#we never know what someone is thinking、yeah maybe they hate you but what if they just dn't know what to say ? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bucketsorbueckers · 3 days ago

Text

No Hard Feelings - Chapter 1

Paige x Azzi

Warnings: language, alcohol

Dual POV - 3.3K words

A/N: literally no idea what I’m doing. Back on this godforsaken site because women’s basketball has completely taken over my brain. This is my first pazzi fanfic ever and mostly just me trying to keep my mind busy before it short-circuits. Probably some grammar mistakes bc i cant read my own writing half the time. It’s all angst and yearning and that cursed feeling when your first love is also your best friend. Would love to know what you think <3

Summary: Azzi Fudd loved Paige Bueckers in the quiet moments—off the court, in the dark, when no one else was looking.

But loving someone the world adores is its own kind of loneliness.

Now, with a new season looming and history heavy between them, Azzi is learning: some people aren’t hard to love...just impossible to hold onto.

Paige’s POV

There was a particular kind of loneliness that came from standing in a room full of people who thought they knew you. Paige had grown used to being watched. The stares. The whispers. The phones held just low enough to seem subtle. But there was one gaze she couldn’t feel anymore. And somehow, that was the one that hurt.

Because in the blur of lights and music and bodies pressed too close, not feeling her eyes felt like its own kind of punishment. Like absence had weight. Like silence could bruise.

She shoved the screen door open with the heel of her hand. The night air hit her sharp and cold, far too bitter for September. It cut against her damp skin, made her flinch. She inhaled through her nose, slow and tight, trying to dislodge the pressure blooming beneath her ribs. That familiar, nameless weight she only ever felt around her.

There wasn’t a word for it. Just a hollow ache that stretched too wide. She hated it. Hated how it filled her chest, her lungs, her tired limbs—how it bled into every part of her until she wasn’t sure where she ended and the feeling began.

She pressed a palm flat against her chest and rubbed, hard, like she could scrape it loose. Force it out. But it stayed rooted. And when she closed her eyes, she wasn’t sure if she was holding herself together or holding something back.

“Paige?”

She flinched, eyes snapping open as she glanced over her shoulder. Nika stood on the porch, concern written all over her.

“It’s cold, Nika. Go back inside. I’m alright.”

She knew Nika wouldn’t listen, but still figured the lie was worth the breath it bought. Footsteps whispered over the brittle grass behind her. Nika joined her in the dark, arms folded tight against the cold.

Paige sighed and slipped off her jacket, draping it over Nika’s shoulders without a word.

“Told you to bring a jacket.”

“Always so chivalrous,” Nika murmured, a ghost of a smile in her voice.

Paige just shrugged and tilted her head back, eyes tracing constellations she didn’t know the names of.

The sky in Storrs always seemed a little louder. Stars so bright they looked like they might shake loose and fall. She tried to anchor herself in that—tried to let the sharp pinpricks of light distract her from the heat crawling up her throat, the ache coiled tight and unwelcome.

“We gonna talk about it,” Nika asked gently, “or just stand out here and stargaze?”

“Not shit to say,” Paige muttered, eyes never leaving the sky.

“You always have something to say.”

“Yeah, well,” Her voice was slightly thick and she sucked in a breath to control it. “Not about this.”

Nika just nodded, leaning into her, warm where their arms touched, and blessedly quiet. She didn’t push, didn’t pry and Paige loved her for that.

She didn’t know how long they stood there, silent and shivering, but eventually Paige let out a slow, shaky breath and turned to her.

“Back inside?”

“God, thank you,” Nika squeaked, already grabbing her hand and tugging her toward the door. “You need a drink.”

Maybe she did. But Paige had kept her distance from the bottles tonight. She wasn’t the kind of drunk who cried or screamed—she was the kind who laughed too loudly, leaned in too close, and let her secrets slip through a smile. Affectionate. Messy. A little too honest for her own good.

A terrible thing to be when you’re in love with your best friend. Or ex-best friend. Paige wasn’t sure what category Azzi Fudd fell into anymore. There wasn’t a word for it. Just a lingering ache and the way her name still tasted like something sacred and sharp on Paige’s tongue.

As she stepped through the door, the noise of the party crashed back over her. Bright lights, pounding bass, bursts of laughter that felt a little too sharp. Paige blinked, trying to adjust, to armor up again.

Nika didn’t give her time. She kept hold of Paige’s wrist and pulled her through the tide of bodies. People called out to her—hellos, shot offers, phones flashing up for pictures—but the words barely landed. Paige kept her gaze locked on the swing of Nika’s dark, glossy hair as she moved forward.

The kitchen gave them a sliver of breathing room. The music thudded through the walls, but it was quieter here, relatively speaking. Nika didn’t miss a beat, pressing a plastic cup into her hand like it was gospel.

“Drink.”

Paige looked down. The liquid inside was an aggressively unnatural color, and it smelled like bad decisions and lighter fluid.

“Drink, Bueckers. Or I’ll finish it off for you.”

That did it. Nika knew her too well. Paige might not have wanted it, but the idea of someone else drinking it—of Nika drinking it—was somehow worse. She tipped the cup back and winced as it hit her throat, bitter and burning. She coughed once, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.

“Tastes like regret,” she rasped.

Nika just grinned. “That’s how you know it’s working.”

Paige leaned against the counter, eyes scanning the chaos. The room was packed—too many bodies crammed into too small a space. Lights flickered, smoke curled in the corners, and every voice bled into the thud of the bass. It was all blur and static.

But still, somehow, she found her.

Dark curls were piled on top of her head like some chaotic masterpiece, two strands left loose in that way that felt accidental but probably wasn’t. Her lips were full, pink, stretched into a smile too wide for her delicate features but it worked. God, it worked.

Her brown eyes lit up as she looked at the guy beside her, one hand resting casually on his arm like it meant nothing. Like she hadn’t once touched Paige that way. Like Paige didn’t still remember the exact weight of that hand, and what it felt like to be the center of her gaze.

Azzi Fudd was the kind of beautiful that left wreckage in its wake. The kind that rewrote gravity…pulled you in, tore you apart, and expected you to thank her for the privilege.

She was Paige’s ruin. And this—this cruel ritual of watching from the sidelines, of biting her tongue and feigning disinterest—was purgatory. A slow bleed. A soft unraveling.

Because how do you survive the thing that made you feel infinite, when it no longer looks your way? Azzi had once set her world on fire. Now Paige stood in the ash, smiling like it didn’t still burn.

Only lately, the smile was slipping. She wasn’t pulling off detached, or effortless, or even remotely okay. She wasn’t the cool, unbothered ex–best–something she wanted to be. She was a trainwreck. Messy. Obvious. Loud in all the ways she didn’t want to be. Undone. And trying like hell not to fall apart where Azzi might see.

To her left, Nika pressed another cup into her hand. Paige didn’t bother checking what was in it this time. Not when Azzi had just laughed, really laughed, at something he said. The guy who, by all appearances, had taken her place.

So Paige tipped the cup back without thinking. Let the liquor scorch its way down her throat, sharp and mean. She welcomed the burn. It was something besides the hollow ache that had settled in her chest and decided to stay.

Azzi’s POV

Cam, by all reasonable measures, was handsome. Easy smile. Kind eyes. The kind of guy who asked if she needed anything before wandering off for drinks, who touched her lower back like it was second nature—not a performance.

It was fine. Safe. Which was exactly why Azzi let him stand there.

She laughed at something he said. Not because it was all that funny, but because it filled the space. Because silence, lately, made too much room for thoughts she didn’t need to entertain. Like the fact that Paige was here. And probably hadn’t even noticed her.

Not that it mattered. Paige hadn’t looked at her in weeks. Not during practice. Not in the hallways. Not once—not really.

Azzi had already tried. She’d waited in doorways, lingered after lifts, sent the texts that went unanswered. She’d left the door cracked open, just wide enough for Paige to step through. And maybe, stupidly, she’d hoped she would. But Paige didn’t chase her. Didn’t stop her. Didn’t fight.

So Azzi took the silence for what it was: an answer. Whatever they were…whatever that had been, it was over.

She leaned a little closer to Cam, let her smile stretch wider than it felt, and pretended her heart hadn’t made its choice a long time ago.

Somewhere across the room, someone screamed. Sharp, high-pitched, probably from a game or a spilled drink, but it still made Azzi jump. Her eyes cut instinctively toward the noise, scanning the chaos.

She didn’t find the source. But she did find Paige.

Leaning against the counter like she wasn’t the most magnetic thing in the room. Solo cup in hand. Hair pulled back. Black pants slung low on her hips, just enough to reveal the soft slice of skin above her waistband. Azzi’s breath hitched before she could stop it.

People surrounded her, drawn in like always—smiling, laughing, hanging onto every word as she told some story Azzi couldn’t hear from across the room. Paige talked with her hands, animated and alive, fingers slicing the air like punctuation.

She could never sit still. Never stay still. Even now, holding court in the middle of a crowd, she shifted her weight from foot to foot, rolled her shoulders, tucked a strand of hair that wasn’t even loose. Restless in a way that made her electric.

Azzi watched, arms folded tight across her chest, trying not to stare.

Cam said something, and Azzi flinched, like she'd been caught peeking through a door she had no business opening. Which, in a way, she had.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, rubbing the back of her neck like she could scrub away the guilt. “What'd you say? It’s too loud in here.”

“I asked if you wanna get out of here.”

She blinked. Yes. Of course she did. That was the whole point of being here with someone like Cam. Someone steady, easy, uncomplicated.

And Paige was here, which made her want to leave. To breathe. To stop feeling everything all at once.

But Paige was also here. Which made it impossible to walk away.

Her eyes darted back across the room and she watched Paige throw back a shot. Paige didn’t really struggle to handle her alcohol but seeing her drinking so much still made Azzi nervous. She bounced lightly on her toes, restless, trying to figure out what to do with the feeling clawing up her spine.

“Can we stay a little longer?” she asked, turning to Cam. “Season’s coming up, and I have no idea how many more nights I’ll actually get to feel normal before it takes over my life.”

Cam smiled and Azzi relaxed slightly. He was everything she should want. Easy, dependable, kind. Paige had never been any of those things. Paige had been wildfire. Chaos wrapped in charm. And Azzi had been the fool who'd run straight into the flames, not thinking twice about how badly fire burned.

“Yeah, of course,” he said. “But I think we’ll both need another drink to survive it.”

She grinned because he wasn’t wrong. He was steady, warm, uncomplicated. Exactly what she’d told herself she needed.

She watched him disappear toward the kitchen.

But Paige Bueckers’ fucking gravitational pull should be studied, because no matter how hard she tried to look anywhere else, her gaze was always dragged right back to her.

The blonde ringmaster in the center of it all.

Azzi watched her scan the room, watched her eyes land on Cam. Watched them drag down his body in that slow, assessing way. Watched the way her mouth curled into something smug and sharp. A smirk Azzi knew too well.

Then—God—those blue eyes shifted.

And locked onto hers.

The world shrank. Just a pindrop of existence now. Her. And Paige.

The room didn’t fall silent so much as it paused, like even the universe was holding its breath, waiting to see what she’d do. What they would do.

It was maddening, the way one look from Paige could still upend everything. Like Azzi had spent all this time laying brick after careful brick, building walls tall enough to forget her only for a single glance to blow the whole thing wide open.

She didn’t move. Neither did Paige. And for a moment that felt too long and not long enough, they stayed like that—frozen, suspended in whatever fragile thread still tethered them together. Like the world had cracked open just wide enough for this one impossible beat of stillness.

Then, someone tugged at Paige’s arm, and just like that, the thread snapped. Frayed by the outside world, like it always was. At that exact moment, Cam reappeared at Azzi’s side.

“For you,” he said with a mock bow, holding out her drink like it was an offering.

It was adorable. The way his voice caught just slightly, the way he’d taken the time to find a cherry to drop in, just because he knew she liked them. He looked at her like she was gravity. Like she hung the moon. The way she used to look at Paige.

She shook her head, like she could rattle the thought loose—like she could shake Paige out of her bloodstream just by trying hard enough. Then she took the cup, smiled like it didn’t ache, and tipped it back with a long, burning sip.

When she leaned into Cam, it wasn’t for warmth. It was for distance. Across the room, Paige was already looking somewhere else.

And Azzi told herself that was a good thing. That it meant she was finally free. That it didn’t still feel like losing something sacred. She told herself all of that. And she almost believed it.

The party carried on around her—music pulsing, laughter echoing, the scent of something burnt wafting from the kitchen—but Azzi just sipped her drink and let Cam’s voice fill the space between thoughts she didn’t want to entertain.

He was mid-story about one of his teammates’ latest escapades, face animated as he tried to reenact the moment Tim had somehow ended up locked overnight in the stadium bathroom. Azzi giggled, genuinely, when he mimed the panic.

“Az!” She blinked, pulled from the easy rhythm of Cam’s story, and turned to see Jana waving her over, grinning like she knew exactly what she was interrupting. “Team picture, lovebird.”

Azzi rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the smirk tugging at her lips.

She turned back to Cam.

“Let me hold your drink, superstar,” he said with a wink, already reaching for her cup.

She handed it over with a quiet, grateful smile and slipped her fingers into Jana’s outstretched hand.

Azzi let Jana tug her through the crowd, weaving past solo cups and sticky floors until they reached the cluster of girls already forming near the banner wall. Someone had strung up a makeshift sign that read UCONN, BABY in crooked silver letters.

“Alright, squeeze in,” someone called—probably A, based on the height and authority in her voice.

Azzi slid into place between Jana and Aubrey, laughing as someone elbowed her from behind. Everyone was loud and a little too tipsy and giggly to really get organized, but they gave it their best effort—arms draped, cheeks flushed, someone trying to shush the group and failing miserably.

“Wait, we’re missing—”

Before she could register the rest of the sentence, Paige appeared at the edge of the group.

“Well, glad to see no one waited for me.”

The voice was unmistakable. Light, cocky, soaked in that trademark Paige bravado that made people laugh before they even registered the joke.

“Your ego could use the hit, Bueckers,” Nika called out, and the group broke into laughter.

Azzi didn’t.

Instead, she turned, eyes locking on the source like they always did. Paige stood just a few feet away, solo cup in hand, hair a little messy in the best kind of way.

And she was smiling. Not the polite kind. Not the camera-ready kind. The real one. The lopsided one that always looked a little too wide for her face, like she wasn’t used to joy taking up that much room.

Paige’s eyes swept over them, pausing just a second too long on the space beside Azzi before skimming past her like she wasn’t even there.

“Okay, you’re taking too long,” Jana huffed, rolling her eyes before grabbing Paige’s arm and dragging her into the narrow gap.

She shoved her into place—right beside Azzi. “There.”

Their shoulders collided. Not a brush. Not a graze. Collided. Paige’s skin was warm and Azzi felt the contact like static under her ribs. Elbow to elbow. Hip to hip. She stiffened. Paige didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t seem to notice.

The camera was already counting down—someone shouting “three!” like this was all just a fun, forgettable night—but Azzi couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

Paige stayed still beside her, perfectly composed, like they weren’t even touching. Like they hadn’t once fallen asleep shoulder to shoulder, hadn’t whispered secrets into the hollow dark between practices and regret.

Azzi forced her face into something passable. A smile that didn’t quite reach. But she couldn’t focus. She could feel Paige breathing beside her—slow, steady, maddeningly unbothered. And she hated herself for wanting to look. Just a glance. Just enough to see if Paige was faking it too.

So she tilted her head. Just slightly. Just enough to catch a glimpse out of the corner of her eye. To see if Paige’s jaw was tight. If her hands were clenched like she knew they did when she was stressed. White knuckled and skin pulled tight.

And that was when the flash went off.

Moments later, Ice was already scrolling through the burst shots, holding the phone too close to her face.

“Okay, this one’s actually good,” she said. “No one’s blinking...oh wait. Azzi.”

Azzi blinked. “What?”

Ice flipped the phone around. Everyone else was looking at the camera, grinning or laughing or holding up peace signs. And there she was, not looking at the camera. Not even close.

“Where were you even looking, Fudd?” someone laughed.

The group cracked up, tossing around a few harmless jabs. Azzi forced a smile. Tried to play along.

But she couldn’t stop looking at Paige who hadn’t taken her eyes off the photo. Not once. Paige’s gaze was narrowed slightly—studying, focused. Like she was seeing more than just a team picture.

Then, without warning, her eyes flicked to Azzi. Just for a second. But it was enough.

Azzi’s heart shot into her throat, breath caught somewhere behind it. She almost stepped back, like the look had physically hit her.

And then Paige turned. Not back to the phone. To Nika. Who didn’t say anything. Just looked at Paige with an expression Azzi couldn’t quite read. Something careful. Knowing. Maybe even tired.

They stayed like that for a heartbeat too long. And then Nika nodded, subtle and sure, like they’d reached some silent agreement. She touched Paige’s arm and turned, ushering her away.

The sea of people seemed to part without effort. Without question. Parting for Paige. Like they always did.

She didn’t push, didn’t ask—just moved, and the world rearranged itself to make space.

And Azzi—who once knew the sound of her laugh in the dark, who once held pieces of Paige no one else even knew existed—stood frozen, watching her disappear into the crowd.

Just another wave drawn to Paige Bueckers without question, only to break against a shore she never meant to offer

#pazzi fics #pazzi #paige x azzi #azzi x paige

257 notes · View notes

acourtofthought · 2 days ago

Note

Do you know what they’re saying about their belief that Elain is being forced to be with Lucien and that’s why her story will center on choice to not be with him? It makes no sense to me especially since we’ve seen that Feysand and Nessian in a way, had even less control over their feelings for each other because they didn’t know fate was involved. Elain and Lucien have known about their bond from the very beginning meaning MORE choice. What makes them think Elain has less choice than Feyre or Nesta? What’s their reasoning for hating the Elucien bond, when compared to Feyre and Nesta Elain doesn’t even hate her mate? Feyre and Nesta clearly did hate or at least borderline hated theirs at first.

So when Nesta, word for word said, "I don't know what I want. I didn't have a choice" and when Cassian responded, "Well, I didn't have a choice in being shackled to you, either" they somehow got the impression other pairings had more choice than Elain and Lucien?

The fact is none of them got to choose who their mate was. Not Rhys, not Feyre, not Lucien or Elain. Had Lucien been able to choose he probably would have chosen Jesminda way back when. For Elain it would have been Graysen. Had Rhys gotten to choose my guess is he would have never gone searching in the human lands for his possible mate. For Az? Mor, hands down. Feyre would have wanted Tamlin to be hers in ACOWAR and the start of ACOMAF.

Where is the outrage over lack of support for those pairings? Elain desperately wanted to return to Graysen but I don't think a single person in this fandom was hopeful for their reunion.

The LoA chose to stay with Beron, does that mean we should respect that for her character or are we still allowed to hope that she finds a way to break free from him?

I think Sarah has demonstrated through her writing that "choice" is trash unless it's accompanied by other important factors.

The other sides fixation on choice and choice alone reads a bit like "But Daddy I Love Him." Sure, someone can choose to be with whoever they want but when he turns out to be a lying, cheating, deadbeat who leaves you alone and pregnant at 16 years old you start to realize that maybe there is more to dating than freedom to choose.

I'm not religious (and I know Sarah is Jewish) but Sarah's message seems more "Jesus, Take the Wheel." Where you realize there are times when you have to accept there being forces at work that know a bit more than us. Where even a 500 something year old fae (and especially not a 20 something year old human who doesn't fully understand magic) is still not as wise and all knowing as the creator of all. No, someone doesn't have to like the Fated Mates trope and they can choose not to read it but you can't act like Sarah J Maas feels the same. To her, it is a beautiful thing, to have Fate know better and though her FMCs initially push against their mates in an act of rebellion, after healing and growth they finally see why that person was made in the likeness of the other half of their soul.

"But Sarah wrote some bonds aren't matched!" Yeah, for characters we could not give a shit about. Sorry but does anyone really care that Rhys's dad and mom were a poor fit? They gave us Rhys, right? Nobody is about to wish away his creation which led to his meeting Feyre which led to us reading about all our favorites just because some want to take up the crusade about choice but only for one particular pairing.

As the author, it's as simple as putting pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard) for Elain and Lucien to choose each other in the next book (or the one after). They conveniently forget how Sarah also said, "is it choice? Is it fate? Or is it both?" Feysands romance is wildly celebrated and that romance was clearly "both" since Rhys knew about his bond with Feyre early on and she said her heart knew he belonged to her even before she realized it so why would she want any of her other main characters to have something less than that? Why, when Feysand, Quinlar, Rowealin, and Nessian had Fate and Choice at work in their relationships, wouldn't she want that for Elain / Lucien, Az and possibly Gwyn?

And you're right, Elain and Lucien knowing about their bond gives them more choice than either Feyre or Nesta. All Feyre and Nesta had was the illusion of choice but it was only ever that, an illusion, because they felt drawn to Rhys and Cassian from the start but didn't understand why and falling in love with them was never actually organic because it was the bond tugging them to one another the whole time. At least Elain and Lucien have had the time as individuals to keep their distance and sort through the different emotions they're experiencing, "is this me or is this the bond?" in a way that the other pairings never did.

She's not going to give any of her pairings less than what her other couples have. The only difference is in the angst and tension they experience along the way. For Feysand, it was Rhys who knew about their bond first. For Nessian, they both suspected from the start but didn't really know for sure until they fell in love. For Rowealin, she knew first. For Quinlar, it was something they realized simultaneously after becoming friends then falling in love. And for Elucien, it was something that happened when they were complete strangers locking eyes for the first time.

Choice means nothing when it's clear the FMCs "choice" would be one that holds her back from reaching her full potential and that's exactly what Elain choosing Az would be.

#elucien #elain archeron #pro elucien #lucien vanserra #anti e/riel #pro lucien vanserra #pro elain archeron #ask and answer #sarah j mass #mating bonds #ACOTAR series

37 notes · View notes

gigiii1sblog · 11 hours ago

Text

Fake Dating: The love that lays between us Part 5.

Warning: cheating, angst, sexual mature content and more

Y/N’s POV

I never thought mornings could feel like this. Like safety. Like warmth. Like someone’s arms draped over my waist while the world outside faded to nothing.

Chris was still half-asleep when I looked over at him, chest rising and falling with slow, even breaths. His lips were parted slightly, hair all messy and falling into his eyes. He looked like a dream I didn’t want to wake up from.

I reached out and traced his cheekbone with my fingertip, gentle like I was afraid he might vanish if I touched him too hard. God, I loved him. And it scared the shit out of me.

“You’re staring at me again,” he murmured, voice still rough from sleep.

“You look pretty when you sleep,” I whispered.

He cracked an eye open, lips tugging into a tired grin. “You love me or something?”

The way he said it, teasing but quiet, like he wanted to believe it, I couldn’t lie anymore.

“Maybe a little.”

Only a little. Liar.

“Only a little?” he asked, playing along.

I leaned in and brushed my nose against his. “I love you, Chris.” There. I said it. No jokes. No deflection.

His breath caught like he wasn’t expecting it, like he didn’t think I’d actually mean it. “Say it again.”

I smiled and said it slower this time, a little braver. “I love you. Like… a lot.”

The look in his eyes when he kissed me was something I’d never forget. It wasn’t lust or even surprise. It was home.

⸻

CHRIS POV-

She said she loved me.

And the first thing I felt wasn’t just love—it was guilt.

Because there was a part of me that didn’t deserve this moment. Not really. Not with what she still didn’t know.

I kissed her like maybe I could erase the past. Like maybe if I held her long enough, it would undo the stupid, heartless beginning.

“Good,” I whispered, pulling her closer. “’Cause I’m pretty in love with you too.”

And I was. God, I was in love with her. This wasn’t a joke anymore. It hadn’t been for a long time.

But she didn’t know that. She didn’t know how it started. She didn’t know about Lindsey. And I hated myself for every second I let pass without telling her.

I just wanted one more morning like this.

⸻

Y/N’s POV-

Our days started blurring together—in the best way. There was something about cooking in his kitchen that made me feel… real. Like I belonged here.

I was trying to make pasta. Chris was trying to distract me.

He came up behind me, arms snaking around my waist. His lips brushed the side of my neck. “You smell good.”

“I smell like garlic.”

“Exactly.”

I rolled my eyes. “If I cut myself, I’m blaming you.”

“I’d kiss it better,” he whispered, and I knew he would. That was the problem. He meant it.

⸻

CHRIS POV-

She didn’t know what I’d done.

And every time she smiled at me like that, like I was something good, I felt it in my chest. That slow burn of regret. The ache of wanting to go back and rewrite the beginning.

But even with all that shame crawling up my spine, I couldn’t stop touching her. Couldn’t stop loving her.

She was spinning around my kitchen in a tank top and loose sweatpants, dancing barefoot like she wasn’t breaking me with every laugh.

I wanted to tell her. But then she’d look over her shoulder, hair falling in her eyes, and I’d freeze.

Because I was afraid I’d lose her. And I wasn’t ready for that.

⸻

Y/N’s POV-

We started smoking together in his room, late at night. It wasn’t about getting high it was about the silence, the comfort. The way he’d reach for my hand mid-joint like it was second nature.

“What would we even be doing if we hadn’t fake dated?” I asked one night, voice low.

He exhaled slowly. “I’d probably still be pretending I didn’t want you.”

I looked over at him. “You were good at pretending.”

He met my gaze, eyes serious now. “Yeah. Too good. But I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

I gave him the joint. “Then don’t.”

“I’m not,” he said. “Not with you.”

⸻

CHRIS POV-

Lying to her made me sick.

And yet, here I was, still sitting next to her, hand wrapped around hers, lips on her skin. She trusted me now. Fully. Deeply.

And I’d earned that trust under false pretenses.

I told myself it didn’t matter because I wasn’t faking anymore. Because somewhere along the way, pretending stopped and real started.

But what if it was too late?

What if the second she finds out about the reason I asked her to fake date me, none of this would matter?

I looked at her in the smoke, soft glow of my bedroom, and the fear nearly crushed me.

Because losing her would wreck me.

Y/N’s POV

He started taking me on night drives.

We’d park under streetlights, share fries and milkshakes, talk about music and movies and how weird love was. He always reached for my hand at red lights. Always brushed his thumb over my skin like he needed to feel me breathing.

One night, he looked at me with something heavy in his eyes.

“I love you,” he said. “I don’t know how I didn’t know it before, but I do. All of you. Even the parts that scare the hell outta me.”

I kissed him before I could cry. “I love you too. Even when you talk in your sleep.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not. You called me your wife.”

His ears turned red. “Okay… maybe I’m a little ahead of schedule.”

CHRIS POV

Meeting my brothers with her at my side was supposed to feel like a milestone. It did, sort of. But part of me kept wondering if this was the last calm before everything crashed down.

Nick loved her. Matt pulled her into a hug like she’d always been part of the family. And I just kept staring, wondering how the hell I got lucky enough to have her at all.

When I whispered, “Thanks for being real with them,” I almost choked.

Because I wasn’t being real with her. Not completely. Not yet.

I wanted to be.

I wanted to tell her.

But I was scared she’d walk out the second I did.

Y/N’s POV-

That night was different.

It wasn’t about sex. It wasn’t about release. It was slow. Gentle. Intimate.

Chris touched me like I was something fragile. Kissed me like I was his only reason for breathing.

We made love like it was the only thing we knew how to do.

“I want this forever,” he whispered into my neck.

“You have me,” I breathed. “You already do.”

⸻

CHRIS POV-

She said I had her.

But she didn’t know the whole story.

And even as I held her body against mine, even as I told her I loved her again and again, I couldn’t stop thinking about how it all started. About Lindsey. About the fucking secret.

I had her now. But I didn’t know if she’d stay once she knew the truth.

And every second I waited to tell her felt like I was digging a deeper grave for everything we were building.

I just wanted a little more time.

Just one more night where she looked at me like I was her forever.

Y/N’s POV

Chris was gone for the night, off at Nate’s with the guys, promising he wouldn’t be gone long. “Just a few hours,” he’d said, pressing a kiss to my temple. “We’ll watch something when I get back.”

I believed him. I always believed him.

I stayed in his hoodie, the one that smelled like his cologne and comfort. The apartment felt quieter without him. I didn’t realize how much space he filled until he wasn’t in it.

I was curled up on the couch, scrolling through my phone, when the knock came.

Three sharp knocks. Confident. Cold.

I frowned. I wasn’t expecting anyone.

When I opened the door, my stomach dropped.

Lindsey.

Standing there like she owned the world, all sharp smiles and calculated eyes. Lip gloss perfect. Nails red. That same little tilt of her head like she was about to ruin something.

“Hey,” she said casually, like we were old friends.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“I just thought…” She glanced behind me, pretending to look for Chris. “We should talk. Girl to girl.”

My chest tightened. I should’ve slammed the door. I should’ve told her to fuck off.

But I didn’t.

I let her in.

⸻

She sat like she’d done this a thousand times before, crossing one leg over the other, flicking imaginary lint off her jeans. I stayed standing. Arms crossed. Heart pounding.

“Chris isn’t here,” I said.

“I know,” she said smoothly. “That’s kind of the point.”

I stayed quiet, waiting. Bracing.

She smiled at me like she pitied me. “You’re really in love with him, huh?”

I flinched. “What do you want?”

She tilted her head again, studying me. “Has he told you how it all started?”

“What are you talking about?”

“The fake dating thing,” she said. “You know, the whole ‘pretend to be my girlfriend’ plan. Did he tell you why?”

I felt the air shift. Heaviness creeping in.

“To get you off his back?”

Lindsey’s smile widened, like a knife sliding slow.

“No, babe. He did it because we made a bet.”

I blinked. “What?”

“Chris told us he could pull you in under a week. That he could make you fall for him. I told him he couldn’t. He said he’d have you in his bed by day seven, It took him a shorter amount though.. under 3 hours right?”

Silence.

It rang in my ears like gunfire. I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

“I mean, you’ve seen him,” she said with a cruel shrug. “You didn’t stand a chance.”

The words hit me like a car crash.

A fucking bet.

My stomach turned violently. I took a step back from her, suddenly nauseous. My fingers gripped the edge of the counter behind me.

“You’re lying,” I said, but it came out weak.

“Ask him,” Lindsey said, standing now. “Ask him if I’m lying.”

My voice cracked. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I don’t like watching you play house with someone who used to be mine. You think he changed for you? He’s still the same Chris who laughed about it. Who came to me the night after your first time fucking and said, ‘She’s easy to break.’”

I felt my entire body go cold.

No. No. He wouldn’t have said that. He couldn’t have.

Lindsey leaned in, her voice venomous. “And the best part? He fell for you anyway. Joke’s on him, right?”

She moved to the door, tossing a final look over her shoulder. “Let’s see if he tells you the truth before you ask.”

And then she was gone.

CHRIS POV-

It starts with a party.

Because everything starts with a party in their world, music too loud, drinks too cheap, and secrets just loose enough to slip out between red cups and careless mouths.

Chris is standing in the kitchen, half-listening to Nate talk, pretending to sip on warm beer, eyes scanning every doorway like they’re all hiding her.

Y/N.

He hasn’t seen her in days. Not since that night at Nate’s. She stopped answering his calls. Left him on read. Silent, distant, vanishing right when things were finally starting to feel real.

He’s trying to convince himself she’s just busy. Just overwhelmed. He’s not thinking about the worst-case scenario. Not yet.

And then—

He hears it.

Her name. His name. Laced with laughter and venom.

Lindsey’s voice.

Dripping with poison, floating from the other side of the room near the fridge, where she’s perched on a stool, wine cooler in hand, talking too loud to a girl who clearly didn’t ask for this.

“She was never supposed to actually fall for it,” Lindsey says, half-laughing. “It was just a stupid bet.”

Chris goes still.

The world around him slows.

“I told Chris he couldn’t pull her,” Lindsey continues, oblivious to the silence building around her. “That’s literally the only reason he asked her out. And now he’s crying over it? Please.”

Chris doesn’t realize he’s dropped his cup until he feels cold alcohol soak through his shoes.

The girl next to Lindsey gasps. “You’re kidding. That was real?”

Lindsey leans in, whisper-loud but sharp enough to cut through the music. “He fake dated her. Slept with her. Told her he loved her. All for a win. And the bitch still thinks she was special.”

Chris is already moving.

He shoves through the crowd, shoving shoulders and stepping on toes until he reaches her, grabs her arm, yanks her away from the circle of spectators who suddenly care way too much.

“What the fuck did you just say?” he snarls, eyes wide, voice low and shaking.

Lindsey turns slowly, like she’s been waiting for this. Her smirk is pure gasoline.

“Oh, relax. Cat’s out of the bag, baby.”

His stomach twists.

“What are you talking about?”

“She knows,” Lindsey says, like it’s obvious. “Y/N. She found out.”

Chris’s throat goes dry. “What—what do you mean, she knows?”

“I told her,” Lindsey says, voice sweet and fake. “Two days ago. You didn’t notice she blocked you? Changed her locks? I figured you just got the message.”

His chest caves in.

His voice is a whisper now. “You told her… what, exactly?”

Lindsey shrugs, eyes glinting. “The truth. That you only fake dated her because we made a bet. That you said she was easy to pull. That it was all for fun.”

His hands curl into fists at his sides. “You had no fucking right—”

“Oh please,” she cuts in, venom now. “She deserved to know. And you weren’t going to tell her. You were too busy playing house.”

He stares at her, heart pounding out of rhythm, thoughts slamming into each other.

“You told her everything?”

“I even sent her the video,” she says casually, inspecting her nails. “Remember the one where you said you’d have her by the end of the week? That aged well, huh?”

It hits him like a punch to the gut.

The video. The bet. Everything.

She knows.

She fucking knows.

He doesn’t even hear the music anymore. Doesn’t feel the room. Just the static panic crawling up his throat.

Chris bolts.

Shoves past strangers. Knocks over a lamp. Doesn’t stop to say goodbye.

He bursts out the door, cold air slamming into his face like a slap. Fumbles for his phone with shaking hands.

Missed calls. Unread texts. Left on seen. Blocked.

He tries again. One more call. Goes straight to voicemail.

He curses, loud, slamming a fist on the roof of his car. Tries to breathe. Tries to think.

Then drops his keys trying to unlock the door. They hit the ground with a dull clang. He stares down at them like they’re mocking him.

She knows. She fucking knows. And I didn’t tell her.

He fumbles into the driver’s seat, but doesn’t start the car.

Just sits there, heart racing, eyes burning, phone in his lap.

The one person who made him feel like more than a joke, more than his past, was gone.

Because of a lie he let live too long.

And all he can think, over and over, is:

I lost her.

She knows. And I fucking lost her.

Y/N POV- Her apartment. 1:17 a.m.

The knock came like thunder.

Three hard, brutal pounds.

“Y/N,” Chris’s voice called out—hoarse, desperate, broken.

I stood frozen in the hallway, barefoot, shaking. My phone was still in my hand, lit up with the texts Lindsey had sent me. Screenshots. Voice memos. The video.

All of it.

The truth sat in my chest like fire:

He made a bet.

He could pull me.

Fake date me.

Break me.

And he did.

Another knock. This one softer. Like maybe he knew.

I flung the door open, breath hitching.

And there he was.

Soaking wet from the rain. Hoodie clinging to his frame. Hat turned backwards like always. Hair dripping. Eyes wide and wild, like he didn’t actually expect me to open.

For a second, neither of us moved.

Then I snapped.

I hurled the screenshots at him—crumpled papers, blurred ink, all the evidence I’d printed just to see it in my hands.

They scattered at his feet.

“Is this funny to you?” I hissed, voice cracking.

He looked down, blinking at the papers on the floor like they were foreign. His face twisted, confused first, then horrified.

His mouth opened. Nothing came out.

“You told me you needed help getting her off your back,” I whispered, voice shaking. “You made it sound like I was helping you. Like it was mutual. Like we were safe.”

“Y/N, I—”

“It was never safe,” I spat, backing away from him like his presence burned. “It was never real for you.”

“Yes, it was!” he said suddenly, stepping in, panic rising in his voice. “Not at first—but after that, it was! I swear to God, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t know I was gonna—”

“Fall in love with me?” I laughed, bitter and cruel. “You don’t get to say that now.”

I walked into the kitchen, dragging my hands through my hair, trying not to cry, trying not to collapse under the weight of how stupid I’d been.

Chris followed.

He always followed. Always chasing after the damage he caused.

“I didn’t fake what we had. Not after the first week,” he said quietly, like that made it better. “You were real to me, Y/N. You still are.”

I picked up the nearest glass, his glass, the one he used when he stayed over and threw it hard.

It exploded against the wall behind him, the sound like a gunshot.

He flinched but didn’t move.

“Then why did you keep coming back?!” I screamed. “Why the fuck did you keep touching me and kissing me and sleeping beside me like I was more than a joke?!”

His voice cracked. “Because I didn’t know I could love someone like this. Not until you.”

“You don’t get to love me now,” I shouted, fists clenched, heart splintering. “Not after you played me. Not after you made me feel like I mattered when it was all a fucking game.” “I didn’t know how to stop,” he said, stepping closer. “I wanted to tell you. I swear I did.”

I shoved him hard in the chest. He barely moved.

“Get out.”

He stood there, rainwater dripping from his sleeves, lips parted, eyes glassy.

“No.”

“Get the fuck out of my apartment, Christopher!”

I shoved him again. Harder this time.

His hands stayed at his sides. He didn’t even try to stop me.

“You don’t mean that,” he whispered.

“I do,” I said. “I mean it so much it hurts.”

He blinked slowly, and I saw it then, the exact moment his heart broke. The exact moment mine shattered beyond repair.

His voice came quieter than before.

“I’m sorry.”

I laughed through a sob, shaking my head. “No, you’re not. You’re just sorry I found out.”

He didn’t respond.

Because it was true.

The rain outside started to fall harder. It tapped the windows, slow and eerie, like some kind of cruel soundtrack to the moment everything fell apart.

I opened the door and stepped back.

Chris didn’t move.

Just stood there like if he waited long enough, I’d change my mind. Like this wasn’t final.

But it was.

“Go,” I said again, quieter.

He looked at me like he was trying to memorize every inch of my face. Then he turned and walked out.

Slowly. Shoulders slumped. Head down.

I shut the door behind him.

And for the first time in weeks, the apartment was silent.

Not peaceful. Not still.

Just empty.

The kind of empty that doesn’t go away.

CHRIS POV-

I told myself she’d come around.

She always did.

But she didn’t.

Not this time.

A full day passed. Then two. Then a week. Than 3 months I saw her once, across campus. She was with her friend. Laughing, sort of. But it wasn’t the same. Her face was pale. Makeup heavier. Her smile didn’t meet her eyes. And her black roots were now orange.

She looked like she’d cried everything out already. Like she’d buried me and moved on.

I was still choking on the dirt.

I didn’t drink. I didn’t yell. I didn’t even leave my bed.

I just stopped.

Stopped playing lacrosse. Stopped answering calls. Stopped pretending to care when people asked me if I was okay.

I wasn’t. But I didn’t want to be.

Her things were still everywhere. Her socks under my bed. Her Massage scaler. Her pink toothbrush. Her hair tie on my wrist. A scribbled post-it note on my mirror that said “drink water, idiot <3” in her handwriting.

I read that note thirty-two times.

I counted.

It made me feel like she still cared. Like maybe she’d come back.

But I knew the truth. I thought thinking she’s come back would hurt less.

It didn’t.

It made me rot.

I saw Nate once, too. I asked him if he’d talked to her. He just looked at me. Didn’t even answer. Just shook his head and walked off.

I couldn’t even blame him. He was loyal, to her now. Everyone was.

I lost her.

And all I had left was this—

This room that still smelled like her.

I didn’t sleep for four days.

Didn’t shower. Didn’t eat. I just laid there, headphones on, listening to the same playlist we used to fuck to. The same songs that used to make her smile when I mouthed the lyrics against her throat. The same song she got tattooed on her left hip.

Now they sounded like funeral music.

The day I finally stood up, it wasn’t for anything dramatic.

I didn’t punch a wall.

Didn’t cry.

Didn’t scream her name.

I just went to the bathroom. Looked in the mirror.

And I didn’t recognize the guy staring back at me.

I’d never hated someone so much. And it was me.

Because I had her.

I had every version of her. The quiet one. The loud one. The one that cried on my chest. The one that teased me in public. The one that loved me, God, she fucking loved me.

And I traded it.

For a lie. A win. A bet I didn’t even want anymore.

That night, I opened her old notes. The one she left on my desk after our first real night together.

“You’re not as bad as you pretend to be. But you’re gonna ruin me anyway, aren’t you?”

I folded it. Put it in my wallet.

And didn’t speak to anyone for a week.

I didn’t need to.

Everyone already knew.

She was gone.

And I was the reason why.

CHRIS POV — THE REUNION

The bass was shaking the street.

The house was packed, lights low, air thick with smoke and sweat and too many people trying to forget whatever was eating them alive. I hated parties like this. Too many strangers, too many blurred intentions. But Nick and Matt dragged me out, saying I needed to “get over it.” Whatever it was.

Spoiler: it was Y/N.

Nate cracked a beer beside me. “Yo, that girl from Econ’s here tonight—the one who broke her vape in your car? She was asking about you.”

I barely looked at him. “Not interested.”

Matt raised an eyebrow. “You’re never interested anymore.”

“Not in anyone that isn’t her.”

That shut them up.

We were barely ten minutes in when I saw her.

She was laughing. Holding a red cup. Sitting on the arm of some guy’s lap like she belonged there.

I went still. The air changed. The lights dimmed more than they were supposed to. Everything went silent in my head.

That was him. Ryan.

Her rebound. Her new guy. He looked like the kind of guy who said “bro” too much and wore cologne you could smell from across the quad. His hand was wrapped too tight around her waist and her smile was too wide, like it had been painted on.

Nick followed my line of sight and winced. “Shit, man. Want to leave?”

“No,” I muttered. “She came here to be seen. Let’s make it worth her while.”

I grabbed a drink. Then another.

I wasn’t even two sips in when Matt nodded toward the stairs. “She’s coming over here.”

And she was.

Walking like she knew the room belonged to her. Tight black dress, lip gloss glinting under the strobe lights, hair pulled back in that way that always made me crazy. Ryan trailing behind her like a damn puppy.

Her eyes locked on me like they hadn’t in weeks.

And for a second, neither of us moved.

Then she did.

“Chris,” she said flatly, voice sticky sweet. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Didn’t expect to see you with your new pet,” I snapped back, eyes flicking to Ryan.

“His name’s Ryan,” she said. “And he doesn’t lie to me for sport.”

The air cracked between us.

My jaw flexed. I stepped forward. “You sure about that? You think he’s not just waiting to fuck you over like I did?”

She smiled. Cold. Cruel. “At least he didn’t make a bet about it first.”

That one hit hard. I clenched my fists. Matt put a hand on my shoulder, but I shrugged it off.

Y/N was already turning away, tugging Ryan by the hand.

And I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t watch her pretend to be okay.

I needed to make her break.

I grabbed the nearest girl, some girl in a tight red top I vaguely remembered from class and kissed her.

Sloppy. Aggressive. Just enough tongue to make sure Y/N saw it.

And she did.

Her whole body stiffened before she yanked Ryan toward the back room.

That’s when I followed.

Y/N POV —

I saw his hand on her hip first.

Then his mouth on hers.

Sloppy. Desperate. Like he was trying to forget something that tasted like me.

And I laughed.

Laughed so hard it hurt.

Because if I didn’t laugh, I’d cry. If I didn’t do something, I’d break right there in front of everyone, and Christopher Sturniolo would win.

So I turned to Ryan. Sweet, predictable Ryan.

“Come with me,” I said, already tugging him toward the hallway.

“Where are we going?” he asked, trailing behind like a question I didn’t want to answer.

I didn’t respond. Just kept walking.

I didn’t even know where I was headed until I found a door that wasn’t locked.

I shoved it open, pulled him in, and slammed it behind us.

“Y/N?” Ryan asked, confused.

But I didn’t answer.

I kissed him. Hard. Aggressive. Like I needed to prove something.

To Chris. To myself. To every version of me that still felt like his.

Ryan responded at first. Hands on my hips, tongue in my mouth. But it wasn’t the same. It was too careful, too soft. He didn’t know how to handle me.

CHRIS POV-

I just remember her eyes on me.

No. Not even that, on her. The girl I kissed.

I did it to make her jealous. That red dress. That smug, fuck-you smile. The way her boyfriend gripped her waist like he knew I was still under her skin.

I needed to win.

Instead, she disappeared. Five minutes later, I’m slamming open the guest room door like a madman, and there she is.

Pressed against the wall, lips bruised from kissing someone that wasn’t me. His hands on her hips, his mouth on her neck.

I didn’t even think. I just grabbed him.

“Get the fuck off her.”

He shoved back. Y/N shouted something. Everything blurred until he stormed out, shirt half-open, and the door slammed behind him.

She was breathing hard, mascara smudged, hair a mess.

“You jealous?” she spat.

I laughed. Hollow and wild. “You don’t even like him.”

“Better than liking you.”

I took a step forward. She didn’t move. Ryan walked out silently.

“You really think anyone else is gonna fuck you like I did?” I growled.

Her pupils were blown wide. Her lip trembled. But she didn’t back down.

“Maybe I don’t want it to be like that anymore.”

“Liar.”

Then we were on each other.

Mouths crashing, teeth clashing, hands clawing like we were trying to tear each other apart. Her back hit the wall. My hands slid up her thighs, under her dress, yanking her underwear aside like I owned her.

She gasped against my mouth. I swallowed it.

Y/N POV-

I hated him.

I hated that he still had this hold on me, even after everything. The fake relationship. The fucking bet. The betrayal.

I hated that when he kissed that girl downstairs, something in my chest cracked like glass.

So I dragged Ryan upstairs. Told myself if I kissed him hard enough, touched him the right way, it’d be enough.

But Chris always knew when I was pretending.

He stormed in like a thunderstorm and threw Ryan off me like I wasn’t allowed to belong to anyone else.

And the worst part?

It felt good.

I wanted to hurt him. I wanted to destroy him the way he destroyed me. But the second his mouth was on mine, all of it, rage, pain, heartbreak, turned into something else.

My fingers tangled in his hair. I yanked his jacket off. He groaned into my mouth like he was starving.

He lifted me, threw me onto the bed like I weighed nothing. I didn’t even care about the dress anymore. I wanted his hands everywhere, on my thighs, my stomach, between my legs.

“Tell me you hate me,” he growled, pulling my dress down to expose my chest.

“I do.”

His mouth was on me instantly, hot, wet, desperate.

“Liar,” he muttered again.

He kissed lower. I arched off the bed. We were both high, drunk, half-delirious. His fingers slid between my thighs. I moaned his name.

This wasn’t love. This was war. And we were both losing.

CHRIS POV-

She tasted like vodka and cherry lip gloss. Like heartbreak and hate. Like everything I’d been trying to forget but never could.

I bit down on her collarbone, hard enough to leave a mark. She gasped, grabbed my hair and yanked me closer, like pain was her language now.

Her dress was shoved halfway up her thighs, the straps falling off her shoulders. I couldn’t stop kissing her. Her jaw, her throat, the top of her chest, like I needed to remind myself that she was real and she was mine. Even if just for this night.

“You’re not his,” I muttered, dragging my mouth over her shoulder.

“I’m not yours either.”

The lie tasted bitter in my mouth. But I kissed her harder.

She scratched her nails down my back, leaving welts. Her leg wrapped around my waist, grinding up against me like she couldn’t help it, like her body remembered even if her mind hated me.

I groaned, forehead pressed to hers. “You always do this to me.”

“You ruin me,” she whispered back. “You ruined everything.”

But she still held onto me like she never wanted to let go.

⸻

Y/N POV-

It was like we were spiraling.

Spinning in this orbit that always pulled us back together, no matter how many times we tried to escape.

I hated that he kissed me like he remembered every inch of my body.

I hated that I remembered, too.

The way his hands roamed my waist, his lips dragged down my throat, his voice breaking as he whispered my name like a prayer and a curse.

“You still feel like mine,” he said hoarsely, fingers gripping my hips so tight it hurt.

“I’m not yours,” I snapped, even though my body was arching into his touch, even though I was practically shaking beneath him.

He stared at me for a second. Eyes glassy. Lips swollen. Then he kissed me again, desperate and messy, and I let him.

Because no matter how angry I was, how betrayed I felt, how much I swore I didn’t love him anymore…

I still wanted him to make it hurt.

CHRIS POV-

Her forehead rested against mine, our breaths ragged.

“Tell me you still want me,” I whispered.

She didn’t say anything.

She just kissed me again—slow this time. Desperate. Soft. And I knew. I knew she hated me for what I did.

But she loved me anyway.

And maybe that was the most toxic thing of all.

⸻

My hand slides between us without thinking, desperate to feel her, skin warm and slick beneath my fingers. The moment I wrap my hand around her throat , she gasps, and the sound rips through me like fire. She’s trembling, but fierce, clutching at me like I’m the only thing keeping her from falling apart.

I feel her pulse beneath my touch, slow and wild all at once. She’s so damn wet for me it’s unfair, like she’s been holding this in, burning with it, just waiting for me. My hips jerk instinctively against her hand, begging for more friction, more connection.

Her nails drag down my stomach, teasing, tormenting, God, the way she moves her hand drives me insane. She’s got fire in her eyes, hatred and need tangled so thick I don’t know where one ends and the other begins. She’s pushing me, daring me to lose control.

When she shoves me, I catch her wrists, yank her closer until there’s no space between us. My mouth claims hers with rough desperation, like I’m trying to swallow every bit of her, to erase the space she’s put between us.

She resists at first, pushing, twisting, trying to pull away, but her body betrays her. I feel her softening against me, melting into the chaos we’ve become. I can’t stop wanting her, even when every part of me knows this will ruin us further.

“Turn around,” I growl, voice thick with need.

She does it without hesitation. The heat of her skin against my chest makes my breath hitch. She’s so soaked, so eager, grinding back against me with frantic urgency. I grip the curve of her hip, steadying us as I drag my palm up the back of her thigh, slow and deliberate, savoring every inch of her.

Her panties cling to her, damp and fragile under my fingers. I press into her, feeling the wet heat through the thin fabric, and she shudders against me.

“You’re soaked, baby,” I whisper against her ear, the pet name slipping out before I can stop it.

She moans, low and needy, and I swear it shakes me to my core. I want to tear her apart and piece her back together all at once.

Y/NS POV-

Chris’s hands on me are a mixture of everything I want and everything I hate. His touch is possessive, rough, but also achingly familiar, like coming home after a long time lost in the dark.

My fingers curl in his hair as his mouth trails over my shoulder, kissing that spot that always makes me shiver. I’m trembling, but I don’t stop grinding back against him, wanting to feel more, needing more, even if my mind screams at me to stop.

He pushes me down over the edge of the bed, the soft mattress pressing against my skin a sharp contrast to the fire building between my legs. His fingers trace my spine like he knows every way to make me beg without words.

When he slides my dress and panties down, I’m breathless, exposed, vulnerable. But also burning with rage and need. He enters me without hesitation, filling me completely in one harsh, perfect motion.

The world narrows to the sound of skin meeting skin, the heat of his body pressed against mine, the chaos of every desperate thrust that follows.

I’m biting back tears and curses, hating what he’s done and hating how much I want this. How much I want him.

He’s merciless, hard and fast, demanding, and I’m lost in the raw, furious pleasure he drags out of me. His name is a curse and a prayer on my lips, and every thrust makes me forget everything but the fire between us.

We move together, broken and desperate and so far past saving.

I hate myself for every second I want him this badly.

This might be the worst one out yet.. please send me ideas!

@izzylovesmatt @pair-of-pantaloons @riggysworld @amiraisafreakokaysorry

#chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo fanfic #christopher sturniolo #fanfic #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #aesthetic

20 notes · View notes

lover-of-mine · 21 hours ago

Note

I only started following you last year. So Im curious when did you start watching and following the cast (specifically Ryan and Oliver). Im only curious because I followed Oliver since e Badlands and have watched live since 1. Ryan after he joined the cast, again live the whole time for him. And when it comes to looking at those interviews I don't think some can appreciate just how big it is Oliver said super gay. Because they were always attacked.

Ryan always got IMHO the no homo gay (that always seemed like it was more from the racist crowd).

And Oliver always got the we should cancel you if they don't go Canon hate.

It's alot of the reason (outside of some of the other drama) that Oliver stopped what would be viewed as queerbaiting. Even would he some times would interact more a stupid fan would go to far.

I don't know. Just curious because I don't think people understand Oliver would have said that S2 or S4 and not care. But Oliver the last few years. He would have never.

Yeah, I only started following Oliver when I started watching the show, I started watching during the 5a/b hiatus, but I do research obsessively so I did read A LOT on him, around the way he talks about buddie and Buck's relationship with Eddie more because I am who I am, and Oliver pre Buck coming out, he reacted in a very specific way, that man is TERRIFIED of the allegations, it's why every time he says something recently I go a little bit insane, because he was picking full-blown fights with people on twitter over maybe possibly someone accusing him of baiting, so that super gay and the thing about the writers saying "that's not how I would talk to my best friend", that's HUGE because it's not a random moment Buck had with a character that will never show up again, this is about a key scene for buddie. That is not about anyone else. And it is acknowledging that Buck's bi breadcrumbs are around Eddie not the fucking tapeworm guy lol

I've been aware of Ryan and following him since step up 4 came out, so him I've been aware of and looking into for over a decade, so I agree that Ryan usually gets this particular type of hate, from what I noticed it always comes back to people speculating too hard on his sexuality and how that would affect his acting and not what is actually happening in whatever media he's in, but yeah, it does feel like it is a more racist thing and the expectation that he is either closeted and fighting for his life or he's just extremely intolerant.

The thing right now for me is that Oliver has a lot more freedom to speak because Buck is out. As long as Eddie is being described as straight on the show, Ryan can't really go against it. But the fact that Oliver is talking the way he is in comparison to other points in time and even in comparison to last year when Buck came out? That's the big thing because either he got real cool with being accused of baiting or something is happening.

#911 #i really need a tag for asks #anon 😌

25 notes · View notes

feroshgirlsims · 3 days ago

Text

Chapter 13.3 - Payback's A Dragon

Akira doesn't know why he showed up at Cora's place. Their connection was like a scab he couldn't stop picking at.

"I didn’t want to talk about what the witches did," she fumes as soon as he walks through the door.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t want to have sex with you for nothing, so I guess we’re both shit out of luck.”

"Is that what this is about for you?" her voice climbs up an octave. "Sex?"

"No!" Akira narrows his eyes to a squint. "Sex is the thing I don't want to do with you. This is about how you lied to me. And also, how you apologized when I told you not to."

“What kind of psycho makes you dance until you twist your ankle just because you're nice enough to say you’re sorry?”

“Me!” Akira shouts, “How many times do I have to say it’s literally what I do?”

"Oh, come off it," she sneers. "Look me in the eye and tell me it’s not a choice."

"Look me in the eye and tell me you didn't know what happens when you apologize."

“You almost broke my ankle!”

“That dragon busted my fuckin' ribs!”

“You’re immortal, you asshole! Your ribs will heal!”

They eye each other angrily, panting after screaming so loudly. "Whatever," Akira grumbles as he shoves past her. He grabs a seat at the kitchen table and after a beat, Cora follows.

"So?" She slides into the chair across from him and places her palms flat on the table. "A truth for a truth?"

He forgot he taught her this custom. Early on, he was so guarded, but somewhere between sharing barley bales and complaining about their assignments from Jacques, he slipped.

"Technically, it is a choice," Akira admits. "But the only time a fae wouldn’t take the power offered to them is if it was someone they cared for, like family, or life partners, that kind of shit."

“And I don’t qualify.”

"It’s not about you specifically," he says quickly, and then winces. Gods knew why he was trying to be nice. Hadn't he learned his lesson? "What I mean is, I don't have a large circle of creatures I trust. Most elves don't. We're too vulnerable. Every word is a potential hook."

“I know," Cora blows out a breath, sending the hair around her face fluttering. "I've actually never seen you completely relaxed. Not even after sex. And I knew what apologizing would do. I guess I was hoping you’d prove me wrong by treating me with kid gloves.”

Akira's mind immediately flashes to Alice and Vlad. Even completely drained, he can't imagine feeding from them. And he would certainly never scramble their minds or dig around in their heads.

“How long did you know you weren’t in love with me?”

He owes her honesty. "Always."

Cora is quiet at first. Then she lurches up from the table. “I didn’t want to tell you about the witches because I didn’t want you to see how pathetic I was.”

"You weren’t pathetic."

"Spare me."

Surprisingly, that is exactly what he is trying to do. "I'm not bullshitting you. Those tests were brutal."

“You thrive off brutality,” Cora argues.

“Yeah, but I am not a sim.”

“Well, I don’t want to be a sim either!” She swipes at her eyes before balling her hands into fists. "You weren’t the only reason I moved to Ravenwood. I thought maybe being closer to ley lines or magic would break something open in me. Then I could run home with powers and my mother would know she was wrong, and she'd want me."

Her loneliness resonates, and for a minute, Akira hates how he used it against her. "Your mother is a bitch and you don't need her. You can make a new family."

"Please," she scoffs. "We aren't fucking anymore. You don't have to pretend to think what she did was horrible. You weren't the first one to reject me because I wasn't enough, and you won't be the last."

"I should be. If you learn from this." As soon as the words leave his mouth, he knows it's the wrong thing to say. Cora turns away, her shoulders rigid. Akira scrambles out of his chair to follow her. "Cora, please—"

"Please what?" she bites out, her voice raw. "Learn? Learn what? Spellcasters who don’t show an affinity are put through increasing levels of stress to force their magic. But I didn’t have magic hiding. I didn’t have magic at all. Every test kicked my ass. I could have died and all I could think was that I was a failure."

“Don't say that about yourself,” Akira puts his hand on her shoulder. The only thing Cora lacked was magic in a way that spellcasters understood. "Seriously. Fuck me and anyone else who makes you feel like that."

“I don’t want a pep talk from you. My mom discarded me, yeah, but at least she didn't use me.”

The tips of his ears grow hot. If she only understood how desperate he was. "I was worried about my partners, so I acted without..." He can't say he acted without thinking because he did think, he just didn't care. "It was shitty, alright? I know that. But The Order of Enchantment is involved and you have to know something."

"Why would I know about them?" she scowls and instantly, Akira knows it's a lie.

"Cora."

"Are you insane?" She pulls back to glare at him. "Holy fucking Watcher, you are self-absorbed. Are you not hearing me? We. Are. Not. Friends. I’m not gonna sit here and help you solve your personal issues. Those days are done."

On that, they agreed. Akira is already more than halfway to the door when she hisses she wants him to get out.

"The fae can't lie, but they can definitely make you feel like shit. I hope your life partners or fated mates or whatever you call them never have to learn that."

Akira doesn't bother with an answer. He hustles down the creaking steps, ignoring the pain that reverberates through his body with every move.

Cora reprimanding him for lying was pretty rich. And she was wrong, anyway. The fae couldn't lie, which wasn't the same as saying they didn't lie.

Under different circumstances, Akira would have let this go. Maybe she lied about The Order of Enchantment out of vanity rather than malice. But he had Vlad and Alice to take care of, and being so low on magic, he couldn't afford to let any secret fester.

The trip to his garden was long since he didn't waste even an ounce of glamour to teleport himself. The trip back was even worse, sitting on a on fucking train surrounded by all that iron.

It was worth it though, because he doesn't need magic to monitor Cora.

Sims knew so little about plants.

About their strength.

Their power.

Their connections.

A message could pass from root to root as effortlessly as sending a text.

Plants could watch and report, communicate, protect, even.

They were beautiful. And useful as hell.

Yes, Akira was a liar. But Cora couldn’t imagine the depth of his devotion to his fate. The things he would do to keep them safe.

He would get what he needed. Burn the world if he had to, her included.

PREV | NEXT

(Part 4 of 4)

#ts4 #simblr #The Save File Chronicles #Season 1 #POV: Akira Kibo #Sims 4 Story #Cora I am rooting for you #but this man literally told you not to let him into your house #and here he is #sigh

28 notes · View notes

cubtales · 2 months ago

Text

#𖧁᭕᭢ :: 🎶#honestly rambling in here idek if i'll post this but ! i wanna be vulnerable #this song hits sooo close to how i feel about communities to the point i find myself listening to just remember we are all just so silly !#it's really so so confusing. you never know if someone may hate you despite how much you love them! then you find yourself nitpicking #did i say something wrong? do i annoy them with my posts? do they hate me and just can't say it? things like that #'' i think i know how you feel. '' do you?#overthinking can lead to so many scary thoughts and unneeded tension #though i think that's why this song makes me go 💡! especially with lorde's part #we never know what someone is thinking、yeah maybe they hate you but what if they just dn't know what to say ?#what if they don't even realize they sparked that conflict in your mind with their actions #that being said i wish noone has that inner strife abt me lols i doubt because im not really anyones fav #but to those who are having that strife here or anywhere else in their life i truly wish you the best ♡ your heart is so big yknow?#it's better to be confused than think they hate you. especially if they never said they did c: try not to assume #< harder said than done but yes :3 also do know i'd ride for ALL of u .. if you'd let me #omg listening to this album after forever was such a eye opener ... i only like this song But shhhhh #ppl say we're alike 👯‍♀️ they say we got the same hair 💇‍♀️#Spotify

13 notes · View notes

sydmarch · 5 months ago

Text

it was so stupidly difficult to find any nutritionist who has experience with arfid & takes insurance so after having to go through all these referrals my therapist sent me & jumping through hoops I lowkey hate the lady lmao feels like such a waste of time & energy

#its only our third time meeting but its so beyond fucking frustrating to feel like we spent the whole hour going in circles & lowkey arguing #& like she never actually listened to any of the things ive told her. like the ENTIRW REASON i told her i was seeking extra help after #dealing w arfid type noncense all my life was 'achieving goal x is always kind of tough but im trying to do it while also achieving goal y &#im struggling with finding a way to balance the two things' like thats IT & then as shes suggesting things to try im like idk of those are #worth the effort bcus they conflict w goal y & shes like. have you considered not worrying about that so you can focus on x?#like NO bcus thats what i was previoislt doing & it doesnt fucking work for me! & she was just not understanding what i meant by adding #variety or having 'better options' shes all like. ok but even if this new thing conflicts with goal y it can just be another option for you #like thats not the POINT i already have enough options i can switch between that conflict with that like the whole point is i need to fill #the gaps w things that are nutritionally different. like if im ok with something thatll use up a significant portion of ny daily values of #shit then i already have multiple options that i actively like well enough i dont wanna waste my time adding more that are things i think #are just ok but take more work. literally whats the point of that #& im like i think rather than me just thinking of random shit i think i could try itd be helpful if I could like get some guidance on like #what are some things that fall into somewhere into this category or this adjacent category while also not being this other thing & then i #cab like determine from there what i already like & can try & add more of & things from that list that sound like sth i can try #& shes like well idk theres a lot of foods out there. YEAH ABD ISNT IT YOUR FUCKING JOB TO KNOW ABOUT FOOD? like i gave fairly specific #parameters this isnt like a 'list every food on earth' type of question what am i even paying you for if you cant come up with a list #like that. & she jept getting hung up on like well lots of things that are the most calorically dense are gonna be like that like ok it #doesnt have to be the MOST dense maybe think about it like 'the densest things in this other category' which sounded straightforward to me #but she was just like continuing to argue & also like getting hung up on reminding me that everything is dependent on portions like #I FUCKING KNOW?? like if a serving of something is like 10% of my dv id rather find something where a serving is 5% etc. idk how thats like #a hard concept like whats the point of adding something to be like oh sure ill have a third of a serving & get 50 extra calories out of it #be so fr rn im so beyond frustrated still even tho its been hours since i talked to her this is more stressful & annoying than the stress of #just trying to figure shit out on my own i fucking hate having to try & re explain nyaelf ivee & over & have someone just talk over me &#fail to understand what im getting at. im one more shitty session away from quitting & just resigining myself to 70% liquid diet #anyways #texticles

10 notes · View notes

lesbiansanemi · 4 months ago

Text

I should stop pretending I’m not southern

#post brought to you by an old cd of country music my grandma sent me #(she’s clearing out her house cuz she’s moving and she thought I might like it it’s an old burned cd of songs she and my grandpa liked #that I would always ask to listen when we went anywhere in their old pickup truck and I’ve been listening to it #it’s mostly Johnny cash Dolly Parton and various bluegrass and it’s like. yeah. I actually loved this music)#I should get back into a lot of the country artists I used to listen to #and then stopped when I started pretending I hated country cuz I didn’t wanna be associated with it or the south or being a fucking redneck #like damn did you know I used to wanna learn to play the banjo? maybe I should look into that…..#I’ve mentioned my rodeos n shit and I still have my cowboy boots and spurs and hats n stuff from when I rode horses #maybe I should stop consciously getting rid of my southern accent….#I mean I’ve never been able to completely shake it so most ppl can’t really notice #but if I tell them where I’m from they’re like ooohhhh that makes sense #but yeah if I don’t focus on it when I talk I have a much thicker accent than it sounds like #I should stop doing that…..#idk the older I get the more I miss the south and the culture and stuff #and also it pisses me off how ppl talk about the south #both in general and where I live now #actually had someone once tell me I didn’t ‘sound dumb enough’ to be southern #like man fuck you #anyways the point is I missed country music and I think I’m gonna start listening to it a lot more <3 #cuz what point is there in pretending I don’t like it #and who cares if every person I’ve ever been close with fucking hates country music and would make fun of me if I ever even BEGAN to say #I liked it so anyways #kaz rambles

5 notes · View notes

unproduciblesmackdown · 9 months ago

Text

being alive at the time i gleaned some general elements abt encanto but never actually heard we don't talk about bruno beyond awareness it existed popping off & i think i heard like the title recited off key off rhythm but in a way that indicates speak singing nonetheless lol so upon experiencing it it's like oh but it's the Verses? while the last refrain goes harder but prior to that it's comparatively underwhelming to said verses which feels appropriate like verses / pieces of a larger picture & that a "we don't talk about him" as a disappointing Lid on infinitely richer more characterful & dynamic "but: talking about him" instances. like well personally it'd be like um seven foot frame....anyway besides being able to firsthand go like oh damn Real (the kind of thing you know exists if alive at the time) it's like alright hang on lol. one thing when a core theme is yeah like "is it a refuge if 'especial' vulnerability ultimately gets pushed out rather than made safer" subset like the parties whose even observation of truths (problems) & drawing attention to them is seen as Ruining Things, like if you're painted as Making futures that aren't simply what's desired or reassuring rather than a guidance via just observing & sharing the truth. but then it's like whaddaya mean living in fear of bruno stuttering and stumbling you could always hear him sort of muttering and mumbling lmao like now that's just Association between the Truth Perceiving & Telling behavior & behavior that's just apparently distinctive of the same person. & like Not Accidentally when [what if people were magic] specifics are obviously primarily abt a metaphorical meaning & like, indeed it was made clear like oh this situation isn't Just b/c [boo we hate your prophecies] & that [an Ability that isn't directed towards what anyone Wants / is "weird" even by these magic standards] isn't Coincidentally given to someone who just so happens to already be "weird" in other ways & be set up to have a different perspective & be pushed away due to having the supposed "extra" vulnerability of unmet needs / insufficient support, same as someone who doesn't "correctly" have any kind of magic ability....like yeah banger and also like Oh Yeah Kind Of Devastating re: that metaphorical resonance allowing for like [set the metaphor aside] now hang on with this about this disabled family member lol. misinterpretation to The Ruinerrr / The Problemmm / The Maliciousss etc (i.e. the scapegoatinggg) despite their efforts likely entirely to the contrary. then despite like, efforts aside, Just Existing, always kind of muttering & mumbling like & what of it. & then like oh sorry weird pets. weird [auspicious for adaptable tenacious thriving surviving; either way simply creatures, existing] pets.

truly like As Is The Idea I'm Sure quickly becomes like hands behind back standing at the window Uh Oh Sisters musing on all the [disabled person] metaphorical & already literal elements there. blair witching it in contemplation like We've All Been There whether being so resented for the mere disruption of "existing in a group as the 'abnormal' odd one out" or like people talking shit abt anything associated w/you as soon as you've left the room, which is also made relevant like, this wasn't Only directed at this person when seemingly permanently gone, nor were they unaware / unaffected prior....pacing in the Musing parlor like things don't Have to be compared to billions but i only ever even see so many things & it's like billions sure is like "get scapegoated rword" & then said scapegoating is presented as only beneficial & we hate autists & even beyond that it's like, grabbing billions, Imagine If Things Meant To Be About Something Were About Something. quite a contrast when they are & furthermore like, deliberate thought & Care for [who gets scapegoated & why] & the truth of like, people getting pushed aside & out who have a key perspective & are primed / liable to come through for others similarly vulnerable & the supposedly Ruinous, Problems Generating disruptiveness is actually the strongest effort to make essential changes to a group. & come through with like, it'd be undermining thee point if it was "reassuring" us like oh haha people will be supportive b/c bruno will be more normal, so great that it Didn't like no, no Normality Reassurance(tm), presence of abnormalities(tm), Good, & everyone Can Deal b/c if you don't then it's pushing this person away, is exactly what happens, including even if they're still Around but are being mistreated b/c that is entirely part of that pushing away like anyone's victim blaming is ready to pounce at any time but if someone can't stand to stay / leaves b/c they can't see another option like that's not out of nowhere nor Regardless of what full support & flexibility they were getting lol. these Active Measures everyone loves so much, which are everywhere always & would include Staying & Trying To Make It Work & those efforts would be "disruptive" & resented & Bringing It On Oneself & etccc smh

that is to all say like. Woww when clearly basically the core thread was these beats of like, the crucial site of [thee scapegoated], & why that comes down on someone & how that plays out. endless ideas about how someone weird(tm) & disabled (&/or queer. but there's no Or here lol. & again like it's a Context like, to even be the one person without kids? likely not living up to "full" correct sexuality in that way alone; any oppression's logics of "inferiority" being logics of ableism, ready examples being that "inferior" race, gender, sexuality (& their experiences as people classed as inferior) all being pathologized as disordered) are seen & treated as someone Ruining Things & who cannot belong like whew. bracing. winding. which, i also recall like i was watching with headphones & during this one dialogue pause i was like "?? what's this Extra Sound i heard there" & had to go over it like twice before being hit upside the head like well it Was still the dialogue pause but it was also bruno Stuttering in a very quiet whisper for the duration of that pause before continuing like iiiiiiii x_x

#[sitting waiting right here] for billions to have its vulnerable weird scapegoated misfit outcasts actually band together lmao....#like Sure Doesn't b/c billions is like we all hate weirdos & we all love telling them to shut tf up & go away to die or w/e. correctly #can't believe ultimately the Different fund disappears w/o its scapegoat & the Correct ''weird'' char is full axe cap mode finally #& it's sure not a Comment when billions affectionately gives them their free heavenly reward & Ensure zero scapegoating consequences #the [imagine if something about something was about something] approach to Banished Relatives being thoughtful & loving like #& here you see how even As they're banished everything isn't Really fixed for it incl. that people aren't Really just happy he's gone #billions is like no we killed him And everyone has gladly & legitimately forgotten he exists (save the instant it's time to use him)#the hilarious(tm) tragedies surrounding rian like billions' can't make her ''care'' abt winston be anything save more violence #can't pretend rian was anything more than [again we all Know your nads like w/taylor like w/winston] bagina + dialogue source combo in s6 #when it's still dimly relevant for prince in s7 but you miss Nothing re: rian if you have no idea that plotline exists #& speaking of actual ''weirdness'' rian was never allowed to have: the tragedy of the tension of Closeted Transness present on screen fr #just as billions has no idea / further willingness to let rian be so ''weird'' as to actually care abt winston or abt not being a bully Lol #meanwhile i figured like oh i'll like a scapegoat. did know ahead of time like bruno's just some guy; not even ''redeemable'' antagonist #but In Practice & w/all that beloved Disabledness & crucial appreciation like you Need this guy; the understanding is Key #like well ofc i would kill for him. ofc just constant like mhm go off king slay fire etc. god tier character cherished forever thanks #but then also like im sure a zillion [intention; inspiration; thoughts] going into Tfw Family Things characters; a zillion interpretions &#thoughts to follow like it truly is Arresting like this clarity on A Disabled Person In The Group like. much much to consider & whew.#reference point like when autistic ppl in some job see an obvious [problem to future mess] pipeline; so you know bruno madrigal. My Vision #When You're So Hated like hey i wanna live unseen w/my so hated little friends lol. just reread how to disappear completely never be found #when it's like grabbing people Who Cares if someone's being ''obviously'' disabled or weird just as how they are existing godddd #people get so mean like Who Cares just talk to them; be around them. some effort some mind your own business some You're Not Above Them #when it's obviously You like yeah. nonzero but limited applicability like [specifically my own nuclear family] but re: Weird; Disabled #as ever i'll Relate & be like but i probably seem nothing like that. or maybe i am very much like that. kind of difficult to tell b/c like #you Do get the disinterest lol & feedback is Not that familiar / in depth even if positive like well. the emergent So Hated / Scapegoating #noting like if a character just seems refreshingly familiar; Understood; comfortable; fun; what's the odds they're cishet allistic lol....#anyway the epiphany like oh it was figurative blink & you miss it stuttering....did [waiiit] Pace that one off like inhaaale Waugh #in fact i'm sure the Verbalizing Effort has staved off the kind of [thinks about all of it a moment] to go Aauughhh about again #which; again; also something happening 5 yrs in re: the clairvoyant soothsayer autistic neuroqueer quant on the show w/No Thoughts abt it #ppl being invalidated by others having to validate themselves (& others in the same boat); billions going & How We Hate Them For It lol #oh & encanto's [excluded party's effort to partake] tragedy vs billions' [where's winston in this office? this event?] good riddance idc

2 notes · View notes

savetheamazingcakes · 20 days ago

Text

Holy shit the reblog tags. Read them.

Who would win in a fight?

Arthur Lester or Jonathan Sims

#reblog tags >#Arthur /neg #okay a long ass rant incoming #Arthur is extremely self-righteous and it's not a good thing. he viscerally hates cultists and doesn't see them as people because he thinks #them inherently evil - otherwise they wouldn't have CHOSEN to join the cult. for some damn reason (Christianity) he thinks they DESERVE to #suffer. he projects his own selfhatred on anything and everything and redirects self-destruction into violence against others #the same way he felt entitled to kill the window or the uncle or attempt to kill Larson - he'd be merciless with john #Arthur lacks empathy and he'd never stop to consider that maybe jon didn't want any of what's happened. he'd feel self-righteous about that #violence. and jon is self deprecating enough to accept it and kind enough not to harm him back. jon wouldn't ceaseless watcher him because #jon wouldn't believe that Arthur deserves it. Arthur's martyrdom is pathetic but it does make kind people like jon feel for him #and it's sad that kind people will always take it from violent people because they can empathize with them - something they'll never get in #return #sorry apparently I'm not finished #Arthur would've definitely seen fears as gods and avatars as their followers which of course would mean that these people are morally #corrupted. and we've seen those people we know they exist. is daisy worthy of redemption? no matter the answer jon let her have it #Arthur has displayed disgust and unwillingness to understand others. nuance only matters when it's him neglecting his child not when it's #other people's surviving or unknowingness. he has no problem with letting his animalistic side loose when he feels entitled to it. he's #killed and eaten a man beat someone to death knowing only police's suspicions about him he beat a woman with a rock to death over and over a #you get the gist. if he believes he's entitled to someone's life he takes it. and jon fits his victims profile way too well #a cultist who brought his god to earth and caused suffering? yeah we can take out the frustration we feel on him it's whatever. not like #someone like this could be a good person #if i feel like i should die and there's something like that walking our green earth then they definitely deserve to die #what I'm getting on is he's not just winning a fight he's killing jon bc to him he is no longer human thus deserving of death

356 notes · View notes

prlssprfctn · 3 months ago

Text

Jason, being a semi-canonic common hallucination in the family after his death, could lead to the stupidest AU ever.

Imagine everyone seeing him — Bruce, half of the time, Dick non-stop, Tim more often than not, and eventually even Alfred starts seeing little boy's silhouette in the corner of his eye, but he never admits it, because someone needs to stay sane in this family.

It is a lot like real-life cases when cult families start to see collective hallucination, and it somehow syncronises in their minds, so they hear and see the same things, you know?

So, yeah, everyone sees Jaybin around.

Everyone but Damian. Damian is a normal one. He also knows his Akhi is alive and well, so whatever. And it takes him some time to figure out that his family is bat-shit insane, but when he does, he decides to use it on his advantage.

Damian, calling Jason: Akhi, you should visit me. It is getting awfully boring here.

Jason, frowning: You know I can't. They think I am dead, and I can't risk my plan, especially now, when Red Hood is gaining-

Damian: We will pretend you are a hallucination.

Jason: ...What?

Damian: So, there is a plan...

So, a few days after this call, Jason arrives at the Wayne Manor. He still thinks his brother's plan sucks, but gaslighting is one of his many talents, so surely, they will figure something out. He can lie his way through this meeting.

Expect, he doesn't even need to lie. His family is actually insane.

Bruce, bumping in Jason:

Jason, staring back: Uh-

Bruce: Wow. You look so grown-up. And we look so alike. Nice one, brain.

Jason: ?..

Tim, leaving his room: Hi, B, hi- Oh, damn. Hi, Jaybin. Nice leather jacket.

Bruce: Right? I guess his ghost just grows up with us now.

Jason: ????

Alfred, nodding along, out of nowhere: Master Dick will hate it. He looks taller now.

All of them: (peacefully leave the room)

Jason: What. The. Fuck.

Jason waits for the moment of clarity to happen as he chats with Damian in the kitchen, but... nothing changes. They really, really think he is a hallucination. So... he starts hanging out around more. Both because Damian is getting angsty, and because it is kinda... amusing.

Tim, stuck on the same case for a few nights, non-stop: Oh, it is really just me and you in this, Jason.

Jason, playing Mario Cart on the table by his side: Maybe take a nap, dude.

Tim: No, I need to figure out this case with-

Jason, rolling his eyes: Red Hood had already dealt with it. Go to sleep.

Tim: ...You are such a good self-care kind of hallucination.

Jason: ...

Damian: Your bets, when will they realise that you are a real person?

Jason: At this point, I am not sure that they will, even if I start screaming that I am real.

Damian: Fair. I bet a year would do.

Jason: ...A year and a half.

Dick visits the Manor. He cooes at Jason, muttering something about "of course, he would have grown up in a punk," and Jason almost breaks his role to hit him on the head.

Jason, arms folded on his chest: You know, you need serious help, dad.

Bruce, blinking at him slowly: Probably. You know what else I need?

Jason: Sleep? Retirement? To stop adopting strays? The list is endless, man.

Bruce: ...Coffee. I need more coffee.

Jason, groaning: What the fuck!!!

Alfred figures out that Jason is real, eventually. Solely because he catches him sneaking a few extra cookies, and hallucinations are not supposed to eat. He plays along with him and Damian until the very end, anyway.

(Damian ends up winning the bet because Jason loses it once and pushes Bruce down the stairs, when he starts reciting some precautionary tale about him. Everyone is flabbergasted.)

#jason todd #red hood #dcu comics #dc universe #dcu #batman #bruce wayne #batfamily #batfam #dick grayson #tim drake #damian wayne #alfred pennyworth

9K notes · View notes

mrsbarnesblog · 1 month ago

Text

wrecked

masterlist

summary: you get into an accident with Rafe's car

words count: 1.3k

warnings: car accident, Topper and Kelce🥸, protective Rafe

You didn’t want to take Rafe’s car at first. He usually was the one who drove you whenever and wherever you needed, insisting that he felt calmer about you being okay. But he was busy from an early morning at work, and you really didn’t want to disturb him, even if you desperately needed to go.

Also, he didn’t mind you taking his car, even allowing you to practice on his favorite one. He just wanted you to be careful. Though you were always hesitant, not wanting to scratch it or accidentally break something, because you knew how much Rafe cherished his cars.

So it was not your fault when some asshole drove on the red light. It happened so fast that you couldn’t even do anything about it. One moment you were driving down the street, and the next the sound of tires, breaking glass, and scratching metal filled your ears. Rafe’s car spun around from the force of the hit, and the airbags deployed, preventing you from hitting your head too hard, but it still knocked the wind out of you. Your hands were shaking on the steering wheel, your heart pounding in your ears louder than the car horn that wouldn’t stop blaring.

You sat there, frozen, chest heaving as you tried to process what had just happened. Your ears were ringing, eyes darting around to make sense of the chaos. The taste of adrenaline coated your tongue, bitter and sharp.

People started to gather, voices muffled as if underwater. Someone knocked on the window, asking if you were okay, but all you could think about—stupidly, helplessly—was Rafe’s car. The one he waxed on weekends, the one he never let anyone else touch until you. And now it was ruined.

Your fingers struggled to unclasp the seatbelt. You were okay, you realized as you looked down to see whether there was blood or not. Maybe bruised, but okay. Still, tears welled up in your eyes from shock, guilt, and something else deeper you couldn’t quite name. A stranger helped you to get out of the car, holding you under your arm and asking you something, but you could not respond. Your eyes darted to another car, the men looking almost unbothered by what he had done.

Just a few minutes later, an ambulance and police arrived, and you sat in the ambulance car, with a thin blanket over your shoulders, while a woman checked you. That’s when you saw Kelce and Topper walking nearby, and you could see the realization hit them, their faces changing. Topper whipped out his phone and started dialing. Kelce stood there, wide-eyed, like he’d just been in that car himself.

They didn’t even look at you at first.

Then the call ended. Fast.

“He hung up the second we told him.” Topper muttered, walking towards you looking with this weird mix of pity and disbelief. “He’s gonna lose it. You know how much he loves that car.”

“Yeah, he really fucking loves that car.” Kelce agreed, scratching the back of his head and looking at you with the same expression Topper did. “That’s literally his baby.”

You felt your stomach dropping, his friends’ words settling in and making your guilt even worse. Your hands trembled on your lap, whether from the adrenaline or from fear of Rafe’s anger. Would he snap? Would he hate you for that? You didn’t know, and you didn’t want to.

But then he got there.

You saw Rafe before you even heard him. His blue truck was parked carelessly in the middle of the street, his eyes almost wild and hair in a mess, as he was scanning the people for you. He didn’t look at the wrecked car, the random people, or the police. Once his eyes found yours, he ran.

Rafe felt like he could breathe again the moment his hands touched you. His arms wrapped around you so tight you could feel how hard he was shaking. Hands moved over you in frantic patterns—your face, your shoulders, your arms, your ribs—like he needed to feel each part of you to believe it wasn’t all some nightmare.

The woman who was checking you looked at him sideways but didn’t say anything, probably noticing his trembling hands and wild eyes. She stepped aside, giving you some space, and you couldn’t be more grateful.

The warmth of his body and his familiar scent made you completely break down, nuzzling closer to him and sniffing. “I’m sorry.” You choked out, your voice barely audible, like the words were stuck in your throat. “I didn’t mean to take it—I just—I’m so sorry, Rafe.” You tugged at his shirt. “He-he crushed into me, I c-couldn’t do anything.”

Rafe pulled back, taking your face in his hands and shaking his head with a deep frown. The tears streamed freely down your face as all of the emotions finally got out. Rafe gently wiped them away with his thumbs, leaning even closer to you. “Sh-h, baby.” He mumbled. “I don’t give a fuck about the car, do you hear me? I thought you were hurt, I thought I might lose you.”

You stared at him, stunned. He didn’t flinch, didn’t blink, just cupped your face like he was anchoring himself there.

“That’s the only thing I care about. You hear me? Not the car. You.”

Topper shifted awkwardly, glancing between the wrecked car and the two of you, a strange tension hanging in the air. His gaze flickered back to Rafe, and after a beat of hesitation, he finally spoke up, his voice laced with disbelief.

“Wait, hold up. You’re seriously not gonna care that your car’s wrecked?” He asked bluntly, tone edged with a mix of confusion and judgment. “It’s a fucking mess, Rafe. It costs a shitload of money.”

Kelce, standing beside him, nodded along, a skeptical frown crossing his face. “Yeah, dude, you always lose your shit over stuff like this. She wasn’t supposed to take your car in the first place. You’re just gonna let her—”

Rafe cut him off before he could finish the sentence, his voice low and dangerous. His grip tightened around you, pulling you a little closer, the protective instinct in him flaring up. “Shut the fuck up before I break your jaw.” He growled, his eyes hardening as he turned to face them, shielding you. “Don’t talk to her like that. Don’t even look at her. I’m not in the fucking mood for your dumbass jokes.”

Topper took a step back, hands raised in defense, his voice tight. "Hey, man, we were just—"

Rafe’s glare cut him off, his voice low but deadly. "I don’t give a shit about the fucking car, Top. My girl was in that car. You think I’m gonna give a damn about a stupid piece of metal when she could’ve got hurt?"

Kelce swallowed hard, clearly taken aback by Rafe’s intensity. "Rafe, we—"

"I said, shut the fuck up." Rafe repeated, stepping closer. "You wanna keep running your mouths, or do you wanna walk away with your teeth?"

For a moment, there was silence, the tension hanging thick in the air. The two of them just stood there, processing Rafe's fury, and then they both slowly backed away, glancing nervously at each other.

"Yeah... alright, man.” Topper muttered, still clearly rattled. "We get it."

“Then go.” Rafe didn’t take his eyes off them until they slowly turned and started to walk away, their pace quickening under his gaze. He exhaled sharply, shoulders still tense.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Rafe turned back to you, his face softening instantly, but there was still a fire in his eyes. He pulled you into his arms again, pressing his forehead against yours, the intensity of the moment lingering between you both.

"Don’t listen to them." He murmured, his breath shaky. "They don’t fucking get it. All I care about is you." His hands ran over your forearms to your neck. “And I promise that I’m gonna lock up the one who did it, baby. He will pay for it, for almost hurting you.”

You nodded, still shaken, but feeling a sense of relief wash over you as Rafe’s arms enveloped you again, grounding you in the safety of his presence.

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe x reader #rafe cameron #rafe cameron imagine #rafe imagine #rafe x you #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe fic #obx rafe cameron #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron ff #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron x y/n

4K notes · View notes

ghost-proofbaby · 3 months ago

Text

the hat rule. (e.m. x fem!reader)

the hat rule (n.): you wear the hat, you ride the cowboy.

summary: when eddie dresses up as a cowboy to a night out with friends, you decide to steal his hat.

pairings: eddie munson x fem!reader

warnings: reader is described to be wearing a dress. reader is also dressed up as a black cat. premise is everyone is wearing 'slutty' costumes. overuse of pet names. public teasing, unprotected sex, choking kink, oral (f receiving), ass slapping. 18+.

wc: 13.3k+

happy early valentine's day, babes. shout out to @hellfire--cult for beta reading, as well as @andvys for giving me this idea to begin with.

If someone had told you last week that you’d be attending a slutty costume themed night at a club tonight, you would have laughed in their face.

And yet here you were, at Steve Harrington’s apartment, donned in a black cat costume that shows more skin than you have in years.

The elaborate plan had sparked on a random day after Steve encountered a flyer for the event. It was a nightclub your group had attended before, and one look at the line free drinks for participants had Steve running down your entire group to insist that you all needed to dress up, to participate in this, for the luxury of free Tito’s.

He’d never considered that the ad might not be targeted towards the male population. And now, you were all gathering at his apartment to pregame, ‘slutted out’ as Robin had so kindly put it – men included.

Nancy pulled out some sort of angel costume she claims she had bought but certainly not worn a few years back, Robin had conglomerated an alluring pirate attire from items you hadn’t even been aware were in her closet. Jonathan arrived in his erotic yet pensive writer’s costume (you’d hardly understood it, but he seemed confident, so you all went with it), Argyle in tow donning some sort of seductive surfer costume, in which you certainly recognized the unbuttoned shirt and cargo shorts that had had a pocket knife taken to them to disregard a few inches. Steve even stuck to his own demands, going all out – a sensual bunny costume.

And then, there was Eddie.

Eddie fuckin’ Munson.

“Pick your jaw up off the ground, sweetheart,” he teases as he shuffles around you in the kitchen to grab a drink, “Gonna start catching flies otherwise.”

“There’s a joke in there somewhere about how sweet I am, right?” you blandly reply, keeping your eyes on your room temp cocktail that Steve had so graciously mixed for you upon your arrival, “Something where you call me honey or sugar, yeah?”

Eddie pauses, bottle of vodka in hand, looking at you with big eyes lined in coal, “Oh, baby, you know me so well.”

“Cut the pet names, Munson.”

You try to scowl. You really do. But you don’t mean a damn word you say.

Sweetheart. Baby. Hell, even honey would have done it for you when he was wearing that costume.

Tight leather pants, flared at the ankle. Worn leather boots that certainly had to have been thrifted, clicking with each of his steps. A cow print vest, and just a vest, over what looked to be an oiled chest.

And that fucking hat smashing down his curls, adding a shadow across his face that only built into the illusion.

You hate him. You hate this stupid party. You hate Steve for ever suggesting this.

“You don’t mean that,” he sing-songs as he pours his own drink into a red solo cup. The vodka mixes with cranberry juice, you think, before he’s dropping a few ice cubes out of the freezer. “Or maybe you do, and I should try saying them with a southern drawl,” Fuck, he does a good southern accent. Slow and syrupy sweet, molasses down the throat as he flutters his lashes at you, “That better, darlin’?”

You pluck the thin black straw that had been added to your cup for flare, probably stolen from a hotel at some point by Steve and positively meant for drinks of the coffee variety, and flick it in his direction without hesitation.

“Terrible,” you flatly lie, “Cowboys aren’t even from the south, idiot. They’re from the West.”

You have no desire to hear Eddie’s Western accent. No desire to hear Texan twang on those lips, putting on his best John Wayne impression. In fact, the faster you can get away from him, the quicker you can get yourself under control.

It had always been this way between you and Eddie. Push and pull. Will they, won’t they. A game of cosmic shores as the two of you toed at each other’s orbits and bantered effortlessly. Flirtatious threats, inappropriate compliments, lewd innuendos – you had done it all, specifically with Eddie.

That’s just how the friendship worked.

The friendship.

Friend. Nothing more, nothing less.

Eddie won’t leave you alone, though, choosing to lean up against the counter beside you, forcing his way into your peripherals, “Damn. You’re right. Wayne would kill me if he knew I mixed that up.”

“Oh, I think he has plenty of reasons to knock some sense into you.”

“Yeah?” he leans forward, tauntingly, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, “Why don’t you do it for him? I think I’d like a slap more coming from you, honestly.”

He’s acting like he always does. This is normal. The fact that his entire torso is on show and you can’t stop staring at the way his tattoo on his peck is shimmering doesn’t change that.

You play the role, knowing your part well as you lean in as well, forcing a smile right back at him, “Wanna kiss my knuckles before I do it, or am I gonna have to do all the hard work here?”

“Oh, trust me, you’d never have to do all the work with me, ba-”

“Can you two get a fucking room?” Robin interrupts as she enters the room, clearly coming in for a refill but getting more than she bargained for.

You’re aflame with the shame and embarrassment, feeling it lick from your ankles up to your throat, as Eddie only chuckles lowly.

“Sorry, Robs,” Eddie chirps, not sounding apologetic at all, “I promise I’ll behave myself the rest of the night.”

And yet, despite the words you’re hearing him say out loud, he does the exact opposite.

There’s no real need for him to do it. There’s plenty of space amongst the kitchen for him to maneuver his way out without laying a single hand on you – and yet he still fucking does.

His palm is shockingly warm when it curls around your hip, his other hand occupied with a drink, encouraging you to move a step forward so that he can brush behind you far too close for comfort. You nearly stumble over himself as he does it. The feeling of his barren chest barely bumping your bare shoulder blades sends your mind reeling, and his staple rings that have incorporated into his costume press right through the thin fabric of your dress.

Your breathing stops entirely as he pauses, the slightest bit of skin still brushing against yours, and leans in with a boyish grin, “We’ll both be on our best behavior tonight – right, kitty?”

Something clicks in your mind. The way the nickname rolls off his tongue as he’s looking at you with eyes flaming with mischief, hand lingering on your hip for far too long.

Your eyes flicker up to the hat on his head, and you smile slowly, meeting his toying gaze, “Right, cowboy.”

Best behavior, your ass. Tonight, you have decided, ends the will they, won’t they of it all.

It’s about to either be the best night of your life, or the worst.

—

Another shot with Nancy. Another smoke with Argyle. Another adjusting of Steve’s corset when he complains he can’t breathe (he certainly can, but you’re starting to think he just likes the attention). The pregaming continues on as more of Steve’s friends from work show up, the apartment slowly beginning to buzz with the chatter of more strangers than you can count on one hand.

You’re not even at the club yet and you’re already regretting your revealing attire.

Eddie stays mostly preoccupied with his own devices, and only gets scolded a handful of times by Nancy. You can hear every lewd joke he makes, of course. At some point, you make a private drinking game out of it; a sip for every time he makes the stereotypical joke of ‘save a horse, ride a cowboy’.

Well, it was a sip the first time. A slightly larger gulp the second time. A chugging of half your drink the third time.

“There’s no fucking way,” Steve laments at the table the boys as well as a few guests you don’t recognize have taken over for a game of strip poker, “Jonathan is cheating. Or counting cards.”

“I concur,” Eddie mutters around his cigarette, scowling at his losing hand.

“You’re also cheating, asshole. This is the first round you’ve lost the entire game.”

“Or maybe I’m just really good at cards, Harrington.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, maybe I’m really good at-”

“He’s not cheating,” Nancy interrupts with a sigh from the couch, lounging as she’s served as a referee of sorts for the group. Her entire body weight is draped against Robin, and you’re certainly not going to comment on Robin’s hands toying with her permed locks, “Stop being a sore loser and just strip.”

You get why Steve was the most upset. He was down to his underwear and socks, corset tossed somewhere far behind him and bunny ears placed on Robin’s head in place of her pirate hat that she had claimed became too warm.

“I think Steve should trade both socks and put back on the bunny ears,” she quips as she reaches up for the headband, flicking at one of the floppy ears, “He’d look cuter that way.”

“Fuck off,” he snaps, throwing up a middle finger as Argyle finally loses his shirt.

When your attention has drifted, you know he did exactly that, though.

The game had been boring you half to death, honestly. Watching Steve strip without fail every round, hearing the loud cheers from Argyle when he managed to win a few rounds in a row and exclaimed it was a turkey (it had taken a ten minute intermission to explain to him that was bowling, not poker), watching a few of the girls that Steve had invited fawn over him as they carefully removed boots and gloves when they lost – none of it sparked your interest. The only saving grace had been every smug look Eddie offered as he’d win, time and time again. So far, he’d only lost his boots.

He was hot when he was cocky. There was no way around it.

And now, as he carefully pondered as to which part of his precious costume to part with, you were on the edge of your seat. He was lovely and enticing when he was excited, when he was jubilant with victory, but as a sore loser?

Dear God, Eddie Munson was a gorgeous specimen with a pout on his lips.

“Trying to decide what to take off, Munson?” Jonathan notices the way Eddie is hesitating, even through the offset of conversations that had sparked up in the brief pause amongst the growing group.

You lean forward on the couch, almost subconsciously.

You don’t care what Stacy from Steve’s job thinks of their manager or the latest drama ongoing there, and Steve would probably agree with you if it weren’t for Stacy’s all-red, latex Devil costume.

Eddie scoffs, waving a hand over his attire, “Obviously. You know, it’s not easy to choose when you have a costume as damn good as mine.”

“What? Don’t think you’ll be as pretty without your hat?” you decide to contribute to the teasing, shocking yourself in the process.

The last thing you should do when you’re staring him down in this way, is bring attention to yourself. And yet you were, like some fucking idiot with a death wish.

“You think I’m pretty?”

It’s the fluttering of his lashes as he says it that gives you the courage. They match all that fluttering in your stomach, all that buzzing across your nerves. Because – yeah, you thought he was real fucking pretty. You’d spent the last half hour imagining how pretty he’d look in all sorts of places, too, especially between your sheets and between your thighs.

You’re up off the couch, taking confident steps towards where he’s seated at the ground on the other side of the coffee table. It’s a little inconvenient now, but it had been a blessing in disguise for most of the game as you’d had a front row seat to the sight of him.

“Oh, don’t get ahead of yourself,” you tease, entirely ignoring that lightheaded feeling you get anytime Eddie looks up at you this way. Half-lidded eyes, crooked grin. He’s dangerous and he doesn’t even know it, “I only meant you were pretty with the hat.”

“You wound me,” he gasps, dropping back on his hands dramatically, his pout now for dramatics rather than genuine, “Gonna stand there and tell me I’m not pretty when I dressed up just for you?”

You have to take a deep breath to compose yourself, cross your arms to steady your guard, “Just for me?”

He was playing that same old, tired game of yours. The same dance the two of you had memorized the steps to – and something inside of you has grown restless of it. You don’t want to keep skirting around each other with double-meaning jokes, you don’t want to keep painting humor over your flirtatious remarks. You want a damn answer to the age old question of will they, won’t they?

And you want that answer to be will they – terribly, terribly so.

His eyes trail along the room slowly, not avoiding you but trying to draw out the anticipation in you as he sucks in a breath, “Okay, and maybe for Steve. And Nancy. And Argyle. And Jonathan. And- Well, I’d say Robin, but I don’t think she’s looked twice in my direction all night.”

“I haven’t,” the brunette chirps happily from the couch, still letting the weight of Nancy comfortably dig into her.

You have no idea how she’s tuned into the conversation, given the way most of everyone else around the room was entirely ignoring the two of you.

“So,” you all but purr, leaning down to be more level with Eddie. You already know where his focus wanders when his eyes don’t meet yours, “Not just for me, cowboy.”

He’s distracted, staring at your chest as you notice him slip up in his brave facade for a second. Almost as though you’ve gone too far, pushed the limits a bit too hard. Good. You want to break this. You want to shatter whatever cage the two of you have built.

In one smooth movement, your hand reaches out and snatches the hat right off his head.

He lets out a yelp and tries to grab it away from you, but you have the advantage as you stand up straight once more. Your free hand reaches up and tears off the cat ears you had donned, and in their place, the hat is deposited.

It fits you a little big, and you nearly make a joke about the size of Eddie’s head.

“Hey!” he argues, moving as though he might stand up and put up more of a fight, “I didn’t say the hat is what I wanted to take off.”

“Took too long,” you shrug innocently.

“Yeah, well, just carefully add it to the pile,” he jabs his thumb over his shoulder, towards his boots, as he relaxes back into his recline.

You should probably behave yourself.

“No.”

But this is more fun.

Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up in shot, disappearing behind the bangs that are flattened far more than usual. The entire crown of his head is absolutely crushed. No sign of his usual frizzy roots and unruly volume, “No?”

“No,” you confirm a second time.

And you’re done with this game of back and forth.

The hat’s staying on your head. It smells ever so faintly of his shampoo, the slightest whiff of his cologne even, and it’s staying on your head for the exact reason he believes is about to be a gotcha! moment.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he’s just tipsy enough that he’s not putting on any specific accent. Instead, his natural Appalachian accent inherited from his uncle begins to break the surface, “Surely you know about the hat rule.”

Damn right, you know about the hat rule.

You cross your arms, huff a little, tilt the hat for effect, “The hat rule? Please, enlighten me.”

“You wear the hat, you ride the cowboy.”

Perfect.

You don’t even attempt any sort of surprised act. No exaggerated gasps, no fumbling to remove the hat. You knew all about this rule, and it had been one of the first things to come to mind when you’d seen him enter this damn party with the hat on.

“Yeah?” you question, mocking raising your eyebrows at best, “Hm. What a shame.”

And then you turn on your heel, not awaiting a single response from Eddie as you escape to the kitchen.

You almost wish you would have stayed an extra second to properly witness his reaction. There’s no doubt in your mind that he’s gone pretty and pink, a flustered mess for at least a second as low laughter sounds from the rest of your friends. A tell-tale snort from Robin, and a silent cackle from Nancy. You swear you even pick up on one of the extra guests muttering a confused what just happened? that goes entirely unanswered.

Strip poker doesn’t continue on for long after that.

You refill your drink, this time sans the alcohol, and return to find Steve has officially begun to call for cabs to the club. He busies away on his phone as everyone debates who’s riding with who, the entire party slowly coming to life as everyone stands to prepare to leave for the main attraction.

When you meet Eddie’s gaze from across the room, the shadow of the brim of his hat cutting into your vision a little, his cheeks match the cranberry juice in your cup.

Good.

—

The ride to the club is a blur, and all that really stands out to you is that Eddie makes sure he does not ride in the same cab as you.

Which is fine. Really. It doesn’t cause a single spark of panic in your chest. Not one.

You’re definitely not working yourself up over the thought that your plan is crumbling right before your eyes, that you’ve gone too far and entirely misinterpreted everything Eddie has ever done during your entire friendship. You’re not mulling over every dirty joke, not dissecting every single line that felt like he was flirting with you and attempting to look at it with fresh eyes. No, the entire ride to the club, you are definitely not beating a dead horse dead.

Maybe you should have set off to ride the dead horse and not the cowboy. Maybe, then, Eddie would have gotten into the fucking cab with you.

Your anxieties only worsen once you get inside the club. Pulsing beneath your skin, right in rhythm with the music. Your entire group had each been handed a drink ticket on your way in, and you had noted the fact that the girls of the group were slipped extra tickets.

Nancy had given all her tickets to Robin, and Steve had given his singular ticket to Stacy.

“So,” Robin runs up to your side, Nancy not far behind, “Do we waste our drink tickets on shots or real drinks?”

“Real drinks,” you immediately reply, eyes scanning the bouncing crowd for a certain head of curly hair, “Shots are… well, they can be cheap. We can just avoid the top-shelf shit.”

Was Eddie really going to ignore you the entire night?

He needed his hat. He couldn’t ignore you the entire night.

“You’re right,” Robin shuffles the drink tickets in her hands, turning to Nancy, “On a scale of one to ten, how bad would it be me to ask you to flirt with men to get me-”

“Give me ten minutes and I’ll have us a round.”

Nancy’s smile is sweet, courteous, as she gives Robin’s shoulder a squeeze on her way past her.

Where the fuck is Eddie?

“Did you see where the guys ran off to?” you blurt out. Most of the guys, aside from Steve, took the same cab.

Robin also joins you in a quick survey of the club, lifting onto her tippy toes to squint over the current light show, “Honestly? I have no idea.”

Fuck.

As she drops back down onto her heels, Robin looks at you knowingly, eyes flicking up between your twisted expression and the hat on your head.

“Trying to find a certain cowboy?”

“What?” you look at her, already defensive, even if it was stupid at this point. Who cares if everyone knows you have a crush on Eddie? Who cares if everyone finds out the very foundations of your friendship with him were built upon quite a bit of truth? “I mean- yeah, he kind of needs his hat to complete his outfit.”

“Should have just given him your ears for an even trade,” Robin shrugs, clinging to your elbow to avoid getting separated as a few bodies push past the two of you, “I’m sure he’ll pop up soon enough, though. Besides, I don’t think anyone’s too focused on what everyone’s costumes are as long as they’re… well…”

“Slutted out,” you finish for her flatly, trying to not get jealous as your eyes look across the sweaty crowd, stomach churning as you wonder how many other sexy black cats in the crowd would be approaching your cowboy.

You fucked up. You shouldn’t have taken his hat.

“Exactly!” she’s excited, unaware of your crisis, already moving along from the topic as she spots Nancy somewhere near the bar top, “Look, free shots!”

The free shots don’t do much to quell your unease, but free alcohol is always nice.

You take the liquid down, burn and all, more than willingly. And then again, not even five minutes later when Nancy has caught the attention of another random man at the end of the bar. You almost partake in a third, but you finally hear a familiar voice saying a far too familiar joke.

“You know what they say,” he’s flirting – he’s using a tone of voice that he has never used with you, and it’s clear he’s fucking flirting, “Save a horse, ride a cowboy.”

Instead of continuing your drinking game from Steve’s apartment, you slam the shot back down and mutter some sorry excuse of being right back to Robin and Nancy before taking off in the direction of Eddie.

He’s stood a few stools down at the bar, hands leaning against the worn wood as his arms bracket a pretty blonde. It almost looks as if the line might be working on her.

“If you’re a cowboy,” she giggles, and you almost stop dead in your tracks, “Then where’s your hat?”

Well, that’s as good of a queue for your arrival if any.

“Good question,” you pipe up as you take a few brave steps towards him, “Where is your hat, cowboy?”

You’d expected him to be angry, or startled, or possibly even immediately take off running in the opposite direction of you. He doesn’t.

He slowly turns, and his flirtatious smile has turned into more of a salacious grin as he faces you, “Well, well, well. Nice of you to join us, Kitty.”

The blonde looks between you two a few times before shimmying down off her stool, “I think…. I’m gonna go. Nice to meet you, cowboy.”

You expect Eddie to react, but he hardly does. A quick glance in her direction, a pathetic wave.

You’ve just trampled over one of his chances of getting properly lucky tonight, and he isn’t even phased.

“Been lookin’ for you,” you mumble, looking over him. His hair seems to have been unstuck from his scalp a little, at least. As though he may have been running his hands through it repeatedly, “Thought you might have gone home without your hat.”

“Not a chance. I haven’t forgotten about the rule, you know.”

Something twists in you, deep in your gut, between your hips.

“No?” you hold your breath as he leans in a bit closer to you to be able to hear over the music, “Good thing I haven’t either.”

He tilts his head, eyes glittering in the multi-colored lights, “You haven’t? Then that means you’ll be giving it back, right?”

Over my dead body.

You’re on a mission tonight. You’ll either be ending this night in sore disappointment, drinking away your sorrows of rejection, or you’ll be ending up in a bed with Eddie. It’s up to him.

You lift a hand to the worn rim, tugging it a bit more securely onto your head, “Not a chance, Munson. You know where to find me once you’re done playing around.”

As soon as your fingers leave the rim, holding tense eye contact with him, his own hand is coming up. You tense, worried he’s about to steal the hat back now, but he doesn’t. Instead, his fingers pinch the same spot yours just had, slow tracing over the rim as his tongue darts out to carefully wet his bottom lip.

From the front point, around to the side. When he reaches the bit above your ear, his touch drops to your cheek and tucks back some of the baby hairs sticking to your skin with sweat.

“I do, don’t I?” he hums, voice dropping a bit lower, focused entirely on you. “I don’t think I’m the one playing around right now, though, Kitty.”

Does he think you’re joking? Does he actually, genuinely think this is all a game to you?

You nearly make the decision to grab him right there, right at this moment, and shatter all the tension. Get his lips on yours and drag him into the darkest corner just to prove to him how serious you truly were.

Suddenly, his hand drops away from you entirely, and you almost want to whine. You miss that warmth, that feathery caress, until it aches. “It’s okay, though. Always knew cats were playful things.”

Is there a dark corner somewhere near you two? Is there a dark hallway to drag him into? Just enough shadow to cover all the sins you’re desperate to commit, just enough light to see that blush rise across his cheeks again.

“I’m not playing,” you whisper, eyes drifting down to his hand cradling a glass. Something deep and russet, just like his eyes. Likely whiskey. You wonder if you’d be able to taste it all over his tongue before you had him putting it to work where you need him most right now. “Whenever you get that through your big head, come find me.”

“Big head?” he throws his head back in a laugh, and the tension mists away in seconds. “Who says I have a big head?”

“I do, as the one wearing your hat,” you readjust it for emphasis.

You thought the tension had misted away until he’s smirking, tsking a little, “Oh, thought you meant the other one.”

It’s a replay of the scene in Steve’s apartment, but this time, the roles are reversed. You’re the one left in shock, mouth agape, as Eddie spins around and walks away, leaving you to sit with what he’s just said.

“Bastard,” you breathe out as you watch him disappear in the crowd, eyes locked on his broad shoulders until one too many bodies separate the two of you.

A bastard you want awfully, terribly, bad.

—

You wish you could say you threw back drink, after drink, after drink. You wish you could say you danced with a hundred different beautiful strangers, and each one strayed your mind farther from Eddie.

You wish you could say you did anything but what the reality of your night had been.

A few men had approached you, only to be turned down repeatedly. Most of your night was spent all but moping at the bar, eyes diligently scanning the bouncing crowd for a certain curly haired figure that seemed to escape you. One moment, you’d catch him pressed against a flirty stranger, hands holding onto whatever bare skin was available to him. And then, his eyes would find yours, and there would be a spark; a wink, a smile, a whisper across a bustling room daring you to come out and play with him.

You never did. You’d look away, take a sip of your plain coke, and wait a few seconds until it was safe to look back and find him seemingly vanished.

That in itself had started to become a game. Just like the hat, weighing heavy on your head.

You’re starting to accept that maybe you had just been a bit too brave. You’d jumped the gun, flown feet first into cold and ragged waters you weren’t prepared to navigate. You knew you wanted a change with Eddie, but were you ready? If you had been, you would have accepted one of his various invites. Would have strode across the room, shoved away whatever man or woman he was dancing with, and slotted yourself into their place. You would have been swaying your hips in rhythm with his rather than allowing him to cycle through strangers, and you’d be reminding him that you wore his hat.

You’d be the one bringing up the hat rule to him consistently, not him to you.

When the night begins to wane, you’ve already talked yourself out of it all.

“I’m heading out,” you announce to Robin when she finally returns back to where you’ve sat at the bar to babysit their drinks, hopping down from the stool before she could argue, “I’m getting way too tired.”

“What?” your friend gasps, face pink from the heat of being in the crowd, a shimmering sheen of sweat across her forehead, “No! Stay! We can take turns watching the drinks, or just-”

“Robs,” you smile as sweetly as possible, patting yourself down to make sure you have all your belongings. A whistle sounds from a group down the way at the bar, and you ignore them, “It’s seriously okay. You’re having fun! I’m just a senior citizen who needs some sleep. My bedtime was like…. An hour ago.”

You highly doubt you’ll be getting any rest when you return to your apartment. Maybe some confidence can be built out of fantasies, letting your hands wander and sheets catch fire with all that could have been if you hadn’t talked yourself out of your perfect plan.

Maybe, imagining Eddie’s hot hands on you rather than getting to properly feel them will light a damn fire under your ass for the next opportunity that arises.

“I…” she sighs, glancing over her shoulder in the general direction of Nancy, “Okay, fine. But do we want to do brunch or something tomorrow?”

Not a chance, you think rather quickly, eyes scanning once more for the metal-head-turned-cowboy. Not if Eddie’s going to be there.

“Sure,” you lie, already knowing he will be there, “Just text me.”

With that, you make your grand escape.

Borrowed hat on head, phone in hand, you push your way out of the club with a newfound determination. You want to get home and take off this uncomfortable dress, finally do away with the thigh highs that have been rolling down at the most inconvenient of times, driving you insane the entire night. Trade the sexy attire for something comfy – stay true to the cat essence as you curl up beneath your blankets for the night. Hang that damn cowboy hat on your door as a cursed reminder-

“Where do you think you’re going, Kitty?”

You stop a few feet short of the curb, a cab ordered as you turn to find that bastard leaning against the wall. Cigarette smoke is still clinging to the air around him as he looks at you curiously.

“Home,” you shrug, trying to ignore your pounding heart. You’d figured you wouldn’t see him again tonight, that your fate had been sealed. “What are you doing out here?”

“Smoke break,” he lifts his hand with the cigarette pinched between two fingers casually, pushing off the wall to come closer, “It’s hard work, keeping you entertained all night.”

You scoff, falling back into what’s almost a normal rhythm for you two, “You were not the one keeping me entertained all night.”

“I hardly saw you dance with anyone at all.”

“I did!” you try to defend yourself, deciding this could be fine. Some casual conversation as you wait for your ride, a way to pass the time. This is fine. “Robin dragged me out into the crowd at least twice.”

“I watched you swat a guy’s hands away not once, but three times.”

“Unsolicited touching isn’t a compliment. He should have taken the hint the first time.”

Eddie nods in eager agreement, taking another drag of his cigarette, “Damn right. If he had gone in for a fourth try, I was considering dragging him out here for an early smoke break.”

“Why do I highly doubt it would just be a smoke break?” you question, glancing at him with a smile. Scandalous plans aside for the night, embarrassment swallowed down whole, it’s nice to remember that Eddie is a friend. Albeit a bit flirty, and capable of driving you fucking insane, but he’s a friend.

And maybe that isn’t the worst thing in the world.

“Oh, no, yeah. You’d be posting my bail.”

“Why me?”

“Because you’ve got my hat, ” he reaches out and flicks the brim with his free hand, and you freeze up a little. You had hoped he wouldn’t mention it again, “Kind of makes me your problem until the end of the night. Speaking of….”

You already know what he’s about to request as he trails off. This is it. You either give up the bit, hand the hat back over, and go home for the night – or you make one final attempt to get what you had wanted.

Eddie. You wanted Eddie, as more than a friend.

“I’m gonna need that back, sweetheart.”

At least he’s asking politely, you consider, before it hits you why he’s asking rather than taking.

The looks across the room. The way he’d been unbothered by the girl he’d been flirting with running off at your appearance. The way he never just took back that fucking hat when he’d been provided ample opportunity.

He thinks it’s a game for you, and keeps bringing it up, because it isn’t for him. He’s giving you one last chance to back out, or to stand your ground. To say you really want this.

And fuck, you really want this.

“Nope,” you lean into his space, pressing closer, fully committed. Your phone dings with the notification of your ride approaching, and you fully ignore it. “My hat now, cowboy.”

He quirks an eyebrow, and you hear the crunch of gravel behind you. Your ride. “Is that so?”

“Yep.”

Another ding, another buzz of your phone.

Go ahead. Bring up the hat rule.

“That your ride?” he asks, tilting his chin in the direction of the car.

You glance over your shoulder, “Pretty sure it is, yeah.”

“And you remember the hat rule?”

Your stomach twists with excitement. Your previous pity party is long forgotten – you’re still hoping to get out of this dress, but you highly doubt you’ll be slipping anything on after it. “I do.”

“Great,” those hot hands you’d been fantasizing about the entire night suddenly reach out to you, gripping your hips tightly as he tugs you into his body. You collide with his chest as he leans down and whispers in your ear, “In that case, that’s my pussy now.”

His lips linger against the shell of your ear an extra second, warm breath sending chills up your spine before he’s keeping an arm around your shoulders as he guides you to the car. His cologne and the scent of tobacco is suffocating, and you crave to drown in it. You want him to consume you; you want him to take over every breath you breathe, every move you make, to finally get those hot hands and lips everywhere you’ve only dreamt of.

You barely hear him confirm with the driver that it is in fact your ride – you can only focus on that hand on your lower back, palm heavy on you as his thumb traces arcs that nearly spend you spiraling.

“After you, kitty,” he murmurs, motioning for you to slide into the backseat first.

In that case, that’s my pussy now.

You hope he ruins you.

In the backseat of the ride, it’s all polite distance and hands to yourself. You can’t even make eye contact with the driver, terrified he might be able to mindread and see all the filthy thoughts racing through your head.

Eddie between your thighs, mouthing at your hips.

Eddie hovering over you, pulling your knees to your chest as he stretches you out.

Eddie, proving that your pussy is in fact his for the night. That it was made for him, sculpted out to fit the curvature and every single vein of him.

Eddie simply fucking your brains out.

Some polite conversation is exchanged, mostly between Eddie and the driver. The classic questioning of how the night has gone, small talk that buzzes in your ears mindlessly.

The entire time, you can see Eddie’s hand in the space between you two, fingers tapping away at dark leather incessantly. His rings shimmer like a siren calling to you.

It’s a small movement, when your own hand drops near his. You keep your eyes trained forward once you begin your mission, inching your pinky closer and closer until it finally collides with his. You swear, you feel him fully jump out of his seat.

Slowly warming the water, you start off simple – playing with his fingers. Gentle caresses over his knuckles, little pricks to the pads of his fingers. He tries to capture your hand in his, but you have bigger plans at play here.

You’ve spent the entire fucking night waiting for this. You’re going to have fun with it.

He huffs after you deter his second attempt at properly holding hands, his knees falling apart a little further. You twist at the ring on his middle finger, a clunky skull you’ve always admired. It has minimal signs of wear, probably pure silver if you had to guess, and you can only imagine how cold it’s going to feel against your skin.

You can only imagine the imprints it’ll leave if he grabs your hips just right.

“You know,” the driver hums mindlessly over the low volume of the radio, “You guys are my first ride of the night, surprisingly. Thought it might be busier with all the parties and clubs, but I think it’s just barely picking up now.”

“Yeah?” Eddie asks politely, nodding as he looks out his window. Perfect, “I think you’re right. It is getting pretty late-”

He’s entirely distracted, your hand out of his line of sight as it moves in on its target.

His thigh.

Just a few inches above his knee, your hand grips at what is clearly sensitive flesh. You watch his entire body turn to stone when you do it, and he moves his head quickly to look in your direction.

You’re looking straight ahead.

There had been a time, a few weeks ago, where you’d learned Eddie had… sensitive knees. You’d been joking around about one thing or another, and when your palms had gripped at them through the torn fabric of ripped jeans, he’d nearly launched himself across the room. He just kept insisting they were ticklish, that that skin was just delicate.

You’d seen the tent in his jeans then. You’d just been a bit more polite, a bit better behaved that day.

“What are you doing?” he hisses in a whisper, reaching for your hand, but you’re quick to slide it even higher.

His hips jump a little, and the driver is none the wiser.

“Nothing,” you innocently say, still looking ahead, watching the passing streetlights with intense interest. “Absolutely nothing at all.”

The entire ride, at every red light, your hand inches higher.

And every time, you relish the way he squirms in your peripherals.

By the time you’re five minutes out from your place, you’ve riled him up to impossible heights. Every little noise has him on edge, constant twitching and shifting in his seat as he tries to get you to just look at him. You know he’s catching every sly smile that attempts to creep up on your lips – you’re pathetically failing at every turn to cover them up.

You think you have him like putty in your palms as you give yet another squeeze to his thigh, fingers starting to dance up even higher. When your eyes flicker to his crotch for just a second, you see him straining against that tight leather.

And then he flips the script.

You’re so focused on your own goals, you never see that ringed hand creep to your own thigh. It’s not until cool metal nips at you, briefly, before you feel the warmth of his hand overtake, that you realize the predicament you’ve gotten into.

Just as your hand was beginning to skim over his crotch, Eddie’s hand found solace between the meat of your thighs. Even as you try to clench them together, deny him the access he was seeking out, he finds his way in. Scandalous fingers dipping under the hem of your dress, fighting fire with fire when he lets his middle finger brush across the fabric of your underwear.

Your touch from him nearly retracts entirely.

“What?” he leans in closer to you, the driver still focused on the road, “Don’t like a taste of your own medicine?”

As he says it, his fingers dip lower. Hovering right over your protected clit, making your entire abdomen clench.

You swallow hard, a bit of your jagged pride somewhere amongst the spit as you turn your head to look at him, “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Still playing games I see.”

In sync, the two of you lock eyes as you continue to test waters. You apply pressure with your palm and note the way his breathing hitches, and he draws a feather-light circle around the wet patch forming in your underwear. You can feel your bottom lip quiver as you try to refuse to give him any satisfaction, but when he’s this close, it’s a hopeless battle.

When had he gotten so near you? What happened to all that static distance from when you’d first crawled into the backseat?

You’re trying to only focus on your own hand. Eyes darting to guarantee the driver is still oblivious as you roll the heel of your hand harder against the seam of his pants, and biting your lip to hold back a successful grin when he has to cover a gasp with a cough. It’s all fun and games until the action is rewarded with his payback; his knuckle curling up against your cunt through your panties, pressing in hard before slowly sliding his way up, up, up.

He deliberately stops when he catches on your clit, and you’re the one coughing now.

“Had enough?” he mutters under his breath, looking at you with half-lidded eyes. He looks good in this lighting, flashes of the streetlights bathing him in soft yellow, headlights of other cars fluttering in through the windshield as they hit his brown eyes just right to bronze them.

“Never.”

You almost think you’ve won when his knuckle pulls back.

But suddenly, his entire hand is cupping your cunt, two fingers pressing against your fluttering hole as another drags up your slit slowly once more. This time, when he reaches your clit, he continues moving in small circles.

You have to bite your lip to hold back any noises, eyes closing for just a second as you hear him huff out a laugh.

The final damnation is when he brings his lips to your bare shoulder, merely grazing your skin with them as he mumbles, “You sure about that, Kitty?”

You clench around nothing, and you know when he feels it from where his fingers remain pressed against you. His own hand twitches as the finger circling your clit stutters for a moment.

“I-”

“We’re here!” the driver says, not having looked into the backseat yet as he finds a safe place to pull the car into. In an instant, you and Eddie remove your hands from each other. You’re both visibly flustered – you can feel how warm your cheeks have gotten, and you can see clouds of pink splattering over Eddie’s chest and neck.

“Thanks,” Eddie is the one to speak up as the car comes to a halt, not even waiting for the driver to put the vehicle in park as he throws the door open.

A bit rushed, but still polite as ever before he’s grabbing you by your bicep to pull you out of the cramped space right along with him.

You can hardly muster a weak wave to the man as Eddie is dragging you towards your apartment building, knees still a bit weak and mind still blank after getting a taste of your own medicine, as Eddie had put it.

He doesn’t let go of you until you’re at your front door, those cursed shaking hands of yours fumbling with your key ring.

“Here, let me-” he starts to offer, reaching for the keys that continue to clank together, just as you find the one you’re looking for.

“I’ve got it-” you try to cut him off, just as you drop the fucking keys in your haste. “Shit.”

You quickly drop to the ground to grab them, pausing once you have the metal digging into your palms once more. There’s no real reason for you to do it, but you do – you take a second to look up at Eddie from this position, and nearly drool at the sight of it.

Him, standing over you, still a bit flushed and still visibly uncomfortable in his pants. Pretty curls a mess and lips darkening from how much he’s been biting them.

You want him to ruin you. You want him to absolutely, entirely and utterly destroy you.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he laughs, chest heaving a bit as he watches you carefully, pupils slowly growing in the dim light of your building’s hallway.

You can see his bare torso clenching, the twitch of his hands at his sides – the same fingers that had just been caressing you over your underwear in the backseat of a stranger’s car.

“Like what?” you’re dragging out the moment, taking time to appreciate the sight of him.

“Like you want me to just press you up against the wall and fuck you out here, for everyone to see.”

That’s a new one. That’s a vision that hadn’t come to you in all your dirtiest dreams of the night.

It sends your clit throbbing.

You rise slowly, pushing the hat back a bit to see him better, keeping your voice quiet so your neighbors won’t hear as you ask, “Would you? If I asked nicely?”

He doesn’t let out a laugh, but a breath of air, like you’ve just sucked all of the oxygen out of his lungs.

No need to say it – you know he would. You probably wouldn’t even have to ask nicely.

You’re staring at him when he finally moves, one hand snatching your keys out of your hand and the other gripping you around the waist. Back to pulling you, man-handling you to get you right where he wants you – where he needs you.

One second, you’re pressed against his body in the hallway. The next, he’s managed to unlock your front door and throw you both into the safety of your apartment.

Hidden from the world, and you’re still reeling as you wonder what it’d be like for the entire building to witness you calling out his name. Or him calling out your name.

Here within these four walls, Eddie has put some space between the two of you, staring with blown out eyes and a shaking chest as he breathes out, “Sweetheart.”

A few seconds pass, the two of you just standing there, the click of the front door’s lock being the only thing echoing in the silence. If you focused over the roar of the blood pounding in your ears, you might catch every single gasp of his as he stares in awe – but your focus is elsewhere. Far away and out of grasp for the time being. You can only think of one thing, and one thing only.

Your body isn’t your own as you move to get exactly what you want; you drop to your knees hard enough that you should cringe at the thought of the pain that will linger, possibly for days, but it doesn’t even cross your mind as your hands begin to fumble with Eddie’s pants. The oversized, gaudy belt buckle is in your way, glinting at you as if mocking the way your shaking hands can’t undo it fast enough. You’re about to give up and just start unzipping the leather pants, desperate to get your hands, and your mouth, and your eyes on him properly, when he stops you.

“Hey,” he sounds breathless - he is breathless - as his own hands quiver a bit and grab onto yours, “Hey, hey, hey. Slow down.”

Those hands let go of your wrists and reach for the hat, and you’re quick to try and swat them away only for him to grab at you, surprisingly gentle, as he drags you back up to your feet.

“Wear the hat, ride the cowboy – right?” you insist, chin held high, your gaze refusing to waver from his.

His slow and buttery grin makes you lightheaded, his low chuckle sends shakes through every nerve and bone. “That’s right, but maybe the cowboy wants to take his time. Ever think of that, hm?”

Were you moving too fast? Were you going to scare him off?

Small, baby steps are taken by Eddie, the click of his heels shattering against your wooden floors until his hips are flush with yours.

And - oh.

Oh.

That surely didn’t feel like you were scaring him off.

You could feel the outline of his cock, hard against your hip, as he gives a little roll. He catches his bottom lip between his teeth, nostrils flaring with a hard breath, and the fear leaves as quickly as it had arrived.

He wants this. You want him.

“I’m not a very patient person,” you murmur, eyes glued to his lips now as his head leans in closer, and his hands begin to explore your body. Taking their time as they travel down your arms from where he’d held onto your biceps, slowing as they reach your wrists. Even the press of his thumb against the sensitive inner skin there sends jolts up your spine, little gasps attempting to escape your mouth.

His fingers tangle loosely with your own for a few moments before his palms find your hips, and he continues his journey.

“That’s okay,” he whispers back, close enough now that his lips have begun to brush against your own. His nose bumps yours as his hands skate up over your ribcage, thumb sweeping out over the hill of your breast and intentionally avoiding your nipple, “I can teach you, baby.”

Your mouth finally collides with him at the words, nearly going limp in his arms at the words.

You’ve thought about kissing Eddie for a while now. Every time a snarky remark fell from his lips, you’d wonder how his tongue might taste afterwards. Every time he’d pout his lips at one of your comebacks, or blow a kiss teasingly in your direction from across a room, you’d wonder how hard you might have to bite down to make him bleed. Every drag of a cigarette you’d witnessed, every hard gasp in faux offense, every breathless chuckle at a joke he didn’t want to find funny but did – you had spent a lot of time wondering what it might be like to steal all the air from his lungs, to kiss him until the two of you were both blue in the face.

“Can’t the lesson wait until tomorrow?” you mumble against him as his mouth, your own fists now gripping onto the lapels of his vest. His hands have reached your shoulders, memorizing the outlines of the curve of your neck where it meets your collarbones, the slope of your chest as you take hot and heavy breaths.

“Nope,” he insists, pulling back from the kiss, a little bit of spit on his pink lips, “But it’s nice to know you’re thinking about tomorrow.”

A hand finally finds your chin and pinches it carefully between his thumb and fingers, a careful grip on you to angle you just right so he can all but devour you. Lips, tongues, teeth – it’s a messy ordeal, and you almost make a smart-ass remark that this kiss doesn’t feel very patient.

But you can’t. Eddie’s taken away all your breaths, all your words, as he starts to guide you backwards.

Your knees hit the cushions of your sofa, making you jump back from him with a gasp, palms going flat against his chest.

He feels good. Tender skin soft to the touch beneath your hand, tattoos tempting to trace the outline of. Later.

“Figured you might want a more comfortable ride,” he laughs against you, breath smelling ever so faintly of mint and whiskey washing over you, before he dips to mouth away at your neck.

You drop back onto the sofa, bite your tongue on a comment about how this cheap piece of furniture most definitely wasn’t the most comfortable option, simply eager at the fact he was letting this move along.

You want him, you need him, and you have no time for patience.

His exploration of touches have lit you aflame, and you’re growing a bit desperate at this point. It might be pathetic, it should be embarrassing, but you really don’t care.

“By all means,” you break out of his hold entirely, catching the way his hand holding your chin lingers a few extra seconds, reluctant to let you go, “Take your seat, Cowboy.”

He joins you on the couch, eyes never leaving yours even as he throws himself down. Knees spread wide, inviting lap on show, cock still straining against his pants.

The best seat in the house, as far as you’re concerned.

“You just gonna keep starin’,” he mocks lightly, looking you over slowly. Taking his time, you suppose, “Or you gonna get over here?”

His words are all you need. You’re quick to climb onto his lap, swinging your legs so that each thigh brackets his hips, your cunt pressing down on crotch carelessly. You love the way it feels – the outline of him hard against you, the cooling effect of the leather, the sharp edges of the zipper catching just right.

“There,” he huffs out, grabbing onto you when you give the slightest roll of your hips, “Now we’re both in our seats.”

When you go to press down harder, guiding yourself over his lap, hands steadying you by gripping his shoulders, he surprises you by his hips jumping up to meet your slow rhythm.

“What happened to being patient?” you try to tease him right back as your forehead meets his, hat comically struggling to stay on between the two of you, “Thought you were gonna take your time with me-”

“Between you and me, I’m not gonna last,” he pants out, hands finding your hips. Those rings you’d been fantasizing of leaving an imprint on you are doing just that as he guides you, “Been dreaming of you too long, sweetheart. Wanted this for so long.”

Your heart nearly stops. Your hips stutter, pausing as his words rush over you.

“What?”

Your head lifts away from his completely, grip on his shoulders tightening.

He’s wanted this, too? This entire time?

Eddie takes your pause as a bad thing, a terrible omen as his face pales, “I mean- I just-”

“Munson,” you say lowly, narrowing your eyes at him, “You’re telling me, this entire time, you’ve been flirting with me?”

Had that tone he used with the girl at the bar been flirting as you’d thought, or simple for show? You’d so cluelessly assumed he’d never used that tone with you because he’d never genuinely flirted with you – and yet, it seems, he’d never used that tone because he’d been genuinely flirting with you.

“I-” his cheeks are brilliant red, and the wide eyes are from something different than lust now, “Maybe?”

“Maybe?” you almost laugh, throwing your head back. The hat falls off, but Eddie is quick to retrieve it, “My God, we’re fucking idiots.”

“Hey, I’m not the one who stole my hat-”

“I like you, dumb ass,” you state plainly, “I wanted this for a while, too.”

He pauses, one arm outstretched as his hand grips onto the hat, “What?”

“Been thinking about this, too,” your voice drops a little, almost a whisper, even though you two are the only ones in the room. For all you know, you two might be the only two people left in the world with the way he’s looking at you, “Thinking about you and your lips. Thinking ‘bout your hands and the places they’d go,” as you point out every detail, his body seemingly reacts. A lick of his lips, a squeeze of his hand still on your hip, “Thought about your fingers and tongue a lot, too. How good they’d feel inside me.”

His hips thrust up at that, and suddenly, he’s placing his hat back atop your head.

That, it seems, was all the encouragement Eddie needed.

He deals with that belt buckle that had given you hell, bouncing you a bit on his lap as he fumbles with yanking the entire belt off and tossing it to the side. One hand busies with undoing the button and zipper of his jeans, as the other starts to bunch your dress.

“Nice and slow,” he insists, looking up at you, absolutely vibrant. Somewhere between the tightness between your hips, all the throbbing between your thighs and in your chest, you feel a sort of bubbly delight creeping up along your spine. “Got it, kitty?”

You nod once. Twice. On the third nod, he cuts you off with a kiss.

Your dress is up to your waist, and you don’t know how, but he manages to shimmy off his pants without throwing you off his lap entirely. It’s impressive, really. Probably a symptom of him having thought about this, dreamt about this. He’d probably thought up every scenario possible, and was prepared.

“Oh, and these?” his fingers find the waistband of your panties, tsking a little as he pulls at the elastic and lets it slap back against your skin, “Those definitely have to come off.”

“Whatever you say, cowboy.”

You take your time sliding off his lap, making sure to grind against him before you properly lift away. He throws his head back in a groan, Adam’s apple bobbing as you stand up straight. You take that moment to just admire him, capturing the clench of his jaw to memory, the way his eyes screw shut in pleasure at your influence.

He’s fucking perfect. You’re sure there’s others who disagree, but you’d pay them no mind. He’s perfect, and he’s all yours.

You make a show of taking off your panties only once he’s properly looking at you once more, craving his eyes on you as you keep all your movements fluid and steady. No rush, exuding all that patience he’d prattled on about.

You want to see his face when you gently toss the black lacey piece in his direction, watch him fumble with his own desperation to catch them.

“Seems a bit unfair that I’m the only one undressing,” you hum as you go a step further and begin to shimmy out of the dress.

“Yeah, well,” he grins cheekily at you, fisting your panties, a hand trailing down to the waistband of his boxers as he eyes you, “One of us was showing a bit more skin than the other.”

“Take off the vest, Eddie.”

Your command is velvet, and he’s quick to obey. His hand stubbornly refuses to let go of your panties as he rushes to shrug out of the thin fabric over his shoulders, tossing the vest to join his pants and your dress on the floor.

“And the boxers.”

You stand there, in nothing but his cowboy hat, as you wait pretty and patient for him to listen. And listen he does.

The moment his boxers are discarded, his cock is standing at attention, leaking from the tip and deep shade of pink that matches his kiss-bitten lips. You think it might be the prettiest color you’ve ever laid eyes on as you watch a drop of precum slip down his shaft.

He’s pretty, even in the fucking pants.

Girthy, thick enough you almost arch your back before you’ve even sunk down on him. All veins and soft skin, a sensitive tip that you’d trace your tongue over for hours if he let you.

“Gonna just stand there, or are you going to ride your cowboy?”

He surely meant to sound more cocky, but the words come out as more of a whine as you watch him twitch under your stare.

He’s right though, and you’d rather get him inside you than spend another second gawking. There will be time to pay more attention to him and his pretty cock tomorrow. Right now, you need to finish this god-forsaken mission.

Your thighs find his hips just as his hands find yours, choosing to grip the couch rather than his shoulders as you steady yourself.

Nice and slow, his words echo in your mind.

You could have prepared yourself more, but you’d already made it clear to Eddie that you are not a patient person. The fact that you even take your time as you sink down on him, going as far as to grab him by his base and guide his tip to smear precum across your clit, is impressive.

The stretch is a bit painful. A bit much. A bit dizzying. But you refuse to stop as your jaw drops, eyes fluttering shut in ecstasy.

“Fuck,” you breathe out softly as you feel him fill you, “Fuck, Eddie.”

“Feel good, baby?” he questions, reaching up to grab your chin just as he had before. Forcing you closer to him, forcing you to look him in the eyes just as he bottoms out.

You don’t answer him as you both moan out.

You stay there for a second, unmoving as you swim in the feeling. Feeling him press into the depths of you, the overwhelming warmth and the coil in your abdomen tightening ever so slightly.

It’s better than you had imagined it. No daydreams could compare to the feeling of Eddie’s cock finally, finally filling you. Stretching you out, making you his.

“Go ahead,” he grits out, entire body tense, clearly holding out on you, “Ride your cowboy, kitty. Don’t make me ask twice.”

Nice. And. Slow.

Three little words that ricochet through your mind as you start to slowly bounce on him. Lifting ever so slightly, dropping back down, aching to feel him even deeper inside of you. Feeling the quiver of his thighs to match yours as you repeat the action, gasps and whimpers falling from both your lips. You’re about to try and kiss him, try and swallow all those delicate noises from him, when he stops you.

“No, no, no,” he’s chuckling, giving your hips a few squeezes before his palms rub down your thighs, the friction sending you on edge, “C’mon, now. We both know that’s not how you ride.”

His hands rake over your skin, down to your knees, lighting scratching and squeezing along their entire pathway until they make their way back up to your waist and hips.

“Do it like this, sweetheart.”

He guides you, no longer allowing you to lift up. You sink all the way down on his cock, whining out at the fullness, before he starts the pattern.

Back and forth. Gentle circles amidst the rocking. Your clit grazes his pubes, and the coil in between your hips has never tightened more quickly.

The motion feels familiar - like riding a bull.

This feels right. You still press down, still clench down on him hard enough to make you both slip out obscenities, but it’s getting you there.

At some point, Eddie’s grip on your hips slips, but it’s fine – you’ve got the rhythm down perfectly. Slow, intermittent figure eights between the rolls of your hips, his occasionally slamming upward to reward you with that deepness you need. You can feel him in your stomach, in your chest, in your throat.

You get a bit daring, and take one hand to his shoulders, as the other reaches up for the top of the hat on your head.

Just like a cowboy.

“Like this?” you pant out between harsher rolls, eliciting curses that continue to grow louder from Eddie.

“Fuck, baby, yes,” he groans out, head thrown back, mouth open in gratification, “Just like that. Keep- keep going just,” he thrusts up, “Like,” another thrust, “That.”

You nearly lose balance, falling forward a bit, too stubborn to let go of the hat. There’s a grin glimmering at the corners of your mouth, and it fully blooms when Eddie throws up a hand to catch you .

A hand on your throat.

He doesn’t squeeze, doesn’t cut off blood flow or breathing. He keeps that warm palm there at the base of your neck, cradling you, holding you. A reminder that he could squeeze if he wanted, that he held you in the palm of his hands currently, but he won’t.

“You like that?” his eyes shine as he looks up at you, the sight of his rings decorating your neck.

You nod.

“Tell me with your words,” he commands.

“I like it,” you whimper, looking up further, stretching more of your neck to be vulnerable to Eddie. “I like it so much, baby.”

When the pet name falls from your lips, you can feel him twitch inside of you. The sudden jut of his hips, the sharp intake of breath.

“You like that,” you laugh breathlessly, your hand atop the hat the only thing keeping it from falling as you lean your head fully back, eyes beginning to roll back into your head. “Wanna be my baby, Munson?”

“Always have,” he grunts, the hand on your throat slipping up to cup your face to drag you towards him, “Since the fucking moment I met you, sweetheart.”

When he kisses you, it tastes like the closest to Heaven you might ever get. Soft, plump lips, and an eager tongue. All the wasted time hiding behind jokes and teasing, playing pretend like the flirting was never serious.

It was serious. And if you’d just come clean sooner, you would have had this long ago.

Your hips are still rolling as your hands begin to roam. You’ve found your balance again, lips pressed to Eddie, and it’s your turn to explore all he has to give you. Your nails graze his stomach when your clit catches once more on that rough thatch of hair against the base of his cock. Your fingers dig into flesh wherever they can find it – his chest, his arms, his hips. At some point, you throw a hand out behind you, grasping for his knee. Learning every curve and every point of his body as he had done for you.

You wanna memorize the roadmap of him. Take a snapshot in your mind so that next time, none of it is unfamiliar territory.

Your touch is driving him insane; it doesn’t take a genius to pick up on the way his hips falter to meet your movements, or how he keeps breaking the kiss to gasp, letting his jaw fall slack when he hits a particular deep spot within you.

It’s when your lips finally trail down the stubble sprouting across his jawline, mouth sucking on the soft skin below his ear, that he’s finally a goner.

“‘M close,” he gasps out, almost sounding drunk as he slurs through his pants, “Ah, fuck, I’m gonna-”

“Cum for me, Eddie.”

Maybe it’s the way you had been touching him, or the way your cunt had been fluttering around him, or the persistent rolling of your hips that had become so focused on his pleasure. Maybe it was the sight of you in his hat, looking at him like that. Maybe it was the way his name sounded on your tongue.

Either way, when Eddie Munson comes undone, he’s beautiful.

Your own movements slow involuntarily as you gaze starry eyed, watching the way his face scrunches and feeling his grip on you tighten impossibly. Leaving their mark, making you his in yet another way. Warmth fills your cunt and every curse word under the summer sun is falling from his lips.

Your name, curses, prayers, gratitude – a jumbled mess, and it sounds fucking fantastic when it’s said in Eddie’s desperate tone.

“Shit,” he gasps out, finally coming back down to Earth, “Shit.”

You sit still on his lap, skin sticky with sweat, lips spread thin in a cheeky grin, “Sounds like I get to keep your hat, cowboy.”

His eyes shoot open, and for a second, you’re terrified.

Those aren’t the eyes of someone satisfied.

“You didn’t cum.”

“What?”

“You,” he says, stressing the word as he shifts you off his lap. You don’t miss the way he winces, clearly a bit sensitive, “Did not cum.”

You hadn’t really noticed, too wrapped up in him to notice your high slipping away from you. You’d been too focused on Eddie: on feeling him cum inside you, on watching him break apart, on tracing the outline of the blood rushing to his cheeks with your eyes and that fresh burst of violet on his neck in the shape of your lips.

“It’s fine,” you start to argue, feeling the warmth of him leaking down your thighs. You should be a lot more worried about making a mess all over your sofa. You should be, but you aren’t. “I can-”

“You’re not keeping that fucking hat until you cum for me, sweetheart.”

And, oh, maybe your own orgasm wasn’t racing as far away from you as you’d believed, because those words nearly push you over the edge for him.

“Get on all fours for me, baby.”

Yeah. You definitely could still be close. For him.

When you don’t move to follow his command immediately, he’s using those gentle hands to guide you. Encouraging a twist of your hips from how you’re reclining back across the couch, letting you press your cheek down against the cushion.

You open your mouth to argue, to insist it was fine, to say anything, but you’re cut silent when a sudden slap lands on your ass.

A silent command this time, and you’re finally listening.

You lift your ass up for him on shaky knees, elbows digging into the cushion now instead of your face. The hat on your head is lopsided, and you almost reach up to fix it when-

“I’ll be taking that,” For the first time since you’d stolen his hat, Eddie takes it back. Right off your head, too fast for you to protest. When you dig your chin into your shoulder to look back at him, he’s smiling, hat back in its rightful place atop his curls, “You can have it back after you cum for me, at least once.”

“At least once?” you mean to laugh, to sound cocky, but it comes out as more of a squeak.

He shrugs, leaning forward, his bare chest pressing against the skin of your bare ass – right where an imprint of his hand still sings, “At least. By all means, if you feel the need, don’t hesitate to give me a few. God knows you’ve earned it.”

You don’t have time to banter back; he retracts before bring his mouth down to your cunt, and your elbows quickly give out at the first long stride of his tongue.

“Gotta get you cleaned up,” he murmurs, a bit muffled, against your cunt.

Another stride, and this time, his tongue spends an extra second at your clit, circling it salaciously.

“Oh, God,” you moan out into a mouthful of couch cushion, tempted to bite down to hide all the noises creeping up your throat when his tongue draws yet another circle, tip of his nose pressed to your sensitive hole.

He brings his tongue back to that space, that hole that feels gaping without him filling you now, and you try to bury your cheek only to earn another slap on the ass.

“Don’t be shy now, kitty. Let me hear you.”

And let him hear you, you do.

Each lick, short and timid or long and confident, is dredging up obscene mewls from you. When he enters you with it, curling it and pressing as deep as he can, truly cleaning you up as he had said, you’re chanting his name.

“Fuck, Eddie,” you cry softly, rocking your body back against his mouth, “Your fingers. P-Please, use your fingers.”

Your wish is his command as he brings his hand up between your legs, breaking from having his tongue buried inside of you and using a calloused pad of his finger to trace over your clit before he begs, “Say my name again.”

You do. Over, and over, and over as his mouth and his fingers begin to work against you. Careful focus is placed on your clit, and his mouth runs amok between your cunt and thighs. You feel what will no doubt be hickies along the curve of your ass, nips of teeth against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh as he presses two fingers into you. With every thrust of his hand, your hips are rocking back to match his rhythm, wanting more.

More, more, more.

There’s nothing nice and slow about this. You’re chasing after a high, and Eddie is listening to you every step of the way.

Your thighs begin to shake terribly right around the time your vision blurs, unable to contain the whines that have grown to echoing volumes. Surely, your neighbors can hear. Probably confused as to who Eddie is, probably considering how embarrassing it would be to knock down your door and complain about the noises.

You really, really don’t give a fuck when white speckles flood your vision, even with your eyes screwed shut, and that tension between your hips threatens to snap.

Right before your knees give out, your entire body trembling, Eddie pulls back and grabs your hips. You cry out, so close yet so far, until he’s flipping you back over.

You get one glimpse of him before he goes to work to bring you over that edge – lips and chin slick with you, hair frizzing beneath his hat, a determined glint in his eyes that have your thighs clenching around his ears.

You were right. Eddie Munson looks damn good between your thighs.

He quickly returns to his mitigations, and this time, it’s all a bit more strategic. Lips suctioned around your clit and three fingers curling deep within you, a beckoning motion as he urges you to let go for him.

The white returns behind your eyelids. Your back arches up off the sofa. Your ankles lock as they cross behind Eddie’s back, almost effectively trapping him in place.

You cum hard for him.

You’re entirely unaware if you scream his name in the process, but you hope you do. As that relief, that ecstasy, floods your system, you hope you make sure everyone within a five mile radius knows who’s responsible. Your entire body continues to shake for far longer than you believe it ever has before. Your hips had lifted, begging for Eddie to keep going even as it all grew painful.

He does. He keeps going, sucking you dry for every drop you have to give him, until you’re physically having to shove him away.

Your hands are weak as you sink down into the cushion, eyes still closed as you hear him chuckle before you feel him crawl his way back up your body.

“There,” you don’t even need to see his face to see that smug satisfaction – his voice is dripping in it. “Now you can keep the hat.”

One of your hands blindly throws itself through the air to smack him, missing entirely as you drift through the afterglow of it all.

“I’m not sure I’ve earned it,” you mumble as he catches your wrist, limp in the air, “Pretty sure I didn’t break you when I made you cum.”

“Oh, you did,” he notes, hand curling around your wrist. You watch as he slowly brings it to his lips, peppering a few chaste kisses on the soft skin, “Just in a different way.”

You raise your eyebrows, smiling at the tingling feeling left behind on your skin in the wake of his mouth, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He tugs you to sit up despite your groan of protest, somehow smoothly maneuvering the two of you so that he’s now the one beneath you, letting the full weight of you bear down on his chest as you lay on top of him. The hand wrapped around your wrist brings it back up for more kisses, more repetitive gentle pecks of affection, as his other arm is quick to wrap around you. Holding you in place, as though he’s scared you might disappear.

“Well,” you whisper against the bare skin of his chest, nearly shivering when his free hand starts to trail slowly up and down your spine, “Good.”

Your cheek feels the vibrations of his chuckle, “That’s all you have to say?”

“Give me a few minutes to recover,” you insist, all but nuzzling into him, “I’m sure I’ll have a smartass comeback for you once I’m…” you trail off, heavy eyes looking up at him, the words lost on your tongue and in the air.

The gentle curve of his cupid’s bow. The roundness at the end of his nose, still a fading hue of pink. The freckle beneath his right eye. The way the phantom of the dimple of his left cheek never quite leaves his face.

All the things you’ve dreamt of seeing so up close, never knowing it could have been a reality.

He lets go of your wrist, smiling softly with a shake of his head, “Can’t believe you’re gonna fall asleep on me.”

“Am not,” you nearly say under your breath, sighing in content.

“Am too,” he mocks, a certain docility to all his teasing before he sighs as well, “It’s okay. You can. I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

You hum, eyes fluttering shut as you hear some rustling, “Promise, cowboy?”

“Absolutely, kitty. You said something about tomorrow, remember?”

You both laugh in sync as your couch suddenly becomes the most comfortable place in the world.

Just before losing consciousness, right as you feel Eddie’s breathing even out along with your own, you decide to open your eyes one last time to catch sight of the cowboy hat perched carefully on your coffee table.

Tomorrow. You hope for a thousand tomorrows as you decide that that hat is definitely yours now.

#ghost's stories #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #stranger things #emphasis on the smut. this is. just. a lot of smut.

6K notes · View notes

sayangrafayel · 2 months ago

Text

LADS react to you asking them to set you up with someone else

This was a fun request. I might slip some dynamic duo rivalry here.. hmm.. maybe this is the same universe as loft talk. This is pre relationship prank!

Sylus, Xavier, Rafayel, Zayne, Caleb.

Sylus (Rafayel)

"Hey, Sy. Can you set me up with one of your roommates?" "I don't have roommates." "? What do you mean. You have four roommates. I want the artist!" "No I absolutely do not. What artist?"

Would NEVER let you meet Rafayel, no matter what it takes. Rarely ever bring you back to the loft anymore.

Considered moving out of the loft and everything but stopped once you tell him it's a prank.

Xavier (Jeremiah)

"Xavie, is Jeremiah seeing anyone?" "I don't know a Jerry." "Jeremiah." "I don't know who that is either."

He gets SOOOO jealous (that's why we like him)

Why would you ask him to set you up with someone else. He's right there. He's perfect for you in every way. 🥺🥺🥺 - Xavier, probably

Rafayel (Sylus)

"Can you set me up with one of your friends?" "I don't have friends." "Yes you do! That fruit guy is breathtaking!" "You know what else is breathtaking? If I were to hold his head underwater." "Sorry?" "I said I am also breathtaking!"

He fish. Fish forgor stuff. Roommate? Who? Sylus? Thomas? Who???? What are you talking about?

Becomes extra mean to Sylus the next day and Sylus was so confused as to why is his bestfriend who is not his bestfriend seems to hate him more than usual!?

Zayne (Greyson)

"Dr. Zayne, can you set me up with Greyson?" "Why?" "Because.. I want to?" "His name is Doctor Greyson, and do you really want to..?" "Yes please! Set me up with Dr. Greyson!" "...." "Zayne?" "If that's what you want."

I don't think he's gonna try to stop you nor does he realize you're testing the waters to see how he feels about you, defeatedly gives Greyson your number, but Greyson was so confused because why would he hit up Zayne's girlfriend???

"She's your girl, Zayne." "She is not." "Yes she is, she's just testing to see how you'd react, dummy. Now go and actually ask her out."

Caleb (Gideon)

Before you start pranking him, you prayed for Gideon's safety.

"Caleb, can you set me up with-" "He's gay." "I haven't even said a name!" "Yeah, everybody around me is gay. I'm their ally." "Caleb!!!"

He'd frown and keep telling you why would you need anybody else when you can have HIM. He's the one who knows you the best! He knows how to make you smile! He's 100% your boyfriend material! 😤

4K notes · View notes

sparklingchim · 1 month ago

Text

next move; m | jjk

pairing: jungkook x reader

word count: 13.7k

tropes: hockeyplayer!jungkook, richgirlie!oc, college!au, fwb, brother's best friend

rating: 18+

warnings: alcohol consumption, lots of teasing, jk hooking up with someone else 🤢, oc goes a bit insane <3, smoking (ew), angry koo 😠, messy blow job, spit, cum on boobies, gagging, multiple orgasms, cum play, dick slaps on face n pussy, doggy, overstimulation, dirty talk, eating out, hair pulling, mirror sex, doggy, a few spanks, sum butt stuff, oc is addicted to shopping 🫂 (we both need help), pretends to help with uni stuff just to get dick, naughty thoughts abt jk at dinner with friends??, vulnerable oc <3, proud jk <3

summary: pov: you’ve spent so long pushing jungkook away, but now you’re the one trying to pull him back in.

a/n: i hope this feeds ur tummies well ! 😋

masterlist

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

“What is wrong with you?”

These being the first words Taehyung directs at you when you enter the kitchen at 9 in the morning makes you want to claw his eyes out and head back to bed again.

“I’d fight you if I wasn’t sleepy right now,” you mutter as you shove past him to get to the coffee machine.

“No, I’m being for real,” Taehyung says, inspecting you through critical eyes.

“I’m not wearing make-up. Get over it.”

“It’s not that,” he presses. “You’ve been acting strange the past few days.”

He catches you off-guard with that. You can’t think of a lie fast enough to cover up the fact that you’ve been kinda dumped by his best friend and are no longer fuck buddies, hard times, so you blink a few times to keep your composure.

Your brain, struggling to function at this hour, lands on the most groundbreaking response: “Huh?”

“You didn’t want chicken when I asked if I should bring you some yesterday.” Taehyung crosses his arms, leaning against the counter.

“I already ate when you called,” you quickly – maybe too quickly? You don’t know – defend yourself as you watch the coffee stream into your mug.

“Right. Tell me one time – just one – where you’ve turned down chicken.” He raises an eyebrow. “By the way, I still got you some. It’s in the fridge. But I knew something was up, because you never-”

“Wait, really?” you cut him off, perking up. “You got me chicken?”

You rush to the fridge, flinging the door open. There isn’t much in there to begin with, so it’s easy to spot your beloved meal. You grab it and get it ready for the microwave.

Taehyung completely ignores your excitement over the food and continues his questioning.

“You didn’t react when I switched one of your reality tv shows for something else the other day.”

Did he? You don’t even remember that happening.

“You came home after a long day. I was just being a sweet sister,” you deflect, waving him off.

“Point is – I can tell when my baby sister is sad. And I don’t need you to feign indifference for me, because it’s okay not to be okay,” he says, gentle. “And I wish you’d come to me about whatever this is to make you feel better, because, I don’t know, I thought that’s what we’ve been doing as siblings.”

Your heart squeezes.

He just wants to comfort you. Be there for you. And it clearly pains him that you’ve been keeping this from him.

“No, yeah, I know, it’s just.” God, you hate this. Having to lie to him. “It’s honestly not that serious, Tae. I’m just being dramatic about it, you know how I am.” You try to laugh it off, but he doesn’t let it deceive him.

“It’s about a boy, isn’t it?”

You need to tweak your acting skills. And your reactions too, because why did you look away after he asked you that?

“A boy?” You stretch the word out in an exaggerated drag to make his inquisition sound ridiculous. “There’s no boy in my life.”

“If I find out Eunwoo is causing trouble, I’ll-”

“God, no.” You shake your head vehemently. “He’s fine. He’s not doing anything.”

You retrieve the chicken from the microwave and set it next to your coffee. A questionable breakfast choice, but right now, comfort food is comfort food.

“Want some?” you offer, grabbing your chopsticks.

Taehyung sighs deeply, shaking his head. His lips press into a thin line, but there’s no anger – just concern softening his features. “Wanna talk about it?” He pauses, voice dropping lower. “Who do I have to fight?”

Your stupid best friend, who walked out on me because, apparently, he doesn’t like it when I’m with other boys and was so dramatic about it, but I lowkey do understand him because I don’t like seeing him with other girls too but I can’t tell him because I don’t want him to know that I care and maybe everything is my fault but I am sad and upset and I can’t tell you anything about it because you’d hate me for it.

You keep these thoughts to yourself though and bite into a piece of chicken instead.

“Tae, no.”

“To both of my questions?”

“Mhm-hmm,” you answer with your mouth full.

His shoulders slump in defeat.

Placing your chopsticks down, you step forward and wrap your arms around him.

“You’re an amazing brother, Tae,” you mumble against his chest. “And I promise that I’m doing fine. You’d know if I wasn’t. I think I’m just getting my period soon, honestly. I’ve been hating everything and everyone lately.” You squeeze him tight. “But I love you.”

“I love you,” he replies, resting his chin on your head. “You’d come to me if you needed me, right?”

“Of course. I love to annoy you about my problems.”

You feel his chuckle rumble through his chest.

“You’re coming to dinner with us after the game, right?”

You draw you head back slightly, peering up at him.

“Define us.”

Taehyung’s brows knit together.

“Like, everyone.”

You so don’t want to see Jungkook. It’s been a week since he left you confused in your room.

Detangling yourself from Taehyung, you shoot him an unimpressed pout. “I don’t know if I’m in the mood for that many people.”

“I’m not gonna let you lock yourself up in your room, ___,” he says, a slight edge creeping into his voice. “You can bedrot another day.”

He’s right – you probably should socialise a little more. And with so many people around, you might not even notice Jungkook’s presence.

“I’ll come,” you relent defeatedly, picking up your tray with breakfast. “Good luck with the game.” You reach up on your tippy toes to ruffle his hair with your free hand, earning an exasperated groan from him.

So, when you thought you could just ignore Jungkook at dinner, you failed to consider one crucial detail – the universe lives to humble you. Because, of course, out of all the empty seats, he had to take the one right next to you. Rookie mistake. Amateur behaviour. A tragic miscalculation on your part.

Now, you’re stuck playing the world’s most intense game of Pretending He Doesn’t Exist, which, unfortunately, is pretty difficult when he’s breathing in your general direction.

“Can you guys believe that I got a C for my essay?” Seokjin announces after chomping down a big piece of meat.

“Was it the one with the ducks?” Jungkook questions.

“Yeah, I was so excited to hand it in ‘cause I had so much fun writing, and then I get a C.” Seokjin tilts his head in remorse. “I was at a Lotte World parking lot when I got the notification, and it felt like someone stole my firstborn. I hope that never happens to me, I don’t think I could go through the emotions a second time. Honestly, not even the bumper cars could distract me after that.”

“Sure you don’t wanna sign up for drama class?” Taehyung teases. “You’d be such an asset to it.”

“I’m so close to doing it.”

“Wait, you wrote an essay about ducks?” you ask.

“Not just about ducks, silly,” Seokjin explains. “I wrote an essay on whether someone would rather fight 100 duck-sized horses or 1 horse-sized duck. You know, deep stuff like answering questions if it is morally better to fight one large opponent or many small ones.”

“What would the world do without you, Jin,” Yoongi chimes in.

“I’d choose one horse-sized duck, I think,” Eunji says, who thankfully sits next to you, so you’re not completely surrounded by people who you dislike (yes, you might’ve forced her to come with you – she wanted to study in the library, but you dragged her here with the promise of showering her with your never-ending love).

“But a duck so big is scary, no?” you ponder, tapping your chopsticks against your mouth as you think.

Listening in on your conversation, Jungkook says, “The horse-sized duck would be easier.”

You frown, turning to him. “That thing would be massive, and it’s a duck. Ducks are unpredictable.”

“Okay, but 100 duck-sized horses would overwhelm you,” he argues. “You’re assuming they’re just gonna stand there like cute little ponies. What if they’re really aggressive? They’d be all over you, biting, kicking. That’s chaotic.”

“How would you manage fighting a huge duck, though? I don’t see that happening,” you scoff.

“I’m not saying it wouldn’t be hard, but at least it’s just one thing to focus on. It’s straightforward.” Jungkook leans back, dragging his gaze over your face before he says, “But of course you’d prefer the more chaotic solution.”

You raise your eyebrows. “What are you on about?”

You’re talking about ducks and horses. Or so you thought.

Jungkook shrugs. “Nothing. I just think your decision is stupid.”

His eyes don’t waver, and you don’t back down either, because what the hell? Jungkook’s picking a fight over nonsense and has the audacity to glare at you like you personally offended him. His brows are drawn tight, frustration evident in the sharpness of his expression.

As you glare back, you can’t stop your brain from taking an unexpected detour to memories in which Jungkook wore a similar expression. On top of you, a little sweaty, cheeks flushed and – oh my god, you feel the heat rush to your cheeks and swiftly turn away.

“You’re annoying,” you mumble under your breath, picking up your chopsticks again.

Where did these thoughts come from? Do you miss him? It’s been one week. You need a distraction.

"See how riveting my essay topic is?” Seokjin chimes in, pointing his chopsticks at the two of you. “A C is criminally underappreciated.”

“I don’t think anyone can get under ___ skin like Jungkook,” Taehyung chuckles, placing more meat onto your plate.

“Oh no, don’t worry, you still take the first place,” you quip.

“Don’t say that too loud. Jungkook’s too competitive.”

“He’s a mini version of you.” You turn to Jungkook when you say it, scrunching your nose to display your dismay.

“There’s nothing mini about Jungkook,” Yoongi interjects.

The boys laugh while Eunji and you choke on your food.

“Okay, gross?” Eunji coughs.

“What? Have you not seen his muscles? He’s a big guy,” Seokjin defends, eyes wide as he studies Jungkook’s physique. “That’s no secret.”

“That’s why Sooyoung wants him again,” Jimin teases with a wicked grin stretching across his face.

“Oh, fuck off.” Jungkook kicks him under the table. “I said we’re not talking about this.”

At the mention of a name that rings a bell but you can't quite place it yet – one Jungkook clearly doesn’t want brought up – you perk up. “Not talking about what?”

It’s silent next to you.

Jungkook tenses, his posture stiff, the only giveaway a rough, forced clearing of his throat.

One game. You miss one game, and apparently, all the drama unfolds without you.

“You should’ve been there, ___,” Jimin drawls, eyes twinkling with mischief. “His ex was practically his personal cheerleader.”

Your brows lift as you turn to Jungkook. “Sooyoung, huh?”

You never got the chance to meet Jungkook’s ex. He was dating her during your senior year of high school, and they broke up while you were still in school.

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t look at you. Instead, he focuses way too hard on his plate, shoving a piece of meat into his mouth like it’s the most interesting thing in the world and then finishing his beer in a few, big sips.

Jimin, on the other hand, is thriving on the attention. “Oh, yeah,” he hums. “Front-row seat. Didn’t take her eyes off him.”

At that, Jungkook kicks him again, harder this time. “Can you not?”

“Oh, come on, man. It was cute.”

You tilt your head, watching Jungkook’s reaction. “And you didn’t like that?”

His eyes finally flick to yours, the slight curve of his mouth betraying him. “I didn’t say I didn’t like it, I just don’t want to talk about it.”

“She waited outside the locker room for him,” Jimin continues.

You hold back a roll of your eyes. You don’t care. You don’t care at all.

“Did she?” Eunji fuels the fire with her excited question.

“She said hi. That’s it,” Jungkook mutters.

Jimin snorts at Jungkook’s reply. “Man, that’s not what I saw.”

“And you,” Jungkook directs at Jimin. “You were eye fucking her friend the entire time, so don’t act all high and mighty when you could barely keep your hands to yourself.”

“Sue me!” Jimin exclaims. “Yeah, I do think her friend’s hot, lock me up for it. I need her ig handle or something. I wanna see her again.”

“You’re both hopeless,” you comment, nails tapping against your glass.

“Hey, if she’s hot, she’s hot.” Jimin shrugs, grinning from ear to ear. “You can’t blame me for appreciating the view.”

Yoongi gives him a pointed look. “I’m pretty sure you’ve been ‘appreciating’ the view from every girl in the restaurant for the last hour.”

Jimin laughs loudly, clearly unbothered. “Guilty as charged.”

“What else is new?” Eunji asks. “Besides Seokjin thinking being unhinged will get him an A in his philosophy class, Jungkook having an over-attached ex, and Jimin being a total playboy? Anything else exciting happened this week?”

“I bought a blind box today,” you announce. “And got upset because I didn’t get the one I wanted.”

“The sonny angel figures?” Jungkook asks casually – way too casually.

His tone is so easy, so natural, that for a split second, you forget, just like he forgot. You almost answer just as effortlessly, almost fall into the usual rhythm of conversation with him. But then it hits you—the sharp, perfectly timed reminder that you’re pissed at him.

So instead, you hesitate, fingers tightening around your glass. “Yeah,” you say, a little clipped “Those.”

“I say you stop spending so much money for dust-collecting shit,” Tae comments, and you don’t even have the chance to defend yourself, because Seokjin calls him out for his own questionable spending habits.

While they bicker, you giggle at their antics, distracted for a moment. You reach to dip your dumpling into the sauce, but just as your fingers hover above the dish, you brush hands with Jungkook, who was doing the same.

You kick his hand with yours, expecting him to pull back, but he doesn’t budge.

“Do you ever stop being annoying?” you ask.

“Not when the person I’m annoying is you.”

“You gonna be like this all night?” Your hand sinks, touching the table. “I thought you were mad and would want to ignore me,” you say, much quieter now, even though everyone else is too caught up arguing whether Taehyung’s fifa pack spendings are justified.

“Weren’t you trying to do the same?”

Well, yeah. You were trying to ignore him – that was the sole reason why you even came – but you somewhere along the way, you veered off that plan, and now here you are.

“I guess you’re just too pretty for me to ignore.”

Jungkook freezes at that. You use the opportunity to nudge his hand aside and dip your food into the sauce.

“Funny, didn’t seem to be a problem when you were texting that dude next to me the other day.”

Your chewing slows. The words hit exactly where he intended, sharp and precise, a reminder of exactly why he’s pissed in the first place.

The conversation around you carries on, oblivious, but between you and Jungkook, the tension is suffocating.

You pull away completely, shifting in your seat so your legs are angled away from him and into Eunji’s direction.

Ignoring him is easier, less of a headache – and less of a heartache – than acknowledging his existence.

Later that night, you drown yourself in reality tv, letting the mindless drama fill the living room and keep your thoughts from wandering to the interactions you had with Jungkook tonight, because you really need a break from that boy.

You and Eunji had left the restaurant before the boys, her excuse being that she wanted to study, and yours being that you’d had done enough socialising for the day and it was time to go back home. Yeah, you do realise that you have a self-destructive tendency to isolate when things get difficult.

So, here you are, curled up on the couch, journaling about feelings and situations and –

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

You freeze, pen hovering above the paper as the sound of the front door code being punched in echoes from outside. The lock clicks, and the door swings open.

A familiar head of dark hair peeks inside first, followed by annoyingly familiar second one.

“You’re still up?” Taehyung asks, shrugging off his jacket and toes off his shoes.

“Tae,” you say slowly, looking at Jungkook. “Why is he here?”

“Figured we’d hang for a bit more. Play some fifa together.”

“You figured?” You turn to Tae with a deadpan expression.

Taehyung shrugs. “He looked sad.”

“I didn’t look sad,” Jungkook mutters, finally stepping inside and shutting the door behind him.

“You looked all emo when everyone got up to leave,” Taehyung says.

“Whatever.” Jungkook rolls his eyes and heads towards the kitchen, like this is his house now.

You exhale through your nose, pressing your fingers to your temple. “Do we look like a halfway house for emotionally constipated men?”

Jungkook’s voice calls out from the kitchen. “I can hear you.”

“Good.”

“Please try and act civil while I go change,” Taehyung pleads, already disappearing down the hallway.

Jungkook emerges a second later, settling onto the couch, a glass of water in his hand. His tatted fingers wrap around it, long and steady, as he takes a sip. You watch the way his Adam’s apple bobs, the way his throat moves, how the tiniest droplet of water escapes before his tongue swipes it away – completely unbothered. Casual. Like he isn’t taking up too much space in your head already.

“Headache from all that beer?” you ask, trying – hoping – that you sound unaffected by whatever it is about him that’s making your stomach flip.

He exhales, tipping his head back against the couch, stretching his neck just enough to make it unfair. The angle sharpens his jaw line.

His gaze flickers to you. “Something like that.”

Jungkook looks at you. Really looks at you.

His eyes drag over your bare legs, stretched out in tiny shorts that are basically just suggestions of clothing. They hesitate on the curve of your thighs, the hem barely covering anything, before sliding up to the delicate strap of your camisole, the curve of your shoulder. His fingers tighten around the glass just enough for you to notice.

You meet his gaze, unblinking.

Jungkook’s fingers twitch.

You smirk, stretching deliberately, arching your back slightly as you reposition yourself.

And then – his eyes flick downward, landing on the open journal beside you.

You don’t think anything of it at first – until his brows furrow slightly, head tilting as he squints.

“Wait,” he mutters, leaning forward. “Did I just see my name in there?”

Your stomach drops.

Panic sets in at lightning speed.

You slam the journal shut so fast it’s borderline violent.

“Mind your business.”

Jungkook blinks, then grins, slow and smug. Oh, you hate him.

“There is literally nothing for you to see.”

“Oh, but there was something,” he muses, stretching an arm along the back of the couch like he isn’t about to drive you insane. “You wrote about me?”

You cross your arms. “What if I did?”

“Depends,” he says, just momentarily allowing his gaze to drop to your chest. “What exactly are you writing about me?”

Jungkook’s smirk deepens, eyes flicking between you and the journal.

“You’re acting awfully guilty right now,” he taunts, shifting slightly, his thigh pressing against yours.

“Because you’re being nosey.”

“No, because you’re hiding something.”

You roll your eyes, gripping the journal tighter. “You’re not that interesting.”

He hums, tilting his head. “Then lemme see.”

“Absolutely not.”

It happens so fast you barely have time to react. One second, Jungkook is sitting there, all relaxed and smug. The next, he’s lunging forward, reaching for the journal with one hand, the other bracing against the couch to trap you in place.

“Jungkook—stop!” you shriek, twisting away, holding the journal out of his reach.

But he’s relentless.

He shifts closer, practically caging you in, his body warm and solid against yours. His arm brushes your bare thigh as he reaches again, fingers grazing the cover. You twist further, laughing, but the movement only makes things worse—your back presses into the cushions, and suddenly, he’s right there, hovering over you, weight balanced between his knees and one hand pressed into the couch beside your head.

The laughter dies in your throat.

Because now it’s just you and him, tangled up, breathing the same air. His face is inches from yours, the heat of his body seeping into your skin, the scent of his cologne mixed with something distinctly him. His gaze flickers downward – just for a second – but it’s enough. Enough for you to feel the shift. Enough for the teasing to suddenly feel like something else entirely.

Jungkook swallows.

Your heart is in your throat.

His gaze drops to your lips.

You freeze.

His fingers tighten slightly where they rest near your hip. The journal is still caught between you, forgotten, and for the first time, neither of you moves to break the moment.

Until –

A door creaks open down the hallway.

You both jerk back at the same time.

Jungkook moves first, clearing his throat as he drops back onto the couch, running a hand through his hair like that’ll somehow erase the past ten seconds. You sit up just as Taehyung strolls back in, glancing between the two of you with mild suspicion.

“Did you guys kill each other yet?”

“Nearly,” you retort, fixing your hair.

Tae grabs two controllers and plops onto the couch next to Jungkook. “Why’d you scream?”

“Your idiot of a best friend is obsessed with me and tried to sneak a peek into my journal,” you huff, dramatically clutching said journal to your chest.

“Oh, boy,” Tae clicks his tongue. “She’s serious about this thing, Jk. Wouldn’t advise you to –” he waves a hand vaguely, “–poke the bear.”

Jungkook looks like he is actually considering telling Tae what he saw in your beloved journal. His lips party slightly, brows furrowing, before he shakes the thought off. Good for him. You wouldn’t even know where to begin explaining why Jungkook’s name is written in there.

Taehyung hands one of the controllers to Jungkook.

“Is this my cue to turn off my show?” you ask, lips forming a natural pout of disappointment.

“Sorry, spontaneous boys' night,” Tae says with a shrug.

“Please never say that again.”

Jungkook snorts, finally looking at you.

You raise a brow. Challenge him silently.

He just grins, popping his dimples, rolling his shoulders back like he has the upper hand.

God, you hate him.

You stay in the living room while they game – despite considering retreating to your room multiple times when Jungkook and Tae started yelling at each like an old married couple.

But you quickly realise how fun it is to mess with Jungkook, especially when he gets roasted for his lack of skills by an oblivious Taehyung. Which, judging by the way Jungkook’s jaw keeps ticking and his grip on the controller tightens, is absolutely getting to him.

“Want more snacks?” you ask sweetly as you rise to your feet, collecting the empty bowls. One slips from your grasp, landing on the carpet. You bend over to grab it, in front of Jungkook, and maybe, just maybe, you move slower than necessary. Maybe shifting your hips a little too much. Maybe giving him a view he definitely does not deserve.

Tae, completely unbothered, waves you off like a fly buzzing around his screen. “___, get out of the way,” he complains impatiently, fingers rapidly clicking on his controller. “But I’ll have some more chips, thanks.”

Jungkook, however, isn’t saying shit.

You glance over your shoulder, just in time to catch the flicker of his eyes meeting yours before he collects himself and redirects his attention back to the game.

“You good, Jungkook?” you ask innocently.

His nostrils flare. Through gritted teeth, he mutters, “Just move.”

So you do, slow and smug, your shorts sliding back over your thighs as you pad toward the kitchen.

Right as you’re reaching for the drawer, you hear Taehyung ask, “What are you gonna do about that Sooyoung girl?” Your movements slow. “You interested?”

The nosiness and urge to gossip definitely runs through your genes.

“Nah, I don’t want her back.”

When you glance back, Jungkook’s still focused on the game, but there’s something absent in the way he’s holding the controller – like he’s playing on autopilot.

“That bad, huh?”

“Just wasn’t that deep.”

You busy yourself with the drawer, fingertips grazing over the handle as you bite back the urge to comment. Just listen.

“You never really said why you two broke up.”

“No, I did tell you,” Jungkook says, easy but firm. “You just never believed me.”

“That’s because it always felt like there was more.”

“There wasn’t. We just didn’t fit.”

Didn’t fit how?

You open the drawer and grab more snacks.

“Yeah...I don’t know. You never seemed truly happy with her.”

Jungkook exhales sharply through his nose. "I wasn’t miserable," he finally says.

“You weren’t happy either.”

“I don’t know. Maybe I stayed with Sooyoung because it was easy. No drama. No real emotions involved.”

With the snacks in tow, you walk back to the living room. “That sounds really sad, Jaykay,” you say, not trying to hide that you’ve been listening to them.

He shrugs. “Maybe. But at least it didn’t mess with my head.” His gaze lingers on you. “Didn’t make me feel like I was losing my mind.”

“Fuck, no, if someone makes you feel that way – leave, immediately,” Taehyung says.

You grab a bag of chips, tearing it open as you lean against the side of the couch. “You guys done being dramatic yet?”

Taehyung glances over his shoulder, narrowing his eyes. “You’re still here?”

“I live here.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Unfortunately?” you repat. “You were the one who happily agreed when mum and dad suggested that I move in with you. I wanted my own place!”

“Oh no, the princess didn’t get what she wanted. How dare they?” Jungkook mocks you.

You faintly remember the discussion of moving into an even bigger place, where all three of you would live together, but Jungkook denied that idea back then, saying the dorm that his athletic scholarship is providing him is good enough for him.

You scoff, shoving his shoulder as you pop another chip into your mouth. “Okay, first of all, you don’t get a say in this. Second of all, I’m not a princess.”

Jungkook tilts his head, a smirk playing on his lips. “Sure you aren’t.”

Taehyung snorts, eyes still glued to the screen. “You literally whined for two weeks straight about not having enough closet space.”

“That was a valid complaint,” you argue. “You take up, like, half of it with your stupid jerseys.”

“They’re collectibles.”

“They’re ugly.”

Jungkook laughs, finally leaning back into the couch, looking far too amused. “I see living together is going great for you two.”

“Oh, it’s fantastic,” Taehyung deadpans. “Every day is a blessing.”

“You’re so dramatic,” you mutter, but you can’t help the way your lips twitch. “I liked this conversation more when you gossiped about Jungkook’s life.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes, then jerks his chin toward Jungkook. “Dude, hurry up and lose so we can switch games.”

Jungkook, who has barely been playing at all, huffs. “I’m not gonna lose on purpose.”

“You’re already playing like shit,” Taehyung points out. “What’s up with you? Did Sooyoung get into your head or what?”

“Quit mentioning her,” Jungkook grumbles, jaw tightening.

Sooyoung?

No, that is not who is on is mind.

Why would he be thinking about her when – okay, you need to calm down. It’s not that serious.

You just need to call it a night, crawl into bed, and sleep it off.

“Heading to bed,” you announce, grabbing your journal from the coffee table.

“Alright, sleep tight,” Taehyung replies.

“Night, princess.” You flick the back of Jungkook’s head for that.

“Okay, very out of character for me, but we need to stop drinking for a sec and you need to tell me why the hell you keep looking back at Jungkook?” Eunji asks you all of a sudden, voice barely carrying over the muffled bass shaking the walls of the packed frat house.

The kitchen is one of the only semi-breathable spaces in the frat house, though the counters are a war zone of spilled liquor, sticky cups, and questionably abandoned drinks. The air reeks of cheap booze and sweat, but none of that is stopping Eunji from interrogating you.

You blink perplexed. “Out of character for you?” you ask back, eyeing the way she pulls back the cup you were just mixing a drink in. “I think that is very true to your character – very you. I’d be out of character for me to stop us from drinking.” You snatch back your cup.

“Did I say that?” She’s lost in her mind for a moment. “I don’t even remember. Am I that drunk already? I don’t wanna wake up hungover tomorrow.” She laments. “I still got this assignment due, and I wanted to get most of it done tomorrow, but – oh my god. Do not distract me from the question I just asked you.” She stares at you with sharp eyes. “Why do you keep looking back at Jungkook?”

“Am I?”

She huffs. “You don’t get to play this game with me, ___.” She pokes your tummy. “Answer me.”

You fully turn to her, abandoning the cup with the godawful alcohol mix – yes, it’s your creation, no, you’ve never had any talent for mixing drinks.

“I might have to tell you something.”

Her eyes widen. Immediately. Mouth opening in an unbelievable expression of pure, unfiltered drama. One that belongs in a reality show confession booth.

“Shut up. You did not – did you? Oh my god, shut up!”

“We might have hooked up for, like, a good few months.”

Her palm flies to cover her mouth. “Behind Taehyung’s back?” she whisper shouts.

“Well, obviously.” You point to yourself. “You think I’d be alive if he knew? You think he’d be alive if Tae knew?”

“You whore!”

“For Jungkook? Kinda,” you admit defeatedly.

You take a glimpse into his direction. Eunji shoves you on the shoulder for that.

“Don’t make it obvious!” she exclaims. “But you need to tell me everything. Right now.”

You sigh, leaning against the counter.

“The first time we hooked up was before I enrolled in uni. It was the summer before when Tae and Jungkook spontaneously visited and-“

“Okay, I need you to stop,” Eunji interrupts, fingers massaging her temples. “The summer before uni?” she repeats, exasperated. “You’ve been keeping it a secret since summer? I need more booze before you continue.”

“I’m sorry for not telling you, but we didn’t want anyone to know. He’d be pissed if he knew I told you.”

“No, don’t be sorry. I get it, I really do. I just didn’t expect this at all.” After pouring something inside her cup, she takes big gulps from it.

“I mean, what was I supposed to do? He’s hot, he’s pretty, and I’ve had a crush on him since, like, forever. I had to give in when he showed interest. What’s a girl gonna do?”

“How have you been able to keep it from Taehyung? They’re with each other 24/7.”

“He comes over when I know Tae’s gonna be out for a while. Or the other way around,” you reply, shrugging like it’s no big deal. “You can make anything work if you really want to, and I really wanted Jungkook.”

Still do, if you’re being honest.

You pause, then wave it off dramatically. “But that’s ancient history. We’re totally over that weird situationship.”

“What?!” Another shocked gasp escapes her. “Why?!”

“I don’t even know, to be honest. He just – we fucked, and then he...I dunno.” You grab your cup and down the rest of your drink, grimacing at the taste of whatever you concocted. “He got mad at me for texting Eunwoo after we had sex. I didn't even think he’d be all sensitive about it, especially since, you know, he’s with other girls too. But he got so pissed and we argued. And guess what?!” You throw your arms out, face dramatically incredulous. “He just leaves me in bed! Like, straight up walks out, saying stupid shit like I sleep around and only text him when I’m bored. Acting like we’re some exclusive thing, which we’re not! How dare he get so upset?” you argue theatrically, voice rising in pitch. “I’ve got better shit to do than this,” you mimic in Jungkook’s deep voice, eyes rolling for extra effect. “He’s so annoying.”

Eunji scrutinizes you for a brief moment before coming to her conclusion.

“Oh, he wants you bad.”

“Huh?” Your brows furrow. “He left me.”

“Because he wants you two to be exclusive and you don't. Why should he stay?”

Why should he stay?

You stare at Eunji, her words settling over you like an unwanted truth.

“He did ask me to be exclusive before,” you admit, twirling the empty cup in your hands. “But I always thought it would be a bad idea. Because being exclusive is so much more serious, and I want to be anything but serious with him. We don’t work that way. I can’t have that happening and risking Tae finding out. It would ruin everything.”

Eunji gives you a long, unimpressed look. “But being exclusive friends with benefits doesn’t have to mean more. It could just stay that way. Why do you always make things complicated?”

You huff, frustration bubbling up. “I don’t know.” You drop your forehead against her shoulder.

She pats your back like you’re a lost puppy.

“You’re and idiot, babe.”

“I know.”

“You also like him.”

You groan into her shoulder. “Shut up.”

“Just saying,” she singsongs.

It’s only now that you realise just how much you needed this – to talk to someone. To get all these tangled thoughts out of your head instead of letting them fester in silence. You’ve spent so much time convincing yourself that none of it mattered, brushing it off like it was nothing, but saying it out loud makes it real. And weirdly, that feels... good. Cathartic, even. Like exhaling after holding your breath for too long.

“Do you think I should-“ You start to lift your head, but Eunji pushes you back down with a firm hand.

“Everything will be fine, ___,” she babbles, patting your head a little too aggressively. “Just, you know, don’t be too sad.”

“What are you on about?”

“Just stay here for a sec.”

“Eunji.” You force yourself out of her grasp.

She’s looking somewhere past you, eyes flickering toward the living room, but when she realizes you’ve caught on, she quickly averts her gaze. Too quickly. Suspiciously.

You turn around, scanning the area to find what she doesn’t want you to see.

Your tummy churns in an instant when you see it.

Jungkook.

Heading up the stairs.

With Nayeon.

Even in the hazy lighting of the party, he stands out – broad shoulders wrapped in a dark, well-fitted tee, his silver chain glinting against his collarbone. He moves effortlessly, the easy confidence in his stride something you know all too well. His hand rests low on Nayeon’s back, fingertips grazing the thin fabric of her dress as she leans into him, whispering something into his ear.

Your throat tightens.

Eunji shifts beside you, watching your reaction carefully. “Hey, maybe it’s not-“

“I’m gonna throw up.”

The words leave your mouth before you can even think. You grab Eunji’s cup and down the last of her drink, but the alcohol does nothing to wash away the bitter taste in your mouth.

Your eyes scan the room frantically. “Wasn’t Eunwoo somewhere here too?” You rise onto your toes, searching the sea of bodies. “I think I just need to get my mind off things.”

“Oh, no, no, no, no,” Eunji immediately cuts in, grabbing your wrist before you can make any rash decisions. “We are not doing this.”

“Doing what?”

She levels you with a look. “You are not about to make a dumbass decision just to get back at Jungkook. Not on my watch.”

“I really, really hate him right now.”

“I know,” she soothes. “But no petty comebacks for situations where we absolutely do not need to make fools of ourselves, yeah?”

Your brain is screaming at you to make Jungkook feel just as shitty as you do, to do something reckless and distracting, but deep down, you know Eunji’s right.

You steal another glance at the staircase. They’re gone.

The realization sinks in, and suddenly, the air in the frat house feels suffocating. The bass of the music thrums in your chest, the chatter around you blurring into an overwhelming hum.

“I need air,” you mutter, pushing past Eunji before she can stop you.

She sighs but doesn’t follow. She knows you need a moment alone.

You slip through the crowd, weaving your way toward the back door. The night air hits you instantly, cool against your heated skin, but it does little to settle the storm raging in your chest.

Leaning against the railing of the porch, you inhale deeply, forcing your nerves to settle.

This is fine.

“Can you promise you won’t puke on me?”

“I mean, I can, but I don’t know if I can keep the promise.”

You spotted Chanyeol with another guy—Jackson, you think—smoking and went over to chat with them. It wasn’t until they finished their joint that curiosity got the best of you. One thing led to another, and Jackson went inside to roll you one. Now, all three of you are standing outside, two pairs of curious eyes fixed on you.

“She’ll be fine,” Jackson says as he exhales a slow stream of smoke, watching it curl into the night air.

Chanyeol eyes you warily as he sparks up your joint. “I don’t know how much you drank tonight, but please tell me if you feel sick.” He holds it out for you.

You hesitate for half a second before taking it between your fingers. It feels weird, unnatural. “So I just…?”

“Inhale, but not too hard. Hold it for a second, then let it out,” Chanyeol instructs.

You follow his guidance, pulling in a slow drag. The taste is harsher than you expected, earthy and a little burnt, making you cough almost instantly.

“Classic first hit,” Jackson says, but it’s not as reassuring as he thinks. “Give it a sec.”

“How do you feel?” Chanyeol asks, watching you closely.

“Feels very icky,” you tell him, nose scrunched up. “But I’m feeling okay.”

“Yo, Jackson!” some dude yells from the back. Jackson disappears, leaving Chanyeol and you alone.

“You sure you’re fine?”

The night air feels heavier now, the music from inside muffled like you’re hearing it through a wall. Your fingers tingle slightly, warmth spreading through your limbs. You shift on your feet, suddenly hyper-aware of the way your body moves.

You blink at him. “I think my brain is moving slower than my body.”

He laughs. “Yeah, that happens. Just ride it out.”

You exhale, watching the smoke swirl in front of you.

“The fuck?”

Your head snaps toward the voice.

Jungkook stands a few feet away, brows furrowed, looking like he just walked into some kind of crime scene. His eyes flick between you and the joint in your fingers, then to Chanyeol, before settling back on you.

For some reason, your eyes wander to his hands. He’s probably touched so many things tonight, so many body parts. Did he wash them?

“The hell you’re doing?” Jungkook asks, walking towards you.

“Uhm, having fun?” you try, watching his frown deepen.

“This is not something you do, ___.” Jungkook directs his glare at Chanyeol. “Why the fuck would you give this to her?”

“Fuck, Jungkook, if you wanna be angry be angry elsewhere,” Chanyeol says, rolling his eyes.

“You fuck off,” Jungkook counters.

“As if you have never smoked.” Chanyeol raises his brows.

“I don’t smoke.”

“Trying to maintain a squeaky-clean image for those scouts who might be watching?”

“Mind your fucking business.”

“Jungkook, you’re being rude.” You turn to him, pointing a finger at his broad chest. “You’ve been going around, having fun yourself but can’t let other people have fun. That’s not nice of you.”

You stare up at him, a sullen pout on your mouth before pulling another slow drag and trying hard to not cough, but a small cough slips out anyway.

“Get that shit away, ___,” Jungkook demands, unimpressed by the smoke surrounding his face.

“Why do you care? Lemme have fun.”

“This shit fucks with your head.”

My brain’s already fucked, you think. Thanks a lot.

“It’s just weed?”

“Taehyung will lose his mind.”

“Is Tae with us now?”

Jungkook arches his brow.

“Oh, you wouldn’t.”

“Stop right now or I’ll call him.”

You hold his gaze, daring him. “You’re bluffing.”

Jungkook pulls his phone out of his pocket without hesitation, thumb hovering over the screen. “Try me.”

You wait, staring at Jungkook’s screen until he actually calls Taehyung.

Before the call can connect, you groan and shove the joint into Chanyeol’s hand. “God, fine, I’m done.”

He hangs up before Taehyung can answer.

You glare at him, but he only tilts his head toward the house. “Let’s get you some water.”

He guides you towards the house with his hand splayed across your side. At first, you shy away from his touch, mind racing with thoughts you’d rather not acknowledge. But as the night air presses cool against your skin, you let yourself relax, leaning into him slightly as you walk up the stairs.

“You’re so mean, you know that?” you huff.

“I’m just looking out for you,” he replies, in a softer tone than before.

“You didn’t have to be mean with Chanyeol. It wasn’t his weed. Chanyeol was actually very kind, made sure I was feeling okay-“

Jungkook stops at the threshold of the house.

“I’m gonna have a little chat with Jackson.”

“How do you know-“

His hand slips from your waist. He turns, leaving you standing on the porch, and disappears in the crowd.

Because that’s just easy for him – leaving you.

Why should he stay?

You don’t care.

And if you keep telling yourself that, maybe – just maybe – you’ll start to believe it.

Flash forward a week, and you can now say –proudly, with your full chest – that you do care.

You’ve never not cared. Pretended? Yes. But gotten over it? Not even close.

Which is why it’s not surprising that you find yourself at yet another party, drink in hand, scanning the room without meaning to. Or maybe you do mean to. Maybe you want to see him. Maybe you want him to see you. Maybe you want him to know that he didn’t get to you. Even though he did.

You’re sunk into the couch, surrounded by your friend group, half-listening as they go on about today’s hockey practice – boy gossip, oh how you love it.

“Coach told him he’s probably getting benched next game,” Jimin says, shaking his head as he leans back against the couch. “Too many penalties last match. Dumbass just keeps throwing hits for no reason.”

“That’s what happens when you let your ego get ahead of you,” Jin chimes in, stretching his legs out. “Coach is tired of his shit. And honestly? Fair.”

“I heard he almost fought Yoongi in the locker room,” Taehyung adds, arching a brow as he takes a sip of his drink. “Over something stupid too, like warm-up drills.”

“Swear to God, that guy needs to chill,” Jimin scoffs. “He’s got all the talent, but he plays like he’s trying to prove something every damn game.”

When Taehyung gets up to grab himself another drink, you catch him by the sleeve.

“Can you get me one too, please?” You hand him your empty cup.

Taehyung eyes the cup. “You’ve been drinking a bit more lately.”

“It’s just my second drink?”

His sharp eyes linger on you for a moment before he reluctantly takes your cup and walks off. He hasn’t missed the shift in your behaviour these past few weeks. You try to hide it, but there’s only so much you can do.

“Could say the same thing about Jungkook, though,” Jin says.

Jin’s words linger in the air, but you don’t dare react.

“Jungkook’s always been like that,” Jimin says, tipping his drink back. “Plays like he’s got something to prove, but I guess he kinda does. He wants to go pro, so it’s not like he can afford to slack off.”

It’s stupid, silly even, how easily his name can unravel you. How even when he’s not here, he’s everywhere.

“Isn’t your dad gonna come to the next game?” Jimin directs at you.

You shrug. “Maybe? I dunno.”

Given that your dad is an NHL executive, former team owner, he tries to find time in his busy schedule to attend the hockey games. The boys probably see him more than you do.

“Where is Jungkook anyway?” Hobi asks. “Is he gonna come over at all?”

Dear god, you hope, pray, he won’t.

You can’t live through seeing him disappear with another girl upstairs. You don’t have Eunji with you today to keep you from doing reckless decisions.

“He’d be all over Nayeon anyway. Doubt he’d even remember we exist,” Jin chuckles, unknowingly ruining the rest of your night.

The sound of their laughter grates against your nerves. The more you sit here, the more unbearable it becomes. The thought of him, of her, of what they could be doing, poisons your mind until you can’t take it anymore.

Taehyung returns, pressing a fresh drink into your hand. He barely gets a word in before his gaze sharpens. “You okay?”

You nod stiffly. “Yeah.”

“Liar.”

His voice is quiet enough that no one else hears, but it makes your stomach flip. He knows you too well. And if you sit here any longer, he’s going to drag the truth out of you, whether you like it or not.

So you stand abruptly, mumbling something about fresh air before slipping through the crowd, out into the cool night. The moment you’re alone, you let out a breath, pressing your fingers to your temples. It doesn’t help. Nothing does.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you pull out your phone, scroll down to the name you should ignore, and press call.

Jungkook answers on the second ring.

“Did you call me on accident?”

You ignore his question, your fingers tightening around your phone as you shift your weight from one foot to the other. Instead, you ask, “Are you gonna come to the party?”

“No, I have some assignments to do,” he answers, hesitantly. “Why’d you ask?”

“Are you sure?” Your eyes close, waiting for the confirmation that you won’t have to see things (Jungkook and a girl that isn’t you) that you don’t want to see (him hooking up with someone that isn’t you).

“Yeah, positive.” There’s a pause, and then he adds, “Is there something you don’t want me to see? Or—wait, are you just making sure I won’t be around to ruin your night?” Jungkook laughs and you realise how you’ve missed that sound. “It’s your lucky day. You won’t see my face poking around in the crowd. You can have fun.”

You frown at the nonsense he’s saying. He couldn’t be more off.

“No, you don’t get it.”

“What am I not getting?”

You stare into the night sky, the stars blurred by the city lights. You consider hanging up, letting the moment pass, but then you remember what Eunji told you. Talk to him. Get the discomfort out of the way.

“You know I’m not an insecure person.” You cross one arm over your body, rubbing your bare skin against the rising cold. “Like, I’m confident in who I am. I don’t compare myself to others because, y’know, I don’t care enough about stuff like that.”

“Yeah, of course I know that. You’re a confident girl. Have always been.”

“But you know what makes me go crazy?”

“What?”

“Seeing you with someone else.” The words slip out before you can catch them, but now that they’re out in the open, you can’t take them back. You don’t want to. Or – I dunno if it’s just that. I want you to want me. And you don’t. Which I get, I’ve been a bit shitty, so you deserve to want someone that isn’t like me, but – it just makes me go a bit insane, because I thought you did want me again the other night. At my place.” Your voice drops on the last sentence, barely above a whisper. “But then I see you with Nayeon and you just don’t care.”

You take a break, trying to organise your thoughts, but it’s fruitless because it’s just a tangled mess up there.

“Eunji said to talk with you but still give us a bit time, but oh my god I just want it to be okay between us again. I’m feeling so confused, and I don’t even really know what’s going on, but all I know is that I want things to be like before. When you still wanted me, and I wanted you and everything was good, easy,” you say, exhaling a helpless breath. “Do you think that’s possible?”

It’s silent for a beat. You don’t blame him – you couldn’t recite half the stuff that just poured out of your mouth.

“Fuck, ___.” He sounds a bit helpless himself.

Jungkook sighs on the other end, and you hear the faint rustle of fabric, like he’s shifting, maybe running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what to say to that,” he finally admits.

“Say anything,” you murmur.

“What do you want me to do, ___?” His voice is quieter now, more controlled, but there’s something simmering beneath the surface. “Stop seeing other people? Pretend like none of this ever happened? Or do you just want me to tell you that, yeah, I still want you?”

Your breath hitches. “Do you?”

“I thought I made that obvious,” he mutters. “But every time I think we’re on the same page, you pull away and act difficult. So, forgive me if I stopped trying to figure you out.”

“I don’t mean to act difficult.”

“Then why do you?”

You don’t have an answer. Or maybe you do, but you’re scared to say it.

Jungkook waits, but when you don’t respond, he lets out a dry laugh. “You know what’s funny? I wasn’t even gonna go to the party tonight. But now I kinda want to.”

“Why?”

“Maybe I wanna see what happens when you have to look me in the eyes.” His voice is lower now, rougher. “Because talking like this? It’s too easy for you.”

“No, don’t come.” You think of the worst-case scenario – arguing with Jungkook, him getting frustrated, turning to Nayeon because she’s easier, likes her more than you. And you couldn’t stand seeing that.

“Or maybe do, if you want,” you add, voice quieter. “I think I’m gonna leave anyway. Wanna go home.” Avoiding situations – your strong suit.

“How much have you had to drink?”

You stare at the untouched drink in your hand before lifting it to your lips. The sweetness hits first, masking the barely-there burn of alcohol (thanks, Tae). “Starting my third drink now.”

“I can walk you home,” he offers.

“It’s not a long walk to my place. You don’t have to.”

“I want to.” A rustle of movement on the other end before he adds, “On my way right now.”

“I’ll wait at the front for you.”

You weave your way back inside the house to find Taehyung, who’s still in the living room chatting with one of his teammates.

“Gonna go home, Tae,” you say, your voice cutting through their conversation. He glances up, distracted for a moment, before raising an eyebrow. “Also, here–” You hand him the drink he made for you. “This is not fun to drink at all.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes at your sassy comment but takes the cup from your hand. “Learn how to enjoy a party without getting drunk.”

“You tell me to get out of my room more, and when I do, this is what you say? Pick a side,” you grumble.

“Why do you wanna go home?” His fingers adjust the top of your strapless dress absentmindedly as he asks. “You okay?”

“Eh, just a bit bored.”

“We’re gonna play truth or dare in a bit,” Taehyung’s friend pipes up, raising his eyebrows in an exaggerated manner. “Maybe you should stick around.”

“I think I’ll skip,” you say. “But please do me a favour and fill me in on all the drama I’ll be missing out on.”

He winks at you. “Will do.”

“I’ll walk you home,” Taehyung says, stepping towards you.

You know he won’t allow you to go home by yourself, so you opt for telling him the truth. “Jungkook’s coming to take me home.”

“Jungkook?” he asks, surprised. “Did you call him?”

“Yeah, I asked him. Didn’t wanna annoy you. Go have fun doing...” You glance over at Jimin and Hobi, who are holding an impromptu drinking competition. Hobi’s attempting to chug straight from a bottle of something clearly too strong for him, while Jimin’s pretending to be the host of a weird, offbeat game show. “...whatever that is,” you finish, trying to hold back a laugh.

“You really can’t leave those two alone for a second, can you?” Taehyung lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Tell Jungkook to swing by here once he drops you off.”

“He didn’t sound like he was in the mood to stop by, but I'll tell him.”

“Text me when you get home, yeah?” he says over his shoulder, already walking back toward Jimin and a very much unconscious Hobi, who’s sprawled out on the couch looking like he’s had one too many rounds.

Jungkook finds you almost immediately. You barely have time to register his presence before he’s already slipping his zip hoodie over your shoulders, his hands smoothing over the fabric like he’s tucking you in for the night.

“You should’ve waited inside,” he mutters, fingers lingering at the collar like he’s seriously considering zipping it up for you too.

You swat his hands away, glancing around quickly. “Jungkook, don’t – everyone’s watching.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Who’s watching?”

You look over your shoulder. “I dunno. People.”

Jungkook huffs a laugh, stepping closer. “Right. Because me making sure you don’t freeze to death is so scandalous,” he jokes. “But smoking weed the other day was okay to do outside? With all the people there?”

“As a friend you’re supposed to forget my mess-ups, not remind me of them.” You huff, faintly remembering when you tried weed for the first time. You did puke that night. Luckily not on Chanyeol. “You didn’t have to come,” you grumble, even as you tug the hoodie tighter around yourself, his warmth and the faint scent of his detergent wrapping around you like a second skin.

“I know,” he says, tilting his head. “But I wanted to.”

And then, because he’s annoying, he reaches up and tugs the hood over your head, effectively swallowing half your face in fabric.

You let out a muffled noise of protest, pushing it back down immediately. “Stop that.”

Jungkook just grins, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he starts walking. “You look cute like that, though.”

You glare at him but fall into step beside him anyway, the hoodie still draped around you like it belongs there. The night air nips at your skin, but his warmth lingers, and you swear he notices the way you pull the sleeves over your hands like it’s yours.

“So…” His voice is quieter now. “What you said on the phone earlier.”

Your stomach twists. “What about it?”

“I just—” He starts, then pauses. “I don’t know what you want from me, ___. One second, you’re pushing me away, and the next, you’re telling me you can’t stand seeing me with someone else. You –” He falters, his voice catching slightly. “Do you even know what you want?”

“I know that you ruined me for other boys, for one,” you say, sighing deeply before you continue. “I want things to be like before,” you reply. “When everything wasn’t so…” You gesture vaguely. “Complicated. I don’t like this. And I don’t like how I feel when I see you with –” You cut yourself off before the name can leave your lips. He knows anyway.

Jungkook watches you carefully, hands still stuffed into his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched. “I wasn’t trying to rub anything in your face,” he says after a pause. “I didn’t think it’d… affect you.”

“Well, it did,” you say, a little too fast, a little too defensive. “And I hate that it did, because it’s not like I have a right to be mad about it.”

Jungkook tilts his head. “Don’t you?”

That stops you in your tracks.

Because – do you? You don’t know what this is, don’t know what you want from him except for more. More of his attention, more of his time, more of him. But not all of him, right? Because that would mean–

“God,” you mumble, rubbing your hands down your face. “Why are you making me say things?”

Jungkook chuckles, nudging your side. “You called me, remember?”

You groan. “Worst decision I’ve ever made.”

“Harsh.”

“Accurate.”

Jungkook lets out a short laugh, but then he’s quiet for a beat before he says, “Look, I don’t wanna play games. If you want me, then say it.”

You swallow. “I do.”

“But we don’t want each other like that,” he adds.

“Yeah, no.” You chew on your lip, pulling his hoodie tighter around yourself. “I just… don’t want to see you with other people. And I don’t want to pretend that it doesn’t bother me.”

“I don’t wanna see you with anyone else either.” Jungkook exhales, running a hand through his hair. “You want to keep fucking but be exclusive.”

You wince. “Could you not say it like that?”

“What, say it like the truth?”

You purse your lips, staring at him. “Is it a no?”

Jungkook doesn’t say anything for a second. Then, he sighs. “It’s not a no. I’ve been asking you for this, and you always pushed me away.”

“You know am not good with serious conversations. I like it when things are easy.” You cross your arms, trying to shield yourself, but your eyes can’t help but flicker towards him. “I don’t mean to push you away,” you admit. “I just– I get scared.”

His lips part slightly, like he wasn’t expecting that. And then – without a word – he reaches out, pulling the hoodie up so the zipper meets your chin, like he’s tucking you in.

Your heart trips over itself. “What are you doing?”

He grins, hands still lingering near your collar. “Making sure you don’t run away before you finish talking.”

“I wouldn’t run,” you protest.

Jungkook raises a brow.

“…Okay, maybe I would,” you mutter.

His grin softens into something fonder. “Well, you didn’t,” he says simply. “You’re talking to me now.” His thumb brushes over the fabric near your shoulder. “And I know that’s not easy for you.”

Your face grows hot. You roll your eyes, looking away. “Okay, don’t be nice about it.”

Jungkook laughs, bumping your forehead lightly with his. “Sorry, can’t help it. I’m proud of you.”

Your stomach flips. You shove at his chest. “Ugh. Shut up.”

He just laughs harder, catching your wrist before you can push him again. “Too late.”

You elbow him, but he catches your arm, smirking as he tugs you closer. “So that’s it?” His voice drops slightly. “You’re mine, and I’m yours, but we don’t call it anything?”

The words send a shiver down your spine. Mine.

“…Yeah,” you say. “Something like that.”

Jungkook hums, his grip on your wrist loosening but not quite letting go. His fingers brush against yours for a second before he shoves his hands back into his pockets.

“Just stay with me.” You glance at him. “Don’t leave.”

“I’ll stay. Don’t worry.”

You continue walking, the quiet hum of the streetlights and distant city noise filling the silence.

“Taehyung said he wants you to stop by at the party once you drop me off,” you tell Jungkook, letting the information hang in the air before you ask, “But hang out with me instead?”

“You know, I was doing very important things before you called.”

“You never do uni stuff and this is the day you’re deciding to do a personality rebrand?”

“What do you mean? I’m on top of my grades...Kinda.”

You huff at his response. “Then, I dunno. Wanna be nerdy together? I can help you with your assignment.”

You’re pretty sure your marketing major and fashion design minor won’t do much to help him with stats, but you’re definitely down to stick around just to be close to him.

“I don’t think you can, but being nerdy together sounds extremely intriguing, so come on.” He holds his hand out for you and drags you the other way around to his dorm.

It’s not far, just a few blocks over, but the way his fingers loosely wrap around yours makes the walk feel shorter.

Here’s how the rest of the night goes: Jungkook, the ever exemplary student, continues working on his assignment, while you – an accomplished liar who successfully deceived Jungkook into believing you would help him – pretend to help for all of five minutes before succumbing to the far more important task of online shopping for cute clothes.

It’s being nerdy together (your version).

Every so often, he glances at you, probably wondering if you’ll suddenly become useful. You do not. Instead, you kick your feet up on his bed, adding yet another item to your cart that you definitely don’t need.

Your thumb hovers over the screen, eyes locked on the top that has no business being so cute. A strapless, velvety pink crop top. The entire front is held together by a line of sparkling, rhinestone heart clasps, leaving slivers of skin exposed.

“Do you think this is cute?” You turn your phone toward Jungkook.

“Very pretty.” Jungkook nods in approval, until his eyes flick down to the price. “What the fuck, ___.”

“What?” Add to cart. “It’s cute, no?”

“You’re a terrible study partner,” he mutters, typing on his laptop.

“I never claimed to be one,” you say, scrolling past a top that you absolutely do need. “Isn't being in my presence motivating enough?”

Jungkook snorts. “Right. I’m so motivated by your commitment to retail therapy.”

“Good,” you say, adding another item to your cart. “Then I’m doing my job.”

You watch him work on his assignment, your gaze drifting to his hands resting on the keyboard. His fingers are long and lean, the veins running along his wrists just noticeable under his skin. It's like every little movement is getting your attention, and suddenly, all you can think about is how good those hands would feel on you.

“What about this,” you say, a ghost of a smirk dancing at the corner of your lips. “When you finish your task, we can look through some lingerie. You can help me pick out a few things.”

The back of Jungkook’s head hits the wall. His eyes wander to the mirror on the opposite side of the room. You catch him staring – specifically at your propped-up legs, his gaze lingering a little too close to where your dress has ridden up, just enough to reveal a peek of lace.

“Hey, no peeking,” you scold, snapping your legs shut and stretching them out flat on his bed again, smoothing your dress down for good measure. “That’s also for later, when you finish your assignment.”

Smirking, you shift on the bed, just to test him.

“Must be so hard,” you muse, pretending to stretch as your dress slides just a little higher on your thighs. “Having a mirror right there, nowhere else to look.”

He scoffs. “If I wanted to see, I wouldn’t need a mirror.”

Jungkook doesn’t break eye contact, like he’s daring you to react. And maybe you should. Maybe you should roll your eyes, call him cocky, say you wish – but your brain isn’t working fast enough to form words.

“Remember how I fucked you against it?”

In his jersey. How could you forget?

And the way Jungkook’s lips twitch, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you, makes your face heat up instantly.

“When has it become so easy to make you shy?”

“I’m not.” You glare at him, but it only seems to amuse him more. His lips quirk higher, that same infuriating twitch like he’s enjoying this way too much.

You sit up straighter, leaning forward just enough so your dress pulls a little higher on your thighs, the movement slow and deliberate.

Jungkook’s eyes move to your legs, and you see that flicker of desire flash across his face. His fingers twitch, like he wants to do something – anything – but he stays still.

“Wanna have a little taste to get some motivation to finish your work?” you tease, the giddy rush that heated your body fading as you flash him a mischievous smile.

“Anything to distract me from this shit,” he replies, already pushing the laptop off his lap, the screen still filled with charts and statistics problems. Ugh.

You shift to your knees and grab the back of his neck, crashing your mouth against his. He deepens the kiss a little, his lips soft against yours, the taste of him sweet and familiar. His breath mingles with yours, warm and steady. His hand lands on your waist, fingers lightly tracing the curve of your body.

You pull back just a little, eyes fluttering open to meet his, and for a second, you both just smile at each other, breathless and giddy.

“Should’ve been doing this instead of staring at those charts,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing your cheek as he gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

You laugh softly, heart fluttering, before kissing him again – this time with more confidence, more warmth. His arms wrap around you, pulling you closer as if he can’t get enough. His touch is gentle, but you can feel the quiet desperation behind it.

His rosy lips are swollen after a few more minutes of kissing and touching and grinding.

You slide off the bed and drop down to the floor, your hands running over his thighs, silently urging him to move closer. He shifts toward you, letting out a sharp breath when your palm him through his grey sweatpants.

You want to start of slow, want to take your time, but you’re also so needy and greedy for him, that you can’t help but tug his sweatpants down his legs, along with his briefs.

You take his semi hard dick in your hands and begin to stroke him. You let a drop of spit fall onto his cock for lubrication.

Jungkook puffs out a deep breath. You want to hear more of that.

“What happened to a little taste?” he asks, barely able to contain the moans that leave his mouth.

“Can’t help it,” you shrug, watching him grow bigger and harder in your hand.

His hand reaches for the hoodie he gave you earlier, which was carelessly thrown on his bed. He places it gently on the floor in front of you.

“Sit here,” he says, smoothing out the fabric. “Don’t want your knees to hurt.”

You shuffle your knees onto his hoodie, adjusting yourself, and continue stroking him up and down. At some point, you use both of your hands. You missed feeling his heavy cock in your hands, sitting beneath him and just playing with him.

“Spit on it, baby,” he says, voice low as he grabs his cock by the base and holds it for you to spit on. “Good girl.” He watches you with hooded eyes rub your spit all over him, mixing it with the precum leaking from his tip.

His cock is shiny, glistening with veins adoring his length. You stick out your tongue, gently swiping it over his head. Jungkook hisses when you swirl your tongue around his tip, teasing him with slow moves. He strokes himself while you play with his tip.

“Missed this view.” He pulls away his cock and starts slapping it against your tongue, the heavy feeling and wet noises immediately making you press your thighs together. “Look so pretty on your knees. Such a pretty girl.” Jungkook slides his head into your mouth. “Suck, baby.”

You close your mouth around his cock while you lock eyes with him. Slowly taking him deeper until you can’t take more. Your eyes are already watery and you didn’t even get most of him inside your mouth. You bob your head up and down in a slow, leisure pace.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he praises, threading his fingers through your hair to push it away from your face. “Relax your throat for me, yeah?”

When you do, he presses his hand on the back of your head, pushing your down on his cock and forcing you to swallow nearly half of him. Jungkook lets out a pretty moan when he feels the tightness of your throat around his cock, closing his eyes for a moment. Tears sting your eyes when he pulls you back, your hands gripping his thighs for leverage.

He lets you catch your breath before pushing you down again, moving your head in a tempo to his liking. When he shoves his cock particularly deep into you, you gag, tears rolling down your cheeks. You’re an absolute mess when he pulls out.

“What a good girl you are,” Jungkook says, his voice hoarse and low. “You just love sucking cock, don’t you?” He rubs his sticky cock against your mouth before slapping his head against it. He moves to your right cheek, smearing the mess over your skin and lightly tapping his cock. “Hm, princess?” he asks softer, almost with fake sympathy. He raises his brows in question, looking down at you like there’s just you and no one else.

“Love it so much,” you agree, moving your head along to the mess he’s making on your face.

Putting his cock back into your mouth, Jungkook leans back, watching you with pleasure etched into his expression as you move your head swiftly, twisting your hand around the part you can’t reach.

“So good,” he mutters, his tatted hand against your cheek just to feel you.

You tug your dress down and bring his cock down to your tits. You spit between the valley of your tits, using his tip to catch it and spread it across your boobs. You moan when his head brushes over your perky nipples. You circle his cock around them in small movements, breathy puffs escaping your mouth with how sensitive you are.

“You’re so fucking hot.” Jungkook fondles one breast with his hand, kneading it with his long fingers. He lets a little drop of spit fall onto your chest too, hungrily watching as you rub it against your soft skin with his cock. “Just want a mess everywhere, right?”

You nod, dragging his cock back into your mouth because you just need to taste him.

Jungkook curses under his breath when you start playing with his balls with your other hand. “Fuck, baby. Gonna cum if you keep going.”

Music to your ears.

You continue, swirling your tongue around his cock as you move up and down, trying to go as deep as you can. You can tell he doesn’t want to cum yet, but he doesn’t drag you off his cock, he’s too needy and horny.

“Cum on my tits.” You shift, jerking his cock in front of your chest.

“You want me to?”

“Please,” you beg, pushing your tits together with your arm, looking up at him with big eyes.

He moans at that sight, spurts of cum shooting across your chest. He paints your tits white with a big load. Your mouth hangs open slightly at the cum dripping from his cock. You lick his cock clean before looking down at your tits.

“You came so much.” You hold your tits in your hands. You flick your finger through some of the cum, putting it in your cum afterwards.

“Fuck, ___, please.”

You giggle at his reaction. You rub the cum into your skin with his still hard cock before it can drip down and create and even bigger mess. Your tits are all shiny from his cum when you’re done.

A shaky breath bubbles from Jungkook’s mouth when you stroke him once more, for good measure. “Pretty sure you got every drop.” He taps your elbow, motioning for you to get up. “Come here.” He pats the bed. “Get on all fours for me.”

While you get comfy on your knees on his bed, he takes off his clothes. Jungkook pushes your dress up your ass, the fabric bunched around your waist.

Jungkook slides one finger between your legs, slowly tracing your pussy through your panties.

“My dick in your mouth got you so wet, huh?” He pushes your panties aside, uttering a soft groan at the sight of your slick pussy. “So needy for me.” He bends down and you can feel his breath on your folds.

“Jungkook, please,” you whine.

“Please?” he repeats. “Such a well-mannered girl.” His tongue darts out, licking a stripe across your pussy.

You’re so incredibly sensitive, been yearning for this for so long, that you back arches immediately, thighs starting to quiver at Jungkook’s mild torture with his tongue.

Jungkook moves to your clit. He switches from little flicks to your nub and sucking on it, creating wet and filthy noises. He’s skilled with his mouth – perhaps a bit too skilled for your liking. But right now, you don’t have the energy to think too deeply about it, you’re just focused on the tingling pleasure that shoots through your tummy.

“Right there, Kook. Don’t stop.”

You watch him through the mirror – the way he is keeping your cheeks apart with his hands, face buried between your thighs, fluffy hair bouncing along with his movements. So handsome, so pretty, so yours.

“Pussy tastes so fucking good,” He mumbles, his fingers sinking deeper into your skin.

“So close. Wanna cum, Jungkook.”

Jungkook hums against you, the vibration making your breath hitch. It’s just his mouth on your pussy, but he knows his way around, knows how to make you squirm.

The pressure builds, winding tight in your core, seconds from snapping. “Jungkook,” you gasp, voice wrecked. “I’m–”

He groans into you, gripping harder, and that’s it—that’s all it takes. The tension in your body breaks all at once, pleasure hitting so hard your vision goes hazy. A choked sound spills from your lips, legs trying to squeeze shut, but he doesn’t let you. Just stays there, working you through it, dragging it out until you’re nothing but shivers and gasps, completely undone beneath him.

Only then does he pull back, breathing heavy, lips slick and swollen. He looks up at you through the mirror, something dark, almost possessive in his gaze, and swipes his thumb over his mouth like he’s savouring the taste.

You look back at him, smiling at his shiny face. His lips are covered along with his chin and his nose and a bit of his cheeks.

“This is, like, one of your best looks.”

“What, fresh out the pussy?”

You giggle. “Yeah,” you mutter, swiping your finger over the tip of his nose to clean him.

“I could have my face buried down there forever. I don’t think you realise how good you taste.” You feel his finger spreading your folds. “But I know my girl is very needy, so she wants cock, hm?”

You sigh, melting into his touch when you feel him slap his dick against your pussy instead. “You know me so well.”

The dick slaps are so wet, and your haze-filled mind craves nothing more than for him to shove his cock inside you, raw and deep, filling you the way you need – no barriers, no hesitation.

But Jungkook is actually able to still form sensible thoughts through the horny haze and grabs a condom from his nightstand.

He doesn’t tease you much before he enters you, just slowly, inch by inch, sliding his cock inside you.

“You good, baby?”

“Uh-huh, you can move.”

You gasp, the feeling almost overwhelming but exactly what you wanted. His hands grip your hips, pulling you back toward him as he starts a steady pace from behind, each thrust making your head spin.

“Missed this pussy,” Jungkook rasps, sneaking one hand down to your ass to spank it, eliciting a surprised moan from you. “So tight, so perfect.” He grabs a handful of your ass. “So mine.”

He fucks you rough, doesn’t give you any chance to think of anything but him. Your hands are clutching at his covers, holding the fabric tightly in your palms.

You feel him spit down on your ass. He rubs his finger over your puckered hole, making you whine and bite your lip at the feeling.

“Oh, Jungkook.” He slides his thumb inside, just the tip of his finger, and yet it feels like so much more, the pleasure intensifying.

“You’re such a slut for me, aren’t you?” he asks, not stopping his relentless pace. “Love getting all your holes filled. So, so dirty.” Contempt is dripping from his voice, and you can’t help but have your pussy throbbing at that.

“Just for you,” you breathe. “Just you, Jungkook.”

“That’s, right.” He pushes his thumb a bit deeper, making your fingers tighten around Jungkook’s sheets. “You’re my girl.”

Your heart is racing, pulse pounding in your ears, and all you can do is nod, your body responding to him without thought, your need for him overwhelming.

With his other hand he tugs at your hair, wrapping it around his hand and creating a makeshift ponytail.

“Look at how pretty you look.”

You turn your head to the mirror. Your back is fully arched, and Jungkook’s all over your, his muscled and tatted body towering over you with his cock deeply buried inside your pussy.

He withdraws his thumb from your hole, delivering another spank to your ass.

“Make me go fucking crazy,” he mumbles, wrapping his hand around your tummy and pulling you up against his chest.

“Kook,” you mumble, resting your head in the crook of his neck. You don’t know what you want, only that you’re feeling this irresistible pull to him, like you want to be even closer to him.

He lets your hair go, moving his hand to your tits and squeezing them.

“Cum with me,” he whispers into your ear, immediately sending shivers down your spine. “Look at yourself when you cum, baby. Want you to see how pretty you are.”

When he sneaks his hand that was wrapped around your tummy down between your legs and starts flicking his fingers over your clit, it’s officially over for you.

You still try to keep your eyes open like Jungkook told you so as you teeter off the edge, your climax consuming you. You watch him come undone too, his brows knitted together, and bottom lip caught between his teeth.

You’re weak on your knees, but Jungkook keeps you firm to his chest, not letting fall as he thrusts into you in a slower, sloppier pace. He peppers your neck and shoulders with little kisses, and you giggle a little, delirious on your high. Your hand reaches for his bicep and you squeeze it.

His skin is hot under your touch, muscles flexing as he holds you up, keeping you steady against him. The slow drag of his movements sends waves of overstimulation through your body, but you don’t pull away.

“I know, baby.” Jungkook hums against your shoulder, his lips still ghosting over your skin, pressing lazy kisses between heavy breaths. “Still with me?” he murmurs, voice low, teasing, as his fingers brush down your sides.

You nod, melting further into him, body pliant against his.

Jungkook pulls out. You whine at the loss. He tosses the condom on the floor – you're too spent to tell him how gross that is – and shifts on the bed, lying down together with you.

His arm drapes over your waist, pulling you close, your body naturally moulding into his like it’s second nature. His skin is still warm, his breaths deep and steady as he settles beside you.

You glance down on yourself – you’re a mess. Panties still on, just pulled to the side like he liked, dress bunched around your waist, evidence of him all over you.

“Can I take a shower before I leave?”

“Sure.”

You wait.

You look up at Jungkook. “You’re not gonna ask if you can join me?”

“I thought that was clear?”

You smile. “Good.”

“Hey – will you now tell me what you wrote in your journal about me?”

“I know we’re back to being friends with benefits, but please know your place.”

“It was worth a try.”

3K notes · View notes