N woke up the next morning, she had already drafted the text she knew Harper and Lila would demand. Still half-asleep, she grabbed her phone and opened their group chat, typing out the full story in detail.

Y/N:

So… guess who I bumped into at 3 a.m. when the fire alarm went off?

It didn’t take long for her phone to buzz with rapid-fire responses.

Harper:

Oh my God. HARRY?

Lila:

Please tell me you were both standing there in your PJs like the meet-cute of the century.

Y/N:

No, it wasn’t a meet-cute. We just talked. Very normal. Nothing groundbreaking.

Harper:

What did you talk about?

Y/N:

I made a joke about how this time it wasn’t me being loud, it was the fire alarm.

Lila:

YES. Classic Y/N. What did he say?

Y/N:

He just… smirked. Or sighed. I’m honestly not sure anymore. He’s so hard to read.

Harper:

Smirking counts as flirting. I’m logging it.

Lila:

Definitely flirting. He wouldn’t have smirked if he wasn’t secretly interested. Men don’t waste smirks on people they don’t like.

Y/N:

Or he was just tired and didn’t care enough to argue.

Harper:

Nope. Not buying it. He’s interested. He’s just grumpy interested.

Lila:

Exactly! Brooding types like him don’t wear their feelings on their sleeves, but trust me, he’s intrigued. You just need to keep working on him.

Y/N rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t help but smile.

Y/N:

You two are absolutely ridiculous. We talked for five minutes, tops. Nothing more, nothing less.

Harper:

Sure, keep telling yourself that.

Lila:

Face it, Y/N. This is your slow-burn romance, and we are here for it. We’re already planning the playlist for your wedding.

Y/N:

Oh my God. I can’t with you two.

Despite her protests, Y/N couldn’t stop replaying the interaction in her mind—the way his eyes lingered on her, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. Harper and Lila were reading too much into it… weren’t they?

Shaking her head, Y/N tossed her phone onto the couch. She had no intention of indulging their wild theories. But deep down, a small, stubborn part of her couldn’t help but wonder.

Y/N lay in bed, staring at the faint shadows cast by her bedside lamp on the ceiling. The city sounds outside her window were faint but constant—cars in the distance, the occasional murmur of voices. She’d been tossing and turning for what felt like hours, her brain refusing to shut off.

It didn’t help that every time she closed her eyes, all she could think about was Harry.

It wasn’t intentional, or at least that’s what she told herself. She’d been trying to push him out of her mind all day, but now, in the stillness of the night, his image seemed to surface unbidden. The way his messy hair stuck out when she’d seen him by the mailboxes. The tattoos peeking out from under his shirt sleeves, the intricate designs winding across his arms like a story she desperately wanted to read.

And then there was his face—sharp jawline, green eyes that seemed to pierce through her defenses, and that faint smirk he’d given her last night when she’d cracked her fire alarm joke. It wasn’t a full smile, but it had been enough to spark something in her. Something she couldn’t quite shake.

She groaned, rolling onto her side and burying her face in her pillow. “Get a grip,” she muttered to herself.

But it was no use. She kept thinking about the way his voice sounded—low, calm, almost soothing in its quiet confidence. The way he seemed perpetually unimpressed but not unkind, like he was holding back a part of himself from the world. And the way, despite all that grumpiness, she felt drawn to him.

The worst part was that she barely even knew him. A few brief encounters, a handful of words exchanged—it wasn’t enough to warrant this level of overthinking. And yet, here she was, wide awake at 2 a.m., her thoughts spinning in circles around a guy who probably wasn’t thinking about her at all.

She sighed, flipping onto her back again and staring at the ceiling. “You’re losing it, Y/N,” she whispered into the dark.

But no matter how hard she tried to distract herself—counting sheep, replaying her favorite movie in her head, anything—her mind kept drifting back to Harry. How frustratingly attractive he was. How much she wanted to figure him out. And how, for reasons she couldn’t explain, she kind of liked the challenge.

The next afternoon, Y/N tied her apron around her waist and stepped onto the floor of the bustling Italian restaurant where she worked. The warm scent of garlic, fresh basil, and baking bread filled the air as the sounds of clinking silverware and cheerful conversations hummed around her. It was her favorite kind of shift—steady but not overwhelming, just busy enough to keep her energized.

She loved being a server. There was something satisfying about knowing the menu by heart, from the way the chef perfectly folded the handmade ravioli to the rich, velvety tiramisu that always left customers raving. She enjoyed the rhythm of it all: taking orders, making guests laugh, weaving between tables like she was part of a well-rehearsed dance.

By the time her shift ended, the sun was low in the sky, casting a soft golden glow over the city streets. Y/N slipped her bag over her shoulder, said goodbye to her coworkers, and began her short walk home.

The evening was warm, the kind of weather that made her glad she’d chosen this neighborhood to live in. She liked the convenience of being close to work, the charm of the old brick buildings, and the occasional vendor selling flowers or roasted nuts on the sidewalk.

But as she rounded the last corner toward her apartment building, the sky darkened suddenly. Heavy clouds rolled in overhead, and before she could process what was happening, the first fat drops of rain began to fall.

“Seriously?” Y/N muttered, looking up at the sky as if it might offer her an explanation. Within seconds, the light drizzle turned into a full-on downpour. She didn’t have an umbrella, of course—it had been sunny when she left for work—and now she was too far from the restaurant to go back.

She quickened her pace, pulling her bag closer to her body to shield it from the rain. Her hair was already plastered to her forehead, and her clothes clung to her as the rain soaked through. She groaned in frustration but couldn’t help laughing at the ridiculousness of it all.

By the time her apartment building came into view, she was drenched. She jogged the last stretch, her sneakers splashing in puddles, and darted toward the lobby entrance. As she reached for the door, it opened from the inside—and there, standing in the doorway, was Harry.

Of course, it was Harry.

He was holding a takeout bag in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. His green eyes widened slightly when he saw her, taking in her rain-soaked appearance.

“Rough night?” he asked, his voice dry but laced with faint amusement.

Y/N brushed a wet strand of hair out of her face, shaking water from her arms. “You could say that. Apparently, the weather decided I needed a shower.”

Harry stepped back, holding the door open for her. “You’re dripping everywhere.”

“Thanks for the observation,” Y/N said with a wry smile as she stepped inside, water pooling around her feet. “I hadn’t noticed.”

He smirked, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer than necessary before he nodded toward the elevators. “You should probably get upstairs before you flood the lobby.”

“Wow, you’re so thoughtful,” she teased, her sarcasm barely masking the warmth in her voice.

Harry didn’t reply, but his lips twitched like he was holding back a comment. He stepped aside, letting her pass, and as Y/N headed toward the elevator, she couldn’t help but glance over her shoulder. He was still standing by the door, his attention now on the rain outside, but she could’ve sworn she caught him sneaking a glance at her as she walked away.

Y/N stepped into her apartment, water dripping onto the floor as she kicked off her soaked sneakers. She stripped off her rain-soaked clothes and tossed them into the laundry basket before heading straight to the bathroom. The hot water of the shower was bliss, washing away the chill of the rain and the lingering frustration of getting caught in it. By the time she stepped out, wrapped in a fluffy towel, her skin was warm and her mind was clearer.

Slipping into her favorite pair of soft pajamas—shorts and an oversized t-shirt—she towel-dried her hair and grabbed her phone from the counter. She hadn’t checked it since leaving work, and the screen lit up with a few notifications. Most were unimportant, but one text made her freeze.

Unknown Number:

Hey, it’s Harry. Got your number from the resident book. Hope that’s okay. I, uh, ordered way too much food. If you’re not busy and don’t mind eating with someone who’s terrible at small talk, you’re welcome to join me.

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. Harry had texted her? She stared at the message, rereading it a couple of times, unsure what to make of it. The grumpy, brooding neighbor had gone out of his way to invite her over for dinner?

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard as she thought about what to say. She could easily come up with an excuse, blame the rain, or even politely decline. But something about his message—how he’d gone through the trouble of looking up her number and even made a self-deprecating joke—made her hesitate.

Finally, she started typing.

Y/N:

Hey! I’m surprised you didn’t mention how loud I was running through the lobby earlier. I’d love to join, but fair warning: I’m in my pajamas. I’ll bring wine to make up for it.

She hit send before she could second-guess herself and immediately got up to rummage through her small wine rack. She picked out a bottle of red, grabbed her favorite corkscrew, and texted him again.

Y/N:

Give me five minutes to make myself look less like a wet dog.

His response came almost instantly.

Harry:

I wouldn’t have said anything about the lobby, but now that you’ve brought it up… five minutes works. Apartment 4D.

Y/N laughed softly, shaking her head. She quickly towel-dried her hair a little more, tossed it into a loose bun, and grabbed the wine. As she stood by her door, nerves fluttered in her stomach, but she pushed them aside.

Whatever this was—neighborly dinner, an olive branch, or something else—she was curious enough to find out.

Y/N stepped out of her apartment, the bottle of wine in hand, and made her way to the elevator. As she descended a floor, her nerves started to tingle, though she shook them off. It wasn’t a big deal. It was just dinner with her neighbor. Her very attractive, grumpy neighbor with tattoos and a British accent. Nothing to overthink at all.

When she reached Harry’s door, she raised her hand to knock—but before she could, the door swung open. Harry stood there, leaning casually against the frame, one eyebrow raised.

“I could hear you coming down the hall,” he said, his tone dry but his lips twitching into a faint smirk. “Subtlety isn’t your strong suit, is it?”

Y/N let out a laugh, rolling her eyes. “I’ll take that as your way of saying you’re happy to see me.”

“Something like that,” he replied, stepping aside to let her in.

Y/N walked in, glancing around as she entered. Harry’s apartment was similar in layout to hers but had an entirely different vibe. The walls were painted a deep, moody gray, with shelves lined with books, records, and a few small plants that looked suspiciously well cared for. A guitar rested in the corner by the window, and the faint smell of takeout wafted from the small kitchen.

“Nice place,” she said, setting the wine on the counter. “Very… broody chic. Fits you.”

Harry arched a brow as he closed the door. “Broody chic? Is that a compliment?”

“Depends how you take it,” Y/N shot back with a grin.

He shook his head, muttering something under his breath as he moved toward the kitchen. “Hope you’re hungry. I may have overestimated how much I can eat on my own.”

She followed him, glancing at the spread on the counter. There were containers of what looked like Thai food—pad thai, green curry, fried rice, and spring rolls. Definitely enough for two, if not three.

“You weren’t kidding,” she said, grabbing a spring roll. “Planning on feeding the whole building?”

“Only the loudest resident,” he said, smirking again.

She gave him a playful glare before grabbing plates from the counter and handing him one. “Lucky for you, I came prepared,” she said, holding up the wine. “This should balance things out.”

As they settled at the small table, Y/N couldn’t help but notice how relaxed Harry seemed. He wasn’t smiling, not really, but there was something softer about him tonight. Less guarded. And as they started eating, trading sarcastic comments and occasional small talk, she realized she didn’t mind the challenge of cracking through his tough exterior one bit.

Harry handed Y/N two wine glasses, their fingers brushing briefly as she took them. He didn’t say anything, but his lips moved slightly as if he was trying not to smirk. Y/N poured the wine, filling each glass just enough before sliding one over to him.

Meanwhile, he plated the food, carefully dividing the dishes between two plates. His movements were deliberate, almost methodical, and Y/N found herself watching him for a moment before realizing what she was doing. Shaking herself out of it, she grabbed her glass and followed him to the bar counter.

They sat side by side, the warm glow of the pendant light above them casting a cozy atmosphere. Y/N took a sip of her wine, her gaze flicking to Harry as he started eating in silence.

For a while, she stayed quiet, enjoying the food and the unspoken rhythm of their shared meal. But her curiosity got the better of her. Setting her glass down, she turned toward him slightly, resting her elbow on the counter.

“So,” she began, her tone light but probing, “why are you always so grumpy?”

Harry paused mid-bite, his fork hovering over his plate as he looked at her. His green eyes narrowed slightly, not in anger but as if he were trying to decide how serious she was.

“Grumpy?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, grumpy,” she said, her lips curving into a teasing smile. “You know, the whole emo, barely-smiling, ‘I don’t have time for your nonsense’ vibe you’ve got going on. Is it like… your thing?”

Harry leaned back slightly, taking a slow sip of his wine as he considered her question. “Maybe I’m not grumpy,” he said finally, his voice calm. “Maybe you’re just too… cheerful.”

“Cheerful?” she echoed, laughing softly. “That’s your explanation? I’m cheerful, so that automatically makes you grumpy?”

“Something like that,” he said, his lips quirking into the faintest smirk.

Y/N rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help smiling. “You’re deflecting.”

He raised his glass, meeting her gaze over the rim as he took another sip. “Maybe.”

“Come on,” she pressed, leaning in slightly. “There’s got to be a reason. I mean, you’re not actuallymiserable all the time, are you?”

Harry sighed, setting his glass down and leaning his forearms on the counter. For a moment, he seemed to be debating whether or not to answer. Finally, he shrugged.

“I’m not grumpy,” he said, his voice quieter. “I just… don’t see the point in pretending all the time. People put on this front like everything’s great, but most of the time, it’s not. I’m just… honest about it.”

Y/N tilted her head, studying him. There was something in his tone—something unspoken but heavy, like he was revealing more than he intended.

“Well,” she said softly, “for what it’s worth, I don’t think being happy is the same as pretending. And I’m not pretending.”

Harry glanced at her, his expression unreadable. “I noticed,” he said simply.

Her cheeks warmed, and for a moment, they sat in silence, the weight of the conversation settling between them. Then Y/N picked up her glass and raised it toward him.

“To being honest,” she said with a small smile.

Harry’s eyes flicked to her glass before he picked up his own, clinking it against hers. “To being honest,” he echoed.

And for the first time that evening, his smirk softened into something closer to a smile.

Harry swirled the wine in his glass, staring at the deep red liquid for a moment before setting it down and looking at Y/N. His expression was more open now, his usual guarded demeanor softened.

“You seem nice enough,” he said, his tone casual but sincere. “I could use a friend around here.”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard by the admission. For a moment, she wasn’t sure how to respond. Then a warm smile spread across her face.

“Well, that’s unexpected,” she said, her voice light with humor. “I thought for sure you hated me after the whole karaoke fiasco.”

Harry tilted his head slightly, his lips twitching in amusement. “Hated you? No. Annoyed, maybe. But hate’s a strong word.”

“Good to know,” Y/N said, laughing softly. “Because I was convinced you’d written me off as the world’s loudest neighbor.”

“I’ll admit,” Harry said, smirking now, “the karaoke was… a lot. But it’s hard to hate someone who sings ‘I Want It That Way’ with that much enthusiasm.”

Y/N covered her face with her hands, laughing harder. “Oh my God, I can’t believe you remember the song. That’s so embarrassing.”

“It’s unforgettable,” he said with mock seriousness, taking another sip of wine.

When her laughter died down, Y/N looked at him, her expression softening. “For what it’s worth, I’d be happy to be your friend. You don’t seem as scary as you pretend to be.”

“Scary?” Harry echoed, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, yeah,” she teased. “You’ve got the whole ‘grumpy lone wolf’ thing going on. It’s a little intimidating.”

Harry shook his head, but there was a faint smile on his face. “I’m not scary.”

“No,” Y/N said, grinning. “You’re not. You’re just… Harry.”

He didn’t respond right away, but his gaze lingered on her for a moment, something unreadable in his expression. Finally, he nodded, his tone soft but certain. “Yeah. Just Harry.”

As they continued eating, the conversation grew lighter, the initial tension between them fading into something comfortable. By the time they finished their meal, Y/N realized that beneath Harry’s gruff exterior was someone she genuinely wanted to know better. And judging by the way his smirk had softened into something warmer, she suspected he felt the same.

After finishing their plates, Harry leaned back in his chair, resting his forearm on the bar counter as he glanced at Y/N. There was a comfortable silence between them, one she hadn’t expected when she first showed up at his door.

“Thanks for coming over,” he said finally, his tone quieter but sincere. “I don’t usually… do this.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, swirling her wine in her glass. “What? Order too much food or invite people over?”

He smirked faintly, shaking his head. “The second one. I’m not exactly the ‘neighborly dinner’ type.”

“Well, I feel special then,” she teased, tilting her head at him. “Although, if you’re not usually this social, why’d you invite me? I mean, not that I’m complaining.”

Harry shrugged, glancing down at his glass. “You seemed… different. I don’t know. Most people I meet just seem fake, like they’re putting on a show. But you’re…” He paused, searching for the right word. “Real.”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard by the raw honesty of his words. “Oh,” she said softly, a smile tugging at her lips. “Well, thanks. I think.”

“I mean it,” Harry added, looking at her directly now. “You’re… not what I expected when I moved here. In a good way.”

Her cheeks warmed at his words, and she tried to play it off with humor. “Careful, Harry. You’re starting to sound like you actually like me.”

“Don’t push it,” he said with a smirk, though his eyes were softer than usual.

They fell into another comfortable silence, sipping their wine and letting the moment stretch out. Y/N felt herself relax more with each passing second, realizing how easy it was to be around him now that some of his walls had come down.

After a moment, she broke the quiet. “You know, for someone who claims not to be social, you’re pretty good company.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It is,” she said, her grin widening. “You should let yourself be social more often. You might surprise yourself.”

He scoffed softly, shaking his head. “One step at a time.”

They shared a small laugh, and Y/N couldn’t help but feel like this was a turning point. Whatever Harry had been holding back before, he was letting her in now, even if only a little. It felt… nice.

Eventually, she glanced at her phone and realized how late it had gotten. “I should probably head back,” she said, setting her empty wine glass down. “I’ve already overstayed my welcome.”

Harry stood as she got up, shaking his head. “You haven’t. But… thanks for coming. I mean it.”

She smiled, grabbing the bottle of wine. “Anytime, Harry.”

As she walked to the door, he followed her, leaning casually against the frame as she turned back to face him. There was something unspoken in the way he looked at her, a softness she wasn’t used to seeing from him.

“Goodnight,” she said, her voice lighter now.

“Night, Y/N,” he replied, his smirk returning.

She headed back to her apartment, her heart unexpectedly lighter. Maybe Harry wasn’t as grumpy as he seemed—or maybe she was just getting used to it. Either way, she found herself smiling as she closed her door behind her. And for the first time in weeks, she wasn’t overthinking anything.

The next morning, Y/N woke up to the sunlight filtering through her blinds and a faint smile lingering on her lips. The night before with Harry had been… unexpected, but not in a bad way. She stretched, grabbed her phone from the nightstand, and immediately opened her group chat with Harper and Lila.

Y/N:

So, guess what? Harry invited me over for dinner last night.

It didn’t take long for her phone to explode with notifications.

Lila:

WHAT. DETAILS NOW.

Harper:

DID YOU SLEEP WITH HIM?!

Y/N rolled her eyes, her cheeks warming despite being alone.

Y/N:

No, I didn’t sleep with him. Calm down.

Lila:

Boring. But continue.

Harper:

Okay, but like, did it feel like it was going there?

Y/N:

No! It wasn’t like that. He said he had too much food and could use a friend, so I brought wine, and we had dinner. That’s it.

Lila:

You brought wine. That’s a date move.

Harper:

Right? Totally a date.

Y/N:

It wasn’t a date. We ate at his bar counter, talked a little, and that’s all. But…

Lila:

BUT WHAT?!

Harper:

Spill, Y/N. Don’t make us beg.

Y/N sighed, biting her lip as she typed out her next message.

Y/N:

Okay, fine. I wouldn’t mind if something happened, but it’s not like I know much about him. I don’t even know what he does for work.

Lila:

Oh my God. You want to bang the mysterious, tattooed neighbor. I KNEW IT.

Harper:

This is your grumpy/sunshine romance, and we are living for it.

Y/N:

You two are ridiculous. I’m just saying he’s attractive, okay? That doesn’t mean anything’s going to happen.

Lila:

It’ll happen. The sexual tension alone is probably unbearable.

Harper:

Agreed. You just need to ask him questions about himself. What he does for work, what his favorite food is, if he’s single—

Lila:

Definitely ask the last one. For research purposes.

Y/N groaned, shaking her head but smiling despite herself.

Y/N:

You two are impossible. But fine, if the opportunity comes up, I’ll try to find out more about him. Happy?

Harper:

Ecstatic.

Lila:

Can’t wait to hear how this unfolds. We’re already planning the wedding playlist.

Y/N laughed, tossing her phone onto the bed. Her friends were relentless, but they weren’t wrong about one thing—she was curious about Harry. And as much as she tried to deny it, she wouldn’t mind getting to know him better… or seeing where this strange connection between them might lead.

Later that month Y/N walked into her apartment after a long day, expecting the usual cozy warmth to greet her. Instead, an icy chill hit her the moment she stepped inside. She frowned, rubbing her arms and heading straight for the thermostat. She fiddled with it for a minute, but no matter what she did, the heater refused to turn on.

“Great,” she muttered, pulling her jacket tighter around her shoulders. It wasn’t unbearably cold outside, but inside her apartment, it felt like a freezer.

With no other options, she pulled out her phone and scrolled through her contacts. She didn’t know many people in the building—just Harry, really. And as much as she hesitated, her fingers hovered over his name before she finally sent a text.

Y/N:

Hey, random question. Do you happen to have a small heater or something I can borrow? My heater’s broken, and it’s freezing in here.

A few minutes later, her phone buzzed.

Harry:

Why don’t you just stay here tonight? I’ve got heat, and I don’t own a portable heater.

Y/N stared at the message, her heart skipping a beat. She hadn’t expected that. Borrowing something was one thing, but staying at his place? She hesitated, her fingers tapping lightly against the screen. Before she could overthink it, she typed out a response.

Y/N:

Are you sure? I don’t want to intrude.

His reply was quick.

Harry:

You’re not intruding. Besides, it’s better than you freezing to death in your apartment. Bring whatever you need.

She bit her lip, a mix of nerves and curiosity swirling in her chest. Finally, she grabbed a bag and threw in some essentials—pajamas, a toothbrush, and a few other things—before bundling up and heading out.

When she reached his door, she knocked softly. It opened almost immediately, and there was Harry, leaning against the frame with his usual calm demeanor.

“Figured you’d take me up on the offer,” he said, stepping aside to let her in.

“Yeah, well, hypothermia didn’t sound appealing,” Y/N replied with a small smile, brushing past him into the warmth of his apartment.

As she set her bag down by the couch, she glanced at him. “Thanks for this, by the way. I really appreciate it.”

He shrugged, closing the door. “No problem. It’s just one night.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Wow, Harry. That almost sounded like you’re happy to have me here.”

He gave her a dry look but didn’t respond, instead gesturing toward the couch. “You can take the couch if you want, or I can grab some extra blankets for the guest room.”

She looked at the couch, then back at him. “Guest room? You have a guest room?”

“Barely,” he said with a shrug. “It’s more of a storage room, but there’s a bed in there.”

“Well, as long as it’s warmer than my apartment, I’ll take it.”

Harry nodded, heading toward the hallway. “I’ll grab some blankets.”

As Harry disappeared down the hallway to grab blankets, Y/N called after him, her voice light and teasing. “By the way, I brought some wine as a thank-you! You know, for saving me from my frozen wasteland of an apartment.”

She heard him chuckle faintly, his voice drifting back from the other room. “Thoughtful of you. What kind?”

“Red. A classic, nothing too fancy,” she replied, smirking as she started to take the bottle out of her bag. “Figured you’d prefer something a little understated, given your whole ‘mysterious and broody’ vibe.”

Harry reappeared in the doorway, carrying a thick blanket over one shoulder. He raised an eyebrow at her. “I think you enjoy calling me broody a little too much.”

“Well, it fits,” she shot back, grinning. “Speaking of which, I realized something earlier—I don’t even know what you do for work. So, enlighten me, oh mysterious one. What is it that you do?”

Harry paused for a moment, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “I own an art gallery,” he said simply, setting the blanket on the couch.

Y/N blinked, caught off guard. “You own an art gallery?”

“Yeah,” he said, leaning casually against the back of the couch. “Small place over in Silver Lake. Nothing flashy, just local artists and smaller exhibitions.”

She stared at him, her curiosity piqued. “I didn’t see that coming.”

“What did you see coming?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I don’t know,” Y/N admitted, laughing softly. “Something more… I don’t know, corporate? Like sitting at a desk all day and brooding at spreadsheets.”

Harry actually laughed at that, a low, warm sound that surprised her. “Sorry to disappoint. No spreadsheets involved.”

“No, it’s not disappointing,” she said quickly, shaking her head. “It’s just… unexpected. I mean, you own an art gallery. That’s cool. Artistic and grumpy? You’re full of surprises, Harry.”

He shook his head, but there was a faint warmth in his expression, like her enthusiasm had caught him off guard. “It’s just a business.”

“Just a business?” she repeated, tilting her head. “Don’t undersell yourself. That’s impressive.”

He looked at her for a moment, his gaze steady. “Thanks.”

They fell into a brief silence, and Y/N felt the air shift slightly. It wasn’t awkward—if anything, it felt… comfortable. She gestured to the wine. “So, should we open this or what?”

Harry nodded, stepping into the kitchen to grab two glasses. “Why not? You’re my guest, after all.”

As he poured the wine, Y/N couldn’t help but think that for someone who seemed so guarded at first, Harry was slowly becoming an open book—one she was eager to keep reading.

Y/N leaned against the counter, swirling her glass of wine as she watched Harry pour his own. “So, how did you end up owning an art gallery?” she asked, curiosity getting the better of her. “I mean, that’s not exactly the most common career path.”

Harry took a sip of his wine, his gaze thoughtful as he set the glass down. “I’ve always loved art. Painting, sketching… that sort of thing. But it’s not exactly the easiest way to make a living.”

Y/N nodded, understanding the struggle. “So, the gallery was a way to stay involved in the art world?”

“Something like that,” he said, leaning his hip against the counter. “I came into some money after my mom passed a few years ago. It wasn’t a fortune, but it was enough to make me think about what I really wanted to do. I didn’t want to sit in an office or work for someone else. I wanted something that felt… personal. The gallery felt like the right choice.”

“That’s incredible,” Y/N said, her voice soft. “I mean, turning something you love into a business? Not many people can say they’ve done that.”

Harry shrugged, a faint smile on his lips. “It has its challenges, but I don’t regret it.”

Y/N smiled at him, feeling a new layer of respect for her neighbor. After a moment, he tilted his head, his eyes flicking to her. “What about you? What do you do?”

She hesitated, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “Oh, nothing nearly as impressive as you,” she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m just a server. I work at an Italian restaurant a few blocks from here.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching like he was holding back a laugh. “Why do you say it like that?”

“Like what?” she asked, frowning.

“Like it’s nothing. You said you’re ‘just’ a server,” he said, taking another sip of his wine. “You’re in food service, right? That’s an art in itself. Just… a different kind.”

She blinked, caught off guard by his perspective. “I’ve never thought about it like that.”

He nodded, gesturing with his glass. “Think about it. You’re part of creating an experience for people. The way the food’s presented, the way you interact with customers—it’s all part of the artistry. Doesn’t matter if it’s a painting on a wall or a plate of pasta. It’s still something people connect with.”

Y/N felt her cheeks warm, a mix of surprise and gratitude washing over her. “That’s… actually really nice of you to say.”

“It’s true,” Harry said simply, his green eyes meeting hers. “Stop selling yourself short.”

She smiled, feeling unexpectedly lighter. “Thanks, Harry. I guess I’ll try to keep that in mind the next time someone complains about their breadsticks not being warm enough.”

He chuckled at that, shaking his head. “Breadsticks or not, it sounds like you’re good at what you do.”

Y/N sipped her wine, the corners of her lips curving up.

Y/N swirled the wine in her glass, glancing at Harry over the rim. She hesitated for a moment, then decided to push the conversation a little further. “You know,” she began, her voice softer now, “you have a really nice way of thinking about things. The way you look at art, even food… it’s kind of impressive.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, leaning against the counter with an amused expression. “Is that your way of saying I’m not just a grumpy neighbor?”

“Maybe,” she said with a small grin, her tone almost teasing. “But seriously, you’ve got a smart mind, Harry. You see things in a way most people don’t.”

He tilted his head slightly, his green eyes studying her as if trying to figure out her angle. “Are you flirting with me, Y/N?”

She laughed, feeling her cheeks flush slightly. “And if I was?”

Harry’s lips curved into a faint smirk, but he didn’t answer right away. Instead, he took a slow sip of his wine, his gaze never leaving hers. “Then I’d say it’s about time you stopped pretending you find me intimidating.”

“I never said you intimidate me,” she shot back, her grin widening. “I said you have a grumpy vibe. Totally different.”

“Right,” he said, his tone dry but his smirk giving him away. “Good to know I’m not scaring you off.”

“Not even close,” Y/N replied, her voice confident now. She leaned her elbow on the counter, resting her chin in her hand as she looked at him. “You’re not as scary as you think, Harry. In fact, I think you’re kind of… interesting.”

Harry chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You’re full of surprises, you know that?”

“Right back at you,” she said, her gaze warm.

For a moment, the air between them shifted. The playful banter was still there, but beneath it was something quieter, something unspoken. Y/N didn’t know what exactly was happening, but she wasn’t in a hurry to break the moment.

Harry finally set his glass down, his expression softening just slightly. “Careful, Y/N,” he said, his voice low but with a hint of amusement. “You keep talking like that, and I might start thinking you actually like having me around.”

“Maybe I do,” she said simply, holding his gaze.

The corners of his mouth twitched, and for the first time, he didn’t deflect her comment. Instead, he just looked at her, something unreadable flickering in his green eyes. Y/N felt her heartbeat quicken, but she didn’t look away.

The mood in the room shifted as Harry leaned forward, his green eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that sent a shiver down Y/N's spine.

He tilted his head slightly, his voice low and teasing as he said, "You wouldn't be able to handle me."

Her breath caught, but she wasn't about to let him have the last word.

"Try me," she challenged, her voice steady but laced with anticipation.

Harry's eyes darkened, the playful smirk on his lips giving way to something deeper, something more raw. Slowly, deliberately, he reached out and placed his hand lightly on her throat-not gripping, just resting, his thumb brushing the edge of her jaw. The warmth of his touch made her heart race, and she felt her breath hitch as he leaned in closer.

For a moment, the world around them seemed to disappear, the only sound her own heartbeat pounding in her ears. Then, without another word, Harry closed the gap between them, capturing her lips in a deep, searing kiss.

It wasn't gentle, but it wasn't rushed either-it was deliberate, like he'd been holding himself back and was finally letting go. His lips moved against hers with a confidence that left no room for hesitation, and Y/N melted into the kiss, her hand instinctively reaching out to grip the edge of the counter for balance.

She kissed him back just as fervently, tilting her head to deepen the connection. His fingers slid from her throat to the back of her neck, pulling her closer as though he couldn't get enough of her. The heat between them was undeniable, and in that moment, nothing else mattered-not the chill of her broken heater, not the wine, not the playful banter that had led them here.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathing heavily, their foreheads nearly touching. Harry's green eyes searched hers, and for once, his usual guarded expression was nowhere to be found.

"Still think I can't handle you?" Y/N whispered, her voice a little breathless but tinged with humor.

Harry smirked, his hand still lingering at the nape of her neck.

"Guess I underestimated you," he murmured, his voice low and rough. "But l'm not done yet.”

Harry's hand slid down from Y/N's neck to her wrist, his grip firm but careful as he led her through his apartment toward his bedroom.

Her heart pounded in anticipation, her breath catching when he opened the door and gently but deliberately pushed her onto the bed.

Y/N gasped softly, propping herself up on her elbows as she looked up at him. The intensity in his green eyes made her pulse race, and the energy between them was electric, the room feeling heavier with every passing second.

Harry stepped closer, his movements slow and controlled, like he was savoring the moment.

He placed a hand on her throat again, this time with a gentle but deliberate squeeze that sent a shiver down her spine. His thumb brushed along her jawline as he leaned in, his voice low and commanding.

"Are you going to be a good girl for me?" he asked, his tone dripping with authority and heat.

Y/N's breath hitched as she nodded slowly, unable to look away from his piercing gaze.

Her voice was caught somewhere in her throat, so she let her actions speak for her, tilting her head slightly into his touch.

Harry smirked, leaning down until his lips were just a breath away from her ear. His voice dropped even lower, a whisper that made her skin prickle with anticipation.

"I knew you would be," he murmured, his tone both teasing and possessive.

The words sent a jolt through her, and she felt her body react instinctively, her cheeks flushing as she surrendered to the moment.

Harry's lips brushed against the corner of her jaw, trailing down her neck as his hand stayed firmly but gently in place. Every movement felt deliberate, like he wanted her to feel every second of his attention.

Whatever control Y/N thought she had going into this was slipping fast, and the way Harry's touch consumed her made it clear—he knew it, too.

Harry paused, his intense green eyes meeting Y/N’s as he leaned over her. His hand lingered on her throat, his grip light but enough to hold her attention completely. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, didn’t move any closer. He just looked at her, his gaze softening slightly, as if he were silently asking her a question.

It wasn’t just a look—it was a pause, a chance for her to stop him if she wanted to. His eyes, usually so guarded, were now open and searching, silently asking for her consent.

Y/N’s heart raced as she looked back at him, feeling the weight of his unspoken question. She swallowed, her breath shallow as she gave him the answer he was waiting for. Slowly, purposely, she nodded.

Harry’s lips curved into a faint smile, a mixture of relief and satisfaction crossing his face. “Good,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with an edge of tenderness.

He leaned down again, his lips brushing hers as his hand on her throat tightened just slightly, enough to make her feel both safe and completely at his mercy. And as the space between them disappeared, Y/N felt herself giving in fully, her trust in him unwavering.

Harry's piercing gaze never left Y/N's face, his touch as light as a butterfly's wings. He slowly pulled her to the edge, his hands on her hips. The soft rustle of sheets filled the room as she sank into the bedding, eyes darting up to meet his.

Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of him undoing his pants, revealing his hardness beneath. She gulped audibly as he climbed onto the bed with her, their bodies pressed together from chest to knees. His hand trailed down her side, stopping just above her thigh and giving it a gentle squeeze. His touch sent shivers of anticipation up and down her spine.

"Tell me what you want," he whispered against her earlobe, his hot breath causing goosebumps to form on her skin.

She bit her lip, hesitating for only a moment before whispering back, "I want you to take control."

Harry's smirk was both predatory and reassuring as he nodded once in understanding. His hand slid underneath her shirt, tracing patterns across her stomach before moving higher till it reached its destination: her lacy black bra. He palmed one of her breasts through the fabric, eliciting a moan from deep within her throat that echoed around them. His thumb circled her nipple roughly, making it harden into a tight bud underneath his touch.

His lips followed suit, kissing along her jawline and trailing down towards that erect nipple. He flicked it with his tongue teasingly while simultaneously tug

His smile was wicked as he leaned back, a glint in his eye. "Is that so?" He trailed kisses down her neck, his stubble grazing against her sensitive skin, making her shudder with pleasure. His hand slid between their bodies and brushed against her center, indulging in the wetness there. She gasped at the sensation, arching into his touch.

"You're so ready for me," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. He pushed her shorts aside and slid one finger inside her slowly, feeling the tightness surrounding him. Y/N moaned softly, her hips grinding against his hand in encouragement.

Harry removed his finger, teasing her as he lowered his head to capture one of her nipples in his mouth. He growled softly against her skin, sucking gently as he began to thrust two fingers inside her in short, quick motions that sent waves of pleasure coursing through her body. She cried out softly, gripping the sheets beneath her as he continued his ministrations. He quickly undressed her and stared at her body. Y/N felt hot under his eyes.

They quickly lost themselves in each other's touches. The squeak of the bedframe echoed in the room as Harry positioned himself at her entrance and pushed inside her slowly. She gasped at the fullness but welcomed it, urging him on with a nod of encouragement.

He slowed down, taking deep breaths to regain control as he braced himself above her. "Are you sure you're ready for this?" he asked hoarsely, gaze locked onto hers.

Y/N nodded fiercely, signaling him to continue. With a low growl of approval, he began moving inside her slowly but steadily, their

bodies meeting in a dance of desire. Every thrust sent ripples of pleasure through them both, their skin slick with sweat under the dim light of the bedside lamp. The air was thick with an almost palpable tension as they moved together, the sound of their bodies meeting filling the room.

Harry's grip on her hips tightened, his rhythm becoming faster and harder, mirroring the desire that flared in his eyes. Y/N met him stroke for stroke, their eyes locked on each other as if they were the only two people in the room. The sounds of skin slapping against skin filled the silence beneath the duvet, broken only by their heavy breathing and soft moans.

Her fingernails dug into his shoulders as she neared her climax, his name falling from her lips in a whispered plea. Without missing a beat, he quickened his pace, his cock driving into her with urgency. Their connection was intense, overwhelming, everything she could have asked for and more.

As she cried out in ecstasy beneath him, feeling her orgasm wash over her like a wave, Harry followed close behind. His body tensed as he groaned loudly, filling her with his warmth and love. Their hearts raced in unison as they finally collapsed onto each other, panting heavily but content.

He rolled off her slowly, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead before rolling onto his back beside her.

Harry lay on his side, propped up on one elbow as he looked down at Y/N. His green eyes were softer now, a flicker of mischief dancing in them as he smirked.

"So," he said, his voice low and teasing, "are you going to text your little girl chat and tell them we fucked?" Y/N let out a surprised laugh, turning her head to look at him.

"What? No! They'd never let me live it down."

Harry raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying himself.

"You should. Tell them the hot, mysterious guy was really grumpy the whole time."Y/N laughed even harder, covering her face with her hand.

"Oh, right. That'll really sell it. 'Hey, girls, just an FYl, my grumpy neighbor is not only hot but also excellent in bed. Highly recommend.'"

Harry chuckled, his grin widening. "Not bad. Make sure you add in the part about how I stayed in character the whole time-grumpy and all."

She rolled her eyes, still smiling as she nudged him playfully. "Fine. I'll throw in that your scowl is even sexier up close. Happy?"

"Ecstatic," he said dryly, though the amused glint in his eyes gave him away. YN shook her head, the laughter subsiding into a warm smile.

"You know," she said, her tone softening, "you might be mysterious and grumpy, but you're also a little cocky. Just saying."

Harry leaned down, his face inches from hers.

"Maybe," he murmured, his voice low and teasing. "But I think you like it."

Her cheeks flushed as she looked up at him, biting back a grin. "Maybe I do."

"Good," he said simply, before capturing her lips in a slow, deliberate kiss that made her forget about everything else-including her friends waiting for updates in the group chat.

The week passed in a blur of near-misses and brief encounters between Y/N and Harry. She saw him in the mailroom once, where he gave her a small nod and the faintest hint of a smirk before disappearing upstairs. Another time, they crossed paths in the hallway, exchanging quick hellos but nothing more.

Neither of them brought up the night they spent together, and while Y/N tried to brush it off as a casual hookup, part of her couldn’t help but wonder if he was deliberately avoiding the topic. She didn’t want to push, figuring Harry would open up if and when he was ready.

Then, one evening, as she was curled up on her couch with a glass of wine and her laptop, her phone buzzed with a text.

Harry:

Hey. Sorry I’ve been so distant this week. The gallery is getting ready for a new showing, and it’s been… a lot.

Y/N stared at the message for a moment, her stomach fluttering. She hadn’t expected him to reach out, let alone apologize.

Y/N:

Hey, no worries. I figured you were busy. New showing sounds exciting though!

A moment later, her phone buzzed again.

Harry:

It is. Stressful, but worth it. You should come by. It’s this Saturday night. Bring your friends if you want.

Y/N’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. Harry inviting her to his gallery? That felt… significant.

Y/N:

I’d love to. Are you sure you want me to bring my friends? They’re a little… loud.

Harry:

If they’re anything like you, I’m already prepared for chaos.

She laughed softly, shaking her head.

Y/N:

Fair warning: chaos is guaranteed. But I’ll be there.

Harry:

Good. I’ll send you the details tomorrow.

Y/N set her phone down, a small smile tugging at her lips. For all of Harry’s grumpiness and guarded demeanor, this felt like his way of extending an olive branch—a step toward something more. And she couldn’t deny that the idea of seeing him in his element, at the gallery, intrigued her.

She grabbed her phone again and opened the group chat with Harper and Lila.

Y/N:

Ladies, clear your schedules for Saturday night. We’re going to an art gallery.

Predictably, her phone exploded with responses almost immediately.

Lila:

Wait, is this Harry’s gallery?

Harper:

The grumpy tattooed neighbor has an art gallery?

Y/N:

Yes. He invited me. And before you ask—no, we’re not talking about the other night.

Lila:

Boring. But fine, we’re in. Is there wine?

Harper:

And snacks?

Y/N:

I’ll ask. But behave yourselves. He already thinks I’m loud.

Lila:

Oh, honey, we’re just getting started.

Y/N laughed, already imagining the chaos her friends would inevitably bring. But deep down, she was looking forward to Saturday more than she cared to admit.

The week crawled by as Saturday approached, each day slower than the last. Y/N found herself obsessing over small details—whether Harry would be too busy to notice her, what kind of people attended art gallery showings, and most importantly, what to wear. She wanted to look effortlessly put-together, like someone who appreciated art but wasn’t trying too hard.

By Saturday afternoon, her room was a battlefield of discarded outfits. Finally, she settled on a sleek black jumpsuit paired with a cropped denim jacket and ankle boots—stylish but not over the top. She added a few gold accessories and a swipe of lipstick before grabbing her bag and heading out the door.

On the way to Silver Lake, she picked up Harper and Lila, who were already buzzing with excitement when they climbed into the car.

“You look hot,” Lila said, eyeing her outfit. “Very ‘I like art but I’m too cool to talk about it.’”

“Thanks,” Y/N said, laughing as she started the car. “I’m going for low-key, not intimidating.”

“Well, mission accomplished,” Harper chimed in, adjusting her blazer.

Y/N glanced at them in the rearview mirror, grinning. Harper wore a bold red jumpsuit, while Lila had opted for a metallic skirt and leather jacket.

By the time they pulled into Silver Lake, the sun had set, and the neighborhood was alive with energy. The gallery came into view, its windows glowing warmly against the evening sky. People were milling about on the sidewalk, chatting in small groups with glasses of wine in hand, while others filtered in and out of the bustling space.

“This is it,” Y/N said, parking the car and taking a deep breath.

“It’s so fancy,” Lila said, practically bouncing in her seat. “Look at all these people!”

Harper leaned forward, peering out the window. “I’m already picturing Harry brooding in a corner, glaring at anyone who talks too loud.”

“Probably,” Y/N muttered, her heart fluttering as she got out of the car. She grabbed her bag and adjusted her jacket before turning to her friends. “Okay, let’s not embarrass me too much, yeah?”

“No promises,” Harper said with a grin, looping her arm through Y/N’s as they headed toward the gallery entrance.

Inside, the space was even more vibrant. The walls were adorned with bold, eclectic pieces of art—paintings, sculptures, and mixed-media pieces that immediately drew attention. Soft music played in the background, and servers wove through the crowd with trays of wine and hors d’oeuvres. The hum of conversation filled the air, blending with the occasional burst of laughter.

Y/N’s eyes scanned the room, searching for Harry. She didn’t spot him right away, but she noticed how carefully curated the space felt—each piece arranged with intention. It was a reflection of him, she realized, meticulous and thoughtful.

“This is amazing,” Harper said, grabbing a glass of wine from a passing server. “He really knows what he’s doing.”

Lila nudged Y/N. “Speaking of, where is Mr. Grumpy Art Dealer? I want to see him in his element.”

“I don’t know,” Y/N said, glancing around again. “He’s probably—”

Before she could finish, her gaze landed on him. Harry stood near the back of the room, dressed in a crisp black shirt with the sleeves rolled up, showcasing his tattoos. He was talking to a small group of people, but his eyes flicked toward her as if he could feel her presence.

Their gazes locked for a moment, and he gave her a subtle nod before turning back to his conversation. Y/N’s heart skipped a beat, and she felt Lila squeeze her arm.

“Oh, he definitely saw you,” Lila said, grinning. “And I’m not imagining the way he looked at you.”

“Stop,” Y/N hissed, her cheeks flushing. But she couldn’t deny it—there was something in his gaze that felt personal, even in the middle of the crowd.

“Go say hi,” Harper urged, giving her a nudge.

“Not yet,” Y/N said, grabbing a glass of wine for herself. “I’ll wait until he’s free. Let’s just look around first.”

As they wandered through the gallery, admiring the artwork, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that Harry’s eyes were on her—even when she wasn’t looking his way.

Y/N wandered through the gallery, sipping her wine as she admired the artwork. Each piece was so different—some abstract, others intricate and detailed—but all of them carried a sense of purpose. It was easy to see that Harry had a good eye for curating.

She glanced across the room and saw Harper and Lila chatting animatedly with a group of women, likely bonding over their outfits or the wine. Typical, she thought with a smile, shaking her head.

As she moved to the next painting—a striking piece of layered colors and textures—she felt someone step up beside her. There was a shift in the air, a quiet presence that made her turn her head.

It was Harry.

He stood with his hands in his pockets, his gaze fixed on the painting. His black shirt, with the sleeves still rolled up, contrasted sharply against the warm tones of the art, and his tattoos seemed to blend seamlessly into the aesthetic of the space.

“It’s acrylic and resin,” he said, his voice low but steady. “The artist used palette knives for the texture and then poured resin over it to give it that shine. Took weeks to cure properly.”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard for a moment before she found her words. “It’s beautiful,” she said softly, turning her attention back to the piece. “I love the depth in it. It feels like you could reach in and get lost.”

Harry glanced at her, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “That’s the idea. The artist wanted it to feel immersive, like stepping into an emotional landscape.”

She looked at him, her curiosity piqued. “Do you know all the details of every piece in here?”

“Pretty much,” he admitted, his smirk growing. “Part of the job. I like to understand the process—it helps me connect with the artists and explain it to people who come through.”

Y/N smiled, sipping her wine. “It’s impressive. You’ve created something really special here.”

Harry looked at her again, his green eyes studying her for a moment. “Thanks,” he said quietly. “It means a lot, coming from you.”

She tilted her head, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. “Why me?”

He shrugged slightly, his gaze flicking back to the painting. “Because you actually look at the art. Most people just see it, but you’re trying to understand it.”

Her cheeks warmed at the unexpected compliment, and she turned back to the painting to hide her flustered expression. “Well, you make it hard not to appreciate it. The way you talk about it… it’s obvious how much you care.”

He didn’t respond right away, and the silence between them felt comfortable, almost intimate. Finally, he leaned in just slightly, his voice softer now.

“I’m glad you came,” he said.

Y/N turned to look at him again, her heart skipping a beat at the closeness between them. “Me too,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, the bustling crowd around them faded into the background, leaving just the two of them standing there, the art surrounding them as if it were part of their story.

Harry slipped his hand into Y/N’s, his fingers warm and steady as he gently tugged her through the gallery. She followed without question, her curiosity mounting as they weaved between groups of people. He didn’t say a word, just led her down a quieter section of the space where fewer people were lingering.

When they stopped, Y/N noticed the piece in front of them was a painting—bold yet delicate, with strokes that somehow conveyed both strength and softness. She tilted her head, studying it, drawn to the way the light and shadows played across the figure in the painting. There was something familiar about it, something that tugged at her memory.

She took a step closer, her heart beating faster as the realization slowly dawned on her. The painting wasn’t just beautiful—it was her.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she turned to Harry, her eyes wide. “Is this…?”

He nodded, his gaze steady but unreadable. “It’s you.”

Y/N stared at the painting again, her mind racing. The details were unmistakable—the way her hair fell, the soft curve of her face, the hint of a thoughtful expression she’d never realized she wore. But it wasn’t just her likeness; it was the way the he had captured something deeper, something vulnerable and raw.

“How?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Harry’s lips curved into the faintest smile. “I started it a few weeks after I moved in. I didn’t even know your name then. I just… saw you.”

Her chest tightened as she turned to him again. “You saw me?”

He nodded, his green eyes softer now. “In the mailroom. In the hallway. On your balcony once, drinking coffee. I didn’t know why, but there was something about you that I couldn’t get out of my head. So, I painted.”

Y/N felt her cheeks warm, a mix of emotions swirling inside her—flattery, disbelief, and something she couldn’t quite name. “Harry, this is… incredible. I don’t even know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he said, his voice low but steady. “I just thought you should see it. This is the first time I’ve shown it to anyone.”

Her heart thudded in her chest, and she took a step closer to him, her voice soft. “Why me?”

Harry’s gaze locked on hers, his expression open and sincere. “Because it’s you, Y/N. I couldn’t have painted this if it wasn’t.”

The noise of the gallery faded around them as she stood there, her hand still in his, staring up at the painting of herself. For the first time, she saw herself through someone else’s eyes—not as the loud, chaotic neighbor, but as something worthy of being captured in art.

And Harry, the grumpy, mysterious neighbor, was the one who had done it.

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smutoperator · 1 month ago

Text

A Day With a Superstar

Im YoonA x Male Reader (special guests: YoonA's personal trainer, Choi Sooyoung)

Part of Legends series

Tags: aerial spit roasting, anal, backshots, biggest fan, carry fucking, dirty talk, facesitting, (lots of) facials, floor sex, gym, high intensity sex, insatiable mommy, lingerie, mating press, prone bone, sex on the stairs, squatting, strip teasing, threesomes (MMF and FFM)

Word count: 9887.

Chapter 1 - Morning Workout

YoonA wanted to celebrate her 35th birthday in style. She knew she had to do something special for this milestone, as she remained one of the most popular girls in her country nearly two decades into her career. So she decided to hold a contest.

YoonA sent a message to her fans that she would hold a competition to see who her biggest fan was. Through the lead-up to her birthday, she had them answering questions about the most obscure details of her career until a winner was finally crowned.

"Congratulations," YoonA sent you a message as you won her contest. "For being such an incredible fan, you will get the chance to spend a whole day with me. Come spend your time with your favorite superstar during her birthday. Greetings, Im YoonA," she said in the message sent to you.

You arrived at the place YoonA told you to meet her. At first, you didn't understand why she decided to choose the gym where she does her daily training to stay fit as she ages like a fine wine, but soon you would find out why.

"Good morning," YoonA said as she greeted you with a kiss. "Come inside, it's my birthday, but I'm the one who has a surprise for you," she said. "Sure," you answered her, still starstruck and still pinching yourself trying to check it was just not a dream. You were really with YoonA, the face of the nation's girl group.

YoonA led you inside the gym as she crossed the public area into her VIP room. "So you have a room all by yourself to train? How expensive! You surely are the it girl," you said to her. "Thank you," she answered. "It took me years of hard work, and now I wanted to share it with my biggest fan," she continued.

"That's my personal trainer," YoonA said as a bulky guy entered the room. You were surely a strong dude, but he was no slouch either. "Are you ready to have a training session with us?" she asked. "Of course, anything for my beautiful queen," you replied, showing how much you worshipped her.

YoonA started exercising, sharing kisses with you in between. Her trainer slowly took her jacket off and started massaging her around her tits, YoonA moaning as he ran his hands on her. "I'm gonna need some good training today, if you know what I mean," she said.

The trainer kept touching YoonA, as you just watched, before making your first moves and kissing her while touching her. In one go, the trainer ripped her jacket, YoonA letting out a shocking awe as her long torso popped out right in your sight.

YoonA got on her knees and started showing what she really wanted, massaging both your bulges under your and the trainer's shorts. "Oh shit," she said, pulling your shorts in one go to suck your cock, the trainer pulling yours to get his pole sucked too. YoonA started taking turns between both cocks. "Oh shit, baby, that's what I want to see," the trainer said.

You pushed YoonA's pretty face against her trainer's cock, enjoying her getting stuffed by his massive pole while you waited your turn. YoonA quickly switched the attention to your cock next. "So you're really nasty when the cameras are turned off, aren't you?" you asked her. "Yes, I am," she answered.

YoonA kept taking turns between both cocks. "Swallow that dick," the trainer commanded her. "You like that? Seeing my pretty face covered in spit?" she asked him, increasing the speed of her jerking his cock off and then licking yours. She kept stroking both shafts hard.

"Choke on his fucking dick," you told YoonA as her trainer grabbed her pretty face and made her bob her head on his cock. YoonA made sloppy sounds and then dove to his balls. "Such a sexy baby," you said to her, giving the first spank on her ass as YoonA kept worshipping her trainer's balls.

You popped your cock in and out of YoonA's pretty face, then enjoyed as you watched her give you a no-hands blowjob. "You look so fucking beautiful all stuffed up with that cock," you told her. YoonA also dove to suck your balls before giving you a soul-sucking deepthroat.

"Suck that motherfucking dick, make it wet," YoonA's trainer said, shoving her head against your cock. YoonA kept picking up the pace, gagging hard on your cock and stroking it fast. "Open your mouth and suck that cock," her trainer kept dictating to her.

The more YoonA sucked both cocks, the hungrier she got. Soon, she started taking both in her mouth at the same time, licking both tips like crazy and savoring it. "You like that?" she asked them. "God, my pussy is so wet already," she continued as she stroked both cocks at the same time.

"I want these cocks taking turns in my fucking pussy; you guys better give it to me," YoonA commanded as she got back into a standing position. "Take it off," she commanded to both of you as she got stripped naked in a hurry. Soon, you dove between her long legs, burying your face in YoonA's ass as you started eating one of Korea's most valuable pussies.

"Fucking eat that pussy," YoonA commanded as you savored her juices while her trainer fucked her pretty face and she spat on his cock. "All that nasty fucking spit getting that cock wet," she said, jerking it off just as you started the motion to shove your cock inside her pink pussy, unable to resist the urge as the amazing scent of her fuckhole already turned you into a slave for YoonA's majestic pussy.

You slowly penetrated YoonA from behind, her knowing what was coming and arching her back to get your cock deep in her pussy while she hugged her trainer. "HOLY FUCK, AHHHHH, OH MY GOD, HOLY SHIT, HOLY SHIT, OH MY GOD," YoonA started screaming as you fitted your whole nine inches of length and seven inches of girth inside her loose mommy pussy. But little did she know taking that massive cock all the way deep would be the easiest part.

You lifted YoonA's slender, tall body in the air and started pumping her pussy as hard as possible from the get-go, fucking her in an unusual but very hot aerial spit roast, YoonA clinging to your legs as she got manhandled by cocks on both sides of her body, you enjoying as she gagged on her trainer's cock while you used her pussy like a fleshlight.

"OH SHIT, OH MY GOD, UHHHHHh" YoonA moaned as you put her back on her feet but barely gave her any room to breathe, attacking her pussy at full speed in a standing position. She held onto her trainer's shoulder, trying not to lose her balance as you were using her like no guy had done before. "SHIT," she kept moaning, switching sides and letting her trainer give a pounding of her pussy while she choked herself on your cock and tasted her hole from it.

"OH MY GOD, THAT'S SO MUCH COCK, OH SHIT, OH SHIT, OH SHIT," YoonA kept moaning as you grabbed her and started carry-fucking her. Not even five minutes had passed, and all you wanted to do was fuck the shit out of her, making her cheeks clap hard as she moaned and her body bounced. "AH, AH, AH, AH, FUCK," she moaned, you pumping her pussy hard.

"OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD," YoonA kept moaning as she kept getting passed around like a hot potato, her trainer taking her on a standing doggy as soon as you dropped her back to the floor. "OH FUCK," YoonA screamed, arching her body down. You two kept taking turns on her, spinning YoonA's body from one side to another and penetrating her like crazy. "Is that what you want, you fucking slut?" you asked her.

"YES, YES, THAT'S WHAT I WANT," YoonA answered as you pinned her against one of the gym's pieces of equipment, lifting her long legs. "It's a free-for-all, boys," she said, indicating she wanted to get used like a bitch from both your cocks. "THAT'S GOOD, THAT'S GOOD," she moaned, you putting her leg upwards as she clung onto the equipment and looked at you with sexy eyes. "Get all that fucking dick in that pussy," YoonA begged, licking her chops as she stretched her legs while you two stretched her pussy.

"Get on the floor and ride this cock," you told YoonA, who promptly obliged as she sat on your pole and looked up to her trainer. "Am I riding it good?" she asked him, you spanking her ass as you pumped your cock up her pussy while she sucked her trainer's cock. "Spread that fucking ass," she told you as you did it, pounding her very hard and clapping her cheeks, YoonA answering with crazy squats on your cock, matching your intensity. "OH FUCK," she moaned as you two dueled against each other.

YoonA got herself on all fours, turned her backside towards her trainer as he shoved his cock in her pussy. You stayed on that floor, YoonA sucking and stroking your dick as her trainer slapped her ass. "I'm a bad girl, bad girl, FUCK," she moaned. The trainer grabbed her waist and took her cock further up her pussy. "That dick is so fucking deep, give it to me hard and deep," she commanded.

"Make me take it," YoonA commanded as her trainer grabbed her hair and fucked her even harder. She dropped her head down and dove into your balls. "Lick those fucking balls," you commanded. "FUCK," she screamed, her trainer giving her deep thrusts that hit her cervix nonstop.

You pushed YoonA back in your direction, pumping her pussy hard from down on the floor and reaching to finger her clit. "OH SHITTTTTT!" she screamed as she got ragdolled. YoonA quickly answered, riding your cock before you put up even more heat, destroying her loose pussy with fast thrusts, her trainer muffling her moans with his cock.

"Give it to me," YoonA commanded as you continued to thrust in her pussy. Her trainer grabbed her head, the only sounds coming from the room being her moans and your cock clapping against her pale skin. "OH FUCK THAT'S DEEP," she screamed. "You like that, bitch?" her trainer asks, YoonA nodding positively.

"YEAH, YEAH, YEAH, AH, AH, AH," YoonA continued to moan as she went from riding one cock to another, squatting harder on her trainer. "Bet you like this training," YoonA said to him, bouncing on his cock as you now stuffed her mouth. "Get it, bitch," you said to her, the trainer spreading her ass and pounding her hard.

YoonA kept squatting on her trainer's cock. "OH FUCK," she moaned, spitting on your cock as the trainer hit her deep. "Spin around," the trainer told her, YoonA smiling at you. "Wanna watch that pussy get destroyed just like you did to me?" she asked, her trainer pumping her loose cunt hard.

"Fuck, my pussy is so fucking full, give me all that cock," YoonA said as she started riding her trainer's hard. You kissed her, stroking your cock and eventually shoving it in her mouth as YoonA got destroyed. "Slap that cock in my fucking face," YoonA begged.

Quickly you would want a piece of her too, as you yanked YoonA from her trainer's grasp and grabbed her for another round of carry-fucking. "Destroy that fucking pussy, take me," she begged. You turned her to her trainer, him pounding her in a standing position with YoonA standing on just one leg. "OH MY GOD, OH SHIT, GIVE IT TO ME, THAT DICK IS FUCKING DEEP, I'M SO FUCKING WET," she moaned.

"Just shut up and suck my cock," you said to YoonA as she clung to it not to lose her balance. Her trainer kept grabbing her hair, pushing her body in his direction as he used her hard. YoonA moved her hips, meeting his thrusts as she licked your torso.

"I could do backshots all day on this bitch," the trainer said, but YoonA had different plans, getting on her knees and tasting her incredible pussy, whose scent was all over those two cocks. "That's what I'm talking about, so fucking hot," you said. YoonA bobbed her head all over her trainer's shaft, you groping her tits from behind as she sucked his dick.

"We want more of that pussy," YoonA's trainer said, taking her on all fours in a hot spit roast. "I love that tongue all over my cock," you told her, grabbing YoonA's head and fucking her face. "TAKE IT, MAKE ME FUCKING TAKE IT, FUCK, THAT'S WHAT I FUCKING WANT, FUCKING GIVE IT TO ME," YoonA begs, you two still flipping her around and taking turns fucking her on all fours.

You keep testing new angles to penetrate YoonA's pussy, pounding her in a tilted motion as you stretch her pussy out. "Give it to me, pound that fucking pussy with that big fat cock. You like that shit, don't you?" she says as you take control of her slutty body, her trainer pushing her body against yours as she chokes on his dick and her pussy queefs.

The spit-roasting on all fours keeps going. "OH FUCK, AH YEAH, SHIT," YoonA says as her trainer spanks her ass. "Get in there, slut," she says. "I can't feel my fucking legs; I'm so fucking numb with so much cock," YoonA says. She moves in your direction, squatting on your cock. "Get it, motherfucker," she says. You have different plans, lifting her lower body and diving between her legs to eat her amazing pussy while she lays her head on her floor and sucks her trainer's cock.

YoonA moans as her holes get worshipped on both sides. You give her pussy a little tap before her trainer pins her against the floor. "OH FUCK," she moans, moving her hips against his cock. "Get those big fucking hands in my ass and fuck my pussy," she says. You two take turns giving YoonA a nice round of fucking and spanking. "OH, THAT'S FUCKING DEEP IN MY PUSSY," she screams from time to time.

YoonA puts her ass up and face down as you fuck her. "I love how you fucking spank me," she says as you pick up the intensity and aim to make her ass red. "You like watching that?" she asks her trainer. "Yes," he answers. "Then watch this," she replies.

YoonA drops to the floor, letting you mount on top of her in a prone bone position as her trainer watches. The slippery gym mat gets more and more drenched in sweat as you press her sexy body against it, showing her who owns her pussy. "Give it to me; I want all that fucking cock," she begs. "Stroke for me," she commands to her trainer as he watches you two fucking.

"That dick is so good," YoonA tells you. "You like it deep inside you, pussy?" you ask her. "Yes, take it all the way," she begs. You completely top her like an alpha man. "I AM GONNA FUCKING CUM ALL OVER THAT COCK," she screams, barely able to move as you stuff your cock hard and deep inside her. You two share kisses. "I love the way you fuck me so deep, ahhhhh," she moans.

You pick up the speed, YoonA's cheeks getting clapped hard. "FUCK, FUCK, FUCK," she repeatedly moans. "I take a good dick, don't I?" she asks. "Turn my fucking pussy into your free-use hole," she begs, while still looking at her trainer and commanding him to stroke his dick as she watched you bring YoonA into total submission.

"You like watching him destroy my pussy? It looks so fucking lovely," YoonA asks her trainer. "Come destroy it too," she says, you letting him take his turn as he wraps his arms around her body. "OH GOD, PUSH IT, FUCK," she moans as she looks at you up top, the roles now reversed. "I like that; I like getting fucked like a whore on the floor by those big fucking cocks, oh fuck," YoonA says.

"RIGHT THERE, RIGHT THERE," YoonA commands as she is completely immobilized on the floor. She licks the sweat that falls from her body. "Stroke it for me, watch me be fucking nasty, AH, AH, AH, YES BABY FUCKING TAKE IT," YoonA moans, getting closer and closer to her orgasm. "Did I take it good?" she asks you. "Hell yeah," you answer.

"Keep sharing this fucking pussy," YoonA says as you get back on top of her. YoonA can barely think straight; she just turned into a fleshlight. "Get in that fucking pussy," she says. You attack her pussy hard, pressing her body to the fullest against the floor. "GIVE IT TO ME, GIVE IT TO ME, YES, YES," she begs. She grabs her trainer's legs as your hard thrusts make her cheeks recoil. You hump your body against hers, taking full advantage of your favorite girl.

"I love cumming all over that big fucking cock, SHIT, SHIT," YoonA says. "I'm so spoiled from taking all this fucking cock, I want you to destroy me until I can't walk tomorrow, make me take every fucking inch of it, turn me into your fucking slut," she begs, the whole nine inches of your cock balls deep in her pussy. "Yeah, right there, right there, that's the fucking spot, pound that fucking pussy, shit, shit," she continues to beg.

"Look at that big, fat, fucking cock using my pussy," YoonA says to her trainer, sharing more kisses with you. "TAKE IT, TAKE IT, TAKE IT," she begs, you attacking her pussy harder than ever. "I'M FUCKING COMING," she screams. "FUCK YES, FUCK YES," she continues to scream, both of you closer than ever to orgasming.

"You wanna cum in my face? Cum in my pretty face? I earned it, giving that fucking cum. Give it to me," YoonA begs and promptly gets it, you pulling out and painting her beautiful face white as soon as she says those words. Her trainer follows suit, YoonA taking two huge loads in her face and letting them drip down her body, sucking both cocks one last time, and milking every last drop.

"Thank you for such an amazing morning of hot, sweaty sex," she says, heading towards taking a shower. The day is just starting, and she has much more to offer to you.

Chapter 2 - Anal Dessert

YoonA took you to her ample home, looking as if she was brand new despite a nice session of sweaty sex. As lunchtime was nearing, she started cooking for you and served you a nice meal. "Thank you," you answered. "If you eat it all like a good boy, you'll get a nice dessert," she replied.

You did just as YoonA asked, eating all of her delicious lunch. "Good boy, the dessert will be on the way," she said. But instead of starting to prepare it, YoonA went upstairs, confusing you about what trick she had up her sleeve next. And boy, it was an incredible one.

YoonA descended down the stairs. Her outfit was truly jaw-dropping, her wearing just red lingerie with knee-high black socks and high heels. She started teasing you first, dancing a bit in her amazing outfit, making very seductive moves as she looked at you with her sexy eyes. She moved her ass, shaking it and arching it in your direction, before doing some squats. You weren't aware this was a spoiler of what was about to come.

The stripteasing kept going, YoonA showing you all her sexiness and slowly getting you hard. She pulled her bra to the side, exposing her bare tits and smashing them against each other, before fully taking her bra off and tossing it aside. Next, she started spreading her cheeks, making sexy moves with her butt, and playing with her garters. She walked in your direction, taking off the garter support and leaving herself wearing just her panties, socks, and heels.

YoonA went to the stairs of her house, playing with her panties and touching herself. "You like what you see, baby boy? Does this turn you on? Those pretty red panties?" she asked. "They make me feel so sexy; if you treat me well, you can take them as a trophy," she says.

You are insanely horny and can't resist YoonA's tease as you start touching her ass. "You wanna play?" she asks, hitting your hand just as it grabs her butt. You answer with a couple spanks of your own, grabbing YoonA's panties by her string. "What about these?" she asks, turning around and letting you touch her tits. "Wanna squeeze them? Grope them?" she asks.

You put your thumb in YoonA's mouth, getting it wet as you slowly move down her body. "Good boy, tease my pussy," she says, pulling her panties to the side and letting her touch the hole you had destroyed just a couple of hours ago and that is as wet as ever. You pinch her firm mound. "Come here," she says, you getting close to her and sharing kisses with YoonA, touching her beautiful, firm ass while doing so and hitting it a couple times, making her smile.

You dive to suck YoonA's tits and kiss her neck; the vixen quickly reacts and gets back control. You pull her thong to the side, exposing her tight asshole. She takes your shirt off and starts kissing and licking your torso, slowly getting down as she searches for that bulge under your pants, kissing it while still clothed, before she yanks your belt off, kissing your belly before your cock pops out.

YoonA licks the tip of your already hard cock, teasing it as you take your pants off. She puts it in her mouth, taking it very slow and performing a very sloppy and sensual blowjob. "Oh yeah," she moans, licking your shaft a few times from your balls to the tip. She strokes it, paying extra attention to your sack. "Does it feel good?" she asks. "It feels amazing," you answer her as she takes a bit more of your cock in her mouth.

"Sit down," YoonA commands, and you follow, sitting on the stairs. She gets on all fours, her ass already up as she crawls in your direction for another round of cock-sucking, you opening her legs and stroking your cock as she dives right between them, taking it deep in her throat. "Oh yeah," you moan, YoonA throating and jerking your cock off, getting it very wet and preparing it for that special afternoon, your cock getting bigger and bigger as YoonA works her magic on it, taking it balls deep in her mouth.

"Stay right there," YoonA says as she gets back up. You stretch your arms and pull her panties down, tossing them out as she gets ready to sit on your cock, taking it deep and twerking on it from the get-go before giving it some straight bounces. "Oh yeah," she says.

You push your cock up YoonA's needy mommy cunt and spank her ass while doing so. "Yes, baby, fuck that pussy," she says, taking it like a champion as you pick up right where you left off in the morning. But this time, YoonA is more prepared, retaking control and squatting nicely on your cock while leaving her tits towards your mouth.

You keep hitting YoonA's butt, which only makes her push harder. "Oh shit, fuck me," she moans, pressing her hands against your torso as she bounces perfectly on your cock. You try to counter her, grabbing her ass and pushing your cock upwards. But YoonA shows she can take it well, tilting her body and showing she's gonna come out on top. "Fuck me, fuck me hard, give it to me," she begs, riding you like an Amazon.

"I want you to fuck me right here," YoonA says, getting herself up and putting her right leg on the handrail. Her loose pussy is wide open, and you take advantage of it, quickly putting it back as you grab her hair with one hand and her ass with another, fucking her hard at the handrail.

"YES, RIGHT THERE, AHHHH, AHHH, AHH, OH MY GOD, OH FUCK, OH SHIT, YEAH, YEAH, YOU LIKE THAT, BABY BOY?" YoonA moans as you use her well, just like you did at the gym in the morning. You pick up the speed, spanking her ass and clapping her cheeks nonstop. "LIKE THAT, LIKE THAT, OHHHHH," she moans, putting both her legs back on the ground to cope with the fast thrusts you give to her pussy.

"You're fucking amazing," you tell YoonA. "I know, I've got the best pussy in the whole country," she says, bragging. She moves her hips to meet your thrusts, but you quickly grab her ass and waist and put her in her place. You pull out and spread her cheeks, eating her pussy out. "Yes, baby, worship that pussy and lick that ass," she says, noticing your tongue also sweeping her butthole.

"Get your dick back and spread that ass, oh shit, oh my god," YoonA moans as you pump her pussy hard, groaning as you grope her tits. You kiss her back, grabbing her ass while YoonA arches herself, getting further apart from the handrail. "Yes, fuck it, holy shit," she commands, tilting her body against the handrail.

"AH, AH, YEAH, AHHHHHH," YoonA screams loudly as you keep fucking her pussy nonstop. "Come taste it," you tell her, YoonA turning around and deepthroating your cock nicely. "I taste so sweet on that cock," she says.

"Come upstairs, I have a surprise for you, the dessert you were waiting for," YoonA says. You follow her, amazed by her ass cheeks bouncing up and down as she quickly climbs upstairs despite her high heels. You are ready to do anything this beautiful woman asks, as she gets you to a little room right after the stairs and says the words that would drive you crazy.

"I want you to fuck my ass," YoonA goes straight to the point, stroking your cock as you kiss her. You ramp up the intensity, sucking her tits as she plays with your shaft, paying special attention to the area against the tip.

"Be gentle, baby, my ass is really tight, I'm very selective, only the best boys get to fuck it" YoonA says. "Then I'm gonna fuck that pussy a couple more times before," you say, carrying YoonA and putting your cock back inside her wet cunt, fucking her once again in one of your favorite positions.

"OHHHHHHH," YoonA screams as you clap her cheeks hard. She masterfully bounces on your cock while her body is lifted up. You quickly try to counter, you two dueling like two horny demons. "You're so fucking wet," you tell her. YoonA gets back on the ground, sucking your cock and tasting herself one more time.

"Are you ready? I know I'm ready for you." YoonA teases you. She lies on the couch, spreading her long legs, her pink, used-up pussy contrasting with her very tiny asshole as she fingers herself. You spread her ass, trying to gape it before you put your cock in there.

"Play with my ass, warm it up; that nice pretty ring is all yours now," YoonA says as you stick your tongue out to lick her rectum. "Oh shit, yeah, put your tongue in it," she says, rubbing her clit as she watches you work that tongue all the way deep in her anus.

"That feels fucking great, baby," YoonA says. "You like eating my ass, don't you, baby?" She asks. "Get it ready for that big cock," she keeps commanding, you now extremely focused on eating YoonA's cherry-flavored butthole as best as you can, wiping her ass in your face.

"Put your finger in my ass," YoonA commands as you oblige, sticking your left index finger in her butthole. "Fuck, it feels so soft," you tell her, penetrating it with your finger and thinking of your cock going down that dark tunnel of hers. You switch to your middle finger and tease her. "You wanna take up your asshole?" you ask her. "Yes, give it to me," YoonA answers.

Before you go inside YoonA's backdoor, you push your finger into her mouth and let her taste her anus. She closes her eyes, enjoying as she takes it all, smiling to you as you give a few extra tongueings in her asshole. "Slide your fingers in and out of my ass nice and slow," YoonA commands, letting you tease her for a little bit more. "That feels so good," she says.

"Are you gonna finally stuff that big, fat cock in my ass?" YoonA asks, spreading her cheeks. You struggle at first, but quickly her needy hole swallows your cock up. "Yes, just like that," YoonA says as she enjoys your monster shaft disappearing under her dark hole. "There you go, push all that cock in my ass," she says.

You take it very slow at first, amazed by the extreme tightness of YoonA's ring. "You like that tight little ass all for you?" she asks you. "Work it just like that, nice and slow, push it all the way deep, make me take all that cock," she commands. "HOLY SHIT," she screams as you do so, catching her a bit off guard with your massive size.

"Is that good?" you ask YoonA as she reaches to finger her clit. "Yes, baby, that's good," she answers. "OH MY GOD, OH MY FUCKING GOD, OH SHIT, OH SHIT, YEAH, YEAH," she loudly moans. "Make me take all that fucking dick, give it all to me," she continues, you attacking her ass hard now and making the first clapping sounds.

"You like that, a good fucking ass for you? You like how I spread my long legs for your cock to fuck my tight ass?" YoonA asks as she talks dirty to you. "Keep going, stuff that cock in my fucking ass, oh shit, that feels so good," she moans.

"My ass is all nice and opened up for you," YoonA says as you keep pushing. You bring her legs together, adjusting their position to push your cock even deeper. "YEAH, OH MY GOD, THAT'S FUCKING GOD, AHHHH, OH SHITTTTT," she screams. "OH MY GOD I'M GONNA FUCKING CUM," she continues to scream, her body shaking and bouncing with your hard thrusts, her perky tits jiggling.

"I FUCKING LOVE THAT DICK IN MY ASS," YoonA announces it loudly. You make sure she loves it even more, continuing to push hard as she fingers herself. "You like it too, opening that ass up with your big fucking cock and making me your bitch," she says. She lifts her legs up, offering you her feet for you to taste while you fuck her. "Suck that fucking feet too," she says.

"Lick my fucking toes, they are all for you," YoonA says as you continue to fuck her. She takes her heels off as you start licking her feet. "You like that, dirty boy, don't you?" she asks, shoving her feet in your face. "SHIT," she curses, spreading her cheeks for you. "Such a good fucking cock," she says.

"Take it in your fucking mouth," you say to YoonA, who gets on her knees to suck your cock. "My ass tastes so good," she says, taking a little time to savor it. "You want some more?" you ask her. "Of course," she answers. "Then get to the floor," you reply.

YoonA lies on the floor, you penetrating her backdoor in a spooning position and pounding her hard from the start and making her cheeks clap. "AH, AH, AH, OH MY GOD, YES, SPREAD THAT SHIT, FUCK THAT ASS," she begs. "Are you noticing my goosebumps? It's because it feels so fucking good," she says. You grab her right leg, attacking her ass nonstop. "OH MY FUCKING GOD, YES, THAT'S FUCKING DEEP IN MY ASS, YES, FUCK," she screams.

"THAT'S A LOT OF COCK IN MY FUCKING ASS, OH SHIT," YoonA continues to scream as you fuck her butthole balls deep while groping, pinching, and slapping her tits. "Yes, baby, smack my nipple while you make me take all that dick," she commands. You kiss her boobs and her pretty mouth. "My dirty fucking boy, who loves to stuff his big fucking dick in my ass and make me his dirty bitch," she says, giving you a sexy look.

"Let's go, baby, play with that pussy while you fuck my ass," YoonA says as you finger her cunt and insert a couple of fingers down it. The hard pounding keeps going, YoonA praying to God as she enjoys the hard anal drilling she receives. You spread her cheeks. "You love that fucking ass, don't you?" she asks.

"Oh my God, that fucking big cock is so amazing in my ass," YoonA says, spanking her own cheeks as she gets fucked. "OH YES," she screams. "I wanna ride that big fucking cock," she says. You lie on the floor, YoonA impaling her ass full of your cock in a reverse cowgirl position and smiling as she gets ready to ride.

"Stuff it in there," YoonA says as she takes your cock in her ass. She just spreads her legs and lets you pump upwards as hard as you can. "Yeah, that's good," she says, trying to keep her balance amidst your hard thrusts. "OH MY GOD THAT'S FUCKING GOOD, HOLY SHIT," she moans as her cheeks get clapped hard, you making her body giggle like crazy.

"YOU'RE TRYING TO MAKE ME FUCKING CUM, AREN'T YOU?" YoonA asks loudly. She starts bouncing hard on your cock as you take a little break from your hard thrusting, only to quickly come back with full force. "Look at you, baby boy, you want that fucking asshole so bad you can't stop fucking me hard," she says, taking a massive pounding like a champion.

"TAKE MY LITTLE FUCKING ASSHOLE," YoonA commands as your cock tries as hard as possible to destroy it. YoonA teases you, spinning on your cock for a bit only for you to attack her butthole. "Fucking fill my asshole, spread it open," she begs, you fingering her pussy as you pump her backdoor.

"I'm gonna cum again, FUCK!" YoonA moans as you put a pair of fingers in her cunt. "My pussy is soaking wet because I love dick in my ass," she says, you moving your hand from her pussy straight to her mouth for her to taste. "Keep going, put your fingers in my pussy, I want to feel full," she says. You do just as she wants, finger-fucking her wet cunt. "Let me taste, let me taste it," she begs.

YoonA keeps getting her asshole drilled hard. You now put her under a full nelson and just plow her to loud clapping sounds of your balls into her skin. "OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD," she screams as you use her. "You love all my holes, don't you, baby boy? My pussy, my ass, my mouth—you love using them like I'm a good fuck toy," she says.

"Stay there," YoonA says, pulling out as she sits on your face and moves to perform a nice 69 on your fat cock, taking it deep down her throat and tasting the flavor of her ass. "I love stuffing it down my throat balls deep," she says as she does so. She crawls back to the couch, getting on all fours and teasing you, pushing some of her fingers up her asshole.

"I want you to cum all over my pretty face again, but first, I want one more round of you fucking my ass," YoonA says. You promptly oblige, stuffing your cock up her butt in a hurry, grabbing her ass, and fucking it really fast. "Yes, like this," she says.

"Spread that ass open," YoonA says as you tease her asshole going in and out. "Pull my fucking hair," she says, you doing it as she moves her hips against your cock. You spank her butt hard. "That's it, that's what I want, OH FUCK YEAH," she moans. "Take that fucking ass, make me take it like a dirty fucking whore, like the nasty bitch I am," she says, you giving YoonA the best ass-fucking of her life.

"BEG FOR MY FUCKING CUM, BABY BOY," YoonA says as she starts squirting on the couch. "OHHHHHH," she screams loudly, your cock pumping her ass at full speed. "You like when my tight ass squeezes your big fucking cock?" she asks, looking at you. "I can't help myself; that cock is so good. I love cumming all over it, like a fucking nasty girl," she says.

"Push it all the way in, take that cock balls deep in my ass," YoonA says. "I like that, feeling all that cock up my guts," she says. You pull out a bit to look at her beautiful gape. "Admiring your good work, baby boy?" she asks.

"Fuck my ass until you cum in my face, dirty fucking boy," YoonA commands as you get closer and closer. You grab her butt, stuffing her ass full of her cock. You grab her hair, just fucking her with no regard. "USE MY FUCKING ASS TO MAKE YOU NUT, I WANT THAT CUM ALL OVER MY FUCKING FACE, USE THAT FUCKING ASS, MAKE YOURSELF FUCKING CUM, USE IT AS HARD AS YOU WANT, I CAN FUCKING TAKE IT, THAT'S FUCKING RIGHT," she commands, enjoying every second of your hard pounding.

"GIVE ME THAT HOT FUCKING LOAD ALL OVER MY PRETTY FUCKING FACE," YoonA begs as you fuck her so hard you can't take it anymore. You grab her waist hard and pound her at full speed. Her ass finally milks you as you pull out and unload another big load in her face. "Your milk tastes so good," she says as she takes it in her mouth and swallows it all.

"Don't think it's over yet, baby boy; there is still the dinner to go," YoonA says.

Chapter 3 - My Friend for Dinner feat. Sooyoung

YoonA takes her time as she starts to prepare the dinner. You try to kiss and cuddle her, but she rejects your advances. "Don't distract me," she says, not distracted at all, just wanting you to save all the horniness in your hot young body for her dinner surprise.

The doorbell rings just as YoonA has finished making the dinner. "Greet our guest," she tells you as you oblige and open the door for her longtime friend Sooyoung. "Hello, pretty boy, looks like YoonA got a nice gift for her birthday," Sooyoung says as she sees you, greeting you with a couple kisses.

Sooyoung, YoonA, and you have a nice dinner with lots of good food and a couple of glasses of wine and champagne. After all things are done, you three seem to be full, but that can't be further from the truth for YoonA.

"Do you guys want to go to my bedroom?" YoonA asks. "Sure, it's my favorite place in your house, YoonA," Sooyoung says. YoonA kisses you as she opens the door of her bedroom for you to see it for the first time. YoonA opens another bottle of champagne, and you three drink it on her bed. "You know why I invited you here, don't you?" YoonA asks Sooyoung.

"Yes, you can't fool me, YoonA," Sooyoung says. She takes off her shirt and shows you and YoonA her lingerie. "You came well prepared, such a good friend," she says.

YoonA starts massaging your already hard cock, desperate to fuck her in her bed. "I think she likes it," she says with a big smile on her face and looking at Sooyoung. She massages your bulge a little bit, teasing her friend. "Come here," she says, giving the sign to Sooyoung.

Sooyoung and YoonA share some kisses in front of you as a little tease before both of them move to touch your bulging erection. You offer your thumb for Sooyoung to suck, the way she does it already telling you she can suck a dick like a pro. YoonA unveils your massive cock to her friend as it pops out in one go, licking the tip and sucking it a couple times.

"Wanna taste it?" YoonA asks Sooyoung, who takes it deep in her mouth. You thought things couldn't get better, but having two beautiful members of your favorite group with their mouths all over your cock was something you wouldn't expect even in your wildest dreams.

Sooyoung takes your cock deep in her throat masterfully, not using her hands to give you a hot blowjob, smiling at you as she stuffs her mouth full of cock. "Is she good?" YoonA asks as she kisses you. "Well, she's amazing," you answer. "Such a good girl, isn't she?" YoonA asks. "Absolutely," you ask.

"I love that cock; you always manage to find some fine, thick, large cocks, YoonA," Sooyoung says. "Then suck it harder," she tells Sooyoung, pushing her friend's head against your shaft. Sooyoung takes it with ease, choking all over your dick and sending shivers down her spine with her incredible cock-sucking lips.

YoonA takes Sooyoung's lingerie off, stripping her friend naked as she keeps sucking you hard and deep, her face buried between her legs. "If you are loving her mouth this much, wait until you see her pussy," YoonA says as she keeps watching Sooyoung bob her head on your cock. But YoonA wants a piece of it too, taking your cock in her mouth as you get yourself naked in front of both girls.

Sooyoung dives down on your balls as YoonA gives you a perfect no-hands head-bobbing blowjob. "Oh yes," you say as both girls team up on your cock, YoonA licking your tip and then sharing kisses with Sooyoung. "It's been a while since I've seen such a good, big, fat cock, with all due respect to my boyfriend, his is really small compared to this one," Sooyoung says.

"Give me your tongue," YoonA says to Sooyoung as both girls team up to lick your tip together. The girls shove you to the bed, YoonA spitting on your cock as they taste it like ice cream. "I wanna see that tongue going up and down this cock," YoonA says, Sooyoung taking the bottom of your shaft while YoonA takes the top. The two girls then switch. "Suck it," YoonA says, pushing Sooyoung's face against your shaft.

"You like that?" YoonA asks as Sooyoung keeps moving up and down your shaft. "Oh yeah," you answer. "Keep stuffing your mouth on that cock, suck that big fucking dick, you nasty girl," she says to Sooyoung, pushing her face harder down your cock. "Give it to me, let me taste it too," YoonA says, each girl licking one side of your shaft.

"You look so pretty with that cock in your mouth," YoonA says to Sooyoung. "You wanna feel her pussy?" she then asks you, sharing some more kisses. "Get on that fucking cock, ride it," YoonA commands, stripping herself naked too, jerking your cock off and guiding it inside Sooyoung's pussy.

"Ohhhhh my God, it's so big," Sooyoung says, but she starts riding it hard from the get-go, YoonA watching it as she slaps her friend's ass and pushes her to go hard. "That dick is so good in your fucking pussy," YoonA says, letting Sooyoung bounce like a good slut, kissing her friend as she sits in your face.

"Grind on that fucking cock," YoonA tells Sooyoung, who does it just as she asks, moving sensually open and down your cock. "Eat my fucking pussy while she rides you," YoonA commands, her folds all over your mouth.

You feel in heaven, Sooyoung's pussy in your cock and YoonA's in your mouth. "I wanna taste it. Give it to me. Give me that fucking cock; it's mine," YoonA says, pulling your cock out of her friend's pussy to taste the amazing flavor. "Stuff it back in your pussy," she says, spitting on it and making Sooyoung ride it hard as she keeps pushing her body down your shaft. "Take it, take it," she says.

"Ahhh, ahhhh, ahhhhh, ahhhh," YoonA starts moaning as your tongue in her folds makes her feel amazing. You choke Sooyoung while she rides your cock. "Spread that ass," YoonA says, diving to lick her friend's asshole as you start pounding Sooyoung from down low. "That's so fucking sexy, that big fat cock working all over that pussy," she says.

"OH YEAH, THAT'S SO FUCKING AMAZING," Sooyoung screams. She squats hard on your cock, YoonA spanking her ass. "You like that? That big fucking cock in your pink pussy?" YoonA asks her friend. "YES, IT'S SO BIG," Sooyoung answers as she closes her eyes and moans loudly, getting more spanks from YoonA, who now dives to worship your balls.

"Pretty girl, pretty girl, bouncing on that cock," YoonA says as she grinds her pussy in your face and kisses Sooyoung, leaving you the opening to pump up her friend's pussy. "Go sit on his face," she says, the girls swapping positions, YoonA taking your cock in her pussy and grinding hard on it while Sooyoung grinds her ass in her face.

"Ah, ah, ah, ah, oh, shit," YoonA moans as she bounces on your cock. "Ride that fucking face," she says to Sooyoung, stretching to spank her ass. You can't resist and pump your cock up her pussy. "That dick is so fucking good, I can't say that enough times," she says, fingering her clit as she takes your pumping. "Oh, fuck, oh God," she moans.

"Cum all over his fucking face, cover him with fucking pussy juice, ah, ah, ah, ah," YoonA commands to Sooyoung as her friend ramps up the intensity of her grinding on your face. YoonA closes her eyes, riding your big fat cock to perfection, her moans driving you insane. "Nice and deep, nice and deep," she repeats. You reach to grab her ass while she reaches to grab Sooyoung's neck.

"Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me like I'm your pretty bitch," YoonA begs as you attack her pussy, hammering it as hard as possible. "OH FUCK," YoonA screams. "You wanna pound that fucking pussy hard and deep?" she asks you. Sooyoung decides to watch, licking YoonA's pussy as she enjoys her friend getting stuffed full of your cock.

"You want that for you too, don't you, bitch?" YoonA talks dirty to Sooyoung as her friend dives into her pussy. You grab YoonA's legs, pushing her in your direction for a full nelson pounding while Sooyoung takes more of her friend's clit. "Oh, she wants that pussy. I can't blame her; it tastes so fucking good," YoonA says as you lock her long legs with your arms and pound her hard and fast, Sooyoung's tongue all over her clit.

Sooyoung takes your cock out of YoonA's pussy for a little tasting, spitting on it. "Stroke his cock into my pussy, put it back inside, and stroke it, stroke it, stroke it, good girl," YoonA commands as Sooyoung follows her instructions to perfection. "Now give it to me," YoonA says, putting her legs up for another hard pounding, giving Sooyoung the perfect view of your cock pumping her like a piston.

"You know I like the way you fuck me hard, the way you use me like a bitch, OH FUCKKKKKK," YoonA moans. "Make me cum," she begs, sharing kisses with Sooyoung as her friends rub her belly. YoonA lets Sooyoung taste your cock, pushing Sooyoung's head down your shaft using her feet. "I wanna taste it too," YoonA says, both girls fighting hard for every inch of your big dick.

"I want you to bend over like a good girl," YoonA tells Sooyoung, who obliges. "Let's get her," YoonA says, putting Sooyoung's face down and ass up while you grind your cock against Sooyoung's ass crack. YoonA sucks your cock all the way deep, preparing you for more of Sooyoung's pussy, your cock sliding in easy as she watches it. "That's so pretty," YoonA says.

YoonA tongues Sooyoung's asshole as you feed your cock to her between thrusts into Sooyoung's cunt. "You wanna come, bitch?" YoonA asks her friend, Are you enjoying the perfect view of your cock going in and out of Sooyoung's pussy. "She wants to cum all over that cock," YoonA says, you choking her while spanking Sooyoung's ass.

"Make her take it," YoonA commands as she gets on top of Sooyoung. "I'm so close," Sooyoung moans as you increase the pressure, pumping her hard and firmly grabbing her waist. You take turns spanking both girls' asses. "AH, AH, AH, FUCK," Sooyoung screams. "Yes, take that cock, you pretty bitch, take that big dick; that's a good girl," YoonA talks dirty to her.

"Spank it," YoonA tells you as you oblige and hit Sooyoung's pale ass. The spank makes Sooyoung's brain tilt, her moving her hips up and down your shaft as YoonA watches. You continue to spank her. "Stuff it in her fucking pussy," YoonA says. "I'm so fucking close," Sooyoung tells her. "Then spread that fucking ass," YoonA commands, grabbing Sooyoung's cheeks and pushing her against your massive shaft.

"OH MY GOD, AHHHHHH," Sooyoung moans as her ass recoils hard when pressed against your crotch. "Give it to her, make her cum all over that fucking dick," YoonA says, rubbing Sooyoung's tits as you give her friend very hard thrusts. Sooyoung's hair is now very messy, all over her face. "She wants to cum all over that cock, baby boy," YoonA says.

"Bounce on it, bounce on it," YoonA commands as Sooyoung follows, moving her hips hard to take your pole as deep as possible. "Wrap that pussy all over that cock," YoonA continues to command. "Look at how sexy she is bouncing on that dick, oh shit," YoonA says, you sucking her boobs while fucking Sooyoung.

"OH MY GOD, I'M GONNA FUCKING CUM," Sooyoung screams as she coats YoonA's bedsheets. "Look at that juicy pussy. wanna see it?" YoonA asks as she tastes your cock straight from Sooyoung's cunt, spreading her friend's meaty lips for you to see that pink hole you just used very well. "Look at that pink little pussy all spread for you," YoonA says.

"Such a beautiful pussy, I want it on my face. Sit on my fucking face with that pretty pink pussy," YoonA commands, lying on her bed as Sooyoung gets on top of her. "Ahhhh, ohhh," Sooyoung moans as YoonA starts eating her out. You put one of your legs on the bed, taking YoonA into a mating press position as you get ready to fuck her pussy as hard as possible one more time.

"HMMMM, HMMMMM, HMMMM," YoonA moans on Sooyoung's pussy as you start fucking her. "Ah, fuck, ah, fuck," Sooyoung also moans as YoonA eats her out. You use all your strength, attacking YoonA's pussy at the fullest. "OH SHIT, OH SHIT, AHH, AHHH, AHHH," YoonA moans, clinging to Sooyoung's pussy as she grinds her face on her friend.

You and Sooyoung share kisses as YoonA keeps getting pounded hard. "Fill that fucking pussy, baby," YoonA begs as Sooyoung gets out of her face and decides to watch you destroying her friend's hole. YoonA puts her legs up. "OH FUCK YEAH, SHIT," she moans as Sooyoung kisses her.

"THAT'S FUCKING DEEP, I'M GONNA CUM, I'M GONNA FUCKING CUM," YoonA moans as you slap her bouncy tits and make her body swing with your hard thrusts. You get on top of her, sharing some kisses with her. "You wanna watch that pussy spread for that fucking cock?" she asks Sooyoung. "Yes, I love watching you two fuck," her friend answers.

"Your cock is so fucking nice and hard in my pussy," YoonA says. Sooyoung comes in to taste it a bit. "Yes, taste that juicy pussy, such a good girl," YoonA says as Sooyoung spits all over your cock. "Put it back, nasty girl," YoonA commands, spanking Sooyoung's ass as she guides your cock back inside.

"Oh, it feels so big," YoonA moans as you go back to slowly fuck her. Sooyoung stays there, rubbing her friend's pussy as the two share some kisses. "Spread my fucking legs and make me take it," YoonA commands. "OH YES, OH YES, MAKE ME FUCKING CUM ON THAT DICK," YoonA moans, clinging to Sooyoung's body as she gets pounded. "FUCK YES, FUCK YES, OH SHIT, she screams.

"Keep going, work on that pussy, yes, yes, yes," Yoon moans. You bring her body closer to yours. Sooyoung just admires the view as you keep pounding her friend. "OH, OH, OH," YoonA moans, wet sounds coming out of her pussy as her legs tremble in orgasm. You get close to her, giving YoonA passionate kisses as you continue to fuck her good. "Spread my pussy wide open," she begs.

You take a little break to eat YoonA's pussy out. "You like to lick that amazing pussy, don't you, baby boy?" she asks. You put it back inside, Sooyoung. "That's fucking deep, oh god," YoonA moans, clenching her legs as she gets more and more sensitive. You slap your cock against her clit. "OH FUCK," she moans, squirting all over her bedsheets.

"Suck that fucking cock," YoonA commands to Sooyung, who obliges, closing her eyes and bobbing her head on your shaft using no hands as she tastes her friend's wet juices. YoonA comes to the side to watch, pushing your cock deep inside Sooyoung's mouth. "You like it down your throat, don't you, slut?" she asks.

"Give me that pussy," YoonA tells Sooyoung, spreading her friend's legs as both of you team up to eat her out. YoonA gets your cock wet, moving her head sideways as you insert it back inside Sooyoung's pussy. "OH FUCK, IT'S SO BIG," Sooyoung screams. "Right, isn't it?" YoonA asks, teasing her friend and kissing her.

"Are you scared of him getting deep in your pussy?" YoonA asks Sooyoung, fingering her clit. "So big, so deep in your fucking pussy, huh?" YoonA teases her friend. "OH FUCK," Sooyoung screams, closing her eyes as you hit her cervix. "Take it all in your fucking pussy," YoonA commands, enjoying Sooyoung getting pounded into oblivion while she kisses you. "That pussy is tight, isn't it?" she asks you.

"OHHHHHHH," Sooyoung moans as you give her a deep mating press. "Take it like a good girl," YoonA tells her. "IT'S. SO. FUCKING. DEEP." Sooyoung screams, barely able to handle the heat you give into her pussy. YoonA enjoys her friend getting pounded. "TAKE IT ALL, PLEASE, AHHHH," Sooyoung screams. "OH YES, YES, YES, YES," Sooyoung continues to moan. "AHHHH, AHHHH, AHHHH, AHHHHH," more screams come out of her mouth, YoonA just loving it. "You like that?" she asks her friend, Sooyoung, so wasted she can barely breathe. You two kiss each other as you use Sooyoung like a fuck toy, sticking your cock as deep as possible in her pussy.

YoonA puts her butt in Sooyoung's face and offers you to lick her holes as you fuck her friend. But watching her pussy wide open gives you a different idea, as you stick your cock back inside YoonA and mount on top of her while Sooyoung eats her pussy. "OH YEAH," YoonA moans. You fuck Sooyoung's face to help you with some spit. "Fuck her pretty face," YoonA says, enjoying your cock attacking her pussy deep while Sooyoung's tongue does some great work.

"AH, AH, AH, YES, YES, YES, OH SHIT," YoonA moans. You take turns fucking her pussy and Sooyoung's face. "Does it feel good sticking your cock deep in her throat?" YoonA asks. "Obviously, you answer.

"Fuck that little pussy," YoonA commands as you keep pounding her. Sooyoung now uses both her tongue and hands. "THAT'S IT, THAT'S IT, FUCK, FUCK FUCK," YoonA moans. "Give it to me, give it to me," she begs. Sooyoung looks at the view of your cock drilling her friend's pussy, grabbing you for a little more tasting.

"Stuff it back in," YoonA commands as Sooyoung hands your cock back inside her friend's pussy. She closes her eyes and just lets you fuck her hard. You spank her ass. "I love when you spank it," she says. You two share some kisses. Sooyoung worships your balls. "Lick his fucking balls, good girl," YoonA says.

"That's good, that's good. You wanna make me fucking cum, don't you?" YoonA asks, you pounding her harder than ever and pressing her body against her bedsheets. "Oh, fuck yeah," you start groaning, getting closer and closer to your orgasm. "AHH, AHH, AHHH, AHHH," YoonA screams.

"You wanna let him cum in your mouth?" YoonA asks Sooyoung. You pull out of YoonA, sliding your cock between their mouths as you prepare to cum. Sooyoung bobs her head on your cock as YoonA licks your balls. "Come here," you say, stroking your cock and pointing it at Sooyoung's face.

"I wanna see your cum all over her pretty face," YoonA tells you, getting her wish rather quickly as you ejaculate in Sooyoung's mouth as soon as she says those words. "Look at that boy, tasty juicy cum all over your mouth," YoonA says as Sooyoung enjoys it, kissing the tip of your cock to thank you. "Share with me," YoonA commands, Sooyoung dropping your cum into her mouth as the two share kisses and swap it in front of you. "Swallow," YoonA says, Sooyoung obliging. "What a good girl," YoonA continues, taking your cock in her mouth one last time.

The day with YoonA is over, and what a day it was. You take your belongings and leave her house, already missing her as you walk across the street. You are ready to take a taxi back home until a luxurious car stops in front of you.

"Get in there," YoonA says, you taking the backseat as Sooyoung and she are at the front.

"Where are you taking me?" you ask YoonA. "You'll find out soon," she answers.

YoonA stops the car close to a house where you can already hear the loud noises of a party building up. She arrives, and a group of 6 more girls comes to greet her. "You're late, birthday girl," Taeyeon says. "But now the party can truly begin," she continues.

"We have a surprise you're really going to enjoy, YoonA," Yuri says to her. "Hell yeah, Tiffany, can you please make the announcement?" Seohyun says.

"BRING THE BOYS OUT!!!!" Tiffany screams on the microphone. A bunch of dudes appear out of nowhere, one for each girl, as they start to take their clothes off in front of the girls.

"Are you ready for an all night orgy?" Taeyeon asks YoonA.

"You didn't even need to ask, unnie."

#yoona smut #sooyoung smut #girls generation smut #snsd smut #kpop smut #female idol smut #girl group smut #male reader smut

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coolwyous · 1 month ago

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┈─★ 𝘪 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴 .

⊹ ࣪ ˖ megan knows her confession came at a terrible, horrible time. megan knows she had a million chances before now to say something. megan knows it's probably selfish, could ruin the band, and is overall extremely unfair. but megan also knows she needs to set the record straight— it was messy, and it was imperfect, sure, but megan loved you, that much she knows for certain.

ˎˊ˗ ☀️ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ୭˚. ⠀ ᵎᵎ ⠀ 🗝️

➴ ➴ pairing: idol!megan skiendiel x f!reader.

➴ genre + wc: 7k, childhood friends, unrequited love, heavy pining, angst, megan is so down bad it hurts, also sorry manon for what u are about to go through, reader is oblivious, megan is lowkey a shit-head punk in this but idc i found it fun!!

➴ you might want to tune in...: misses - dominic fike. ♫

┈─★ a/n: i wanted some megan pining + megan angst so guess what i did <33

the fact that your friendship survived her time on dream academy is a miracle in and of itself.

megan is sitting criss-crossed on your bed, trying to stack your squishmallows. squishmallows she herself has bought you, she herself insisted you keep, she herself would pretend to cry every time you even considered getting rid of them.

“can i post this?” she asks, holding up a photo on her phone you two had taken that morning at the beach.

she had flown back home to hawaii for a few days, to spend time with her family before the katseye tour started, but insisted on spending as much of her vacation with you.

“crop me out please,” you tell her, as if she doesn’t already know your rule.

but megan is stubborn, and insists on trying anyways.

“why can’t i tag you?” she groans, throwing herself back on the bed.

“people would ask about me,” you remind her.

when she had first gone on dream academy, you knew it was going to change everything for her. of course it would, after all, she’s megan— charming, hardworking, and so, so talented. it was a matter of time before the world discovered her, and you were well prepared, but that didn’t mean you necessarily wanted the same. while megan dreamed of reaching every corner of the world, you wanted to keep your head low, focus on getting through each day, making the most of the life you have in front of you instead of chasing anything too big or too flashy.

it’s what made you two so good together— megan, the dreamer with her head in the clouds, and you, the earth beneath her feet.

“so what?” she questions, brows furrowing. “we just don’t hang out any more? you’re my best friend.”

“meiyok, you do this every week,” you laugh, playfully rubbing her forehead to try and smooth out her eyebrows. “i have to hide, since you want to go off and blow up and shit.”

“not my fault i’m so talented,” megan grins.

“it is your fault that you attract attention so easily,” you tease. “miss future superstar.”

megan’s fingers hover over your photos: you laughing in the water, her on an electric scooter, the two of you chasing after seagulls on the beach.

“are you sure?”

you nod. “i don’t want the world to know about me.”

“how are people supposed to know that i’m your friend?” she asks, and you see her lips curl up into a pout.

“you know, and i know,” you give her a gentle caress of the arm to try and soothe her. “that’s who matters, right? us.”

“right.” megan nods, blinking. “us. right.”

she deletes the photos that have any trace of you, posting herself instead, deleting the way she tagged you for photo credits, simply captioning it the sunshine feels good. you thank her and go back to hunting through your closet for clothes you don’t wear any more to make room for the new.

you don’t notice that megan spots an old hoodie she had gifted you in the “giveaway” pile. you don’t see her wince, her face tensing in realization. you don’t see her pick up the hoodie, bring it to her cheek to smell your familiar scent, and fold up politely, before tucking it into her tote bag. she figures if you were getting rid of it, you probably won’t notice. she’s right. you don’t.

—

touring takes off, and every day, you see megan’s follower count on instagram skyrocket further and further. you see her everywhere— on your tik tok, on your socials, you hear their songs on the radio, you even see megan’s face on posters out on buildings. people in your small town are beyond proud of her, posting about how they’ve known her since she was a kid or how she used to come buy shaved ice from their stand on the beach. but you never do, this is about megan, not about you, and you’re happy just knowing what you do about your best friend. your bond is nobody’s business but your own, and you intend to keep it that way.

she’s been insanely busy since the tour started, but when you get a facetime call one morning from your goofy meiyok, knowing they just touched down in hawaii for a performance, you pick up ASAP as to not leave her waiting.

(you already know what she’s going to ask.)

“will you come to our show?” she asks breathlessly, no greeting, no check in if you’re busy, no letting you know when and where. it’s how megan operates: messy, a little recklessly, but so full of good intentions, leading herself through the world heart-first and using her head later.

“wouldn’t miss it,” you smile. “already asked for tonight off from work.

“will you sit backstage?” she asks eagerly, and your stomach twists at the idea. you never wanted to get special treatment, to mooch off megan’s success in any way. you had already bought your own ticket, never wanting megan to feel like she had to give any kind of hand-out to you or like you were using her for the perks. this girl had been your best friend since childhood, and you knew she’d insist on being generous, but that was your job. to shut her down, to tell her no, and to keep living your normal life even when megan wanted to bring you into her lavish lifestyle. your job was to not get caught up in the glamor of it all, and make sure she still feels human at the end of the day.

“i don’t know, mei…” you say hesitantly.

“let me upgrade you to VIP at least and i’ll find you after. or something.” her voice is eager, and even though the camera is moving around to the point it makes you dizzy, you can still see her pleading puppy dog eyes through the facetime screen. “please please please, y/n!”

“don’t crash out,” you laugh, figuring the compromise is fair enough. “i’ll be there.”

“see you tonight,” she beams, nearly glowing through the screen, and you wave before hanging up.

the concert is every bit as fun as you anticipated it would be. megan, true to her word, gets your ticket upgraded to VIP, but you’re much more comfortable with seeming like another casual fan than sitting backstage. you can see her better like this anyways, more authentically herself. you think back to every dance competition you had come to cheer her on for, every audition you waited in the car with, even the way you had helped her pick a song for her dream academy audition.

and now here she is, performing to a sold-out crowd in your hometown, her smile never leaving her face as she sings and effortlessly completes her choreography. she seems so, so happy doing this, and you love seeing her in her element. shining, exactly as you knew she was meant for.

the concert comes to an end, and she calls you nearly as soon as you see her step off stage. she has security guide you through towards the backstage area, as hidden as you can be, and you finally get a chance to meet the girls that you had seen in the background of your facetime calls.

they had all tried to follow you on instagram after the final katseye lineup had been announced, and you figured megan had done more than her fair share of mentioning you during her dream academy time, but you had made it a point to not follow them back. sure, they were megan’s friends, but they were her coworkers first and foremost, and you knew that being on their following list as international popstars would make you an easy target for internet investigators. the last thing you wanted was any weird fan digging you up, so you kept to yourself.

but now, with them in the flesh, you figure you can warm up to them now that they’re real girls in front of your eyes and not just voices and photos behind a screen.

“y/n, we finally meet!” sophia laughs, reaching out to swoop you into a hug as if you guys already knew each other. she’s first to come out from the green room, followed one by one by the rest of them.

“i’m gonna be so honest,” daniela admits sheepishly, wiping down her face with a towel, “i thought you were made up.”

“no forreal, like imaginary friend status,” lara grins, and the four of you laugh. “or like an ai that meggy was always on the phone with.”

“what’s so funny?” megan asks, finally emerging from the room with yoonchae right behind her, furrowing her eyebrows as she reaches over to give you a crushing hug.

“nothing,” you reassure her, hugging her back, not minding the sweat. “just teasing you.”

“oh, so the usual bullshit,” she groans, but the smile on her face tells you it’s all in good fun. yoonchae offers you a quick nod, and you all make small talk as the girls refuel with snacks and rehydrate.

you’re caught off guard when the dressing room door opens a final time, their final and missing member stepping out into the hallway with you guys. your eyes meet, and you instantly feel a tingle in your spine with the way her eyes light up.

“oh, who is you?” she says in a mock-surprised voice, causing the rest of the girls to crack up. you can tell manon is the influential one, the way she radiates confidence, and you’ve never been one to get starstruck, but maybe there’s a first for everything.

the girls all scream and echo it, imitating her: “oh who is you?” over and over again, back and forth, cracking themselves up as it gets funnier and funnier each time they say it, all of them laughing.

well… all of them except for one.

“you know who this is,” megan rolls her eyes, and you’re thrown off by how your usually goofy best friend is for some reason not into the whole bit.

“well where are your manners, megan? introduce me,” manon tells her, crossing her arms over her chest nonchalantly, not letting megan’s disposition throw her off.

that’s the thing about megan that you’ve always known— megan has a big heart, but she’s ruled by her emotions, and whatever she’s feeling right now is written across her face. you want to investigate further, to ask her what her deal is, but before you can get a chance, megan is already complying. you sense that she’s not quite ready to go against manon, and rolls her eyes as she points between the two of you.

“manon, y/n,” she says, gritting her teeth. “y/n, manon.”

“same name on instagram? or…” manon’s eyes flicker up playfully at you as she pulls out her phone.

“y/n doesn’t want us following her on socials,” megan says quickly, her eyes wide, realizing what manon is suggesting.

“this one’s fine,” you grin, waving her off, feeling your cheeks warm up. manon smiles back at you and hands you her phone.

“oh, special treatment much?” lara boos playfully. “quit rizzing up the quiet ones, manon.”

you all laugh, and your cheeks hurt from how hard you’re smiling. manon won’t stop looking at you, smiling back.

what you don’t catch is megan’s forced smile. she’s smiling, but it doesn’t make it to her eyes.

—

the girls are all supposed to fly to LA later that night, but megan opts to stay in hawaii one day longer, getting a later flight so she can spend more time with her loved ones. you worry that she’ll be sleep deprived from the messed up schedule but she insists she’ll be fine, promising you there’s no need to worry. she stays at her parent’s house that night instead of a hotel, and she barely gets a chance to ask before you’re reassuring her that you’ll spend the night.

she tells you all about the grueling dance practices, the people she’s met on tour, the secret new album they’re working on recording in between tour dates. the two of you lay side by side in her bed, in the same room she’s had since you were first friends, and spend the whole night laughing at tik toks and reminiscing about the mess that was your group junior prom, ending in megan ripping her dress down her ass from dancing too wildly on the dance floor.

you can hear her breathing even out as she quiets down, clearly drifting off after such a long night. but you have a pressing question, one that makes you a little nervous, and you realize asking megan now is better than waiting for a chance that might never come again.

“hey,” you tap her on the nose, gently, with your finger.

she grumbles and turns over in her sleep, her nose wrinkling but she doesn’t open her eyes. “you’re waking me up for what?”

“to ask you a question,” you tell her.

“it can’t wait?” she asks, letting out a sigh.

“it’s serious,” you finally admit, biting your lip. “i don’t want to lose you.”

she turns over instantly, her eyes wide as they look up at you. she seems panicked, and you worry that maybe this wasn’t a good idea in the first place.

“maybe i should say something first,” megan mumbles quietly, and you feel your chest thud.

“i mean, you can, if you want,” you offer.

“no actually, you first,” she shakes her head, eyes screwing shut for a brief moment. you can feel her nervous breaths on the tip of your nose, the closeness between the two of you. she opens her eyes once more and nods, blinking. “okay, i’m ready.”

“i know i haven’t exactly wanted to be in the spotlight with you,” you start, your voice quiet. you know it’s unfair— all megan has ever been is kind, and patient, and understanding, and you realize maybe, that kind of patience was all you needed to take a leap like this.

“do you think i could have manon’s number?” you finally blurt, biting down on your bottom lip anxiously as the words leave your mouth. “might be easier than dm’s.”

megan looks at you, blinking back, as if in shock. her body is still for a few moments, but she quickly shakes her head, as if she’s waking back up. her brows furrow across her forehead, and you worry for a second that you’ve offended her by seeking out a way to get closer to her coworker after all you’ve said and done to avoid being involved with all this, but megan is megan, and you realize it was silly to worry. she’s always going to have your back.

“yeah,” she nods slowly, swallowing down. “yeah, um, i don’t think she’ll mind.”

you smile and press your foreheads together, grateful to whatever is out there that gave you the angel that is megan skiendiel. “what were you going to say earlier, mei?”

she closes her eyes as your foreheads touch, her breath gentle against your face. “uh… just if you’re busy tomorrow. if we could surf or something. i’ve missed you.”

“i can fit you in the schedule,” you grin, before feeling your eyelids getting heavy. you leave your head there, comforted by the sound of megan’s breaths so close to you, feeling your heart race still from your question. “my eyes are closing. good night, mei.”

you fall asleep, and don’t notice the way megan’s eyes flutter back open and linger on your lips for much, much longer than needed.

—

a few weeks later, you have a break in your work schedule, and megan insists on flying you out to LA with her and the kats to spend some time together before their tour picks back up.

you and megan spend the day touring the city, hitting the beach, laughing your heads off. she brings you to a park, unpacking a tote bag to reveal the makings of a picnic as you two sit in the grass and admire the sunset. the watermelon is sticky against your chin, and she laughs taking photos of you against the california sky.

“would you help me with something?” you ask, watching as she struggles to neatly cut a piece of cheese with her stupid little charcuterie knife, making a mess on the blanket. you laugh, and she grins up at you.

“anything,” she answers easily.

“manon finally asked me on a date,” you admit. the two of you had been texting non-stop since their show in hawaii, and even though she was in new york right now doing publicity for a makeup brand, she had offered to take you out as soon as she’s back in LA as long as you’re still there.

“no yeah, duh,” she blinks, as if she wasn’t expecting it. “of course.”

you grimace. megan hadn’t asked how things were going between the two of you, and you hadn’t made it a point to ask. megan had never been open about dating during your friendship, and you were always too picky to be serious about any crushes, so the two of you had never really gotten to the point of talking about your romantic interests. plus, with megan, your heart was full enough— some days, you wondered why people were so obsessed with the idea of a partner when you had such an incredible best friend to fill your days with.

“she gets back tomorrow. i need help picking an outfit,” you tell her, staring down at the charcuterie platter and fruits in front of you. “and maybe what to say.”

“just be you,” she says simply, looking down again at the cheese and crackers. she doesn’t eat them, just fidgets with them, as she’s always done, a busy body at heart.

“what does she like?” you ask, feeling your throat uncomfortably dry at the thought of your impending date.

megan shakes her head. “don’t worry about that. just be you.”

“i am worrying. i want her to like me,” you admit.

“she will,” megan reassures you, her voice quiet.

“i’m worried if things go poorly i’ll lose you,” you confess, tilting your head at her. “make things weird.”

“it won’t. i’ve got your back,” megan nods, reaching out to pat you gently on the shoulder.

“thanks,” you breathe.

she wrinkles her nose, and you can see she’s debating something inside herself, but within moments, she’s blurting out her question, no filter.

“how come you didn’t want to be seen with me but you’re down to go see manon?”

“it’s not like that,” you shake your head, realizing it may seem unfair in your best friend’s eyes. “it’s easier to hide one date than our whole ass friendship.”

“what if she falls in love with you?” megan presses on, her eyes wide and pleading. “what then?”

“well, that’s not my problem,” you laugh, wondering where this sudden stress is coming on from. “i’m just trying to get through that damn date.”

“you’re right, you’re right,” megan shakes her head. “sorry. you know how i get.”

you reach over to stroke her back reassuringly, before adding a quiet confession, your lips curling into an eager smile.

“i’m excited for the first time in a long time,” you admit. “she seems like a really good one.”

you don’t notice megan’s head fall ever so slightly. she never tells you about how long she had planned this picnic, making sure to choose all your favorite things, the blanket in your favorite color.

—

a few weeks later, your uber is dropping you off at an unfamiliar door, as you try to knock as quietly as possible to not seem suspicious in this unfamiliar neighborhood.

the door swings open, and you see her— clearly having just woken up, hair a mess, but so, so familiar. you can’t stop yourself from smiling at the sight of her.

“y/n,” megan beams excitedly, her eyes going wide as she realizes you’re in front of her, in the flesh. “you’re here?”

“i flew in this morning,” you grin. “surprise.”

she grabs your bag and pulls you into the house, wrapping you up in a hug so tight, it knocks the wind out of your lungs. she’s smiling so brightly, her teeth on full display, it’s almost like you just told her she’s won the lottery. her words come out a million miles a minute, the girl rambling all on what seems like a single breath as she looks you over.

“how do you feel? are you jet lagged? what are you doing today? if you give me like 5 minutes, i can get ready super duper fast and we can hang out— do you want to go get a coffee?”

you can’t help but smile, even if you are absolutely exhausted from your red-eye. megan just has that cheering effect on people. “i was craving a coffee so bad, actually. where has a good drive-thru?”

“i was thinking i could show you this new place downtown—” megan starts, smiling sheepishly, but you’re both quickly interrupted by a third voice and the sound of steps coming from upstairs.

“no way, is that my woman?” manon beams, coming down the stairs. “you look so fine, what the hell.”

“flew in to surprise you,” you smile, your cheeks burning at the sight of her.

“you shouldn’t have,” manon grins, reaching over to grab your hand and kiss you. you’ve always been shy about pda, but ever since becoming official last week, you haven’t minded squeezing it in any chance you get.

“coffee date with megan?” you offer, motioning to the tallest of the three of you.

but megan’s smile has turned into a tight line of her lips pressing together, looking down at the way manon has her arm wrapped around your waist.

“nah, you guys go, i just remembered i have a thing,” megan waves you off, rubbing the back of her neck. “i’ll send you the spot. bring me back something?”

you open your mouth to ask something, but manon is faster.

“i need a driver,” manon grins sheepishly. “still getting that american license, remember?”

“y/n can drive my car. you’ll be careful, right?” she looks over at you, handing you her keys, something in her eyes that makes you want to ask.

but you don’t, instead smiling back at manon and putting the keys in your pocket. “of course, i’ll be careful.”

“see ya,” she waves you two off, watching as manon follows you out the door, the two of you covering your faces with sunglasses and masks.

you don’t see the way megan looks down at her hands. you never realize that you forget to bring her back a drink.

—

the girls only get more busy, and you only have so many hours in a day. manon calls you on routine, every morning before you go to work, but that means you have less time for megan’s calls. but she still makes it a point to send you postcards from every new city, sending you pictures over text even if you take forever to reply, reminding you that she’s there even if you guys aren’t talking as often as you had at one point.

but after a particularly grueling fight over the phone with manon, you find yourself seeking her out. you know they’re in korea right now, and manon was nearly falling asleep halfway through your fight, but your call only rings once before megan is picking up, her groggy voice soothing you instantly.

“y/n,” she breathes, quiet but excited. “it’s been forever.”

“hey mei,” you smile, but you realize your voice is shaky. “sorry, i know you might be sleeping.”

“what’s wrong?” she asks instantly. years together make it easy for her to read you, too easy.

“i just need you to tell me i’m being irrational,” you breathe, feeling mildly guilty that your first real conversation in weeks is for you to complain about her friend. but megan stays quiet, and listens, letting you rant about the fight you just had, getting it all off your chest. she listen, without judgement, without cutting you off, and you feel yourself instantly comforted. megan always manages to know exactly what to do.

you reach the end of your rant, and she’s quiet for a beat longer.

“are you okay?” she asks simply, no judgement, no anger. just concern.

“she’s just too calm sometimes,” you sigh. “like too relaxed.”

“manon’s probably an avoidant attachment,” megan offers, contemplatively. “maybe she thinks you guys are going to hurt each other so she’d rather not talk about the hard stuff.”

you bite your lip, staring up at your ceiling. “has she said anything about me?”

“manon’s super private,” megan sighs. “doesn’t even talk about you to me any more. not since you became official.”

“i know she is,” you mumble back. the thing you had appreciated so much about manon was slowly starting to become an issue in and of itself.

there’s another pause, and you can practically hear the gears turning in megan’s head.

“is she being good to you?” she asks, her voice gentle, tender even. “treating you well?”

“i know we have our ups and downs, but i’m really happy,” you reiterate.

“do you think we would have been happy?” she asks, quickly, as if she’s scared that the line will cut at any given moment. “if we stayed close.”

“maybe,” you smile, though it hurts. all your years, and you never pictured that you and megan could possibly grow apart. but time and distance will do that to you, you figure. “do you ever miss me?”

“maybe,” megan smiles, her voice lighter. “do you miss me?”

“a little,” you admit. being worlds apart with no time to spend together has taken its toll, but your joy in seeing her live out her dreams outweighs it all. “but it’s easier to be proud of you. i feel like i’m distracting you less.”

“no way!” megan nearly shouts, making you smile. “you were never a distraction. honestly i wish you’d live with us at this point.”

“you guys would get sick of me,” you laugh.

“maybe everyone else would,” she teases. “‘cause you’re annoying or whatever. but i wouldn’t.”

“manon would be sooo tired of me,” you laugh again. megan laughs with you, and it’s enough to comfort you. you guys say goodnight, and you hang up soon after to get ready for a family dinner.

you don’t hear megan’s chest tighten after you hang up, the way she lets out a quiet breath. you don’t see megan fall back into her hotel room bed, head thudding into the pillow, her chest aching, whispering quietly to herself in the silence of the night.

“i’d never get tired of you.”

—

another few months go by, and katseye is at the peak of their popularity after gnarly drops. people are eager for their new upcoming EP, and the girls are riding the wave, taking every opportunity to generate talk about their music.

you finally get around to watching their weverse live, partially because you love seeing your two favorite people interact, and partially because their busy schedule has made long phone calls impossible and you miss the sound of manon’s voice.

you and megan have talked even less than before, but you won’t overthink it. you know she’s off living her best life, and the thought makes your heart warm.

you watch the live from your seat in an airplane— hoping to surprise your girlfriend with a visit for the weekend while she’s back in LA.

manon sits in front of the camera, seated next to megan, with yoonchae floating somewhere behind them, just happy to be included.

“manon, spill love life tea?” yoonchae reads out loud, before smiling and shaking her head. “wrong person to ask, guys.”

“guess what i’m definitely not talking about?” manon laughs, rolling her eyes.

“pussy,” megan teases under her breath, much to their surprise, and yoonchae throws her head back in laugher. you smile, grateful megan ended up in a group that lets her be her colorful, goofy self.

“me?” manon presses a hand to her own chest in disbelief, but it’s all playful between the trio. “watch it, ‘cause i can throw a math problem your way real quick, kid.”

megan grins and is next to read a comment. “drop some lore.”

manon shakes her head. “yoonchae?”

“i have nothing,” the maknae says plainly, before reading the next comment. “unnie line, rizz us up.”

“no rizz tonight folks, freshly out,” manon jokes, before squinting into the camera in a goofy pose. you know someone is bound to make a tik tok edit out of the pose by the end of the night.

“and i’m just a lovergirl, that’s my rizz,” megan shrugs, throwing her hands up. you laugh. this dork.

“someone said how can megan be a lovergirl if she’s never loved a girl, poser af,” yoonchae cracks up laughing, and manon follows suit.

megan laughs along, but you notice her eyes squinting at something, almost as if she’s thinking. or rather, over-thinking.

she’s quiet for a few moments longer, the other two scrolling through the chat to hunt for more comments to interact with, but then megan pushes manon by the shoulder, getting her attention. she points to the camera, smiling, but there’s something extra in her eyes, a twinkle of determination. you wonder what the hell she’s possibly up to.

“tell them,” she says simply to manon, pointing again to the camera.

“tell them what?” manon asks, genuinely lost, looking between the younger girl and the camera where they’re livestreaming.

“i am a certified lovergirl,” megan reaffirms, nodding confidently, before dropping a bombshell on the live.

“tell them about how i helped you bag your chick.”

you feel the world pause. yoonchae freezes, manon’s eyes go wide, and your heart drops into your stomach.

“megan,” manon says quickly, like a warning.

your chest tightens. maybe they could have played it off, but your girlfriend’s impulse reaction is obvious enough to show that she’s unnerved by megan’s reveal, and they are definitely not doing a bit any more. you look at the comments, which are now blowing up a mile a minute.

CHICK?!?!? manon has a gf? 😔❤️ MANON WLW CONFIRMED 🏳️‍🌈 did megan wingman for manon?? how did megan know manon’s gf wtfff ��

“the all-rounder is just being silly, don’t listen to her dumb ass,” manon teases, but the warning glare she shoots the girl doesn’t go missed by you.

“no, tell them. that was my best friend, in the whole world,” megan doubles down. she’s still smiling, a self-satisfied grin, and you feel sick at the way she’s not letting up. “and now she’s your boo.”

manon simply stares at megan in disbelief.

“what?” megan asks back, challengingly.

was? WAS? 🌝🌝 is there beef omfg so grateful to have a weverse subscription on this fine day 🧎🏻‍♀️

“next topic,” yoonchae smiles diplomatically, realizing the two are in a stand-off.

“anyways,” manon says quickly, but the damage is done. you know your girlfriend. you can see her jaw hardening.

and you know megan, unfortunately. the way she stares challengingly at manon, like a dare. they try to switch to a new topic, yoonchae’s most recent viral dance, but the damage is done. the comments are racing, and you can see the three mentally preparing for their managers to call them up, as you’re sure they will as soon as they catch wind of this. the chat is relentless.

manon looks pissed lmao pr training is chasing megan but megan is faster 😭 imma give reddit 12 hrs before we know who this QUEEN is that homie hopped 2/6 katseye members omg

you hear the pilot announce takeoff, and realize you’ll have to put your phone away. you swear under your breath and mentally prepare yourself for the flight, and everything that waits for you once you land.

you don’t see the screaming match that manon and megan get into immediately after the live. you miss the three phone calls that megan sends your way, and you don’t see the message that she sends, only to unsend an hour later, never to be read by your eyes:

sorry, y/n. i couldn’t keep lying. i think we should talk.

—

you land, and instead of seeing megan’s message, you see only her phone calls. manon has called you too, sending texts of screenshots of their furious PR team and their manager blowing up her phone. it’s late by the time you land in LA, and you know she’s probably asleep, so you send a quick text of reassurance to your girlfriend, and focus now on chewing out your best friend at the center of this mess.

what the fuck did you do

megan's reply comes back immediately. what is she doing up this late?

sorry sorry??? megan are you fucking joking sorry no not fucking sorry, be so fucking serious what was the point of that do you know the shitstorm you just stirred? just saw your location are you in LA? i was supposed to surprise manon but she may need a lot of support right now let me get you from the airport ? fine

she picks you up in her car and the two of you drive in silence, neither of you ready to confront the mess she’s put you in. you see your first instagram notification, a random katseye account requesting to follow you, and you suck in a deep breath as you realize the internet detectives are probably about to start digging you up.

you swear under your breath and put your instagram app on silent. megan hears you and exhales shakily.

“y/n,” she breathes, as if the world didn’t exist in turmoil around you.

“megan, what were you thinking?” you ask in disbelief, unable to even face her. what could her endgame possibly have been? what could she possibly have gotten out of that?

“i just think it’s stupid that she pretends you don’t exist,” she shrugs, slumping back into the driver’s seat.

“that’s our agreement,” you remind her, feeling your skin get increasingly hot the more frustrated you grow. “it’s better like that.”

“she doesn’t even act like she wants you sometimes.” megan shakes her head, eyes fixed on the road as she pulls in front of the katseye house. neither of you move to get out of the car, instead, you unbuckle your seatbelt and lean to push closer into megan’s bubble, trying to emphasize your frustration with her as it doesn’t seem to be getting through to her.

“megan, you have no idea what our relationship looks like from the inside,” you point out angrily.

you and megan, in all your years of friendship, had never had a single fight. a disagreement here and there, sure, but you always were in sync enough to land on the same page for most of your opinions. what was the point of ever bickering if one of you was always willing to compromise? it was the foundation of your friendship, being able to keep the peace, and part of what made you guys so close. having your first real fight feels like a punch to the gut, but you had a feeling it was inevitable. your paths are so different now. your first fight feels something like the beginning of the end.

“does she even love you?” megan presses on, her face tensing, her grip on the steering wheel tightening even though the car has been off for a few minutes at this point. “she’s always hiding you.”

“she does love me, and she hides me because i’m the one who fucking wants to be hidden,” you tell her, angry to be defending yourself against her at this point when she’s too stubborn to hear anything you’re saying.

you two are equally amped up at this point, both of you leaning over the center console to get in the other’s face. your voices are both raising, and you see the way megan’s neck vein tenses as she scowls at your words. your faces are only a foot or so apart, and you can feel the breath from each of her words, punctuating her frustration.

“i loved you, and i didn’t want to hide you,” she argues, but you shake your head and scoff.

“that’s different, and you know it is, megan.”

“not for me, it wasn’t.” megan says, her voice dropping, and it clicks for you. you realize what she means, your eyes meeting, something heavy in her gaze. you feel your chest tighten at the implication, but it’s too much to open that box right now.

“stop it, i don’t want to hear that,” you shake your head, feeling your face get even redder. you’re angry, you’re confused, and your heart is aching— why is she doing this to you, now of all times? “you’ve made a mess out of everything, megan. do you know how stressed out manon is?”

“no, i did love you,” she insists, if she didn’t hear anything else you just said. she leans in closer, and you pull back, nearly wincing.

“megan,” you breathe in disbelief, feeling it all come over you like a nightmare. “not fucking funny.”

“i would have been proud to be yours,” megan musters up the courage to admit, her face hard but determined, her eyes watery, her voice shaking. “i’m sorry i wasn’t good enough.”

you feel the back of your throat burn, your mouth going dry. not once did you possibly dream of a day where megan would confess something like this, would ever cross this line with you. she had always just been megan, your best friend, always there, as she had been from the start. you never let yourself consider anything more.

“megan,” you warn her, your voice low, clenching your jaw so tightly, your bones hurt. “what the hell am i supposed to do with that?”

“that’s not my problem,” megan echoes, her voice cold and harsh, and you realize she’s referring to her question all those months ago, on your picnic, when she had first expressed fear about manon falling in love with you and it ruining everything. not once in a million years did you think it could be megan that fell in love with you, and even less, not once did you ever think it could be megan to ruin your friendship.

“this is why we didn’t end up together,” you blurt, feeling your eyes prick with hot tears that you try desperately to fight back. your stomach is in knots and at this point, you’ll say anything to escape this discomfort— even if it means hurting megan in the process. “you’re immature, selfish, you don’t think. impulsive.”

“i loved you,” megan says back firmly, grimacing at your words, but steady in her resolve to get it out. she repeats it like she’s trying to scrape the last of it out of her lungs, like she’s coughing up water and trying to clear it out.

“there’s no world where you and i end up together,” you bite back, “get that through your head.”

“there doesn’t have to be,” megan pushes back, her lip quivering. “but i’m not gonna let you lie about everything. i tried.”

“this was selfish,” you hiss, but your heart thuds at the sight of her. you try to keep your rage at the forefront to protect your own tender heart from the confusion of feelings swirling up in your chest. “that’s why we stopped being friends.”

“i loved you,” she repeats, even if it’s only to say it out loud, for the sky, for the moon to bear witness, sounding defeated and triumphant all at once. “and i’m sorry for ruining everything.”

“you did ruin everything,” you blink, realizing there’s no reality where you guys can recover from this. there’s no reality where manon forgives megan entirely, there’s no reality where you can just forget megan’s confession, there’s no reality where you can take back all the cruel things escaping from your lips.

megan’s eyes meet yours, and it’s as if she’s realizing it at the exact same time. things will never be the same.

“can i kiss you?” she blurts out, reaching out a hand towards your face.

“megan,” you say sharply in complete disbelief, swatting her hand away.

“you know why you and manon are even dating?” she snaps, without missing a beat, as if she were prepared for the rejection. “because the night before your first date, i stayed up all night telling manon every single thing you like, exactly how you are, exactly how you get, exactly what she should do.”

you stare at her in complete and utter shock. that first date had been one of your most cherished memories, and you felt like you were walking on clouds the whole time. dates afterwards had never quite compared to that first one, but you figured it was just how relationships go. you could have never considered the fact that someone had put that much effort into making sure it went that perfectly, intentionally, and it makes your throat burn to think that it was actually megan behind it all, not manon. not the girl you’re currently dating.

“no way,” you shake your head, your tears making your vision blurry. “she—”

“did everything right that night because i coached her every step of the way,” megan cuts you off, her voice low and sharp. “you only love her now, ‘cause i loved you first.”

your jaw drops in disbelief, but megan isn’t done. the words spill out of her.

“and maybe i’m a little angry, ‘cause you could have loved me,” she says, her voice shaky, but something in her seems lighter, like each time she says it, she can breathe easier. “but i loved you, y/n, and that was real, even if i’m grieving you now. i loved you, y/n.”

you’ve heard enough, more than enough. you grab your bag and hurriedly race out of the car. you’re not sure you can handle much more. “get out of my face, megan.”

and she lets you. you race to the door and pray manon is awake to let you in. megan drives off, disappearing into the night. you feel yourself hold in what’s left of your tears, bidding goodbye to the friendship that had once meant the world to you.

what you don’t see is the deep breath she lets out. the weight is finally off her shoulders.

#☆ﾟ coolwyous works.#☆ﾟ coolwyous - i loved you miss.#megan x reader #megan skiendiel x reader #megan katseye #katseye megan #katseye x reader #katseye x female reader #katseye x y/n #megan skiendiel

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prettygirl-gabi · 5 months ago

Text

Special Guest

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

POV: First-person

Fandom: UConn’s Women’s Basketball

Word Count: 1,500+

Summary: we have a special guest for the podcast

Tags: @paigeshirleytemple , @unknowgirlypop , @paigeluvvr , @melpthatsme , @authentic-girl03 , @lessi-lover , @courtsidewithlani

I adjust my mic and glance at Kayla, who’s lounging comfortably against my pillows, setting up her recording equipment.

“So, let me get this straight,” I start, tilting my head at her. “You, Kayla Williams, decided that my dorm—my bed, specifically—was the best place to record this episode?”

Kayla smirks. “You act like this isn’t the most comfortable setup ever. It’s cozy, it’s intimate, it’s giving vibes. Plus, do you really think I was about to record in one of those stiff chairs in the common room? Be so for real.”

I shake my head, laughing. “You just didn’t wanna book a studio.”

“Correct.” She grins, popping a piece of gum into her mouth. “Now, get comfy, and let’s start—”

Before she can finish, my dorm door swings open, and in walks Paige.

Scratch that—drags herself in.

She looks exhausted, still in her practice gear, her low ponytail a little frizzy from sweat, and her duffle bag barely hanging onto her shoulder. She doesn’t say anything, just lets out a deep sigh and makes a beeline for my bed.

“Uh, hey?” I say, watching as she tosses her bag to the floor, taking her ponytail out and flops onto the mattress like she’s been carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.

Without hesitation, she burrows into me, laying her head directly on my stomach, her arms loosely wrapping around my waist.

I blink down at her. “Paige?”

She hums in response but doesn’t move.

Kayla raises an eyebrow. “Yo, is she good?”

“She had morning practice,” I explain, running a hand through Paige’s locs. “Guess it wiped her out.”

Kayla snickers. “Nah, this is crazy. She didn’t even say hi.”

I poke Paige’s shoulder. “You good, baby?”

Paige nuzzles deeper into me, sighing. “Mhm.”

“Wanna move?”

“No.”

I glance at Kayla, who’s grinning like she’s witnessing something hilarious.

“Oh, she’s whipped,” Kayla says, adjusting her mic. “You sure you still wanna record? Your girl looks real comfortable.”

I glance down at Paige, who’s already breathing slower, her body completely relaxed against mine.

“She’ll be fine,” I say, settling back into the pillows. “If she’s tired enough to fall asleep while we talk for an hour, she probably needs the rest.”

Kayla shakes her head, still smirking. “Alright, your relationship is crazy soft, but let’s get into it.”

She presses record, and just like that, we start the episode.

—

Thirty minutes in, Paige hasn’t moved an inch.

She’s completely knocked out, her breath warm against my hoodie, her arms still lazily wrapped around me. Every now and then, she shifts, sighs, or tightens her grip, but for the most part, she’s dead to the world.

Kayla, of course, is having way too much fun with this.

“Okay, so what I’m gathering,” she says, pointing at Paige’s sleeping form, “is that you got this superstar, face-of-UConn-basketball, Paige Bueckers, so down bad that she literally needs to be on you to function properly?”

I roll my eyes. “She’s just tired.”

Kayla gives me a look. “Nah, see, I’ve known Paige for a while, and I ain’t never seen her like this with anyone else.”

I fight a smile, absentmindedly running my fingers through Paige’s hair. “She likes being close to me. Is that a crime?”

Kayla grins. “Not at all. It’s just hilarious how you try to act all nonchalant about it.” She leans toward the mic dramatically. “Y’all, let it be known that Paige Bueckers is a clingy girlfriend. Possibly the clingiest.”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “She’s not that clingy.”

Kayla gestures at Paige. “Bro. She fell asleep on you mid-podcast. You might as well get her a ‘Property of Y/N’ shirt at this point.”

I bite my lip to keep from laughing. “She does have a hoodie that says ‘Y/N’s Favorite.’”

Kayla howls. “Oh, nah! That’s crazy. Ain’t no way.”

I nod, grinning. “Got it for her last Valentine’s Day.”

Kayla wipes a fake tear. “This is beautiful. True love.”

I shake my head, still smiling as we move on to the next topic.

—

By the time we wrap up the episode, Paige is still dead asleep.

Kayla stretches, cracking her knuckles. “Alright, that’s a wrap. Great episode, and we got bonus content of you being the human equivalent of a teddy bear.”

I snort. “Glad I could provide entertainment.”

Kayla stands, gathering her stuff. “I gotta bounce, but good luck getting your girl off you.” She nudges Paige’s leg. “Yo, Bueckers, you alive?”

Paige groans, barely lifting her head. “Barely.”

Kayla smirks. “Your girl’s free now. You gonna let her move?”

Paige ignores her, instead snuggling back into me, her voice muffled against my hoodie. “No.”

Kayla cackles. “Yeah, I’m outta here.”

She gives me a knowing look before heading for the door. “Text me when you finally escape.”

I roll my eyes. “Bye, Kayla.”

Once she’s gone, I glance down at Paige, brushing a few stray locs out of her face. “You good, sleepyhead?”

Paige hums. “Better now.”

I smile. “You slept through my whole podcast, you know.”

She grins sleepily, eyes still closed. “Best nap I’ve ever had.”

I sigh, shaking my head. “You’re so spoiled.”

She finally cracks one eye open, looking up at me with that soft, lazy smile of hers. “By you? Absolutely.”

I can’t even argue with that. Instead, I kiss her forehead, letting her sink back into me.

She’s gonna be wide awake later, and I should make her get up soon.

But for now?

I let her stay exactly where she is.

---

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

-Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

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itneverendshere · 10 months ago

Note

ex!reader who loves the game and wants to support her team but hockey captain!rafe is on the ice. he thinks she’s there for him but when she comes in with a date? and when they get put on the kiss cam? rafe slams into the glass to scare them? hate sex????

someone who lets you break them twice - hockey!toxic!rafe x ex!reader (+18)

warnings: veryyy long and 99% smut🙂‍↕️ the things i do for you...

The cold air inside the rink always made your skin tingle.

Your breath curled in front of you like smoke as you moved uncomfortably on the bleachers, pulling your jacket tighter around you.

This is why you hated fall. It was too cold to be outside, too early to be winter. Except tonight wasn’t about the weather—it was about hockey.

Hockey and, the fact that you hadn’t missed a game since… well, since Rafe and you broke up.

“Everything okay?” The voice beside you pulled you back to reality.

Elijah, the guy you’d been seeing for the past couple of weeks, smiled at you, oblivious to the bullshit taking over your mind, and you gave him your best smile back.

“Yeah, just cold,” you said, trying to focus.

You weren’t here for Rafe anymore. You loved hockey, loved watching the boys skate across the ice, their power and grace. Or at least that was what you kept telling yourself.

Elijah wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer to him, and you leaned in, feeling his warmth.

The game was about to start, and the arena lights dimmed, casting shadows over the rink. The roar of the crowd drowned your thoughts for a moment as the players took the ice.

Then you spotted him.

Rafe.

Of course, he looked good.

God, why did he always have to look so fucking good? His broad shoulders filling out his number 17 jersey, that stupid smirk as he skated out with the rest of the team, dark blonde hair peeking out from under his helmet.

He was captain this year, and it made sense—he’d been working his ass off since…ever, you genuinely couldn’t think of anyone more deserving than him.

You knew better than to be here, yet somehow you ended up courtside anyway. As painful as it was watching him, you’d never let him run you out of your favorite sport. Not even if he was captain now.

This was your team, the one you’d been coming to see since before Rafe even knew what a slapshot was.

You sank further into Elijah’s side, forcing your eyes away from your ex, but it wasn’t until you caught the dark blue of the jersey you were wearing in the corner of your eye that you realized…

You’d put on Rafe’s jersey, his number. The one you’d always worn to support him when you were together. Out of all the team merch you owned, of course you had to wear his.

“You really like hockey a lot, huh?” Elijah asked, glancing down at your jersey.

“Yeah,” You mumbled, feeling your cheeks heat up. “I’ve been following the team for a while.”

Lies. You loved hockey, but you loved Rafe more. Or, you used to.

The puck dropped, and the game started.

For a while, you tried to focus on the action but Rafe was all over the ice, playing like the goddamn superstar he was. You couldn’t help but notice how his gaze kept darting up toward the stands, as if sensing you were there.

Halfway through the second period, he slammed into an opposing player, sending him crashing into the boards. The sound echoed through the arena, and the crowd went wild, but you could feel your stomach knotting up.

That had always been Rafe—intense, aggressive, unable to hold back. On the ice or off.

You tried to focus on Elijah, laughing at something he was saying, but your heart wasn’t in it. And just when you thought you’d survived the worst of it, the kiss cam flashed up on the big screen.

Your laughter died in your throat as you realized what was happening, your face heating up instantly. You weren’t embarrassed, but this was... awkward.

“Aw, how cute,” He said, grinning as he pointed to the screen.

You followed his gaze, heart dropping. They were zooming in on the two of you. You could feel the crowd around you start to cheer and whistle as Elijah leaned in closer, clearly getting ready to kiss you.

You could see him coming toward you, his lips getting personal, but all you could think about was—

Bang!

In the span of a second, a body slammed into the boards right in front you, the sound so loud it made you jump. The entire section gasped, and you turned your head just in time to see Rafe standing there, glaring up at you from behind the glass.

He looked like he was ready to tear Elijah apart, or you, or both of you. His chest was heaving, eyes blazing, standing mere inches away from where you sat.

He had skated right into the glass.

Your heart was practically in your throat, and it wasn't from Elijah being close. You could hardly focus on Elijah, but the way he laughed, oblivious to the scene your ex was causing...it made your stomach churn because Rafe was staring like he owned you.

He always had this way of making you feel like no matter what, no matter who else was around, you were his.

Then, still staring at you, he mouthed the words, "I dare you."

Why couldn’t he just leave you alone?

Those stupid words, silently mouthed, but somehow loud enough to hit you like a punch through the glass. I dare you. God, what was wrong with him? He knew how to push your buttons. And of course, it was working.

You could feel Elijah shifting next to you, still oblivious to the whole freaking drama unfolding right in front of him. He was so sweet, too sweet, and it was infuriating right now because Rafe was standing there, all but daring you to move on.

The breakup had been brutal, a messy, loud explosion where neither of you were willing to be the first to walk away. You were both too stubborn, too prideful.

Now, here you are months later, still dealing with the fallout.

Elijah finally leaned in, lips brushing yours, and you kissed him, but your heart wasn’t in it.

All you could feel was Rafe’s stare burning into you.

The kiss cam lingered for a few seconds, and the crowd cheered, but you felt was... empty.

When the kiss ended, you forced a smile at Elijah although your mind was a mess. Rafe’s eyes were still on you, and you could feel anger radiating off him, even through the thick glass.

You glanced down, avoiding his gaze, and tugged at the hem of his old jersey, suddenly feeling like you didn’t belong in it anymore.

You leaned into Elijah, mostly out of spite at this point. If Rafe thought he could just walk around, acting like he owned you—then he deserved to stew in.

Except, he wasn’t the type of guy to let something like that go. You watched as he skated back into play, but his eyes kept flicking up to where you sat, he couldn’t stop checking to make sure you were still there. Still with Elijah.

His shoulders were tense, movements too aggressive, you knew he was about to snap. You hated this, that he could still make you feel this way, even now, after everything.

After the fights, after the breakup, after swearing you were over him.

The third period started, and Rafe was everywhere, throwing his weight around like he had something to prove. Every hit was harder, sharper.

You felt sickly satisfied, knowing you’d gotten under his skin.

With less than five minutes left in the game, things escalated.

Rafe slammed into one of the opposing players so hard that the guy went down, and the whistle blew immediately. The crowd was roaring, but Rafe didn’t back off.

He stood over the guy, glaring down at him, ready to throw a punch.

"Jesus," Elijah muttered beside you. "What the hell’s his problem?"

You didn’t answer, knowing exactly what his problem was.

The ref skated over, shouting something at your ex boyfriend, but his eyes weren’t on the ref, they were back on you, even as the other guy on the ice slowly got back to his feet.

The arena was buzzing, the crowd still rowdy, you thought Rafe was going to lose it right there. His fists clenched—he looked like he was ready to drop gloves and start swinging.

And then he smirked.

It was that same cocky smirk you knew so well, the one he always flashed right before doing something reckless. The ref sent him to the penalty box, and he skated off, still with that fucking look plastered on his face.

Elijah leaned back in his seat, totally unaware.

“Man, that guy’s intense,” Elijah said, shaking his head, eyes still on the ice.

Intense didn’t even begin to cover it.

Rafe was sitting in the penalty box now, helmet off, running a hand through his hair, too casual for someone who was just about murder a guy on the ice.

The last few minutes of the game passed in an instant.

You weren’t paying attention anymore, not to the score or the plays. You were too busy trying not to think about Rafe, how he had looked at you. About the way it had made you feel.

When the final buzzer sounded, the crowd erupted in cheers.

Elijah stood up, stretching, turning to you with a smile. “Ready to head out?” he asked.

You nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah, let’s go.”

You made your way toward the exit, weaving through the crowd, tension building in your chest.

It wasn’t over. It never really was with Rafe. You knew—somehow—you weren’t getting out of here without seeing him again.

You reached the bottom of the stands, where a crowd had gathered near the exit. Elijah was still chatting about the game, but you were distracted, scanning the faces around without even realizing it.

Then you saw him. Of course, you did.

Rafe was leaning against the wall, helmet tucked under his arm. His eyes locked on yours the second you stepped into his line of sight.

He didn’t bother pretending to care about the fans around him—his gaze was intense, a predator waiting for its moment.

You hated how your heart skipped.

Elijah noticed you freeze and followed your eyes, his smile faltering when he saw Rafe standing there.

"Isn’t that the captain guy?" he asked, glancing between you and Rafe, confused.

You swallowed hard, forcing your feet to keep moving.

“Yeah. That’s him.”

As you passed by, Rafe pushed off the wall, stepping right into your path. Elijah, sweet, unsuspecting Elijah, paused beside you.

"Leaving already?" Rafe’s voice was casual, but his eyes were locked on yours, ignoring your date completely. "Not gonna stick around to congratulate the team?"

You clenched your jaw, fighting to keep your cool.

"It’s late, Rafe. We’re heading out."

He stepped closer, his towering frame making Elijah shift uncomfortably.

"Used to be the last one out."

You'd always let him fuck you in the locker room.

Elijah cleared his throat, "Uh, yeah, we’ve got plans after this."

Rafe’s eyes dropped to him for the briefest moment, before landing back on you. "Plans, huh?"

Your pulse was hammering, the heat rising in your cheeks. Why did he always have to do this—why couldn’t he just let you go?

“Rafe, we’re done,” you said through gritted teeth, holding on to the last shred of your composure. “You don’t get to pull this shit anymore.”

“You sure about that?”

You clenched your fists, nails biting into your palms as you tried to calm yourself. You didn’t need this right now, especially not with Elijah here.

“Let’s go Elijah,” you said, tugging at his arm, desperate to get out of there before things escalated.

Rafe stepped in front of you again, blocking your way like he had some kind of claim on you. And God, the worst part was—you weren’t sure he was wrong.

You glanced at Elijah, who was staring at the two of you like he had walked into the middle of a conversation he couldn’t quite follow.

“Look, dude,” he started, awkwardly laughing, “I don’t know what this is, but—”

“It’s nothing, ignore him.” you cut him off quickly, “Let’s go.”

“Yeah, Elijah,” Rafe's voice dripped with sarcasm. “It’s nothing.”

Elijah’s phone buzzed, and he pulled it out, frowning.

“Shit,” he muttered, distracted. “I’ve gotta take this call real quick. Give me a sec?” He stepped away, leaving you and Rafe standing there in the middle of the hallway.

Shit.

He was on you in an instant, grabbing your wrist and pulling you toward the locker room door.

“Rafe, what the fuck—” you hissed, but he wasn’t letting go.

You tried to resist, but something inside you broke down—the unresolved pull between you two, he still had that stupid hold on you, your body responding when you shouldn’t.

You’d never fully closed the door on Rafe.

He shoved the door open, pulling you inside the lit hallway that led to the locker room. You spun around, shoving him in the chest, hard.

“You’re such a fucking asshole, you know that?”

Rafe didn't so much flinch, his eyes smoldering as he crowded you against the wall.

“Yeah? You didn’t seem to think so when you were wearing my jersey tonight.”

“That was an accident!"

“Bullshit,” he growled, leaning in closer, so close you could feel the heat radiating off his body. “You knew exactly what you were doing. Bringing a date with you. Do you want me to kill someone?"

Your heart was pounding, Rafe had you pinned against the wall like he always fucking did before— God, why did he have to be so damn close? He was overwhelming, and you hated it.

You hated him for still making you feel like this.

“Get off me,” you snapped, but it came out weaker than you intended.

His eyes were boring into yours, he could see through all your bullshit.

“C’mon, baby, don’t act like this wasn’t what you wanted. You show up, wearin’ my number, sitting there with some random guy like I don’t still own you.”

He caged you in completely. You pressed your hands against his chest, but it wasn’t like you were really pushing him away.

“You don’t own shit,” you spat, glaring up at him.

Even as the words left your mouth, you knew you didn’t believe them, part of you was always gonna his.

Rafe’s lips curved into a smug grin as if he was reading every thought running through your head.

“Really? ’Cause from where I’m standin’, you’ve been thinkin' about me all night."

His breath was hot on your skin, and you despised how much you wanted to close the distance between you.

Your jaw clenched, trying to muster the strength to tell him to fuck off, leave you alone for good, but he was right. As much as you tried to convince yourself otherwise, he was still in your head, under your skin.

His hand found your hip, fingers pressing into your skin through your jeans, and you felt your body betray you. You cursed yourself silently as heat pooled low in your panties. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, didn’t want him to know how much power he still had.

But damn it, he knew. He always fucking knew.

“I hate you,” you muttered. It was a weak defense, and you both knew it.

Rafe's lips brushed against your earlobe.

“Yeah?” His voice was a low rasp that made your knees weak. “Funny, you never sound like you hate me when you’re under me.”

Your breath hitched. “Don’t—”

He was already kissing you, like he owned you, you were his and his alone. You kissed him back, like the fucking idiot you were.

His hands were pawing at you, grabbing at your waist, tugging you closer until your bodies were fully pressed together. You wanted to shove him away, slap that stupid look off his face—but your body had other plans.

This was so wrong, on so many levels.

You broke the kiss, gasping for air, Rafe was staring you down.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” you bit out, trying to cling to some sense of control.

His pretty grin widened knowingly. He leaned down, lips ghosting over yours. “We both know that's a lie.”

You clenched your fists, frustrated beyond belief, at him, at yourself, at how easy it was for him to pull you right back in.

“Fuck you,” you hissed, but the breathless tone in your voice told a different story.

Rafe’s eyes darkened, the corner of his mouth lifting in that infuriatingly sexy way he always did. “Oh, you will.”

God help you—you knew he was right. That fucking arrogance. It crawled under your skin, set your blood on fire in ways it shouldn’t.

You needed to punch him, shove him, do something to wipe that smug expression off his face.

All you did instead was grab his jersey, pulling him back toward you, kissing him with all the fury you felt.

His lips crushed against yours, it wasn’t gentle—there was nothing sweet about this. It was all months of unresolved anger bursting out in one messy kiss. His tongue slipped past your lips, and you bit down, hard, just to remind him you weren’t going to make this easy.

He groaned, pulling back, his gaze dark. "You always did like it rough."

Your fingers tangled in his hair, yanking back down, kissing him like you needed to get all of this out of your system. His hands roamed your body, possessive, and you hated how much you craved him.

You weren’t his. You couldn’t be, but every heated breath you took, every desperate movement your body made, was telling you otherwise.

When his lips moved down your neck, teeth grazing your skin, you gasped, tilting your head as your resolve crumbled to pieces. He knew exactly what to do, how to make you fall apart.

His hands gripped your thighs, lifting you with ease, pressing you harder against the wall. Your breath hitched, the cold tile behind you making you gasp. Nothing else mattered.

Not Elijah, not the fact that this was so stupidly wrong, not the months of hurt and anger you’d been holding onto.

There was only Rafe. How touched you, the way he kissed you like he was trying to stake his claim all over again.

"Tell me you don’t want this," Rafe begged against your lips.

You bit down on your lip, you did want this. You couldn’t lie—not to him, or to yourself.

“I—” You choked on the words, eyes meeting his, hoping you’d find some kind of resolve to pull yourself back from him.

His grip only tightened, his mouth capturing yours again in a kiss so raw, it was borderline filthy, your last piece of control vanishing with it.

“Fuck,” you gasped, head spinning as his hands explored your body like he had every right to.

“Yeah, baby. That's what I thought."

His hands gripped your ass hard enough to leave bruises, you let out a frustrated, muffled groan, your fingers still lost in his hair.

It was a lot longer than the last time you’d seen him.

It didn't help that you could feel every inch of his muscle through the thin fabric his jersey. It was suffocating in the best way.

“You’re such an ass,” you gasped between kisses, breath hitching when his mouth clamped down to your neck. You felt him grin against your skin, the bastard.

“You say that like it’s supposed to stop you.” His voice was low in your ear, sending shiver down your spine. “I don’t think it is.”

You were about to fire back, but his hands slid under your shirt, fingers teasing your skin, whatever you were going to say swallowed by the heat rushing through you. He still knew exactly how to get to you—how to pull you apart and leave you helpless against him.

“Rafe, this—”

Your words were cut off when he bit down gently on your collarbone, sending a shockwave through your body.

“This what?” he taunted, “This a mistake? Because I don’t think that’s what your body’s saying.”

You just glared up at him, trying to catch your breath.

“I told you,” you managed to say, though your voice was shaky, “this doesn’t mean anything.”

Rafe’s grip on you tightened, lips brushing yours as he whispered, “You’re still here, aren’t you?”

There was no denying it—you were here, and you weren’t leaving.

Maybe not for a while.

And Rafe knew it.

His hands moved lower, fingers tracing the waistband of your jeans.

This was dangerous territory.

“Last chance,” he murmured, “You want me to stop?”

You should’ve said yes, shoved him away and walked out of there with what little dignity you had left. But instead, you kissed him again— angrier, needing to prove something to yourself.

He yanked your shirt over your head in one fast motion, and you weren’t gentle either, tugging at his jersey until it was off and tossed aside. His hands were on your back, in your hair, slipping under the waistband of your jeans, pulling them down with the same rushed urgency you’d been feeling since you laid eyes on him tonight.

“I hate you,” you whispered as your nails dragged down his chest, leaving angry red lines in their wake.

Rafe just laughed.

“No, you don’t,” he growled, his hands grabbing your hips as he settled you onto one of the locker room benches. “But keep telling yourself that.”

Your jeans hit the floor, and he wasted no time, his hands gripping your thighs as he positioned himself between them, pressing you down on the bench.

Everything was messy, neither of you could get enough. A silly attempt to erase the months of distance, of frustration.

“Still think this doesn’t mean anything?” Rafe rasped, his voice hoarse as he pressed his forehead against yours.

You could barely think, let alone speak, but somehow, you managed to gasp out, “Positive.”

His mouth moved down your neck, biting and sucking again, leaving marks you knew would still be there tomorrow.

“You’re such a fucking liar.”

It was wrong, it was toxic, but fuck—there was something about the way he touched you. You were furious with yourself, with him, with everything, but the anger only made you want him more.

His fingers brushed against the seam of your panties, hardly touching you, but doing enough to have you drenched.

“You’re soaked,” he murmured, amused, slipping one finger under the fabric to run along your folds, dipping inside before pulling back out, "Was this all for Elijah?"

Sonofabitch.

“Stop talking,” you spat, but your voice was already shaky, showing him the way you were falling apart under his touch.

Rafe chuckled low in his throat, his finger moving back, this time slipping inside you, properly. You gasped, head falling back as he began moving his finger, curling it inside you in just the way you taught him to.

Your body responded immediately, jerking against him, desperate for more, but he took his time. He added another finger, stretching you out as his thumb rubbed circles over your clit. He sped up, fingers thrusting deeper, hitting that spot inside you that made your mind go blank.

“Been wanting this, haven’t you? All those nights pretending you don’t think about me, but look at you now.”

Your nails dug into his shoulders, legs shaking as you felt your hips following the rythm of his hands, driving you closer and closer to the orgasm you so desperately needed. Damn him.

His thumb pressed harder against your clit, sending shocks of pleasure through you. “Tell me how bad you need this.”

“Rafe—” you gasped, hips bucking wildly against his hand. You hated him, hated yourself, but the words slipped out anyway. “I need it.”

He groaned, pleased, and that was all it took. He always delivered when you begged nicely.

Rafe thrust his fingers harder until your body gave in completely.

In your defense, you hadn’t had a proper orgasm in months, nothing could get you off properly.

Your walls clenched around his fingers as the sweet pleasure tore through you. You cried out, leaving half-moon marks in his skin as you moaned beneath him, lost in the sensation.

He slowed down enough to draw out every last bit of pleasure, his fingers still moving inside you as you rode out the aftershocks.

When you finally caught your breath, he pulled them out, his hand moving to cup your cheek, forcing you to look at him.

He shoved his pants down, not bothering to take them off completely, only enough to free himself. Your breath hitched when you felt him against you and every rational thought you had left disappeared in that moment.

Rafe lined himself up, pushing into you in one hard thrust. Your gasp turned into a breathless moan as your back arched, hands gripping his shoulders for something to hold on to. The familiar sensation of him stretching you out was overwhelming to say the least, but exactly what you needed.

Rafe didn’t give you time to adjust.

He pulled back and slammed into you again, setting a punishing rhythm that left you stupid in seconds, gasping for air. There was nothing gentle about it, nothing tender.

His fingers dugg into your skin as he fucked you, reminding you who you belonged to.

You loathed how good it felt.

“You’re mine,” Rafe growled as he thrusted into you, each movement brutal. “Doesn’t matter who you’re with, doesn’t matter how much you try to deny it—you’ll always come back to me.”

“Shut up,” you hissed, but you still wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper.

He dropped his forehead to yours, “Tell me you haven’t been thinking about this every night."

You couldn’t.

The words were right there, on the tip of your tongue, but a moan escaped your lips instead, as he hit that perfect spot inside you. Your body arched even further against his.

“Fuck,” you gasped, eyes squeezed shut as the pleasure built.

“That’s what I thought,” Rafe hummed, his pace quickening, the force of his thrusts making the bench creak beneath you.

The sound of the bench, his big toned body pressing into yours so perfectly, his breath against your neck—it all made it impossible to think straight. You should have been disgusted with yourself for letting it get this far, for letting him have this kind of control over you.

“I f-fucking hate y-you” you managed to gasp out.

Rafe chuckled, “Yeah? Then why do you sound like that, huh?” His voice was taunting, filled with the arrogance you hated, “This pussy still mine, huh?”

You loved the way he grabbed you like you were his, even though you’d sworn you were done with him. You were still in love, weren’t you? Even after all the shit, all the screaming matches, the nights spent crying because of him.

Before you knew, his hands were flipping you over so fast, your knees hit the bench.

“Rafe—mmh!” you whined, but your words died in your throat when he shoved you forward, pressing your chest flat against the cold wood, hs hands were gripping your ass, spreading you open for him.

He didn’t give you time to catch your breath, already dragging the head of his cock through your wetness, knowing how much you wanted it, even if you wouldn’t say it.

You squirmed, despite how desperate you felt, “Fuck, stop teasing—”

“Want more?” he cut you off, voice dripping with arrogance. He slapped your ass, hard enough to sting, and you yelped, your back arching instinctively. “Gonna have to beg for it.”

"Like hell," you spat back.

Just like that, his chest was fully pressing against your back, his mouth right by your ear.

“Act tough all you want sweet girl, I still know how much you want this,” he gritted out, fat cock sliding against your ruined pussy again, torturously slow. “Know how much you need it.”

That's when he slid back inside, filling you completely in one sweet stroke. You cried out, hands gripping the edges of the bench when he didn't bother giving you a moment to adjust, pulling out almost completely before slamming back in.

The angle had you seeing stars.

The bench was narrow, forcing your legs closer together, making everything tighter. You couldn’t stop the way your body responded to him, hips greedly moving back to meet his thrusts.

Rafe's rough hands gripped the fat of your ass, pulling you back onto his cock with every thrust, the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the small room.

“God, you feel so fucking good,” Rafe groaned, head dropped back as he thrust into you. "So fucking tight for me.”

He pressed his thumb against your clit, rubbing in deliberate circles that had you on the edge again in seconds. A embarrassing whimper ripped from your throat, your hips bucking wildly against him as the pleasure built, you felt like you might break apart.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” He rasped. “I can feel it. Fuck.”

You tried to hold on, but it was useless when he knew exactly how to break you.

“I’m gonna come,” you gasped, your voice barely more than a whimper as you felt your second orgasm rising fast.

“Do it,” Rafe growled, his fingers rubbing harder, “Come for me, baby.”

This time around your vision blurred, your body shaking as the pleasure tore through you. You cried out, walls clenching around him, milking him for all he had.

Rafe groaned llike a pornstar as he fucked you through it, relentless, until your entire body was in an entire different dimension.

But he wasn’t done.

He pulled out suddenly, and before you could catch your breath, he yanked you up, turning you around. You barely had time to register what was happening before he lifted you up, your legs wrapping around his waist as he pressed you against the cold locker. His cock was back inside you in seconds, filling you again, and you moaned, the new angle sending jolts of pleasure through your already overstimulated pussy.

He pounded into you, his grip on your ass bruising, and you clung to him, nails digging into his broad shoulders as he fucked you against the lockers. The sound of metal creaking under the force of his thrusts only made it hotter, more desperate. You could feel another orgasm building, and you hated him for it—hated how easily he could pull them from you.

“You’re mine,” he growled, his voice rough as he buried his face in your neck, his teeth scraping against your skin. “You’ll always be mine.”

And you hated that some twisted part of you wanted it to be true.

Your legs tightened around him, pulling him impossibly closer, deeper, as if you couldn’t get enough of him.

And God, you couldn’t.

His grip on your ass was rough, bruising, but it only made you moan louder. You were on the verge again—your body still tingling from the last orgasm, but the way he moved inside you, the way his teeth grazed your neck, it had you spiraling toward another one, faster than you thought possible.

“Look at you,” Rafe groaned, lifting his head just enough to lock eyes with you. His pupils were blown wide with lust, a wild look on his face that sent a thrill down your spine. “Fuck, you love this, don’t you?”

You did. Because no matter how much you hated him, how much you wanted to hate him—there was a part of you that still belonged to him. A part of you that couldn’t walk away.

His lips were everywhere—on your neck, your collarbone, your jaw—and you couldn’t stop the sounds escaping your throat as he kept driving into you.

“Say it,” he growled, “Say you’re mine.”

You bit down on your lip, trying to hold it in, trying to fight back, but every nerve in your body was betraying you. The way his body fit against yours, the way he moved inside you, it was all too much. You were coming again, and you hated it.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and wild. “Say it.”

You wanted to spit in his face. But your body was telling a different story, hips bucking against him, legs tightening around his waist again.

“R-Rafe,” you whimpered, hating how weak you sounded, how desperate.

His smirk was infuriating, but fuck, it was hot.

“That’s what I thought,” he murmured, his pace quickening, each thrust deeper than the last. “You’re mine. Always have been.”

And then he slammed into you one last time, hitting that perfect spot inside you, and the orgasm tore through you, leaving you gasping and trembling in his arms. You cried out, head thrown back against the lockers as your body shook with the force of it, your nails raking down his back.

Rafe groaned, his grip on you tightening as he rode out your orgasm, his movements growing sloppier, more erratic. His forehead pressed against yours, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

“Fuck, baby,” he moaned, his hips jerking against yours as he finally let go, his release hitting hard. You felt the warmth of him spill inside you, as he held you against him, buried deep.

The second his breathing slowed and his grip on you loosened, reality came crashing back in.

What the fuck had you done?

You pushed at his chest, trying to put some space between you, but he wasn’t letting go that easily. His arms stayed wrapped around you, his body pressed against yours like he still had something to prove.

“Get off,” you muttered, your voice weak, but sharper than before.

He chuckled, that low, arrogant sound that drove you crazy. “That’s not what you were saying five minutes ago.”

You shot him a glare, shoving at his chest again, harder this time. “I’m serious, Rafe. Move.”

Reluctantly, he let go, stepping back just enough for you to slide off the locker and onto shaky legs. You stumbled a bit, and Rafe’s hand shot out to steady you, but you jerked away from him, pulling your jeans back up with shaky hands.

He leaned against the locker, smirking like he hadn’t just torn your world apart all over again. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

You wanted to scream at him, to throw something at his face. But instead, you grabbed your shirt off the floor, yanking it over your head as you tried to steady your breath.

“Good luck finding your date.”

Elijah. You’d come to the game with Elijah.

You shook your head as you zipped up your jeans and ran your fingers through your hair, trying to look somewhat presentable. You avoided looking at him, knowing that if you did, you’d see the smug satisfaction on his face that would only make you feel worse.

He pushed himself off the locker and took a step closer to you. You flinched, stepping back instinctively. “This can’t happen again.”

His smirk slipped for a moment as he looked at you. H e closed the distance between you in two strides, his hand reaching out to grab your wrist, pulling you toward him before you could react, “You’re choosing him?”

You yanked your wrist out of his grip, your heart racing as you forced yourself to take a step back, putting distance between the two of you, “You’re the one who chose yourself.”

His eyes darkened, searching your face, like he couldn’t believe what you’d just said. Maybe he thought he still had you wrapped around his finger.

“You’re the one who walked away,” you added, hating how your voice trembled, “So don’t act like I owe you anything.”

Rafe’s hand hovered like he was about to reach for you again, but he didn’t. “That’s not how I remember it.”

Your stomach twisted, “I’m not doing this anymore. I can’t—” You glanced at the door, feeling the weight of Elijah waiting for you. The one person who was good for you, who actually wanted to be with you.

But the worst part? You were still thinking about Rafe. Even after everything, you were still here, breathless, a mess because of him.

He took a step closer, his eyes locked on yours, and for a second, you thought he might apologize. Maybe say something real. But Rafe Cameron didn’t do apologies.

He raised an eyebrow, “Really?” His hand lifted, brushing a strand of hair out of your face in a gesture that was far too intimate, given everything that had just happened. “Then why are you still standing here?”

You flinched, stepping back. Why were you still standing there? You had no good answer, at least not one you were ready to admit.

“Go back to your date,” Rafe continued, his voice mocking now, “Pretend like he’s enough for you.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to keep the tears at bay. You couldn’t give him that satisfaction, not again. “You’re wrong.”

Rafe let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “I don’t think I am.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, throat tight, trying to push back the tears. This was all wrong. It was always wrong with Rafe, “Stop.”

It sounded like a plea—a plea for him to stop talking, stop looking at you like that, stop making you feel so small and yet so overwhelmed all at once.

Rafe sighed, stepping back just a fraction, and for a second, his gaze lifted. But it wasn’t enough. It never was. “I’m not trying to hurt you,” he said, his voice softer now, like that made a difference.

“You always do,” you shot back, finally meeting his eyes. The truth slipped out before you could stop it, and there it was.

His jaw clenched, "I don’t mean to," he muttered, his voice low. "You know that."

"Does it even matter?" You felt the bitterness rise in your throat, along with something else—something fragile and painful. "You still do it. Whether you mean to or not."

Rafe stayed quiet, and you hated that silence. He didn’t have an answer. He never did, not for this. Your fingers fumbled with the zipper of your jacket, something to keep your hands busy so you wouldn’t look at him, wouldn’t say something you’d regret. But regret was already everywhere, suffocating you both.

“I thought we were past this,” you said finally, barely more than a whisper. “I thought I was past this.” But clearly, you weren’t. Clearly, some part of you was still here, with him, in the wreckage you’d both created.

He ran a hand through his hair, looking frustrated, torn. “It’s not that simple.”

"It should be." Your voice cracked. You hated how much this hurt. How much he could still hurt you.

It wasn’t fair. You weren’t supposed to still care this much. You weren’t supposed to still feel this.

Rafe sighed, taking another step back, giving you space. But it wasn’t the kind of space you wanted. It wasn’t the kind that would make things easier. “I don’t know what you want from me,” he admitted quietly, his eyes searching yours for something he couldn’t find.

You swallowed, the lump in your throat making it hard to breathe. "I don’t want anything from you."

That was the truth, or at least it was supposed to be. You didn’t want anything he had to offer, not anymore. Not when every time you reached for it, it slipped through your fingers like water, leaving you emptier than before.

But there was still that ache, that feeling between you two, the one that dragged you back here even when you knew better. You wished you could kill it, cut it out of you like some infected part, but it was tangled too deep. And maybe a small part of you didn’t want to.

“You keep saying that,” he murmured, his voice almost tender, like he was seeing right through you. “But you’re still here.”

“I don’t know why,” you whispered, blinking back tears. Fuck, you hated this. Hated how vulnerable you felt, how easily he could unravel you, even now. “I shouldn’t be.”

He didn’t say anything, just stood there, watching you, like he was waiting for you to make the next move. Like he wanted you to figure it out on your own.

But you didn’t know how. You never did when it came to him.

"I’m sorry," he said, and this time, it felt real. There was no arrogance. Just Rafe, standing there, as broken as you felt. "I don’t know how to fix this."

You let out a bitter laugh, wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand. “There’s nothing left to fix, Rafe. We’ve already destroyed it.”

His face twisted, like he didn’t want to believe it. Like he was still holding onto some small piece of hope. "We could—"

"No," you cut him off, shaking your head. "We can’t."

You couldn’t keep doing this. The push and pull, the endless cycle of hurt and apologies that never really fixed anything. You couldn’t keep pretending that something would change, that he would change.

Because you both knew he wouldn’t.

He took a breath, exhaling slowly, and you could see it—the realization sinking in.

He knew it too. "I never wanted to lose you," he admitted quietly.

You swallowed hard, your chest tight. "You already did."

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mapis-putellas · 3 months ago

Text

𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒔𝒔 // 𝑳.𝑾𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒎𝒔𝒐𝒏

Spoiled leah is adorable.

You weren’t trying to start a war. You really weren’t. All you’d said - casually, over the noise of the dressing room -was:

“Put your own socks on today, baby.”

And that? Apparently? Was grounds for betrayal.

Leah froze, one sock hanging limp in her hand, mouth slightly parted in the kind of shock only a truly pampered princess could manage. Her hair was half-up, her shin pads balanced on the bench beside her, and she blinked at you like you’d just told her you were quitting football to join a circus.

“What?”

You bit back your smile, tying your own boots. “You heard me, princess.”

“I just-” she started, voice pitched with disbelief. “Are you…joking?”

“Nope.”

Her mouth opened again, then closed, then opened once more, like a goldfish in Nike sliders.

“But you always do it.”

“And you’re perfectly capable,” you replied, shooting her a pointed look. “Come on, big girl. Show me those independent skills.”

She blinked. “You’re evil.”

You snorted. “Because I won’t put your socks on?”

“Because you’re ruining my morning,” she huffed, crossing her arms. “I was looking forward to being spoiled.”

“You’re always spoiled.”

“That’s not the point.”

You glanced over. She was still just sitting there. The socks hadn’t moved.

“Leah.”

Her pout deepened.

“Put. Your socks. On.”

She did not move.

You tried to hold firm. Really, you did. But watching your high-maintenance, championship-winning girlfriend sulk over socks? It was too good.

You laughed, but she did not find it funny.

“This is abuse,” she declares. “I’m reporting you to - someone.”

“Someone?” you teased. “Like the FA?”

“Yeah. I’ll say you’re limiting my potential.”

“Oh, because you can’t score goals without me doing your laces?”

“Exactly.”

“Then maybe you’re not the superstar everyone thinks you are.”

Leah gasped, genuinely offended, and finally yanked one sock on in protest. It twisted awkwardly around her ankle.

“Good job,” you said, voice deliberately patronising.

She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t mock me.”

You smirked. “Don’t make it so easy.”

It took her a full three minutes to wrestle both socks into place, grumbling the entire time like you’d asked her to build a house instead of dress herself. She slumped dramatically once her boots were finally on, legs stretched out in front of her like she needed a nap from the sheer effort.

“I hope you’re proud of yourself,” she muttered.

“Very.”

She shot you one more look. “You’re lucky I love you.”

You leaned over, pecking her cheek with a grin. “I know, princess.”

She tried to pout again, but the corner of her mouth betrayed her, lifting just slightly.

You saw it, and And knew you did, so you whispered in her ear, smug and soft: “You looked cute struggling, though.”

“Shut up.”

You didn’t.

It had been seven days. Seven long, dramatic, sigh-filled, complaint-heavy days. And you had stood your ground through all of them. No socks. No cleats. Not from you, at least.

Leah had whined. She had pouted. She had claimed you didn’t love her anymore, that she may as well retire, that this -the putting-on of her own gear- was beneath her.

You, of course, laughed every time. But today? Today was different. Because today, Leah was done pretending she could cope.

“I’ve had it,” she announced, storming into the dressing room with a fire in her step and a hoodie that was definitely yours but had, without discussion, become hers. “I’m on strike.”

You raised a brow without looking up from your kit bag. “From what?”

“Everything.” She threw herself onto the bench with a dramatic flop that would have impressed any stage actor. “Training. Football. Life.”

You snorted. “Dramatic, much?”

“I don’t care,” she huffed, tossing her cleats to the floor like they’d personally offended her. “I’ve done my own socks for seven days. Seven.”

You looked up, finally, fighting the smile that was already creeping across your lips. “You say that like it’s some sort of human rights violation.”

“It is,” she snapped, jutting her chin out like a defiant toddler. “I’m your girlfriend. Your delicate girlfriend. Whose job is to run for ninety minutes and make tackles and headers and do interviews and sign shirts-“

“You forgot ‘complain about being asked to put socks on.’”

“-and that. Exactly. I’m exhausted. I deserve to be pampered.”

You laughed. “You deserve a medal for surviving a week of basic independence, that’s what you deserve.”

Leah squinted at you, like she was genuinely trying to figure out if you were going to cave. She must’ve seen something in your face, some flicker of weakening, because she sat up straighter.

She blinked slowly. “Baby,” she said sweetly.

“No.”

“Darling.”

You pursed your lips. “Don’t you start.”

“My girl.”

You almost caved. Almost.

But then she hit you with the final blow.

She pouted. Full lips, wide eyes, slumped shoulders. The full package.

“Baby, please. My fingers hurt.”

You gave her a long look. “From what?”

“Life.”

You snorted. “God, you’re such a princess.”

She beamed. “You love me.”

You sighed, defeated. Because yes, you did.

“Fine,” you grumbled, dropping to your knees in front of her like you hadn’t spent the last week fighting to not do exactly this. “Give me your foot.”

Leah smirked, smug as anything, and lifted her foot daintily into your lap. “Thought you’d see sense.”

“Shut up.”

She didn’t. Of course she didn’t. She just grinned wider as you rolled the sock up her ankle, then reached for her boot.

“You know,” she said casually, “this is probably good for our relationship. Acts of service and all that.”

“Mm,” you muttered, tightening her laces with more force than necessary

“Is it weird that I missed this?” she asked, swinging her other foot into your lap like she hadn’t just admitted to being completely useless without you. “Like… I genuinely felt less loved without the sock thing.”

“You’re a menace.”

“And you’re an enabler.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you finished tying her second cleat and patted her knee. “There. All done. Happy now?”

Leah’s response was to launch herself forward, arms thrown around your shoulders as she pressed a kiss to your cheek. “Very.”

“Glad I could restore balance to the world,” you muttered, standing up as she clung to you like a koala.

She didn’t let go. And you’re forced to place your hands beneath her thighs to hoist her up properly.

“In fact,” she said, looking down at you, “you could carry me to the pitch too. Since my legs are tired.”

You looked up her. “Are you being serious?”

She simply blinked, innocent as ever. “Wouldn’t you carry your tired princess?”

You sighed, gently swatting her behind as you turn to walk out of the changing room. “You’re unbelievable.”

And as she wrapped her arms around your neck and giggled in your ear, her chin resting on your shoulder, you couldn’t help but grin.

Tags:

@ceesimz @girlgenius1111 @codiemarin @simp4panos @silentwolfsstuff @goldenempyrean @xxnaiaxx @liloandstitchstan @ktgoodmorning @chelseacult

#leah williamson x you #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson imagine #leah williamson #spoiled leah williamson #woso community #woso x reader #woso appreciation #woso imagine

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luveline · 10 months ago

Note

hiya jadey! A hotchner!reader x spencer request for you <3 Maybe Spencer comes home a little tense/snappy from a case and reader misinterprets it as anger towards her so she starts clesning and catering to what she thinks Spencer needs so he isn’t angry at her anymore? (even thought he never was.)

She sort of regresses into what she did when her adoptive parents weren’t pleased with her :(

love you love you love you superstar!

i love u <3 | fem, 1k

cw past emotional abuse

The door to Spencer’s apartment closes with a distinct clunk. Certainly shut too hard.

It sends a horrible feeling deep into the very pit of your stomach. Like you could cry, then and there. You frown at the odd feeling and stand to shake it off.

Spencer’s home.

“Hey,” you say, calling without seeing him, making your way into the living room from his kitchen to find him at the door.

His bag looks heavier than usual on a slouched shoulder, his hair puffy. He must’ve showered before they flew back into Virginia and air-dried his short curls. He drops his bag on the floor, scrubbing his face, nose and eyes screwed up tightly as his glasses push up to his forehead.

“You okay?” you ask.

His face flickers. “Fine.”

It’s not the greeting you’d wanted. Maybe you’re egotistical or something but you’d at least expected a hug. He’s the one who invited you over, surely he wants to see you?

The queasy feeling worsens.

You give him a little kiss on the cheek to test the waters. “Missed you.”

“Yeah, I missed you too.”

You aren’t convinced. Spencer rubs his face again, trudging to the couch to lay down.

You send yourself into a tailspin. Looking around the apartment, you can see why he’s unhappy. You left your cup on the coffee table, your handbag on the armrest, there’s so much to clean up and put away.

His silence means you did something wrong.

He asked you to be there. He left you the key. But maybe he didn’t really want you there after all.

When you were younger, you’d get home from school, and a half hour later your father’s car would park in the driveway. You’d get this feeling, then, a tenseness, not necessarily fear but anticipation. Some days it wouldn’t matter, and most days he’d come through the door like a animal to be coaxed into softness. You’d convince him to be angry at something else. Enable his fury, agree with every word he said.

Smiling, calmed, he’d walk into a spotless kitchen and find a pan soaking in the sink. I just wish you’d have some fucking consideration, he’d say. Or, Really? Or he’d sigh like he couldn’t believe it and slam a cabinet door.

Nothing was right. You weren’t worth any patience.

“Dove?”

You peek around the doorway again, your tidying having taken you to the kitchen to wash your cup. “Yeah?” you say.

“What are you doing?”

“Just– just cleaning up.”

“It’s fine. It’s clean, don’t worry about it.” He frowns at you. “Are you okay?”

“‘Course.”

His frown deepens. Spencer only ever frowns when he’s confused. When he’s upset he tends to press his lips together in an accidental pout, and when he’s angry, he’s stony. Spencer’s good at profiling because it’s his job. You learned it at home. Seeing anger in things most of all.

“I’m fine. Are you okay?” you ask, wiping your hands on your shirt. “Sorry, I should’ve asked how the case was. It was tough, right? It– I mean, they’re all tough.” You smile as you sit on the couch beside him, one leg tucked underneath you.

He shakes his head. “I’ve missed something. I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“You’re not acting like yourself.”

“Sorry.” You wince. “I thought you were having a bad day?”

“I am. Or, I was.”

Spencer holds out his hand. When you take it, he pulls you toward him with the care of someone who knows what it’s like to be startled, shuffling toward one another to be knee to knee. He holds your arm like it’s all of you, pressing you to his chest.

For a while, you just sit there. Quiet, almost silent, the apartment rests around you. Spencer frowns at your hand as he draws lines up and down your arm, but slowly his frown softens, and you realise your stress has faded with it. Spencer isn’t angry. And if he were, it’s not with you.

“Sorry I shut the door hard when I came in,” he says.

You feel caught. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine. Today was really bad, I got into it with Emily and the case… I don’t know. But coming home to you…”

Spencer curls your fingers over his hand and presses them to the underside of his chin.

“Thank you for coming over,” he says. “Did you eat?”

You can’t help smiling, turning your hand slowly to cup his cheek, to hold him still. “I was waiting for you.”

“Well, you decide and I’ll go pick it up.”

“I can’t come with you?”

“Do you want to?” He turns into your touch, glasses pushed against his eye, his lashes on the lense.

You take back your hand. “Sure.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, we’ll walk. It’ll be nice, the weather’s not too bad.”

“You feel okay?” he asks.

“Worried about me?”

“What your brother might do to me,” he says, nodding into the joke. Then he cracks just as quickly and tugs you in to hug you sideways. “Worried about how I made you feel.”

It wasn’t Spencer’s fault, but you don’t want to talk about it anymore. You push up taller than him to encircle his head and neck, pressing your nose into the soft crop of his hair. He squeezes the small of your back with similar gusto. “Got my wires crossed,” you mumble.

”Want me to uncross them?”

You say, Please, and Spencer pushes you away from him to put your arms firmly on the right sides of you, uncrossing you, and kissing you on the nose.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

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endzithefangirl · 11 months ago

Text

"I'm gong to put 'being a WAG' on my CV"

Authors note: Here's a little Max Verstappen x TechCEO!Reader. Bet you didn't see that comng. Anyway, got the idea for this a few days ago, and I guess my love of Italian food made me finish this

Summary: Max's new relatioship causes a social media stir, but the new couple couldn't care less whilst in Italy.

Warnings: English isn't my first language, no use of Y/N, female reader, famous reader

Word count: 2k

You understood it, to a degree. Max had just broken off a three-year-long relationship right before summer break, and now suddenly he was spending the summer with you. Now you’re at the paddock... No wonder people thought there was some crossover.

The truth? You two met last New Year's at a party for some sporting event. You, being one of the sponsors for your country's national sports committee, were invited, and Max... well, Max was Max Verstappen. You hit it off, exchanged numbers, showed him around your company a few times, and took him to all of your favorite restaurants in NYC. But you knew he had a girlfriend; everyone knew. And he was taking care of her kid too.

That breakup was hard on him. He had stopped loving her, but he couldn't just kick a woman and her kid out of his house. Max waited for them to have a huge fight, and then they just... broke up. And to your surprise, he was in New York the next day, saying that he needed someone to talk to. Bullshit. You knew he liked you. Otherwise, he wouldn't have come all the way here 'just to talk.'

But here you were, in Italy, spending time with him before Monza. You were currently typing away on your phone, trying to make peace in the finance department. Max glanced up from his phone every so often, stealing peeks at you while grinning.

He had never quite been so into someone like you. You were smart, funny, talented, pretty, and on top of all that - you were also rich. But you were also the most challenging girl to flirt with Max had ever met.

"You look like you could use a break," he said, after watching you tap away at your work laptop for a few minutes.

"Probably. What's the point of having interns if they don't do anything?"

"Then you should consider hiring me; I'm pretty good at helping out," Max teased, looking up from his phone and sending you a cheeky smile. He loved a woman who was in power, who knew what she was doing, and he could tell you were used to being the boss. "Come on, take a break. You know you deserve it," Max encouraged, resting his hand on top of yours to stop you from working some more.

"I guess I could eat…" You say, closing your laptop. "I saw on Google Maps that there’s a nice pizza place down the road. We can go if you’re hungry.”

Max smiled and nodded. “Yes, I’m starving; let’s go,” he said, reaching for the car keys.

“No, it’s okay, let’s walk,” you stop him. He turned towards you, slightly confused. Usually, women would give anything to drive around with Max Verstappen. Maybe that’s just what makes you special.

The two of you walked out of the hotel, your bodyguard Lenny standing outside the door. The tall, muscular man just nodded as the two of you entered the elevator. Max found it funny that you preferred Lenny guard your stuff more than you. Especially the laptop. He sometimes wondered what you kept in there...

“Is Pierre gonna be at the race?” you asked as you exited the building, breaking the silence.

Max’s head snapped towards you, and he raised his brow. “Uh, yes, of course he is… Why?”

“Because I want to see Kika.”

“Oh, so she’s your secret F1 crush, eh?” Max said, relaxing.

You laughed. “Pierre is a solid seven with a better haircut. Kika is a twelve on a bad day.”

As you got to the bigger streets, you started to understand why Max drove everywhere. Unlike you, who were a chiller and niche celebrity, despite being incredibly rich, Max was a real superstar. Your short walk to the pizza shop became a fan meet and greet, with people coming up to you every three seconds and asking for photos.

“Is this your girlfriend?” one of the people asking for a picture asked. As you finished taking the photo, you noticed Max’s slightly flustered face as he heard the question. He stumbled, but you answered with a simple “Yeah.”

As you arrived at the restaurant, you noticed that Max was staring at you. He seemed… surprised. You laughed at his facial expression. The sound of your laugh calmed him instantly, his heartbeat beginning to return to normal. Max cursed himself in his head; he was better than this. He chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Is it something I said?"

Max ran a hand through his hair, feeling his cheeks heating up slightly. "No, no... Not really," he reassured you, trying to sound casual. "I was just... thinking."

"Okay, well I'm thinking about the food. I think a Vesuvius sounds great right now."

Max chuckled and quickly glanced down at the menu to hide his embarrassment. "Vesuvius? What the hell is a Vesuvius?" he asked, though his eyes scanned down the menu, searching for it.

"It's a type of pizza," you teased. "It's been like three minutes; have you not even skimmed the menu?"

Max fidgeted under your gaze, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks again. "What?" he asked with a nervous chuckle. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You tell me. Why are you staring?" Max shook his head, glancing up at you questioningly. He had no idea what you were thinking about. "No... What are you thinking about?" he asked, his curiosity getting the best of him.

"There are pots from 4000 years ago found in ancient Egypt that are made out of an incredibly difficult to manage material and are cut to such perfection that they balance on their round bottom."

Max's eyebrows shot up in surprise. He was expecting something totally different. Something that had at least a little bit to do with him. He chuckled, still somewhat surprised as he studied your face. "Where did that come from?" he asked incredulously.

"The Egyptians. They were like, cooking pots and stuff. Royal cooking pots probably, but still," you teased.

Max chuckled again, shaking his head in disbelief. "You're thinking about cooking pots, and here I am, just trying to figure out what I did to make you say that we're together so casually."

"What do you mean? Are we not together?"

"Well, of course we're together," Max said, his voice taking on a more serious tone now. He glanced around the restaurant briefly, making sure no one was listening in on their conversation. "I just... I didn't expect you to say it so casually," he said, his eyes meeting yours again.

"Oh, sorry. I didn't know we were keeping it a secret. I mean, I was at the paddock and all last time, and I took days off work to come to this race—"

Max shook his head, realizing you completely misunderstood what he was saying. "No, no, it's not that... I just..." he began, struggling to find the right words. He took a deep breath, his fingers fidgeting in his lap. "It's just... you're so casual about it... and I'm... a bit too flustered for my own good," he admitted, a tinge of embarrassment in his voice.

You softened up a bit. "Oh, okay, I get it. It was just a bit too shocking for you... Yeah, sorry."

Max felt his heartbeat a little faster when you softened, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Yeah, it was a bit... unexpected for me," he chuckled, feeling somewhat silly for being so flustered. "But it's fine, honestly."

"Do you think my stomach is gonna have space for gelato later? There's a really good gelateria; I can see it from the window... They make the ones with the macarons..."

Max chuckled, loving how you were so excited about the gelato. "Well, based on the amount of pizza you usually eat," he teased, a smirk on his face. "I'd say you're probably fine."

"No, they put the macarons on the gelato."

"On the gelato?" Max repeated, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

"I've never heard of such a thing," he said, leaning forward to get a better look out the window at the gelateria you were talking about. "Well, in that case," he said with a grin, "we're definitely going there for dessert."

After eating so much that your belts barely held, you came back to the hotel, Lenny greeting you at the door as usual. Max's stomach was stuffed to the brim, but he was in such a good mood from the good food and even better company, he didn't even care. He walked back into the hotel together with you, his hand still holding yours. Lenny greeted the two of you as usual, but Max couldn't help but notice the way Lenny looked at you, like he was analyzing you.

"All good, Len. You go to your room for the night," you said to Lenny. He nodded, smiled at the both of you, and then went off. Max watched as Lenny walked off, then turned to you, a small frown on his face.

"He was looking at you funny," he said, a protective edge to his voice.

"He thinks it's funny. That I'm dating a Formula 1 driver."

"What's so funny about that?" he protested, his grip on your hand tightening ever so slightly. "He just... I don't know, he's a big fan of yours I don't think he's processed it yet". Max's frown relaxed as you explained it, his ego immediately soothed a bit. Of course he was a big fan of his, who wasn't?

"Oh, so he's a big fan?" he teased, a hint of pride and cockiness in his voice.

You take your shoes off and lay on the bed, your stomach bloated from all the good food "Yeah. Talk to him a bit, I think it'll make him happy" You let out groan as you move "I hate you Italy. You has so much good food... I love it though"

Max chuckled, watching as you dramatically threw yourself onto the bed, your stomach protesting the amount of food you just had. "You're such a drama queen sometimes," he teased, grinning as he took off his shoes as well and joined you on the bed. He lays down beside you, running a hand over your bloated stomach. "You'll be fine," he said, though there was a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Oh, you know what I saw on TikTok?"

Max raised an eyebrow in curiosity, his hand now resting on your stomach. He didn't typically pay too much attention to TikTok, but he was more than happy to listen to you.

"What did you see?" he asked, turning his head to look at you.

"Well first of all, I'm a WAG now. Thank you for that, I will be putting that on my CV. But second, they liked that I was wearing Red Bull merch. I thought they wouldn't like it, but they did"

Max chuckled as you spoke, amused by how casually you mentioned being a WAG, and how seriously you were taking the fact that you were wearing Red Bull merchandise. "Well, of course they liked it," he said with a smirk. "You were wearing the merch of the best team out there."

He gave you a smug look, his hand moving up and tracing a lazy pattern on your stomach. "Not to mention the merch of the best driver out there."

#max verstappen #max verstappen imagine #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #max verstappen x reader #f1 #formula 1

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bueckersstuff · 5 months ago

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PART I - PART II - PART III - PART IV

There’s something about being best friends with someone like Paige Bueckers that makes you feel both incredibly lucky and completely exasperated at the same time. You know that sounds contradictory, but if you knew her, you’d get it.

You met when you were eight, and I swear, from the moment you collided on the playground during recess—both of you going for the same ball—you were inseparable.

It wasn’t hard to see that Paige was special. Even back then, she was effortlessly athletic, her natural grace obvious in everything from her jump shots to the way she could race across the court. While other kids had their moments of clumsy falls or awkward movements, Paige glided, even as a little girl.

You weren’t into sports—never were—but you always knew she was going places. You watched her grow from the girl who loved to chase after basketballs into the player who could practically bend the rules of physics to make a perfect shot. She was destined to be a star, and the rest of us? Well, you just had to hang on to her for the ride.

Then there was you—definitely not a basketball star, but no slouch when it came to your studies. You were the type to bury your nose in books while everyone else was at practice. You loved reading, writing, and getting lost in whatever academic challenge you could find. Your classmates always knew you could finish a math test in half the time and nail the history essay before anyone else had even started. You weren’t a superstar in the traditional sense, but you had your own rhythm, and it worked for you.

And yet, despite your different worlds, you and Paige were the best of friends.

You sat next to each other in most of your classes, and your favorite pastimes involved everything from debating which was the best superhero movie, running through the halls of your high school, laughing at something no one else understood. And then there was the teasing—God, the teasing.

Paige was relentless. She’d always tease you for being the "boring academic" while she perfected her crossover dribble, making jokes about how you’d never survive a week of basketball practice. It wasn’t mean-spirited, at least not in the way that some people’s teasing could be. But that didn’t make it any less insufferable.

“Come on, nerd, do you even know what a fast break is?” she’d say, standing with her hands on her hips after yet another practice, eyes gleaming mischievously.

You’d roll your eyes and half-smile, knowing what was coming next.

“Yes, Paige. It’s when someone speeds up the court before the defense can set up. I’ve read a book or two about basketball.”

Her laugh would always follow. “Well, maybe you should try it sometime. You’ll be a star! You could wear your glasses while you play, and the team could call you ‘The Bookworm!’”

You hated it. You hated that she’d get under your skin, making you feel like you should try to be something you weren’t. But at the same time, you secretly kind of liked it. Who else would tease you like that and still be your biggest fan? I mean, Paige was so full of life, so unapologetically herself, that you couldn’t help but admire her for it, even if it drove you crazy.

It wasn’t all teasing, of course. There were those moments when you’d look at Paige, really look at her, and see the layers that the world didn't always get to see—the quiet moments after games when she was just a regular person with regular fears. Like that time she sat next to you in the locker room after a particularly tough loss, not saying much but letting you know she was okay by the way she leaned her head on your shoulder. You were the one with the words in those moments, and she didn’t need to ask for help. You just understood.

In high school, you were those two girls everyone kind of knew—Paige, the basketball prodigy, and you, the girl who could read, write, and speak five languages (okay, maybe just four, but who’s counting?).

People knew you were best friends because you made it so obvious. You were the one who had her back through the drama, through the spotlight, through all the things that came with being someone like Paige. And she was the one who kept you grounded, who pulled you out of your shell, and who still found a way to make you laugh, even when you were too stressed to breathe.

I remember one particular day, not long before you graduated, when the teasing reached a whole new level. Paige had been making jokes all day about how you were going to be "the world’s most successful librarian" or "the next Shakespeare" (thanks, Paige, I think?). By the time lunch came around, you were done.

“Okay, okay,” you said, throwing your hands up in mock surrender as you sat down across from her at your usual lunch table. “I’ll come to one of your practices. You can teach me how to play basketball. But just know that if I end up scoring more points than you, I’m going to bring it up forever.”

Paige’s eyes lit up. “You want in? Alright, let’s see what you’ve got. This is gonna be so much fun.”

It was that day that you realized just how much you loved your friendship. Because while Paige could drive you to the edge of insanity with her teasing, her laughter, her crazy competitiveness—it was all out of love. It always had been. And no matter how much she teased you, she was the first person to defend you when you needed it. No matter how many basketball practices you would never get through without tripping over your own feet, no matter how many times she’d laugh at your inability to dribble, you wouldn’t trade her for the world.

Paige Bueckers, insufferable tease and one of the best friends you could ever ask for.

Things started to change in 2019. It wasn’t immediate, and it wasn’t a loud, dramatic shift, but slowly, like the tide creeping in, everything began to feel different. That was the year Paige was recruited for Team USA’s Women’s U16 National Team. You knew it was coming—her talent was undeniable, and she was just too good to ignore. But still, when the phone call came, when she told you she’d made the team, you felt this rush of pride mixed with something else you couldn’t quite place.

She was going places. Big places. You were still that girl with your nose buried in textbooks, with your quiet, academic achievements to your name. But Paige? Paige was going to represent her country. It was what she’d always dreamed of. You were thrilled for her, of course, but with that thrill came something else—something that felt like the quiet loss of the friend you’d grown up with.

That’s when Azzi Fudd came into the picture.

Azzi, a prodigy in her own right, had already started making waves in the basketball world by then. She was fierce, driven, and she and Paige immediately hit it off. They were two peas in a pod—both basketball geniuses, both with an unshakable bond of ambition and determination. You watched from the sidelines as the two of them grew closer over the months. They practiced together, trained together, and even joked together in ways that made you feel like an outsider. Azzi became Paige’s new constant, the person she could lean on during the long hours of practice and travel, the one who shared her dreams of championships and accolades.

And you—you were left behind.

At first, it was subtle. Paige’s messages became fewer and farther between. She was busy, you knew that. She had games, practices, and a whole new world that was opening up to her. But it was the little things that started to hurt.

You’d text her about something random—just like you used to—and you’d get a short, distracted reply. “Busy, sorry, will talk later.” But “later” never came. The “Paige” you used to know was slipping further and further away.

As the months went on, Paige’s attention drifted more toward Azzi. You saw the way they interacted—something beyond friendship, something deeper. Their connection was electric, magnetic. Every time they were together, it was like the world around them disappeared, like they had their own universe in the middle of all the chaos. You tried not to notice it, tried to tell yourself that it was just their bond over basketball, over being in the same world of greatness. But deep down, you knew. You knew that something was happening between them. Something that you couldn’t be a part of.

You didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want to acknowledge that your best friend was slipping away from you. But the truth was clear: Paige wasn’t just getting busier with her career; she was getting closer to Azzi. And with that, she was pulling away from you.

You still supported her, of course. You cheered her on from the sidelines, watching every game, every tournament she played in. You sent her messages—hoping that maybe she’d see them, maybe you could have one of your old conversations—but they were always answered with a brief acknowledgment, nothing more. You didn’t push. You didn’t want to be that friend—the one who made everything about them when it wasn’t supposed to be.

It hurt, though. It hurt more than you were willing to admit.

It was hard to watch Paige and Azzi share everything—laughing at inside jokes you weren’t part of, training together in ways you could never understand, building a future that didn’t have a place for you. And you got it. You did. You weren’t in the same world. They were two rising stars, both with the world at their feet, and you were just… there. You weren’t part of their journey anymore.

But the hardest part? The hardest part was that Paige didn’t even realize what was happening. She didn’t see how much it hurt you to watch her and Azzi grow closer, to feel the distance widening between you. She was so wrapped up in her new life that you barely existed in it. And you didn’t know how to tell her—how to make her understand that you were still her friend, that you were still proud of her, but you also needed her to see you.

You couldn’t tell her you were lonely. You couldn’t tell her that the bond you once had felt like a memory, like something you couldn’t reach anymore. Instead, you took the quiet route. You pulled back. You didn’t call her as often. You didn’t text her every time something reminded you of her. You figured if she had time for you, she’d reach out. But you knew that wouldn’t happen—not in the way it used to.

It was the end of the year when you finally realized something. Paige and Azzi had something going on—something that wasn’t just about basketball. Maybe it was the way they exchanged knowing glances at practices, or the way Paige’s face lit up every time Azzi spoke. Maybe it was the late-night conversations you’d overhear when Paige thought you weren’t listening. You didn’t want to interfere. You didn’t want to make Paige feel like she was betraying you, because you weren’t mad at her—you were just… heartbroken.

You still supported her. You always would. But something had changed. Something was missing. And no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t go back to the way things were.

Paige, your best friend, was slipping away. And Azzi Fudd, who had become her everything, was standing in the space you used to occupy.

You didn’t blame her, not really. People grow, they change. Sometimes they outgrow each other, and sometimes they find new connections that mean more than the old ones. But it didn’t make it any easier.

So you stayed silent. You watched from the sidelines. You cheered, you smiled, and you let go.

But you couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, Paige didn’t need you anymore.

The summer before college was supposed to be a time of celebration, excitement, and the thrill of what lay ahead. You and Paige had spent years imagining this moment. Since you were little, you both had talked about where you'd go to school, what your futures would look like, and the dreams you’d chase together. You had always planned that you'd be there for each other no matter what. You’d go off to college together, as inseparable as ever.

And then came UConn.

Paige had just received a huge call—Geno Auriemma had recruited her to play for the University of Connecticut. Of course, you had known it was coming. Paige had been a star for years, and now, the biggest program in women’s college basketball wanted her.

"Guess what?" she texted you one evening, her excitement practically jumping off the screen. "Geno wants me at UConn. It's official."

You were thrilled for her. This was the dream she had talked about since you were kids, and now it was happening. UConn was where she was meant to be. But when she mentioned something else, something that wasn’t part of the plan, something that made your heart twist—well, that’s when everything started to change.

She told you, "I really want Azzi to come to UConn too. I think it would be perfect for us to play together."

That hit you in a way you didn’t expect. Azzi Fudd—the same Azzi who had gradually become everything to Paige. The girl who had quietly inserted herself into your friendship and your life, until now, she was practically the center of Paige’s world.

You tried not to let it show. You tried not to let it sting, but it did. You had been there with Paige through everything—through the awkward middle school days, the high school highs and lows, and now, you were being pushed aside for someone who had only entered the picture recently. Azzi was going to UConn, and you could already see how the next few years were going to play out: Paige and Azzi, side by side, dominating the court together. Meanwhile, you’d be sitting on the sidelines, watching it all unfold, your own dreams feeling smaller and more distant.

You had already planned on studying business. It was a solid, practical path that made sense for you. But in that moment, you felt the weight of the change, the realization that everything was moving forward—and you weren’t moving forward with Paige the way you thought you would.

So you did something you hadn’t planned on doing. You sent Paige a message that made your stomach churn.

"Hey, I’m actually considering Harvard for business. It’s really good for the program I want, and I’ve been thinking a lot about it. What do you think?"

It was a low blow, you knew that. You weren’t trying to throw it in her face. But in that moment, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this would be the only way to keep your own sense of identity. Maybe it would be easier to start fresh somewhere else—somewhere where you wouldn’t be constantly reminded of how Paige and Azzi’s bond was growing stronger every day.

Paige’s response was subtle, more so than you had expected, but you saw the shift.

"Wow," she replied, her message short. "Harvard’s amazing. I’m sure you’ll be great there. But, um... I guess I thought we’d go to college together, you know?"

There it was. The hurt. You knew she didn’t take it well. The dream you two had shared was now splintering into two separate paths. But despite everything, Paige still gave her approval. It was like she was trying to convince herself that it was okay. That you could both be on your own journeys, even if they weren’t the same.

The months leading up to college were a blur. You both packed up and moved to your respective schools, the excitement of starting fresh hanging in the air. You met new people, made new friends—people who understood you in a way that only other business-minded students could. You threw yourself into your studies, the weight of your decision sinking in, but you knew it was the right one. You had made your choice. You were going to make the most of it, even if it meant growing apart from Paige.

College started, and the messages between you and Paige grew more and more infrequent. She was busy with her basketball commitments, of course. She had her teammates, her coaches, and the demands of being a star athlete. You, on the other hand, had your classes, your friends, and a life that was slowly but surely diverging from hers.

You had heard about Paige’s teammates, names you had only known from the sidelines: Aaliyah Edwards, Nika Mühl, Caroline Ducharme, and Aubrey Griffin. They were all part of the powerhouse UConn team, each one playing a role in creating a dynasty. You’d watch their games on TV from time to time, seeing Paige’s highlights flash across the screen, her name growing bigger with each win. You cheered her on silently, even if it felt like you were cheering from a distance.

You had your own life now, and Paige had hers. She seemed happy—genuinely happy, surrounded by her team, her friends, and Azzi, who had made her way to UConn a year later, just like Paige had hoped. But it didn’t escape your notice how much their bond had only deepened. Azzi was there in every picture, in every moment, their chemistry undeniable. You were just another name in the background now.

You tried not to let it hurt. You really did. But it was hard not to notice how Paige’s world was building around her, and how you were fading into the background.

It was no secret to you how hard Paige had worked to recruit Azzi to UConn. She had pulled every string, every connection she could find, making sure Azzi was right where she wanted her. You saw their bond growing stronger, seen more clearly than before. It wasn’t just about basketball anymore—it was about their shared future. Paige had gotten exactly what she wanted, and Azzi was finally there, playing alongside her on the same team.

You didn’t blame Paige. You understood. She had always been someone who knew what she wanted, someone who would do anything to get it. You couldn’t be mad at her for building the life she had always dreamed of. But you couldn’t deny the bittersweet feeling that had settled inside you, watching from the outside.

Your friendship with Paige wasn’t what it used to be. You didn’t have the closeness anymore, the bond that once tied you together. You were happy for her—really, you were—but in that quiet, unspoken way, you knew things would never be the same again.

And maybe that was just part of growing up.

It wasn’t like it used to be. You and Paige—best friends since childhood—had always been so close, but now, everything felt... distant. The conversations were minimal, just a few texts here and there, just enough to keep in touch but not enough to feel like you were a part of each other’s lives anymore.

"How’s school?" she’d text occasionally, and you’d reply with a short update about your business classes. "Busy, but it’s going well," you’d tell her. Paige would then tell you about UConn, about the team, about her and Azzi. She’d send little snippets, but her words were always focused on basketball, her life with the team. They were thriving together, and you were happy for her.

She’d told you, in one of her rare texts, that her and Azzi were officially together. "Yeah, Azzi and I are in a relationship now. It’s crazy, huh? But I think we’re good."

You read the message, paused, and then sent a quick reply. “That’s awesome. I’m happy for you.”

It didn’t sting. You’d accepted things for what they were. Paige was living her dream with Azzi by her side, and you were carving your own path at college. You’d let go of the dream you once shared with her, knowing that life had different plans. You weren’t bitter. You weren’t angry. You just accepted it.

But then, everything shifted.

It was December 2021, and you were adjusting to the fast pace of college life. Your mind was focused on your studies, your friendships, and your own growth. But one night, you received a message that stopped everything in its tracks. It was from Paige.

"Can’t play... Something’s wrong with my knee. I can’t walk. I’m at the hospital."

Your heart dropped. You could feel the weight of her words, the pain behind them. Your first instinct was to drop everything and go to her, to be by her side like you always had been. But reality set in. You had assignments, deadlines, and the pressure of school. You couldn’t just leave, and you hated yourself for it.

You sent her a message. "I’m so sorry. I wish I could be there. Let me know what the doctors say."

She didn’t reply immediately, and when she did, it was just a simple message: "ACL tear. I’m done for the season."

You felt helpless. Paige was heartbroken. You could feel the pain through the screen, and it hurt you too, but there was nothing you could do. All you could offer were the words, the kind of support you knew she’d appreciate. The text messages between you became more infrequent, and soon enough, they stopped altogether.

You kept checking in, but the replies from Paige became shorter and more distant. She was focused on recovery, and her life was still revolving around basketball. You, on the other hand, were learning how to survive in a new world without her there. You didn’t want to push her, but it hurt—being left behind, being so far from her when she needed you the most.

Then, in early 2023, came Azzi Fudd’s injury. You saw the headlines, the news reports, and you knew how it would affect Paige. Azzi had suffered an MCL sprain during a game, and she would be out for several weeks.

In the aftermath, Paige started texting you more, reaching out when she needed someone to talk to.

"You don’t understand," she sent one night, the words filled with raw emotion. "With everything going on between Azzi and me... It’s falling apart. We’re not okay. I feel like everything I’ve worked for is crumbling."

You didn’t know what to say. You had never seen Paige like this, so vulnerable, so unsure. You didn’t want to make her feel worse, but you were there for her, trying to offer whatever comfort you could.

She texted again a few days later. "I don’t know what to do. I miss you. I miss how things used to be."

It felt like a tiny crack in the walls she had built around herself, a sign that maybe, just maybe, she missed you too.

Then, one evening, you received an unexpected notification. It was from Paige—a video call.

You hesitated, then answered. You could see her face, pale and tired, her eyes red from what you could only assume were endless tears.

"I need to talk to you," she began, her voice barely above a whisper. "Azzi and I... we’re done. It’s over."

But before she could say anything else, your female friend, Emma, had been hanging out with you. She saw the video call and, in a playful but mischievous mood, show herself on the video. Without thinking, Emma greeted Paige, her voice indifferent and teasing.

"Hey Paige, heard a lot about you." Emma said with a smirk, "What’s up? Just here with my girl."

You could see Paige’s expression drop, a frown forming as she processed the words. But Emma was only joking, trying to lighten the mood, unaware of what was going on. Paige, on the other hand, didn’t find it funny. She didn’t understand.

"You’re with... your girl?" Paige’s voice was cold, her face tight with emotion. "I... I thought... I thought you weren’t …?"

Emma quickly handed you the phone, laughing it off, but you could see the damage already done. Paige’s eyes were filled with hurt, her thoughts racing. She didn’t know Emma, didn’t understand the joke.

That night, Paige left you a message. It was different from the others. It wasn’t just a simple text. It was more—more raw, more filled with emotion.

"You know what? Forget it. I guess I was wrong about everything. I thought we’d still be there for each other, but I guess you’ve moved on. It’s funny how people can just leave you behind when they find someone else. You were my best friend, and now you’re just... gone. Just like everyone else. Thanks for nothing."

You read the message over and over again, your heart sinking with each word. You knew it wasn’t the truth, that Paige had misunderstood everything. But it didn’t matter. The damage was done.

She was bitter now. She had pushed you away in her own way, and you didn’t know how to fix it. You hadn’t meant to hurt her, but somehow, you had.

And so, you were left with nothing but the silence between you, the space that had grown between you and your best friend, the girl who once meant everything to you.

The silence between you and Paige grew deeper with each passing day. The messages, the once-constant check-ins, had completely stopped. You tried, you really did. You sent her texts, not too frequent, but just enough to let her know you were still there. “Hey, how are you? Hope you’re doing okay. Thinking of you,” you’d write, or “If you need someone to talk to, I’m here.”

But there was nothing in return. No reply. No sign of life from her side.

At first, you told yourself she was busy. UConn’s basketball schedule was grueling, and after Azzi’s injury and their breakup, you thought she might just be going through a lot. Maybe she needed space, you rationalized. You didn’t want to push her, but the more you tried to reach out, the more her absence stung. Each unread message was like a slap in the face, a reminder of how quickly things had changed.

It hurt because you’d accepted the changes. When Paige and Azzi grew closer, you had never once resented it. You didn’t like being pushed aside, sure, but you supported them. You’d watched their bond grow stronger, seen how it gave Paige the happiness she had longed for. You didn’t complain. You didn’t walk away. You stood by her, from the very beginning. You never left her side, not even when it felt like you were the third wheel, not even when it seemed like you were losing the girl who had once been your everything.

But now, just one joke—one misunderstanding—and she’d dropped you like you were nothing.

The weight of that hit you harder than anything before. It wasn’t even the joke itself that hurt, but the fact that Paige had been so quick to assume the worst. After everything you’d been through together, after all the years of friendship, she thought that little interaction—that brief moment—was enough to erase you from her life.

Why did you let this happen? Your mind spiraled. You hadn’t meant to hurt her. You hadn’t meant for it to go this far. And yet, here you were, wondering why someone you loved so much could just walk away, leaving you in the dust.

You sat in your dorm room one evening, staring blankly at your phone, scrolling through social media, when the news hit you like a freight train. Paige had suffered another injury—another knee injury. Your heart sank as you read the headline: “Paige Bueckers Out for the Season With Torn ACL—Again.”

The room felt like it was spinning. This couldn’t be real. She couldn’t have gone through all that recovery only to face another setback. You immediately tried to text her, but nothing. No reply. It was as if she had disappeared from your life completely.

The guilt consumed you. You knew she was hurting—physically, emotionally, after everything she had been through with Azzi and now this. But you were angry too, angry at how quickly she had shut you out. Angry at the misunderstanding that had created this silence. You hadn’t meant to hurt her, and yet here you were, unable to do anything for the one person who had once been everything to you.

You wanted to fix it. You needed to fix it. You couldn’t just sit by and do nothing.

And that’s when it hit you—a desperate idea, a leap of faith.

You would transfer. You couldn’t stay where you were anymore, not knowing that Paige was hurting and you weren’t there. You couldn’t live with the guilt, the uncertainty, the not-knowing. You needed to be where she was, to be close to her, to try and repair the wreckage that had been your friendship. Maybe this was crazy, maybe it was impulsive, but you didn’t care. You just needed to do something.

You called your parents, explaining the situation in the most frantic way you could. “I’m thinking about transferring to UConn,” you said, your voice shaking. “I can’t stand this anymore. I need to be there for her. I need to make things right.”

They were shocked, of course. They didn’t fully understand. But you didn’t care. You were too far gone in the rush of your emotions, in the desperate need to fix the broken pieces of your friendship with Paige.

The days that followed were a blur. You filled out the transfer papers, contacted the UConn admissions office, and started the whirlwind of transferring to a new school. But it wasn’t just about school—it was about Paige. It was about doing whatever it took to be there for her, to prove that you hadn’t abandoned her, that you would never abandon her, not after everything you’d been through.

And still, there was silence. No word from Paige. No sign that she even cared that you were trying. Each day felt like a punch in the gut, but you kept pushing forward. You kept going, thinking that once you were there, once you were close enough, everything would fall into place.

When you arrived at UConn, everything felt surreal. It was overwhelming, being in a new place, surrounded by new faces, but all you could think about was Paige. Would she even want to see you? Would she care that you had gone to all this trouble just to be by her side? Or would she still see you as the person who had made one mistake, one joke, and ruined everything?

You’d seen the news about Paige's injury. You knew where she was likely to be. The clinic, you remembered. You'd seen enough photos and posts about it to know that’s where they’d be working with her.

You walked to the clinic, your steps quick but uncertain. When you reached the entrance, a security personnel stopped you.

“What’s your name?” he asked, eyeing you suspiciously.

“I’m—” You hesitated for a moment, not sure what to say. But you had to get through. You had to make sure she saw you. “I’m here to see Paige Bueckers.”

The guard’s expression shifted. He looked down at the list in front of him. You told him your name.

“Paige’s friend?”

You nodded. “Yes, I need to talk to her.”

He looked at you for a long moment, then picked up his radio. He spoke briefly into it before turning back to you, his eyes wide. “She knows you're here. You can go in.”

You felt a rush of hope, but as you walked through the door, you could sense the cold air surrounding you. The clinic was quiet, save for the soft hum of machines and the faint sounds of footsteps. When you finally reached the are, you saw Paige sitting on one of the therapy tables, her leg elevated, working with one of the physical therapists.

She didn’t look up immediately, but as you stepped closer, you could feel her eyes on you. There was a long silence before she finally met your gaze.

Her eyes were hard. Hostile. You could see the anger simmering just beneath the surface.

“What are you doing here?” Paige’s voice was sharp, cutting through the tension like a knife. “Did you come to gawk at me while I’m stuck here, injured again? Is that it?”

You swallowed hard, standing your ground despite the hurt twisting in your chest. “No, I didn’t come here for that, Paige,” you said, your voice steady but with a flicker of emotion behind it. “I came because I’m worried about you. I’m here because you’re my friend, and I... I didn’t want to just sit back and do nothing.”

Paige’s jaw clenched, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Worried about me?” She repeated, her voice dripping with bitterness. “Where were you when I needed someone? You just disappeared, and now you think you can waltz in and act like nothing happened?”

The words stung, but you refused to back down. “I’m sorry for what happened between us,” you said, taking a step forward. “I never meant to hurt you. You cut me off, and I respected that, but I’m here now. I’m not leaving, Paige. I’m still your friend.”

She glared at you for a long moment, her gaze piercing, as if she was trying to decide if you were worth the effort of keeping around. “You should’ve stayed gone,” she spat. “I don’t need you here. I don’t need you to ‘fix’ anything. I’m doing just fine on my own.”

Her words hit like a slap, but you stood your ground, refusing to let her push you away. “I don’t care if you think you don’t need me,” you said, voice calm but firm. “I’m not going anywhere. I came here because I care about you. You might not want me here, but I’m staying.”

Paige’s eyes softened for a split second, but then the hardness returned. She turned away from you, her focus back on her rehab. “I told you,” she muttered, her voice distant, “I don’t need you.”

You felt your heart break all over again, but you weren’t going to back down. Not now. Not when you were so close.

“I’m not leaving, Paige,” you said, your voice unwavering. “I’ll be here whenever you’re ready to talk. But I’m not going anywhere.”

You could tell she was trying to ignore you, trying to shut you out. But deep down, you knew you had made the right decision. It didn’t matter how angry or hurt she was. It didn’t matter how much she tried to push you away. You were here for her. You always had been, and you always would be.

And no matter how hostile she acted, no matter how much she hated you in that moment, you were ready to take it. You were ready to fix what had been broken—even if it took everything you had.

You left Paige to continue with her rehab, but before walking away, you turned to her, feeling the weight of everything you were about to say. “I need to sort out my transfer,” you said, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside you. “I’ll be settled in soon, so… I’ll be around.”

Paige looked up at you, her face betraying nothing but a mask of indifference, a carefully constructed wall. For a split second, you saw something flicker in her eyes—something soft, maybe even surprised—but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. She didn’t respond. She just nodded, her eyes still hard as she shifted her attention back to her physical therapy.

You left her there, the tension between you two still thick in the air.

Once settled into your new dorm room, you couldn’t help but think about Paige. You had to admit it—no matter how things had changed, you were still concerned about her. You texted her first. “Hey, just checking in. Have you eaten today?”

No reply.

You waited, staring at your phone, and then made up your mind. If she wasn’t going to answer, you’d bring her some food yourself. She hadn’t looked like she was eating much lately, and you couldn’t bear to think of her not taking care of herself. You knew her favorite meal, and that was what you decided to bring. The thought of her, still struggling with her injury, made you feel helpless, but this was something you could do.

You asked your new roommate, Kim, if she knew where Paige’s dorm was. She raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. “You’re going to her dorm? Why?” she asked, half skeptical, half curious.

“We’re childhood friends. I just... I need to make sure she’s okay,” you said quickly, avoiding her gaze.

Kim shrugged. But then gave you directions nonetheless.

The walk to Paige’s dorm felt like it took hours, though it was just a few blocks away. When you finally stood in front of her door, your heart raced. You knocked softly, hoping she wasn’t out. The girl, Nika answered the door, her expression confused as she looked you up and down.

“Who are you?” she asked, eyeing you warily.

You swallowed, trying to stay calm. “I’m… I’m a friend of Paige’s. I’m just here to bring her some food.”

Her eyes widened slightly, like the recognition clicked. “Oh, you’re the one she’s been talking about. I didn’t expect to see you so soon. Hold on.” She stepped aside, and you could tell she was still unsure, but once you said your name, there was something in her eyes—a knowing look, like she understood more than you were letting on.

She called for Paige but received no answer. “She’s probably in her room, trying to sleep off the pain,” Nika said with a shrug, gesturing for you to follow her.

You hesitated at first, unsure whether you should push any further, but Nika gave you a quick nod. “Go on, she won’t bite.”

With a tight breath, you stepped past Nika and into the dorm, the familiar, comforting scent of Paige’s room hitting you the moment you crossed the threshold. It was a mix of lavender and the faint smell of her favorite candles, something that always felt like home. You stood there for a second, trying to get your bearings, until you finally walked to Paige’s room.

There, lying in bed, was Paige.

She looked almost angelic, her features softened by the pillow beneath her head, eyes closed. But something about her posture—the way her body was tense, even in sleep—told you she wasn’t at peace. You stared at her, lost in the emotions you’d buried for so long. She was still the girl you cared about, the girl who had been your world for so many years. You missed her. You missed the real Paige, the one you used to talk to about everything, the one who was always there, no matter what.

As you stood at the edge of her bed, staring at her, the need to reach out to her—just to touch her hair, to feel her close—overwhelmed you. You could still remember how soft her hair used to be, how it would fall around her face when she was tired, and you wanted nothing more than to be that person again—the one who was there when she needed it.

But before you could touch the strands of hair resting on her forehead, her hand shot up and grabbed yours with a force that startled you.

Paige’s eyes snapped open, and you were met with a glare that felt like it could burn through you. Her eyes were dark with something you couldn’t quite read—anger, frustration, confusion.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Her voice was hoarse, but there was a sharpness to it, a biting edge that sent a cold shiver down your spine. “Why did you come? After everything... after you left, why now?”

You froze, the question hanging heavy between you. You wanted to explain, to tell her how much you missed her, how much you needed her in your life, but the words stuck in your throat.

“I just… I wanted to make sure you were okay,” you said quietly, trying to meet her gaze, to show her that you weren’t here for any other reason than to be there for her. “I brought you some food. I thought maybe you hadn’t eaten. I’m sorry for everything.”

Her hand released yours with a shake of her head. “No. You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to come in here after all that time and act like everything is fine.”

She pushed herself up from the bed, her movements stiff, as if every part of her body was in pain. She was still healing, and you could see it in the way she moved—like every step she took was a reminder of her brokenness. “You should go back to Harvard. Go be with your girl, continue living your perfect life without me.”

Her words hit you like a punch to the gut. The jealousy, the bitterness, it all came rushing at you. You could see the confusion in her eyes, the way she was trying to push you away, but the flicker of longing creeps at you. She was angry. So angry at you for leaving, and yet... there was something else there. Something raw, something painful.

“I didn’t forget about you, Paige,” you said, your voice breaking. “I came here because I’m not going to give up on us. You don’t get to shut me out like this. I’m here for you. I always have been. Even when you were with Azzi, I stayed. I never left, Paige.”

Paige’s face contorted in frustration. “I don’t need you, okay?” Her voice cracked, her anger turning to something more, something deeper. “I don’t need anyone right now. I’ve lost too much. I’ve been through too much... I just can’t do this with you.”

The vulnerability in her voice shook you to your core, but you refused to back down. “I don’t care how much time has passed, Paige. I’m still here. I’m not leaving. I came back for you. You’re not alone in this.”

She swallowed hard, tears welling in her eyes, but she turned away, the pain too much to bear. “Just go, okay? Please. Just go.”

It felt like everything was unraveling in that moment—the words, the emotions, the broken pieces of what had once been the strongest bond you’d ever known. You stood there, helpless, knowing that no matter how much you tried, she wasn’t ready. Not yet.

And so, with one last, heart-wrenching glance, you left her room. You walked away, not knowing if you’d ever get the chance to fix what had been broken.

Settling in at UConn was a strange experience. The campus was both new and familiar at the same time. You had transferred in hopes of finding something to hold onto, a chance to fix the mess that had become your friendship with Paige. But so far, nothing felt right.

You were trying to adjust, surrounded by a new group of friends—some from your classes, some from the dorms. They were nice enough, the kind of people you could see yourself getting along with, and for the first time in a while, you started to feel a little more like yourself. It was a relief to have people who weren’t part of your old world with Paige, people who didn’t know the tangled history between you two.

Still, no matter how hard you tried, your thoughts always wandered back to her. You couldn’t help it. Every time you checked your phone, you half-hoped that maybe, just maybe, you’d get a text from Paige. But there was nothing.

A few casual run-ins with her teammates made your chest tighten. You could see the knowing glances they shot you when you passed by. They were all aware of what had happened, all aware of how things had fallen apart between you and Paige. But none of them said a word. It wasn’t like they didn’t care; it was just that they didn’t know what to say. They respected Paige, and they knew how fragile things were.

Then, one afternoon, as you were walking to the gym to get some work done, you saw her.

Paige.

She was in the gym, but not in the way you expected. She was standing in the corner, dribbling the ball, her injured leg barely touching the floor. She wasn’t pushing herself like she used to, wasn’t running, wasn’t playing. She was just standing there, looking lost. You could tell she was angry—probably at herself, maybe at the world—but it was deeper than that. There was a sadness that clung to her, a rawness that you hadn’t seen before.

She wasn’t using her injured leg at all, just holding the ball with a frown that seemed permanent now. The Paige you knew, the one who’d been so driven, was fading in front of your eyes.

You hesitated, watching her for a moment. The distance between you seemed impossibly wide, but still, something inside you made you move forward. You couldn’t just walk away, not now.

“Paige?” you called softly, but she didn’t turn around at first.

When she did, her face was full of that hostility again, but this time, it was laced with something darker. “What do you want?” she snapped, her voice colder than usual.

You felt a lump form in your throat, but you pushed it down. You had to talk to her, even if she was pushing you away.

“I just… I saw you in here and wanted to check on you. Are you okay?” The words felt hollow coming out, but you meant them. You really did.

Paige glared at you like you were some sort of nuisance. “I’m fine,” she said flatly. “I’m just… working through things.”

“You’re standing there, not even using your leg. That’s not ‘working through things.’” You took a step closer, your voice growing softer. “Paige, you’ve got to heal. You can’t just push it all aside.”

“I said I’m fine,” she repeated, more sharply this time. “I don’t need you here telling me how to do things. You don’t get to come in and act like you care. Not after everything.”

The words cut through you like a knife. She was so angry, so defensive, but you couldn’t leave it like this. Not when you knew deep down there was more to her anger than just the injury.

“What is your problem with me, Paige?” The words were out before you could stop them, and they hung in the air like a challenge, like a question you were terrified to ask.

Paige’s eyes narrowed, her mouth tightening into a thin line. “My problem? My problem is that you went to Harvard. You didn’t keep your promise, and you left me to face a new world all alone! And to top it all, you got yourself a girl without even telling me? I always thought you don’t swing that way, or maybe I just don’t know you at all.” Her voice cracked as she said the words, and you saw the flicker of pain that passed through her eyes, but it was gone in a second.

You stared at her, your chest tightening. “What do you mean, ‘I got myself a girl?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Emma,” she said, as if the name itself was a poison. “You found Emma, didn’t you? And you left me behind. You found someone better and didn’t even look back. I couldn’t… I couldn’t deal with that. I thought we were always supposed to be there for each other, but you just… you just moved on. You left me alone.”

You felt the anger rise in you, bubbling up from a place you hadn’t even known existed. The words you’d kept buried for so long rushed out of you like a flood, and suddenly, it felt like everything had been building up to this moment.

“Do you really think it was that simple, Paige?” you snapped, your voice trembling with emotion. “You had Azzi, okay? You had her, and I was the one who stood there, quietly in the background, waiting for you to see me again. I didn’t leave you behind! I was there, supporting you, even when you chose her over me! I let you go, even when it hurt more than anything. But now, now you’re telling me I betrayed you?”

Paige’s face faltered for a moment, her eyes wide with shock. Maybe she had no idea that’s how you felt, that the whole situation had been just as painful for you. She was always so focused on herself, on her world, that she didn’t even see what she had done to you.

But when she spoke again, her voice was shaky, defensive. “I didn’t ask you to do all that for me,” she said, her pride still holding firm. “I didn’t ask you to stand on the sidelines for me. I didn’t even know… I didn’t even know how you felt, and now you’re blaming me for everything. You think you’re the only one who’s hurt?”

You stood there, the anger and hurt so much you couldn’t even breathe properly. “I’m not blaming you, Paige. I’m just telling you how it is. I never left you, but you let me leave. And now, when I’m here, trying to fix things, you just keep pushing me away.”

Her jaw clenched, and she took a deep breath, her eyes narrowing again. “I’m not doing this with you. I’m not going to let you make me feel guilty for being angry. It’s easier for you to act like the victim, but you’re not.”

You wanted to say more, to break through that wall she’d built around herself. But you could see it now—the pride, the stubbornness in her eyes. Paige was never going to admit that she had been unreasonable. She wasn’t going to let her ego crack, no matter how much you tried to make her see the truth.

You took a step back, your heart heavy with all the unspoken words and unresolved pain. “Fine. If you don’t want to fix this, then I guess there’s nothing left to say.”

You turned, walking away before you could say anything more. You needed to clear your mind, needed to be away from her and the storm of emotions that had just come rushing back.

As you walked out of the gym, the weight of everything—the hurt, the betrayal, the love you’d lost—pressed down on you. And for the first time in a long while, you felt like you didn’t know where to go anymore.

Time passed since that confrontation in the gym, and you had kept your distance from Paige. You focused on your studies, on your courses, on everything that wasn’t Paige Bueckers. It wasn’t easy, but it was the only thing you could do to stop your mind from spiraling every time you thought about her.

UConn became a new chapter for you. You threw yourself into your work, the business courses you were taking, determined to make the most out of your transfer. Your new friends became a source of comfort, and the casual distractions of life kept you from thinking too much about the distance between you and Paige.

Still, it was hard. You’d see her, or at least hear about her, all around campus. She’d be walking with her teammates, laughing, looking like the person she was before. The athlete. The star. You could never avoid seeing her, no matter how hard you tried. But you made a choice to stay out of it. After everything that had happened, you couldn’t keep making excuses for her. You couldn’t keep pretending like things were still the same.

Paige went on with her life, though. Her teammates were by her side, supporting her as she rehabbed and worked on getting back to where she was before the injuries. You’d hear bits and pieces of what she was up to—how hard she was working, how she was getting back to form, how she was laughing with her teammates again. It stung a little, but you buried it under your growing stack of homework and exams.

Every so often, you’d be in the same place as Paige. A quick glance from across the campus, maybe in the cafeteria, maybe at the student center. It was always the same. She’d notice you first, trying to keep her distance, but her eyes would linger for just a second longer than they should have. You’d catch her looking, but she’d quickly turn away, pretending she hadn’t been staring.

The silence between you was deafening. There was no hostility anymore. No cold glares. Just… distance. It was like you were two strangers, living parallel lives at UConn. So close, yet so far apart. And it hurt more than it did when you were at Harvard, the feeling of her being nearby but unreachable.

You stopped texting her. It was a choice you made, and for the most part, you convinced yourself it was the right one. The questions that lingered between you—Why didn’t she reach out? Did she really mean it when she told you to leave her alone?—stayed unanswered. The silence spoke volumes, and you listened to it carefully.

As the school year drew to a close, a whisper came through your ear that Paige had finally been cleared to play again. You heard the news like everyone else, and while part of you felt genuinely happy for her, there was also a part of you that couldn’t bring yourself to reach out. Pride, maybe. Or maybe it was just too late. The wedge between you had only gotten wider, and you didn’t want to be the one to try and fix it now.

But one night, out of nowhere, a ticket showed up in your mailbox. No note, just the ticket.

You stared at it, confused. It was for the next home game, the one you hadn’t planned on going to. And it was from her. You knew it was from Paige. No one else would have known to send it to you. You told yourself you didn’t need to go. You didn’t owe her anything anymore. So you ignored it.

But it happened again. The next game, another ticket.

And again for the one after that.

Each time, it was like a silent plea. Paige was reaching out, but she wasn’t saying anything. No words. Just a ticket. Just an invitation. And yet, you stayed away. You were torn between not wanting to play into her games and still wanting to be there for her. You couldn’t deny that the part of you that still cared about her wanted to go, to support her. But the other part—the part that had been hurt—kept you from taking the step.

Then, during the fourth game, it happened again. Only this time, it wasn’t a ticket that appeared on your doorstep. It was Nika.

“Hey, I’ve got an extra ticket to the game tonight. You should come,” Nika said, with a knowing look in her eyes. You could tell there was something behind it. She wasn’t just being friendly. It was like she was trying to get you to come, to be there.

You frowned slightly. “Why do you want me to go? I’m not really in the mood to watch a game right now.”

Nika shrugged, but there was a subtle, almost sly look in her eyes. “Come on. It’ll be fun. Paige will be happy to see you there. Trust me.”

That sent a chill down your spine. You didn’t know what exactly was going on between Nika and Paige, but something in her tone made you feel like there was more to the story than just a friendly invitation. Maybe there was a hidden agenda you didn’t understand. But at the same time, you didn’t want to question it too much. You just wanted to move on.

So, against your better judgment, you went.

The game was high-energy. The crowd was hyped up, the excitement palpable in the air. But all you could focus on was Paige.

When you stepped into the arena, your eyes immediately locked onto her. She was on the court, warming up, looking focused as ever. She glanced at the crowd, and you saw her eyes flicker over you. You almost wanted to look away, but you didn’t. You just stood there, indifferent, pretending you didn’t care, pretending that it didn’t affect you.

After the game, you decided to leave right away, hoping to avoid another awkward encounter. You were tired of the emotional rollercoaster, tired of feeling like the strings were being pulled every time Paige was nearby. But just as you were about to exit the stands, you heard her voice.

“Hey!” Paige’s voice was tentative, unsure, but you could hear the urgency in it. She had come after you, and for a split second, you wished you could have just kept walking.

You stopped in your tracks but didn’t turn around. Instead, you kept walking, forcing yourself to stay calm, unaffected.

“I didn’t think you’d be here,” Paige said, catching up with you. Her footsteps were light, but they seemed louder than usual in the silence between you two.

“Yeah, well. I’m here,” you replied, keeping your voice flat.

There was a pause, a heavy one, before Paige spoke again. “I’ve been trying to reach you... and I, uh... I don’t know what to say. It’s just... it’s been hard.”

You didn’t say anything at first, just continuing to walk at a steady pace, refusing to let her get under your skin.

“I’m sorry,” she added quietly. “For everything. I know I hurt you. And I didn’t mean to, but—”

“Paige, please,” you interrupted, your voice more distant than before. “I’ve heard it before. And I don’t need to hear it again. You were fine. You got everything you wanted. You had Azzi, and I stayed behind. I accepted it.”

Her face fell, and you could tell the guilt was weighing on her. “It wasn’t like that. It wasn’t just about Azzi. It was everything… I just... I didn’t know how to fix it.”

You stopped walking then, turning to face her, your cold exterior masking everything you really felt. You weren’t going to give in. Not now. Not after everything.

“Well, you didn’t fix it. And now I’m just here, dealing with it. I’ve moved on. You should, too.”

Paige’s face flushed, and you could see the hurt in her eyes, but she didn’t back down. “I didn’t want to lose you, but I felt like I had no choice. It’s all a mess, and I didn’t know what to do…”

You stared at her for a long moment, trying to read her. “It’s too late for that now. We’re both just stuck, right? You and your team. Me and my life. No one to blame, just the way it turned out.”

Paige took a step closer, her voice quiet. “So, that’s it? We’re just done?”

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat growing as you tried to push down the emotions that were threatening to spill over. “I don’t know. Maybe it is.”

There was another silence, one that felt heavier than anything that had come before. Paige opened her mouth to speak again, but you didn’t give her the chance. You turned and walked away, leaving her standing there.

And as you walked back to your dorm, you could still feel the weight of her gaze on your back, burning into you.

The days blurred into one another. Your life at UConn was steady—study sessions, lectures, and the occasional hangout with your new friends. You kept your head down, determined to finish your studies and keep away from the chaos of your past. But as much as you tried to distract yourself, there was no escaping it.

Every time you checked your phone, you saw the media posts—the team's photoshoots, the constant updates, the shining moments of Paige and Azzi together. They looked like they were thriving, inseparable, like nothing had ever happened. It triggered something deep inside you—something you’d been trying to bury. The anger, the betrayal, the pain of seeing them so... perfect together.

It made your blood boil. How dare she? How dare Paige get mad at you for moving on with your life at Harvard when she was busy with hers? She had Azzi. She had everything she wanted, and you were left with nothing but a cold, hollow feeling in your chest.

You’d never wanted to feel this way—bitter, resentful, angry—but there was no denying it.

One evening, after a particularly long week of burying your feelings and getting lost in textbooks, your friends invited you to go to the pub. You’d never been one to drink much, but tonight, you needed a release. So, you agreed, wanting to drown the gnawing frustration eating away at you.

The pub, named The Huskies’ Den, was lively as usual. Laughter and chatter filled the air, and the clinking of glasses was a constant background noise. You found yourself letting go, getting lost in the crowd, your mind momentarily distracted from everything that had been weighing on it.

But then, as if the universe had a cruel sense of humor, Paige walked in. She was with her teammates, laughing, her presence lighting up the room as she always did.

At first, you tried to ignore it. You were drunk, and part of you told yourself you didn’t want to ruin the night. But as you watched her, something inside you snapped. You couldn’t pretend anymore. Not tonight.

You approached her, the heat of alcohol making you braver than usual. Paige looked up when she saw you, her expression shifting, flickering between surprise and something else—something unreadable.

“Paige,” you said, your voice thick with the mix of anger and hurt that had been simmering beneath the surface for months. “What the hell is this? You’re mad at me for what happened between us but look at you. You’re with Azzi again, acting like everything is fine. How could you?”

Her teammates fell silent, watching the two of you with uncertain glances, but neither you nor Paige paid them any mind.

Paige took a step toward you, her face a mixture of confusion and apprehension. “What are you talking about?” she asked, her voice quieter now, more vulnerable than before. “Azzi and I are just friends, okay? We’re not together anymore.”

You laughed bitterly, the sound bitter and sharp. “Yeah, sure, just friends. You think I don’t know what you’re doing? You think I didn’t notice how you pushed me aside for her? For her, Paige. For Azzi. You think that makes it better? You think it changes anything?” Your voice grew louder, drawing attention. “You shut me out, Paige. You left me behind for her. You moved on, and I had to watch it all happen. I had to sit back and pretend like it didn’t hurt.”

Her eyes widened, and she opened her mouth to speak, but you didn’t let her. “I’ve been stuck with this shit in my head, wondering what happened to us. Why did you pick her over me? I’ve been stuck here, trying to figure out what the hell happened to us, to me, while you’re out there acting like you’ve got everything together,” you shot back, your words harsh, the alcohol making them sharper than you intended.

Paige opened her mouth, but you didn’t give her the chance to speak again.

“You’re happy with Azzi, aren’t you? You’ve got everything you need with her. Meanwhile, I’m stuck in this mess, watching you from the sidelines like I’m some kind of outsider.”

Her eyes flickered, guilt creeping into her expression. “It’s not like that, I—”

You didn’t let her finish. “No, it’s exactly like that. You have her, and you’ve got your life, and I’ve just been the one left behind. Again.”

Paige’s expression shifted, and she lowered her gaze. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she said softly.

The words, however, didn't bring you any comfort. “You didn’t mean to hurt me?” you repeated, your anger boiling over. “You abandoned me, Paige. You keep choosing her over me, and then saying I’m the one who left and betrayed you. Be so fucking for real right now.”

Paige’s eyes softened for a moment, but you could see it—the hesitation, the wall she’d built to keep you out. “I... I didn’t know it would hurt you this much. I thought you’d be fine. I thought I was doing what was best for everyone, including you.”,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

The words didn’t reach you, not when the hurt had already festered for so long. You stepped closer, your chest tight with everything you had been holding in. “Best for me? You forgot me, Paige. And now you’re acting like nothing happened.”

Paige flinched, and you could see the guilt in her eyes. She opened her mouth to apologize again, but this time, there was something different about her. Something more vulnerable. She stepped closer to you, her voice softer now.

Paige took a step forward, her face filled with regret. She reached out, her hand lightly brushing your arm. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice soft. “I never wanted to make you feel like that. I thought I was doing what was best for everyone, but I see now that I was wrong.”

For a brief moment, you saw it—the vulnerability in her eyes, the regret she couldn’t hide. But the anger still burned. You had done everything, and she had pushed you away.

“I don’t know how to fix this,” you muttered, feeling the weight of everything you had been carrying. “And it’s too late for apologies now.”

Paige's hand dropped from your arm, her face falling as you turned away from her, your frustration overwhelming. But before you could walk off, she reached out again, her voice now pleading. “Wait... can we just... can we talk more? I want to fix this.”

You didn’t respond. You didn’t even turn back. You just kept walking.

The night felt like it would never end, but it wasn’t long before the alcohol started to take its toll. You were drunk, really drunk, and your head was spinning. The frustration from earlier—the hurt, the confusion—was still there, but it felt distant now. All you wanted was to escape it all.

That’s when you felt a hand on your arm. You turned, your vision blurry, and saw Paige standing there, her face serious, but there was something else in her eyes—something softer, more gentle.

“You’ve had enough,” she said, her voice like a calm in the storm.

You tried to protest, but your words were slurred. Before you could say anything, she was guiding you out of the pub, her arm around your waist for support.

“I’m taking you back to my dorm,” she said, her tone firm but not unkind. “You need rest. I don’t care what you say right now.”

You barely had the energy to argue. She led you through the campus, taking you back to her dorm, not asking for your consent, but instead just doing. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the years of familiarity between the two of you, but you didn’t protest.

She helped you into her room, carefully making sure you didn’t fall. You collapsed on the bed, your head spinning, the world around you a hazy blur.

Paige sat next to you, her presence surprisingly gentle, as she began to take care of you. She made sure you were comfortable, checked your pulse, and even tucked you in. You tried to speak, tried to say something—anything—but the words didn’t come.

As you drifted in and out of consciousness, you felt her presence beside you, her hands gently smoothing your hair away from your face. Despite everything that had happened, despite all the anger and hurt, her touch was comforting. It was the touch of someone who had been there for you once before, and maybe—just maybe—was starting to care again.

Maybe it was the alcohol, making your eyes see shit, but Paige looks like she’s at peace. And when you feel yourself drifting off to sleep, you might have heard her murmur, “You’re here. You’re actually fucking here”, while holding you close.

The night passed in a blur, and you didn’t know what would happen when you woke up. But for now, you were in her room. Paige had taken you in, cared for you when you needed it most. And somewhere deep down, you felt like maybe, just maybe, things could start to heal.

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