#or is this something just sitting in the back of some people’s minds? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sunnie-angel · 3 days ago

Text

miss july you absolutely killed this fic (and me. i'm dead. deceased. cause of death: julymusings). tbh my only thought about the wound marinating for a half hour was "oh no, the ice cream is gonna melt" and not, you know, the medical side of things. i don't know how but you've captured such a specific anxious meltdown that i could feel myself getting worked up too (this is meant as a compliment). you deserve all the flwoers (and ice cream) for putting out this incredible thing, if it feels like i highlighted half the fic below, no i didn't but i was very tempted.

You still have forty-eight minutes of peace before it will scare you awake. Its beeping will ring so loud and angry that the adrenaline from the startle will power you through your morning routine, and your beating heart won’t dare still to entertain wishes of just five more minutes.

miss july are you in my mind? are you living my life? are we the same person?

Rush hour traffic has the ice cream tub you bought at the convenience store dripping condensation all over the passenger’s seat and your hips hurt from being in the same sitting position for most of the day, but you remind yourself that peace is only a few miles out. Stopped at yet another red light, your grip tightens on the steering wheel. Breathe in. Breathe out. The line of cars starts to move forward.

there is something so visceral about this passage. i've never been in this exact situation and yet i feel like i have.

He’s just sitting there, doing nothing except bleeding out on your cream-colored carpet. He’s spread out on the couch like he owns the place, head leaned back against the wall as he lets his injured arm hang over the armrest and drip blood and dirt onto your cream-colored rug. The liquid seeps into the expensive wool, staining it with reddish-brown hues and the scent of iron, and he doesn’t even notice.

can't defend myself, my brain just went hot here

You want to scream it in his face and kick him out for having the audacity to think he can come and go as he pleases, that you’re nothing more than a drive-through emergency room who will drop everything if he gets so much as a paper cut.

god the frustration is so real and palpable and catty. (honestly miss july, are you in my head bc this is almost exactly what my reaction would be in this scenario)

You’ll be subjected to all the shitty coworkers and unsympathetic friends and exploitative vigilantes of the world for the rest of your life.

you know how some people complain about how they can't get into x reader fic bc 'they wouldn't do that'? well i DON'T have that complaint bc this is literally me

After a moment’s hesitation, he continues. “It’s easy. You just need salt and—” “Okay.”

jason trying to be nice and problem solve because he can sense there's a problem but he doesn't know what it is but by trying to be helpful he thinks he can maybe make it better? me. reader not having the emotional bandwidth to deal with his attempts to help and shutting him down before she can implode anymore? also me.

First your carpet, now your pajamas. Your favorite, special, extra soft matching cotton pajama set, a rare splurge after your promotion that stood out among old t-shirts and sweat shorts. Ruined.

real talk, i would be sobbing at this point. i don't care what kind of tricks jason has to get blood out of light coloured fabric, these pyjamas have now been tainted by the moment

(Maybe you noticed in the back of your mind that he’s not exhibiting any body language since you snapped at him, but the compartment in your head for guilt is already overflowing, so maybe you didn’t notice it, you tell yourself.)

this!!!!! oh my god when your mind is noticing but you're trying to not notice because then you'll spiral but you're already spiraling so all it does is make you feel guilty but because you're spiraling you don't have the emotions or energy to deal with the full weight of it so you're just back to guilt

You close your eyes and lean against the door. Breathe in. Breathe out.

who hasn't been here before, am i right?

“No, I’m not.” It comes out as an empty whisper.

reader gets to exhale. it just feels like they've been holding their breath for the first part of the fic but now they can't anymore. this is the exhale, this is catharsis.

You know why.

jason, honey, sugar pie, darling. USE YOUR WORDS. YOUR ACTUAL WORDS

you're good to me, baby

with the roar of the fire my heart rose to its feet, like the ashes of ash i saw rise in the heat. settle soft and as pure as snow, i fell in love with the fire long ago.

or; because the red hood bleeding onto your living room carpet is exactly what you need right now [3.6k]

Jason Todd x fem!reader; based on this lovely ask; ngl this turned into a personal vent jason doesn't show up until 1k words in LMAO; warning there’s blood (duh) and reader is type A and suggested to have heavy anxiety; pre-established relationship where reader doesn’t know his identity + muzzle red hood bc HOT

Compartmentalize. Create baskets in your mind. Analyze the situation, and drop the corresponding emotion in the appropriate basket.

One: You had a fight with your best friend. She called you selfish because you weren’t enthusiastic about her new relationship. She just can’t seem to understand that no matter how happy you want to be for her, it’s painful to see everyone find safety in another person when you can’t. Every attempt at romance is squashed by something or the other that you keep doing wrong. I thought you were hot, your latest dating attempt had said when you ran into him and asked why he never texted back. But you’re kind of a lot. Not something I have the space for right now, you know?

Two: There’s an important presentation today, one that could determine the fate of your position in the company. Your coworker, the one who’s convinced you stole his promotion (he just flirted with the higher-ups while you actually completed the requirements), refuses to let you forget how much is at stake. All it takes is one misstep, one stutter, one hesitation, and he will take it as an excuse to demand your demotion— or worse, termination. You’ve been preparing for this presentation for three weeks. If after all that effort it’s still not good enough, maybe you should be fired.

The emotions here? Frustration. Anger. Exhaustion. Jealousy. Just to name a few. But there’s no time to dwell on anxieties right now, so you shove those thoughts aside. Drop them in their compartments and move on because, after all, if you can strip them down to their bones and find where they stem, you can yank those anxieties from the ground before they have the chance to root. And then there’s no need for unnecessary heartache, right?

(Who cares if the baskets are overflowing, crumpled fragments spilling over the sides like garbage in a landfill? Who cares if the room of your mind is so packed that you’re pressed against the wall and breathing becomes painful.)

The digital clock beside your bed reads 6:12. The numbers blink in and out of the window, their red dots and dashes taunting your heavy eyelids. You still have forty-eight minutes of peace before it will scare you awake. Its beeping will ring so loud and angry that the adrenaline from the startle will power you through your morning routine, and your beating heart won’t dare still to entertain wishes of just five more minutes. 6:13 now. You have forty-seven more minutes of peace, minutes which should be spent sleeping, giving your poor brain a break from itself. But you can’t. Every time you close your eyes and begin to sink below the level of consciousness, your heart pumps a house-special cocktail of cortisol that laces through your bloodstream and convinces you that if you fall asleep you will miss your presentation and you will get fired. The off-grid escape plan formulating in your head switches from hypothetical to tentative when your neighbors, apparently awoken to lust as well as tired by it, start going at it again. You want nothing more than to bang on their door and scream obscenities until they hate each other enough to never touch again, but you resign yourself to consciousness, giving up on the dream of what would now be forty-four more minutes of sleep.

It’s Friday morning; only one more day to get through before the sweet release of the weekend finds you. (The whole weekend will be spent contemplating the start of a project, feeling like two days is not nearly long enough to complete anything, and dreading Monday until it finds you with nothing done and the same, endless cycle awaiting.)

After completing your morning routine 44 minutes early, you use the spare time to go through your presentation once more, just for good luck, wrapping up the third run-through just in time to hear your alarm to leave for work.

The presentation goes decent, at least well enough to quell any doubts about your ability to do your job. Your coworker ate his words for sure, and you might have enjoyed the look on his face had you not mentally checked out as soon as you finished your closing remarks. Rush hour traffic has the ice cream tub you bought at the convenience store dripping condensation all over the passenger’s seat and your hips hurt from being in the same sitting position for most of the day, but you remind yourself that peace is only a few miles out. Stopped at yet another red light, your grip tightens on the steering wheel. Breathe in. Breathe out. The line of cars starts to move forward.

When you get home, your frustration is close to boiling over. You kick off your shoes right at the door, your keys and bag following close behind.

Far be it from you to break down on the floor in the middle of the room, the plan begins to formulate. There’s a box of tissues on your desk– that can go on the nightstand, along with two of the chilled water bottles you keep in the fridge for after you work out. And you’ll need something for the tissues, right? The small wastebasket from the bathroom should be fine. You drag it over to the side of your bed, sitting in your usual spot to make sure you placed it at a reachable distance. You won’t want to get out of bed to wash your face after this, so a washcloth should go next to the tissues. And an extra one, just to be safe. There’s a half-pint of ice cream left in the freezer, you remember, and store that information for later.

You keep a set of comfortable clothes ready, the nicest, softest pajamas you own that you only wear after an everything shower. This shower, however, is a quick one, not much more than a few minutes under scalding water to comfort you, if nothing else. The light pink pajamas are a high-quality cotton and you feel like you’re in the clouds when you slip into them. Remaining is the ice cream, which you set out on the counter right before your shower so it would thaw just enough to be soft but not melted, With everything in your room ready, you go to retrieve the ice cream but stop with a startle when you round the corner.

“Jesus,” you mumble.

“Hey.” The Red Hood lifts his head when he sees you.

On any other day, you’d be quick to action, hauling him up off the couch and sprinting for the first aid kit under the bathroom sink. Today, your arms are too heavy and your gaze remains rooted on the widening splotch of red against white. Your throat feels dry. “You’re getting blood on the carpet.”

He peers over the armrest. “Oh, shit,” he curses, lifting his arm to hover it over his lap. He sounds robotic through his muzzle mask. His hood, pulled down to reveal his thick black hair curling at the ends from humidity and sweat, rests on his back.

I don’t have time for this, is what you want to say. You want to scream it in his face and kick him out for having the audacity to think he can come and go as he pleases, that you’re nothing more than a drive-through emergency room who will drop everything if he gets so much as a paper cut. But you can’t say any of this, and you do want him to come to you whenever he needs help. God knows he won’t go anywhere else.

Holding back your heavy sigh, you wordlessly walk to the bathroom. He takes that as an invitation to follow.

It’s clinical. Rehearsed. Neither of you speak. It’s a partnered dance long since committed to muscle memory, steps you can take in your sleep. He knows to seat himself on the step stool you got just for him, for nights like these. He knows where to find the first aid kit and which supplies to hand you first. You know the exact steps to follow. Check the palms for abrasions. Antiseptic to the lacerations. Concussion exam.

Maybe he can sense the air of tension surrounding you, because he doesn’t say as much as he usually does (though, granted, it’s still not much). It’s a reflection of your dynamic several months earlier when this arrangement began, back before you’d managed to chip away at the surface of his rough exterior. You notice the way his fingers curl against his thighs when you, somewhat carelessly, wipe the dirt from his skin with more pressure than necessary and the way his eyebrows tilt inward when you work slower than usual. You notice, but you ignore it.

We both know you have at least a dozen people who could do this for you. The words echo in your mind. Don’t act like I owe you this. If anything, you owe me a new carpet. These are things you wish you could say, but never will. Being realistic, you’ll probably never be able to say things like this. You’ll be subjected to all the shitty coworkers and unsympathetic friends and exploitative vigilantes of the world for the rest of your life.

This isn’t his fault, you remind yourself, but still, your lips turn down and your jaw feels tight with the effort to keep your face still, to not burst into tears right on the spot. In the second it takes for you to calm yourself, your hands pause. He notices. He says nothing.

It’s not until you’re finished with cleaning the blood from his arm wound and giving him a wad of gauze to hold against it that he tests the waters and asks, “Is it too bad?”

He sounds automated, but over the last few months, you’ve learned a thing or two about reading even these robotic actions. There's a certain quietness to the beginning of his sentence like he’s debating if he should say it or not.

“It’s fine,” you say, shortly.

“Sorry about your rug,” he says. He tugs at the strap of his muzzle with one finger, rubbing at the skin underneath the leather. “I can get the stain out.”

You retrieve the needle and thread from the kit and don’t respond. You don’t even look at him.

After a moment’s hesitation, he continues. “It’s easy. You just need salt and—”

“Okay.”

He goes quiet.

You don’t mean to be so tetchy, but you don’t have the energy for anything more. Every little thing has you feeling on the edge of shattering. It’s too much. It’s all too much.

It’s when you’re kneeled at his side, staring into the gaping wound on his bicep and trying to thread the needle, fingers trembling from the chill of the tiled floor with nothing but a layer of thin cotton to keep you warm, that it happens. He shifts on the stool, a mere twitch in an attempt to get comfortable, but it brushes his bloody arm against yours. Flecks of fresh red on the light pink fabric. First your carpet, now your pajamas. Your favorite, special, extra soft matching cotton pajama set, a rare splurge after your promotion that stood out among old t-shirts and sweat shorts. Ruined. Again, he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Did I say something?” Hood asks. He waits for your response, but when none comes, he adds, “I’m sorry if I did.” He speaks so quietly you may not have been able to separate his words from the whirring filter of his mask, if not for the chilling silence of the bathroom floor. The insulating brick walls of your old apartment building are something you’re usually grateful for, but tonight you find yourself wishing for the city’s commotion to seep through the walls. Something, anything to buffer his proximity to you.

You hear his inhale as he prepares to say something else.

“Can you just let me work?” You snap before he has the chance to speak again. It’s loud, louder than you’d ever dream of speaking to him, and he flinches. Your eyes shut in apology, but only for a moment before you get back to it. He looks away. His feet point towards the door.

He wants to leave, you can tell, and you don’t blame him. You just messed everything up. But you started this, so now you have to finish it.

You sit in silence for the several minutes it takes for you to clean his wound and stop the bleeding.

He’s not looking at you, gaze transfixed ahead of him on a chip in the paint. At least, you assume. It’s difficult to guess what’s going on behind the milky white covering over his eyes. His subtle body language can be read if you pay close enough attention, you’ve learned, but that’s not something you care to do right now.

You stare at your sleeve, at the patches of blood blooming like ink blots. The red and pink hues blend together behind your blurring vision. You sniffle.

“Are you—” Hood starts. Because now he’s looking at you.

“Excuse me,” you say, pushing yourself off the ground and stumbling out of the room without so much as a glance back at him. You stagger into your room, needle and thread still in hand, and push the door closed. The lights are off, and the darkness is calming, quieting your buzzing thoughts. You close your eyes and lean against the door. Breathe in. Breathe out. You continue this exercise, breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth to soothe your sympathetic nervous system, the same way a therapist instructed that one time you went. You wipe away the moisture that has collected in your eyes, roll out your stiff neck, dry your sweaty palms over your thighs. You toss the needle and thread aside, because they are definitely not sterile anymore, and take a few more breaths before opening the door and going back to the bathroom.

You avoid his face, following the lines of grimy grout between the tiles before resuming to your spot at his side. His inspecting eyes burn on the side of your face. You wipe down the forceps with a sterilizing wipe and rip open the plastic packaging for a new needle, holding it up to the wound, but your hand refuses to steady.

Another deep breath. Then another.

Hood sighs. It’s almost chastising. “I think I should go.”

“What?” You’re just surprised enough to be torn away from your thoughts and look him in the eye (mask) for the first time all night.

“You can’t do this,” he says, gruffly. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I’ll let you figure it out.”

You scoff. “Yes, I can. I’m fine.”

Before he can argue, you grab him by the wrist to hold him in place just as he starts moving to get up. He winces, but you keep your grip tight on him. You can feel his scrutiny through the cold, expressionless barrier of his disguise, practically track his pupils as they search your face.

You both pretend he couldn’t break from your hold in an instant if he wanted to.

“You’re shaking,” Hood says. His voice is much softer now.

You follow the turn of his head to your hand where it hovers the needle right over his skin. You are shaking. Trembling, in fact.

“No, I’m not.” It comes out as an empty whisper.

You focus all your strength on steadying yourself, but the harder you try to stabilize, the harder you tremor. Your other hand releases his wrist to clamp over your dominant hand and force it to stay in place. It guides the needle closer to the skin, but now your vision is blurring. You blink rapidly, but it’s not enough. The tears start falling. You look away from him, but a warm hand settles over yours. You don’t dare look at him, unable to bear showing him your shameful face, wet and blushing and screwed up in misery. You turn your face into your sleeve. Clamp your eyes shut tight, thinking maybe if you keep them closed, this darkness will swallow you up and he won’t be here anymore.

But the warmth of his skin on yours is the first feeling of softness, of relief you’ve felt in months, and then it’s gone. Your shoulders are shaking, quaking with the effort to keep your sobs quiet.

One finger ever so gently hooks around your chin, pulling it back up to face him. You keep your eyes closed, not wanting to see him see you like this, but the tears are still streaming. He brushes them away. Whether that makes it better or worse, you can’t be sure, because you cry even harder, snatching your face away from his grasp to muffle your sobs into the back of your hand. You don’t realize he’s pushed himself off his stool to sit cross-legged on the floor until you feel his hand circling your arm and pulling you closer. The tools in your hand clatter on the floor as your palms come up to press against his chest, fighting against him with half-hearted protests murmured through your cries. But even with only one good arm he’s too strong for you, and you’re pulled into him.

He’s so gentle with you, rubbing your back and resting his chin atop your head while you cry and cry and cry into his shirt. Several minutes pass like this, with your face buried in his chest and his good arm holding you tightly against him while the other dangles lamely at his side, throbbing with an intensity he’s trying to ignore.

When your sobs die down, and you’re sure you’re all cried out, you linger against him. He smells like smoke and gasoline, and his shirt is soft and warm from his body heat seeping through. His hand continues to stroke up and down the length of your back, even after you’ve quieted. The edge of his mask digs into your scalp where his chin sits, but it feels worth it. Your hands, still pressed to his chest, slide higher, completely of their own volition, out of a newfound desire to wrap your arms around his neck. You don’t hear it, but you can feel his sharp draw of breath, his chest rising quickly under your touch. Your hands lose their nerve at his clavicle as you hold your breath for fear of the smallest movement drawing attention to your forwardness. You wait for him to rebuff you, to lean away from your touch, or grab your wrists and pry them off. He doesn’t.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. His chest finally falls.

Eyes opening, your thumb swipes over the edge of the red bat symbol just below his collarbone.

His movements pause, lightly gripping the fabric of your shirt for just a moment, before releasing it. “It’s alright,” he tells you.

You pull back from his chest to look at him, the way his cold and unfeeling expression stares back at you. You wonder from time to time what’s under the mask, but tonight the desire is overwhelming; you ache with the want to know what he looks like. The color of his eyes. What his mouth looks like when he winces over a deep cut or chuckles at one of your anecdotes. You wonder if his lips are soft or chapped. If he’d like it if you dragged your thumb across the bottom one.

The metallic odor spreading through the room brings you back to the present, and you hope the flush from your tears hides your cheeks’ growing heat when you realize where your mind had wandered.

“Oh, fuck, your arm.” You speak in a watery voice, wiping at your face as the urgency returns to your senses. Though you try to move away, his firm hand on your back pulls you back in.

“Don’t worry about it, okay?” He says, resuming his caresses up and down your back. “I can take care of it.”

“Then why do you even need me?” You sniffle with a small smile.

He stays silent. But when you search his face, waiting for an answer, his hand moves to your side, palm sliding a fraction of an inch closer to your waist and fingers tensing, you can almost see through the mechanical muzzle to the way his lips shape the words. At least, he wishes you could.

You know why.

this was lots of fun to write and thank u for your patience ik i said i was gonna "knock this out in a day" 2 weeks ago😬😬 also we're gonna pretend they aren't just letting his open wound marinate for half an hour when it should be getting stitched up bc it's fiction ok? everyone say thank you mostly-imagines for proofreading this😚

but anyway happy new year!! it's been barely 2 months but starting this account made my year so much better🫶🫶🫶and ty for 500 followers that's crazy🫣🫢

#jason todd x reader #fic rec

812 notes · View notes

snoopychris · 3 days ago

Text

sharing is not caring

warnings: none really. for once. shocking i know

in which… matt is your boyfriend. and nate’s boyfriend.

“nathan get OFF him!” you yell, trying your best to push nate off your boyfriend. nate had arrived to matt’s room first, but he was your boyfriend. matt is laughing like a little kid, looking between you and nate.

“hey there’s enough of me to go around. sharing is caring” matt jokes, pushing nate off and pulling you into his arms instead. you sit within his legs and you settle down into the spot you’ve claimed as your own, relaxing. his arms are wrapped around your neck and laying on your stomach tracing shapes on your tummy. you giggle at the actions and giggle even louder when nate finally stands up.

hanging out with nate wasn’t crazy to you. it was a fairly normal thing. the abnormal thing was that chris wasn’t there with you. it was abnormal to matt that he was hanging out with more than one person at once. nate jumps onto the edge of the bed and turns on the TV— which was still paused on the star wars movie you were watching with matt— flipping through some channels. you groan when matt gets up, claiming to go to the kitchen to grab some snacks. you don’t doubt that he’ll bring a ton of stuff back, but the position was just getting so comfy. his walk to the kitchen was brief and he knew just what he was looking for, he just wasn’t expecting chris to be home so soon.

“hey man.” chris whispers, popping open his pepsi. matt sends him a smile, grabbing his own can of pepsi, as well as an arizona iced tea for you, and a bottle of water for nate. “sweetie upstairs?” chris asks, taking a swig of his drinks.

matt nods hesitantly, glancing towards the stairs. “yeah. she’s up there with nate right now. we’re watching the five nights at freddy’s movie.” he smiles, the simple thought of you making him lose his mind. he knows that in another life chris was supportive. he just wishes it was this one.

“sweeties pick? she always did love that damn bunny. you left them up there alone? for real? even after what they did?”

“chris what are you even talking about?” matt questions, grabbing a bag of chips from the pantry. chris runs his fingers through his hair, eyeing his brother up and down.

“you serious?” chris questions, his brows furrowing. matt shrugs, still completely clueless. “she sucked him off the summer before junior year. y’can even ask her. she’ll probably lie about it but.” matt’s mouth drops, blinking rapidly at the revelation. he could fight it and argue it in defense of you, but he doesn’t care enough to talk back to chris. he knows he’ll lose. instead, he gathers his thoughts and the things he grabbed and makes his way up stairs.

you smile when you see him. the same damn smile that he swears could save him from an apocalypse. he hands nate’s drink to him and hands you yours before settling in the position you had been in before. his face is blank, almost unreadable. you almost want to question it. to break him apart and find out what’s wrong. when nate moves around on the edge of the bed you decide to wait.

nate doesn’t leave till the movies over. it doesn’t matter to you really, you could be in a room with 1000 people you hate and as long as matt’s arms around you you’d be okay. matt swallows when he leaves, kissing your cheek gently. “can i ask you something?”

you nod and turn to look at him, gripping onto his hand. “you’ve been off since you went to the kitchen. what’d he tell you?” you whisper, knowing that the chance of chris telling him something was high.

“he um… told me about… you and nate? is it true? and i don’t care if it is because at the end of the day i don’t care about your history at all cause like i love you and who you are and not who people say you are and id just rather you be honest with me so i don’t feel like he just said it to get me to break up with you cause he’s mad at you or whatever.” he rambles, but due to his ongoing rambles he doesn’t seem to notice your face. instead of being in some sort of shock or fear, you’re smiling. he blinks at you while he’s waiting for a response but you’re still just… smiling.

“yes nate and i did that. it didn’t mean anything then and it doesn’t mean anything now. it could be 50 years in the future and it wouldn’t mean anything. you know what does mean something?” you giggle, moving to straddle matt’s waist. he hums in response, meeting your eyes. “you just said you loved me. that. means something. and i love you too. if you even meant that. if you didn’t then just forget i said anything.” you smile, pressing your forehead to his. matt finally considers his words before smiling, pressing a kiss to your lips. yeah. your boyfriend indeed.

a/n: here take it. soon i’m gonna have to start working on other shit tho.

tags: @ifwdominicfike @frankoceanfanpage @mattssslutbby @sophand4n4 @matthewsturnsgf @izzylovesmatt @m11rx @chris-hallelujah @sturniolotoast @mattsbrat @wastelandzella @le4hsblog @mattsd0llfac3 @st7rnioioss @isabellewhatt @sturnslutz @chrisscoraline @m4ttg1rl @princessesgarden @ikyoudreamofme @allylovescody

#⋆˙⟡snoopychris #⋆˙⟡nerd!matt #⋆˙⟡matt!#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo au #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo series #matthew sturniolo fluff #matthew sturniolo fanfic #matthew sturniolo smut #matthew sturniolo

159 notes · View notes

mimipolo · 1 day ago

Text

Nam-gyu x reader

I've only seen like two people write for him and I'm desperate 💔

It was the same old thing everyday. Hollering at people to come to the bar he worked. Fake smiles and bitter humour became the norm. He wasn't surprised with how things turned out, not like he cared to try and neither did his folks.

It was another Friday night, but tonight was different since he wasn't working today, that meant no hassling for customers. Some time just to himself. He wondered what he could do to pass the time, maybe a change of scenery, away from the bar and the thrum of music that ached his bones on those long nights.

But the lifestyle was already too deeply engrained in him, it was like a second home at this point and honestly where else would he go? He couldn't imagine using his money for anything other than to pay his rent or get his regular fix. The evolution from bummy cigarettes to actual drugs seemed so far away he can't remember when it began, it's not like he went out of his way to find it. He was content with the cheap stuff, but with work like this he should've expected how it'd eventually turn out. He tried to convince himself he hated it, that he only did it for the sake of his image but he knew better, he knew he got off the high and the one easiest to blame other than himself was Thanos. As he walked towards the bar he let out a sharp scoff as the man slipped into his mind, he was funny, entertaining but as bad an influence as any other.

He slows as the neon lights came into view, sighing as he picks a cigarette from a packet in his back pocket and easily lights it. Taking a long drag as he stares ahead, tempted to go in but something else repells him. For the moment he just hangs outside, just by the door of a small convenience store where most went to get a quick meal after a couple of drinks. His head unconsciously perks up at the sound of the convenience store doors bell ringing as a customer walks out and he has to take a double take to make sure he wasn't imagining it, wiping the cigarette smoke from his face to get a clearer look. The person of interest only seems to recognise him as they walk down the stairs and are about to make a turn to walk in his direction. Stopping dead in their tracks as they make direct eye contact eyes as wide as his. Yeah it was her.

Spluttering slightly as he continues to wave his arm to clear the smoke before swiftly butting his cigarette on the brick wall. A coyish smile on his face as he steps towards her, rocking on the balls of his feet.

"Been a while huh?"

He'd been friends with you for years knowing each other from highschool to the end of college, he couldn't be asked to go to uni, you didn't seem surprised but the disappointment on your face was clear. It almost made him back out.

Considering all this he'd say you two have a good length of history together, memories too. One memory he could never seem to shake was in the second year of college.

It was lunchtime and he had come to your classroom to sit and bother you as usual. You knew the routine. He was ranting on about some guy that he claimed to be an "arrogant dick", talking your ear off as he faced you completely, his leg knocking into yours occasionally to catch your attention when he got to certain parts, he was content with you humming your acknowledgement as you ate your food. But then he suddenly stops mid story, making your head perk up confused. He smirked proudly finally knowing you were actually listening to his dumb stories after all before it solemned slightly.

"What do you think?" He said almost mumbling, tucking his hair behind his ear, a habit of his you found endearing.

"Think of...what?" You had said back mid bite of your food, staring into his eyes, a bit too deeply, so he ran his hand over his face with a sigh.

"...Of me." His voice quieter now, looking ahead instead of at you, he could sense your judging gaze without looking. He remembers how his heart pounded and his hands felt clammy.

"Of you?" You hummed in thought, placing down your food as you looked at his side profile, unimpressed with how he refused to look back at you. You had sighed before answering, resting your cheek in the palm of your hand, "You're nice, when you're not with your friends, I like you more when it's just us." Is all you had said before returning to eating.

He couldn't forget how genuinely taken back by your words he felt, his hair moving with his head as it snapped towards you expectantly. You only give him a pleased side glance as you chuckle and shrug slightly, refusing to let him have a deeper insight to your words. And being immature as he was back then he never figured it out and even now he wonders if he'd figured it out. He wonders even now as he stands opposite you after three, almost four years, if you'd still be interested in an "us".

You chuckle softly, an undertone of disbelief as you step forward him with a small smile on your lips as you finally recognise him. Huffing again in shock, the cold air condensing and forming white clouds with each exhale.

"Nam-gyu? It's been so long I didn't think I'd see you again?" There's a gladness to see him in your words, in your expression and he can't deny the fact it made him feel better about himself.

"Yeah...we never really saw each other again after you left for uni and stuff." He muttered awkwardly, he wanted to seem more confident, it was embarassing to realise he'll probably never be able to look you in the eyes if he's not rambling about something stupid."How was it?"

You sink further into the warmth of your jacket as you answer the question, "It was fun, had all the experiences I missed out on and got my papers." He can't help but chuckle alongside you, even if he's sharing your joy three years too late. "What about you Nam, what are you up to?"

His heart seemed to lift at the familiar nickname, one that you had decided him worthy of on a random Tuesday afternoon in your third year of high school. He didn't care for when others used it but when it was you, and after so long? He could already feel his ears growing hotter as he chuckles again as he tucks his hair behind them.

"Ah...ha, just working ya know." He pursed his lips, he didn't want you to know where he worked, after all your scolding of how he "had potential" but any drive he had left with mum when she abandoned him with his grandma after his dad's death. All of a sudden he was itching for another drag of that cigarette he had just snubbed out. Sucking it up with a slight smile as he gestured awkwardly behind him. "I, uh actually work here, at the bar."

You only nodded, understandingly it seemed, but his gaze wavers at how your eyebrows draw together slightly, he knew what you were thinking but he wasn't ready to confront that, not now. "I wouldn't recommend you come by though." He sighed as he rubbed his hands together, trying to seem as unbothered as he could. He honestly didn't want you near this place, or getting involved with the people in it. He was only here because the pay was good enough and he couldn't think of anywhere else to apply, maybe, just maybe if he had looked around. Sucked up his pride and asked you for advice he wouldn't be stuck in this place. But it was far too late to be considering that now.

He watches as you tilt your head at his warning before shrugging slightly "Not my scene anyway." He was grateful you didn't pry, it was too soon and too late to explain everything at once.

Now that the awkward introductions were over he had the mind to look at you more closely. He knew he found you pretty before but now you'd grown to be beautiful, round features, now more defined by age and experience, illuminated by the gentle glow of the store lights. His staring a drastic change to his demeanor before, he wonders if you notice the slight changes in him too. In his own honest opinion he's only grown taller and you've apparently stayed the same, he bites back a smirk once he notices, tucking his hands in his pockets as he snorts. And like you knew what he was thinking you scoff and roll your eyes. The situation felt all too familiar.

Suddenly you step closer nudging his arm with yours as you look him up and down questionably, "You're not as touchy as you used to be the old you would've been slung over me by now." He only scoffs as you giggle to yourself at the memories, feeling fairly embarassed, and even more so because he knew he had to mentally tell himself not to when he officially recognised it was you in front of him.

"Yeah? Well I grew up." He says sarcastically pushing his hair behind his ear as he stands taller earning another laugh from you which rings nostalgically in his ears. He wonders if the either of you even grew up. You were still connected by the memories after all, is that the same concept allowed for feelings? He felt selfish for entertaining the thought, but for now he was happy to see your face again, it was a breath of fresh air from the constant buzz of his life. A life he felt he could leave behind if you stayed as close as you were now.

#nam gyu #squid game #squid game x reader #first post #nam gyu x reader #nam-gyu x reader

128 notes · View notes

citrusipop · 3 hours ago

Text

Pagtingin! . hyun-ju

" When I reveal my feelings I hope your opinion of me won't change When I confess my secrets I hope your opinion of me won't change " - patingin by ben&ben

in which . in which Hyun-ju comes back after the events of the game and she happens to bump into her partner who she left without an explanation.

cho hyun-ju x reader (fem) . angst/fluff

based off . ♡

Strolling through the busy streets, you stumbled upon your favorite café. As you stepped inside, you were greeted by the comforting aroma of coffee and vanilla, wrapping around you like a warm embrace. Sweet bossa nova music played softly in the background, blending with the gentle hum of conversations. It was the perfect day to settle down and work in the cozy atmosphere of the café. After ordering your usual coffee and sweet treats, you made your way to a nearby table by the window.

Taking your seat, you gazed out at the bustling street. Sure, it might seem cliché to some—a solitary figure at a window seat in a café—but to you, it was a small joy. The window wasn’t just a pane of glass; it was a lens into the endless stories unfolding outside. Watching strangers go about their lives, you found yourself imagining their worlds. Two girls walked past in school uniforms—you guessed they were high schoolers, maybe around fourteen or fifteen. Your eyes followed a middle-aged man pedaling his bike, his neatly pressed office attire suggesting he worked in accounting or something similar.

It fascinated you how everyone’s lives were so different from your own. Each person outside that window carried a story you’d never fully know, lives that were nothing like yours—boring, miserable, yet oddly peaceful and happy in their own way. And for a moment, watching them, you felt connected to something bigger, as though their differences somehow brought you closer to understanding your own quiet existence.

Your thoughts suddenly come to an end when you hear a group of people laughing next to you. You wish you had your earbuds with you to drown out the sounds but the gods were against you and made you forget to bring it. Wallowing in your sadness, you heard a familiar laugh coming from the table next to you and it made your mind race, turning to the table next to you…

It was her. For a moment, you froze, your breath hitching in your chest. Oh, how you wished this was a dream—because it certainly felt like one. A dream so vivid, so achingly beautiful, that the thought of waking up filled you with dread. But it wasn’t a dream. The world around you blurred and faded, leaving only her, like the central figure in a watercolor painting.

And then you heard it, her laughter. That soft, melodic sound you thought you’d forgotten but never truly could. It was like a gentle breeze carrying fragments of your past, filling you with a bittersweet ache. That laughter brought you back to a time when everything felt lighter, simpler, and whole. Nostalgia crashed into you, raw and unrelenting, pulling at the corners of your heart.

You wanted to move, to say something, but all you could do was sit there, drinking in the moment. That sound, that sight of her—it was a warmth you hadn’t felt in what seemed like forever. And for just an instant, you allowed yourself to believe that this wasn’t just a fleeting memory or a trick of your longing mind but something real, something you could hold onto, even if only for a little while.

You hadn’t realized how long your gaze had been fixed on her until you noticed she was looking back at you. Her almond-shaped brown eyes met yours, locking you in place. She gave you a smile like before, but your mind drifted to how beautiful and ethereal she looked as the sun from the window embraced her figure. Her hair was tied neatly into a ponytail, the soft simple makeup making her look beautiful. You felt like you were seeing an angel for the first time, you felt like you were seeing her for the first time. And it made her heart skip a beat. You noticed how she excused herself to her friends and she was now making her way towards your table, quickly you moved your laptop and notepad away, your fingers running through your hair as you fixed it and made it look more presentable.

“Hi…” Hyun-ju said shyly, looking right at you with a soft smile, you looked up from your notepad and gave her a tight smile. Awkward silence filled the air as the tall woman stood still in front of your table, you took notice and felt bad. You motioned your hand to the empty chair in front of you indicating that she can take that seat. Another set of awkward silence filled the coffee shop, the tension was so thick you felt as if coming to this cafe was a mistake.

“You look beautiful today.”

The words hung in the air, soft but sincere, making Hyun-ju pause. Her eyes flickered to you, but you avoided her gaze, focusing instead on the cup in your hands. Still, the familiar warmth spread through her chest. Hearing you call her beautiful always meant the world to her. It was a reminder that you saw her, loved her, just as she was. Yet, the pang of guilt was unavoidable. She had walked away without a word, leaving behind questions that she still couldn’t answer.

“Thank you,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyes caught the faint smile tugging at your lips, and something shifted. A flicker of hope sparked within her, a fragile belief that maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance to mend what had been broken.

As if on cue, both of you started speaking at the same time, your voices overlapping awkwardly. You exchanged startled glances before bursting into quiet laughter, the sound breaking the tension between you. It was a silly, fleeting moment, but it carried a strange weight. For a second, it felt like you were teenagers again, stumbling through the nerves of a first date. Or perhaps it was just the awkwardness of two people who once knew each other so well, trying to find their footing again.

You stole another glance at Hyun-ju, and the sight of her hit you harder than you expected. The ache in your chest flared up, a sharp reminder of the emptiness her absence had left behind. No matter how much you had tried to fill that void, it had never worked. And now, sitting here with her, you couldn’t help but wonder if that missing piece had always been her.

But words refused to come. Your throat tightened, the lump there stubbornly blocking every thought, every feeling you wanted to voice. The two of you sat in silence, the weight of everything unspoken pressing down. Yet, in the quiet, there was something unbreakable—a connection that time and distance hadn’t erased.

You hear Hyun-ju clear her throat, you glance at her as she says, “I…I miss you, it’s been a while.” It made you smile a bit despite the hurt you were feeling inside, “I miss you too.” You said softly, as your thumb caresses the warm cup of coffee. You never felt this wave of emotions before, something so bittersweet. Sadness and hurt was evident on your face and Hyun-ju can clearly see it.

Your teary eyes locked with hers. “Funny, isn’t it? It’s been five weeks. Five weeks since I last heard from you.” Your voice wavered, though you tried to mask it with a frown. “And now, here you are, showing up as if nothing happened.” The words came out colder than you intended, laced with the bitterness that had been festering in the void her absence left behind.

Hyun-ju stood frozen, her lips parting slightly as if to speak, but no words came. What could she even say? Would you believe her if she told you the truth? That she had been kidnapped, thrust into a series of deadly games because of her debts and her desperation to complete her transition? That she had watched countless lives end in horrifying ways, the weight of survival pressing down on her with every passing second?

You noticed the flicker of conflict in her expression, and it only fueled your frustration. “Look,” you said sharply, “if you don’t want to deal with this—us—it’s fine. Just say it.” Your voice cracked, but before you could say more, Hyun-ju cut you off.

“Y/N.” Her voice was firm, but there was a tremor in it. “I never said I didn’t want this. Or that I wanted it to be over. You mean too much to me.” Her gaze dropped, her voice softening. “You… you wouldn’t understand. That’s the problem.”

“Understand what, Hyun-ju?” you snapped, your frustration boiling over. “You can’t just show up and expect me to be okay after you disappeared without a word. No call, no text, nothing. Five weeks, Hyun-ju. Five.” Your hands trembled as you clenched them into fists, your voice growing harsher. “Do you know how hard I tried to find you? How much I worried? Don’t tell me I don’t understand when you’re not even telling me what I’m supposed to understand.”

Your words hung heavy in the air, cutting through the fragile tension like a blade. You didn’t want to sound this harsh, but the hurt, confusion, and stress had built up too much to hold back. It wasn’t just the absence that hurt—it was the silence, the unanswered questions, the sense that she had left you in the dark without a second thought.

The tone of your voice cut through Hyun-ju’s heart more deeply than you could ever know. Her chest ached with guilt, the weight of her choices pressing down on her. She had thought leaving without a word was the right thing to do—a way to protect you from the chaos of her life. But now, facing the consequences, she realized how wrong she had been. Immature. Thoughtless.

“I just…” Her voice faltered, barely above a whisper. “I thought you wouldn’t love me anymore… that I’d be a disgrace to you, the way I am to everyone else.” Her words were soft, almost as if she was afraid of saying them out loud, afraid of the weight they carried.

Hearing her broke something in you. You had been so consumed by your own pain, your own confusion, that you hadn’t stopped to see hers. In that moment, you realized it wasn’t just you who had been hurting. She had been carrying her own burden of fear and self-doubt, silently tearing herself apart. And now, her vulnerability was laid bare, raw and trembling in front of you.

“You deserve someone better than me, Y/N,” Hyun-ju whispered, her voice trembling. “You can’t be in a relationship with someone like me—”

Before she could finish, you reached out, gently taking her soft, larger hand in yours. “Stop,” you said firmly, your voice steady but full of emotion. “I don’t care, Hyun-ju. I don’t care about any of that.”

Your thumb gently traced small circles over her hand, grounding both of you in the moment. “I love you for who you are. Every part of you. To me, you’re perfect—the most beautiful woman in the world. And honestly, it amazes me every single day that you chose someone like me to be with you.”

A tear slipped down your cheek as you gave her a soft, heartfelt smile. It wasn’t just your words that spoke—it was the way you looked at her, as if she was the only person in the world who mattered.

Hyun-ju let out a choked sob, gripping your hand tightly as if you might disappear. “I just… I thought that one day you’d wake up and realize you deserve someone better. That—That you’d see I’m not enough for you because I’m not perfect.” Her voice cracked as tears spilled freely down her cheeks. “This body… this body that I’ve fought so hard for, it’s still not enough. People look at me and see a lie, a joke. I thought maybe one day you’d see me the same way, and it would break me, Y/N. It would destroy me.”

Her words came in waves, each one laced with years of pain and fear. “You deserve someone who doesn’t have to fight to exist. Someone who doesn’t carry the kind of baggage I do. I’ve seen the way people stare at us when we’re together. The way they judge you just for loving me. And I thought… maybe you’d get tired of it. Of me. Of always having to defend me, to fight for me. I thought you’d leave, and I didn’t think I’d survive it.”

Her voice grew softer, trembling as she continued. “You have no idea what it’s like… to constantly wonder if the people who love you will stop when they finally see you for who you really are.”

The raw vulnerability in her words cut through you like a knife. God, it pained you to see her like this. Without hesitation, you rose from your seat and moved to her side. Kneeling down, you gently placed your fingers under her chin, lifting her face so she could meet your gaze.

“Oh, love,” you murmured, your voice soft yet steady. “I will never, ever leave you. Not now, not ever. Do you hear me?” You brushed away the tears streaming down her face, your touch gentle and reassuring. “You are enough, Hyun-ju. You’re more than enough. You’re the bravest woman I know. You’ve fought battles most people couldn’t even imagine, and you’ve come out stronger every time.”

You gave her a soft smile, hoping it could reach the cracks in her heart. “You’re my Hyun-ju. The one who fills my life with warmth and love. The one who makes those incredible meals so I don’t have to spend a dime eating out. And the one who makes me laugh when I don’t even think I can smile.”

Your thumb stroked her cheek as you looked into her tear-filled eyes. “I don’t care what the world thinks, or what anyone says. I see you, Hyun-ju. I love you. Every single part of you. And nothing, nothing will ever change that.”

In that moment, you weren’t just offering her words—you were offering her a piece of your soul, a promise that no matter what storms came your way, you would face them together.

“I love you, Hyun-ju. All of you. Your body, your personality—everything. I love you,” you whispered, your voice steady and filled with sincerity.

You leaned in slowly, giving her a moment to meet you halfway. As your lips met hers, the kiss was tender, a gentle melding of emotions rather than just a physical gesture. It was soft but full of meaning, as if you were pouring all the love, reassurance, and devotion you felt into that single moment.

Her lips trembled against yours, and you could feel the faint taste of salt from her tears, but neither of you pulled away. Instead, you cupped her face with both hands, your thumbs brushing away the wet trails on her cheeks. She responded hesitantly at first, as though afraid to believe this was real, but then her hands found their way to your arms, holding onto you as though grounding herself in your presence.

When you finally pulled back, your foreheads pressed together, her breath mingling with yours. “You’re my everything, Hyun-ju,” you said softly, gazing into her tearful eyes. “Always.”

“I love you too.”

You smiled softly, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to her cheek. “How about I buy you that favorite dessert of yours?” you offered, your voice light and filled with affection.

Taking her hand in yours, you gave it a reassuring squeeze before flashing her a smile—one of those rare, genuine smiles that you saved just for her. It was the kind of smile that spoke volumes, one that told her she was cherished, loved, and safe with you.

As you walked out of the café, your gaze lingered on Hyun-ju, unable to help but admire her once more. You silently thanked the gods for blessing you with such a wonderful partner, vowing to do anything for her.

a/n . i told myself I was going to make a part two of mesmerized but I honestly got kind of lazy...and this prompt I could not stop thinking about it. This is my first time writing angst since i'm more of a writer who loves writing tooth rottening fluff....LOL

86 notes · View notes

sorrowsofsilence · 3 days ago

Text

the bet 3 • bad omens

pairing: all bad omens members x fem!reader

words: 12.7k • masterlist

warnings: 18+, polyandrous relationship (so yes, there is some angst and discourse with navigating the challenges of a shifting relationship), threesome, foursome, voyeurism, double penetration- pls wrap it b4 u tap it, male!masturbating, male!receiving, fem!receiving, creampies, "sloppy seconds" (oops), swearing, nicknames: princess, pretty girl, good girl), jealousy,

summary: It wasn't really just a game after all, was it?

note: buckle up as there will be a part 4 due to how long this ended up being lol I’m sorry - also it’s 4am and not proof read I’m sorry

PS. THIS IS A FANFIC ABOUT REAL PEOPLE IN FICTIONAL SCENARIOS. I AM NOT IMPLYING THIS IS HOW THESE PEOPLE ARE IRL OR THAT THIS SITUATION WOULD HAPPEN. IT IS FOR FANFIC PURPOSES ONLY!

Turning, you blinked at the clock on the nightstand, its digital numbers glaring back at you.

10:45 AM.

Your heart sank, realizing you all overslept and missed the bus's scheduled departure time.

"Guys," you said, voice hoarse as you tried to sit up. Peeling yourself from the swede beside you, you frantically shouted, "We’re late. We’re so late."

Jolly groaned beside you, pulling you back down against his chest.

"Five more minutes," he mumbled, nuzzling his face into your back.

"No," you insisted, wriggling free despite not wanting to, "It’s almost eleven- the bus was supposed to leave an hour ago.”

Ruffilo sat up from beside you abruptly, eyes wide with panic.

"What?" He fumbled for his phone on the nightstand, cursing when he saw the time. "Damn it."

Folio muttered something incoherent, rubbing at his eyes as he tried to wake up from the cot on the floor. Matt frowned over at you from the bed beside yours, though his sleep-tussled hair marred the effect.

Noah already began to dress rapidly as you offered an apologetic look to Jolly who sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“We have an eight-hour drive. We’ll make the show but we’re probably fucked for soundcheck,” Matt mumbled, pulling on his jeans.

Ruffilo scrolled through his phone, and you peered over, noticing the array of missed call notifications and texts. “Shit, Bryan’s been texting for hours.”

Matt pulled his shirt back over his body, searching the floor for his baseball cap. Placing the fabric over his head he tossed you a wink, before putting his phone to his ear. “No regrets though, right?”

"No regrets," Ruffilo confirmed, the edges of his mouth tugging into a slight smile as he pulled himself out of the sheets, picking up a shirt.

"Speak for yourself," Jolly muttered. He remained lying down, arm slung over his eyes. But the small grin that played at his lips spoke more truth than his words.

The room was suddenly filled with hurried activity and idle chatter as the boys launched themselves into action - Matt taking control of the situation and letting Bryan know everyone would be there shortly, while Ruffilo, Folio and Noah packed their bags quickly.

Through it all, Jolly lay still, his gaze focused entirely on you, fingers threaded through yours.

“You’re worth it," he declared softly. His tone smothered any potential doubt regarding last night.

"Come on," he said after a moment, finally rousing himself. He moved with careful deliberation as he started to collect his clothing from around the room.

You pushed yourself off the bed and hurried to pack your things. Searching for your hoodie, you sighed in frustration when you couldn’t find it before a hand reached out to yours.

Nicholas smiled warmly at you, holding out his own sweater. With a nod of his head, he motioned for you to raise your arms, allowing him to pull the fabric over your head and down your body, engulfing you in his scent.

“Thanks,” You smiled shyly, mind flickering to images of him devouring your body just hours prior.

He beamed as he placed the hood over your head, gently holding onto your cheeks as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

As he stepped away, you couldn't help but notice the lingering glances from both Noah and Folio. But these looks were not filled with animosity; instead, they seemed to hold a gentle challenge within them. Who could make you smile wider? Whose touch made your heart skip a beat?

It almost seemed like an unspoken agreement between them that you were cherished by all, but possessed by none.

Yet, despite this understanding, a twinge of envy still crept into Noah's chest.

The brunette came up behind you and rested his hands on your shoulders, smoothing out the fabric of Nicholas’ hood against your back, "You're quite remarkable, aren't you?"

Your face warmed at his words, spine-tingling as Noah’s hand roamed down your back, and Ruffilo’s soft breath brushed your face.

“C’mon guys, we gotta go,” Matt said, eyeing the three of you briefly before opening the door.

Matt led you all out of the room and down the hallway, while Ruffilo and Folio followed closely behind, deep in conversation. You glanced briefly at one of the workers, who raised a curious yet accusatory brow toward the group leaving the hotel room.

As you moved through the lobby, Noah's arm slithered around your waist, pulling you flush against his side. He pressed a hasty kiss into your hair before diverting his attention towards Bryan who had been pacing by the entrance, phone clutched tightly in hand.

“Sorry we’re late,” Matt said as he approached Bryan, “We overslept.”

“Overslept?!” Bryan exclaimed incredulously, brandishing his phone like a wand, "I've been trying to reach you since six in the morning! The bus was scheduled to leave at nine! You’re the manager, Matt, how come I’m doing the managing?.”

Matt held up his hands in surrender, visibly trying to keep things calm, "Sorry Bry, didn’t mean to stress you out. Let’s head to the bus."

Bryan drove everyone in the van back to last night's venue, and you quickly helped unload the bags onto the bus.

“I’ll stay in the van with Bryan,” Matt said, shifting on his feet as his thumbs jumped across his phone screen, likely texting the venue an update, “We won't have time for pit stops if we want to even make time for a brief soundcheck, so, prepare for eight hours of non-stop driving.”

Once Matt closed the bus door, you smiled at your boys, nerves suddenly radiating through your veins.

Eight hours. With a glance around the bus, you took a seat on the couch, pulling your knees to your chest. You looked around at anything but them; until you noticed Noah sit across from you.

As your eyes met him, his gaze twinkling of mischievous innocence he wore so well, a rush of anticipation warmed your chest.

The bus started to move, smoothly looping itself onto the road.

Noah, leaning over the armrest of the seat across you, smiled that charming grin of his again. Jolly was already fishing for a bottle of water in the cooler. Ruffilo swiped through pages on his phone once more, while Folio had his head bobbing lightly to the music spilling out from the speakers.

It wasn’t an awkward silence, but unspoken words and thoughts lingered.

“You okay?” asked Noah, keeping his eyes on you as if trying to read you like an open book. His nearness made your body shiver in response, images of last night flashing back into your mind.

"I'm perfectly fine," came your reply, gentle but firm.

There was a soft grunt from Jolly’s corner, causing the group to glance at him.

He commented without looking up from his water bottle, “I think we have some things to talk about.”

“Such as?” You asked, knowing what he was going to say- yet prompting him anyway.

“Us,” he shrugged now, eyes darting between each of the boys before landing on you, “What happens now?”

There was a loaded silence that wrapped the room, each one of them mulling over their thoughts. Noah shifted uncomfortably in his seat, avoiding your gaze. Ruffilo stared blankly at his phone, his thumb hovering over the screen while Folio gently tapped his fingers to the beat of the music from the speakers, his gaze distant.

“I mean,” Ruffilo started, his voice cutting through the dense quietness like a knife. “We all agreed that this wouldn’t change anything between us.”

As if on cue, all eyes fell on you. The weight of their gazes made your heart pound against your chest and face, burning.

“But did it?” Jolly pressed on, his gaze steady. His question hung heavily between you.

You remained non-committal, much to everyone's growing frustration. But then again, you had been so calm throughout this ordeal, as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred among you and the boys.

The bet was just for fun, right? Surely, this was nothing more than a week of lust and desire… right?

You chewed on your cheek in thought, unsure now.

"Well, did it?" Folio echoed his words barely in a whisper. His eyes shimmered with a mix of emotions, the teasing glint now replaced with uncertainty.

Silence fell upon them once more, awaiting your response.

You looked at each of their faces. Ruffilo's expression was unreadable as he continued staring at his phone, Folio wore an almost amused smile as he bobbed his head along the rhythm of the music. Ruffilo glanced at you briefly before his eyes quickly darted back to his phone screen.

Finally, your gaze landed on Noah, who was staring back at you intently. His gaze was questioning, but there was a hint of warmth hidden beneath his serious demeanour.

You knew there was more to this than sex, and your heart pounded as the words fell from your mouth.

"It's not that our dynamics have changed... but my feelings have."

The confession hung in the air as a new round of silence sunk into the confined space. It was filled with the hum of the bus engine and the low notes of a forgotten song playing softly from the speakers.

All eyes bore into you; curiosity, surprise, and in some, what seemed like relief reflected at you. You met each gaze in turn, holding your breath against the immensity of your declaration.

"Feelings? Toward all of us?" Ruffilo asked cautiously. His brows furrowed slightly as he studied your face for any inkling of insincerity.

You nodded, biting your lower lip nervously as you tried to gauge their reactions.

"Last night wasn't just... physical." You cleared your throat slightly, catching their almost intense attention. "I mean, it was and it wasn't simultaneously."

"Makes sense," Folio said suddenly, breaking his self-imposed silence. He shrugged a little under their stares. "I mean... feelings can catch you off-guard. It's not like you can control them. Especially in... unusual circumstances."

"Unusual? That's one way to put it," joked Jolly, trying to lighten the mood. A chuckle echoed through the bus from Noah, but the mirth quickly faded.

"I think what we really need to figure out is what you want to happen now," Noah said, leaning forward in his seat to look at you, hands lazily folded on his lap. His eyes flicked away from yours for a moment as if he was afraid to press further.

"To happen now?" You mumbled, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. Unease stirred within you as you tried to summon words that wouldn't disrupt the equilibrium further.

"The question is more like... do you want us?” Jolly added softly, eyes never leaving yours, "All of us? Not only for sex but more than that.”

A statement so profound left you momentarily breathless. But it wasn't fear or dread that perforated the air within the bus - it was anticipation. A tantalizing spectre of something undefined yet powerful seemed to rise from the worn carpet of the bus, coiling around each one of you, poised to strike.

Noah broke the silence, his voice barely louder than an exhale; "Is that what you want?"

Your heart pounded in your chest, your emotions stripped bare before the boys whom you had known for years.

"Yes," you found yourself saying, gaze pinned to Noah's warm eyes, "But that doesn't mean everything just... falls into place."

"Do we take turns being your boyfriend?" Jolly asked after a beat, humour flicking through his eyes as he waited for you to react.

You scoffed playfully and rolled your own, "I don't know how it will work, Jolly."

"Neither do we,” Folio admitted, a stark rare seriousness replacing his usual aloof demeanour, “But we all want you. Last night, and the bet, was proof of that.”

"But we're willing to find a way if that's what you want," Noah chimed in, his voice gentle as he held your gaze with a hint of vulnerability.

You swallowed, the implications of what they were saying starting to sink in. Still, you found the courage to reply, "I think I'd like that.”

"What about Matt?" Ruffilo asked, looking up from his phone again to glance at you.

Your brow furrowed, "What about him?"

"He has feelings for you,” Ruffilo continued, meeting your gaze. “You know that."

“I do," you nodded, remembering the words spoken in confidence. "And I care about him. But right here, right now... it's not Matt I need an answer from." You scanned their faces one by one.

A silence stretched between you, and then, as though orchestrated, they each nodded in turn. Noah cleared his throat and played with the hem of his shirt.

“Alright," he said finally, voice steady but eyes fluttering with an array of emotions, "If that's what... if this what we’re all okay with... then we should go for it.”

This time, the silence that ensued wasn’t uncomfortable or tense. It was reflective, filled with a calm understanding and acceptance.

“Yeah,” Jolly agreed, chuckling as he tossed his water bottle from one hand to the other, “But let’s not get carried away. This needs... rules?”

“Yes, agreed,” Folio added in quickly at Jolly's suggestion. He could already see tension lines forming on Ruffilo's forehead.

“I think it’s fair to say the ground rule is honesty," he continued after a beat, "With each other and with oneself."

You nodded at his words, feeling a comforting warmth spread through you as you basked in their acceptance, their willingness to navigate this unconventional relationship.

“And respect," Ruffilo interjected abruptly, his voice a firm echo of conviction, "Respect for boundaries."

There was earnest sincerity to his words, and it moved you profoundly. He wasn't looking at his phone now. His eyes were on you, steady and unyielding.

“No one’s forcing anyone into anything," Noah added quietly. He glanced down at his hands briefly before meeting your gaze once more, "We're all here because we want to be."

A soft, comfortable silence fell as the weight of their words sunk in, each voice echoing the same sentiment: they were in this together

"Time," Jolly suddenly said, breaking the silence, "Each of us gets equal time." His tone was light, but the unexpected depth in his gaze told you he was serious about it.

"Like dates? Hangouts?" You asked, raising an eyebrow at him. This might not have been what you initially envisioned when divulging your feelings, but Jolly's suggestion made sense and even provided a fair sense of order amidst this chaos.

Jolly shrugged, "Something like that. Just to ensure no one feels left out. We can make a schedule."

There was another round of nodding from everyone, accompanied by gestures of agreement. Noah gave a thumbs-up sign, Folio hummed appreciatively from his corner and Ruffilo nodded slowly.

"Okay," you agreed with a small smile, a blush creeping into your cheeks colourfully. This was really happening, and it might be terrifyingly unknown, but you were excited, too.

The tranquillity that swept over you all seemed to promise more than just a simple acceptance.

A moment later, Noah's phone chirped with an incoming message.

He glanced at it, expression unreadable, before passing it around without a word. The message was from Matt, the subject line reading "Guys, we need to talk."

A pause filled the air as they absorbed the brief message. It certainly added another degree of complexity to your delicate situation.

“What’s he want to talk about?" Ruffilo wondered aloud, frowning as he reread Matt’s message.

Folio bit on his lower lip in thought, "It could be about anything… but I guarantee it’s about what we are talking about right now."

Jolly glanced down at his phone again before looking at you, "Should we tell him? About... all this? Offer him a spot if you’re willing to have one more?" He waved a hand toward the group parked in the small bus.

You considered this for a few heartbeats, "I guess we have to," you said finally, "unless we start hair-pulling for timeslots in front of him and he figures it out himself."

The comment earned chuckles from across the bus, the tension easing somewhat at your joking tone. Jolly’s laughter was the loudest, his boisterous voice echoing like a jingle bell against the battered metal of the bus interior.

“Dibs on being first then," Folio chimed in, grinning. “You know, to avoid hair-pulling."

“Noted,” Noah played along, holding his hands up in mock surrender as he tried to suppress his smile. “It’s all about fairness.”

At that moment, somehow amongst all the complexities and apprehension of what was to come, a bubble of joy swelled within you, buoyed by their good-natured bickering and warm camaraderie. It was a strange feeling - being loved by not just one person, but four... It was intoxicating and overwhelming in equal measure.

"Okay," Jolly declared, "we’ll tell Matt when we get to the venue… he’s going to want in.”

Make that five.

Noah spoke up again. “And what about jealousy?”

Your eyes widened slightly, a lump forming in your throat. That was the issue, wasn't it? The very hurdle threatening to sever this complicated web of emotions binding you all together.

“Jealousy,” Jolly repeated, chewing on the word as if tasting it for the first time. There was a thoughtful edge to his expression, followed by a shrug, "Well, we are all human, aren’t we?"

Ruffilo let out a dry chuckle at that, then sighed, "I think it's unavoidable."

Folio nodded, "Yes, but what we can avoid is letting jealousy ruin everything.”

You looked at him; his statement echoed in your mind and held true. Jealousy was an emotion no one could escape from, but how you manage it was what mattered.

“And how do we do that?” Ruffilo's voice hitched higher as he asked the million-dollar question.

“By talking it out,” Noah placed his hand on your knee, "Being honest about our feelings. If we're starting to feel...you know...possessive or if something's on your mind, say it."

Folio huffed, a smirk playing on his lips as he leaned back against his seat, stretching his legs out. “Yeah, that’ll be fun. So who do you think will end up in a jealous rage first?”

You shot him a mock glare. “I’m going to personally ensure it’s you.” You paused before blushing slightly. “Besides, it's not always about possession." you pointed out and felt relieved when Folio nodded with an understanding smile.

“True,” he admitted, giving your hand a light squeeze before letting go. "It's also about the equality... of love.”

“Oof, you’re already sounding like a philosopher,” Jolly commented with a lopsided smile, teasingly poking Nick’s shoulder. This elicited a small ripple of laughter amongst the group, which helped to dissolve some of the tension that had begun to creep in.

“Can’t help it,” Folio retorted with a sheepish grin, shrugging his shoulders slightly. “When you're faced with an unconventional situation like this, it brings out the thinker in you.”

“And that's what we should do," Ruffilo chimed in, seemingly inspired by Nick’s words. "We don't have a rule book for this. We just need to...think before we act or say anything. If something doesn't feel right or if someone isn't comfortable, we need to respect that and discuss it. I mean, that's what relationships are about, right?”

You nodded along, listening intently before chewing on your bottom lip, and staring at the ground.

“Use your words, beautiful. What’s up?” Ruffilo reached over, holding onto your thigh. The touch sent a jolt of electricity up your leg, causing your stomach to churn.

“What if… what if you don’t want me… anymore?”

The bus fell into silence, the weight of your words hanging in the cool air.

After a long pause, Noah spoke up, his voice steady and comforting. “First off, stop assuming the worst. Second..." He paused to gather his thoughts before continuing. "We're all here because we care about you.”

“But what if…” You started, but Ruffilo interrupted.

“What if we turn into aliens? What if I grow a third eye?” He shrugged with a smirk playing on his lips, earning chuckles from Jolly and Folio. “What ifs can drive you crazy, princess.”

“Hey!” You swatted at him lightly, but couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips.

Jolly chimed in next, leaning closer to you. "Look... this whole thing is new to us too. It's unchartered territory for everyone here." He gestured towards your companions, "And it comes with its risks and uncertainties."

The vulnerability in his voice made your chest tighten.

Noah’s finger gently guided your chin to turn to him, his face inches from yours, “Each of us is committed to you- and only you- from now on. It’s us and you.”

“Look," Ruffilo interjected, his voice breaking through the weighty pause that had fallen over the bus. He shifted uncomfortably, running a hand through his hair before he continued, “We all like you. We've known each other for what? Two years now? And there's just something about you..."

He trailed off indefinitely, leaving the silence to wordlessly weave itself into the fabric of your shared conversation.

“And what might that ‘something’ be?” Jolly burst out in his theatrical manner, falling against Ruffilo in exaggerated curiosity.

"It's not your cooking, that's for sure!" That earned Jolly a smack on his thick arm from Noah, while laughter echoed around the bus.

"No," Ruffilo quietly continued when the chuckling had subsided, "It's... you. It’s every little thing about you. It's the way you tilt your head when you're deep in thought. The way your eyes light up when you see someone in need and can finally help. The way..." his voice faltered slightly before he cleared his throat, "...the way you've found a place in our hearts. Fuck, its the way your mouth feels against mine and the feeling of your fingers running down my back.”

His words hung heavily in the air, “I- and the others, don’t want to even think about being with anybody else.”

Folio let out a strangled laugh, fighting bravely against his blush, "Well... Can't argue with that."

Your heart hitched at Ruffilo's raw honesty. His words conjured up an image of his grey, captivating eyes tracing your every movement, committing them to memory with a love so fierce it made your knees weak.

Jolly let out a snort full of amusement and suggestion, resting his arm over Ruffilo’s shoulders. “Did our dear Ruff just confess his undying love for our girl here?” he teased, nudging him playfully.

Ruffilo shot him an annoyed look but didn’t say anything.

“I feel the same,” You shared a smile, chewing on the inside of your cheek, “I want all of you, and no one else.”

A shared giggle erupted around the bus, light and airy and deceivingly innocent for such a bold revelation.

"Aww, guys," Folio began, grinning like a Cheshire cat, "are we having a moment right now? I feel like we're having a moment."

Jolly rolled his eyes dramatically, tossing an arm around Ruffilo. “Oh definitely. We’re all getting sappy in our old age.”

“Old? You’re the most aged,” Ruffilo shot back, swatting Jolly lightly on the arm.

Noah chuckled as he looked from face to face at his friends, shaking his head with a grin before reaching to tickle your side causing you to squeak with surprise, "Come on...we're all in this together," he added warmly.

The conversation carried on in cheerful spirits - an extension of what felt like an ever-evolving bond among all of you. There was laughter and teasing and even a few moments of quiet contemplation. As you watched the interactions, your heart so full it was nearly bursting, it dawned on you that there could be no looking back from this point.

“Well, I’m gonna take a nap,” Folio said, standing with a stretch, “As fun as last night was I barely slept on that fucking cot.”

His statement was met with scattered nods and murmurs of agreement. He flashed you a grin before heading down the hall toward his bunk, Jolly and Ruffilo following suit.

“You should sleep too,” Noah suggested to you, his voice soft in the dim light filtering through the worn curtains of the bus. He moved to sit next to you on the couch now, subtly reaching over to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“I will,” you promised, nestling against him as your body tingled. The bus hummed as it travelled further, everyone else slowly drifting into their dreams. But despite the fatigue that tugged at your eyelids, you stayed awake, your mind filled with thoughts brought forth by recent confessions.

"You know," he started, his voice barely more than a breath in the quiet, "you don't have to worry about anything. We're here. We're not going away."

You hummed, nodding as you closed your eyes, sucking in a breath.

"We...we do love you," Noah whispered against your ear, his words followed by the soft touch of his lips against the side of your neck, a sweet promise painted across your skin.

With those words settling over you like a warm blanket blanketing you in the hum of the bus, sleep finally beckoned. You drifted towards it, his breath against your skin anchoring you amidst a sea of emotions.

"Noah?" You whispered, your eyelashes fluttering against his shirt.

"Hmm?" His fingers traced gentle patterns over your back, making you feel even sleepier.

"I love you too," the words tumbled out softly.

A comfortable quiet ensued, and you could make out Noah's slow smile pressed against your temple as he held you close. It was a quiet moment shared between the two of you, amplified by the thrumming energy of the tucked-away confessions.

He pressed a soft kiss on your forehead, whispering back a response that was both warm and reassuringly subtle, "I know."

Your nap was short-lived as your eyes opened slowly, your body moving against the hand of the man beside you.

As you lay across Noah’s lap, you felt his fingers trace up your legs, dipping between your thighs as he gently grazed across the thin fabric of your leggings along your desire.

You froze, heart racing with excitement as he tested you further, slipping his fingers closer and closer.

"Noah..." you breathed out, his name barely louder than a sigh. A shiver ran down your spine, shooting a thrilling jolt to the pit of your stomach. He paused, one finger precariously close to where you needed him the most. His soft laughter vibrations spread from his chest into yours and he placed a reassuring kiss on your temple.

"Pardon me for taking liberties," he murmured, his fingers stilling their prodding explorations, "But I feel we have moved past formalities."

Though his words were slightly teasing, you sensed an underlying seriousness in them that caused a strange heat to spread through you in waves. You pushed back against his hand lightly in silent permission and felt him exhale a soft sigh of satisfaction against your skin.

His fingers started to move again, starting their slow and expert exploration of your form through the thin material until they reached the hem of your leggings. His touch withdrew for a moment as he looked down at you with an expectantly raised eyebrow. Heavily lidded eyes filled with a mixture of excitement and apprehension awaited your response. You nodded, your warm gaze meeting his as your fingers moved to slip the material lower.

Gently biting down on your lower lip, you glanced up to meet Noah's eyes - they were darkened, pupils dilated with desire.

The brunette resumed moving his hand in tantalizing circles between your legs. He watched your face closely as he continued with expert patience, observing the subtle shifts in your expressions, etching each detail into memory. He teased you, delicately brushing your covered skin.

Suddenly, the bus lurched as it veered onto an uneven stretch of road, causing Noah's touch to falter momentarily. His breath hitched alongside yours at the sudden movement.

"Shouldn't we... maybe find somewhere more private?" You suggested, amusement flickering in his eyes.

To that, Noah ran an inked finger along the hem of your leggings, dipping his hand between your waistband and skin to just barely touch your core.

“Doesn’t matter anymore baby. You’re ours now. We are the only ones on the bus.”

Pushing past your underwear he dipped his fingers between your folds, his breath hitching once he felt how wet you were. He chewed on his lower lip, biting back a smile as his thumb circled a slow path over the sensitive bud, every rotation drawing out a choked moan from your lips.

“Shh…” He soothed, holding onto the delicate peak until you were writhing against him, “Wouldn’t want to wake them, would you?”

"No," you murmured, though the sound came out more as a desperate whimper.

Noah's slow, teasing motions inspired a yearning within you that was almost unbearable. "No...they should sleep."

Yet, part of you hoped one of them would hear.

"That's a good girl," Noah cooed softly, smiling down at you before sinking his fingers into your body, eliciting another choked cry. He tugged your leggings just below your ass, giving him enough room to pump his fingers mercilessly.

Gently rocking against his hand to afford yourself additional friction, he chuckled, brows furrowing in slight concentration as he adjusted his movements.

His other hand roamed up to cup your face, thumb tracing your bottom lip, "You're so beautiful like this," he murmured, leaning down to capture your lips with his own.

The kiss was open-mouthed yet achingly tender. One of Noah's hands was still buried between your legs while the other cradled the back of your head. You could taste the memory of last night's orgy from his tongue and welcome it, losing yourself entirely in the feeling of having him fill you in different ways.

The tenderness escalated quickly into a frantic pulse of desire behind one last thrust which pushed you over the edge. Pulling back from the kiss, a soft gasp slipped from your throat as your thighs tightened around Noah's hand.

"Easy, I got you," Noah whispered, his voice soothing as he rode out the waves of your climax. His fingers never stilled, drawing the pleasure out until you were shivering and whimpering beneath him with the intensity.

Breathing heavily, you watched as he pulled his hand from your body, taking his fingers into his mouth.

“Fuck,” He moaned, relishing in the taste as his hips rocked beneath you, “I love the way you taste.”

His words coiled heat in your lower belly, intensifying the ache between your legs despite the orgasm you’d just had. His mouth returned to yours, letting you taste yourself on his tongue; undeniably intoxicating.

“Want you,” you told him in between pants and ragged breaths, fingers fumbling with the button on his jeans.

Noah led you between his legs, and you slid down onto the floor, knees bent with your exposed ass in the air, tugging at his zipper to expose his arousal.

He groaned as you wrapped your fingers around him, licking desperately from base to tip agonizingly slow.

"Noah," you murmur, repeating his name like a sacred chant. His fingers weaved through your hair as he reclined back against the seat.

Your finger wound tightly around the base of him, thumb brushing over the wet tip of his swollen cock. His breath hitched, a tortured groan escaping his lips.

You were busy deciding your next move when Noah placed his hands on either side of your face.

"Look at me," he commanded gently, leaving your dripping between your thighs as you nodded.

Lifting your lashes, you found yourself locked in his fierce gaze. His eyes were even darker than when they watched his fingers glide in and our of your pussy.

“God, I’ll never get used to how good you look on all fours,” Noah whispered huskily, a sense of pride flashing across his eyes. A jolt of exhilaration washed over you at the compliment; the image of you splayed out so wantonly displayed on the bus floor pleasing him.

Taking his cock back into your hand, you resumed stroking him once more.

“Fuck,” He murmured appreciatively, his thumb tracing your swollen lips with a light touch. Unconsciously, you parted your lips for him, allowing him to slide his thumb into the warmth of your mouth. His eyes hooded as you suckled it suggestively, a small groan escaping through his gritted teeth.

Gaining courage from his reactions, you freed your mouth from his thumb and planted a chaste kiss atop the tip of his cock, before enveloping him with the wet heat of your mouth. A strangled grumble escaped from Noah’s lips as he watched you take him in without hesitation. His arousal was evident on his face- eyes glowing with animalistic hunger, lips parted in a silent gasp.

You continued to test the waters with slow, gentle licks and soft sucks. The noises he made were encouraging, each whimper, moan and sigh fueling your movements as you grew more confident.

Noah’s hand cradled the back of your head gently, "That's it..." He murmured beneath his breath, clearly struggling to keep his voice down. "Just like that."

The taste of him was intoxicating, driving you to take him deeper. His hips bucked involuntarily, and you had to fight the urge to grin around his length.

All too quickly his voice started escalating, fragmented warnings cutting through the silence - urging you to slow down or pull away. But you wouldn’t. You needed him to come undone, to dissolve under your touch and surrender to that delicious pleasure only you could offer him.

You swallowed around him as best as you could, creating a tight suction that elicited a loud guttural groan from Noah's lips.

Just as you pulled off him, a trail of saliva dripping sensuously from your mouth, you heard a low cough come from the hallway.

Your hand stilled and you glanced up at Noah, who only smirked at the man who slowly approached you from behind.

“Thanks for the show. But I’m tired of just watching.”

You shivered, turning to face the Dummer who stood leaning against the wall, hand wrapped firmly around his arousal as he chewed on the inside of his cheek excitedly.

“You’re right Noah. I do love watching our girl spread on all fours. Especially with her pretty pussy exposed as she takes care of you.”

Your face warmed as Noah’s hand found your jaw, turning you back towards his cock. You wrapped your lips around him once again, causing his head to fall back in pleasure.

You heard Folio shuffle behind you, running his hands up your exposed thighs, encircling the shape of your ass.

"Folio," you called softly, hot breath washing over Noah’s length, causing his grip on your hair to tighten. He mumbled something incoherent under his breath but didn’t stop you; the darkened desire in his eyes told you he wanted nothing more.

Folio chuckled as he knelt behind you, his rough fingers expertly tracing the wetness between your thighs. He spread your folds apart slowly, leaning forward to allow his tongue a sample of your arousal. The jolt of pleasure caused you to gasp and jolt forward, pressing Noah's erection further into your mouth. Noah groaned at the depth and arched into you.

The bus seemed to close in on you, the heat from Noah and Folio's bodies leaving you dizzy and clouded with need.

Nick’s tongue continued its sweet torture against you, each languid lick causing your body to tremble with anticipation. With each pass of his tongue, you pushed back onto his face, desperate.

"Folio," you whimpered his name again as he teased your most intimate area. His hands took a firm grip on your hips, holding you steady as he continued his delicious torment.

"Noah," Nick murmured, pulling away from you momentarily to speak hungrily to the former. "Can't wait to see her take us both."

Noah’s groan of agreement had a slick rush pooling out of you onto Folio's waiting tongue.

His relentless strokes drew another orgasm closer within your grasp. You got lost in the sensation of his tongue and Noah's hardened length in your mouth.

You felt Folio pull away, only to replace his touch with his erection sliding between your arousal.

“How badly do you want us beautiful?” Nick’s voice was husky, thick with desire and anticipation, as he swirled his tip around your opening. You whimpered, body trembling as you tried to push back, craving for him to fill you.

“Tell us,” Noah’s commanding voice cut through your pleasure haze. You moaned around him in response.

“I- I want you,” you breathed out replacing your mouth with your hand, stroking him as you begged. “Both of you.”

"Well then," Folio murmured against the sensitive skin of your back as he lifted your shirt, "Who are we to deny you?"

He didn't waste another second before he thrust into you-- hard. Your body rocked forward at the sudden intrusion, causing Noah's cock to hit the back of your throat again.

Nick’s every thrust was met by your eager pushes, the sensation of being filled so fully driving you closer to the edge. You could hear his harsh pants, and felt his abs tensing against your back with his every movement.

With one hand on your hip and the other on your desire, Folio skillfully manipulated you to a fever pitch. His fingers circled your clit while Noah's cock thrust in and out of your mouth, time slipping along the lines of pleasure and pain.

"Noah," Folio grunted, teeth grit as they scraped against the damp skin of your shoulder. "I'm not gonna last long. She's so fucking tight."

A strange mix of cockiness and raw desperation coloured Noah's voice as he responded, "Don't you fucking dare, not until I fill her mouth.”

Folio laughed, a dark, rugged sound that vibrated through your bones and increased the pace of his thrusts. Your body tightened around him as his fingers dug into your hipbone sky-rocketing your pleasure.

Your mind blanked at the overload of sensations; even as you struggled to breathe through Noah’s relentless rhythm. The world narrowed down to the two men possessing you, their harsh breaths mingling with your own.

All at once, you were on the precipice. Your body tightened like a bowstring, the sweet tension coiling in your abdomen.

"Noah...Folio," you moaned their names as your vision blurred.

"And there it is," Noah grunted. His hand gripped your hair tighter, and you felt his cock twitch in your mouth.

The taste of him shattered your resolve as Folio's cock stretched you wide. In unison as if orchestrated, Noah spilled into your mouth just as Folio filled you.

Your orgasm was swift and intense, rendering you senseless and quaking around the two men. Each gasp for breath painted pleasure on your senses until you were nothing but a crumpled mess between them, reeling in the aftermath of such pleasure.

When they finally pulled away, carefully untangling themselves from you, it felt like they left behind a void that ached. You swirled your tongue around the salty remnants of Noah, swallowing and collapsing forward onto your hands and knees. Your body felt spent, and yet ridiculously alive – every nerve ending tingling with satisfaction.

If this was a taste of your future, then you were ravenous for it.

Folio wiped perspiration from his brow and helped you up only for you to flop against him, exhausted beyond words. He laughed lightly, cupping your cheek affectionately as he brushed a stray lock of hair away from your eyes.

“You okay?” He asked, his voice a low rumble that vibrated soothingly through you.

“Mmhmm…” You hummed, too content and flushed to articulate any other response. Nick leaned forward, placing a gentle yet hungry kiss against your lips.

“Maybe we should keep track of all your orgasms,” Nick chuckled again, licking his lips.

Noah nodded eagerly as his gaze was locked on you, blush tinting the bridge of his nose and cheeks.

“Come here,” He whispered, and you nodded, pulling your clothes back up and sitting next to him. Folio joined you on your other side, and you sat cradled between both boys.

“You think we broke her, Noah?” Folio teased, his voice a warm purr against your ear. His arm was draped over your lap, fingers interlocked with yours.

“You can try again later if you want," you mumbled, curling further into Noah's side.

He smoothed his hand through your hair, his heart fluttering when you sighed contentedly in response. His thumb began to draw lazy circles on your shoulder, a comforting rhythm that matched your steady, shallow breathing.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep," Folio warned playfully, grazing his teeth along your jaw.

"Would never dream of it," you replied to Folio's warning. You tilted your head, allowing him to press soft kisses along your jawline. He traced his lips down your throat, stopping just above the neckline of your shirt; another searing kiss here could so easily leave a mark.

His eyes met yours, a silent question in them that had you blushing more than your previous activities did. You nodded, permitting him. A wicked grin pulled at his lips as he pressed a kiss there, wet and heated. You knew a hickey would blossom there within the hour.

From your other side, Noah gave an approving hum, watching you and Folio with half-lidded eyes.

+++++

Matt, although slightly jealous, was happy to join your… relationship.

After arriving at the venue and hastily setting up, you approached him with a blush on your cheeks and a nervousness that seemed almost alien to the usually confident you.

“I want to talk,” you’d said, pulling him aside and tenderly taking his hands. The way you fumbled over words and avoided his gaze had Matt worried.

When you finally voiced out what was going on, the surprise in his eyes was evident. But instead of pushing you away or getting angry, he merely blinked at you, taken aback but not repulsed.

“If this is what you want, then I want it too, " he said, adjusting his cap before smiling warmly. I want you, they want you, and you want us. It makes sense, right? It may have started as a bet, but it's turned into much more.”

Even as the first blush of embarrassed desire rose in your cheeks, Matt leaned in. He whispered against your lips, his voice low and rough, "Besides, it’s not like I've never shared you before." His cheeks flushed pink at the memory and he cleared his throat.

“Well aren’t you full of surprises,” you murmured against his lips. He smirked at that, pulling you closer until there was barely any space left between the two of you.

“Only for you,” he shot back, effortlessly charming as ever. The smugness in his voice made the tips of your ears burn - but it sparked an excitement in your belly that was impossible to ignore.

“Ready for our brief soundcheck, rock gods?” he practically yelled across the green room, causing all the boys to groan in protest.

"Wouldn't be much of a band without it, would we?" Folio refuted, grinning as he grabbed the cymbal bag. The banging and clashing as he set them up served as a prelude to the havoc that would be unleashed during their performance.

Jolly rolled his eyes and stood up, slinging his guitar over his shoulder while giving you a wink that made your heart flutter, "Yea well, don't expect me to save your ass if you miss a beat, Folio."

Ruffilo scoffed from where he was tuning his bass, "Both of you talk big for a couple of amateurs."

"Wow boys, keep your egos in check or we won't be able to fit in the room," you intervened with an amused chuckle.

“Messiah has spoken,” Matt announced dramatically.

Grinning, Ruffilo plucked a playful tune on his bass, echoing through the room.

On the other hand, Noah couldn't resist teasing you, "Oh yeah? We got to keep our egos in check?" He chuckled, leaning across the couch.

He reached out and lightly tapped your nose with one finger, "What about you, huh? Got any confessions for us before we hit the stage?"

You swatted his hand away playfully, although your heart pounded at the warmth in his gaze.

"What could I possibly have to confess?" You scoffed, attempting to dodge. But Noah was relentless.

"Bullshit," Noah contradicted, grinning.

"Maybe I like keeping you on your toes," you replied with a shrug and a smirk of your own. All too familiar heat rose in your cheeks when Matt interjected, "That's our girl."

"Don't ruin the moment, Matt," Folio chided, laughing even as Jolly lobbed a battery at him.

"Why not?" Matt retorted. "This is us. We're not exactly the sentimental type."

"No," Noah agreed, sliding his arm around your waist and pulling you into his side. "We're just a mess.”

“A beautiful mess,” Ruffilo added, coming to stand behind the couch. He leaned over it to ruffle your hair, messing up whatever semblance of neatness you had attempted.

You swatted his hand away, instinctively fixing your hair. “Watch it, you.”

He barked out a laugh that echoed across the room. “There’s the feisty spirit we all love.”

“Feisty?" Folio echoed with a wicked grin, "Should we be worried?"

"Or excited," Ruffilo teased. He darted forward, placing a quick peck on your forehead before stepping back with a mischievous grin.

“That’s enough boys,” Matt chided, although he was hard-pressed to hide the laughter on his own face, “We’ve got a show to do and we better fucking practice.”

“Right,” Jolly said, pulling away from you and striding towards the stage.

“Lead on, rock star,” you replied with an encouraging smile.

Matt extended his hand toward you, palm up and you took his hand, letting him lead you down the halls towards the sound booth.

After soundcheck, you all headed back to the green room for a quick break.

“You were literally off beat bro,” Noah sighed, annoyed. Folio glared in response, nudging his shoulder.

“I literally couldn’t hear shit with my earpiece. I think it's broken.”

"I'll check it out," Matt offered, but Noah shook his head.

“It’s alright, Folio and I will figure it out. I’ll text you when we need to be backstage. C’mon Nick.”

Meanwhile, Jolly had surreptitiously sidled up to you, his fingers tracing circles on your arm as you entered the room.

"You doing good?" he mused. The furious blush was still evident on your cheeks and you couldn't help but fidget under his gaze.

"Y-Yeah, I'm fine," you stammered, mustering up a weak smile, only for Ruffilo to interrupt. He wrapped an arm around your shoulder and grinned at Jolly.

"Leave her alone, Casanova. Can't a girl get some peace?" Ruffilo chided with a good-natured wink directed at you.

"Is there even such a thing as peace with you five?" you retorted, nudging him. Your response was received with a chorus of laughter that echoed down the hallway.

“Highly unlikely princess,” Ruffilo laughed.

Jolly approached you with two bottles of water, pressing one into your hand before gesturing to a seat beside him with the other. You graciously accepted both, sliding into the spot next to him. You noticed how his gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary, causing your face to warm.

“What?” You asked, eyes tracing his face, attempting to read his expression.

“You’re mesmerizing,” he whispered, his gaze devouring you now.

Shifting on the couch you took a sip of your water, refusing to take your eyes off of Jolly’s.

Unable to hold his gaze, your eyes flickered downwards to the floor, feeling both flattered and flustered. His lingering words left you in a tantalizing whirlwind of emotions and made you tremble with a fantastical mixture of terror and thrill.

“Come here,” He nodded, patting his lap.

You paused for a second, eyebrows raised in surprise, before complying with a silent shrug. As you settled onto his lap, Jolly’s arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you close to him.

“Comfortable?” He asked, his voice dropping to a low murmur as he leaned slightly back in the chair.

“Mmm…” was all you could manage in response as you snuggled against him. His heart was thumping against your back and you wondered if he could feel the racing pace of yours too.

As comfortable as you were now, no one else seemed to take notice of your new position. Well, except for one person. You turned towards the direction where Ruffilo was shooting glances at Jolly from the corner of his eye. A slight pang of jealousy was visible in his eyes which he masked quickly when he noticed your gaze on him.

Rather than ignoring it, you nodded at Nicholas, beckoning him forward.

“Feeling left out Ruffilo?”

He shot you a stunned look, but a playful smile danced on his lips. "Never," he declared, rising from his spot on the floor. Suddenly he pounced, tossing himself onto the couch beside Jolly, nudging your legs playfully in the process.

"Hey!" you protested with a laugh, trying to find a comfortable position amidst Ruffilo's sprawling limbs.

Jolly grinned down at you from above, enjoying your struggle. His arm tightened around your waist as if holding you in place, your back pressed flush against his chest.

“What? Sharing is caring,” he teased, flashing you an impish grin.

The next words that left your lips spilled out faster than you could process them. “Why don’t you show me what sharing looks like?”

Challenged, Ruffilo leaned forward, angling his body towards you. He shot a quick glance at Jolly before his lips brushed against your cheek in a lingering peck that made your heart flutter. "Like that?" Ruffilo asked, the smirk evident in his voice.

Your face flushed a deep crimson, and you ineptly cleared your throat.

"Yes. Exactly like that." You managed to say, trying to keep the fluttery feeling inside under control.

Jolly leaned down, placing a kiss on your opposite cheek, allowing his hands to roam the curve of your hips.

With a careful eye, you noticed Matt leaning against the wall, taking a swig of his water as he watched you intensely.

Without much thought, you slid off Jolly's lap and onto the floor. You tiptoed ahead, biting your lower lip to hide your smirk.

"Liking the view, Matt?" You called out playfully when you were a foot away from him.

Matt choked on his water, and blushing furiously, shook his head in denial, "Wha- I wasn't - you're imagining things." He spluttered shoving the bottle to his lips again.

"Oh right!" You gasped dramatically clutching at your heart. "How could I possibly think that, considering how much you enjoyed it last night," you carried on, wagging your index finger at him admonishingly.

He glanced down at you for a moment before raising an eyebrow at your mock rebuke. "You caught me." He deadpanned.

"Always." You agreed quickly. As if prompted by some inner force, you stepped closer; so close that Matt had to bend his head down slightly to keep eye contact. His bottle suspended halfway between his lips and his grip on it growing looser, you reached up and yanked his hat off his head.

The water from his mouth gushed onto the carpet below, causing Matt to step back hurriedly, sputtering, "What the hell?"

You merely grinned at him, twirling his cap around your finger. Before he could snatch it back, you'd already made your way back to Jolly and Ruffilo on the couch. Planting yourself firmly between them, his hat resting atop your head like a crown, you smirked at Matt.

"Well, are you going to come get it?" you said slyly.

"What's the magic word?” you teased, your eyes sparkling with mischief as you lightly tapped the brim.

Matt growled in mock frustration, pointing at you with a stern look plastered on his face, “You’re lucky we have a show tonight," he warned playfully.

“We have like 20 minutes,” Jolly interjected, placing a hand on your thigh as he peered down at you, his smirk growing.

"Just enough time for some fun then," came your response, tilting your head in challenge. You could practically see the cogs turning in Matt's brain as he worked out his next course of action.

Suddenly, he lunged towards you, but you were too quick and rolled off the couch just in time. You heard a loud thump and a burst of laughter behind you as Matt ended up on the couch where you'd just been sitting.

"Smooth," Ruffilo chuckled, patting Matt on the back while Jolly struggled to contain his laughter.

Pulling yourself up from the ground, you crossed your arms and smirked down at Matt who was now sprawled across both Ruffilo and Jolly like a big blanket. "Second try?"

Matt growled again - this time less playful and more serious – as he disentangled himself from the other two guys. He stood up, eyes never leaving the cap that was now in your hands. His gaze was intense, causing a shiver of anticipation to run down your spine.

“Ready when you are.”

With a swift motion, Matt leaped toward you but you dodged him again, quickly running across the room. You laughed, thinking he was far behind until you turned around.

Two arms pinned you against the wall as his body caged yours against the wall.

"Gotcha," Matt whispered, his breath warm against your cheek. His hand moved swiftly, snagging the cap from your head and placing it backwards upon his own.

The sight of him holding you against the wall made your thighs clench tightly, his hat no longer an obstacle of space between you.

Matt’s triumphant grin faltered as he read the fire in your eyes. A strange electricity danced between you two, the banter fading into silence replaced by the sound of your rapid breaths.

"But I still got you," you whispered, your fingers playing with the hem of his shirt.

“Stop teasing me,” He mumbled, lidded eyes staring down at you with fueled desire as he dipped his face inches from yours, brushing his lips across yours.

Before you could retort, his lips crashed onto yours with an intensity that made your knees weak. His other hand cradled the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair as he deepened the kiss. The taste of him was intoxicating, sending a rush of warmth coursing through your body.

"Clock's ticking," Jolly called from the couch. A smirk danced on his lips, one that was mirrored by Ruffilo, “15 minutes now.”

“Then we better hurry up,” Matt said quickly, latching his lips to yours in swift desperation as he tugged your shirt. You immediately moaned into his lips, arching your back to press into his body.

A husked laugh rumbled from Matt's chest as he broke the kiss to nuzzle the side of your neck. His hot breaths tickled your skin, causing a shiver to run down your spine. His hands raked down your sides in an attempt to pull you closer against his chest.

Peeling you from the wall, you two walked over towards the middle of the room, now infront of Jolly and Ruffilo on the couch. As Matt began trailing kisses down your neck you tossed a smug smile towards Jolly, who chuckled lowly.

“Care to join in?” you teasingly asked Jolly, watching his eyes flicker with same mischief he seemed to evoke in you. “Or are you too afraid I might end up stealing your hat too?”

Jolly chuckled, pushing himself off from the couch with a quick shake of his head. “Sweetheart, I’d like to see you try,” he said before stepping closer, taking place behind you.

As Matt’s lips trailed to the side of your neck, a gasp slipped past your lips as Jolly put a protective hand on your waist. His head tilted down towards you, causing your heart to pound harder against your ribs.

“Twelve minutes,” pausing Matt warned, voice strained while maintaining eye contact with Jolly, who didn’t seem fazed one bit by his reminder.

“A talented man can accomplish much in only five minutes,” he said with a nonchalant smile before he leaned down to capture your mouth in a heated kiss, his tongue tracing the bottom of your lip.

You glanced quickly at Ruffilo, telling him to lock the room door as Matt's grip on your waist tightened.

“Take my clothes off,” You mumbled against Jolly's lips, the whisper carrying an undertone of urgency. Quickly slipping his hands under your shirt, he tugged it gently over your head, throwing it carelessly onto the floor. Matt moved away momentarily to assist him, his warm fingers tracing the bare skin of your back as he unhooked your bra with practiced ease. Once again discarding the garment somewhere in the room, he moved closer still, his chest flush against yours.

"Eleven," Ruffilo called out from the couch, his own hand tracing the outline of his growing arousal beneath his slacks.

Eager fingers skimmed the waistband of your leggings, pulling them down and tossing them amongst the floor.

Matt and Jolly’s hands roamed your body as you were sandwiched between both of them, their mouths and tongues darting across your skin greedily.

Both rotated their hips into your body with asynchronous movements, curating a string of moans as their desires pressed into you.

"Ten," Ruffilo growled, his voice husky as he watched you with hooded eyes. Looking over at him, you give him a sultry grin and crooked your finger challengingly.

Jolly's hand trailed down your stomach until it converged with Matt's hand already covering you. A gasp escaped your lips as they simultaneously began exploring you further, their fingers dipping lower over your exposed skin and causing shivers to course through your body.

Jolly whispered against your ear, his hitched breath causing you to stir further back against him, rubbing against his covered erection, “You’re soaked.”

“Then do something about it,” You mumbled, staring at Matt who’s face flushed from the excitement.

Matt slipped his fingers into your core, eliciting a moan from your chest as Jolly circled your clit with his middle finger.

"Nine," Ruffilo growled, and you watched as he freed himself from his pants, stroking himself as he watched you mercilessly pressed between his friends.

Jolly nipped your neck lightly, drawing a gasp from your parted lips as Matt's fingers curled inside you.

"More," you whispered, arching your hips to meet the rhythm of their hands.

“Impatient today, are we?” Jolly murmured in your ear, but you felt him unzip his jeans along with Matt, both cocks pressed against your thigh, “Jump.””

Obliging, you allowed Jolly to lift you from behind, forearms holding you underneath the bend of your knee as he spread you open for Matt.

"Eight," Ruffilo called out, his voice tight with anticipation. You glanced over at him, noting the way he was pumping himself with an intensity that matched the thrumming excitement coursing through your veins.

Nicholas’ eyes were fixed on you as Matt positioned himself between your legs, his arousal teasing your folds before pushing into your body with need.

His moans were erotic as he relished in the feeling of your pussy wrapped around him.

With you secure in Jolly's arms, Matt pressed more deeply inside you, each slow thrust sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. You reached down to grasp at Matt's arm, his bicep flexing under your touch as he filled you with slow deliberate motions.

Jolly nodded at Matt, having him replace one of Jolly’s arms so they both held you in the air.

Sucking his fingers briefly, Jolly teased your behind with proading motions.

“Think you can show us what it takes to be a good girl and handle two cocks?”

You leaned your head back onto Jolly’s shoulder and blinked up him, even as you gripped tighter to Matt- your breath hitching as you felt the cool slickness of the swedes fingers against your other entrance.

Jolly's grin was positively predatory, his eyes aflame with a need that mirrored your own. You nodded mutely, your body arching on instinct as he began nudging at your tight hole with one slick digit.

“Only if you can make me cum before Nick gets down to 3,” You moaned, brows furrowed as Matt pounded into you.

"Seven," Ruffilo called out again from the couch, his voice hoarser. His tight grip on his arousal and the desperation threading in his gaze made you bite down on your lower lip, the anticipation prickling under your skin.

"Challenge accepted," Jolly said, pushing his cock against you from behind. His head tipped back against the stress of having to delay himself, and once he finally sunk into your body your stomach butterflied with need.

Matt’s grip tightened around your thighs as you clenched around him due to the additional pressure. He moaned your name loudly, his teeth gritting in an attempt to hold back his orgasm.

“Fuck,” they both swore in unison as they watched each other disappear in and out of your body. Their shared rhythm faltered but quickly caught up again amidst groans of pleasure, their breaths hot and humid on your flushed skin. As they started following a synchronized pace, you could not tell where one ended and another began inside you.

Holding onto Matt’s shoulders for stability you cried out their names, completely overwhelmed as both pounded into you greedily.

"Six," Ruffilo rasped out, his voice strained from the feverish pace he was setting. The sight of you between his friends, being taken so thoroughly, was pushing him to the very brink. He never took his eyes away from the spectacle, his hand moving over himself swiftly and unrelentingly.

"I'm- I'm close," you whimpered, your fingers slipping from the sweat-soaked hair at Matt's nape to grip onto Jolly's muscular arm. The simultaneous stimulation was driving you towards a precipice of release faster than you'd anticipated. A sharp gasp left your lips as Jolly drove deeper into you, hitting a spot that made your vision blur.

"S...Five," Ruffilo's voice cracked against the constant onslaught of pleasure laced visions before his eyes. He watched as Matt's jaw clenched, just as desperate to hold back as he was himself.

“Hold on, love,” Jolly growled in your ear, “Give

us another moment.” Matt punctuated his plea with a particularly forceful thrust that made you bounce in their hold. You moan loudly, your fingers involuntarily digging into Jolly's arm.

"Fuck!" Jolly swore, feeling the first clench of your impending orgasm. The intense pleasure shot through your body as you tightened around them both.

"Four," Ruffilo's voice was nothing more than a whisper, almost obscured by the desperate sounds coming from the three of you. He was teetering on the edge, his hand working in time with Matt and Jolly’s vigorous pace.

Jolly accelerated his rhythm, the wet slapping sound of his skin against yours mingling with your frenzied cries of pleasure. Matt mirrored his movements, the two working as one to push you toward release.

"Three!” Ruffilo's voice barely held onto the last shred of control he had left, his free hand gripped tightly onto the armrest of the couch.

Jolly held you tighter, teeth gritted as he buried himself to the hilt inside you. The angle allowed him to brush against that sensitive spot within you once more, eliciting a choked moan from your lips. Pure bliss ran through your body as you let go.

“Fuck,” Matt exclaimed as he took in the sight of your body arched back, legs writhering and shaking against his hold as he kept them spread with Jolly.

Your next scream reverberated through the room, a raw and primal sound signaling your climax. Matt and Jolly barely had time to react before they were being squeezed tightly by your convulsing inner walls, the sensation pulling them over the edge with you. Both their movements were erratic before stilling abruptly, spilling inside of you with mangled breaths.

"Fuck-" Matt stuttered out haltingly between clenched teeth. Jolly bit the side of your neck gently, his teeth grazing the sensitive hickey Folio left earlier.

"One," Ruffilo choked out which caused you to stare at him hungrily.

“Wait Nicky-” you begged, allowing Jolly and Matt to lower you to the ground.

Ropes of their cum dripped between your thighs as you stood up shakily, but the sight of Ruffilo, so close to his own release, kept you rooted.

His eyes were wide with desperation and arousal as you inched closer to him; his focused gaze never once strayed from your sinful body getting closer.

"Z..Zero," he managed to breathe out just as you knelt before him, your lips scant inches from the tip of his cock. His eyes were pleading, awaiting your next move.

Without needing any further invitation, you opened your mouth towards his waiting desire.

"No..." Ruffilo swallowed hard, his voice a whisper among the heated gasps and pants of the room. His cock was throbbing, but he held himself back at the last moment, gripping your shoulder firmly. "Not like this..."

There was a pause when everyone else in the room seemed to hold their breaths, chests heaving from their own climaxes as they watched the interchange between you and Ruffilo.

"Up," Ruffilo ordered in a low voice, his fingers tracing over the curve of your ass as you clambered onto his lap.

Without any hesitation you sunk down onto his arousal, his head falling back in relief.

You cried again over the feeling of Nicholas filling you right after Matt released inside your body, leaving you clenching your thighs at the thought.

As you rocked on his lap, each movement was filled with a world of pleasure. Your lips met his in a feverish kiss, muffling your sweet moans that trickled into his mouth. His hands were on your waist, guiding your rhythm with determined fervor.

“H-How are you.. so full…” Ruffilo slurred out although the question was halfway lost amidst the gasping moans of your coupling.

"It's them,” you gasped against his lips, tilting your head back as he rolled his hips upward, forcing a high pitched whimper from your throat. "You taste - fuck, Nicky - you taste them?”

The thought drove him wild and he could only groan as he pistoned into you with renewed vigor, his mind clouded over with hot lust. His fingers dug into your hips as he pulled you down harder onto him every time he thrust up.

A knock on the door sounded and you heard the door knob jiggle; but nothing could pull you away from Nick’s cock as he thrust into your body from below.

“Ignore it,” Ruffilo rasped, his fingers now delving deeper into your flesh, “Fuck the time.”

But the knock came again, this time louder, a worrisome addition to the symphony of pleasure echoing through the room.

“Guys? Open the door,” You heard Noah yell from the other side, “I need Y/N’s help.”

"Ignore him," Ruffilo commanded, his thumb tracing over your shivering belly that was full of their mixed cum. His teeth grazed the tender bud on your chest, drawing a desperate cry from you.

You glanced at the door, a pang of worry dancing in your chest…yet the persistent knocks and Noah’s voice only served to amplify the decadent pleasure you were feeling – it was a sinful thrill, performing something so intimate, so intense, with three men, while another begged for entrance.

But Ruffilo was focused too much on your body, and the sounds it made in response to his. He gnawed at your hard nipple while the other hand trailed down, tracing over the curve of your hip bone and around the juncture where he thrust into you.

"Forget Noah," he said with clenched teeth. His breath was hot against your damp skin and you felt a tingling sensation start from your center.

You shook your head in protest, ready to beg Matt to open the door- but with one final thrust all you saw was stars, your vision clouded from Ruffilo’s cock buried inside as another orgasm was pulled from you.

Ruffilo was not far after, his body freezing as his nails dug into your hips, spilling inside of you.

Both of you gasped in unison, panting heavily as shockwaves of pleasure coursed through your bodies. Ruffilo slowly loosened his grip on your hips, falling back against the couch as he held you close to his heaving chest.

"Noah...I swear," Ruffilo hissed between breaths, a low growl resonating in his throat.

"Open the damn door!" Noah shouted again, the desperation in his voice more apparent than before, “we are on stage any fucking minute!”

Jolly walked over and turned the nob, allowing Noah and Folio to enter; both froze when they saw you splayed on the couch, face flushed and body dripping.

Noah's brow furrowed as he took in the sight before him, his gaze darting between your spent body and Ruffilo who was still buried deep within you. Folio however, simply raised an eyebrow and folded his arms across his chest.

“Having fun, are we?” he sarcastically asked, leaning against the door frame.

Ruffilo grumbled something under his breath, but otherwise made no move to untangle himself from you. You could feel a blush creeping up your cheeks under their scrutiny but all you managed to do was whimper, closing your eyes as aftershock rode through your veins.

However, once you pulled away from Nick and finally stood up, you couldn’t help but feel shy under Noah and Folio’s intense gaze.

“Locking the fucking door was not cool,” Noah said, folding his arms.

Jolly laughed, shaking his head, “What if Bryan came in? What if another crew member did?”

Folio shrugged, “Yea well when we ask you to open the door, do it. Don’t leave us out.”

"Noah, Folio... Relax," Matt managed to say in between his chuckles, finally gaining some breath back. His smirk was wide and lopsided from the sidelines, naked under the dimly lit room with a sheen of perspiration matting his chest hair.

Jolly, leaning against the door frame now, rolled his eyes, "Seriously, guys. Have a bit of patience, will ya? We were in the middle of something." He walked back towards you, placing a protective hand on your waist as you struggled to keep standing.

“Fuck off Jolly,” Noah snarled, glaring at him with burning eyes, “This isn’t about patience.”

“And what is it about then?” Ruffilo snapped back from the couch.

“It’s about fucking respect.” Noah shot back, leaving no room for argument in his tone.

Everyone fell silent as Noah's words echoed around the room.

Rule one of this relationship: respect.

A bitter taste filled the air as Noah's words echoed. He spoke out, pointing a firm finger toward Ruffilo still lounging on the couch, “We all agreed to this…thing because we’d respect each other. It's not just about getting our rocks off.”

Noah then turned his gaze to you, softening ever so slightly, "And it's not just about respecting one another," he said quietly, almost a whisper but loud enough for everyone in the room to hear, "It's about respecting her too."

You said nothing, standing there with Jolly’s hand still wrapped around your waist, warm and protective. You could feel every eye in the room upon you; their intense gazes made you feel even more raw and exposed than before.

"I needed to talk to her about the ear pieces and we are literally going on stage any minute," Noah continued after a heavy silence had filled the room again. “But you guys ignored me. Like you’re the only ones that matter. We still have a fucking job to do: and that job is not getting off minutes before a show.”

You chewed on your lip as Jolly finished helping you dress, and ran a hand through your disheveled hair.

Noah sighed, continuing, “It’s not necessarily about the sex; like yea, I’d love to have joined or what the fuck ever,” he said, glancing at you briefly before looking at his band mates, “But to make this shit work, we need to listen to everyone in this relationship.”

"Fine, we fucked up." Matt finally conceded, crossing his arms and leaning back onto the couch. "Next time we'll remember to let you in, Noah."

"I can't believe we're having this discussion right now." Jolly interjected, pinching the bridge of his nose, "A literal stand-off because we didn't let Noah into the room."

"This isn't about locking a door," Ruffilo said, "This is about control."

"What?" Noah's brows knitted in confusion, taken aback by his accusations, “the fuck does that mean?”

"You want control over this --" Ruffilo gestured vaguely to Jolly and you "--you want control over her."

"No!" Noah shouted, his face reddening as he pointed a trembling finger at Ruffilo, "Don't turn this around on me! This isn't about control; it's about, fuck..." He groaned in frustration, stuffing his hands into his hair.

"It's about boundaries. There are five of us here - all with the same level of ownership, the same rights, and the same responsibilities."

The room fell silent again for a minute before Folio sighed heavily. "Maybe we're looking at this the wrong way," he suggested, "I want everyone to feel equal in this relationship." He looked around the room between you and each of the men, his fiery gaze finally resting on you.

There was a moment's pause, then the click of a microphone being switched on followed by a low, distorted voice echoing over the sound system: "Bad omens on stage in two. Meet back stage."

The room, which had moments ago been echoing with tension, turned to sudden urgency. All thoughts and discussions of boundaries and power dynamics were put on pause.

"Guess we gotta go," Folio said, breaking the silence.

Jolly’s hand slipped away from your waist as he swooped down to grab his leather jacket; Matt hastily buttoned his shirt, while Ruffilo went over to the couch and began pulling on his boots.

Noah grumbled under his breath and nodded stiffly at you, his usually easy-going demeanor replaced with a stoic facade. Before turning on his heel and moving toward the door, his words floated back towards you, "We'll talk about this later."

You felt a pang of regret pinch your heart as you looked at each man striding out of the room; their bodies tense, their spirits subdued. You realized then what an enormous impact this conversation had on all of them. This wasn't just about a closed door or establishing boundaries, it was about setting the course for the unfamiliar and complex journey you were all embarked on together. This was a relationship shaded in harmonies and discord.

Just like their music, it was a composition of distinct individuals striving for harmony, yet not losing themselves within it.

Folio turned his head towards you at the doorway, his eyes lingering on yours as though waiting for some form of assurance. You nodded, forcing a small smile onto your lips, an affirmation that this conversation was necessary and beneficial in the long run. A promise, whispered through that fleeting contact: we will navigate this complicated score together.

+++++

note 2: I have no idea if this is what you guys wanted :-: lol, but this is the turn I took to build upon some more plot I guess since it was a requested a few times about delving into the actual relationship aspect. I do really appreciate the love this has gotten, especially considering I wrote the bet as a oneshot. Yet, here we are lol. Thank you so much for taking the time to read!

tags:

@xxkittenkissesxx @deathblacksmoke @nyxisnotok @anameunmusical @sitkowski

@sammyjoeee @cookiesupplier @th4t-em0-k1d @dsireland86 @thefallennightmare

@whenthesummerdies @spicywhenspeaking @veronicaphoenix @lacy1986 @calleyx13

@somewhere-diamond @auratheopossumwitch @blackveilomens @skulliecadaver-blog @silentglassbreak

@darkmxgician @sprokat @xserenax-13

@philomenie @into-the-grey @amelia-acero @blend-in-with-the-madness @rumoured-whispers @anything-more-than-human

@fuck-me-muke @fadingangelwisp @tosoundlessdarkistare

#bad omens fanfiction #bad omens smut #bad omens x reader #Noah Sebastian smut #Nicholas Ruffilo smut #Noah Sebastian fanfiction #Nicholas Ruffilo fanfiction #nick folio fanfiction #jolly karlsson fanfiction #joakim karlsson smut

111 notes · View notes

dazevi · 3 hours ago

Text

outta my mind | vi x fem!reader, fluff, smut (18+ MDNI) wc: 20k

synopsis: you didn’t plan on falling for anyone, let alone the painfully attractive bartender at the underground bar your friends dragged you to. she’s trouble, but she’s the kind you don’t mind getting into. | masterlist

content warnings: bartender!vi x fem!reader — modern au, bartender!vi, college student!reader, strangers to friends to lovers, slow burn ish, drinking/alcohol, flirting, mutual pining, pet names; baby, princess, sweetheart, smut!!!; semi-public sex, making out, marking/hickeys, fingering (r receiving), pls let me know if i’m missing anything else!

note: lovely request by @balinor93 ! fanart by wickestd on twitter! ( title inspo from song called outta my mind by monsune )

YOU WEREN’T SUPPOSED TO BE HERE.

It was an underground pub, called the Last Drop, tucked between an alley of a street near your campus. The air inside is heavy, thick with a haze of cigarette smoke and the low hum of chatter and laughter. The brick walls are decorated with bright paintings and band posters, chipped and scratched in places, and adorned with flickering neon signs advertising cheap liquor and beers on tap. It’s dimly lit, with most of the light spilling from the bar itself—a warm glow reflecting off rows of liquor bottles stacked neatly against the back wall. The scent of stale beer and faint traces of spilled whiskey linger in the air, mingling with the beat of a bass-heavy track pulsing through the speakers.

You didn’t really plan to be here tonight.

In fact, you pictured something far less chaotic—maybe sitting cross-legged on your tiny dorm bed, your laptop open to half-hearted notes, headphones in to drown out the incessant noise of your hallmates partying down the corridor.

Finals week was looming, but somehow you found yourself here instead, caught up by a friend you weren’t too close with, Maddie, who told you to wear something cute and live a little.

You glance down at yourself, suddenly self-conscious in the outfit you hastily threw together—something a little nicer than your usual, a pretty black dress you found in your closet a jacket to battle the cold, though, it was not nearly as flashy as what your classmates seem to have pulled off effortlessly.

The slight chill in the room makes you tug at the sleeves of your jacket as you follow your group further inside, weaving through the crowd that seems to grow louder and rowdier by the minute.

Your friend is already laughing, tossing her short hair over her shoulder as she chats with someone from another group, leaving you trailing behind. They surge toward the bar, a noisy clump of university students jostling for attention from the bartender. You linger at the edge of the crowd, unsure of whether to join in or keep your distance.

Your eyes wander across the room, taking in the mismatched furniture and the way the low-hanging lights cast strange shadows over the scuffed wooden floor. It feels gritty, raw—nothing like the polished campus lounges or cafes you’re used to. People are packed into every available space, some leaning close to shout over the music, others pressed together in corners.

When you finally look toward the bar, something—or other, someone—catches your attention.

She’s pretty tall, her toned, tattooed arms flexing subtly as she works, pouring drinks expertly without even looking at her hands sometimes. Short, pink hair glows faintly under the neon lights, messy and partly shaved on the side of her head, but it was like she rolled out of bed and still managed to look better than anyone else in the room. She’s wearing a fitted black tee, tattoos peeking out along her biceps as she slides a drink across the counter to a waiting customer.

She glances up for the briefest moment, her sharp blue eyes scanning the crowd—and they land on you. Just for a second, you think, but it’s enough to make your pulse quicken.

But you look away before you could give her a chance to the way your cheeks reddened slightly, thought it would’ve been hard to see anyway underneath the dimness of the light.

You ended up in a booth in one of the corners of the room, sitting with a couple of your classmates as they drank and ate their pizza. The booth creaks slightly as you lean back, your drink—something simple and unadventurous—sitting untouched in front of you.

The group you came with has scattered across the room now to various corners of the bar, their loud laughter and shouts blending into the rest of the noise.

You’re not sure why you agreed to come tonight. Finals around the corner were stressful enough without the added distraction of cheap liquor and the kind of music that vibrates in your chest.

Across from you, someone slides into the booth with a bit too much enthusiasm, too much confidence, their knee knocking against yours under the table.

You glance up to find a man from your group—one of those classmates whose name you barely remember—flashing you a wide grin. Jason? Jacob? He had short brown hair, a white button up under his coat and smells faintly of whiskey and strong cologne, his cheeks flushed in a way that suggests he’s had a drink too many.

“Hey,” he says, his voice pitched louder than it needs to be over the music. “You’re in Professor Medarda’s class, right? Postmodern lit?”

You blink at him, already regretting this conversation.

“Yeah,” you reply, tone flat, hoping he’ll get the hint and move on.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he leans in, propping his elbow on the sticky table like he’s settling in for a long chat.

“Aren’t you the one who absolutely wrecked her in that debate? Something about, what was it—‘deconstructing the deconstruction’ or whatever?” He waves a hand vaguely, his grin turning lopsided. “Man, that was brutal. Everyone was talking about it for days.”

You press your lips into a thin line, your gaze drifting toward the bar. The bartender with the pink hair is still there, moving effortlessly behind the bar underneath the warm glow of the lights. She laughs at something one of the regulars says, the sound faint but distinct over the din, and you find yourself wishing you were anywhere but here, maybe talking to her instead of… this guy.

“Yeah, well,” you say finally, dragging your attention back to him. “It wasn’t… really a debate. I just pointed out that her entire argument was contradictory.”

Jason-or-Jacob—whatever—laughs, a little too loudly, and takes a swig of his drink.

“See, that’s what I mean! It’s… it’s impressive… And not to mention… you’re… really pretty on the eyes.” He gestures vaguely in your direction, his eyes lingering a little too long.

You shift uncomfortably as you raise an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Uh… right, thanks.”

He chuckles again, clearly not picking up on your disinterest. “No, seriously. You’re, like, intimidating. Smart. And hot. In a good way.”

“Uh-huh.” You tap your fingers against the edge of your glass, your patience wearing thin. “Listen, if this is your way of hitting on me, you might want to workshop it… or something.”

That finally seems to trip him up, his grin faltering as he moves awkwardly in his seat. “Oh, no, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just…”

“Right,” you cut him off, standing and grabbing your drink. “Thanks for the conversation, but I’m gonna go… anywhere else.”

You don’t bother waiting for his response as you stand and step away from the booth, weaving through the crowd.

The bar feels slightly less oppressive now that you’re moving, and as you approach the counter, you can’t help but glance toward the bartender again. She’s wiping down a glass, her movements precise, and for the second time tonight, her eyes meet yours. This time, there’s a flicker of something—curiosity, maybe—as her lips twitch into a subtle smirk.

You set your drink down on the counter, your heart skipping just a little. Maybe tonight isn’t a complete waste after all.

The stool creaks faintly as you settle onto it, the weight of the night pressing on your shoulders. You prop your elbow on the bar and glance down at your drink, still untouched. The condensation clings to the glass, cool against your fingertips as you absently trail them along its surface.

The music feels louder here, basslines thrumming through the wooden counter, but it fades into the background every time your gaze drifts upward—to her.

The bartender.

She’s been moving nonstop, hands deft and practiced as she pours drinks, slides glasses across the counter, and exchanges brief words with customers. She was confident and smooth without even trying, her short pink hair glowing faintly under the neon lights that flicker lazily behind her.

You tell yourself you’re not staring, but you are.

She’s impossibly attractive, the kind of person who seems entirely out of reach—too cool, too confident, too… everything. And yet, you catch yourself glancing her way more often than you should, trying to look away quickly enough that she doesn’t notice.

You sigh, shifting in your seat as you fiddle with your drink again, fingers tracing patterns on the glass. You haven’t taken a sip, and you’re not even sure why you ordered it. It was just something to hold, something to keep you occupied in this crowded room.

Just as you glance up again, hoping to catch another fleeting glimpse of her, a voice interrupts your thoughts.

“Hey there,” someone slurs, the words thick and clumsy.

You blink, turning to find a man standing far too close, his grin lopsided and his eyes glassy from too many drinks. His shirt is untucked, and he sways slightly as he leans an elbow on the bar, effectively blocking your view of anything else—including her.

“You’re way too pretty to be sitting here all alone,” he says, his words slurred but bold. “Let me keep you company, yeah?”

“I’m not alone,” you say flatly, holding up your glass like it’s proof. “And, I’m not interested.”

He laughs, as if you’ve said something charming. “Nah, come on. You’re too gorgeous to be hiding away in the corner. You need someone to—”

“No,” you interrupt, your tone sharp. “I’m really not interested.”

But he doesn’t take the hint. Instead, he leans in closer, his breath reeking of alcohol. “Don’t be like that. Just one drink, huh? I promise I’m a good time.”

You grimace, leaning back and trying to create some distance. “And I promise I’m not.”

The man chuckles, as if he thinks you’re joking, and you feel your frustration rising. You glance around, hoping someone—anyone—might intervene, and that’s when you notice her again. The bartender.

She’s been watching, her sharp eyes narrowing as she assesses the situation. Her hands pause mid-motion as she sets down a freshly poured drink, and without missing a beat, she walks over to your side of the bar.

“Hey,” she says, her voice cutting through the noise like a blade.

The drunk man looks up, startled, as she plants both hands on the counter, leaning slightly forward. Her gaze is steely as she stares down the man next to you.

“You bothering her?” she asks, her tone deceptively casual, though there’s a warning laced in her words.

The man blinks, clearly caught off guard. “What? No, we were just talkin’.”

“Yeah, well, she doesn’t look like she’s enjoying the conversation,” she replies smoothly. Then she turns her attention to you, her expression softening just a fraction. “You good, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart. The word sends a small jolt through your chest, and for a moment, you can only shake your head, your voice caught in your throat.

The man mutters something under his breath, but the bartender doesn’t budge.

“You should go.” she says firmly. “Or I’ll have someone make you leave.”

He hesitates, but the weight of her stare is enough to make him backpedal. He stumbles away, disappearing into the crowd, and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

“Thanks,” you murmur, glancing up at her.

You see her more clearly now. Light blue eyes. A strong nose. A small scar over her top lip. Another one over her eyebrow. Nose ring. And a small tattoo of the Roman numeral six on her cheek.

She straightens, brushing her hands off on a rag as a smirk tugs at the corner of her lips.

“Don’t mention it. A lot of people don’t know how to take a hint.”

You can’t help but smile faintly, your fingers still absently fiddling with your glass. “You seem good at dealing with them… They listen to you.”

“Well, there’s this rule around here that, uh, people shouldn’t really mess with the guy who pours the drinks, so… they either listen or I call Loris—our big scary bouncer.” she says with a smile, leaning against the bar now, her full attention on you.

“Do they always listen?”

The bartender smiles that charming smile of hers and simply says, “No.”

She clears her throat and looks down at your hands, then looks back up at you with an eyebrow raised.

“You gonna drink that, or is it just decoration?”

“Haven’t decided yet,” you say. Her teasing tone makes your cheeks warm. You glance down at your untouched drink, swirling the liquid idly in the glass before muttering, almost to yourself, “I don’t actually drink that often, to be honest…”

Her voice pulls you from your thoughts, warm and teasing. “A glass of water for the pretty lady, coming right up.”

Your head snaps up at the words, your cheeks instantly heating. She’s already reaching for a clean glass. But there’s something different now—something about the way she smirks just a little as she glances at you out of the corner of her eye.

“Pretty lady?” you echo, trying for casual, though you’re sure the slight waver in your voice gives you away.

She shrugs as she fills the glass with water, the ice clinking softly against the sides.

“Well, yeah,” she says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “What else would I call you?”

Your stomach flips at the nonchalant confidence in her tone, and for a moment, you’re not sure how to respond. “I don’t know. Most people just go with my name.”

She places the water in front of you, her smile widening just enough to show off the faintest hint of dimples. “Fair enough. But I don’t know your name yet.”

You hesitate, caught between the urge to give her your name and the inexplicable nerves that come with her attention.

You tell her your name, your voice a bit quieter than you intended.

Her smirk softens into something more genuine, and she repeats your name back to you, slow and deliberate, like she’s trying it out.

“I’m Vi,” she says.

Vi. The name suits her—short, sharp, and just as bold as the woman herself.

“Thanks for the water,” you manage to say, your fingers brushing the cool glass.

“Anytime.” Vi leans her weight on her forearms, resting them on the counter as she tilts her head slightly, her eyes catching yours. “So, if you’re not much of a drinker, what brings you here?”

You can’t help but smile, a small laugh escaping you despite yourself. “My friend thought I needed a break from studying. Dragged me out here against my better judgment.”

“Ah… Those your friends over there?” She nods her head in a certain direction, and you follow it slowly.

You see the group you came with, some scattered by the bar spilling drinks and laughing loudly, others by booths making out and shouting over the music and the rest dancing on the dance floor. There are others, who are gathered by the jukebox, laughing and trying to figure out how to play something other than the heavy bass thundering through the speakers. One of them is gesturing wildly, clearly tipsy, while another leans against the wall, scrolling through their phone like they’re already over it.

You shake your head and smile, “Yeah…”

“Loud bunch.”

“Sorry ‘bout that… finals are coming up soon this month, so...”

She gives you a smile and says, “No need to apologize, princess. I serve you, remember?”

Another one. Princess. You were sure you probably as red as a tomato now.

“I barely know half of them...” you say, taking sip of your new glass of water.

“So, what’s your usual crowd then?” Vi asked, her eyes completely on you as she grabs a glass to wipe it down with a rag.

You shrugs, “Textbooks?”

“Well, that’s no good.”

“So I’ve heard,” you reply dryly, taking another small sip of the water she’d poured for you.

She chuckles again as if she finds your answer amusing in a way she doesn’t quite want to admit.

“I’m not exactly big on crowds either,” she says, leaning a little closer as if sharing a secret.

You raise an eyebrow, gesturing subtly to the packed room around you, where people are practically spilling over each other in their rush to the bar. “I’m not sure if I believe you.”

Vi follows your gaze, scanning the chaotic scene with a small smirk tugging at her lips.

“Fair point,” she concedes, looking back at you.

You glance at her again, curious despite yourself. She’s standing still now, leaning back against the counter with her arms crossed loosely over her chest. Her gaze is on you, not in the sharp, observant way she’s probably used to watching the bar, but softer—almost like she’s lost in thought.

Her smile is faint, but it’s there, tugging gently at her lips, and it’s different from the teasing smirks you’ve seen so far. This one feels more… personal, like she’s mulling something over and doesn’t quite realize she’s staring.

Your stomach twists, her attention making you acutely aware of every small movement you make—the way your fingers nervously trace the condensation on your glass, the way you’re trying not to shift under her gaze.

Finally, you can’t help but ask, your voice a touch quieter than you intend, “What?”

Vi blinks, like you’ve pulled her out of a daydream, and her soft smile turns into something a little sheepish.

“Sorry…” she says, before licking her lips. “Just, uh, a bit distracted.”

Her eyes linger on you for a moment longer, as if she’s debating saying something else. Absentmindedly, she tries to trace every feature of your face with your eyes, trying to remember it.

She wanted to say something else—anything… But, fuck. You were really pretty… and it was distracting her. She also decided that she really liked talking to you—even though it’s barely been ten minutes.

But then, from down the counter, someone shouts her name—a regular by the sound of it, slurring slightly as he waves an empty glass in the air.

“Vi! Another round over here!”

Vi doesn’t move right away. Her head turns slightly in the direction of the call, but her attention snaps back to you almost immediately. She hesitates, not wanting to go anywhere.

She shifts her weight, one hand resting on the counter, her body angled toward you even as she glances down the bar.

“Be right there!” she calls back. It’s almost begrudging.

Your lips twitch into a small smile, watching the tiny battle play out on her face.

“You don’t have to babysit me, you know,” you say lightly, though there’s something a little playful in your tone.

Her eyes dart back to yours, and she huffs out a soft laugh, her hand running through her short pink hair.

“Yeah, I know,” she smiles and mutters, almost to herself, before adding softly, almost like a plea, “Call me if you need anything?”

You nod and she smiles. You watch her go, the faint blush on your cheeks lingering as you sip at the water she poured, the ice cold and refreshing.

For the first time tonight, you’re glad your friend dragged you out.

You cant stop thinking about her.

The library is silent except for the soft rustling of pages and the faint clicking of keyboards. It’s a lot more crowded here now, especially during this time of the year, and you’ve grown not to like it. You’re hunched over a stack of textbooks, a highlighter in your hand, staring down at a paragraph you’ve already reread three times. The words swim on the page, refusing to stick, as if your brain has decided it’s reached its limit.

You let out a frustrated sigh and lean back in your chair, dragging a hand through your hair. The fluorescent lights overhead feel harsher than usual, and the quiet tension of finals week is suffocating.

But it’s not just the studying—or the endless pressure of upcoming exams—that’s been messing with your head.

It’s Vi.

You’ve tried to focus, tried to immerse yourself in everything you could but every time your mind starts to settle, her face slips back in. The way her smirk tugged at the corners of her lips. The way her pink hair caught the light behind the bar. The low, teasing lilt of her voice when she called you pretty.

You groan softly, rubbing your temples. This is ridiculous. You barely know her. You’ve spent what—maybe an hour total in her presence? And yet, she’s managed to lodge herself into your thoughts so completely that it’s becoming a problem.

The highlighter in your hand falls to the desk with a muted thud, and you drop your head into your hands, your elbows resting on the textbook in front of you. You can still see the way she looked at you—softly, like she saw something in you that others hadn’t bothered to notice.

It’s infuriating, really. You’ve got finals to prepare for, and instead, your mind is full of half-replayed conversations and fleeting glimpses of pink hair, strong arms and tattoos.

The worst part? You can’t shake the feeling that she’s thinking about you, too.

It’s irrational—you know that. She’s probably forgotten all about you by now, busy serving countless other customers, flashing that same smirk at someone else.

But a part of you, buried beneath the layers of reason and logic you cling to, whispers otherwise.

You snap out of your thoughts and glance at the open book in front of you. The words blur together again, mocking your lack of focus.

With a frustrated exhale, you push the textbook aside and pull out your phone, the screen lighting up in your hand. You scroll aimlessly for a moment, debating whether you’re actually considering what your restless thoughts are urging you to do.

Should you go back? Would she even remember you?

You shake your head, trying to will away the temptation.

Finals. Study. Focus.

You tap your pen against your notebook, each click bouncing off the walls of the crowded library. It’s packed to the brim, filled with students just as desperate as you to cram as much information into their heads as possible before finals. Yet, instead of feeling motivated, all you can focus on is the cacophony—the whispered conversations that aren’t really whispers, the shuffling of papers, the faint tapping of keyboards, the occasional obnoxious laugh breaking the tension.

Your head throbs.

With a sharp sigh, you drop the pen onto the desk and lean back in your chair again, staring blankly at the high ceiling. You’ve been sitting here for hours, yet the number of notes you’ve managed to take is embarrassingly low. Nothing is sticking. You can’t focus.

It doesn’t help that your thoughts keep drifting to her.

To Vi.

You shake your head as if it’ll clear the image, but it doesn’t.

The noise of the library swells again, louder this time—a group of students a few tables down bursts into laughter, drawing glares from everyone around them. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, but it doesn’t help.

The dorm wasn’t any better. Earlier, when you’d tried to study there, the walls practically vibrated with the bass of someone’s speaker. The hallway had been filled with voices, laughter, and the unmistakable sound of another dorm party kicking off despite the looming threat of finals.

You’d lasted maybe twenty minutes before storming out, bag slung over your shoulder, hoping the library would be better.

It wasn’t.

You sit there for a moment, staring down at your open textbook and the mess of half-finished notes in front of you. The sheer impossibility of getting anything done right now feels like a weight pressing down on your chest.

Screw this.

You grab your things in one swift motion, shoving your notebook and pens into your bag with more force than necessary. The chair scrapes loudly against the floor as you stand, drawing a few annoyed glances your way. You ignore them, slinging your bad over your shoulder and walking out of the library without so much as a glance back.

The cold evening air hits you the second you step outside, sharp and bracing, but you welcome it.

You pause at the edge of the path, staring out at the quiet campus bathed in the glow of dim streetlights. You should go back to your dorm, try again, push through the noise.

But the very thought of that makes your stomach twist.

Instead, your feet carry you forward, down the path and out toward the street. You don’t have a destination in mind, but you already know where you’ll end up.

It’s not a conscious decision—it never is, really. You tell yourself you just need a break, some fresh air to clear your head. But the truth hums beneath the surface, undeniable.

You want to see her.

When your feet finally stop, the bar looms in front of you, the soft glow of its neon sign illuminating the damp pavement below. The night air is cool against your skin, a faint breeze carrying the quiet hum of traffic and chatter.

Your hands are shoved deep into the pockets of your jacket, fingers curling into the fabric as you linger just outside the door. You glance at your reflection in the window—a hoodie that hangs a little loose on your frame, jeans you’ve had for years, and shoes slightly scuffed from the walk here.

You bite the inside of your cheek, wishing you’d thought to stop by your dorm first. Maybe throw on something a little prettier. But instead, your feet had brought you straight here, as if they knew something you didn’t.

It’s almost 9 p.m., and the bar looks alive even from the outside. You can always hear the faint hum of music seeping through the walls.

You hesitate. What are you even doing here? It’s not like you have a good excuse—no friends dragging you along this time, no group to blend into. You’re alone, standing in front of a bar where you might not even be remembered.

But the thought of her pulls at you, stronger than the nerves keeping your feet planted. You’d tried to shake her from your thoughts all week, telling yourself she was just a random bartender, someone you’d probably never see again. But it hadn’t worked. Every time you sat down to study, her face would slip into your mind.

Your chest tightens as you reach for the door, your hand hovering over the handle. What if she doesn’t remember you? Or worse—what if she does, and she thinks it’s weird that you’ve come back?

You shake your head, trying to push the doubts aside. You’re here now. You might as well step inside.

With a deep breath, you pull the door open and step into the warm, dimly lit space. The scent of alcohol and faint traces of perfume hit you first.

The bar is slightly less crowded than it had been the last time, but it still carries the same energy—low lights, muted colors, and a buzz of life that makes the air feel heavier than the world outside.

You glance toward the bar, your stomach twisting when you see her. Vi is behind the counter, her pink hair catching the soft light as she leans over to pass a drink to a customer. She straightens, her expression neutral as she scans the room, and then her eyes land on you.

For a split second, her face doesn’t change, and panic spikes in your chest. Maybe she doesn’t—

Then she smiles.

It’s subtle, but it’s there—a small, warm quirk of her lips that sends your nerves scattering in a hundred directions. She holds your gaze for just a moment before returning to what she’s doing, her hands moving fluidly to pour another drink.

You let out a shaky breath, your feet carrying you closer to the bar. You slide into one of the empty stools, trying to shake off the nervous energy buzzing under your skin. The cool wood of the counter feels solid beneath your palms as you rest your elbows on it, trying to make yourself look casual.

But it’s hard to relax with your pulse pounding so loudly in your ears. You glance around the room, looking for anything to distract you from the fact that she’s here.

You’re trying not to fidget with your fingers, not to bite the inside of your lip, not to seem like you’ve been thinking about this moment for days now—trying to shake the nerves that have settled into your bones. But it’s hard when you feel her presence just behind the bar.

It doesn’t take long before you feel her eyes on you.

You glance up just in time to see Vi, mid-conversation with another customer, glance over the counter at you. And in a split second, she’s finished what she’s saying to the customer, brushing past them with an ease.

She doesn’t even seem bothered by the fact that she’s walking away mid-conversation. It’s as if she’s already decided where she needs to be.

Your pulse quickens.

You watch her approach, the way she moves is confident, the soft hum of the music surrounding her as she gets closer. Her smile is almost shy this time, like she’s not entirely sure what to say after the last time you were here. But she doesn’t hesitate.

“I was wondering when I’d see you again,” she says as soon as she reaches you, her voice low, almost teasing, with just a hint of something more.

Her words catch you off guard for a second. You shift slightly on your stool, trying to keep your cool, but you can feel the heat creeping up your neck. Her gaze is steady, not flirtatious exactly, but certainly interested, like she’s been waiting for this moment as much as you have.

You clear your throat, and even though you try to sound casual, your voice betrays you.

“I didn’t really expect to be back so soon.” The words feel like a weak excuse even as you say them.

Vi chuckles softly, leaning just a little closer as she rests her hands on the counter, her gaze never leaving you. “Not really the type to stay away for long, huh?”

There’s that spark in her eyes again, that teasing warmth that makes you wonder if she’s deliberately making you squirm.

You roll your eyes, trying to hide the nervous flutter in your chest.

“I needed a break,” you explain quickly, looking away for a moment. “Studying was driving me crazy.”

You pull your bag closer to the bar, pretending to straighten it out, but your thoughts keep slipping back to her.

Vi’s smile softens a little as she studies you, her eyes tracing your face for a moment longer than necessary. She doesn’t seem in a rush, doesn’t try to fill the space with empty words or awkward small talk.

You swallow, suddenly aware of how much closer she’s gotten, how much she’s drawn you in. There’s an easy chemistry between you, something unspoken but undeniable.

“Well,” she adds, a teasing glint in her eye as she straightens back up, “What’s your drink of choice, princess?”

You almost forget how to breathe for a second at the sudden shift in the atmosphere, your heart racing again. You take a moment to collect yourself before replying, your voice just a little quieter than usual.

“Surprise me,” you say, the words coming out with a confidence you don’t entirely feel.

Vi’s smile deepens, her eyes flashing with something a little mischievous, “Think I can manage that.”

She decides on making something light and sweet—remembering that you didn’t drink that often.

You watch her as she begins to gather the ingredients for your drink, her hands moving expertly behind the bar. The soft clink of glass bottles and the gentle hiss of the tap. You barely even realize you’re fidgeting until you catch sight of her looking back at you, that familiar smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

“Finals week started?” She asks.

You blink, momentarily caught off guard by the question. The thought of finals feels like a weight you’ve been trying to avoid all week. The textbooks, the endless hours of studying, the fact that you’re still not feeling ready for any of it—it all hits you again in that instant. But Vi’s gaze makes it hard to focus on anything else.

For a split second, you can feel it too—the awkwardness, the nerves, the slight flutter in your chest that feels completely out of place. It’s not just her usual flirtation. This feels different somehow. She’s not the smooth bartender effortlessly working the crowd, she’s… her. And it makes your heart skip in a way you’re trying to ignore.

“Yeah, it did,” you answer, your voice quieter than you intended. You rub the back of your neck, feeling a little out of place yourself. “It’s… been a nightmare. The library’s packed, the dorm’s loud—honestly, it’s like no one even remembers that we have to actually study for this stuff.”

She raises an eyebrow, her smile never quite fading but now tinged with something a little more… uncertain. Her gaze flits between you and the drinks in front of her, and for a moment, you wonder if she’s just waiting for something to happen.

“Seems like you’re trying to avoid it,” she says softly, her tone lighter but still holding that underlying curiosity. Her voice is almost shy now, like she’s letting down the tough-girl act just a little, and it feels natural. She looks at you again, this time a little less playful and more vulnerable.

You feel something stir inside of you at her words—maybe relief, maybe the sense that she’s giving you a little window into her own world.

“Yeah, kind of,” you admit, your gaze dropping to the counter as you fiddle with the edge of your glass. You take a breath, glancing back up at her, your tone playful but also a little softer than you meant.

She’s leaning slightly over the counter, her eyes scanning the room for a moment, as though looking for your friends. When she doesn’t find them, her gaze returns to you, a small quirk of her lips tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“Here alone tonight?” she asks, her tone light and soft.

You feel a small flutter in your chest, a hint of nervousness bubbling up—was she genuinely interested?

“Yeah,” you say, a little unsure, your fingers tracing the rim of your glass. “My friends are… off somewhere else.”

Vi nods slowly, that small smile still playing on her lips, and for a second, you almost feel like she’s understanding you without needing you to say much at all. She’s always been so good at reading people, it seems.

“Well, lucky for you,” she says with a wink, her tone playful but sincere, “I’m here to keep you company, then. No need to be alone if you don’t want to be.”

She leans a little closer, her voice dropping just low enough that only you can hear.

“Not that I mind the company, either.”

Her words settle in your chest, warm and easy, and for a brief moment, it feels like everything else—the noise, the people, the pressure of exams—falls away. All that’s left is the gentle pull of her attention, the way she makes you feel like you’re the only one she wants to talk to tonight.

You can’t help but smile, your nerves starting to ease.

“I like that you’re here,” you say, a little quieter now, the honesty behind your words surprising even you.

Oh.

Vi swallows the tiny lump in her throat, ears reddening at your words.

“Me too,” she says softly, her eyes meeting yours.

And then the night stretches on, the sound of clinking glasses and lively chatter filling the air, but somehow, the noise feels distant.

Vi moves between you and the rest of the bar, always managing to return to you just as you start to think she’s too busy to notice. She steps away occasionally to serve drinks, her smile never fading even when the pressure of the crowd pulls her in different directions.

Every time she returns, though, she looks at you with that same look in her eye, making you feel like you’re the only person in the room who matters. You can tell that she’s working, but there’s an ease in the way she glances over at you, as though she’s intentionally carving out space to keep you company, to make sure you’re not left alone in the bustle of the bar.

As the crowd grows louder and the night wears on, Vi seems to sense that things are getting a little out of hand. The rush of orders starts picking up, and she glances over at Mylo, a colleague of hers you’ve seen around. With a quick wave, she calls him over.

You watch as Vi leans against the bar, her body language shifting just slightly.

“Hey, Mylo, could you cover the drinks for a bit?” she asked, her tone casual, but there’s something unspoken in the way she does it. Mylo gives her a knowing glance, then nods and steps in to take over, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

Vi doesn’t waste any time.

For the rest of the night, she stays close, always coming back to check on you between serving drinks, leaning against the bar whenever she has a spare moment. Mylo helps manage the crowd, but Vi is there, always making sure you’re okay, always drawing you back into the conversation.

There’s no rush, no pressure—just an easy flow between you two, and the more time you spend with her, the next time her eyes meet yours, the way she smiled, the more you realize that this is something you’ve been craving without even knowing it.

The night slips away quietly, and when you glance at the clock on the wall behind the bar, a wave of disappointment hits you.

It’s later than you thought. You hesitate for a moment, your fingers brushing the edge of your empty glass, and then you finally say it, though it’s not what you want to say at all.

“I should, uh… get going,” you murmur, your voice quieter than you intended. You already know you’ll regret it—regret leaving this place, leaving her.

Vi’s smile falters just a little, her eyes quickly flicking to the clock too, and you see the shift on her face, like she’s come to the same realization. There’s a brief, almost imperceptible pause between the two of you as the world around you continues on, but time seems to slow as she takes a breath.

“I… didn’t realize it was that late either,” she says, her tone softer now. And for a brief second, you can almost feel the space between you close in, like neither of you really wants to say goodbye.

Then, without skipping a beat, Vi’s voice pulls you back into the present.

“Hey,” she starts firmly, like she’s made up her mind about something. “Let me walk you back.”

You blink at her, the suggestion catching you off guard. You hadn’t expected her to offer—hadn’t thought she’d even consider it. And though a little part of you wants to say yes immediately, another part of you, the shyer, more self-conscious part, hesitates.

“I don’t want to put you out,” you say quickly, though you’re not entirely sure why you feel so shy all of a sudden. “Besides, you’re working.”

It’s a simple thing, after all, a walk.

But you’d be even more alone. With her. And although that made you excited, it made you even more nervous.

Vi doesn’t give you the chance to second-guess yourself. Her smile returns, and there’s a spark of something playful in her eyes.

“It’s no trouble,” she says, her tone light but insistent. “I’m not going to let you walk back alone at this time. I don’t think I’d be able to focus without knowing you got home safe, so...”

Before you can protest again, she turns to Mylo, who’s tending to the growing crowd at the far end of the bar.

“Hey, Mylo!” she calls out, her voice carrying just enough over the noise to catch his attention. “I’m taking my break now. Be back in a bit.”

Mylo doesn’t even look up from his work, just nods in acknowledgment. “Alright, Vi,” he calls back, and you catch the playful undertone in his voice. It’s clear he knows exactly what’s going on.

Not wasting any more time, Vi grabs her jacket from behind the bar. She slips it on ace doesn’t look back at you to see if you’re ready; she just turns, giving you that soft, inviting smile.

“C’mon,” she says, her voice low and gentle, like she’s pulling you into something that feels a little outside of the ordinary, but in the best way possible.

Her words make you pause, but only for a moment. You look at her—really look at her—and something about the way she’s standing there, waiting, makes your hesitation dissolve. The warmth in her smile settles in your chest, and for the first time in a while, you realize you don’t mind the idea of the night stretching out just a little longer.

You nod, a soft smile curling at your lips.

“Okay,” you say, your voice more confident than it was a second ago.

Vi grins.

Without another word, she starts walking toward the door, holding it open for you, and you follow her out into the cold night air. The city seems quieter now, the streets not as busy, and as the two of you step into the night, the world feels a little smaller, a little more intimate—just the two of you, alone together for the walk.

You can’t help but feel your heart race just a little, but in the best possible way.

The walk to your dorm is slower than you expect, almost as if neither of you wants to rush through it. The night air is cold, the streetlights casting soft pools of light on the sidewalk. The hum of distant traffic fades into the background as you walk side by side, your pace matching each other’s, no one in a hurry.

You’re not sure what it is, but something about the silence between you feels comfortable—like there’s no pressure, just two people walking together. Vi’s steps are easy, casual, but every so often, she glances at you from the corner of her eye, as though she’s watching you without even realizing it. It’s subtle, but you catch her gaze a few times, and each time, she looks away just a fraction too late, as if she was lost in thought.

You can’t help but notice it, how her eyes linger on you, how her attention feels a little more intense than you’re used to, but it’s not uncomfortable. No, it’s the opposite, actually—it feels like she’s admiring something in you, and the idea makes your stomach flutter in a way you can’t quite explain.

Vi keeps most of the conversation light at first, teasing you about how you managed to get through the day without completely falling apart under the weight of finals. But soon enough, the banter turns into something more genuine, more personal, and you find yourself sharing little details about your life.

Vi, on the other hand, seems to enjoy telling you bits and pieces about herself. She talks about the things she’s passionate about—how bartending isn’t just a job for her, but something that gives her a connection to people and to her dad especially, how she loves the way a good drink can change someone’s mood, make them feel more at ease. She tells you about her favorite spots in the city, the places she goes when she wants to unwind or just take a break from the noise.

She mentions that she has a little sister—one that she’s so proud of with how smart she is. She has a scholarship at some other university a pretty far from here, and you can tell Vi misses her dearly.

For the entire way, Vi doesn’t stop glancing at you.

It’s soft and subtle, but you can see it, feel it—the way her eyes linger on you, tracing the lines of your face in a way that makes you feel warm from the inside out.

And for the first time in a while, you don’t mind being the center of someone’s attention. You can’t help but wonder if, in some small way, she feels the same as you.

“So, your dorm’s just up ahead, right?” Vi says, snapping you out of your thoughts. Her voice is low, and there’s a hint of something soft in it. You realize, in that moment, that this walk has felt… different.

“Yeah, just a couple more blocks,” you reply, your voice a little quieter now, feeling like the night has already given you more than you expected.

Eventually, the two of you reach the entrance of your building. It was an apartment style dorm, sitting just a few miles away from campus.

You stop for a moment, your feet lingering on the sidewalk as you take a small breath, suddenly feeling reluctant.

You don’t want it to end—not just yet.

But before you can say anything, the loud thump of music reaches your ears, coming from one of the floors above. Vi’s eyes flick up toward the building, and her brow furrows slightly as she notices the source of the noise.

“Guess the party’s already in full swing,” she murmurs, a bit of a wry smile tugging at her lips, but there’s something in her tone that’s a little amused.

“Yeah. The usual,” you say, your voice tinged with mild exasperation. You chuckle softly, rubbing the back of your neck, feeling a little embarrassed. “They don’t really care if it’s late… It can be quiet sometimes… but on rare occasions.”

Vi glances up at the building, the loud music still spilling out from one of the floors. She hesitates for a moment, then looks back at you.

“You know, uh, the bar doesn’t… open until six… I mean, the lounge opens at ten, but… no one really comes around that time,” she says, her voice quieter now, as if the suggestion she’s about to make is somehow more personal.

She glances at you again, her eyes flickering with tiny hint of nervousness.

“You could, uh, come earlier if you want some quiet… I’ll be there.”

You hadn’t expected that—hadn’t expected her to offer her own space at all. The bar, of all places.

You feel a warmth spread through you at the thought, a pull you hadn’t expected. Something about it makes your heart race a little faster, and you find yourself hesitating, uncertain if you should take the leap.

It was kind of a lousy excuse, Vi thought, but at least she’d get to see you again, instead of waiting all week to see if you’d stop by.

Though she knew she probably should’ve just asked you out on a date like a normal person, but… maybe she’d be able to see more of you this way.

“Vi, I—” you start, but you don’t really know what to say.

“You don’t have to,” she adds quickly, her voice gentle, as if she’s afraid to push too hard. “But if you’re looking for a place to study, it’s quiet in the mornings. And I promise not to be in your way. You don’t have to stay long or anything—just… if you want to, I’m there. And we could talk more, or just… not.”

The sincerity in her voice catches you off guard, and you feel a small tug at your chest.

You glance at her, meeting her eyes for just a moment, and that’s all it takes. Despite the swirl of thoughts in your head, you find yourself nodding.

“Okay,” you say, your voice steady now, though there’s a trace of something soft beneath it. “I’d really like that.”

You watch as her smile brightens, a little relieved and a little pleased, and for a moment, she doesn’t say anything, she just nods.

Vi pauses just as she’s about to turn away, a hesitant look crossing her face. For a moment, she seems to be second-guessing herself, like she’s trying to figure out the best way to say something without overstepping. Then, with a slight sheepishness that’s almost endearing, she glances back at you, her cheeks coloring ever so slightly.

“Oh, shit, I-I should probably give you my number… you know, in case I’m not there or anything,” she says, her voice a little softer, a little more self-conscious than usual. Her fingers nervously tug at the hem of her jacket, and her eyes flicker away briefly.

You can’t help but smile at the way she’s acting—this confident, capable bartender who, just moments ago, had been so cool and smooth, now hesitating as if she’s unsure whether she’s overstepping by asking for your number.

You reach for your phone, feeling a small rush of warmth in your chest.

“Yeah, that sounds like a good idea,” you say, your voice light but warm, trying to make her feel at ease.

You quickly unlock your phone and pass it to her, offering a small, reassuring smile.

Vi’s fingers brush against yours as she takes your phone, and for a second, the touch lingers. She types in her number quickly, and you catch the faintest flicker of a smile playing at the corner of her lips. She hands the phone back to you after saving her contact information and you glance down at the screen.

violet :)

“Done,” she says, her voice light again. “Just… in case you need to reach me or anything…”

Vi pulls out her phone, her fingers slightly fumbling as she unlocks it. Her eyes flick up to meet yours, and she gives you a small, almost nervous smile. You type your number into her phone in return, and when you hand it back, you make sure your fingers brush against hers just a little longer than necessary. She smiles softly when she gets her phone back, seeing the small heart you put next to your name.

“Thank you, Vi,” you say softly, feeling a little bolder now.

She grins, the playful glint in her eyes back now, “Text me… whenever.”

She lingers, her hands shoved into the pockets of her jacket, the edges of her smile bright but just a little tight, like she’s holding something back. Her eyes meet yours, warm and soft, and for a moment, neither of you says anything.

You notice the way her gaze flickers, almost imperceptibly, down to your lips. It’s quick, barely a second, but it’s enough to make your breath hitch. Your heart thuds in your chest, and you wonder if she realizes how obvious she is—or maybe she doesn’t care. Either way, her attention makes your stomach flip in a way you’re not entirely prepared for.

“I should…” she begins, her voice quiet and almost reluctant. She shifts on her feet, looking down for a moment before glancing back up at you. She hesitates, like she’s searching for a reason to stay, even though she knows she can’t. “…get back to work.”

Her words are practical, but the way she says them—soft and almost regretful—makes it clear she doesn’t really want to leave.

She’s stalling, and you can tell.

For once, Vi doesn’t have that confidence she carries behind the bar. Right now, she just looks… a little unsure. A little vulnerable.

“Goodnight,” you say softly, the words gentle but carrying more weight than you intended.

Her smile widens, though it’s still tight-lipped, and she nods, her hands still buried in her jacket pockets.

“Yeah… goodnight, princess,” she echoes, her voice just above a whisper. She lingers for another second, her gaze sweeping over your face before she finally steps back.

The sound of her boots on the pavement fades as she turns and walks away, heading back down the street toward the bar.

As she disappears into the distance, you catch yourself glancing at your phone, her number now saved there, and you wonder how long you’ll be able to resist texting her. The night air feels colder without her, but the warmth she left behind lingers all the same.

Truth be told, Vi isn’t usually the one to open the bar.

That’s Mylo’s job, and it’s been that way for as long as she can remember. Surprisingly, he’s the early bird, arriving just maybe thirty before ten—always grumbling about it but showing up on time regardless, keys jangling as he flips on the lights and starts the long process of getting the place ready. It’s quiet in the morning, and it’s practically empty until the sun starts to set.

Vi’s shift doesn’t typically start until later in the evening, right when the crowd begins to build, when the air gets thick with chatter and the clink of glass. That’s her time, where she thrives: loud music, fast drinks, and tiny bit of chaos.

But as soon as Vi gets back to work that night after walking you to you back, something shifts. She heads straight behind the bar, sets her jacket down with a quickly, and finds Mylo leaning against the counter, lazily wiping down the counter like he always does. He glances up at her, one brow quirked, clearly ready to make some smart comment about her lateness and tease her about that little crush she has on you.

But before he can get a word out, she cuts him off.

“I’m opening from now on,” she says flatly, her voice leaving no room for argument.

Mylo freezes mid-motion, the rag in his hand hovering over the counter. He stares at her for a moment, like he’s not sure he heard her right.

“What?” he says finally, his tone incredulous. “Since when do you wanna deal with the morning grind? You hate opening.”

“Since now,” Vi snaps, her tone sharp like she’s already decided and doesn’t care for an explanation.

Mylo narrows his eyes, leaning against the bar with a skeptical look. “You’re serious? You, of all people, wanna deal with the dead hours?”

“Yeah,” Vi says simply, grabbing a bottle of whiskey and beginning to organize the counter with quick, efficient movements. “It’s not a big deal.”

Mylo snorts, tossing the rag over his shoulder. “It is for you. You hate the quiet. You told me that yourself. Even Claggor hates the quiet.”

Vi doesn’t answer right away.

She busies herself adjusting the liquor bottles, her back turned to him as she forces herself not to think about why she’s doing this—or more accurately, who she’s doing this for. But her thoughts betray her anyway, drifting back to the way you’d looked at her tonight, soft and unsure but trusting, the way you’d smiled at her when she offered you the bar as a place to get away. The memory makes something tighten in her chest.

She finally turns back to Mylo, her face composed, her tone even.

“Just need a change of pace,” she says with a shrug, though even she knows it’s not convincing. “Besides, you could use the extra sleep.”

Mylo stares at her for another beat and squints his eyes, clearly unconvinced but too tired to argue.

“Is this about that girl you were talking with earlier?”

“No,” Vi said all too quickly, but she knows she couldn’t keep up the lie against Mylo for too long. “Maybe… Yes.”

“Why didn’t you just ask her out? Looked like she liked you enough. Plus—she literally came back to see you—“

“Just—Let me have this. If it goes sour, you can have all the free drinks you want.”

“Fine,” he says, throwing his hands up in defeat. “It’s your funeral. Just don’t come crying to me when you’re stuck listening to the same three jazz songs we have on Vander’s old jukebox.”

Vi smirks, but it’s faint, her mind already elsewhere. “Noted.”

The truth is, she doesn’t care about the mornings or the hassle of opening. All she cares about is the chance that you might show up again, walking into the bar in the early hours, looking for a place to escape the noise.

And if that means opening the doors herself, sitting in silence for a couple hours, and putting up with Mylo’s grumbling, so be it.

She doesn’t tell him any of this, though. She just gets back to work, excited for the next time she might see you.

The sunlight filters in through the thin curtains of your dorm room, soft and golden, warming your skin as you slowly wake. Your eyes blink open, the haze of sleep still clinging to you, and for a moment, you simply lie there, staring up at the ceiling.

Then, your mind drifts back to the night before.

Vi… again.

The thought of her hits you like a spark, and you feel a smile tug at your lips before you can stop it. Your chest tightens slightly, but not unpleasantly, just enough to make you feel warm all over.

Still smiling, you roll onto your side, glancing at your phone on the nightstand. The thought of texting her had crossed your mind the second you got back to your room last night, but you hadn’t been sure if you should. What would you even say?

Now, as the morning stretches ahead of you, you find yourself staring at your phone again, the nervous energy in your chest making it hard to breathe.

You pick it up, the screen lighting up instantly. And there it is.

A small notification sits at the top of your screen.

“1 new message from violet :)”

Your heart jumps, and your thumb hovers over the notification for just a second before you tap it, unable to wait any longer. The message opens, and your breath catches when you see it.

not to brag, but it’s very quiet this morning. open invitation ;)

Attached is a picture of the bar. The room is empty, save for the neat rows of chairs and the warm light spilling in from the windows. The space looks so different from the lively, chaotic energy you’d seen before—calm, inviting, almost serene. But what catches your eye most is the subtle detail in the photo: her black jacket draped over the back of one of the chairs in the corner, and a mug sitting on the counter.

She’s there, waiting.

Your heart does a little flip, and you bite your lip, staring at the message. The cheeky little smirk emoji at the end feels so quintessentially Vi, and you can almost hear the teasing lilt in her voice as you read the words again.

You’re not sure how long you sit there, staring at your phone, trying to decide how to respond. Your thumbs hover over the keyboard, typing and deleting messages you’re too nervous to send. Finally, you settle on something simple, something safe.

all that space for me?

You hit send before you can overthink it, your chest fluttering with a mix of excitement and nerves. Almost immediately, the little bubble indicating she’s typing pops up, and your stomach flips again.

you get special treatment, what can i say?

Her reply comes with another photo—this time, a close-up of her coffee mug on the counter, a little steam curling up from the top. In the background, you can see her hand resting on the bar, the edge of a tattoo peeking out from her wrist. It’s casual, but the fact that she took the time to send it makes your cheeks flush.

You can’t help but smile again, your heart racing as you stare at the screen. The morning, which had started so quietly, now feels electric, buzzing with the possibility of seeing her again. And as you type out your next reply, you can’t help but wonder where this might lead—and how you’ve somehow stumbled into something that already feels so much more than you expected.

You barely even remember the process of getting ready.

It was all a blur of rushing to find something cute, definitely cuter than the night before yet comfortable, sifting through your limited wardrobe for something that felt right. Even though the chill of winter was biting at the edges of the morning, you chose an outfit—layered up enough to keep warm, but nice enough to make you feel put together. You’d even spent a little more time on your hair, fixing it neatly just for Vi to see.

Now, standing in front of the bar, the nerves hit you all at once.

The quiet street around you makes the moment feel even more amplified. You glance at the entrance, the black-painted door that suddenly feels much taller, more imposing, than it had before. Your heart is pounding in your chest, the bag full of textbooks and notes hanging heavy at your side, reminding you of the excuse you gave yourself for coming here.

It’s just a quiet place to study, you tell yourself for the hundredth time, though you know it’s only half the truth.

The other half is much more difficult to admit—that you’re here for her. That something about Vi has been stuck in your head ever since she walked you home, her warm, smooth voice, the way her blue eyes lingered on you. She made your entire body flutter and you can’t help but want more of it.

You take a deep breath, clutching the strap of your bag tightly, and push the door open. The soft chime of the bell above the frame jingles lightly, and you step inside, immediately greeted by the sound of soft jazz playing in the background. The bar looks just like it had in the photo—empty, calm, and warm, bathed in the golden glow of lights reflecting off the polished surfaces.

Your eyes scan the room, and there she is.

Vi stands behind the bar, her jacket from earlier now draped over a nearby stool. She’s pouring herself a cup of coffee, her back to you at first, but as the door closes behind you, she glances over her shoulder. The moment she sees you, her face lights up with that easy smile, the one that makes your chest flutter in ways you’re not quite ready to deal with.

“Look who it is,” she says, setting her mug down and leaning casually against the counter. She folds her arms across her chest, giving you an appraising look. “Was beginning to think you wouldn’t show.”

You step forward, trying to steady your breathing as you approach the bar. “Well,” you say, your voice soft but steady, “that picture you sent was pretty convincing. Had to check it out for myself.”

Vi’s smile widens, and she gestures to the empty space around you. “Guess you came to the right place, huh? It doesn’t get much quieter than this.”

You nod, trying not to fidget as you sling your bag onto one of the stools. “Yeah. Plus, you did say I’d get special treatment.”

Vi chuckles at that, her voice low and warm, “I did, didn’t I?”

She leans forward slightly, resting her elbows on the counter as she watches you unpack a few of your books.

“Something like that,” you mumble, flipping open a notebook and trying not to let her attention distract you too much. It’s easier said than done, though, especially when you feel her eyes on you, warm and curious, like she’s genuinely interested in every little thing you do.

Vi gestures toward your bag with a playful grin. “Didn’t know you’d bring your entire library with you.”

“It’s called being prepared.”

She smirks at that, but as you settle into your work, she finds herself falling quiet. Her gaze lingers on you as she leans back slightly, folding her arms.

“Go ahead and start. I’ll be here if you need anything,” she says kindly, a smile on her face that made your stomach flutter.

You thank her with a smile and a nod and the only thing Vi can think about is how cute you are.

In just a couple of minutes, you’ve focused up, skimming through a page of dense text, your brow furrowed in concentration, and Vi can’t help but notice the way your nose scrunches just a little when you hit something particularly complicated.

It’s… endearing.

She doesn’t mean to stare. Really, she doesn’t.

The jazz music playing softly in the background seems to fade into white noise as Vi lets herself get lost in the little details of you. The slope of your shoulders, the way your hair falls to the side when you tilt your head, the faint flush in your cheeks that she wonders—hopes—might have something to do with her.

She doesn’t even realize she’s staring until Mylo’s voice echoes in her head: You’re being so obvious, Vi.

She clears her throat, tearing her gaze away and reaching for the coffee mug she’d left on the counter. As she takes a sip, she glances back at you, this time trying to keep her interest a little more subtle.

You catch her staring just as you look up from your book, your eyes meeting hers for a brief moment. Vi freezes, caught, and you tilt your head slightly, raising an eyebrow.

“What?”

She blinks, quickly shaking her head and giving you a grin that’s a little too casual.

“Nothing,” she says, her tone light, though her ears flush faintly.

Then she looks down at her mug, then back up at you. She watches you as you shyly turned away, trying to mask the way your cheeks reddened under her stare. With a soft chuckle under her breath, she moves towards the edge of the bar, finally deciding to make you a cup of coffee.

She moves quietly as she works the espresso machine. The bar is silent except for the faint hum of the machine, the relaxing jazz playing in the background, and the occasional sound of you turning your pages, but her focus isn’t entirely on what she’s doing.

Instead, it keeps drifting to you. Sitting there, head bowed over your notes, and Vi can’t help but notice how different you look today compared to the last time she saw you.

You’re dressed a little nicer today—nothing too flashy, just enough that she can tell you put some thought into it. She likes it. She really likes it.

Maybe it’s the way your sweater hugs your frame a little more snugly, or how your jeans look perfectly paired with your boots. Or maybe it’s just the fact that everything about you feels intentional, like you dressed up… just for her.

Either way, it’s distracting her in the best way possible. She shakes her head slightly, trying to focus on the task at hand, but the thought keeps nudging its way back in: So pretty.

She glances at you as she pours the espresso shot into the cup, the deep brown liquid swirling into the mug. You’re chewing on the cap of a pen, your brow furrowed in concentration, and Vi feels a faint, involuntary smile tug at the corners of her mouth.

She watches closely. Too closely. She watches your lips shamelessly, wrapping your lips around the cylinder shape, biting softly on that pen, and… god, you’re just… something else.

Vi shakes her head and tries to throw the thought out of the window. It’s far too early to be thinking about you like… that.

The hot water follows, and before she knows it, the americano is ready. She sets it on the counter softly, barely making a sound, and steps back to admire her handiwork—not the coffee, but you. And maybe she’d never admit it out loud, but she could probably watch you for hours.

When you finally notice the mug in front of you, you blink up at her with a smile, a little startled.

Vi shrugs, leaning one elbow on the counter, her grin casual but her gaze lingering. “Coffee. Figured you could use it.”

Your lips quirk up slightly at her teasing, but there’s something shy in the way you glance down at the mug, your fingers brushing the edge of it.

“Thank you,” you mumble shyly, almost under your breath.

“No problem, princess.” Vi leans back, her hands sliding into her pockets as she studies you for a moment longer. You’re even prettier up close, she thinks.

After a couple minutes, Vi busies herself cleaning the counter, though her eyes flick back to you more often than she means them to. There’s something about you today that feels different… And if she’s being honest with herself, it’s driving her a little crazy—in a good way.

When Vi had her back turned for a moment, adjusting the bottles on the shelf behind the bar, it was your turn to take the opportunity.

Your eyes wandered before you could stop yourself, taking her in as she worked. She moved smoothly, easy, like she’d done this a thousand times before—and maybe she had—but it didn’t make the sight any less captivating.

You’d been trying to focus on your notes, scribbling little reminders in the margins or flipping pages as if you were actually absorbing the words.

But who were you kidding? You couldn’t concentrate. Not when Vi was right there.

Your gaze lingered on her arms first, toned and inked, muscles flexing just enough with every movement. The way she reached up to straighten a bottle, her fingers long and strong, made your thoughts blur and stutter.

And then there was her profile—the sharp angle of her jawline, the way her asymmetrical lips curved faintly even when she wasn’t smiling. That tiny quirk, one side of her top lip arched slightly higher than the other, was unfairly charming. It made her look like she was always on the edge of smirking, always holding back some witty comment.

When she turned slightly, moving to wipe down the counter again, you quickly dropped your eyes back to your notebook, pretending to read a passage you hadn’t actually taken in.

But the distraction didn’t last long. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw her pick up a glass, her hands moving over it in smooth, practiced motions as she polished it to perfection. Her forearms flexed again just slightly, and you caught yourself staring again, your thoughts hazy and full of her.

Every time you looked up, there was something new to notice—the way her brows furrowed just a little when she was focused, the way her tattoos seemed to tell a story you desperately wanted to know. You liked the way her hair fell just a little out of place when she leaned forward, the way her shirt clung to her broad shoulders and the defined curve of her biceps.

You liked the way she moved, so sure of herself yet entirely unaware of just how mesmerizing she was to watch.

It was distracting, sure, but you didn’t mind in the slightest. If anything, you welcomed it.

It didn’t take long for the mornings at the bar to become your new routine.

Vi would open promptly at ten in the morning, and you’d stroll in not long after, bundled up in a jacket, a bag full of textbooks and notebooks slung over your shoulder. She’d always greet you with that soft, lopsided smile of hers, already moving to make you coffee before you even asked.

“Morning, princess,” she’d say, setting the mug in front of you with a little flourish, and you’d roll your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips every time.

You’d settle into your usual spot, unpack your books, and get to work while Vi busied herself behind the counter.

She was always within view, her quiet presence oddly comforting as you flipped through pages and scribbled notes. And she didn’t hover, not exactly, but you knew she kept an eye on you. She’d pause her cleaning or organizing to glance over, catching little glimpses of your concentrated frown or the way you tucked your hair behind your ear absentmindedly.

For you, the quiet space was perfect, and Vi’s company made it even better.

You studied through the morning, your head bent over your books, easily working and concentrating with the quiet surroundings, before eventually packing up to head to your exams in the afternoon.

One morning, though, exhaustion finally caught up with you. You’d been cramming for a couple days, running on little sleep, and your body decided it couldn’t keep up anymore.

Vi noticed you were quieter than usual, your head drooping slightly as you flipped through your notes. She’d thought about saying something but didn’t want to disturb you.

When she looked over again a few minutes later, though, she saw you slumped forward on the counter, your head resting against an open textbook. Your breathing was slow and even, your face pressed against the pages, looking completely at peace.

Vi froze for a moment, her chest tightening in a way she couldn’t quite explain. You looked… adorable, she thought, almost too perfect in that quiet, vulnerable moment. She wiped her hands on a towel absentmindedly, then glanced around the empty bar.

Unable to help herself, she moved from behind the counter and slid into the stool beside you, making sure to be quiet. She leaned forward, resting her forearms on the counter as she studied you.

The soft rise and fall of your shoulders, the way your lashes fluttered just slightly in your sleep, the curve of your lips as they parted ever so slightly—it all made her heart ache in the strangest way.

For a few long minutes, she just sat there, her head tilted slightly, watching you like she was trying to memorize every detail. She thought about waking you up, but part of her didn’t want to. You looked too peaceful, and honestly, she liked having this moment to herself.

Vi let out a soft breath, her lips curving into a small smile.

“Pretty,” she murmured under her breath, the words barely audible even to herself.

When finals week ended, you should’ve felt relief.

You’d survived the late nights, the endless notes, the last-minute cramming. But as you walked back to your apartment after your last exam, all you could feel was a gnawing worry sitting heavy in your chest.

Without exams to study for, without needing the quiet escape of the bar in the mornings, what excuse would you have to see Vi now?

Could you just… show up?

Vi had told you plenty of times that you were welcome there whenever. But it felt different now, like you were losing the one solid reason you had to sit in that quiet space while Vi worked behind the bar.

The thought made you slow your steps, your bag of textbooks feeling heavier than it had all week.

You’d fallen into a rhythm with her—those soft, peaceful mornings where she’d make you coffee without asking, tease you gently when you got too absorbed in your books, and being in her presence made you feel more grounded than you’d ever been.

Now that the routine was gone, you weren’t sure where that left you.

You tossed your bag onto your bed and flopped down beside it, staring up at the ceiling. Maybe I’ll still go to the bar tomorrow morning, you thought, trying to reassure yourself. But doubt crept in immediately. Would she think it was strange if you kept coming back without a reason? Would it seem like you were lingering too much, too long?

You rolled over, burying your face in the pillow as the worry churned in your mind. You couldn’t deny how much you liked being around her—how much you liked… well, her. The idea of not seeing her felt almost unbearable.

With a groan, you sat up and pulled your phone from your pocket. You stared at the screen, thumb hovering over Vi’s contact name.

You’d only messaged a few times before—mostly her checking in, asking if you’d made it back to your apartment safely. The thought of starting a conversation now made your stomach twist nervously.

But you wanted to see her. Needed to, even.

You tapped out a message and then erased it.

Then another.

Then erased that too.

What were you supposed to say? Hey, finals are over, but can I still come to the bar and stare at you for hours like a hopeless idiot? Stupid.

Finally, you set your phone down with a sigh, running your hands through your hair. Maybe you were overthinking it. Maybe she was thinking about you too, wondering if she’d still get to see you now that finals week was done.

But for a while, you stayed away.

Not because you didn’t want to go back—you wanted to more than anything—but the thought of walking into that bar now made your chest tighten with nerves.

The thought embarrassed you, enough that you buried yourself in other things—laundry, tidying your dorm, even a quick grocery run you didn’t really need. Anything to avoid confronting the growing ache in your chest that whispered how much you missed her already.

You told yourself you’d go tomorrow. Then tomorrow came, and you put it off again.

But those days dragged.

The emptiness of your mornings felt heavier than you expected, and the thought of Vi kept slipping into your mind no matter how hard you tried to focus on anything else.

Here, it felt hollow, like something was missing. And you knew exactly what it was.

By the second night, you were pacing your room, staring at your phone every few minutes, wondering if you should just message her. You groaned at yourself, flopping onto your bed and tossing your phone to the side.

It was ridiculous. You wanted to see her. You liked seeing her. So why was it so hard to just show up?

It was the knock on your door that snapped you out of your restless thoughts. You opened it to find Maddie standing there, already halfway dressed up, her hair curled and makeup done. She grinned at you, that mischievous glint in her eyes as she leaned against the doorframe.

“Get dressed,” she said without preamble. “We’re celebrating. We deserve to let loose a little.”

You hesitated for half a second, your mind immediately jumping to Vi and that bar. “Where exactly are we going?”

Maddie smirked. “The Last Drop, obviously.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you tried to play it cool, shrugging like you didn’t care either way. “Oh, back there again?”

“Hell yeah,” she said, already pushing her way into your dorm. “C’mon, don’t make me drag you. Get dressed. No excuses.”

For the first time in two days, you felt a rush of anticipation—nerves, yes, but excitement too. You couldn’t deny it anymore. You wanted to see Vi.

And maybe going with Maddie and the others would make it easier. Less pressure, less obvious that you were showing up just to see her.

So you jumped at the opportunity, rifling through your closet while Maddie lounged on your bed, offering unhelpful commentary about your choices. Eventually, you settled on something nice—a pretty dress, stockings, a coat to match.

“You clean up well,” Maddie teased as you slipped on your shoes.

You flushed, ignoring her as you grabbed your bag and jacket. It was cold outside, but you’d still made an effort—a bit of mascara, a touch of lipstick, enough to feel put-together.

But as you walked toward the bar, the nerves came creeping back.

The neon sign of the bar glowed in the distance, and your chest tightened as you stepped closer. The thought of seeing Vi again made your heart race, but you shoved the nerves down.

As soon as you stepped through the door of the bar, you could feel the atmosphere shift. It was quieter tonight, but still filled with the familiar hum of conversation, the clinking of glasses, the low buzz of the jukebox in the corner.

Your eyes automatically darted to the bar, hoping—no, praying—that you might catch sight of her.

And then Maddie’s voice broke through your thoughts, loud and unmistakable.

“Hey, over here!”

You turned to see her waving enthusiastically at a booth toward the back of the bar. A few of her friends were already there, but what caught your attention wasn’t a group. It was the other two people sitting at the table, one of them leaning back with a casual air, a drink in hand, the other staring at you like they were expecting you.

You froze for a moment, your heart sinking. Your gaze flickered between Maddie and the table, noticing her bright, mischievous smile. She’d set you up.

You forced a smile, suddenly feeling out of place. “Uh, Maddie…?”

Your stomach dropped. A double date?

“This is Chris,” she interrupted, pointing at the guy sitting next to you. He smiled widely, practically leaning over the table as he extended his hand.

You hesitated for a moment, still processing the situation. “Uh… hi.”

“We thought you two would hit it off,” Maddie added, as though she hadn’t just dropped a bombshell on you.

“Yeah, you know, I take Professor Talis’ class, right?” Chris said, his voice a little too eager. “We’ve had a couple of group discussions before.”

You offered a polite smile, not quite sure what to make of him. You weren’t even sure how to respond to the whole situation.

Was this supposed to be a date? You’d come to the bar to see Vi—not this.

You glanced around, your eyes scanning the familiar faces behind the bar, hoping to see her. And there, at the counter, you finally spotted her.

Vi.

Chris kept talking, his voice a constant buzz in the background as you tried to nod politely, throwing in an occasional “mhm” or “yeah” just to keep the conversation moving.

But your attention wasn’t on him. It wasn’t on anything other than Vi.

You saw her again, and this time, it wasn’t a subtle glance. Vi had noticed you, her gaze locking onto you from across the room. Her eyes moved briefly over your face, taking you in, before they shifted downward—her gaze narrowing slightly as she looked at Chris, who was still talking to you like everything was normal.

Your breath caught in your throat when you saw her brow furrow, just enough to let you know she was confused.

There was something in the way she looked at you, something almost possessive, like she couldn’t quite figure out what was going on but she knew for a fact that she didn’t like it. She stood still for a moment, fingers wrapped around the edge a glass as she studied you.

For a second, you wondered if it was just your imagination, but then it clicked. Vi was jealous.

You hadn’t noticed before, but now you saw the little tension in her posture, the way her lips pressed together just slightly, the way her gaze flicked back to you every time he leaned in a little too close.

Chris, oblivious to well… everything, kept talking, his voice rising a little as he continued to try and make small talk.

You had no idea what he’d said because all you could hear was the beat of your heart in your ears, and the undeniable pull of Vi’s gaze on you. It was like she was silently challenging you, wanting to see what you’d do.

You glanced back over to Vi, who was still watching you, but now she was pretending to be busy with something—towels, or glassware, or whatever it was that could distract her from the situation.

You saw her glance down at her phone for a second, and you could almost feel her trying to decide whether or not to come over, to approach you, to do something to get your attention.

But instead of doing that, she lingered behind the bar, still looking at you—her expression unreadable now. And as much as you tried to focus on the conversation in front of you, your mind kept drifting back to her. You didn’t care about him anymore. You didn’t care about anything except the way Vi looked at you just now.

Your eyes slid back to Vi, and this time, you didn’t look away. You didn’t try to hide how you felt.

On the other side of the room, Vi’s eyes were locked on you, even though she tried to focus on the tasks in front of her.

She couldn’t help herself, a sense of possessiveness building in her chest. She wondered if you had dressed up like that for him. The guy you’d been sitting with, the one talking a mile a minute, clearly trying to impress you.

Vi’s stomach twisted, and she found herself gripping the counter a little too tightly as she watched you.

God, you looked so good. Vi’s chest tightened at the thought. She tried to focus on cleaning the counter in front of her, but the image of you with him—of you dressed up for him—kept invading her mind.

She wanted it to be her you were dressed up for. She wanted it to be her who got your attention, who you couldn’t stop thinking about.

She couldn’t do this.

She had to look away, had to force herself to breathe, because it was all getting too much.

With a frustrated sigh, Vi wiped her hands on a towel and excused herself, slipping through the back of the bar and into the staff area. She didn’t care if anyone noticed. She just had to get out of there.

She slammed the door behind her, pressing her back against it as she took a deep breath. Her heart was racing, and her mind was spinning. She had no idea what this was, what you were doing to her.

But the thought of you with someone else, the thought of you not being hers, made her ache in a way she wasn’t ready for.

She rubbed her face with both hands, trying to shake the frustration from her body. She tried to steady herself, taking in a few deep breaths as she stared at the floor. She wasn’t supposed to feel this way. She wasn’t supposed to be jealous.

But she wanted you.

And the more she thought about it, the clearer it became.

Vi’s heart skipped a beat when she heard the knock on the staff room door.

She’d half expected it to be Mylo, probably ready to give her a hard time for disappearing off the floor. He always seemed to have a knack for knowing when she was brooding in the back, and she was sure he’d have something to say about it.

But when she opened the door, it wasn’t Mylo.

It was you.

You stood there in the doorway, hesitant, but with that soft look on your face. You looked so damn good up close like this—like you had stepped out of a dream. Vi’s chest tightened, and she swallowed hard.

You looked at her for a moment, unsure of what to say, and then, in a voice that was soft, you say, “I thought… I thought you might be back here.”

She stood still for a second, just staring at you, unsure of how to handle the fact that you had found her.

“Uh, sorry if I—” You paused, glancing down at your shoes like you weren’t sure how to proceed. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just wanted to, I don’t know, check in.”

“You’re not interrupting. I just—“ Vi stepped back to let you in, closing the door behind you. “—needed to take a break.”

She leaned against the door, keeping her distance, unsure if you’d notice how much she was trying to keep her guard up.

The silence stretched between you two, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt… intimate in its own way.

You were quiet too, glancing around the small room, but eventually, your eyes fell to her again. Vi noticed the way your gaze lingered on her, and she couldn’t help but feel the heat rise to her face.

Her breath caught in her throat for a second, but she quickly brushed it off, trying to focus on the conversation, trying not to get lost in the way you looked at her.

“You didn’t come back… when your tests were over…” Vi’s voice dropped quieter, a little hesitant, like she wasn’t sure how to ask the question.

She hadn’t seen you in a while, and it made her question everything.

The words hung between you, and Vi shifted uncomfortably, her gaze flickering away for a moment, focusing on something in the corner of the room.

She didn’t want to look too eager, too desperate. But the truth was, she had been thinking about you. Every minute of the day. And when she didn’t see you, when she didn’t hear from you, it made her feel like maybe she wasn’t as important to you as she had thought.

She didn’t mean to sound accusatory, but the words had slipped out. Vi cleared her throat, turning back to you.

“I thought… I thought maybe I’d see you again, but… you didn’t come back.” Her voice softened again.

Did you want to come back? Had she somehow messed things up by letting herself feel this much for you? Vi couldn’t keep the questions from creeping into her mind, even though she tried to push them away.

“You didn’t even text,” she said quietly, her voice softer now, almost a whisper.

You blinked, surprised by the sharpness in her voice, the way it cut through the silence that had been so comfortable just a moment ago. You could see it in her eyes—something in the way she said that, something fragile.

It made your heart skip a beat. You hadn’t meant to distance yourself from her. You just… didn’t know what to say.

“I… I didn’t mean to disappear,” you said quietly, your voice soft and unsure. You shifted your weight, glancing down at your feet, before looking up again. “It’s just, I was nervous about coming back without having a solid reason to, and I thought maybe, you know…”

Vi’s gaze softened, the intensity in her eyes giving way to something more tender. She tilted her head slightly, studying you.

“Nervous?” she repeated quietly, as if testing the word. Her brow furrowed slightly. “About what?”

You swallowed, your fingers fidgeting with the fabric of your dress, trying to find the right words. It felt strange, admitting it aloud, but with Vi in the room with you, you couldn’t stop yourself.

“About… you,” you said, the confession slipping out before you could stop it. “About all of this… about seeing you again, about how I feel when I’m around you… I didn’t want to mess it up.”

Vi’s heart skipped a beat at your words. Her breath caught for a fraction of a second.

“It’s just…” she started again, her voice a little rough. “I missed seeing you. That’s all.”

Her gaze shifted to the floor for a moment, a faint flush creeping up her neck. She wasn’t used to admitting this kind of thing aloud either, not even to herself. But there it was, spilling out between you two like something she couldn’t stop.

You felt your heart tug at the honesty in her voice, the way it made you feel like maybe you hadn’t been the only one thinking about this.

“I missed you, too.”

And for the first time tonight, Vi finally smiled.

You couldn’t help but tease her, a small smirk curling at the corners of your lips as you said, “I was waiting for you to text me, too, you know.”

The words felt bold, but you couldn’t hide the nervous excitement bubbling up inside of you.

Vi dropped her head and let out a breathy chuckle. The jealousy, the frustration, everything she’d been feeling earlier—it seemed to vanish completely.

She leaned back against the door, her eyes never leaving yours, full of something far gentler now—something you hadn’t seen before, or at least not like this.

“Can you come here?” she asked, her voice soft, almost like a whisper, but there was something in it that made the air in the room thick.

You hesitated for just a moment, heart pounding in your chest, but you couldn’t resist. Slowly, you walked over to her, your movements measured, though a nervous excitement fluttered in your stomach.

Vi’s eyes never left you as you approached. She watched the way your dress moved with each step, the way your body shifted as you walked toward her, and it drove her absolutely wild. She couldn’t help but let her eyes linger, taking in the sight of you, the way the fabric clung to your curves.

By the time you were close enough, Vi had already moved. She leaned against the door, her hands coming up to gently but firmly grip your hips, pulling you in closer. You felt the heat of her touch spread through you, her hands on your hips guiding you so that you were now flat against her chest, your bodies pressed together.

You couldn’t stop the breath that caught in your throat, the feel of her hands on you sending a wave of heat rushing through your body.

You could feel the rhythm of her breathing, the slight hitch in it when you finally stood there, so close. Her gaze flickered down to the dress you were wearing, and you could feel the tension in her fingers as she lightly traced the hem of it, playing with the fabric as though she couldn’t quite get enough of it.

“I like this,” Vi’s voice was quiet, almost a murmur, and it sent a shiver down your spine. “It’s pretty.”

You didn’t say anything at first, instead simply meeting her gaze, your pulse quickening under her touch. The way she looked at you now, hungry and dazed, made your stomach flip in the best way.

“I… I wasn’t sure if it was too much,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper, feeling a little shy but also emboldened by the way Vi was looking at you.

Vi smiled softly, her lips curving up as she leaned in just a little bit closer, her breath warming your cheek.

“It’s perfect,” she said, voice low, as if the words were meant only for you. “You look perfect.”

Her eyes darkened just a fraction, the playful smirk on her lips transforming into something more primal, more feral. Her hands on your hips tightened just a little, urging you closer, as if she couldn’t get close enough.

Vi’s gaze was heavy, her pupils dark and blown wide as they locked onto your face, moving slowly down to your lips. Her stare was intense—shameless, even—and it made your breath hitch.

Her grip on your hips tightened, fingers pressing firmly into your sides. The fabric of your dress bunched up under her hands, her thumbs brushing against the soft material as though she couldn’t help herself. Her touch was slow, almost like she was trying to memorize the feeling of you under her palms.

You could feel the heat radiating off her, the space between you almost nonexistent now. The way her gaze lingered on your lips sent a shiver down your spine, and you felt rooted to the spot, as if moving would break whatever spell had settled over the two of you.

Vi swallowed hard, her Adam’s apple bobbing slightly, her hands twitching against your hips as though resisting the urge to pull you impossibly closer. Her chest rose and fell in time with her quickened breathing, and you could feel her struggle to keep herself in check, though the way she stared at you made it clear how difficult that was.

Instead, her fingers tightened again, the slight pull of your dress drawing you even closer to her. Her lips parted slightly, as if she were on the verge of saying something, but her gaze kept flickering back to your mouth, and you wondered if words were even necessary.

You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but before you could form a single word, Vi moved. Her grip on your hips tightened, fingers digging into your dress as she leaned in and claimed your lips with her own.

Her mouth was warm, soft but insistent, and it stole the breath right out of your lungs. You froze for half a second, startled, but then everything in you melted. Your hands found their way to her shoulders, gripping her lightly as she pulled you even closer, pressing your body flush against hers.

There was a kind of hunger in the way her lips moved against yours, but it was careful too—like she wanted to take her time and savor every second of it. Her fingers slid up your sides slightly, still gripping your dress, her thumbs brushing over your waist as she tilted her head to deepen the kiss.

When she finally pulled back, just barely, her forehead rested against yours. She was breathless, her eyes still heavy-lidded as they locked onto yours. Her hands were still on your hips, holding you against her.

Vi looks at you, a wide, soft smile spreading across her face as she leans her head back against the door, her hands moving upward, tracing the curve of your back slowly. Her fingertips brush against the zipper of your dress, playing with it absentmindedly as she lets out a breathy laugh.

“I think I’m doing this out of order…” she murmurs.

Your brows knit together slightly, still dazed from the kiss.

“Out of order?” you echo, your voice quieter than you intended.

Vi nods, her gaze drifting back to your lips as if they we drawn there magnetically.

Her smile turns almost sheepish, but the heat in her eyes doesn’t fade as she mutters quietly, “Yeah… ‘was supposed to ask you out on a date first.”

The words make your stomach flip, and before you can respond, she keeps going. Her voice softens, a little lower, as if she’s painting a picture just for you.

“I would’ve asked you where you’d like to eat… something casual, nothing too fancy. Then I’d pick you up, you’d wear something pretty for me, and I’ll take you somewhere nice. Not here,” she says with a small grin, “somewhere quiet, somewhere where I could actually talk to you without interruptions.”

Her hands are wandering now, sliding slowly down your sides, then up again, the warmth of her palms seeping through the thin fabric of your dress. One of her thumbs brushes against your ribcage, close to the underside of your breasts, her touch gentle but enough to make your breath hitch.

You’re barely holding onto her words as her hands move, but she keeps talking, her tone calm and almost hypnotic.

“Maybe, take you to this little Italian place I like. Not too crowded, but the food’s incredible. Candlelit, y’know? Not to be cheesy, but I think you’d like it.”

Her hands drift down again, her thumbs skimming along the curve of your hips as she keeps her voice low and steady.

“We’d get some wine—unless you’d rather have water, of course,” she teases softly, her lips twitching into a smirk, “and then we’d just… talk. No distractions, no noise, just you and me.”

Her fingers glide back up, tracing the line of your spine.

“After dinner, maybe a walk somewhere. I dunno, a park, the waterfront… wherever you’d want to go. Just somewhere I could hold your hand and maybe steal a kiss, if you let me.”

You try to focus on her voice, but her hands are relentless, mapping your body like she’s trying to memorize every inch. Your breath catches when her fingers tease the short sleeve of your dress, her thumb brushing your shoulder.

“Then,” she continues, her eyes flicking to yours, “I’d walk you home, make sure you got inside safe. And maybe… maybe if I was lucky, you’d ask me to come in and... Well, I don’t wanna spoil it.”

Her lips curve into a lazy smile, her fingers halting just above the small of your back.

“That’s how it was supposed to go,” she says softly, her voice dripping with affection as her gaze locks onto yours.

Your heart pounds in your chest, your body warm and your mind spinning. It’s impossible to think straight when her hands are on you, her voice so low and inviting.

“So why haven’t you?” you ask softly, your voice almost a whisper.

You lean in closer, and Vi instinctively follows your lips, her breath brushing against them.

“Hm?” she hums, clearly distracted, her gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips.

“—asked me out yet?” you finish, your voice trembling slightly, the boldness of the question surprising even you.

Vi freezes for a fraction of a second, then her lips tug into a small, almost bashful smile. Without saying a word, she leans in and kisses you again, soft and lingering, her lips fitting against yours. After a moment, her mouth leaves yours only to trail a path down to your jaw, her lips brushing against your skin.

She pauses at the curve of your neck, pressing a slow kiss there before muttering against your skin, her voice husky and low, “You make me nervous, too.”

You feel her lips curl into a smile against your neck, like she knows exactly what kind of effect she’s having on you. Her hands tighten slightly on your waist, holding you as if she can feel the way your legs are threatening to give out beneath you.

You tilt your head slightly, giving her better access without even thinking, and she takes full advantage of it. Her breath is warm against your skin, and every kiss feels like it’s melting away whatever distance was left between the two of you.

“Vi…” you murmur, unsure if you’re trying to stop her or encourage her to keep going.

She pulls back just enough to look at you, her lips slightly parted, her cheeks faintly flushed.

“Yeah?” she asks, her voice quiet.

You don’t have an answer, not one you can articulate anyway. All you can do is stare at her, your heart pounding so loudly you’re sure she can hear it. And then she smiles, a crooked, endearing smile that makes your stomach flutter in the best way.

Vi’s lips return to your neck, her breath warm against your skin. She lingers there, her mouth pressing gentle kisses to the curve of your throat, her hands holding your waist firmly as if to steady you. You feel her lips part, the faintest scrape of her teeth against your skin sending a shiver down your spine.

“V-Vi…” you whimper again, but your voice lacks conviction, too soft, too dazed.

And good god, her name sounds so good on your lips.

She hums in response, low and teasing, as her lips close over the sensitive spot she’s found, sucking lightly. The sensation sends a shiver through your entire body, and you grip the fabric of her shirt without thinking, your nails pressing into her shoulders as she kisses your neck.

Her hands slide up your back, keeping you close, and her lips move to a new spot, determined to leave another mark. You know you should stop her, that you’ll be left with marks you can’t easily explain, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

Her tongue traces over the freshly made hickey, soothing it before she moves lower, her lips brushing against your collarbone now. You feel lightheaded, completely consumed by her—her touch, her warmth, her scent, her hands, her lips.

“Vi…” you try again, but it comes out weaker than before, more like a plea than a protest.

She chuckles softly against your skin, the sound low and rumbling, and you feel her smile.

“Too much?” she asks playfully, though she doesn’t pull away.

You don’t answer. You can’t.

Instead, your fingers tighten against her shirt, and she takes it as permission to continue. Her lips find the hollow of your throat, her teeth grazing against the delicate skin there before she sucks lightly, her hands roaming lower to rest just above your hips.

By the time she finally pulls back, you’re breathless, your head spinning. Her lips are slightly swollen, her smile smug but tender as she looks at you.

“You’re gonna hate me when you see those,” she says softly, her fingers brushing lightly against your neck where her lips had been.

As soon as Vi pulls back, her lips curling into that smug, tender smile, you don’t think. You act. You grab her collar, pulling her down as you surge up to meet her lips, kissing her hard and desperate, pouring every pent-up feeling into that kiss.

Vi grunts softly against your mouth, low and rough, and it sends a thrill down your spine. Her hands, still gripping your waist, tighten possessively to keep you exactly where you are. You feel her smile against your lips for a moment before she kisses you back just as fiercely, her teeth grazing your bottom lip, her tongue brushing against yours in a way that makes your knees weak.

It’s almost overwhelming, the way she kisses you—like she’s been starving for you.

She breaks the kiss just long enough to push herself off the door, her hands sliding to your hips as she turns you around. Before you can even process what’s happening, your back hits the door with a soft slam, the wood rattling slightly behind you. Vi’s hands cage you in, one hand by the side of your head and the other on your hip, keeping you in place as she crashes her lips back onto yours.

She kisses you like she’s claiming you, like she wants to make it crystal clear who you belong to. Her heart swells with pride as she imagines that guy you were with outside, seeing all those little bruises she left on your neck for everyone to see.

“You’re so pretty, baby,” Vi murmurs against your lips, her voice hoarse and ragged, before diving back in.

Her fingers slide underneath the hem of your dress, tracing the soft curve of your skin, sending a shiver up your spine. The moment her touch makes contact with the bare skin of your thighs, you gasp, the feeling of her fingers inching higher and higher, making your pulse race.

You can feel the way she presses in, her grip firm, as if she’s marking territory, staking her claim. She wanted you so bad. But she’s careful with you, and you can feel how she’s holding herself back just a little, the restraint making you ache for more. You know she wants you just as much as you want her—and you can’t help but be drawn deeper into her orbit.

Her hands reach up under your dress, the pads of her fingers tracing your lace panties and Vi shudders at the feeling. She can feel the dampness and warmth of you already and fuck, it drives her absolutely wild.

“You’re already wet, sweetheart,” she says, smiling against your neck proudly.

“V-Vi… Here?” You gasp into her ear.

She nods eagerly, eyes dazed as she looks at you, “Mhm.”

“B-But, someone might hear—“

“Then, you’ll keep quiet for me, won’t you, princess?” She purrs into your ear. “Can you do that?”

Your breath hitches at the way she says it, making your knees feel weak. You feel her smile against your skin, a sly curve of her lips that tells you she knows exactly what she’s doing to you.

“Hmm?” she hums, her thumb rubbing the center of your panties in soft circles, testing your reaction. She tilts her head slightly to catch your gaze. “Or are you gonna make it hard for me?”

You swallow, your heart pounding as you meet her gaze, your lips parting to answer, but nothing comes out. Instead, you nod, your breath hitching as her thumb presses your clit over the fabric of your panties.

She smiles, one hand coming up to fondle your breast. You whimper when she squeezes softly, enjoying the soft fullness in the palm of her hands.

“Tell me.”

You get lost in her stare, blue eyes telling you how much she wants you.

“I-I want you, Violet.”

Without wasting another second, Vi slips the hand that was under your dress and into your panties, her fingers immediately coming in contact with your soaking cunt, your folds slick with want. She hums in approval, and all you can do is nod again, biting down on your lip to keep from making a sound. Vi notices, her smirk widening as she leans in again, her lips trailing down your neck in a series of soft kisses.

“That’s my girl,” she whispers, her voice vibrating against your skin, making it impossible to focus on anything but her.

And when she slips a finger inside, you drop your head to her shoulder, trying to muffle your moan. Her finger immediately curls against your tight walls and you can feel your knees buckle as she thrusts her finger into you.

“Oh, V-Vi—“

She lifts her head up and kisses you on the lips, her tongue slipping inside with ease. She swallowed your moans as she whimpered into your mouth, her body trapping you between her and the door.

“You look… so good,” she murmured, voice hushed, her lips grazing your skin as she spoke. “Couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

But then she adds another finger without any warning, her pace speeding up as you leaned your head back against the door behind you. You let your jaw fall when you feel her thrusting, and thrusting, and thrusting, and curling right into that spongy spot inside your pussy that made you moan.

“N-nh … A-Ah, fuck!” You gasp, unable to control your voice as she speeds up her fingers.

“Shh, shhhh, baby,” she murmurs against your lips, tilting her head as she watches you fall apart on her fingers. “Does it feel good, princess?”

“M-Mhm—ah—“

“Yeah?” You feel Vi smile on your lips.

Nodding your head, you whine, feeling your body grow weak the longer she fucked you.

“You’re so beautiful,” she murmurs against your neck, her voice low and husky.

Her fingers move quickly as they piston in and out of you, a soft squelching noise filling the empty room, teasing and testing your boundaries, gauging every reaction you give her. You could hear the low thrum of the music outside, playing in the lounge and in the bar, but you can barely begin to think about anything else other than the way Vi was making you feel, the way you were coming undone right in front of her.

“Look at you,” she whispers, her voice thick with adoration, “so pretty like this.”

Her free hand, the one that was fondling your tits, moves from your waist to cradle your face, her thumb brushing over your cheek as she leans in to kiss you deeply.

And holy fuck, you could feel it—how close you suddenly were.

You were sure Vi could feel it, too. She groans against your neck, head falling to your shoulder as she breathes you in, feeling your tight walls clench around her digits. You close. You were so damn close—

Then, Vi’s ears twitch—the sound of footsteps coming closer from behind the door.

She freezes. But only for a brief moment when she hears Mylo’s voice through the door, her body going taut as she glances at you. Your eyes widen, but Vi doesn’t pull away. Instead, a sly grin spreads across her face, her pupils blown wide as she looks at you.

Her lips find your ear, her words sending a shiver down your spine. “Stay quiet for me, yeah?”

And instead of stopping, her lips curl into a mischievous grin. Her fingers don’t falter, if anything she thrusted them faster into your wet pussy, her other hand moving quickly to cover your mouth as a quiet whimper escapes you, muffling all your delicious moans. You whimper against her mouth, eyes rolling back, not sure when you were going to cum. You felt so close—so fucking close.

“Shhh,” she whispers, her mouth brushing against your ear, her voice low and dripping with amusement.

From the other side of the door, Mylo’s voice comes again, confused but unconcerned. “Vi? You in there? You good?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she calls out, her voice steady, calm, like nothing at all is happening. “Just… needed a minute.”

You feel your face heat up as you struggle to stay composed, muffled against her palm, your eyes wide and pleading. But Vi’s gaze is locked onto yours as she continues to fuck you.

“Well, can you hurry up? The bar’s getting packed,” he says.

“Y-Yeah, I’ll be there!” Vi sighs as your legs begin to tremble.

Mylo grumbles something you can’t understand, footsteps retreating as he wanders off.

As soon as the sound of his steps fades, Vi lets out a low chuckle, finally removing her hand from your mouth. Her thumb brushes against your lips as she leans in close, her breath fanning your cheek. You were right around her fingers, and Vi couldn’t help but groan and press her thumb against your clit.

You jolt in her arms as you hold on to her shoulders for some leverage, trying to keep yourself steady, even though it felt like an impossible task. Vi groans when you clench, your soaking wet pussy dripping down your thighs, dripping onto her hand as she fingers you.

Vi could feel it on her fingers, slick and tight. How close you were—fuck fuck fuck. She moved faster and all you could do was hold on and cry into her shoulder.

“V-Vi, I—close—I’m—“

“You wanna cum? Yeah?” Vi whispers, using her body to press you against the door, fingers thrusting harder, deeper and faster. “Cum for me, baby.”

Then it crashes. Vi feels your body tense under her touch, your breaths coming faster as you gush around her fingers. She can see it in the way your hands clutch at her shoulders, the way your head tilts back slightly, lips parting as a soft, desperate mewl escapes your mouth.

But before that sound can grow louder, Vi’s lips crash onto yours, swallowing the moan that tries to escape. She doesn’t stop her fingers until you’re trembling in her arms. You melt against her, your body trembling, leaving you breathless and clinging to her, her strong arms and broad shoulders hold you up. Vi doesn’t pull back, keeping her lips on yours until she’s sure you’re done riding it out.

When she finally does break the kiss, her lips linger close, her forehead resting gently against yours. You’re panting softly, and she’s just smiling.

“Fuck,” she murmurs and you can feel her smirk against your skin as she presses a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth.

Vi’s hand slows to a stop, pulling her fingers out of you slowly, her palm pressing flat against your thigh as she watches you. Her gaze is stuck on you, like she couldn’t believe what she’s seeing. The way your body trembles against hers, the soft flush of your cheeks, the way your lips part as you gasp for breath—it’s all too much and somehow not enough at the same time.

Her chest tightens as she leans her head forward against your shoulder. Vi wasn’t prepared for this—wasn’t prepared for you. And the thought crashes into her like a freight train: she’s falling hard. Maybe she already has.

She lifts her head up and he thumb absentmindedly brushes against your skin as you catch your breath. You’re leaning against her now, your head resting lightly on her shoulder, still dazed and glowing after your orgasm. Vi doesn’t even realize she’s staring, her lips slightly parted, her pupils blown wide with love.

She blurts it out without even thinking.

“So… dinner… Friday?”

Her ears burn as she watches for your reaction.

“I mean—” she starts, her voice faltering, unsure whether to backtrack or double down.

But when she glances down at you, still pressed against her, all she can do is grin sheepishly.

“You’re seriously asking me out… right now?” you say, lifting an eyebrow at her. Your voice is soft and teasing, but still a little breathless from everything that just happened.

Vi’s lips curl into a crooked grin, and she lets out a laugh that’s equal parts nervous and amused. She’s holding you up slightly, biceps flexing under her shirt, her hands resting lightly on your hips, her thumbs grazing the fabric of your dress like she’s afraid to let go.

“Yeah,” she says, her voice low but steady, her grin widening. “Is that a problem?”

You shake your head, narrowing your eyes at her like you’re trying to figure her out. You dart your eyes downward, glancing down at where her hands are on you, feeling the warmth of her touch through the thin fabric.

“Stupid,” you mutter under your breath.

You stare at Vi.

“Friday?” you ask softly, tilting your head slightly, your voice teasing her.

Vi nods again, more earnestly this time, her lips parting like she’s about to say something, but nothing comes out. Instead, she just looks at you, like she’s this big, lovesick puppy. And, if she had a tail right now, you’re pretty sure it would be wagging hard enough to knock over a chair or two.

“Friday,” she repeats.

She shifts on her feet slightly, her hands still resting on your hips, thumbs brushing tiny circles against the fabric of your dress. You bite back a laugh, your smile growing as you watch her, all nervous and excited.

“Okay,” you say finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

Vi’s entire face lights up, her crooked grin spreading so wide it makes her dimples appear.

“Yeah?” she says softly, and you nod, still smiling.

And then she stops, her eyes flickering to your lips one last time, but she doesn’t move any closer.

She’s waiting—patiently, sweetly—for you to close the gap if you want to. And it makes your heart ache a little because she’s trying so hard to hold herself back for your sake, even when you can tell it’s killing her.

But as soon as your eyes day to her lips and smile softly, her restraint crumbles. She leans in and kisses you, her hands tightening slightly on your hips. Vi’s heart feels like it’s about to burst out of her chest. She likes you—so much it scares her, so much she doesn’t know what to do with herself right now except kiss you harder.

You kiss her back with just as much intensity, your fingers curling into the fabric of her shirt to pull her even closer. You can feel the slight tremor in her hands where they grip your hips, sliding up slowly to your waist. She tastes like peppermint gum and something faintly sweet, and the way she kisses you makes your heart race so fast you’re surprised she can’t feel it through your chest.

Vi pulls back for just a moment, her forehead resting against yours as she exhales a shaky breath. Her lips are still parted, her eyes half-lidded as she looks at you, and she’s smiling—wide and boyish and so full of joy that it makes your chest tighten.

“I really, really like you.”

You laugh softly, your hand moving up to touch her jaw, your thumb brushing over her cheek where her tattoo is.

“I really, really like you, too,” you tease, your own voice a little shaky from how lightheaded you feel.

Vi grins, her dimples showing, and then she kisses you again, this time slower, softer, like she’s savoring it.

You cant think of anything else but her. The noise from the bar, the memory of whatever brought you here tonight—it’s all drowned out by the feeling of Vi’s lips on yours and the warmth of her hands on your waist.

And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself stop overthinking.

Vi feels like she’s floating, her chest so full it feels like she might burst. She likes you so much it almost hurts, and the way you kiss her back like you feel the same way makes her head spin. She pulls you just a little closer, her fingers slipping around your waist, and she can’t stop the quiet, breathless laugh that escapes against your lips. You smile into the kiss, your own heart thudding loudly in your chest.

If this is what liking Vi feels like, you think, you don’t ever want it to stop.

ty for reading ! | navigation

#b’s writings #vi<3 #vi x reader #arcane #arcane x reader #vi arcane #fanfic

94 notes · View notes

bunnyinvanilla · 2 days ago

Note

some sort of miscommunication between price and reader where he’s stressed out and constantly checking his phone for updates for a case that’s been getting to him for months. Reader’s confused and overthinking why he’s constantly checking his phone and acting anxious even around her. Is there another girl? Are you assuming an exclusive relationship when he isn’t? He is just your sugar daddy, he’s using you and you’re using him, why are you questioning the dynamic now? This leads to her realising she wants to be committed and exclusive with price.

this THISSS is my favorite request so far. stop. i just want daddy price to be all mine mine mine and think about me me me only

you know price is a busy man, between being the captain of a military secret service unit and owning a bar, you are aware of the many responsibilities he carries. But lately, he’s been just too far off. Constantly checking his phone, always on different calls with mysterious people he cannot tell you about, you can’t help but worry.

undoubtedly, you trust him blindly and completely — but you’re also just a sensitive, vulnerable little girl. Since he’s always been able to dedicate you his full time and attention, why has he been so nervous and stressed around you lately? has he been hiding something from you?

you notice he’s not fully listening to you when you talk, hands always holding that phone instead of your waist or hand, always running a large hand through this dark, salt and pepper hair, a weary and bothered look on his face, something serious has to be on his mind.

you trust him, so why are you suddenly so concerned and afraid? what if he started talking to another girl? maybe he’s seeking a different girl’s attention? maybe that’s why he’s always checking his phone for something that you can’t know about. that thought alone makes your tummy heavy with a tight knot, and you want to cling to his leg and beg him to just be your daddy and yours alone.

has he gotten tired of you? has he found another girl to be his sugar baby? you’ve always considered your relationship to be exclusive, only between you and him, but maybe you’ve given it too much more importance and consideration than him? It started off as a plain convenience, him paying for your college, pampering and providing for everything you needed and wanted, and you giving him affection, the company of a young, pretty girl, a warm heart and a warm body to bury himself in.

but you have wanted more from the start — gosh, you know you’re practically in love with him, you want to be his only girl, you want him to be fully satisfied, focused and interested in you alone, his forever little princess :( you want him to be in love with you, that’s it.

you reading alone on his bed and him spending time in his dark office, scrambling with paperwork, you could understand, but that damn phone? gosh, he keeps waiting for someone to text him, keeping it with him all day long, and you start overthinking so much that you just want to cry your fragile little heart out, like a poor soft bunny that feels neglected by her owner.

and when you saw his phone lit up with a notification from a certain Kate, you felt your heart sink — he muttered a low, heavy “fuckin’ finally” and stood up, leaving the room to take another call, leaving you with a wobbly chin.

poor bunny you just don’t know that he’s been stressing for a complicated mission that he’s been following, and that has been getting to him for months now :(

when he came back, he found you on his spot, sitting ever so cutely with your legs underneath your bum, twirling your hair around your fingers, nervously — you looked up at him with doe, puppy eyes and took a little breath before saying “sir, you don’t..you’re not hiding something from me, are you?”

he immediately looked at you in the most disoriented way, the wrinkles behind his eyes stretching, and before you could open his mouth, you sat upright, unable to stop your anxious words to spill out. “I just- im sorry, you’re always on your phone and i get scared, please tell me you don’t have another girl, im in love with you, sir, and-“

john, having years and years of experience behind his back, having learnt how to stay calm and collected in every situation, slowly walked up to you, giving you a relaxed, slightly entertained expression.

with a slow, deliberate movement , he picked you up effortlessly, like you weighted nothing, and placed you on top of the nearest surface — you squeaked, but your eyes were still soft and preoccupied, cheeks red and warm.

“doll,” he called your name with a firm, reassuring tone, as if to placate your worrying thoughts — he took your chin between his fingers, lifting it upwards with his thumb to meet your sugary, saccharine eyes. “listen to me”

he held your chin up with his large hand, your own finding the edge of the table and gripping it. “I’ve been spending more time with my phone because im following a difficult case, and have been waiting for any update for over a month now, princess”

the roots that had clenched your heart slowly started to dissolve into tiny, light sprouts. oh.

“but..you’re always nervous and distant, I thought-“

“what did we say about letting your thoughts wander too much, love?” he squeezed your chin, giving you a lecturing look that made you tremble for a different reason, his tone was reassuring but surfaced into a lecturing one. “mmh? answer me, angel”

“that I have to..” you felt like a little lamb under his intense gaze, like a a little girl being scolded by her father when she almost got hurt and made him worry :( “..come talk to you when it happens, sir”

“exactly, good girl, sweetheart, you come talk to daddy, and don’t overthink your pretty little head”

“didn’t wanna make you upset..” you mumbled softly, his thumb stroking your bottom lip.

“you never make daddy upset, baby. I can’t tell you about my missions doll, they’re state secrets...” his eyes followed the motion of his ginger against your plush lips. “but the person I’ve been talking on the phone with is Kate, our station chief” his lips twitched into a little amused grin, you’re just so young, so naive and sweet, getting all possessive of him :(

“so you don’t…” you trailed off, blinking up at him. “I don’t have another girl, pup. Never dream of it while I have the sweetest, prettiest treat here” he chuckled, a deep, warm and rich sound.

“next time you worry, come to daddy and talk to me. Im sorry I’ve been too busy and occupied with work lately, sweetheart, but you’re the only girl in my heart and in my bed. You’re my one ‘n only sugar baby.” he pulled your chin and planted a heavy kiss on your lips.

“and about that little slip out of yours…” he grinned against your lips, making your face grow red, flame up instantly. “say that again f’me? daddy’ old, didn’t hear it well”

“that i…i’m in love with you..?”

oh of course price knew you loved him. He could tell since the first time you had laid your sweet, honeyed eyes on him that you were lovestruck. Part of him was surprised a young, innocent thing like you could spare interest for a worn, old war dog like him.

well, the other part was smug about it, he was a confident, cocky man, and he thrived on the effect he had on you — his own little princess.

“yeah, that, princess, you’ve got me wrapped around your lil finger, havent you? make this old bastard all hooked,” he’s completely drawn to you, even if he’s reluctant to admit it outright.

“you’re gonna make me marry you if im not careful enough, steal my heart, my wallet, and now my last name”

#john price x f!reader #john price x female reader #john price imagine #price x female reader #captain price x female reader #john price #john price x y/n #captain price x reader #call of duty #captain john price #tf 141

78 notes · View notes

just-dreaming-marvel · 2 days ago

Text

Love That Burns ~ Ending 2 ~ 53

LOVE THAT BURNS MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 2,790ish

Summary: You, Laura, and Logan restart your lives in 2024.

Notes: Apparently, people thought that the last chapter was the end. We still have some chapters left people! Please share reactions! Please remember to review the timeline posted here.

Reminder: I DO NOT do taglists. Please don’t ask. Please follow and interact! I appreciate any reblogs, likes, comments, and asks!

Though Wade was insistent that you, Laura, and Logan could live in his two bedroom apartment with his roommate Althea, you weren’t going to have that. After two nights of sleeping in the extra bedroom with Laura while Wade and Althea slept together and Logan slept on the couch, you were grateful that the two bedroom next door was available, allowing you and Laura to move in there. Not that Wade allowed you any privacy now that you had your own apartment.

“Morning, Buttercup and little wolf!” He exclaimed as he barged into your apartment after the first night you and Laura stayed in it. “It’s party day!”

“Morning, Wade,” you muttered, not fully awake yet.

“So what are you wearing to the party tonight? A sexy dress? A casual sweater? A—“

“I’m not going to your party, Wade.”

“What? Why would you break my heart like that? I already told all my readers that you’ll be there!”

“I’m not up for it,” you shrugged. “I start my job at the bar nearby tomorrow and I want to be well rested.”

“It’s not a party, party! It’s more like a large family dinner!”

You shook your head. “Sorry, Wade, I’m not going.” You walked out of the room and down the hall.

Wade sighed and looked at Laura. “Are you coming?”

“Yep,” she nodded.

“At least there’s one of you I don’t have to convince.”

~~~

Laura knocked on your open door. Wade had left a while ago, but Laura had allowed you some time alone before coming to talk.

“Hey, kiddo,” you shot her a smile as you organized your room, still setting things up. “What’s up?”

“I don’t know, you tell me,” she responded.

You sighed. You should have known Laura would figure that something was up. You had felt off since returning to this timeline—to 2024— and had begun to retreat into yourself. You were restarting your life, yet again. Your body still ached from using your powers. You knew that a younger version of you and your original Logan were currently living in the mansion, happily. A different Logan lived next door that you had mixed feelings towards. You now had an annoyingly nosy neighbor who was a doppelgänger from your X-Team member. Not to mention Blind Al, who was constantly high or that you still had a teenager that you loved dearly and had to take care of. Everything was getting to be overwhelming.

“I’m fine, Laura,” you told her. “There’s a lot going on—a lot that has happened. It’s going to take me a while to get used to it all… But I’m sure you’re feeling similarly.”

Laura nodded, coming over to sit on your bed. “It’s just… it’s him, but it’s not. Like they look similar and they talk similar. But…” You stopped what you were doing as she paused, coming over to sit beside her. “He doesn’t look at me with that annoyance that dad did… he… he sees… me. And I know he will never replace dad but it’s still nice.”

You slung an arm over Laura’s shoulders and pulled her into your side. “Your father… he cared about you in his own way.”

“I know.”

“And I know that he was harsh and mean and I wish I had the extra time to yell at him about it… I’m sorry that he wasn’t who he should have been.”

“You don’t have to keep apologizing for him, mom.”

“But I do… especially since he’s not here to do it.” Though, in the back of your mind you thought about how he wasn’t all that far away at all. Currently, in the mansion, with you.

“I will forever be grateful for him… for his sacrifice… for you.”

“I’m grateful for you, too.” You kissed her head before resting your head against hers. You sighed. “I can’t go to the party… Wade’s invited people from the mansion. I just… I can’t see them. Not yet.”

“Wade’s not going to be happy about it. He let you have a break this morning, but you know he’s going to throw a fit.”

“I know. But I’ll just be honest with him.”

“I think Logan will be disappointed too.”

“He’ll be fine.”

“Is he another reason you’re not going?”

“Yes… it’s just weird… he has his face and his eyes, but not… he doesn’t have the same memories at all… It’s going to take some getting used to.”

“I should stay home with you.”

“No. You need to go have fun. Make friends. Keep Logan and Wade in line and then come home and tell me all about it.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

~~~

Logan had stuck to his new room for a majority of the day, drinking. It was weird being in a world that was similar to his own but also completely different. Here, the X-Men were alive and revered. The Wolverine was a hero. Something that he had never truly been. There was also the fact that he had people who believed in him again and he was terrified to let them down like he had with the others.

Then there was you. Something inside of Logan was drawn to you. It wasn’t romantically, not yet anyway. But he wanted to be near you, get to know you, be friends. Just from what he had seen and heard in the brief interactions the two of you had, Logan knew that you were a strong woman, who had been through a lot. You had clearly raised a great daughter, who wasn’t even yours by blood. And you were different then the you from his universe. Though he didn’t know if you wanted to get to know him at all.

Logan exited his room when he heard others arrive. Wade quickly had to explain to the others (especially Colossus, Yukio, and Negasonic Teenage Teenage Warhead who lived at the mansion) why there was another Logan. Laura had already spoken to Wade before in private, threatening him to not speak about you with the others just yet.

Everyone was laughing and telling stories while Logan noticed Wade looking longingly at Vanessa. He reached over and took Mary Puppins from him.

“Give me the fucking dog,” he muttered. “Talk to the girl.”

Logan turned so he was facing Laura better, giving Wade and Vanessa some privacy. Laura smiled at gave Mary Puppins a pet. Logan’s eyes glanced around the room, his small smile fading when he realized who was missing.

“Kid, where’s your mom?” He asked Laura. “She runnin’ late or somethin’?”

Laura shook her head. “She’s not coming,” she answered.

“What? Why?”

The young woman sighed. “She’s… struggling. It’s not easy coming back to a time when you know your younger self is living happily with your husband not too far from here.”

Logan hadn’t even thought of that. Yes, he knew the rules the TVA had for you to come back to 2024, but he hadn’t taken them as seriously as maybe he should have. He couldn’t even imagine the turmoil you must be going through. Logan focused back on Laura, quickly realizing that she may be dealing with something similar.

“Are you, uh, okay?” He asked.

Laura was taken by surprise. “I’m getting there. It’s different for me though.”

Logan nodded, not wanting to press any further. His eyes fell to the pizza box in front of him. “Does your mom like pizza?”

~~~

You could hear the hustle and bustle of Wade’s party next door. You had pushed Laura out the door and locked it. The apartment seemed empty, overwhelmingly so though you knew it was just your mind playing tricks. As the anxiety seeped in, you were able to get yourself to the couch on shaky legs. You began to go through a breathing routine as you tried to keep your powers at bay. It wouldn’t be any good to anyone if you burned down the apartment already.

Your hands balled into fists as you could feel them begin to heat up. Tears slipped down your face as you tried to focus on not forming flames. A burning sensation ripped through your hands, causing you to snap them open. Instead of forming flames as you were trying hard to avoid, your hands were burning. Burn marks and blisters were appearing on the skin of your hands.

A timid knock on the door had your head snapping in that direction, eyes wide. You held your breath, waiting for the person to leave, but they only knocked again.

“Y/N,” Logan’s voice broke through the door, “It’s, uh, me. Logan. Laura told me that you weren’t coming to the party so I brought some pizza over.”

If you had been in the right frame of mind, you would have found it cute that he brought you food. But instead you were in pain and panicked that he could break the door down and see your hands. You stood up quickly and stumbled to the kitchen, biting down on your lip as you shoved your hands under cold water.

Logan could hear movement from the other side of the door. His brows pinched together as he moved his ear closer to listen in. There was a brief scent of smoke along with the sound of your stumbling feet and rushing water. Perhaps you burnt something on accident.

“You okay in there?” He asked. You bit down on your lip harder. “Need any help?” You remained as quiet as you could. Logan sighed.

Laura had said that you were struggling. Even told him that it had to do with your husband of the same name and face. Perhaps it wasn’t the best idea for him to come over.

“I’m going to leave the pizza on the rug,” he told you. “Let me know if you need anything.”

Logan set the plate of food down before heading back to his apartment. He spared your door one last glance before he slipped back into the party.

You on the other hand, were still in the kitchen, trembling. You turned off the water and grabbed a hand towel to place your hands on. With both hands burnt and no first aid kit, you didn’t know what to do next. You definitely couldn’t let Laura come home to find you like this. Maybe if you just went to bed, your body would heal itself by morning. That seemed like the best option.

~~~

“Thanks for the fun, Wade,” Laura said as she headed out the door.

“That’s for not being a party pooper like your mom,” he commented. “She owes me, especially since all my readers were expecting something juicy tonight.”

She rolled her eyes and stepped into the hallway. Her face fell when she noticed the plate of pizza sitting there. Logan peeked his head out, disappointed when he saw the same thing.

“Let us know if either of you need anything,” he quietly said before heading to his room.

Laura nodded and headed to the apartment door. She picked up the plate before unlocking the door and slipping inside. The place was dark and you weren’t anywhere to be seen. Laura put the pizza away in the fridge before heading down the hall. She stopped by your room and tried to open the door, only to find it locked. She sighed, debating on whether or not to wake you. Deciding to not, Laura went to her room and got ready to bed. Her thoughts were focused on you and how there was a possibility that you were doing worse than even she knew.

~~~

You were grateful that you were able to get some sleep. But you woke up and the burns were still on your hands. As quickly and quietly as you could, you threw on a jacket and left the apartment, hands buried in the pockets. You walked to the nearest store, buying burn cream, gauze, wrap, pain killers, and multiple sets of gloves.

When you returned to the apartment, Laura was up.

“Hey, mom,” she greeted, looking at you with concern. “Where were you?”

“I just had to get a few things from the store,” you told her, heading towards the bathroom.

“Are you okay?”

You stopped and looked back at her, forcing a smile that you knew she wouldn’t believe. “I’m fine.”

“Mom…”

“I need to get ready for work. I start today and have to go in early to fill out paperwork.” Then you disappeared into the bathroom.

~~~

You were glad that no one had yet to question why you were wearing gloves in May. You got to your new job at the bar near by, painfully filled out the paperwork, and then got training. You tried to mask the fact that your hands hurt with every little movement by focusing on what your manager was telling you. Your manager sent you home before the rush, telling you to rest up and you’ll work it tomorrow.

Laura was in the kitchen making dinner when you returned home.

“Hey mom,” she greeted with a smile. “How was work?”

“Exhausting,” you replied, shooting her a smile. You walked over and sat at the table. “It will be a good thing though. How was your day?”

“Fine. Wade came home, insisting on help me set up my room. Claimed it to be bonding time.”

You laughed. “I’m sure he was great help.”

“Oh, so much,” she laughed. “And—wait, mom, are you wearing gloves?” She came over to you. “Why are you wearing gloves?”

“I’m fine, Laura. Just—“

“Are you cold?” The fear in her eyes hand your heartbreaking. She knew that you being cold wasn’t a good thing.

“No, no, that’s not it.” You took a deep breath, knowing that you couldn’t keep it from her. “Could you, uh, pull off the gloves for me?”

Laura sat down and gently pulled off your gloves. Her eyes widened upon seeing the bandages that had spots of blood and ooze. She carefully unwrapped one of your hands to see the damage.

“Mom… when—Why?” She said quietly.

“I was trying to prevent my hands from going up in flames,” you explained. “But it looks like I just made it worse.”

“Is it healing?”

“It looks slightly better than last night. So it’s healing, just slowly.”

You and Laura jumped as the door slammed open. Wade waltzed in with Logan trailing behind. You quickly stuffed your hands between your thighs to hide the damage.

“My two favorite girls!” Wade exclaimed. “Is dinner ready?”

“Almost,” Laura mumbled, heading back to the stove.

“Well, Buttercup,” Wade plopped into the seat beside you, “we sure missed you last night.”

“I’m sure it was a lot of fun,” you said, standing. You stuffed your hands into your pant pockets with a wince. Logan noticed. “I’m going to go wash up before dinner.”

They all watched as you walked down the hall and into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you.

“What can we do to help?” Logan offered. Laura could sense that the question had multiple meanings: help with dinner and help with you.

Laura shook her head, opting to remain silent. Logan grew more concerned. Wade and him had clearly interrupted something. Wade told stories as Laura finished dinner and getting it on the table and you took your time in the bathroom. When you finally reappeared, you had new compression gloves on your hands.

“What’s with the gloves Elsa?” Wade asked, immediately noticing them. “Or I guess the opposite of Elsa since you deal with fire and she—“

“I’ve just been having some pain,” you brushed him off. “I’m fine.”

You glanced over and Logan who was looking at you like he didn’t believe you. You looked away. What was with Logan’s and seeing right through you? Wade took over the dinner conversation, allowing you to focus on eating and ignoring your problems. Logan kept stealing glances at you throughout the dinner, noting the way your hands had begun to shake, even just subtly.

“Thanks for dinner, Laura,” Logan said as he grabbed his plate and stood up. He quickly swiped your plate up too. “Wade and I can handle clean up.”

“You don’t have to,” you said, shaking your head.

“I know.”

~~~

Laura lingered in your doorway as she watched you rewrap your hands. Tears fell down your cheeks and onto your hands.

“Mom,” Laura whispered, coming to sit beside you.

“I’m so sorry, Laura,” you cried. “I’m so sorry.”

“What for?”

“You’re going to have to deal with me and my dwindling ability… And I… Soon I won’t be able to make those flames for you anymore…”

Laura wrapped you up in a hug. “I don’t need your flames, mom… I just need you.”

next chapter >

71 notes · View notes

starlost-mochi-x · 2 days ago

Note

hello 🙊 for the prompt list thing may i request 17 + 28 with lino or jisung pls 😌 excited to see what you'll come up with heheh

i had fun with this request, anon. it's kind of sad so maybe i'll write a little part 2 to it but ig we all need some angst from time to time. i was actually going to write jisung for this fic but i'll save him for another ><

rose - lee minho

pairing: lee minho x reader

summary: you and lee minho, the smartest student on campus, get unexpectedly paired up to work on an assignment

genre: kinda angsty ngl, escalates quickly, college!au, mutual pining, mentions of being thrown out a window (it's a minho fic what do you expect)

a/n: this isn't really how i saw it going but fuck it we ball. dividers by @kodaswrld

⛓️ prompts: 17. "Why are you looking at me like that?" / 28. "You're looking at me like that again."

skz prompt list | skz masterlist

"It doesn't make sense," you groan, dropping your head into your hands. Giving up completely, you drop yourself further into the mess of books and papers scattered across Minho's low desk.

Today, the sun is watery and filters weakly through the wide windows of Minho's dorm bedroom, making everything seem pale and slightly colder than usual. You rub your feet together under the desk, your fluffy socks providing some comfort, before it evaporates as you turn back to the part of the assignment you've been struggling over for the past hour.

Minho is sitting across from you, embedded in his own section of the assignment; his head is bent and he sits with his back straight, his elbows positioned so that they just touch the edge of the table. He is pale in the weak sunlight and the only movement he makes comes from the slight flicking of his wrist as he neatly scribes down notes, apparently unaware of your predicament.

He looks like a statue, you think.

"Hey, Minnie," you hum lowly, resorting to annoying him instead of re-attempting your part of the assignment. "Help me out."

"No. And don't call me that."

You groan, pressing your fingers down onto the table and pushing several miscellaneous papers his way. A couple of sticky notes go flying too, and Minho sighs irritatedly as he plucks one off of the collar of his pristine white shirt.

Your eyes follow the trail of his hand as he lowers it, before it creeps back up. His top two buttons are undone and you can see the attractive glint of a necklace, a sleek chain perhaps, against the perfect porcelain skin of his throat-

You sigh. Of all people, why him?

You wish you'd been allowed to choose your own partner for the project. But your professor had other ideas in mind and decided to pair up random people 'to facilitate teamwork and spark new connections' or whatever. Something like that.

Much to your disappointment, you'd been separated from your friends and teamed up with Lee Minho. You knew of him but had never actually talked. Unless you counted that one time where you'd run face-first into him as he'd been coming out of the college library. And all that had been was a rushed apology from you and a slight, huffy glare from him.

He was kind of strange, you thought. He always sat at the front of every lecture, always finished his work way before it was due and scored perfectly every time. Without missing a beat and without breaking a sweat. It was so incredibly irritating.

On top of that, he was popular, usually swarmed by friends and other students whenever he walked the halls. Not that he seemed to notice most of the time. Or maybe he just didn't care. Maybe he was a robot. It would explain his behaviour.

A really attractive robot at that.

You crane your neck a little, peering over the stacks of books between the both of you and see that he's almost done writing up his notes for his section. All without even so much as a glance in your direction. Your page isn't even half-full and you're stuck.

"Why'd you ask me to come to your dorm if you were just gonna ignore me?" You whine.

"Because," he says calmly, "it's easier than having to do it over the phone."

Little shit.

"What about the library?" You retort. "We could have just gone there."

Minho doesn't take his eyes off the paper and he doesn't reply either. Faint colour rises in his cheeks but you're too wrapped up in your own current problems to notice.

"Minho, come on. We're supposed to be working together." You tilt your head and fix him with a pleading gaze, half-despair, half panic. You're not dumb, and maybe not incredibly smart like Lee Minho either, but this assignment is difficult. And it's harder when he's refusing to help.

You don't take your eyes off of him, deciding to keep your gaze fixed on his face until he chooses to acknowledge you. You wait almost ten minutes before he looks up again, and he jolts slightly, like he hasn't realised you've been fixated on him all that time.

He stiffens. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Because. I need help."

"You're clever. Figure it out on your own."

Your heart flutters from the rather direct compliment but you choose to ignore it. "Minho, please."

He smirks suddenly, a short bout of apparent confidence, teasing as he imitates you. "Minho, please."

You swear and lift a fist but he doesn't even flinch. He looks at you quietly and his smile disappears, then he gets up and crouches down beside you, poring over your page.

He hums. "You didn't write shit."

You groan. "Yes, I know. Thank you for clarifying."

"You're welcome," he murmurs, unfazed, eyes fixed on the page.

It's then that you realise how close he is; he's not sitting down fully, leaning on the balls on his feet, a temporary sitting position. One hand is on the desk and he's leaning in a little, his mouth moving slightly as he exhales out words, skim-reading your page.

He smells good, you think.

Minho is there for what feels like hours but is probably a few seconds, and then he leans back, fixing you with a stare. You feel the unusual warmth of his presence near you fade, like a mug of hot tea gone cold, and a bitter feeling rises in your throat. You open your mouth a little, maybe to prepare for whatever insult he's concocted, but it doesn't come.

What does come is an unexpectedly gentle explanation of your section of the assignment. He moves a little closer to point things out on your research papers, so close that if you turned your head, the tip of your nose would brush his chest. He's looming over you a little but you feel strangely protected, and you find yourself relishing in the almost-contact of Minho being there beside you.

So much so that when he leans back to clarify that you've understood what he's been saying, you find yourself as a loss for words. All you can do is gaze up at his stupidly perfect face, mind whirring with many thoughts but none as present as the fact that you hadn't been listening and now he will probably throw you out the window.

"Y/n."

You blink once, slowly, stupidly.

"You're looking at me like that again."

And maybe it's the fact that this whole thing feels unreal, or that the assignment has you so dazed, or that you're working with Lee Minho of all people, but you suddenly find your hand reaching up to brush a strand of soft hair out of his eyes. It trails down until your thumb rests gently in the middle of his plush bottom lip. You expect him to move back, chide you, glare, push you away.

But he doesn't.

Later, you will be embarrassed by this memory, and the fact dimly registers somewhere in the back of your mind.

It seems to register in Minho's mind too, because his eyes widen a fraction and suddenly you find yourself falling off the soft, ethereal cloud of fantasy into the real world, where consequences and rational thoughts exist, though they didn't several seconds earlier.

You jerk your hand back and he looks almost disappointed, but you don't notice. A strand of fumbled apologies leaves your mouth as you stand, almost tripping, and quickly collect your belongings.

Minho has his hands out, seemingly trying to stop you, but his face is burning and unsure and you brush past him, fleeing as your eyes sting with tears. You rush through the unfamiliar setting of his dorm and eventually find the door.

"Wait," Minho gasps, seemingly out of breath. From what, you don't know. He still has his hands out, but he doesn't move to touch you, maybe afraid that he might scare you or cause some sort of unwanted reaction. Not that you're not already having one.

"Please," he says, quieter. You're still fumbling with the lock on the door, back to him. And you're not listening, too dazed and afraid to turn and face him. Humiliation washes over you in waves.

You feel so embarrassed.

But Minho has yet to throw an insult or a glare. He's just standing there, his hands out, almost reaching, and an expression of near-worry on his face. It looks strange, like he's not quite sure how to move his features to express it. In other situations, you would have laughed. Now all you want to do is cry.

The lock on the dormitory door finally gives and you rush out, disappearing down the hallway in a blur. Minho lets out a last, frantic 'wait' and considers rushing after you, but his rationality tells him it would just make things worse.

He pushes the door shut in a haze and sinks down against it, his hair ruffling against the smooth, white wood. He finds himself out of breath again, like he's been running, though he hasn't, and his stomach feels funny. Like something is leaping around inside it.

It's not unpleasant, almost a nice feeling, but it's unfamiliar and Minho has learnt to recognise that unfamiliar is usually not a good sign. He's supposed to know things and the feeling won't stop, so he puts both hands on his stomach to try and press it out, maybe.

But it doesn't work. Flashes of you run through his mind and the feeling only intensifies. His face feels like it's burning and he is bewildered, rosy in the weak sunlight. And he has a sudden, strange longing, yearning, maybe, to see you again.

Is it because you touched his face like that and he kind of liked it, maybe? Is it because he enjoyed having you around even though you're not a friend, or is it because you're a familiar face at college, and familiar is good and familiar is safe? He doesn't know.

A rather raw feeling surfaces in his chest and he almost gags at the unexpectedness of it. Suddenly he's on a stormy ocean, waves ravaging and lightning flashing all around him. He falls off his boat and loses his grip on the anchor and sinks into the cold, dark sea.

It runs down his cheeks, staining them wet and salty. And he's not one to be overemotional or show much of it in the first place unless there is a real reason, but he can't stop.

Minho puts his head in his hands and cries.

a/n: part 2?

80 notes · View notes

ziminy · 1 day ago

Text

Nightshift rewritten pt.2

How's life with Gojo and Geto as your roommates

Tags: smut, mdni, ageless and blank blogs will be blocked, f!reader, roommates, college au, making out, almost got caught, humping, fingering, jealousy, delusion (lots of it), pet names, marking, threesome, oral(m and f receiving), something something in the shower, something something on the couch, edging, not so friendly competition, the reader is more on the introverted side,

Author's note: I caught a cold (⁠;⁠´⁠∩⁠`⁠;⁠)

Pt1 Pt3 masterlist roommates masterlist

You woke up in your bed all alone. A random shirt from your closet on you, and the feeling of loneliness and guilt hit you. For some reasons, you felt like the player in this situation.

Were you wrong to say you only wanted to see if your roommates were as good as people say? Because even now, after you woke up with a clear mind you only could think about Suguru's body, but nothing more.

No romantic feelings, you didn't felt like asking him on a date. You didn't even cared about how he was, because everything was clear the moment he left your room.

You weren't that different from them after all, just the way they play with people's feelings so are you with theirs. You weren't doing it intentionally or to take revenge on them, you simply just couldn't see yourself in a relationship at the moment, knowing your current situation.

But you still feel guilty, for using the dark haired man for some stress relief. Even if it was mutual, you still have a heart and you understand emotions. You had to talk to him at least, make sure nothing changes. So you got out your room, head empty as your brain simply just didn't want to work, still thinking about what happened last night.

You went to the kitchen, still not being able to process what's happening around you, but somehow knowing exactly what you're looking for. And you found him, sitting peacefully at the dining table, enjoying a cup of coffee and scrolling on his phone.

As much as you're trying not to think about it, you couldn't help but want him a little more. What happened yesterday wasn't enough, for you at least since you had no idea what he was feeling like.

There were marks on his neck, and if you're being honest, you had no idea you left any to begin with. His messy hair that looked like you just finished fucking. It didn't look like you two parted ways long hours ago.

He took his eyes away from his screen for a moment, taking a sip from his cup and then moving his eyes away from you back to his phone. He opened his mouth, closed it and then open it once again, not sure of what to do or say. He was acting like he never went through this, even if it happened countless of times for him already. "Morning." he said after a while, too anxious at the way you stared at him, not doing a move.

"Yeah." you nodded, getting close to the table and sitting the opposite of him, far away from your usual spot.

"I didn't think you'll be up this early." he tried to avoid your eyes, too embarrassed to face you.

"I couldn't sleep." while he was agitated your voice was completely cold. No expression on your face as you kept looking at him shamelessly.

"I see." he took another sip of his coffee, turning to the side and trying to think of an excuse to get out of there or else he'll fuck up. "Well, I'll go now." he tried to run.

"I want to talk to you." it can wait. Right now he doesn't have an explanation for what happened last night.

"Let's talk later." he really had to go.

"No, let's talk now." you grabbed him by the side of his shirt when he walked past you, stopping him in place so you could have a better look at him. "About last night-"

"This isn't the right time." he tried to brush your hand off.

"No, listen-" he was so stubborn.

"I'll text you when I'm ready." he would not.

"Suguru, what are we?" he froze at that question. He was afraid of those same exact words. "Because I don't want us to be anything." huh? That made his eye twitch.

"What do you mean by that?" he finally stopped running, turning around to face you, looking down at you who was still sitting down just as expressionless as before.

"Can we stay the way it was before?" absolutely the fuck not. "I'm not ready for anything at the moment." and that means he is? I mean, you spoke the same exact words he was thinking about, but how dare you not ask for anything from him in return? He would have indulge you and took you out on a few dates if you asked him to. He was running away earlier because he didn't thought he was that ready to commit himself to you, you had to give him a few days to think of all the possibilities, of how far in life can you two make. The dating life, the wedding, how many kids you'll have and how your house would look like. But this was genuinely ridiculous, you didn't even let him have some time to think about it.

"Then?" he asked, still waiting for you to explain yourself and your poorly choice of words.

"I don't know." you shrugged, making him even angrier at you. "I'm happy with myself, you seem to be doing the same. I don't see why we should be together." this was worse than a circus, this kind of buffoonery was something he never seen before and it's getting on his nerves. So what if he seems like he's doing good, that doesn't means that you can just cockblock him like that.

"What if I don't want to?" you shrugged again, not being able to think of anything.

"What do you want to do then?" this situation was going to total opposite. You were supposed to ask him out, like the majority of people that dragged him into their beds, he was supposed to say no. But this time he was going to appear a few days later and take you out on a white horse. You were supposed to make him realize that he was a dumbass, that he can't live like this forever and try to change himself.

I mean, he knows girls like you. The quiet type, the weirdly attractive that always keeps to themselves around people they don't know. And he heard about the magic your people had, the way it can swipe anyone off their feet and settle them for life. He prepared for this, he was ready to commit to a single person, worship you like he never had anyone in his life. He was ready to mold your body to fit him perfectly. And yet you decided to destroy all his dreams. "I don't want anything either." he was so bitter about this. He can't believe he's lying not only to you but to himself, he can't even find an excuse for his words.

"Do we stay the way we used to?" he shook his head, not wanting to open his mouth anymore. "Then?" he moved his hands towards you, grabbing you by your sides and lifting you up to place you on the table.

He pressed his body against yours, his crotch right into yours and hoping that you could at least get an idea of what's going on in his head. "Do we have to pretend that nothing happened?" he spoke quietly, his breath hitting your skin and it only left chills down your spine. "We can do it as many times as we want and nothing will change if you don't want to."

"What about you then? Do you want something to change?" he didn't dare to answer your question, knowing it might affect what you're going to say next.

"You're overthinking." for a moment you thought that something was going to happen, looking at the way he tried to avoid eye contact, holding back something you had no idea what it was. Only to disappoint you in the end. Yeah, maybe you're overthinking, like you always did. Perhaps you were the only one with big feelings in here and he just opened your eyes. Then you can keep doing this without feeling guilty about his feelings. Somehow, you feel more at ease. He just wanted to feel something, and so did you. So why were you hoping for him to say something more, anything rather than that.

"Kiss me." you said, trying to see if this was really all in your head and perhaps he wanted you just as much as you wanted him.

You didn't know what to expect, because the next moment you said that, his lips were on yours. His weight being pressed against your body, grinding against you as the kiss got too deep for anyone's liking. But you didn't complained. Closing your eyes and dragging him closer, hoping this time you'll actually get to feel more. His hands under your shirt, lifting it up and exposing more of your body. You moaned quietly when he started to play with your breasts, giving him a soft look that made his cock throb in his pants.

Fuck it, he'll just do it. He broke the kiss for a moment, hands going to his pants to free himself, and at the same time tugging at yours too. This wasn't the way he wanted to do it, a quicky that didn't let him have more time to explore you, but he couldn't complain when you didn't complained.

You looked at him, at the expression he had on his face and at how he was biting his lip a bit too hard. You opened your mouth, wanting to tease him a little but your words got stuck in your throat when you heard the front door opening, following by the sounds of some shoes hitting the ground and some bags being moved around.

Panick was written all over your face, and as much as Suguru was annoyed, he knew exactly what to do in that situation.

He lifted you up from the table, getting your clothes in place and fixing your hair. Then tried to fix his clothes a bit too, not too much or it would become suspicious. He sat back down on his chair, his phone in one hand while his coffee in the other, making it look like it was just another morning, even if his heart was beating so hard he could barely keep his composure.

"Eh? You're up? But I wanted to surprise you guys." Gojo's voice could be heard from the door behind you, and you didn't dared to turn around and look. "Suguru, what happened to you?" he said, noticing the way his friend was sweating and his hair all over the place.

"Slept badly last night." the dark haired man said, avoiding eye contact and taking a sip of his coffee.

"You look just as bad as him. You're alright?" the white haired man said when he got next to you, looking at how your eyebrows furrowed, and something in your eyes that looked like you just got scared to death.

"Couldn't sleep." you looked down, trying to forget about what just happened.

"It's because I wasn't here, was it?" Satoru seemed way too happy with this. "Don't worry, I'm not leaving any time soon." and that's exactly what Suguru was afraid of. "Anyway, here's what I got from home." he placed some bags with food on the table.

For the next few days both you and Geto were cockblocked by the white haired man. Every time you got a bit of alone time, he had to appear out of nowhere and made sure to sit between you two. He didn't let you get close, always making sure to sit next to you and slap Suguru's hand away if he tried to make a move. I mean, since when does he have the balls? And how dare he try to get close to you? Not when Gojo is there. Absolutely not, it was out of question.

Maybe it was the jealousy, and it really didn't helped that you looked so friendly to each other after just a day. No because, he needs to know what that guy did. How did he got you to come running to him?

The way Gojo stared at you was obviously, so obvious that it made you put questions. Did you had something on your face? Was your hair alright? Or.. did he knew? You always panicked at the thought of him knowing what you did. And he noticed it right away. How you frown, giving him a quick look and then look away, looking at him again only to run from there in the end.

Did Suguru told you something while he was away? Did he told you something embarrassing about him and now you're avoiding him? I mean, you can't really call it avoiding when you act the same as before around him.

Was it the fact that he was seeing himself in Geto's position that made him a bit delusional? Because he was doing it before but now it got worse.

It was clearly your fault, no matter how much he thinks about it, it's definitely you who is the problem. Why would you show him that you could make that barrier that you put between them disappear? Now that he knows you can open up he kept thinking about it.

"I won't be back today." it was around 6 in the afternoon when Suguru sent something in the group chat.

"Have fun." you texted, going back on doing whatever you were doing before.

"Wanna watch a movie?" you got another text, this time from Gojo in private. Well, last time you watch a movie you ended up with someone in your bed. But you wouldn't say no since you're bored anyway. "Come in the living room." he texted again, like he knew you'd say yes.

You don't have anything better to do anyway. And it's not like you'd end up in the same situation again, right? I mean, it would be ridiculous for it to happen two times in a row. Right?

Damn. You should have kept your mouth shut.

You can't even remember how you ended up bend over Satoru's lap, and his long fingers bullying their way inside your pussy. A movie he said, whatever you'd watch a movie or make one to watch it later he didn't specify.

You can't even look at him in the eyes, you gave up too easily. The moment he called your name, in a much lower tone than his usual colorful one, was the end of you. His eyes made you weak in the knees, and it didn't took long for things to escalate.

"I actually wanted to see this movie for quite a while now." he said, not even paying attention to the tv. His eyes were on your back, looking at the shirt that you still had on. He wanted to take it off, to see everything he wouldn't usually see. All your hidden self, your soft skin that he wanted to touch and bite into.

"Wait." you cried when he started to curl his fingers a bit too hard against a spot that felt way too good than you'd like. Gripping the cushion underneath you, and wanting to sink your teeth into something.

But before you could do anything else, he took his hand away from you, leaving you all empty and whining mess. "Don't you want to feel good? I could give you something much better." with tears in your eyes, you looked at him. If he knew what you wanted why was he like this?

He took your shirt off, now sitting all naked on his lap. You looked at him freeing his cock from his pants. He was big, and you're afraid you might not be able to take him. But you're determinated, and you won't leave this room until you get a taste of that dick.

"Easy now." he said, one of his hands on your back as you tried to get him inside of you. "Don't force yourself." you're the one who should decide that.

He's doing this totally wrong. You want to hear encouragements, him praising you for doing so good for him. You want him, you want his hands all over you, to feel him in places no one touched until now. So how dare he hold back right now?

Look at him, his hands on the couch, right next to your bodies and not daring to get anywhere near you. His back resting against the couch, leaning into it so he could give you space, when you clearly didn't want that.

"Touch me." you didn't even realized you said that out loud until he started laughing.

You got the tip of his cock inside, letting out a small noise and looking at him. You were really trying your best, but this was too much. You didn't expect to be stretched out like that. "Told you to take it easy." you wanted to bite him. He wasn't being useful at all.

You kept getting more of his cock inside of you, sinking your hips into his until he got all the way in, touching that one spot deep inside you. You did it, you actually did it. Well, it hurts a little but it's nothing that you can't handle it.

Holding onto his shoulders, you moved slowly, taking a few seconds to yourself every time you raised your hips, taking a small break before you got him all the way in again. It wasn't much, but it was honest work, and you're happy with your progress.

What made you work even harder was his moans. The way he was still holding himself back and moaning quietly, making your inside clenched, squeezing him and making him let out a louder moan. You're going to bully him, you're this close on pushing him down and trying even harder than before.

Can't he see you're willing to work yourself over the top for him? He could request something out of pocket and you'd do it in a heartbeat.

You took one of his hands and placed it on your side, making him to finally look at you. He did got the hint, but he still didn't dared to help you in any way, fearing he might do something he'll regret later.

But he's willing to try at least. He placed his other hand on one of your boobs, playing with your nipple and kissing your neck, sucking on your skin and leaving red marks behind him.

He wanted to do a lot more, he really does, but he's so afraid of being too rough on you. If he hurts you in any way he won't be able to forgive himself. Even so, if you keep being this delicious he might actually forget about all his morals.

"Tell me what you want me to do." he said out of breath. "I'll do it."

"Touch me more." he let out a moan. "Like you mean it." but he meant everything that he did until now. What more do you want from him?

"Something else." his words were driving you crazy.

"Kiss me." say less. He smashed his lips against yours, kissing you like there was no tomorrow. It was like he was trying to eat you, dragging your body closer to his unconsciously and trying to deeper the kiss. Your chest pressed against his, and it made him realized that he still had his clothes on him.

"Wait a moment." he interrupted the kiss, parting ways with you for a moment to take off his shirt. He's not going to miss the chance to have your body right against his because of some clothes standing in the way.

He pressed his lips against yours again, a hand on your back and leaning in towards you, making you lose a bit of your balance. Now he was in control and he didn't even realized it. In fact, I don't think any of you realized that he started to move you on him. Faster moves, out of pace and no certain direction where it was going. Everything was way too sloppy now.

But his kisses got better. His tongue in your mouth and looking for yours as he kept guiding your body on his. "Fuck." he cursed, moaning your name in your mouth as he started to move his own hips forward.

"Toru." you tried to say something, to let him know about how close you were.

"I know baby, I know." it's alright, he was there. He wasn't going to leave you alone through this one. He feels the same way as you, and he was trying so hard to cum at the same time as you. I mean, if you do, doesn't that means you have a different type of connection? It's like you're meant for each other.

His delusions didn't helped him, seeing you cum made him desperate for his high too. Mostly to show you that you're not the only one who's struggling.

He was putting quite a show for you, wasn't he? From the expression he had to the way he was a moaning mess. It never failed to make your stomach turn upside down, clenching around him and making the grip on you tighter than before, not letting you go until he finally came.

You just stood there, enjoying the warmth your bodies gave to one another. His nose pressed against your neck, bathing in your scent, relaxing at the way you played with his hair. He could stay inside you forever, your pussy was feeling way too good for him to just pull out.

But then it hit him. He was being an idiot, he was showing you his weak side, that he too was like everyone else even if he always played high and mighty.

He couldn't do it like this. No matter how much he likes you, he can't show any signs of weakness.

So, he got you off him, dressing you back into your clothes and getting you to your room and making sure you're comfortable, before he too did the walk of shame back to his bedroom.

The next day he didn't want to get out of bed, too tired after what happened yesterday. But he was forced to wake up by someone knocking at his door.

And there you were, looking up at him with big doe eyes and making him feel like he wasn't that tired anymore. "Can we talk?" you asked in a sweet voice, making him gulp and grip the door way too hard.

"Sure." he couldn't even hear himself. "What happened?" he couldn't think of a single thing besides bending you over the closest thing in that room.

"About yesterday." don't even get him started. "Can we stay the same as before?"

"No." you must be insane for asking him that in the first place. "Absolutely not."

"Then? I don't want to get in a relationship." I mean, he did liked you, more than he likes to admit. But that didn't necessarily means he wanted to be in a relationship either. He wanted to parade you for the world to see you're his, but the thought of actually putting in effort turned him off. It might have been because of all the people that chased after him, that and his unsolved issues. He can't be with someone until he put his thoughts in place, and knowing him, it would take a long time before he could finally settle down.

"Does it matter what we are?" he might be right. "As long as we both want it, does it really matter if it's a relationship or not?" guess not.

"Then let's stay the same as before." he shook his head. "You're sure you want to keep doing this then? I don't want any unnecessary feelings." well said.

He dragged you in his room, not even closing the door as he pinned you to the wall. Your legs wrapped around his waist, and your arms around his neck.

"We can keep doing this for as much as we want. Who is going to stop us?" he said before pressing his lips against yours.

How cute of you to come to him first thing in the morning. It's like you knew he was missing you. Well, since you're being so thoughtful of him, he might as well give you a reward.

But when he thought things couldn't get any better, someone just opened the front door. Getting inside and letting everyone know he's there. "I'm back." Suguru's voice could be heard from outside the room.

Gojo didn't want to let go of you just yet, still kissing you, pressing you against the wall harder while aiming for the door to close it, even lock it if he had enough patience.

"No." you said quietly, trying to not let out any weird sounds.

"It would be fast." the white haired man tried to convince you, but he was being welcomed with the same answer.

This was so annoying, his morning was ruined when it just started to get good. He couldn't let go of you just like that, so, he moved his lips to your neck, leaving a big hickey before biting your lip. Finally letting you go.

They're crazy, your roommates are insane. They're mad men, not a single normal thought going through their heads. But perhaps that's what you like about them, the fact that with them nothing goes as planned. A simple conversation can go in so many ways, a wrong move, word or just a look from you and everything does down the water.

But somehow, everything was peaceful for a few days. Or more like, your housemates tried to keep it low-key since neither of them knew about what happened when you were alone with the other.

So now it was just then trying to get your attention, but quietly, not wanting to attract attention.

That of course didn't lasted for long. It was tiring, this hide and seek that lent to nowhere. You knew it too, but you still didn't expect your life to be disturbed again so soon.

It was another day just like the other, well, perhaps not. But it was a day where you could relax since you were home alone.

You got out your room, sneaking into the living room and jumping on the couch, turning on the tv and playing a show you just discovered.

Everything was supposed to be normal, to go back to how it was when you moved in. They were supposed to give you space and ignore each other like before. But to your surprise, it didn't happen. The moment one of them got home, he went specifically to you.

"You're back?" you asked, looking at Suguru who looked like he got caught in the rain. All he did was to groan, leaving whatever he had in his arms on the floor in the middle of the room and throwing himself next to you. "Go change, you're gonna catch a cold." he didn't wanted to get up, the couch was feeling way too good.

"Is Satoru back?" he watched you shake your head before he finally got up, leaving the room and coming back later with some freshly washed clothes on him. "Lay down." he said, looking at you who didn't seemed to pay attention to him or what he's saying.

Perhaps the fact that you were focused on the show was a good thing, because you did as he said without a single complain. So he sat back next to you, this time laying down in your arms. "Eh? What are you doing?" you finally realized what's going on.

"I'm tired." he had his face buried in your neck, his back to the tv since he wasn't interested in watching anything at the moment.

"We can cuddle another time." this wasn't the space, especially since you never know with who you might wake up.

He didn't cared. If he keeps running from this then it would take him nowhere. So what if that guy sees him? It would change nothing. Plus he's showing how great your relationship with his was, no? And nothing feels better than the warmth your body gives and his friend being jealous.

His hands went under your shirt, wanting to feel more of your skin. It was so cold outside, and your temperature was leading him in. He loved it so much that he didn't even realized when he got his head under your shirt, his head against your chest as he was listening to your heart beat.

"Get out of there." you slapped his back softly, making him to bite one of your boobs in response. This was a rare occasion, like heck he'll let you alone. The marks he left are long gone too, so he had to leave some behind. I mean, what if you miss him while he's away?

He sink his teeth into your skin, making you gasp. He sucked and liked at every single empty spot he found. That way you'll still have a part of him no matter where he is.

"I'm home." a voice could be heard from the hallway and you feared you knew exactly who it was.

How could you have been so stupid, fucking with both of them and not letting a single soul know. Look in what situation you got yourself in now.

"Suguru, come on." your words went to deaf ears. You can't do anything more than cry since you have nowhere to hide.

"Who left the tv on?" Satoru's voice could be heard from the behind the couch. Guess that was it, you might as well look for a new place at this point.

But to your surprise, the white haired man didn't said a thing. He looked down at you, at the expression you had, the pout on your face and at how you were trying to hide your face behind your hands. It took him a moment to realize what was actually going on.

He was late, he was painfully late and now he couldn't do anything about it.

He must do something about it or the dark haired man will beat him. And he couldn't stand the fact that someone else was in front of him, he had to be number one.

Satoru moved your hands away, leaning down and placing a kiss on your lips. He too could play this game. So you better prepare yourself because neither of them will take it easy from now on.

Fuck your life. Your doomed, flabbergasted, absolutely bamboozled. From the moment you stepped a foot out your room both of them were trying to get you in a way or another. And now they were fighting for you attention.

"Come here." the white haired man said, looking at you who just got into the kitchen.

"Y/N." the other said your name, signaling you to go to him instead.

But you were smart, you knew you shouldn't start a storm. So you walked out of there and back into your room, ignoring the two guys that seemed to add fuel into the fire.

If you don't want to get out, then they'll come to you. And that night you woke up with both of them in your bed.

First it was Gojo who came around 11, getting under your blanket quickly and dragging you into his arms so you wouldn't run away. He wanted to cuddle too, and your bed seemed so welcoming. Your room in general looked much friendly than his. Was it the sweet scent that he kept getting hit with every time he opened your door? Or the fact that you were living in there? He can't really answer for sure but he just liked your bedroom more.

And then Geto made his presence when you were almost asleep. Getting into the unoccupied side of the bed and wrapping his hands around you.

The next morning wasn't anything better.

A pair of muscular arms on you, not allowing you to move an inch. All you could see was some white hair coming from under the blanket, and you knew exactly who it was since he had his face into your chest, hands under your shirt and dragging your lower body away from the one behind you.

What a way to start your day. But for a moment you allowed yourself to get distracted and enjoy their presence, how their bodies felt against yours.

With your nose into Gojo's hair, you took a deep breath. He smells nice, a bit familiar too but maybe it was because of how much time you spent with them lately. But then it hit you, he was using your products. You turned your face away, taking a stiff of Geto only for him to smell the exact same. You gasped at the realization.

"What?" the dark haired man said amused. He was clearly thinking of something else, since you could feel his cock pressed against your back.

"Are you using my shampoo?" well damn. It's too early to respond to that. He can't think of excuses this early in the morning.

"Mmm." Gojo wrapped his arms around you harder, rubbing his face against you and trying to ignore the voices he kept hearing.

"Who knows." Suguru couldn't give you an answer even if he wanted to.

"Satoru is using it too." you pointed out, making the man in your arms to look up at you still half asleep.

"What about me." the white haired man could only hear the part where you said his name.

"Is that why I have almost nothing left in the bottles?" why did you wanted to argue at this time of the day was a mystery. If you didn't want them to use it then you shouldn't had left them in the bathroom.

It wasn't the time to fight, especially when you were finally started to get along. I mean, look, all three of you enjoying the peace and quiet. Can you blame Suguru when he took the initiative and stopped a potential threat to this serenity? So what if he kissed you, a bit too sloppy for his style, but he's not really awaken at the moment, his mind is still a blur. An arm under your head, keeping your face pushed towards him while the other was slowly making it's way under your shirt.

Satoru only noticed the hand that was trying to get in his territory, and he slapped it away only for Suguru to try again. The white haired man got his head out the blanket, annoyed and wanting to tell his friend to stay in his place before he realized what happened.

So here he was, taking your pants off along side your panties and throwing them somewhere in the room. Now making his way in between your legs and throwing them over his shoulders.

You couldn't even say a thing, and even if you tried you were stopped by Suguru who seemed to finally waken up. His tongue in your mouth and kissing you in a way that made your head spinning.

"Look how wet you are." Satoru said, slapping your pussy softly and laughing at the way you looked even angrier than before. He placed a kiss on your inner thigh, moving his lips to your wet core and giving your clit a quick kiss before he started eating you out.

Honestly, what was wrong with them. I mean, you knew they weren't normal. But couldn't they at least try? Why go through this much trouble? You'll get mad at them either way after this.

Just because you're moaning doesn't mean you forgive them. However, it got to their heads. Which one? Who knows. It's not like they were thinking clearly before either. So what would make a difference now?

The fact that you were mad at them to begin with was more than a valid reason to touch you. I mean, how could they let you start your day like this? You shouldn't be in a bad mood. And they're trying to make it better, to show you how sorry they are. That if you ignore the grin on their faces.

"Don't look at him." Suguru whispered in your ear, lifting your shirt up so he could see your body better. He gets jealous if you don't give him attention.

"No, Y/N." Gojo took his mouth away from your pussy for a moment, licking his lips and pushing two of his fingers inside of you. "Don't I make you feel good?" you always get flustered whenever he looked at you.

"I would have done it myself if you didn't got in the way." Geto rolled his eyes, annoyed at the fact that you were looking at someone else.

"I can't hear you." the white haired man was enjoying this way too much. "Pussy tastes too good." he said, wrapping his lips around your clit, giving you all his attention once again.

"You like me more, you heard me." Suguru kissed you again, pressing his body against yours, wanting to snatch you away, all to himself. Maybe it was his fault that he didn't thought about this before hand.

But he can't really blame it when you look this cute. Just look at you, closing your eyes every time it got too good and leaving soft sounds out that didn't got too far since they were muffled by him. Of course he couldn't help but kiss you, that way you'd give something to him too.

And the way you grab at his shirt? Or how one of your hands went through Satoru's hair, tugging at it lightly as you looked like you were close. So close it took everything in both of them to restrain themselves.

But when you did came, it was like something switch inside of them. Look at Gojo who was getting up, getting his cock out his pants, and Geto who placed one of your hands over his crotch, later on trying to get it in his pants.

"So why are you using my shampoo?" you said, not letting them do another move.

"We can talk about this later." the white haired man really didn't wanted to talk about that, in fact, he couldn't think of anything else besides getting inside your pussy faster.

"No." you slapped their hands away, getting up the bed. "You always do this." you fixed your shirt, getting your pants back on. "I thought I was going insane, I even started to use less thinking that I might be the problem." you walked to the door. "If I let you off this time then you'll do it again." you went out the room, closing the door behind you and leaving your housemates there. But then it hit you, that was your room. So where were you going? You went back, opening the door and looking as angry as before. "This is my room, so get out."

"I can buy you more if you-" you didn't even let Satoru finish his sentence.

"It's not about that."

"You can use mine too, if that's the problem." why would you listen to the guy who buys the cheapest things he finds and call it a day? The only thing you liked about your roommates was their cologne, which had a cool fresh scent. And now that you think about it, they don't smell like they used to anymore. You sniffed your hand, only to get even angrier than before. They smell like you now.

"Get out." you won't let them slide this time.

From that moment on, they tried to make it up to you. Being extra extra sweet to you, not letting you lift a finger around the house or even think about doing something. If you knew they would be like this you would have gotten mad at them a long time ago.

The space they give you now is so refreshing, like you can finally breath. But what did you expect in a house full of madness.

Maybe it was your fault too, for letting your guard down and not checking that door twice.

You went into the bathroom when no one was home, wanting to take a long bath and enjoy the new products you just bought. You thought you locked the door, you swore you did. But somehow you ended up with an uninvited guest in there. You didn't even noticed the dark haired man until he got in the shower, scaring you when his hands made contact with your skin.

"Suguru? What are you doing here?" you tried to turn around but he kep you in place, getting his body closer to yours, his chest pressed against your back.

"You weren't in your room." you're rarely out the house, so it wasn't hard to find you.

"I thought you won't be back until later." he seemed to enjoy catching you off guard.

"Didn't feel like going out today." he extended a hand, trying to grab one of your freshly bought bottles only for you to slap it away. "Let me wash your hair." and give him a free pass on using your products again? Nope. But he seemed to know what you're thinking of, and it made him try again. "I'll behave." like heck he would.

Perhaps he could win your thrust again by doing something else. Convincing you to let him do it wasn't that hard at all. A few words whispered in your ear, even letting out a moan as he tried to 'explain' how much he craved for you lately. You'll let him have a taste of you, right?

And that's how he ended up with his head between your legs, eating you out like no one did before, letting out his frustration on you for all the things you did for the past few days.

Your sounds muffled by the running water, but even so, it made him try harder. Make you louder so he could hear you better.

He sucked, licked and then licked again on your clit, arms wrapped around you to keep you in place, dragging you back to him when you tried to get away. And all that work for what? Because he didn't even let you cum, letting go of you when you were so so close, turning you over, now facing the wall as he slowly got his cock inside of you.

"Hold still." he whispered in your ear, finally pushing his dick all the way in.

"It's slippery." you had nothing to hold onto, one wrong move and you're afraid you'll end up on the ground.

"Hold onto me." he finally started moving his hips, a slow movement at first. Enjoying the fact that he finally had you all to himself. One of his arms wrapped around you while the other was pressed against the wall, turning your face towards him so he could kiss you. It was nothing too wild, just the fact that you were alone was more than enough for the moment. But a few moments later, he felt this chill down his spine. Perhaps he left the door open, I mean, he did got into the bathroom without a single thought in his head, hurried to take his clothes off so he could join you. Even so, it made him fuck into you harder, holding you tighter in his arms and trying to forget about this unsettling feeling.

He in fact did left the door open, and you woke up with another uninvited guest in the bathroom.

"Make some space for me." the shower doors suddenly open, revealing Satoru who seemed happy with the on going event. "Don't be so greedy, Suguru." he laughed at the man who was glaring at him. "Give me some attention too, or I'll get sad." his hands were on you, turning you towards him while the dark haired man was still fucking you from behind. "Kiss me too, didn't you missed me?" he laughed as he kissed you. One of your hands was in Gojo's, wrapped around his aching cock and slowly jerking it.

You weren't left alone even for a moment. One fucking into you a bit too hard than you'd like in that moment, while the other seemed to want the same amount of attention. Both of them dragging you towards them, wanting to yank you away from the other.

Hands all over your body, and you didn't really know how to react. This was too much, even for them. This endless jealousy that took nowhere, especially when you didn't complained about it.

You didn't said a thing, did you? So you were alright with having both of them at the same time? Because if you keep being this submissive then they might get the wrong idea. But it was too later because they already figured something out, it was like it was telepathically. Just a quick look at and it was like they knew what the other was thinking.

Right, why fighting when they could work together? Give you something so good you won't be able to look at another man. Two was better than one after all.

With a quick movement, Suguru got out of you, a quick slap on your ass as he turned you around, to face him. Your back pressed against Satoru's chest as the dark haired man lowered his head to kiss you.

Gojo's lips were on your shoulder, a hand going down your body to your pussy and rubbing your clit.

You were sandwiched between them, you couldn't do a single move while they seemed to enjoy playing with you. Touching and groping you all over the place, kisses and marks left behind their hot touch as they keep exploring your body. They kept turning you around and placing you in a new position every time you were about to cum, edging you for what seemed like an eternity.

After torturing you for so long, someone finally opened the shower's doors, dragging you out of it and into the cold bathroom.

But somehow, they acted like nothing happened, softly wiping your body and getting you dry, wrapping a towel around you and then guiding you to another place inside the house.

And you ended up laying down on the couch all naked once again, with Gojo between your legs, positioning himself at your entrance while Suguru was right next to your head. You never really thought about it before, but you have absolutely no idea if you could take both of them, at the same time too. The idea was a bit scary, and yet it was happening at the moment.

You gulped, looking at the dark haired man, trying to tell him to take it easy. But he didn't wanted to do that.

Just from the way you look at him he haves the impression that you wanted him, like, really bad. And he could never say no to a pretty girl, especially you. I mean, if you wanted him, how could he say no?

"Look at me too." the white haired man didn't looked happy at the way you and his friend looked at each other.

"Don't you dare." Geto grabbed your face, pushing your cheeks together and making you look at him.

"But Y/N." Satoru said, slowly pushing his cock inside of you. "Don't you wanna see how you're taking me in?" he whined, making your eyebrows furrowed.

"She's busy with me. Can't you see?" the dark haired man got his dick right into your face without a warning, pushing the head past your lips and into your hot mouth, letting out a groan as he got moved his hips deeper.

"Don't I make you feel better?" Gojo said as he kept fucking into you, his thimb on your clit, rubbing it in an irregular motion. His words made Suguru to run a hand through your hair, grabbing it as he tried to move faster into your mouth, not wanting any of your moans out. Just the sounds you make as he kept fucking into your throat were more than enough, plus, he doesn't think he'll be able to keep it together if you do let out a moan, especially for that guy. "He's so mean, isn't he, baby?" the white haired man's words keep getting on Geto's nervers. Can you believe this fucker? Trying to talk to you when he's known for being silent in moments like this.

But perhaps Suguru had to step up his game too. What if this buffoon succeed on fooling you? So he let go of your hair, trying to change his strategy. "Let's change positions." he said as he got his dick out your mouth.

"Don't want to." the white haired man said, wrapping his hands around your thighs and dragging you closer to him.

"What do you say, baby?" Gojo gasped, he can't believe this guy is really trying to pull the same moves as him. "Don't you want to make me feel good too, hm?" there were too many eyes on you, and you couldn't be more embarrassed in the current situation.

"Alright." you didn't dared not to agree with them, because in the end you'll end up the one being fucked in there, and who knows what kind of plot they might be planning.

You ended up being flipped over, your ass in the air, and with your face right into Suguru's crotch.

You're being filled to the max, one in your mouth while the other fucks you from behind. There's no room left, and even if it was, you don't think you could take more than this.

"Come on, Y/N." the dark haired man moaned your name, a hand resting on your head as he was waiting for your reaction. The way you look at him was too cute, always trying harder to suck him off every time he lets out a moan or a prise. Aren't you being adorable?

"Baby." Satoru also let out a moan, a hand placed over your back, caressing your skin and making you clench around him. "I'm gonna cum. Cum with me?" he was usually not like this, but for you he decided to he a whining mess.

"Look at me." this was going nowhere again. But you were also desperate, so you can't really blame anybody. Plus, you kinda wanted them to fill you. No, you did wanted them to come all over you, fill you up so good that you'll still feel them even when they're not inside.

You were just as greedy as them. Trying to hold their hands as you came, and refusing to let go even after your high.

Sigh, well, this was about to be a long day.

Tagging:

@moonlight-pearls

#jjk smut #jjk fanfic #jjk x reader #gojo satoru #gojo satoru smut #gojo smut #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #geto smut #geto suguru smut #suguru geto #jjk geto #jjk satoru #jjk gojo #geto x reader #geto suguru

75 notes · View notes

mmso-notlikethat · 1 day ago

Text

Passing by..

The day was cruelly beautiful, the kind of day that seemed designed to mock Tommy. The sun shone brightly, people’s laughter filled the air, and everywhere he looked, there was happiness—a reminder of how far he felt from it.

It started on his way to grab coffee. He sat at an outdoor table, trying to enjoy a rare day off, when a little boy ran past him, giggling as his mother called after him with a playful scold. The child ran back, hugging his mother’s legs, and the woman bent down, ruffling his hair and whispering something that made the boy laugh even harder.

Tommy couldn’t look away. The warmth between them tugged at something deep inside him—something he rarely let himself acknowledge.

He shook it off and left, heading to the park for some fresh air. He found a bench near the lake, but peace was elusive. A teenager sat nearby, his father helping him fix the chain on his bike. Their conversation was light, easy—filled with an unspoken bond that came from years of trust and care. Tommy caught snippets of their words, small exchanges that made him wonder what it would have been like to have that kind of connection growing up.

By the time he left the park, his chest felt heavier.

Later, at the store, two friends were chatting in the aisle, their laughter echoing as they shared some inside joke. It wasn’t the kind of laughter that alienated, it was the kind that radiated familiarity, the kind that made you want to be part of it. Tommy turned away quickly, pretending to browse the shelves, but their happiness lingered in the back of his mind.

And then, as if the universe wanted to twist the knife, he saw them—two husbands sitting on a bench outside the store, one leaning into the other’s shoulder, their fingers intertwined. The way they looked at each other, so effortlessly in love, made Tommy’s breath catch. He clenched his fists in his pockets, willing himself to look away.

Why couldn't he just let people's happiness exist without feeling like it was a reflection of his own failure? The thought hit him hard, lingering in the air like a whisper he couldn't shake. He shook his head, trying to shove it aside, but it clung to him, heavy and inescapable.

But the final blow came when he decided to stop by his favorite diner. He almost didn’t see them at first, tucked away in a corner booth, but when he did, his heart sank.

Evan.

And he wasn’t alone. Buck was smiling—laughing, actually—and across from him sat another man. Tommy caught the name “Albert” in their conversation, and his chest tightened.

Albert leaned in just a little too closely for Tommy’s comfort, and they looked good together. Happy. Comfortable. Like they belonged.

Tommy froze, his chest tightening as he watched them. He didn’t linger. He couldn’t.

As he walked away, his heart felt like it was being crushed under the weight of everything he’d seen that day. It was as if the universe had spent the entire day mocking him, parading happiness in front of him and reminding him of all the ways he didn’t fit into it

By the time he got home, the silence of his empty house felt deafening. Tommy sank onto his couch, staring blankly at the wall as the events of the day replayed in his mind.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “What the hell is wrong with me?” he muttered to himself, his voice barely audible in the empty room.

If the universe was trying to teach him a lesson, it could at least be honest about what it was.

#this is not a buckalbert post they are just hanging out 🫡#take more lonely!tommy #tommy kinard #bucktommy

78 notes · View notes

junedenim · 2 days ago

Text

hello you

one day more, part four

warnings: dad!al, fluff, slight angst, sprinkled with smut (piv)

word count: 12.4k

Sometime around when Lottie had just given birth to Franny, Alex got infected with the flu. It was likely he picked it up somewhere in those hospital halls, but that was never officially determined. Lottie banished him from the house, not wanting him to infect her or their newborn baby. Thus was born Alex's worry and fear that he was missing Franny's life.

He belonged to a profession that often required him to fly away. Lottie said she never cared much, only that she missed him while he was gone. She considers these girls-only days to be the sweet, special moments Franny will remember with her maman.

But Alex is stuck with that ache of missing them always, even when they are right in front of his eyes. It's like two people laughing at an inside joke. He spent eleven years of his life missing her and it has never fully gone away. Lottie has tried to find solutions to this. It helped that they had mostly three uninterrupted years together after Franny was born, but still, Alex is pained by being away and phone calls just don't do it.

He wants to smell Lottie's lavender shampoo and feel the glitter nail polish on Franny's fingers. The last time he saw them was when the band was in England and he was, of course, sick. He had Franny paint the nail polish on his nails. It mostly ended up on the skin surrounding the nails, but the act allowed him to endure the six weeks without them because he could just rub his fingers on the pink mess.

He talks to them every night before Franny goes to bed. One night he embarrassingly sang her a lullaby in the corner of a bar. He always feels bad about drinking and having fun without them, especially Lottie, who has to deal with a whiny four-year-old who doesn't want to go to sleep.

Lottie always insists it's fine but he worries one day it won't be fine. He often feels like he's never got his shit together. She's just dragging him along. Maybe that's why a wedding took so long. Lottie doesn't even wear a ring. Her last name is still the same too and she was the one who wanted to get married. Sometimes he thinks she's playing a big trick on him. That this has all been some massive fraudulent ruse on him and he'll wake up with them gone one day.

Right before they got married, they were stuffed in a Brussels hotel with Franny. They tucked themselves away in the bathroom while Franny was sleeping. Lottie was in the bath and he was sitting on the closed lid of the toilet in his boxers watching her.

They were sharing a "celebratory" glass of wine between them. Alex asked her, "Do you want me to change my last name?" He thought she might laugh but she didn't. Her expression was contemplative, still processing his words. She sank deeper into the tub, the water touching her cupid's bow. She took her time thinking and he passed it by sipping on the wine.

She lifted her mouth out and asked, "Why would you do that?"

He shrugged and said, "'Cause I love you" because that has been the driving force of all his actions since 2018.

She smiled and placed her arms on the edge of the tub, resting her chin on her folded arms. She was cherubic, one of Botticelli's angels. "That's nice."

He came beside her and kissed her after that, but in the darkness of all these empty hotel rooms, he thought about how she didn't say I love you back. He gets this way on the road and he knows he's overthinking and he knows she’s probably nervous that all this time away from one another isn't good for you. But still.

They got married the next day, so, who is he to doubt her love? He's just insecure and lonely, he knows this. It's different now—missing someone. His love for Lottie is undeniable. It's the only way he's able to function, but Franny...that's something different.

She's a piece of him. Literally. Sometimes it feels like she's his heart just running around their London home with a mind of its own. He always knew having children could be like this. He didn't know it would feel like this. It came to him quickly in two moments.

Right after she was born they placed her by Lottie, but since it was a C-section and given Lottie was still open, they gave her to Alex in place of the usual skin-to-skin with the mother. There, when his heartbeat rang through her little ears and her cries turned to small whimpers, he cried with her. It was the quiet kind of crying. I know how you feel, kid, I love you too.

Loving her is the easiest and hardest thing to do. A weight crushes down on him, threatening to break through his ribs that only subsides when she pats his face and says, "Papa." (Yeah, Lottie got her way).

Late at night on one of those phone calls, he talks to Lottie. She's cleaning up their house in London and he's smoking a cigarette on his hotel's balcony in Vegas. He hears Franny's toys rattle against her hands as she says, "There's no need to be jealous, Al." Maybe he should feel lucky that he's looking out at Sin City's lights and was able to have two whiskeys during a game of poker. He doesn't.

But she speaks to him in a way that always puts things in perspective. The calm in the middle of the storm. It was something that used to seem so unexciting to his teenage mind, even when he was running around Brussels with her, he thought happiness would lay there, but really it lies in her, not the moment.

"You don't miss me?" He asked it jokingly, but he took her answer seriously.

"You're all I think about. The good and the bad. I even miss having your wet towels on the floor."

"Wow," he chuckles. She's crying. He could hear it. But he doesn't comment on it, he knows it will hurt her more. "I bet all my gambling money on green in roulette."

She laughs then says, "You lost, didn't you?"

"Yeah, but it's okay. Got me on the phone with you sooner."

He keeps a photo in his wallet. He'd never thought he'd come to an age when he did that. Lottie makes fun of him for having the default iPhone background. She doesn't know about the photo in his wallet.

It's Lottie and Franny at Waterstones. It's a photostrip, so technically it's four pictures in one. She showed it to him when the band came through London. At first, it felt like another thing he missed out on, but then Lottie showed him a photo strip taken of her with her mother, right when she was around Franny's age. He realized some moments aren't meant for him. But they are, so he keeps it in his wallet.

It's nice to catch a glimpse of it when he's buying dinner or buying M&Ms at a gas station in Roscoe, Illinois. He sees it when he's buying Franny a stuffed animal from the Lincoln Park Zoo. It dulls the ache when he sleeps with it that night. Maybe he's always been childish and never grew out of his twin-sized bed or Franny has just woken the little boy inside him, but he hugs the stuffed polar bear close to his chest that lonely night in Chicago.

It helped that within a few days, they'd all reunite in Montreal, where Lottie could check out how her French compares with the Quebecois. She's never been to Canada before. It reminded Alex of the lack of travelling they had done together. Other than spots around Europe, which nowadays have been reserved for visiting family, he and Lottie have never been on a trip together, non-work, non-family related.

Perhaps because the first "trip" they took together in Brussels couldn't be topped romantically, however, they didn't even have a honeymoon. Alex insisted against it, knowing he'd be gone soon, and not wanting to be away from Franny for too long and Lottie agreed.

They will have to do something like it soon or maybe just start with being in the same city. There's something he longs for, wishes he could be better and not do this, but he is pulled in two, even if Lottie says otherwise. He likes going swimming with Lottie. They've only done it twice, both in a pool, but he'd like to do it again, maybe soon on a Californian beach.

A few years back, when Franny was just a babe and everything about being a parent they were struggling to figure out, Alex and Lottie talked about everything and nothing. The mundane helped pass those sleepless nights. It helped their relationship stay afloat and not drown around the strain of their crying child.

Lottie was breastfeeding Franny on the couch. It was sometime around 3:30 in the morning. Franny woke up crying and Lottie insisted it was her turn. After ten minutes of no return and no noise, Alex went out to the living room where the television was on but muted and Lottie looked a second away from dropping dead. He probably did too, except, you know, he didn't just have major surgery to remove a human being from him.

She gave him a wordless smile as he sat beside her and placed his arm around her, squeezing her shoulder. "I'd kill for a coffee," she said. He doesn't offer because she'll refuse, she's breastfeeding after all.

"Maybe we should go out tomorrow. We've all been cooped up for too long." He had been the only one to go out and that had been for a limited time running to grocery stores and the bakery on the corner that has donuts Lottie loves.

She shook her head. "Too much work." She hates the idea of Franny crying in public. She gets so worried about inconveniencing people that she inconveniences herself instead.

Franny unlatched and Lottie handed her off to Alex to burp her. His palm almost completely covered her back. When she was so little like that he had a hard time believing she was real and belonged to him. She sometimes felt like a doll. He always thought the hospital messed up and gave them the wrong baby. She felt too perfect to be his.

"Maybe you should go out for a walk. I can keep Franny company," he offers.

"Who's gonna keep me company? It's boring to walk alone."

They had become so accustomed to that shared space. In the first few months of Franny's life, they were on top of one another and it never bugged them. They liked those early morning couch talks. Sleep suffered but they were fortunate enough to not have to worry about work the next day.

Lottie's mother came a few weeks after the couch talk. Alex and Lottie went on a walk while she watched Franny. It was cold and Lottie curled her arms around his right arm, stuffed away in his coat pocket.

"I love her as my little baby," Lottie said, "but I can't wait until she's a little older and can do all this stuff with us. Can you imagine her walking? We'll each hold one of her little hands and swing her between us. I always wanted to do that."

She had a thoughtful look on her face. Her smile had become a slight frown. She told him about halfway through the pregnancy that she felt like she was rewriting her history. She was so happy Franny would have a loving, present father, but now he's nowhere close to her.

Lottie will say he's nothing like her deadbeat dad, and sure he might at least be around sometimes, but what's the difference if he's not there to hold her other hand?

When he goes to bed in Toronto, he dreams about Paris. They were all together there in May. First for two shows, then during the tour break. They visited Lottie's family and had romantic evenings where Francoise spent the night with her grandmother.

Francoise swung between them as they walked through Luxembourg Gardens. She splashed her hands softly against the fountain waters with infectious giggles. She squealed and asked, "Can we get a frowntain?"

They got her a mini plastic toy fountain and placed it in their small backyard. In late July, the period before he left for North America, he watched her splash in it. They have these metal tables out in the yard that he and Lottie both shamelessly smoked at in the evening after Franny had gone to bed.

He misses that backyard so desperately. The summer air, the smoke that somehow made the air more breathable, the city groaning in the distance. Lottie would sit out there in a shirt and underwear claiming it was too hot for anything else.

They spoke in short sentences, sometimes tossing the conversation back and forth, sometimes in simple junctions one at a time. Usually, they talked about Franny and their days, ignoring the impending doom of his leaving.

The weather was sweet with a breeze and Lottie looked over at him and he could imagine her at every point he had known her, all combining into the woman in front of him. She giggles at the attention but doesn't ask anymore why he's staring, she knows.

He laughed with her, just wanting to savour a piece of this, any piece of her for a breath more. It swelled around him. It's still swollen in this waiting process. He hopes they slept on the flight.

He twists his wedding band on his left ring finger. He wears his because he wants to. He loves that kind of thing, loves thinking of her all the time. He likes it when it glistens on stage or he knocks it against the bathroom sink. He twists it when he's anxious and when they're together, having sex, she kisses it like he's the Pope.

It's probably the other way around. He told her once that if he were to ever pray, he'd be praying to her. He says things like this usually post-orgasm, so maybe it's truthful, or maybe he's feeling faint but a blowjob is a very powerful thing.

He used to think he'd spend his whole life waiting for her in the metaphorical sense. He thought one day she might come backstage to a show or when she's hard pressed for cash she'll write a book about their time together or one day in a Parisian cafe she'll walk in. Part of that was true, but now he waits for her—them—in the literal sense. Or she waits for him.

Lottie and Franny arrived in Montreal yesterday. She wanted to get everything settled and try their best to be caught up in the different time zones before they spent a day walking around the city. Franny can be fussy without her sleep and they're still unsure how she'll react to jetlag. This is her first time on a plane.

Montreal is supposed to be their special day. They'll be going to Boston the next day, something Alex keeps joking about even if Lottie doesn't find it so funny. He keeps saying they'll run into her ex-fiancé and Lottie gets increasingly pissed every time he says it. He won't anymore because the joke is getting old, especially when he's her husband now.

Today is a reunion, although, as always, it's mudded with obligations like a concert in the evening. He'll linger the best he can to avoid being pulled away from them. He's sick of other things taking priority. It's his fault anyway. He brought this suffering on himself.

Back during the start of the tour, Lottie flew out and joined him for the short first leg in North America. It started in Vegas where he initially joked that if Lottie blew on his pair of dice they might get lucky (this sounds like a sexual euphemism but seriously it was just a game of crabs) and then they actually won. They kept doing it until they lost all the betting money and vowed to never gamble again.

Unsurprisingly, in Los Angeles, Lottie wanted to go to as many art museums as possible. He lived in that city for so many years yet he's not sure he saw as much of it as he did with Lottie. She kept going on about how Young Man at His Window by Gustave Caillebotte reminded her of him. Alex still doesn't understand this. The back of the man's head looks nothing like him. As always, Lottie says it's not what you see it's what you feel.

In New York, they went to more museums. She'd never been to The Met so he took her to The Met. It was partially a surprise. He said he wanted to take her somewhere and she wasn't shocked when they landed on The Met steps. She became obsessed with The Costume Institute and kept pointing at garments and shoes, saying, "I'd like you to buy something like that for me." As if Alex is able to obtain a 17th-century wool mantua and as if Lottie would wear it. She sometimes struggles to just wear a skirt.

They returned to London after that, had a week together, and then he left again. She joined him at other points in the tour. She flew with him to Australia, tour dates that were right after Christmas and took place on New Year's Eve. He said it would be bad luck to not be able to kiss one another and since she had never been to Australia, she left Franny with Alex's parents and joined him.

Montreal is warm but not hot. It's the ideal temperature for walking. Lottie says he gets clinical about those things. She says he sounds like how she has always imagined a father to sound. He's concerned with weather patterns and the best route to get somewhere but struggles to use Google Maps. When he yells at the GPS directions someone else might take that as an overreaction but she laughs every time.

He grabs a coffee before he's driven to the hotel. He sips it quickly knowing that'll mean he will have to pee all day, but he needs it to stay on his feet. Then, he's at the hotel. It's nice, but modest looking. A place with room service but not an extravagant spa.

He opens the hotel room door and it looks empty minus a carry-on suitcase and the kid-sized suitcase they bought for Franny last Christmas. It's pink and has a rainbow butterfly printed on it. Franny fell in love with them when they went to Horniman Butterfly House and one landed on her arm.

She tells everyone about that. She taps on the spot it landed on her and tells them a butterfly kissed her there. Whenever he sees butterfly or caterpillar imagery, he thinks of Franny. Chrysalis is his new favourite word. His notebook is covered in butterfly stickers. He knows what they eat, the different species, and that they can tell time.

The bathroom door opens. Lottie stands, still in her pyjamas, smiling. "Oh, hi." She looks like she's just woken up. Her eyes are light and her smile feels like laying your head on a pillow after a long day of work. Her words are spoken with a crackle in them and her hair is occupied with fly-aways.

He reaches out and pats them down. "Hi." Neither move closer. He holds her cheek in his hand and rubs his thumb along the bone. It feels like he is holding the weight of her. Her skin is blessed with a softness he has only felt elsewhere in Franny's cheeks. "Where's Franny?"

"Sleeping under that pile of blankets. She was cold last night."

"Flight okay?" He asks.

"Yeah. Yours?"

"Yeah." He smiles. "Kiss me."

He wants to feel her lips but doesn't want to move from holding her in any single way. It's perfect and it's smooth and this is all he needs. He'd stay and camp out in this hotel room as long as they didn't leave. He hates himself for ever wanting anything other than this.

When they part, he asks, "Should I wake her?"

Lottie pouts. "Am I no good?" She's needy and if he's been feeling lonely she's probably been feeling it tenfold. He gets to be with his best mates every day and her only freedom is her independent work. She would say he's feeling sorry for her when there's no need to be. She likes her work, she loves being with Francoise, and she has plenty of company in London. He tends to view her as a lone soul but she's had friends in London long before him.

Her bottom lip is jutting out towards him and he feels like a magnet is pulling his hips to her hips. "I don't think you're trying to be." His hand has fallen from one cheek to another. His thumb rubs her waist. She, of course, keeps her hands to herself.

"Sometimes I need attention too, you know." She pulls her face away but moves her hips closer.

He's falling over himself trying to get closer to her. "Yeah, I know how needy you are."

She rips herself away. It's either a game, a joke, or something to prove a point. He can't read that part of her. She goes further into the bathroom over to the sink where she is getting ready. "I'm not needy. You're needy."

That's always been the case. He begs. A lot. He got down on his knees once, placed his hands together, and begged at her knees. They were both laughing the whole time but he still wanted her all the same.

He moves into the bathroom and closes the door behind him. "Maybe." He wants her. He wants her in every way. He wants to take her up against the sink from behind. He wants her on her knees. He wants to be on his knees. He wants her in the shower. He wants her on the floor. He'll take her to the toilet if he has to. "I missed you."

She brushes her hair and looks at him through the mirror. "Don't get all schmaltzy on me." Her smile quirks in the mirror, much like when they were held up in her Parisian apartment. They spent hours in glances. They felt as sexual as being inside one another. A look meant so much.

He wishes she was naked now like that morning in January right before they found out she was pregnant. They slept naked. It used to be the only way they did sleep before they had to worry about a child climbing into bed with them. She'd get up and make coffee or tea, sometimes toast or a bagel and she'd never put a piece of cloth on her.

He used to feel so hunched over in his body, desperate to hide parts of himself from the morning light. But she didn't care, so why should he? He would get up behind her body and would be rubbing against her in such a sexual sense but never try anything. It was just nice to feel her skin on his. It felt the same as holding Franny for the first time. It was this precious thing that was somehow chosen to be his.

He'd kiss her shoulder and she'd pour him a cup of coffee. It felt like no one else in the world existed. He didn't want anyone else in the world to exist. It was Lottie and that was it. He hadn't felt that way with anything before, not even the projects he created. It made him believe in God in some way because there was no other way to explain how this worked out for him.

Lottie finds that to be dumb. She doesn't believe in soulmates. Probably because of her mother and the years of loneliness their family had. She doesn't like the idea of someone choosing for her. That there was some fate out of there deciding her every move. She finds it more romantic that two people found each other all by themselves. They worked through everything and made things work because they wanted to for each other. He agrees but still believes that they were shaped into puzzle pieces for each other.

Now, he comes up behind her in the same way. It's his way of reminding her. Remember this. Remember when it was just the two of us in a place smaller than this hotel room. Remember how nothing was between us.

She smirks, knowing what he is going for when his hands bring her butt into his groin. She lowers the brush from her hair and stares at him through the mirror. "What are you doing?"

He leans down and kisses her neck. He wishes she had more bare skin to kiss. "Being needy."

She turns around in his arms. She hooks her arm around his neck and slots her knee in between his legs. "It's too early for that."

He brushes his nose against hers. "It's never too early."

She sighs and lets go, returning to brushing her hair. "Not with Francoise in the next room."

He kisses her clothed shoulder. "Does that mean no sex at all?"

"Not now. Later," she promises. Her smirk tells him she wants it as badly as he does. It's like being a teenager and having to hide from your parents all over again. It reminds him of the excited feeling when the house was empty. Or when he got his first blowjob in the backseat of a car. It makes the idea of sex adventurous all over again.

Well, except they're in their thirties, they have a kid to take care of, and he only sees her occasionally these days. It's awfully painful for his sex drive, always having to hit the brakes. The end is in sight. He can't wait to pull off the exit and get that blowjob.

"What do you want to do?" He asks.

"Get breakfast first. I only ate a bag of peanuts and a packet of Biscoffs yesterday."

"Why didn't you get dinner after you landed?"

"Too much work. She was already asleep by the time we got to the hotel." She has that habit. He worries she'll wither away one day. She just forgets to eat and then nighttime hits and she's beyond starving. It's something in her DNA and if he's not there she just won't bother with dinner.

"I'll get you a nice breakfast," he promises. He kisses the top of her head before sitting on the closed toilet seat. "What about after? Other than some art museum."

She turns around with a scowl. "Don't mock me."

"I'm not mocking you."

"I like things other than art, you know." She's sensitive about this. He's never gotten to the bottom of why she always feels he's making fun of her when it comes to her love of art. The passion she has for it inspires him. She's educated him and made him fall in love with it too. Still, she's on the defensive.

"Well, all I want to do is go to the art museum," Alex tells her as he slides off his shoes.

She tosses a smile over her shoulder. She pats her hair down, sweeping it over her shoulders. He watches her and every slight movement she makes. Her legs are bare, she's wearing underwear, a shirt, and a smile. She taps each finger on the marble countertops before she walks over to him and sits on his lap.

Her arms curl around his neck and his arms around her waist. "If you believe me, I missed you."

Alex chuckles. "Yeah. I believe you."

She kisses him with a tight hold. She hops off his lap. "I think you can wake her now. I'm too hungry to wait."

He stands up and kisses her cheek. "Alright, then."

Franny sleeps with these quiet snores. They're cute, not the kind that prevents sleep, the kind that soothes sleep. Her mouth is in a small 'o' shape. Her head hangs back and her hair hangs in two braids, rustled from travelling and sleep.

She likes sleeping more than anything. She whines when anyone wakes her up and clings to the blankets for dear life. Alex's hand covers her back. She's bigger now but still so small. He gives her a light rub, rattling her awake. She groans just like Alex does and rubs her eyes.

"Stop," she tells him.

He chuckles. "Come on, Fran."

Her eyes pop open. Usually, they flutter like those butterflies. She can be slow-moving like a sloth but today she pops up like a rabbit and starts jumping on the bed. "Maman, you were right!" She shouts. Lottie always reminds her, "One sleep until you see papa."

Lottie insists Franny looks like him. Alex knows she's just being polite. She looks exactly like Lottie, besides her hair. Her face is still so small. He can't bear to think of the day she grows old enough to not fit just under his hand. It's getting harder for him to pick her up. Maybe he's the one getting too old with the slight strain in his back.

Franny collapses on top of him, tugging on his neck. He finds himself laughing, so overjoyed by her excitement. "I love planes," she tells him. "Are we going on another one?" That's the best outcome they could have asked for.

Franny is scared of a lot of things. She grew out of her fear of the vacuum earlier this year, but she's still terrified of thunderstorms, monsters under the bed, Snow White, and grapes (they are still unsure of the origin of the latter). He feels bad for liking it when she has bad dreams because she'll wake them up, usually by tugging one of their hands, and ask to climb in bed with them. They slot her in the middle and that's when he feels they are truly a family. He always wishes to protect them.

They go to a cafe near Mount Royal Park and the Museum of Fine Arts. Franny insists on sitting next to Alex in the booth. Lottie is across from them, on her own little island as she puts it. She looks down at the menu, her hair cascading around her. She brushes one side behind her ear. Alex stares at her, rather than his menu.

Franny tugs on his arm. She got a mean pull for a kid who is only four. "Will you order for me?" He's comforted by this, knowing that while she has grown, for now, she's still his tiny little girl who gets nervous talking to strangers like their waiter.

Her hair is in fresh braids. Lottie told him that for the past month that's the way she's insisted on wearing her hair. She's got these overalls on. Blue denim with a sunflower embroidered on the front. Underneath she has a white shirt with purple short sleeves, her favourite colour. She smiles up at him, hoping to charm him into getting her all the treats she wants. She still has all her baby teeth, even though she desperately wants to lose one so the tooth fairy will visit her.

"Can you order for me too?" His other girl requests. Lottie is resting her head on her hand. There's pink in her cheeks and a smile that doesn't show her teeth, something she's still insecure about. Her two front teeth are crooked, turned slightly inward toward the other. It's unnoticeable unless you stare at it for an extended period of time. Everyone calls it cute but she says that it's a clear sign she grew up poor.

She wears a white linen blouse that was made for breezy weather. The front of it hangs open enough that he can see the charm of her two necklaces, one with a small blue pendant, the other with St. Michael. Her shoes have a slight heel to them. She jokes that they wear the same shoes, although he would like to point out that they are different sizes.

Lottie gets two eggs and a chocolate crepe, Franny gets waffles, Alex gets another coffee and Franny's leftovers. He cuts her waffles for her because she still hasn't mastered the grip of a knife. He tries to sneak a bite of Lottie's crepe but she slaps his hand away. "Get your own."

Right after they relocated to London and all of Lottie's things mixed with all of Alex's things, they had the question of possession. In other words, he learned Lottie likes to claim things. They shared shirts, kitchen utensils, and shampoo, but while Alex lost track of what fork was originally owned by who, Lottie still refers to things as yours and mine.

Her possessive pronoun usage was exact. She calls the bed they share your bed, she calls their dining table my table. When she was further along in her pregnancy and refused to buy ugly maternity clothes, she took to wearing more of his clothes. It only lasted for about a month. She's a tad smaller than him but he's no six-foot giant. She still wears some of his jeans to this day and will say, "I'm going to wear your jeans" just like she did back at the hotel.

He doesn't know why she does this. Maybe because English is her second language or she spent her whole childhood getting hand-me-downs from her brother. Either way, what once confused him, now is just amusing. It might be his favourite of her quirks.

"On the plane ride here, Francoise and I watched Toy Story 2," Lottie says to him, but she's prompting Franny to talk. Franny's quiet and keeps to herself. He recognizes that to be a quality she inherited from him. She often hesitates but she differs from him. Once you give her permission to talk, she rambles.

"What'd you think, Fran?" He asks.

She finishes chewing her waffle. She's a proper young lady. "I liked it a lot. It was funny, it was scary. I liked Jessie the best but I want a Woody doll or a piggy bank. I can put my tooth fairy money in there. I don't think my toys come to life. They're too lazy. But it was a good movie. Maman cried but I didn't. I still give it a thumbs up." She gestures the thumbs up with a head shake before returning to her waffle bits.

Alex contains his laughter. "I'll have to see it then, especially if it made maman cry."

"Shush," Lottie signals.

"We can watch it tonight!" Franny suggests with a big smile.

Lottie answers for him, "We're going to papa's concert tonight, remember?"

"Oh, yeah!" She excitedly tosses her head back and forth. Her braids jiggle around like two jump ropes playing a game of double Dutch. "I like your concerts."

It's a genuine compliment, Franny still doesn't know how to give fake ones. She told him after the first show she saw that she found him to be too loud and that they should turn the volume down. Still, she danced around like the music was being played just for her. She's never been to any other concerts and says she wants to go to more.

For her third birthday, Lottie gifted Franny a toy microphone. She didn't like it and handed it to Alex instead because he'd use it. Franny doesn't like singing or the guitar or even banging on drums. She doesn't like loud things.

She's quiet and conserves her energy. She likes the flowers they grow in the backyard. She likes to paint with her maman. She likes doing somersaults in the grass. She likes the smell of honey. She would one day like to bake cookies by herself, but she's too young to turn on the oven. She's a flower child.

They walk over to the Fine Art Museum, Franny swinging between them. "You know, this is the oldest art museum in Canada," Lottie says.

Alex nods. "I did my research."

Lottie rolls her eyes, convinced he's pulling her leg. "You did not."

"Yes, I did." Alex quickly nods. "I got one of those Blue Planet books."

Still not believing him, she says, "No, you did not." He snorts at her jaw dropped open, the disbelief smothering her face.

"How else would I know where Leonard Cohen is buried?"

"'Cause you're a dork."

He's baffled at the accusation, tapping his chest. "I'm a dork?" This is coming from the woman who has a membership at nearly every art museum in London despite the majority of them being free.

"I'm a dork," Franny cheers. She eases tensions. She came along so early in their relationship that it's hard to judge how their dynamic would have developed without Franny. Alex has no doubt they'd still be together but things would be different without her.

He imagines Lottie would join him for more legs of the tour if they didn't have to worry about Franny, but that's probably not true. Lottie has a job that she's passionate about. She's more filled with drive and love for it than he has seen anyone else in any other profession. She loves observing art, she loves writing about art, she loves creating art.

They'd probably still be in Paris. Lottie agreed to move to London because Alex had a larger living situation there that would fit a growing family. Her boss had friends in London that he recommended Lottie for, allowing her to make the move.

He knows she longs for it. London isn't her favourite. But Franny loves it and Alex loves being home and she's willing to make that sacrifice for them. He worries that he's allowed her to give up so much. One day she'll see that she's let go of things she's loved for him and she'll hate him for it. They've fought about it before. They'll probably fight about it again.

But she does love it there. She loves their house and their neighborhood. She loves that she's four blocks away from Leah and on the corner of their street is her favourite bakery. She loves the London art scene and she loves that she has enough space to make her art. She loves the way people admire her slight French accent and finds her to be cool from that alone. She hasn't felt cool most of her life.

However, he knows she misses her mother. She has friends in Paris that she rarely sees now. She only speaks her mother tongue to their four-year-old. For that, he'll always feel guilty.

"I've always wanted to go to Monet's garden," Lottie says as they stand in front of A Cliff at Pourville in the Morning. "It's only about an hour outside Paris, in Giverny, yet I never went."

Franny's eyes gaze up at the painting completely lost in it. She's getting to the age when she understands the beauty in these things. She'll marvel at it and understand the gravity of what is in front of her. Or she's just copying her mother, she likes doing that too.

"We can go when we go to Paris in December," he offers.

"It's closed in the winter."

He can't control the weather and yet it feels like he should be able to. He wants so badly to give her what she wants but it feels like it falls flat all the time. Every gesture falls at her feet with a disappointed thud. A gift she is forced to fix all the broken pieces he created.

Lottie bends down to Franny's ear. She grabs her arms, holding her in place. "Do you like this one?"

She rapidly nods her head.

"It's an exchange between the ocean and the sky," she talks to Franny like she's an adult. "The fleeting beauty of dawn before day sweeps it all away." Alex doubts Franny knows what dawn is but she nods along enthusiastically.

They move quickly, not soaking in nearly enough art as he's sure Lottie would want. They have a tight schedule before they have to be at the venue. He'd apologize for it but he knows she'll be more annoyed by that than actually having to leave the museum.

They take a walk through Mount Royal Park. Lottie takes pictures of Franny as she goes up the Grand Staircase. Franny taps her shoe on each stair. She likes to hear it knock against the wood, the crick each step makes. She stands proudly at the top of the stairs with her hands proudly tugging on her overall straps. You'd think she climbed the mountain itself with how much pride she and her parents have.

She doesn't like to walk on the established path, so she decides to walk ahead of her parents on the grass. Alex walks with his hands in his pockets. Lottie walks with her tote bag over her shoulder and a light-knit black sweater in case it gets cold (it never does).

"Does it remind you of France?" Alex asks.

"Um." She thinks for a moment, looking around at the greenery. "No." She doesn't explain further and Alex doesn't ask for more. "Does it remind you of France?"

Alex chuckles. "You'd know better than me."

She shrugs. "Maybe I'm too snobbish or too filled with nostalgia to decide whether this does measure up with France."

"A little, but maybe it's just the French part."

"You gonna go se branler in the bushes?"

He tosses his head back. "Hush."

She giggles and moves closer to him, knocking shoulders with him. "I think Francoise likes it more than either of us." The little girl is examining flowers, sprouting between the grass and the concrete. She doesn't pluck one, just looks at it from all angles.

"I wish I had an attention span like both of you," Alex says. He tries for both of them but staring at a painting as long as Lottie does is a near-impossible task. Franny has inherited all of those traits. He loves it, but there's no way he can do it.

Lottie curls her arm around him. "You have other talents."

He raises an eyebrow. "Like?"

"We are going to your sold-out concert, Al. There's no need to be modest."

"I'm not trying to be."

She smiles. "I know." She brushes the side of his head, pushing back his hair off of his forehead. "You have blinders on to all your achievements. You forget that you're the most talented person I know."

He scoffs. "Don't lie to me."

"You don't have to believe me. Just think of all the people that are probably jealous of you."

He tosses his head from side to side. That convinces him. She giggles and kisses his cheek.

Leonard Cohen's grave is covered in small stones. Some are painted, some have writing on them, some are blank. It's weird. It's someone he's admired all of his adult life and he's right in front of him, buried in the ground. He doesn't think about death much, but he's thinking about it now.

He hasn't been to many cemeteries. Lottie has been to more than she can count. France is covered in them. She used to walk through Cimetière du Père-Lachaise with her mother every Saturday, finding a new corner of it. Her mother also had a thing for Jim Morrison.

Alex wonders if they should have brought Franny here. If she knows enough about life and death to understand what stands before her. As always, she's well-behaved, admiring the sculptures that stand above the gravestones.

Cohen is buried with three generations of his family. He thinks that's what he'd like. He'd like to be buried in the same coffin as Lottie, disintegrate into one another. That would probably disgust her. She hates the smell of fish. He can't imagine how she'd react to rotting flesh.

Still, he thinks about losing this one day. He'd like to go before her, of course. He probably couldn't function without her. Poor Franny would have to take care of him, remind him of his appointments, tell him to take his meds, and remind him that the sun still exists. So, he'll go first. He smokes and drinks more than her anyway so it'll probably work out that way. He should stop thinking about this now.

"You want to go to the Basilica now?" He asks her.

She smiles softly. It feels like a kiss upon his soul. A blessing he feels so lucky to receive. "Sure."

The bus is close to empty but they sit in the back because Franny likes that it's higher than the rest of the bus. She used to like sitting on one of their laps when riding public transit but she doesn't like that now. She likes to be viewed as a big girl but she wants to sit between her parents so she can touch both of them.

She rests her head on Lottie's shoulder. She's growing tired of all this walking. They aren't doing funny little kid things here but he promises that they'll do it in Boston. Lottie already plans to have fancy afternoon tea at the Boston Public Library, which Franny is already super excited about.

The altar of the basilica is centered by a golden Jesus. The spires strain Lottie's neck as she gazes up at them. He tries to figure out what the wood carving below Jesus is for so long until Lottie tells him it's a high relief of the Last Supper. His eyesight is getting pretty bad.

The spiral staircases captivate Franny. She wants to climb and descend them, waving her hand like she's a royal. Alex wants to know about the organs. There are thousands of pipes, varying from some of the tiniest he's ever seen to the biggest. He's definitely a dork.

He leans next to Lottie's ear and whispers, "They've got some big pipes here."

She laughs in anticipation. "Don't you dare make a sex joke in a church."

Alex contains his laughter. "Wouldn't be the first time."

They walk along the St. Lawrence River because Lottie likes the water and Franny likes quays with ships docked in them. She becomes occupied in her own world. She likes running ahead but not out of sight. She's too well-behaved, it's strange.

Alex holds Lottie's hand. "If I die—"

"Jesus, Al!" She drops his hand, already shaming him for bringing it up. "I don't like talking about that."

"Fine, if you die—"

"Stop it."

"It's a serious question. I'm curious."

She frowns and crosses her arms. "Fine."

"Would you want to be buried in Paris?"

She shakes her head. "I don't want to talk about this now."

"Okay."

Franny tugs on his hand. He looks down and she pats her stomach. "I'm hungry."

They walk down Saint-Paul Street, stopping at a place called Modavie because Franny likes the live jazz music that's flooding out onto the streets. The kind they listened to when they were building the crib in what would be Franny's room. Well, he built the crib, Lottie yelled the instructions at him.

The room was painted lemon and the rocking chair in the corner was an old wood with a pink seating pad. It had been the same chair Lottie was rocked to sleep in. They never used it; instead, they always sat out on the couch. They finally got some use out of it when Franny was old enough to climb in on her own and rock it back and forth.

While Franny said she was hungry, it's actually Alex, who had only eaten scraps of waffles and two coffees. The place is too nice for a quick meal before the show but it's French and he likes the sound of lamb chops. Franny gets calamari because she likes the pronunciation and she's had it before so they know she won't hate it. Lottie gets mussels and fries because Brussels.

Lottie orders for them in French. The waiter says something back to her that makes her laugh but Alex has no clue. He's tried to learn more but he hasn't practiced on the road. It's not his fault his own private tutor won't come with him.

They don't talk. It's far too loud to hear each other over the music, which is nice, but he'd prefer conversation over it. Lottie leans over and whispers straight into his ear, "I bet you she likes this more than your show."

He turns to speak into her ear. His skin brushes against hers. His stubble scratches her jawbone and his lips lightly touch her earlobe. "Yeah, this one has food and mine will be 'too loud.'"

Lottie turns back to his ear. "It's good. I want her to protect her ears." Alex agrees but he's almost certain this jazz band will do more damage to her ears than his band. Their table is right near the stage. Her ears are so close to the saxophone.

Franny pops calamari into her mouth so quickly he worries she'll choke. Granted, he does inhale the lamb chops. Lottie hasn't even had a fry yet by the time he's finished. He snags one of them and she allows it. She then drops a mussel shell into his lap just because she wants to see him squirm. (He does and she giggles almost as loud as the music).

They take the metro to the venue, Bell Centre, or Centre Belle as Lottie calls it because she's French and difficult. The second they step on the platform and wait for the 2 train Alex asks, "Is there something special about Montreal trains I should know?" He speaks quietly so as to not expose his shame.

He truly never got the hang of the doors of Paris's Metro. Either it took him too many tries to open or his arm would get ripped off, eventually, he refused to do it and forced Lottie to do it every time or they wouldn't get off the train. She'd laugh hysterically.

The last time they were there and Lottie was sad they were leaving, Alex opened the door to cheer her up. He tripped and almost fell face-first on the platform. Suddenly, Lottie wasn't so upset anymore.

Now, she laughs at his question. "I don't know. I've never been here before."

"We'll just have Francoise take care of everything," he says.

She smiles and leans her head on his shoulder as they wait. Franny is holding his hand. He doesn't care how long the train takes. This is a nice place to be.

When it comes powering through the station, Franny jumps up and down, beyond excited by the mode of transport. The doors automatically open and Franny leads the way, hopping on the train. She sits on Alex's lap because it's only two seats per row and she doesn't want anyone to be separated. She kicks her feet out and the heel of her shoes beats against his shins.

"These are sleek," Lottie says while looking around the train car.

"Much nicer than London," he says. Lottie rolls her eyes. "What?" He asks.

"This is what happens with a French regime," she says.

He makes an amused noise, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. "What? Nicer subways?"

She shrugs. "I don't know. What was Toronto's metro like?"

"I didn't go on it," he says. "Are we comparing French imperialism and British imperialism right now?"

"No, I'm just saying it's a nice subway."

"Okay."

It's silent between them for a moment. Another train whooshes past and they stop at Station Côte-Vertu. Once the doors close and the train sets in motion again Lottie says, "Not everything is a jab against you."

His eyes widen. He didn't think they were fighting. He needs to be more aware of his tone. Lottie tells him that all the time. "I never said it was."

She rolls her eyes and turns away, looking out the window. He stares at her. She reflects onto the window, her soul staring back at him. He's thinking of her blue bandana and those sunglasses that she used to hide herself with. He thinks of that saddle bag. All those saddlebags that have been left behind in Paris like shedding a piece of who she used to be.

She is every version she's ever been right in front of his eyes. He knows every stretch of her. He memorized it long ago back when they were in Brussels. He was dumb then but he knew that there would be a chance he'd never see her again. So, he brushed his finger on every nanometer of her and swore he would remember it. Has she forgotten that? He's overthinking, he knows. Besides—

"This is our stop," she says.

They walk off the train and up the metro steps. They make it one block before she tells him at a red traffic light, "I'm going to go to the cathedral for a bit."

It's clearly not an invitation for him to come. "Okay."

"You keep Francoise," she requests. "Is that okay?"

"Yeah, of course."

She bends down and kisses Franny's cheek. She rises to his level and does the same. It's rushed. She says her goodbyes as she tries to make it across the street before the light changes. "I'll see you in an hour."

Then, it's just Franny's hand in his. She tugs on it. "Dad. The light's green."

He nods. "Right." They make their way across the street and Lottie isn't in view anymore, already ducked in Mary, Queen of the World Cathedral. He wonders if Lottie ever prays. She's not religious—that was beaten out of her by the nuns at her Catholic school—but she loves all places of worship. He knows this comes from being an aesthete but something about the Catholics always draws her back. He'll have to ask her.

Franny skips through the venue halls. "It's big."

"Yeah."

"It's bigger than me."

"I think it might be."

He picks her up and she's squealing and flinging her arms and legs around. He made those legs and arms, well, half of her, maybe just the right arm and left leg. Still, it hits him sometimes just as hard as the way her heels kick against him.

He releases her and she goes off giggling. He can't tell if she enjoyed today or not. She enjoyed it enough not to complain about it, which is a relief to him. She can whine. She may be well-behaved and not throw tantrums but she's still four and has a habit of whining and crying and tugging on his arm until he gives in because he always seems to give in.

Franny hangs out backstage while they do soundcheck. He comes back to her drawing with crayons on a coffee table and sipping on a juice box. Lottie still isn't back. He squats down to sit on the couch with the crack of his knees. "Whatcha working on, lady?"

She lifts up the paper featuring a purple creation resembling a butterfly. "I'm not finished."

His grin is unstoppable. He loves all these little creations. They're plastered all around their home from her first work (her handprints) to the latest craze (butterflies). He'll have to make sure this one is packed away safely. "I'm liking it so far."

Alex leans back and watches her. The stroke of her crayon is wild and unstoppable but somehow lands in the form of butterfly wings. She stops, takes a sip of her juice box, and asks, "Are you ever coming home?"

His eyebrows jump and an ache hangs upon his heartstrings. This has gone on too long, he's known this. He knows Lottie shields him from this. It's impossible that Franny doesn't ask why he's gone for so long or that she misses him. "Yeah. In about a month. I'm sorry."

She shrugs and continues drawing. "It's fine. I like mummy a lot."

There's remorse in his smile, but he tells her, "Me too." He can't remember the last time he and Franny were alone together like this. There were plenty of times at home when it was just the two of them but he can't recall the last time the two went somewhere together. Every museum, every playdate, every grocery trip has been handled by Lottie. He can't remember the last time Lottie did something by herself.

It makes him want to slap himself like no shit, not everything is about you. Except it kind of is. He has been the reason she hasn't gotten a moment to herself. She locks things behind a door and says what's going on behind the door is so much fun, but he's never been on the other side of the door so he doesn't know the full truth.

"What juice are you drinking?" He asks.

Franny holds the box up. Elmo faces him with wide arms and a big, wide-open-mouthed smile. "Apple. Want some?" She walks over with the box and holds it out to him.

He almost says no but she pushes it toward him, willing him to take it. His mouth covers the tiny straw and he can't remember the last time he had apple juice but Elmo has good taste. "You can have the rest," she decides. Franny leaves the box with him and trots back to her drawing station.

"Thanks, Fran." He continues to sip on it. The tiny size of it and his hands back him feel like when Franny was a baby. It makes him remember Franny still is a baby and he should savour this time rather than worrying about not having that time back.

He leans his elbows on his knees and drinks the juice. The taste makes him think of his childhood home and how his mum used to give out apple juice boxes whenever his friends came over. Now, well, he's still drinking them.

"Hitting the hard stuff?" Lottie asks as she walks in. She looks brighter as if she went to the beach and got a tan. She's joking, she's smiling, she sits right next to Franny and kisses her left cheek and then her right cheek from behind.

Alex chuckles and places the empty box on the table. "Just trying to calm the nerves. How was the cathedral?"

Her cheeks look like they ache. "It was lovely. The statues, the paintings, the cupola. I'll show you pictures later."

It makes him nearly as happy as her, though that doesn't seem possible to meet. "That's great. I'm excited."

Lottie wraps her arms around Franny's stomach and hugs her back to her chest. "No you're not," she brushes off, looking down at Franny's paper.

He furrows his brows. "I'm not lying."

She looks up, smiles, and does a single nod. "Okay."

Alex can't see them when he's onstage. He imagines they are either dancing or Franny has fallen asleep. He tries not to think about it much when he's playing. It makes him too nervous. He feels the need to be impressive and grab their attention. Plus, if he messes up and falls on his face in front of Lottie she'll make fun of him forever. She'll mock him later anyway.

After the first show she went to on the tour, she stood up on the bed with a bare chest, only wearing his boxers, and started imitating him with a crooner voice and all. Her impersonations aren't just for the present day. In the shower, she'll comb her hair back to look like she's slapped a pound of gel in it and do a horrible impression of him in 2013. She can't sing so it's pretty funny to watch.

When the show ends he waits for them by Franny's purple butterfly drawing. They open the door with Lottie giving Franny a piggyback ride and Franny shouting, "You were great!"

"Really?" He asks, hands on his hips as they reach him. He grabs Franny and holds her on his hip. Her braids have been messed with like she was thrashing in a mosh pit.

"You weren't too loud or quiet. Just right!" She emphasizes her opinion with her hands, adding punctuation with each word.

"Well, thank you, Goldilocks." Alex's eyes shift to Lottie. "Mama bear?"

Lottie wrinkles her nose. "Ew, don't call me that." She cackles loudly as if he's the first person who has ever told her a joke. "You were lovely. Very energetic but not overtly."

He's not sure what she exactly means but he takes it with a chuckle. He takes a big yawn, throwing his head back for extra emphasis. He looks at the little girl. "I'm tired. Are you tired, Franny?"

Lottie makes a pointed look at him. "Francoise, remember?"

"Francoise," he corrects.

Franny giggles and clutches his neck tightly. "You guys are funny."

"Francoise." Alex pops her on his hips, making her laugh more. "What do you think about hanging with Matt and Amanda?"

She shrugs. "I guess so. They want to be my friends soooooo badly."

Lottie has to turn around her as laughter bursts out of her, lips flapping, and in desperate need of taking a deep breath. Alex turns his face to the side, not wanting to laugh straight into Franny's face.

"What?" Franny questions, having no idea of the hilarity of her words.

Lottie covers her mouth as she looks back. Her words come out muffled as she says, "Nothing, honey. You'll have a great time with them."

Alex can't control himself and has to place Franny down in order to contain his laughter. Franny ends up running over to Matt and tugging on his arm saying how excited she is to hang out like they're two guys getting beers together.

On the ride back to the hotel, Lottie nearly falls asleep against the window. She would have if the van hadn't hit a speed bump and knocked her head up against the glass. She walks into the hotel hanging off his side. She bends down and hugs Franny good night before bidding farewell to the rest of the group and escaping into their hotel room where she promptly rushes into the room, kicks off her shoes, and takes her clothes off.

"Geez," Alex says at the sight. "Are you rushing to bed or just excited to see me?"

She moves over to him and kisses him full on the lips. He nearly falls over. His arms flailing at his sides. He feels like he's hallucinating from exhaustion. "Excited to see you." She's unlatching her bra and throwing it at him. The sight of naked boobs should arouse him but leaves him as perplexed as when a woman threw a bra at him in Athens.

"Alrighty. Were you not just about to fall asleep two seconds ago?"

She rolls her eyes, sits on the edge of the bed, and takes off her socks. "It's called putting on a show, Alex," she says to him like he's their four-year-old daughter.

"Right."

"If Francoise thinks I'm tired, she will believe she should be tired. She fully believes my bedtime is 8:30 and that I don't stay up watching television until midnight. It works every time so you should work on your tired look for the next time."

Alex blinks slowly, still fully dressed. "I am tired."

"Oh." She's sitting in her underwear. She sits up straight and crosses her arms. "So, you didn't pawn off our daughter to have sex with me."

"Well," he sheds his jacket and tosses it on the sofa chair, "I never said that. I'm not an idiot."

She smirks and stands up. "I know." She turns her back to him and slowly begins to pull off her panties. Alex rushes to grab her hips and do it himself. He crashes into her, forcing a giggle out of her and landing them flat on the housekeeping-made bed. "Stop. You're gonna break one of my ribs."

He lifts himself, allowing her to breathe again. He stands up and begins to remove clothing items starting with his shoes. Lottie flips her body to look straight at him while he does this. She bites her thumbnail like she needs something between her teeth while she waits for him.

She then takes him off guard, "Do you jerk off?"

He's kicking his trousers off when she asks this, stopping with them pooling around his ankles. "Why do you want to know?"

She shrugs. "I'm just curious. That's all." There's something more to it because if Lottie there's always something more. She's made with ulterior motives.

Alex steps out of his pants. He smirks as he stands over her. His penis hanging near her cunt. "You want me to jerk off."

"What?" She awkwardly giggles. "No, I don't."

"Yes, you do."

"No, I don't," she insists. "I was just curious if you had time for that kind of thing."

He chuckles at her. "Lot, I've got plenty of time to se branler."

She reaches out to slap his stomach, right above his evidence. "Shut up. What kind of foreplay is this?"

Alex stares at her in disbelief. "You asked the question!"

"Did you forget how to have sex? Is that how long we've been apart?"

He rolls his eyes. And just to see her squirm he asks, "Do you watch porn?"

Her jaw drops. "Shut up!" After that, he does because it's much more fun to fuck your wife than to talk about fucking your wife.

The first time they had sex after having Franny, Lottie wanted to go slow. It was foreign and sore and filled with uncertainty for the first time in their relationship. But it was a lovely affair, a reunion of sorts.

This is different. It's a reunion but it's quick and attacking. He feels like they're a step away from eating each other (and not in the eating out kind of way). He's in her and they're together on the edge of the bed, their feet hanging off onto the floor, but neither makes a move to decide whether they should fuck on the bed or the floor.

And they're embarrassingly loud. Or at least she is. He can't keep track of himself. All he knows is he's moaning in her ear and the volume could be a small whisper or a full release. It's like when they were stuck in her Paris apartment that was so tiny you had to fuck in such a confined space and it might have been the hottest sex they ever had because of that.

He feels sweaty for the first time that night. Her hands are grasping on his shoulders, imprinting fingernail crescent cuts. He pushes his mouth directly next to her ear. "What if we had another baby?"

She pushes him up off of her chest, desperate for air, for some release from this heat. "You carry it." Yeah, he probably shouldn't be asking for things like that. He's barely been around this past year for the one they already have.

"Sorry," he pathetically mumbles.

She's not listening. She's busy getting ready to come. "Just fuck me." She's sick of him. He's convinced.

But at least he can fuck her. He knows he's good at that with the way she moves, arches, and clamps around him. She pushes him back further and tells him, "Jerk off now."

He listens, obedient as always to her orders, and pulls out. He would have come on the carpet, completely unsure of where to dispose of himself, but she gets down on her knees and opens her mouth. He moves closer. "Don't put it in my mouth," she says.

He lays the tip on her bottom lip, which seems to be okay with her. His fist is quick because he feels he'll burst into flames at the sight of her right now if he doesn't come into her mouth. So, he does. It takes him a while to relax and he's unsure if she swallows it or spits it into the wastebasket.

Lottie throws her hair up and stretches her back in front of him, bending back and forward. He feels old all the time, it rarely registers that she's the same age as him. She’s getting older too. She's more youthful than him, that's for sure. There's a reason women live longer than men.

She laughs at him still catching his breath as she hides herself under the blankets, waiting for him. "Come here," she reaches out.

He straightens out. "I'm coming. I'm coming."

She curls her lips, refraining from the sex joke. He stretches out on his stomach beside her. She has to tuck him in. It's cozy and soft. She moves him like a doll by grabbing his arm and curling it over her stomach. He moves closer and lies his head on his shoulder, brushing his nose against her jugular.

She moves down and even with his eyes closed he feels her eyes gazing at him. Her breath is so close to his. The tip of her nose carefully brushes his. "I missed you."

He slowly opens his eyes. He longs for her so much. He doesn't think he could've survived another day without her. She's as necessary as food and water. It's a hunger and a desire but it's sustenance and nourishment. Yet, he chose to starve himself. "I'm sorry for doing this to you."

She grows concerned, shifting over to her side. Her brows furrow and she is completely lost. She puts her hand on his upper arm, rubbing it in a soothing manner. "Doing what?"

"Being away. Being absent. Taking things away from you."

She shakes her head with confusion. "You gave me my whole life, Al."

"I gave you a whole different life."

"I'm quite happy with the life I have," she assures him. He goes through phases like this before where he covers himself in self-doubt. But this is different. There's a reason to be concerned because it's hard to question what is in front of your eyes, it's easy to question what you don't see.

"You've given up too much, Lot."

She doesn't refute him. She looks around but doesn't make eye contact with him. She's thinking. She gives his arm a squeeze to calm him. "I'm a very lucky girl." She hesitates before deciding to tell him the truth, "But I sometimes get jealous of you. I give in to you a lot and it's my own decision. You didn't force me into this. I'm going to spend my whole life missing out on things but I don't want to miss out on you. Believe me, I'm very happy right now."

She curls closer to him, needing the comfort, needing the love, needing him. He tries to soothe her the best you can. "I'm gonna take care of you for the rest of my life."

"I believe you."

He's never been great at compromise. He's gotten his way. Lottie gives in. She's the one willing to give things up. It's his turn. It should have been from the beginning. "Do you want to move to Paris?"

She gives him a small smile and a light shake of the head. "I just want you to come home."

"We should spend every summer in Paris. Get a little place there."

"I have work," she points out.

He groans and falls on his back. "Fuck work."

She giggles and lands on top of his chest, lying there. "I appreciate the sentiment though."

Alex brushes her arm. "I'm going to give you what you want. I promise. I'll learn French, I swear."

She kisses his cheek, a smile placed on his skin. "Thank you. I just want us all to be back in our home."

It grows quiet, both just feeling the other's presence, relaxing into it for the first time in forever. Her skin is so soft and her body is a comforting warmth on his skin. A feeling he's felt since the first night he slept beside her. They keep each other close because there's no other way of doing it.

Lottie breaks through the quiet. "Are we going to sleep naked?"

He grins with closed lips and turns to her. "Like the good ol' days."

"Something like it."

He squeezes her butt and she teases the skin around his dick but never touches it. They fall asleep a half hour later. He always thought it was bullshit that people slept better in the presence of someone else but it's true.

Then, there's a knock at the door. He awakes before the noise gets to Lottie. The room is dark and he stubs his toe on one of the bed's legs. He manages to find boxers to throw on before opening the door. It's early and he might be sleepwalking. His eyes squint and he manages to make out the sight of Matt with Franny in his arms.

"What's wrong?" Franny is curled into Matt's shoulder so peaceful looking that she could almost be asleep but she clearly isn't. Her eyes stare straight at him.

Matt looks tired. He's in his pyjamas too. "Bad dream. Sorry for waking you but she's too scared and I just thought..."

Not wanting to trouble Matt more, he reaches out and takes Franny from him. She grabs his neck so tightly she's almost choking him. "Don't worry. Thanks. Sorry about all this."

Matt shakes his head and pats Alex's arm before shuffling his feet back to his own room.

Alex quietly closes the door as best as he can. He whispers to Franny, "You okay?"

"Just don't leave," Franny tells him.

He rubs his hand up her back, holding her the same way he used to burp her. "I'm right here," he reminds her. She squeezes him tightly just to make sure. He reciprocates, holding him close to him. "Mum's still asleep."

She nods against his neck. "I'll be quiet. Swear."

"I know you will." He carries her to their bed, lying her between them. Her arms stay curled around him. He rubs his hand up and down in the hope she will fall asleep before he does.

"I'm happy you're here," she whispers to him.

He smiles because for once he is here. "Me too."

a/n: did not think it would be this long. i didn't think i'd ever write another part to this but i wrote the first 3k words in pencil on random sheets of paper and then the rest just happened. i hope it translates well.

#alex turner #alex turner fic #alex turner x fem!reader #alex turner x oc #alex turner x reader #alex turner x y/n #alex turner x you #alex turner smut #junedenim

60 notes · View notes

soxcietyy · 5 hours ago

Text

Deal

18+ Yuta x reader

You had the unfortunate luck of being assigned a seat next to your school bully. You dreaded being near him but there was no objectifying the teacher. After being stuck with you during cleaning duty in the afternoon he offered you a preposition.

You sat quietly in class hopping that you would be able to sit next to Inumaki, Panda,Maki or someone normal. For some odd reason the teacher decided to rearrange seats in the middle of class. They did this every so often which gave you panic attacks. You crossed your fingers under your desk praying that a specific name didn’t come out his mouth.

"Y/n, you’ll be sitting next too Yuta."

Your heart sank once you heard those words come out their mouth. He was the last person you wanted to sit next to. Other people would have loved to be seated next to him. He was adored by so many people you knew. When you first got here you would hear girls gossiping about him all the time. He was this mysterious yet lovable guy. He was known to be smart, athletic, kind, funny and overall popular. When you finally got to meet him it felt like everything you were told was a lie.

You could tell he didn’t like you right of the bat. The smile he wore around his friends would disappear every time you approached him. He would make you bring him stuff, make you do his homework and treated you horribly. He would tease and make fun of you whenever he saw you.

Slowly you made your way to your seat. Maki giving you a look of pity. You sat down silently next to him not daring to look at him. As the teacher continued arranging other students seats you could feel his gaze on you. It felt like his eyes were engraving themselves onto you.

You palms began to sweat as you pretended no to notice him. If he figured out that you noticed him he would start talking to you. The more seconds that past the hotter you felt. Unfortunately you couldn’t take off a layer because you had forgotten to wash your uniform. So you had to wear your button up and skirt from middle school instead. Obviously you had grown quite a bit since then so it fit you tight enough for you to deem it a faja. Not wanting to get dress coded you had to hide it by using a thick wool cardigan.

Eventually it became so hot that you had no choice but to take your school’s cardigan off.

You quickly took it off and placed it on your lap. If you pretend he wasn’t there everything should be fine right? Or would he get angry because of it? Class continued for a bit longer until the teacher made everyone partner up with the person next to them. You could hear Yuta chuckle as he sat up from his seat.

"Y/n we’re partners, do you mind doing the work though? Not feeling it today." Yuta says.

He never was feeling it apparently because he always made someone do his work.

This couldn’t continue on any longer, you had to put your foot down and do something. You couldn’t graduate knowing that you never bothered fixing the situation. Turning around to look at him you firmly tell him no.

He was slumped in his seat with his head thrown back when you said this. He snapped up with a look of shock. At first you thought it was because of your response but then you caught his eyes looking at your chest.

"What the hell are you wearing?" He grabs you by the collar to get a better look at your shirt.

He couldn’t believe you were wearing something tight like this. Was it to impress a boy? To grab people’s attention or were you just a slut? He let out a laugh but when he did he tugged on your shirt a little bit too hard. Two buttons flew off your shirt one hitting the wall behind him and the other one falling on his hand. The both of you fell silent and stared at each other. Quickly you put your cardigan on to cover up but the V neck was so low you could still see everything.

Yutas face had turned pink as he looked at you in horror. He acted fast by taking his jacket off and throwing at you. "Cover up." He tells you annoyed.

You had no other choice but to accept it no matter how much you hate the idea of wearing his clothes. Zipping the jacket up you could feel how big it was on you. Yuta put his head down facing away from you. He was surely mad that he had to help someone like you out.

You let a big sigh out as you sank into your chair. Opening your laptop you began to start on the group work. Fortunately it was something very simple that could be done in no time. As you worked the teacher called you to his desk. He had a conversation about how Yuta needed to also do the work. You explained that he wasn’t feeling well and that you were fine doing it on your own.

It didn’t matter what you said because if he didn’t do it you would also get in trouble. Sitting back down into your new seat you slowly nudge him, "Yuta, you really need to participate in the work. Or at least pretend you’re doing something.

"…"

No response.

You both ended up having cleaning duty after school. You grit your teeth as you sweep the class while he watched you. This was all his fault, if he had done something you would have been here.

The school was empty other than people who stayed behind to clean or had some after school activity’s.

As you looked for a dust pan you could feel how the jacket would pull your body down. It was so big and heavy on you that it felt like a work out to wear it. Then again why were you still wearing it? School was over anyways.

Taking it off you hand it to him. He looked taken aback until you spoke.

"You can have it back. I don’t need to be wearing the clothes of someone like you." You put it in his hands and walk away. He didn’t say anything his eyes stayed on you as if he was an animal haunting his prey.

Serching everywhere you thought about the possibility of the dust pan being inside a cabinet. The faster you finished this the better. So you bent down to look for it.

"Pink panties?" You hear his voice behind you as he flips your skirt up. You quickly turn around and tug your skirt down.

What was wrong with this idiot? Yea he’s pushed, hit, and tripped you before but this was outrageous. Wanting to say something you open your mouth but quickly bite your lip as he looked at you.

Slowly closing the gap between you both by grabbing your face. You try to turn your head away but his grip was so strong you couldn’t move. You had no choice but to look right back at him.

"What is it that your planning? Wearing such a tight shirt and a small skirt. Don’t tell me you think getting a boyfriend will stop me from messing with you." He smiles.

"No, that’s not it at all!" You try to tell him but he too busy admiring the breast that protruded in front of him.

"You’re such a whore, such a disgusting slut showing herself off like this. Arnt you embarrassed walking around like this?" His hand glids under your skirt and grabs you hem of your panties. With one swift motion he drags them down. "Move your legs," he says and you comply not wanting to make the situation worst.

When he held your panties in his hand you look away feeling so ashamed of yourself. In the corner of your eye you could see him wrap it around his wrist as if it were some kind of accessory. He looked at it for a few seconds feeling satisfied. With a stupid grin on his face.

"I’m going to wear this tomorrow and tell everyone that they’re yours."

You look at him horrified. What would people say? You would be the laughingstock of the school. Your eyes began to blur as tears formed. You didn’t want to cry in front of him and show his your weak but you could help it. Tears began to roll down as you dropped your knees feeling so embarrassed. You watched as the tears landed on your gray skirt.

Yuta bent down and picked your face back up to look at him. "Shhh, why are you crying? Don’t tell me you hate it that much." He smiles at you softly. "Let’s make a deal. I’ll stop messing with you if you grant two of my wishes."

Your tears finally came to a stop as you heard him say that. Two things and no more bullying after that? Sounded too good to be true but what if he made you do horrible things? Your bottom lip trembled at the thought of it. Maybe he’ll have some pitty on you and they won’t be so bad.

You agree to his propersition and you could see something flicker in his eyes. He grabbed you by the arm and pulled you across the classroom to the teachers desk. He sat down first on the rolling chair and then proceeded to pat his lap indicating that he wanted you there. Slowly you began to sit down on his lap but he stopped.

"Not like that, lay on my lap on your stomach."

You look at him confused but followed along.

"My first wish Is for you to lay here still." He whispered in your ear.

This was an odd wish but you tried to stay calm. Though hundreds of scenario’s played in your head none of them being good. You couldn’t help but holding your breath as you await his next move. Surely it wasn’t a good one because you felt your skirt being lifted up.

"Wait, what if someone sees?!" You try to get up but he places his right arm on your back to keep you down.

Currently you were facing the wall where the windows are in the classroom. Your behind faced the entrance of the room and the small windows that let you peek inside. If someone walked by they would see everything, literally.

"Maybe if you’re a good girl and stay quiet nobody will have to find out. Though I surely wouldn’t mind if they saw you like this." Yuta said.

You open your mouth to protest but instead of words a moan came out. You gasp hearing yourself and quickly cover your mouth. He had just shoved a finger inside of you. You look back at him knowing that sound you just made would fule whatever he had going inside his head. A bigger smile appeared on his face as he worked on you.

He could help but enjoy your quiver under him. How you squirmed and tried your best to stay quiet. It assumed him so much that he couldn’t help but think of never letting you go. You were such a lewd girl, he never thought of you this way until today.

You could feel as your juices covered you and his hand. How your heat was getting hotter and hotter. How his finger curled hitting the right spot. He would switch from fingering you to teasing your clit. Rubbing it in circles and sometimes side to side.

Then he stuck a second finger inside you could feel as your walls stretched to adjust to his fingers. Your legs shook in pleasure as he curled his digits over and over again. You’ve never felt so good and you were ashamed of yourself. How could you be enjoying something like this? You needed to hate this, you needed to hate Him.

"Stop-mh- pleease, I’m begging ah I’m begging you" You begged him to stop as you let small moans slip from your vocal cords.

"Shh, be a good girl and stay quiet." He said as he went back to rubbing your clit.

Your legs acted on their own and spread apart immediately so he could touch you more. "Such a nasty whore. Come for me, I know you want to."

Those words got to you for some reason. The way he called you a whore yet he was slowly morphing your insides to his liking. He wasn’t gentle with you at all. He shoved his fingers mercilessly into you to see you squirm. He really liked how you were this way, timid, whinny, and obedient.

He had you right under his grasp just like a wolf would have had its rabbit right under him. Toying with the poor thing until he decided to eat it.

You babble to him trying to tell him to stop. You could feel yourself getting there.

"Common girl, let’s show the luckyperson that happens to walk by how you cum. Let’s show them how much of a dirty whore you are for these fingers."

You shake your head not wanting that to happen. You try hard to prevent yourself from climaxing but the attempt was usless. The second he felt you clamping down on his digits he started going faster and harder.

You let out a loud gasp and yell out his name as you became undone. Releasing all of your juices all over his fingers. With a satisfied chuckle he brings his hand to his face and licks his fingers clean. Watching you shake under him, trying to regain your composure.

"For my next wish I think we want you to keep this up until graduation." He pulls your skirt down and forces you to stand up.

"I just cleaned you so I assume you can clean the rest of the classroom no?"

AN: found this in the back rooms

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk x y/n #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk x you #jjk x reader #yuta x y/n #okkotsu yuuta #yuta okkotsu x y/n #yuta okkotsu smut #yuta okkotsu x you #yuuta x you #yuuta x y/n #yuta jjk #yuta x reader #yuta okkotsu x reader #yuta okkotsu

41 notes · View notes

winchestersisterimaginessss · 17 hours ago

Text

request: can you write one where the sister is newly 21 so she’s at the bar but she’s without her brothers because she decided to stop there last minute just for a drink. She ends up getting drugged and she rushes to the bathroom and calls her brothers for help. The guy ends up breaking the door down but before anything happens really, Sam and Dean rush in and take care of it. The drug is tripping her out and she throws up outside too. I know you’ve already kind of done these stories but I thought a mix of them box could be good. I don’t know I thought this could be an interesting story.

A/N: Hi!! I hope you like this! Even if I’ve already written something I’ll continue to write more if you request them— I don’t mind! This was a great request. Requests are always open!

Warnings- drugs/roofies, attempted SA,

Sam and Dean Winchester x sister!Reader

The neon lights of the bar buzzed faintly above you, flickering like the last remnants of the day’s energy. It was crowded, loud, the kind of place where people went to forget. You weren’t here for that—just trying to blow off some steam after the last hunt. But now, as you sat on a barstool, sipping your drink and scanning the room, everything felt off. The glass in your hand was suddenly heavier than you remembered, and your vision, sharp a moment ago, now felt blurry around the edges.

Focus, you told yourself. You needed to focus. But it was like someone had turned the volume down on the world, muffling the voices around you, the laughter, the clinking of glasses. Everything was... distant.

The man who had been sitting next to you moments ago was now gone, his seat empty. You didn’t even remember him leaving. That’s when you started to feel it—the overwhelming sense that something wasn’t right. It wasn’t the alcohol; it wasn’t the atmosphere. It was the weird, creepy sensation crawling under your skin, like a thousand invisible fingers skittering across your arms. Your hands were trembling now, and you tried to steady them against the bar, but it was no use. You were suddenly very aware of how heavy your eyelids felt.

The bathroom.

You needed to get to the bathroom. Now.

You lurched from your seat, your legs unsteady beneath you, and staggered across the room. Everything seemed to sway around you, like the world had gone drunk on its own axis. The door to the bathroom felt miles away, but somehow, you made it, your palm flat against the cool metal as you pushed it open. Slamming the door shut behind you and locking it.

Inside, the bathroom was a small, dimly lit space. The fluorescent lights flickered above, casting an eerie glow on the tiles. Your back was against the door before you stumbled forward, gripping the sink tightly as the nausea hit, a wave of dizziness so intense it felt like the floor might just swallow you whole.

What the hell was happening?

The panic started to creep in, your breath coming in short, shallow bursts. Your heart thudded in your chest like a drumbeat, faster and faster, and your hands were shaking so badly you could barely hold onto the edge of the sink.

You didn’t know what was happening to you, but you knew it wasn’t normal. You knew you weren’t just drunk. This felt like something else. Something... worse.

No. No, no, no. This can’t be happening.

Your mind started to race—too many thoughts at once, too many wrong things. Your vision swam in and out of focus, the edges of the room blurring and then snapping back into clarity, only to fade again. A sick, icy dread curled in your stomach as you realized: you weren’t going to be able to get out of here. You were losing control.

No. No, I can’t pass out here. I can’t—

You fumbled for your phone in your pocket, your fingers slipping against the smooth screen. It took everything you had to unlock it and call the one number you knew could help you, the one person who could always save you.

Dean.

You dialed his number, your heart pounding so loud you thought it might drown out the ringtone. The phone rang once, twice, before it clicked, and his voice came through, sharp and worried.

“(Y/N), what’s up?” Dean’s voice was still upbeat, though you could tell he was trying to be casual, not knowing that everything inside of you was falling apart.

“D-Dean?” you stammered, struggling to get the words out as your chest tightened. You could feel the tears pricking at your eyes, your voice trembling, but you couldn’t help it. “I... I... I don’t know what’s happening. Something’s wrong, Dean... I... I think I’m... I don’t know... I think I’m gonna pass out or something.”

“Hey, hey, (Y/N), what’s going on? What’s happening?” Dean’s voice was sharp, laced with panic and urgency. “Where are you? Talk to me, sweetheart.”

“Dean… I don’t know, I don’t know,” you gasped, your words slurring and getting caught in your throat. The spinning was getting worse. The walls of the bathroom felt like they were closing in on you. “I... I’m not okay. I... I don’t know… I don’t know what’s happening, I... everything’s spinning.” The words tangled in your mouth, and you barely recognized your own voice.

“Where are you?” Dean demanded, his tone growing frantic. “What do you mean you’re not okay? Are you hurt? What happened?”

“I’m... in the bar,” you stuttered, gasping for breath between every word. “I don’t... I don’t know what’s going on, I feel... I feel dizzy, Dean, I feel so weird. I’m... I’m so scared...”

Dean’s voice faltered for a second, then snapped back, tighter, sharper. “Sweetheart, what do you mean? Where are you in the bar? Who are you with? Did someone...”

Your heart lurched, the word hanging in the air like a physical weight, but you couldn’t process it fully. "I... I don’t know... I don’t know who I was with..." You gasped, fighting against the overwhelming fog. “I feel like... everything is moving too fast… like... like I’m not here… I don’t know… I don’t know, Dean... I don’t know what’s happening...”

“Did someone drug you?” Dean’s voice was suddenly sharp, his words clipped, the panic now hitting his voice with force. “(Y/N), did someone drug you??”

His words made your chest tighten, but something inside of you clicked, like a terrible realization. You weren’t just confused. You weren’t just dizzy. Something wasn’t right. You weren’t in control of your own body, your mind was slipping away from you, and the terror of that realization set your heart racing.

“Wh-what?" Your head felt like it was swimming in an endless fog, and you couldn’t make sense of the words he was saying. “No... No, I’ve never done drugs... What... what do you mean?” You stammered disoriented.

“Goddammit,” Dean cursed, his voice breaking as he pieced together the worst possible scenario. “Someone drugged you, slipped you something in your drink. I’m coming, I’m coming to get you, kid. Stay with me.” Dean’s heart broke as he heard the confusion in your voice. He knew, though. He knew exactly what was happening to you. Someone had slipped something into your drink, and you were paying the price for it now. It made his blood boil, but right now, all that mattered was getting to you, making sure you were safe.

“But… but I’ve never done drugs before.” You blinked at the confusion clouding your vision, trying to make sense of what was happening to you.

"I know you’ve never done drugs before, I know sweetheart, I know. Someone did this to you. Someone put something in your drink, okay? You’re gonna be alright though, I’m coming. Stay with me.” He said gently, trying to explain what was happening to you, though the pain in his voice was evident.

“I... no... I don’t... I don’t understand…Why...” You were gasping for breath, your words slurring more and more, the confusion twisting in your mind. “I don’t understand, Dean... I don’t know... What... what’s happening to me?”

Dean clenched the steering wheel in his car, his knuckles white as his heart pounded painfully in his chest. “Listen to me, sweetheart. You’re gonna be okay. I’m on my way. I need you to just stay calm for me, alright? We’re gonna get you out of there. Just stay with me.”

Tears welled in your eyes as the panic started to swell inside of you. You were slipping. You were fading. You could feel it, a terrible, unrelenting fog in your mind, and the thought of losing control—of passing out—sent a new wave of fear crashing into you.

“I... I don’t want to… I don’t want to pass out, Dean! Is… is someone going to hurt me.” You gasped, the words tumbling out in a frantic, terrified rush. Dean clenched his jaw knowing exactly why someone roofied you, but he couldn’t instill that fear in you. “Hey! No…No! No one’s going to hurt you. I’m coming to get you, I’m coming.” But your mind already connected the dots which spiraled you into a deeper panic. “What if... what if I can’t... what if someone comes in... I can’t... I can’t stop them… I can’t fight them, I... I’m not strong enough! What if—what if something happens to me?”

Dean’s heart cracked at the sound of your voice, so broken and terrified. He was practically yelling into the phone now, his voice rising with frustration, desperation, and worry. “(Y/N), listen to me. You’re locked in the bathroom, alright? No one can get to you. No one can hurt you. You just stay away from the door. You’re gonna be fine. I swear to God you’re gonna be okay.”

“I’m scared, Dean,” you whispered, so softly now that it barely made it through the receiver.

"I know, sweetheart," Dean’s voice cracked, like it was breaking apart at the seams. "I know. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Just stay with me. We’re almost there. Just hold on."

Your body was shutting down, your mind was swimming, and you couldn’t fight it anymore. You didn’t know if you could hold on, didn’t know if you could stay awake.

Everything was starting to fade.

You gasped again, your breath hitching. "I can't...

“I-I'm gonna-pass out, Dean."

“Stay awake, (Y/N). Don’t you dare let it pull you under,” Dean’s voice cracked as he gripped the steering wheel harder, driving faster, his own panic starting to bleed through.

Suddenly, you heard muffled sound in the background, a voice from the phone, sharper and more insistent. "Dean, give me the phone," Sam barked. "Give me the damn phone."

Dean grunted, clearly panicked, but he handed it over. Sam's voice cracked through the phone almost immediately, low and commanding, but so full of fear that you could hear it even through your confusion…

Sam immediately spoke into the phone, his voice soft and gentle, trying to ground you. “(Y/N), hey, it’s Sam. I’m here. Just... just breathe for me, okay?”

“Sam?” Your voice was thin, confused. “What’s happening? Why am I... What’s wrong with me?”

Sam’s heart sank hearing the confusion and panic in your voice. “You’re going to be okay. We’re coming to get you, okay? You’re gonna be alright. Just stay calm. I’m right here.”

You whimpered, your head spinning uncontrollably. “I’m so scared, Sammy... What if someone gets in? What if they hurt me? I don’t know what they want...” Your voice trailed off into another sob, and the fear that clenched your heart was almost suffocating.

Sam's voice softened, trying to soothe you as much as possible. “You’re safe, (Y/N), you’re locked in the bathroom. No one’s getting in. Okay? You just stay away from the door, alright? Don’t open it. Don’t even get near it. We’re almost there. Just stay with me. You’re safe.”

You could barely understand his words, the fog thickening, but you clung to them, trying to focus on the sound of his voice. The air was too thick, the silence too loud, and the weight in your chest was unbearable.

The sound of the door rattling suddenly shattered your fragile grasp on reality. The harsh knocking echoed through the room, sending your heart into overdrive.

“Sammy?” you whispered, barely able to speak. “Is that you? Is that you at the door?”

Sam’s stomach dropped at the sound. He could hear the panic in your voice, and he knew the door was no longer just a symbol of safety—it was a threat now.

“No, don’t open the door, (Y/N),” Sam yelled into the phone, his voice filled with panic. “Stay away from the door, alright? Don’t let anyone in!”

You could barely process his words, the terror drowning you. “It’s... it’s not you, Sammy... It’s not you... Someone’s trying to get in...”

The door rattled again, and this time, it sounded even more forceful. The fear was rising, thick and suffocating, like a cold hand closing around your throat. “No, no, no... I can’t... I can’t stop them...”

Sam shouted, his voice almost breaking, “we’re almost there, (Y/N), we’re coming!”

Another loud bang came at the door, the sound sharp and menacing, and your blood ran cold. Your eyes darted to the door, fear overtaking every inch of you.

“Stay on the phone!” Sam was shouting now, but the fear in your voice drowned out everything. “We’re coming, we’re almost there!”

Your body trembled violently, your knees buckling, and you fell against the wall as your thoughts scattered. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t stop the terror from overtaking you. You wanted to be brave, you wanted to fight, but you couldn’t.

“I can’t... I can’t...” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“I’m with you, (Y/N),” Sam’s voice came through, shaky but full of determination. “We’re almost there. Just stay with me, alright? Just stay awake, stay alert.”

Your eyes were starting to close, the weight of exhaustion pressing on your eyelids. But you couldn't let it happen. You couldn’t.

The banging continued, louder now, but through it, you clung to Sam’s voice, the only thing grounding you. You were barely hanging on and as you whispered one last plea for them to hurry, the door rattled again, louder now, the metal handle shaking as whoever was on the other side tried again. It sounded like they were getting closer, breaking through the frame with each hit. They were coming in.

“NO!” You screamed, struggling to pull yourself up from the cold floor, your hands shaking as you tried to steady yourself. The room spun even harder, your body swaying, vision blurring.

Then, with a final crash, the door gave way. The lock snapped, and the door swung open with a jarring screech, revealing the silhouette of a man standing in the doorway. A stranger, tall and looming, his face partially obscured by shadows. His footsteps echoed loudly in the small, tiled room as he took a step forward, eyes gleaming with a predatory hunger. The fear in your chest exploded into pure, raw terror.

“No, no, no!” you whimpered, backing up against the wall as he stepped closer, your breath coming in shallow, frantic gasps. “Please... please... don’t! Please...”

Your words slurred, each one harder to get out, as the drug in your system weighed you down. You could feel the darkness pressing in on the edges of your vision, your mind trying to shut off, but the terror was still there, an open wound in your chest. You tried to scream, tried to get up, but you were too weak.

“Shhh... It’s okay,” the man cooed, his voice a low, mocking whisper as he took another step forward, his eyes gleaming with a sick amusement. “You don’t need to be scared...“

The words hit you like a slap to the face. Your brain barely registered the cruelty of it as he approached, his shadow casting over you like a weight you couldn’t escape.

“No... No... please...” You begged, your voice barely above a whisper, your body trembling uncontrollably. Your hand flailed around the bathroom floor, searching for something, anything to defend yourself with, but your fingers couldn’t grip anything. Every time you tried to move, you felt weaker, your body refusing to obey your commands.

The man grinned, a cruel smile pulling at the corners of his lips. “No one’s going to save you, sweetheart. You’re mine now. Just let go, it’ll be over soon.”

You couldn’t breathe, your chest tight as the fear suffocated you. You could feel the blackness creeping in again, and you knew—if you let go, if you passed out... he would have you. You wouldn’t be able to defend yourself, to scream, to fight. Your limbs were too heavy, and all you could do was whimper.

“No! No, please!” You choked out, unable to move. The door had fallen open behind him, the sound of your brothers’ desperate voices rang through the air and with everything you had left, you screamed, as if your voice could somehow reach your brothers, stop him from getting any closer. But it was a weak cry, shaky and broken, too afraid to even believe it would be enough.

“Get the fuck off of her!”

Dean’s voice, filled with fury and rage, cut through the room like a sword.

In an instant, Dean was on him, shoving the man away from you with a brutal force that sent him stumbling backward. Your body, still weak and trembling from the drugs, barely reacted, but Dean's presence was enough to anchor you to the reality of the situation.

"I’ll fucking kill you!" Dean growled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. He charged, fists flying as the man tried to regain his balance. The sound of bones hitting flesh was unmistakable—loud, sickening, and filled with the fury that only Dean Winchester could channel when someone dared threaten his family.

Suddenly, Sam’s familiar face came into view, his expression tight with worry. “Hey, hey, hey,” he said, his voice gentle but urgent, like he was trying to anchor you to the here and now. His hands, warm and steady, cradled your face, lifting it slightly so he could meet your gaze, his thumb lightly brushing over your skin as if to remind you he was there. His eyes searched yours, looking for any hint of the haze that the drugs might’ve left behind, any sign that your focus was slipping away from him. "You're okay. You're safe, I promise. I’m right here with you, okay? We’ve got you. We won’t let anything happen to you."

His words were steady and warm, like a lifeline, but your body was betraying you. The drug had sunk deep into your system, and it was wreaking havoc in every muscle, every nerve, sending waves of strange sensations through you. Your chest tightened, and it felt like there was a weight pressing down on your lungs. You couldn’t breathe deep enough, and each shallow gasp only made it worse. Every breath you tried to take felt like it was being stolen from you. Your hands—your fingers—felt stiff and unresponsive, curling on their own, twitching with spasms.

“Sam...” you barely whispered, but your voice was weak, trembling, like it wasn’t your own. “I feel so weird…”

“I know, (Y/N), I know.” Sam said, his voice thick with emotion but full of that calm authority that only made you trust him more. His large hands were on your arms, trying to hold you steady, to remind you that you were here, you were real, you were safe. But your body wouldn’t stop jerking, twitching violently, like the drug was seizing control of your muscles. Your back arched involuntarily, and a choked sob bubbled in your throat.

The panic set in deeper. Your arms and legs felt like they belonged to someone else—heavy, uncooperative. You tried to move, but your body refused. The dizziness spun in your head, and the world around you was a blur. You felt like you were drowning in it. “Sam... Sam, I can’t...”

His grip tightened on you, anchoring you to him, and you could feel his breath close to your ear, his voice softer now but no less urgent. “Listen to me, (Y/N). I’m right here. I need you to stay with me. You’re gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay. The drug... it’s coursing through you right now, your body’s trying to fight it, alright? Stay with me. Stay awake.”

His voice cracked with raw emotion, but it didn’t waver. He was so present, so solid in this moment, even as your body continued to react violently. You jerked again, the spasms making you gasp for air as you felt like your muscles were locking into place. You didn’t have control over your own body. The feeling of being completely out of control overwhelmed you. You could feel your head spinning, your vision blurring more with each second, and that constant pressure on your chest that made it harder and harder to stay conscious.

“Just breathe with me, (Y/N),” Sam said, his voice steady, but his hands shook slightly as they gripped you. His hand moved to your back, rubbing it slowly, trying to comfort you through the chaos, but your body was betraying you in every way imaginable. The drug was taking hold, seizing control of your senses, your thoughts—your every nerve. You could feel it as your heart raced, pounding violently in your chest, like it was trying to break free from your ribcage. Sweat was pouring down your face, your skin slick and clammy, and your limbs felt like they were no longer your own—jerking and twitching uncontrollably.

You wanted to scream, wanted to beg Sam to make it stop, but your mouth wouldn’t work. It wouldn’t obey, wouldn’t form the words. Your chest heaved with each shallow breath, but it wasn’t enough, wasn’t enough to pull you from the panic. Every time you tried to breathe, the air felt too thick, too far away. Your vision blurred, and the edges of the room warped and wavered.

And Sam… Sam could see it all in your eyes. The terror. He saw you struggling, saw the panic flashing in your gaze, and it crushed him. You could hear the sound of Sam’s voice rising, frustration and fear mixing in with his calm words. “What the hell did you give her?!” He suddenly screamed, his voice cutting through the room, filled with a ferocity that made you feel like it was cutting through the air itself.

He wasn’t just speaking to you anymore. The sound of his fury—his absolute protective rage—was directed at the man who had done this to you. You could feel it in the tension in his grip, in the way his hands clenched around you, holding you like you were the most important thing in the world.

But despite Sam’s rage, he never broke his focus on you. He didn’t leave you, not for a second. “Okay,” Sam said, taking a breath as if to calm himself. “Okay. I know you’re scared, I know. I need you to focus on me, alright?” Sam continued, his voice now a little softer again as his thumb stroked across your cheek, trying to soothe you through the convulsions rattling your body. “Your heart’s racing, I know. That’s the drug. That tightness in your chest? It’s normal right now. Your body’s in shock. It’s trying to fight the drug’s effects, but you’re going to be okay, trust me.”

The sensation of weightlessness was threatening to pull you under, and your body jerked again, making you gasp for air. But Sam was right there. His hands moved to your face, cupping your cheeks gently but with purpose, forcing you to look at him, to focus on him, despite how blurry everything seemed.

"Don’t you dare close your eyes, okay?"

Your chest felt like it was about to explode, the spasms were making you writhe in his arms, but Sam stayed with you—his voice still a tether in the madness, guiding you through each second. Even through his own anger, his pain, his desperation—he was there for you, unwavering.

The sound of Dean’s voice in the background seemed muffled now, lost in the whirlwind of sensations, but Sam’s presence was constant.

He didn’t wait for you to reply—didn’t need to. He could see the way you were struggling just to breathe, could see the fear and confusion in your eyes. You were scared, but you didn’t need words to tell him that. His voice didn’t falter once as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and helped you stand. Your legs were unsteady, like they weren’t yours anymore, but he held you up—held you close as he guided you toward the door.

“Come on, I’ve got you,” Sam murmured, his arm supporting you as you stumbled forward. The world outside was a blur, the lights of the bar flashing in your peripheral vision. Your body was shaking with each step, still fighting against the drug, but Sam was there. Always there.

As soon as the cold night air hit your skin, the nausea hit you like a freight train. Your stomach twisted violently, and before you could do anything, the pressure built up—too fast, too strong—and you dropped to your knees, your body convulsing with a wave of sickness.

“Let it out,” Sam said immediately, his voice firm but full of empathy, the knowledge of what was happening to you clear in every word. “It’s okay, just let it out, (Y/N). You’re okay. Your body’s fighting the drug. You’re fighting it, alright? Just breathe. Let it out. You’re gonna feel better. I promise.”

Your body lurched forward as you threw up, everything inside you coming up in violent waves. You felt weak—so weak—your hands barely able to hold yourself up as your body continued to heave. The dizziness was making everything spin, but Sam was right there, his hand on your back, steadying you. His voice was a constant hum in the background, soothing, telling you that it was okay, that you were okay.

“That’s it, just let it out,” Sam said again, his hand still pressing gently on your back, keeping you grounded, keeping you steady as you threw up, as your body trembled violently. He was talking to you like he knew exactly what you needed, guiding you through the worst of it. “You’re okay, you’re okay, just keep breathing. Your body’s doing what it needs to. You’re okay.”

You didn’t know how long it lasted, but your strength was drained, your energy zapped, and your body finally stopped heaving, leaving you weak and trembling on the cold pavement. You were on your hands and knees, and the nausea still clung to you, but Sam didn’t let go—not even for a second.

And just as you started to collapse, your body exhausted from everything, Sam’s hands were there. He caught you effortlessly, pulling you into his chest as you slumped, your head falling against his shoulder.

“I got you,” Sam whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re alright. You’re alright, (Y/N). I’ve got you.”

His arms wrapped around you, holding you up, keeping you from crumpling to the ground. You could feel his warmth, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath you, and even though you still felt weak, you weren’t alone.

“Breathe, just breathe,” he murmured, his voice soft now, a gentle comfort that you clung to. “You’re gonna make it through this. I’m right here. We’re gonna get you through it.” He kept you safe, kept you calm, as Dean took care of the man that attempted to do the worse to you.

His punches were swift and relentless, each one more vicious than the last. The man staggered back, but Dean wasn’t about to give him a chance to recover. With a final, savage swing, he sent the man crashing into the bathroom sink, the impact rattling the entire room.

Dean’s voice, sharp and full of anger as he finished dealing with the man who had dared to hurt you. “You don't even know how lucky you are that I don't have more time," he growled. "Stay down, or you won’t get up again." The stranger groaned, blood dripping from his busted lip, but he wasn’t getting back up—not for a while.

Dean didn’t even look at the man as he stepped over him, walking out of the bathroom and out of the bar. His face softened just a fraction as he saw you trembling in Sam’s arms, his voice turning gentle despite the fire still burning in his eyes. “(Y/N), hey... It’s Dean. We’re getting you out of here. Just hold on for me, alright?”

You could barely breathe, your body still too weak to function properly, but just hearing him calmed the chaos in your mind.

“Stay with us, okay? Stay with us, don’t fall asleep. We’re here. We won’t let anything happen to you.” He said as he rushed to open the car door while Sam held you up, but you could feel yourself slipping.

“No,” you whispered weakly, your hand gripping Sam’s jacket as you struggled to stay awake. “Don’t leave me alone.”

“We’re not leaving you,” Sam said, his voice steady and warm. “I’m right here, and so is Dean. We’re getting you to the car. Just breathe. You’re safe.”

The door slammed shut behind you as Sam climbed into the car, cradling your trembling form in his lap. Dean slid into the front seat, his knuckles white on the steering wheel as he started the engine.

“You’re safe, (Y/N),” Sam murmured, wiping away the tears that stained your cheeks. “We’ve got you. We’re not letting go. Not ever.”

You were fading, the world slipping away as the last of your strength drained from you. But Sam was right there, holding you, comforting you.

“We’ve got you,” Dean added, his voice thick with emotion as he drove. “We’re not going anywhere.”

And even though you could barely hold on to consciousness, those words were enough. You weren't alone anymore. You had your brothers. And you would be safe.

41 notes · View notes