#when I was younger and I never really left my childhood home. and I never grew up

[rav1377]

Picnic Blanket

Cowboy!John Price x fem!reader Ranch AU

tw:SMUT! FINALLY WERE HERE. more story stuff, outdoor sex, piv, READERS FIRST TIME, unprotected sex, creampie, allusion to piss kink, sweet stuff, pa is getting sicker :(, slight panic attack, INTRO OF SIMON, etc etc, Simon is slightly younger than John and is a young trucker which isn’t realistic but I DONT CARE ITS MY FIC., etc etc

the days blurred together. a month had passed since John had gotten here, and your burden was significantly lighter. the sun seemed to set quicker and the wind blow faster when he was near you. your pa had picked up on what happened between y’all pretty soon, huffing out “you hurt her and i’ll shoot you through that fat skull of yours.” before clapping him on the shoulder. calfing season was right around the corner though, and you were panicking. John reclined in bed, stretched out as you paced the floor of your room. “we could always hire out another hand.” John offers.

y’all simply needed more hands this year, especially with your pa out of the mix. still you thought you and John could get it done alone. you shake your head and peel off your sweaty shirt, throwing it into the laundry basket. “John even if we tried to hire more help, even if we needed them, which we don’t, we couldn’t pay them! not adequately anyhow.” you say, panic creeping in. chest heaving in quick breaths, you collapse in the chair by your desk and place your head in your hands. that feeling that you’re not good enough is creeping back in. tears well in your eyes as you start to gasp for air. John’s quick to sit up at that, coming to your side. he holds your shoulders before making you look at him. “one.” he says, stroking your hands with his fingers. your red eyes gaze helplessly at him, but you try to take a deep breath, it comes out weak and shaky. “two.” you say back to him. “three.” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your left hand, right over your ring finger. “i know someone who’d help. he’d work for cheap. or like me, for a place to stay.” he says, but the scared look remains in your eyes. “i don’t know. maybe we could do it ourselves.” you say, trying to get out of needing to rely on others. John shakes his head. “you and i both know that we can’t.” he says. your head lowers and you nod slightly. “who?” you whisper. “old friend from when i left the trucking business. he’d been 17, trained under me. he’s a good worker though, doesn’t know when to quit.” John says. “his name’s Simon Riley.”

Simon was having a no good, terrible, awful bad day. the company he was (still) trucking for double scheduled him, leading to a large conflict. one of the customers canceled as he was mid drive, the other just plain rude and stupid. the company had really just gone to shit once John left. he was finally back at the home company base though, hopefully getting a break for a week. Simon felt a lot older than his ripe 19 years of age. wet behind the ears, baby face and fat still present everywhere. his skull balaclava hid the scars from his childhood, and combine that with his tall form, you’d never doubt that he was a grown man, not some hormonal teenager. so Simon walked into the locker room, yanked out his bag, and stormed out to his truck, roughly throwing his bag in the seat next to him before tearing out of the parking lot. his small apartment was cold and empty, no one waiting for him. he sighed and yanked off his mask before pulling out a beer. sure the drinking age had been changed when he was born, but in backwater towns up north he could pretty much intimidate his way through the check without a id, especially with his appearance. the phone rings from the counter and he picks it up, staying silent. “Simon?” a calm voice rings out on the other end. “John?” he asks back, placing down his drink. “hey Simon, how are ya?” John’s drawl drips through the receiver and Simon feels comforted by the tone. John always had a way of calming the people around him. “alright. and you?” he responds, staring blankly into the counter. “ah, been better. well the reason i was calling is to see if you were still interested in some other work?” John asks, tone becoming hopeful. Simon hums in affirmation. “i am. you hiring?” he replies. John’s turn to hum. “couldn’t pay a whole lot but you’ll get a warm place to sleep and three meals a day.” he explains. Simon’s eyes flit around the room, as if looking for some reason to stay. he can’t find any. “where you need me?” he asks. “Texas.” John says.

————————————————————————

a beaten black truck rumbles down the dirt road to the main house and you call for John who’s trying to fix the upstair pipes. your pa’s in town at the diner, eating his weekly meal with his buddies. John comes down the stairs just as a heavy knock lands on the front door. answering, you think you’ve seen the largest man you’ve ever met. he’s gotta be almost 6’4, large frame taking up the door. you smile and welcome him in though, watching as John pulls him into a hug, gripping his shoulder. “this your missus?” Simon asks, turning to you. you blush and look down. “no. this is your employer.”John corrects, smiling. Simon’s over you in an instant, offering his hand and letting you introduce yourself. it’s not long before the three of you are talking in the living room about the new arrangement. “well i’m sure John’s told you, but we can’t pay much.” Simon nods. “I don’t need a lot of money. I get a place to stay though?” he asks. “yes. I’ve got a bedroom set up for you upstairs.” you reply, smoothing your pink dress over your knees. “then im your man.” Simon says. you nod. “ever done ranch work before?” Simon shakes his head. “none. but I learn quick.” he says. John nods at that. “he’ll be a hard worker once we teach him.” John says, looking at you. sighing, you rise from the seat and hold your hand out to him. “it’s a deal.” and just like that, in a single handshake, Simon Riley seals his fate.

your pa’s over the moon you’re hiring more hands for work and you don’t have to pay them, just keep them fed. he was a little miffed you didn’t include him though, but he approves of Simon, even if he isn’t from around here. “long as you learn our ways, kid.” he says, walking to the living room to switch on the TV. Simon’s face is red under his mask, a little embarrassed at the ordeal. John cleans the dishes tonight and you bring Simon up to his (John’s) room. the bed had been freshly made and everything bare for him, what few possessions Simon had in a backpack. “well, I’ll let you get settled. make yourself at home, Simon. welcome to Clearwater Ranch.” you say, smiling up at him. he nods and his mind is blank. he left his work, quit his job, and came to Texas to work on a ranch for nothing. well not for nothing. three hot meals a day and a soft bed to come home to was not nothing. as Simon shut the door and pulled off his mask, staring himself in the mirror, he’d finally got the feeling that maybe someone here would give him purpose.

————————————————————————

Simon’s fitting in well, doing great with the cows. he took to Charles well, riding the horse like he was made to. Charles wasn’t very temperamental either, allowing himself to be guided when Simon could and guiding Simon when he couldn’t. the new man was to work in the Dawn pasture for the day, checking the cows and pasture for anything out of the ordinary before checking the bulls by the lake. so you and John were taking the day off, going on a little date. it was lunchtime, sun high in the sky. John pulled an old beat up quilt everyone used as a picnic blanket as you put together sandwiches and strawberries in a wicker basket you normally saved for fruit picking. the two of you walked hand in hand out the house, walking to a isolated field that had a large oak tree hanging over it, draping it in a cool breeze. you laughed as John laid out the blanket, struggling to keep it flat in the wind. the man huffed and sat down, pulling you with him. he chuckles and pulls off his hat, placing it in the grass with yours with it. wiggling your toes out of your boots, you quickly discard them with your hat and John follows suit. the lunch is calm, cicadas calling in the distance, wind blowing gently across the fields. your fingers drip with strawberry juice and John is quick to lick away the juice that dribbles down your chin. when you finish, he lays on his back, pulling you into his side.

leaning up, you start to kiss his jaw, hand raking up to his hair while the other dances down to his belt. his lips part and he pulls away. “woah now. we don’t have to do that.” he whispers and you smile. “I want to.” you say, kissing his cheek reassuringly. his hands push up your dress and tease your panties down your legs and off your legs, thrown to the side. John flips you so you’re on your back, knees pressed together as he kisses you.your hands find his neck and you hold him. gasping when his knee pushes in between your thighs, he pulls away, checking your face. “you okay?” he asks and you nod. you can feel your face flush as you look anywhere but his face. “‘m a virgin.” you murmur. his lips part and he’s frozen. “you sure? you don’t have to do this. we don’t have to do this here.” he repeats and you shake your head. “I want to!” you exclaim. “just…be gentle…” you say, kissing his cheek. “darling we don’t have to do this here. we could go back to the house where it’s comfortable.” he offers, pulling away but you yank him down by his button up. “I am comfortable out here. no one will see or hear us.” you say, fingers inching downward.

truth be told, you’re scared outta your mind. never done this before, and you’re doing it in a field. but what has you scared is the actual act. you’ve heard it’s painful but supposed to feel good? unsure and hesitant, your fingers shake as they undo each button on John’s shirt. he noticed though, and pulls your hands away to finish it himself. he’s kissing your chest, undoing the ties for your dress on the shoulders, helping you get it off so you’re bare. his eyes flit down and he lays down so his face is even with your cunt. blushing, you play with his hair in your right hand. “i’m sorry i didn’t shave or anything…didn’t know this was going to happen…” you groan, trying to close your legs but his large biceps hold your thighs down. “even better like this, sweet thing, absolutely perfect.” and he grins before diving in, nose pressing upward on your clit. you moan and gasp, unused to the feeling. sure you’d touched yourself before, but it’d never been anything too crazy, and you’d only fit one finger in before it started to hurt a little too much. his tongue teased around your hole while a hand came to rub your thigh soothingly, the other to rub circles on your clit. finally, his warm muscle pushed into you, causing you to gasp. it was all so foreign and new, you weren’t sure how to act. it feel so different when someone else did it. you did like how his tongue rubbed against your walls just right though, and you tried to strangle the noises that were in your throat. suddenly he pulled away and you mewled. “don’t stop those little noises. wanna hear ‘em.” he whispers, pulling away to kiss your lips. he tastes like you, bitter with a sweet undertone. like something you’d savor, keeping it on your tongue. he moves back down your body, right where you’re waiting for him. it felt so different, like anything you’ve ever felt. once he got you properly slicked up, he pulled his tongue out and moved the hand on your clit to tease your entrance. “okay if i use my fingers?” he asks softly, haunched on his knees. you nod slowly. “be so gentle with you sweet girl.” he says, spreading saliva and slick around you before pressing his middle finger in. it doesn’t exactly hurt, his finger slips in easily, aided by all the wetness. just odd to feel something pressed against all of you like that. your mouth opens and your hips lift up voluntarily, John’s finger slipping in more. he merely smiles and lays a hand on your hip to help support you. when he’s finally pushed into all the way you let out a breathy sigh, and he moves his finger up, hitting a spongy spot in you. you moan and immediately your hand slaps over your mouth. John chuckles and leans to kiss your cheek. “it’s okay.” he assures you. “‘m gonna start moving now, tell me if you don’t like it.” he says, and his motions continue, pressing against that spot each time, causing you to squirm in his grasp. his thumb is flush with your clit and his rubs slow circles, relaxing you into the blanket.

he continues like that for minutes, the sound of your strangled groans the only noise in the air. “John.” you say. his eyes don’t move from where his finger rubs inside you. “John.” you whine, tone higher. something feels off. this weird pit in your stomach, building up. when you’d done this before, you’d only really gotten off by rubbing your clit, but John’s finger, inside you, felt completely different. like you had too many drinks and needed to piss. a full feeling that completely got your worked up, but you were scared of it. it didn’t feel right. he finally looks up and stops his movements completely, and your neck is slick with sweat as you pant. “you okay?” he asks. sounds like he’ll be asking that all night. you nod shakily. “felt weird.” you whisper, hand covering your face. John furrows his eyebrows. “weird how?” he asks, resting his bare chest against yours. “I-i don’t know. felt like i needed to pee or something I don’t know! i know it’s not supposed to be like that, I’ve done it before! I’m so sorry something’s wrong with me I can’t-mph!” a heavy hand silences your words, and your eyes widen. “have-. have you ever actually cummed from just your fingers? inside you i mean?” John asks, face searching yours. he doesn’t mean to embarrass you or make you feel bad for anything, just wanting to make sure you’re comfortable. you shake your head and tears fill your eyes. “no. im sorry.” you murmur, trying to rise from under his grasp. “I’ll just go back to the house. know it’s weird being with a virgin.” you say, moving to get up and grab your dress. John yanks you down though and pins you on your back. “when did i say I didn’t want to be with you?” he says, kissing your lips softly. “I just wanted to know. ‘m about ninety percent sure you just need to come, that’s what you’re feelin’. and hey, if you do piss I won’t complain either.” you blush rapidly and his large hand traces down your torso to your stomach, resting over where your uterus would be. “ye feel it here?” he asks, tapping the skin. face flushed, you nod and squeeze your eyes shut. “alright well. we can go again if you want. if you don’t like it, tell me to stop.” he whispers, right hand drifting down again. “two okay this time?” he asks, petting your soft hair with his left. he’s keeping his face close to you now, making sure you’re comfortable.

you slowly nod and relax when he presses kisses to your neck, feeling his middle and ring finger intrude. you mewl at the stretch, and it hurts. “i know, I know. it’ll hurt but you just needa get used to it.” he says and you nod, walls clenching on his fingers. he finally pushes in and squirming, you try to get comfortable. his fingers finally start moving again, brushing that spongy spot in you, causing a groan to leave your lips. his thumb comes to brush your clit slowly, in tune with his fingers. you’re panting, hot breaths living your mouth with each push of his fingers. that coil in you builds up again and your eyebrows furrow. you moan out his name and he comes to your lips, humming. he doesn’t stop this time, and your right hand grapples for his arm. his left hand quickly comes down to hold your own and you sigh against his lips. that’s when his movements pick up and you gasp, bucking your hips. “John!” you yelp, feeling like everything’s gonna come crashing down. “think your close?” he growls, fingers harsher now and you nod rapidly, crying out. “cmon you can do it doll. it’ll be okay, just let go, I’ve got you.” he says and his thumb rubs fast circles over your clit, and you gasp, feeling that coil break. you moan loudly and feel yourself clench on his fingers, causing him to groan at the feeling. he’s kissing your neck and cheek, praising how good you did as he pulls out. you’re a mess, panting and sweaty, while he looks like composure itself. “okay?” he whispers and you nod. “okay.” you reply, clenching your fingers around his. your left hand traces his shoulder, the brown hair that grows thick on his chest. “John.” you whisper, looking him in the eyes. “please. need you.” your voice is low and he sits up to straddle your thighs, knee on either side.

“i’m yours.” he says, and you take the hint. your deft fingers make quick work of his belt buckle before unzipping his jeans. they falter as they dip under the waistband of his boxers, but his hands grip yours, reassuring you. “i got it sweet girl.” he murmurs, pulling himself out. he already looks painfully hard, red mushroom tip leaking with a substance already. your face flushes even more than you thought it could and your fingers twitch, dancing to where his hand grips his base. his own face grows red as his eyes become lidded, watching as you grip him in your hand. he sighs when you squeeze his base tightly, eyes fluttering. “should I uhm. should I suck you?” you ask, and his eyes shoot open. this was supposed to be about you, not him. “no.” he instead opts to hold his hand to your mouth. “spit.” he says and you’re confused as you produce a fat glob on his palm. then, his hand rubs and spreads the drool all over his length, and your lips part in surprise. it’s suddenly a lot hotter out here. “gonna make you feel good, promise. it will hurt though. can’t deny that.” he says, shifting so his hips lay on yours, and one elbow rests beside your head as the other grips his member, pressing the tip against your entrance. your body unconsciously tenses and John kisses your forehead, trying to relax you. “we’ll go slow, i promise.” he whispers, and you feel his tip slip in. “d-don’t let me move, John. just give me all of it.” you gasp, tears pricking at your eyes as his first inch seeps in. he nods and you cry out as he presses deeper. you try to escape but John obeys you, using his weight to immobilize you.

all John hears is your sweet little noises that you’re making. they’re slightly distressed, but nothing too bad yet. he didn’t want this to hurt for you, but it was undeniable, so he kept it slow. he was simply glad that your slick and drool made you so wet for him. you were already taking him so well, he just wanted to keep you under him like this forever. he’d gotten halfway and you were being a champ. you on the other hand, felt like you were running a marathon. he was thick, thicker than you realized and the sides of your walls stretched to accommodate him. he must be almost in you think. it felt like too much. John murmurs sweet nothings in your ear, about how well you’re doing, how you’re taking him perfect, how you feel so good, how he wants to stay inside you forever. it all goes to your cunt, blood draining from your head. he finally bottoms out and you swear you can’t see straight. his chest heaves against yours and his right hand holds your left next to your head, his other propping him up as he stills. something a little too warm trickles down the bottom of your thigh, but you don’t question it. John merely pulls back his chest, still clutching your hand as he sees blood seep out of the remaining space of your hole. he silently curses himself, he didn’t want to make you bleed. he knew it’d hurt but now he feels like he messed up, did something wrong and hurt you. you watch his eyes as they look over you, watch as they shift from calm to scared to angry. “what’s wrong?” you say, bringing your other hand to grip his bicep. his nervous eyes flit to yours. “‘m sorry.” he says. “I hurt you.” his voice admits and your eyebrows furrow. “John ‘m okay. just feels different.” you say, trying to get him to look at you head on. yeah it definitely hurt and you felt like your insides just got rearranged to make space for his fat cock, but it felt natural once he stilled. felt right. he shakes his head and you sit up on your elbows, taking your hand from his. you still can’t quite see why he’s so nervous but he picks up your hips and rests them on his thighs, causing him to slip in oh so deeper, and you gasp. he freezes, shoulders tense. “John.” you whine. finally, one of his hands dips down to where you connect, collecting the mixture of slick and blood. he shows it to you, and you relax. “I hurt you. you’re bleeding.” he says, eyes ashamed. you laugh a breathy sigh. “John you didn’t hurt me. that’s normal. I think.” you frown. “you’re bleeding.” he growls out again. your mom passed away too soon to have the talk with you and it was too awkward with your father, so the neighbors wife told you about this once you hit high school. she made sure you were informed and knew about this. you think you remember her saying something about bleeding during your first time. clearly no one told John. “John that’s normal. it’s my hymen. it probably stretched and tore.” you say, rubbing circles on his forearm. “it’s normal to bleed?” he asks. “you’re the one who’s done this before! I thought you knew!” you exclaim. “I-well I-i knew it’d hurt but I didn’t think you’d bleed! they didn’t go over this in school.” he groans, head leaning down to touch your chest. his voice is light again though, and he smiles softly. “sorry.” he murmurs.

you chuckle and lay back down. you’ve gotten used to him in you now, and you clench your muscle around him, causing him to gasp. you wince as his hips buck up. clearly this is still going to hurt a little. his hands find your hips that sit on him. “you’re so tight, love.” he whispers. “can you move?” you ask softly. he nods and moves up to your mouth, kissing as he rocks his hips into you, not quite thrusting yet. his tip presses on your g-spot and you moan out something strangled. it feels like his fingers, just bigger. “John” you whimper, hands on his shoulders. “gonna make you feel good sweet girl. please let me.” he begs, hands gripping you tighter. you nod and moan out his name as he picks the pace up, starting to pull out more and more. it rubs your walls, mix of absolute pain and absolute pleasure. his hand comes in between you to rub your clit again, determined to make you come tonight. you let him set the pace, hands gripping his shoulders tightly as your jaw opens on a rough push of his hips. you feel full. it’s so satisfying though, you’re so connected to him. his slightly curly hair moves as his mouth comes to your neck, kissing the soft skin as he rolls his hips into you. you’re close and you tug on his hair. “John.” you say, panic creeping in again. “shh sweet girl, I got you when you’re ready.” he says, face coming to look at yours. the coil is tightening and you whine. it feels even different than his fingers and you’re afraid you really might piss on him now. still, you trust him. “are you-ngh! John! are you close?” you ask. he watches your pretty lips move as your eyes flutter shut and open. your bodies practically move as one now, shifting with each push of his hips. he nods rapidly, moving to hold your hand. “uh-huh” he groans. “gonna fill you up so good. make you feel nice and full. gonna be dripping with me for days.” he growls, hips picking up more. it makes you gasp, and your mind starts to go blank at his words.

“johnjohnjohnjohn” you’re chanting his name, and his fingers rub your clit faster, causing you to squeal. “come on come on doll. please come on me sweet girl.” John begs, hips stuttering and frantic. “ah! fuh-fuh fuck John! nghh-m coming!” you keen, body arching as you snap, clamping onto John. he lets out a loud groan as he presses against you fully, filling you up with his come. you gasp again as he rolls his hips through your aftershocks. you feel his release inside you, that full feeling returning. he’s panting, full weight on you. he sits in you for a while, the occasional roll of his hips pushing his come outside you. you sigh and run your fingers through his hair. “thank you John. couldn’t have asked for anything better.” you whisper. his lips press to your ear. “should be thanking you.” he says. his tone turns regretful. “‘m so sorry.” John’s silent. “for what? you didn’t do anything.” you say, confused. “don’t you dare say you’re sorry again for hurting me.” he shakes his head and lets out a soft sigh. “you should’ve been my first. ‘m sorry. you gave me all of you, and i belong to you. I always have. you should’ve been my first.” he says. you frown. he shouldn’t be beating himself up over this. “John…it’s okay. you’re here, with me, and that’s all I care about.” you say, gripping him close before kissing his cheek. “my heart will belong to you. always.” he whispers. “as does mine.” you reply.

————————————————————————

dinners full of laughter as Simon recounts his first day alone without anyone helping him. John and you tease him about the little stuff and Simon smirks and rolls his eyes. his mask is pulled up over his mask so he can shovel in bites of food. that slightly unnerved your pa to not see a man’s face, but he didn’t mind too much. some things were hidden for a reason. he does order Simon to dish duty though, and walks out to your ma’s grave up on the north field. “after the dishes you’ll do the night chores alone.” John says. Simon nods. “yes sir.” he replies, continuing to wash your china plates with a gentle hand. John picks you up bridal style and carries you up the stairs, causing you to laugh. you’d been just a bit sore after your escapade and he helps you change into your nightgown. John changes into his own loose flannel boxer shorts, hairy chest and stomach on display before walking to the bathroom to get a cool rag.

he’d read online that cool compresses help with the pain after sex, and he wanted to make sure you were okay. as you curled up in bed with him, you talked about the day. asked about Simon and his story a little more. “that’s his to tell love. he’ll come to trust you. think you’ve already got him wrapped around your finger though.” you chuckle rub your fingers over the longer stubble John’s growing. “‘m serious. you ask him to jump and he’d say how high.” you slap his shoulder playfully. “leave him alone!” you exclaim, smiling. “oh what you like him now? the big scary man who drove eighteen wheelers.” you scoff. “he’s not scary! he’s a good kid.” you say. “kid? okay I know he’s nineteen but he’s grown. and we’re not much older.” he counters. sighing you agree with him there. you and John are only 23 and 26 respectively. “whatever. bet he wouldn’t tease me about it.” John scoffs and kisses your cheek, pulling you close to him. “maybe you should go sleep with him tonight then.” he teases. you roll your eyes and close them, drifting off to sleep quickly after you close them. John watches your sleeping form, eyes tracing over your soft arms and hips. they look to your hands, still soft due to your tender love and care for them. he smiles and picks up your left one, cradling it in his own. he’s eyes inspect the delicate curve of them, the bare ring finger. it’s got his mind turning. he should marry you.

Notes:EEEEK!!! GOOD FIC YALL HOPE YOU LIKED IT!!!! FIRST TIME WRITING A VIRGIN READER HOPE I DID WELL!!!!

Two questions (they’ll also be in polls- comment below as well 🙏

do we like the idea of John marrying reader?!

AND should Simon get a bigger role in the fic? I’ll be adding the boys slowly but yeah. should he be like important/get a real backstory?😭maybe open up to reader n stuff. possibly include him with reader and John encounter?

[tonycries]

The Way You Kiss Me - G.S.

Synopsis. The four times Satoru tries really hard not to kiss you - his best friend’s pretty younger sister. And the one time he doesn’t.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! Suguru’s sister! reader, childhood enemies to lovers, PINING Satoru, like really really disgustingly down bad, creampíe, oral (fem receiving), pússytalking, needy JEALOUS! Satoru, running away from it, spítting, punching is Suguru’s love language, mentions of aIcohol, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 7.4k (That’s wild)

A/N. BOO! Surprise upload. This was so fun to write omg.

“You sure this is how the grown-ups get married?”

“Duh, I know everything.”

“Nuh uh, Toru.”

“Yuh uh!”

The first time Gojo Satoru kissed you was underneath that dingy playground slide that the two of you always raced to after elementary school. 

Usually, your older brother, Suguru, would walk home alongside you two - but this time, he’d just so happened to have been held back for throwing paper planes at the teacher that day.

A sign from the universe, Satoru internally celebrated, something he’d learned from those sappy romance novels his mother left lying around the house. No matter that he was the one that made those planes.

You were six back then, standing in front of a determined Satoru - reaching up on his tip-toes, face pink, smelling of those cheap strawberry lollipops he’d sneak into class and taunt you with. At the much older and wiser age of seven, he’d insisted on being the first one to lean in.

Just barely even grazing your dramatically puckered lips before-

Satoru learned two things that fateful afternoon:

Even as a seven-year-old, Suguru’s punches really hurt. 

Never mess with you. Anyone but you. 

Life only seemed to go downhill from there - because that last lesson was proving to be hard along the years. Really. Fucking. Hard.

Little did Satoru know that this would be the start of some strange, unpredictable little dance of push and pull. No, you definitely weren’t his wife. Nor were you exactly best friends - not really, that spot was reserved for your brother. But you didn’t think you could ever be just that either.

And the punch that’d knocked his wobbly tooth out onto the playground floor that day was a painful reminder that whatever that was - whatever weird thoughts he had later in middle school about how you’d tasted like candy - didn’t matter. No matter how part some tucked-away little part of him wanted it to.

Hell, eleven years later and Satoru still can’t walk around that familiar block without feeling slightly queasy. Which is why, after that failed first kiss, he knew there wouldn’t be a second. 

Instead, he settles back to teasing your pouty self, pushing all your buttons, tugging on those cute dresses you wore. Face burning so strangely with- humiliation? when you bickered right back, calling his haircut a “tragic attempt at modern art.”

“So you’re saying I look like art?” A gangly, now-seventeen Satoru blocks the bustling high school hallway, ignoring the bell. Grin only growing at your frustrated huff, he half-jokes, “Aww, if you’re that soft on me, sweetheart, maybe we should go to prom tog-”

You slam your locker, effectively shutting both it and Satoru at the same time. “I’d rather go with Yaga.”

“...you would not.”

“Would to.”

“Would not.”

“Would to.”

“Would- Sugu–!”

And all Suguru can do is wrap two hands around his neck, mock-choking himself, wondering if it was really too late to embrace a quiet life as a monk. “You’ll both be MLA cited in my farewell note.”

He was used to it, though, forced to watch all this chaos since quickly mending his friendship with Satoru over ice cream the day after the punch. Convinced that this was some punishment for a past life’s misdeed.

With a squawk of protest, Satoru’s turning back to you, eyes crinkling with a hint of mischief you knew too well, “Would not.”

Your face burns, “Would to, Toru.”

You didn’t go with Yaga. but Satoru didn’t exactly count that as a win in his books, either, because you did show up that night hanging off the arm of some jerk from the football team. 

And there you were, all dolled up - which he very objectively noted - way too prettily for some bastard like him. Stars in your eyes, and everything he couldn’t have in that smile. 

Everything. 

Way too gorgeous, even when he finds you sitting outside the gymnasium later on in the night. Too busy bawling your mascara off to even throw out your usual greeting insult his way. Murmuring out wetly about “that asshole” and how he humiliated you by stranding you in the middle of the dance floor for someone else. 

“Well, he was a jerk anyway. Even Yaga would’ve been better, hell, I-” Satoru stops short to his horror at the way you only cry harder.

Way too irresistible, especially as his body moves before his mind - holding out an open hand before he knows it. “I’m a much better dancer than him and you.” And oh Satoru will forever remember the way his heart lurches as you blink your teary eyes up in confusion, “Well, aren’t ya gonna take up the challenge?”

Weirdly, it wasn’t weird at all. 

If anything, you had to hold back your laughter the entire time at the way the great “campus sweetheart” Gojo Satoru was so on edge.

Just a friend comforting a friend, right?

So why was he avoiding your gaze with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, summer blue eyes pointedly trained right over your head. That pretty pink blush dusting his cheeks reflecting the hands hovering in midair over your waist. So close - and yet, fear in each and every turn and swirl.

Yours were searing into his broad shoulders as you tried to guide him to the muffled music from inside. And shit.

That night ended with a second kiss. 

You don’t know who leaned in first, just that Satoru’s soft lips were just fleeting on your glossy ones - barely even a touch. And that shit shit shit- this was Satoru. This was you. 

Everything. 

But it seems that every time Satoru was about to kiss you dangerously close to the way some tiny, forbidden part of his heart wanted to - the universe throws an obstacle at him. An obstacle that was six feet and named “Suguru”, currently running at break-neck speed out of the gym.

“MOVE YOUR ASSES!” he cackles, “THE FOOTBALL TEAM ISN’T TOO HAPPY ABOUT ME BREAKING THEIR STAR PLAYER’S NOSE.”

And not a word is uttered about the kiss as the three of you speed out of the school parking lot in Suguru’s busted-up black hellcat, the wind mussing up the hairstyle that took Satoru over two hours to perfect. Sneaking in glances at the sight of you singing along at the top of your lungs to some overplayed pop song on the radio. 

He learns another two things that night:

Apparently, Suguru’s right hook still really fucking hurt. And thank god for tonight’s casualties of noses, because it was a wonder that he didn’t look too hard at how close Satoru was with you. 

He didn’t…dislike the feeling of your lips on his. And judging by the way you meet his eyes in the rearview mirror - you didn’t either.

It’s mainly that last one that makes him gulp.

Neither of you remember the third kiss - though, Satoru’s sure that at least 80% of Shoko’s instagram followers did.

According to a very hungover Shoko, and the many, many forms of documentation, it had happened on the New Year’s eve during your third year in university. In which you were much more used to the raging parties that would be hosted at Suguru’s apartment, and only slightly less intimidated by them.

“And you’re a lightweight too, dumbass. You were gone.” Shoko sighs from across the café table, eye bags deeper than the last time he’d seen her. “Like gone gone.”

God, what a way to start the year.

Satoru bites back a remark about how “gone” Shoko herself had been. Sitting up straight in his seat, regret immediately hitting his senses faster than the guilty throbbing at his temples. He winces, managing out a semi-disbelieving groan of, “Gone gone?”

And she’s only nodding wearily, subconsciously tapping out the rest of her cigarette ashes onto his untouched plate of sweet pastries. 

“I’m talking dancing on expensive coffee tables and fighting to stop you from giving everyone there a strip show.” She cracks a smirk through a waft of smoke, “Though, she would’ve loved that I’m sure.”

“Har har har, you’d make even Nanami laugh with that one.”

“Eugh, gross.” Shoko taps through her phone briefly, swirling it around to show Satoru a few pictures that definitely gave him a mini-heart attack at 8:57 in the morning. “You look like you’re about to pen really bad poetry.”

And perhaps this was Shoko’s plan all along - to shock Satoru to the core hard enough that she can note it down as one of her sketchy psychological experiments. 

But he knew. Could feel it in the hazy fragments of memories - or, at the very least, in that entire highlight that Nanamin had oh-so-conveniently put up on Instagram titled, “Blackmail.”

You knew. 

You’d kissed him back. 

“I don’t have a-.” you slur, stumbling ever-so-slightly as you try to meet Satoru’s glassy eyes. Because shit the years have had him shooting up faster than you could look up. “-a New Year’s kiss, y’know.”

You were older - more gorgeous, if that was even possible now. That tight dress hugging your body so unfairly in a way that had him forgetting you were his best friend’s sister. 

The one person in this whole world that he couldn’t have.

But Satoru leans in closer, more because he wants to than anything - he could pick out your voice anywhere let alone over the thumping music currently filling his crowded living room. Lips loose as he tries to play up the cool-guy facade he’s been dubbed with since freshman year, “Hah, loser. Because I do.”

“Where?”

At this, Satoru is stumped - damn, you were good. 

“Not- uh here?” If he was in any clearer state of mind, he’d have been embarrassed at the way his voice cracks so traitorously as your unsteady hands pull him in closer by his overpriced button-up. 

Your body was flush against his now, so addictive. Gaze half-lidded and flickering between the sliver of milky skin exposed on his chest - from that impromptu striptease he’d almost started earlier - and the blue eyes that were currently locked you. You whisper a strained, “Liar.”

Close - too close. So dangerously close.

He breathes out against your lips, the smell of booze and you so heady in his mind. And the heavy words falling from his lips sound like lies, even to him. “Not.”

“Toru?” you hum, a sound that has him gasping. “Shut up.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

And there went your New Year’s kisses. At exactly 11:37PM, if the photos were anything to go by. 

And holy shit were there many. All of which showed your arms looped around Satoru’s neck, crashing his lips to yours. His own, resting against your waist, a scandalously red blush - whether from the alcohol or you - adorning his cheeks. Looking more blissed out than he ever remembers feeling. 

“I’m a dead man, Shoko.” 

There’s a lengthy silence, leaving Satoru stewing in thoughts of how Suguru would react once he finds out. And whether or not he’d be able to rise from the dead just to see how pretty you’d look at his funeral.

Morbid thoughts broken only by Shoko’s cough, “Hey, can I keep your eyes for experimentation if he actually catches you?”

Subtly, he sends himself those photos from last night.  

Luckily for Satoru’s eyes, they never ended up being donated towards Shoko’s questionable contributions to the world of medicine. 

And by some grace of the gods above, Suguru never mentioned a word about the kiss that would’ve inevitably made its way to him. Or maybe it was because Satoru stole his phone until he managed to pester Nanami just enough to take down that highlight. But, semantics. 

His heart, however, might as well have been part of some experiment.

Because it’s been working overdrive since that night - mind reliving that moment over and over and over and- shit, he’s fucked. So, so fucked. 

Fucked enough that it took Satoru months just to muster up to even look in your pretty eyes once more, unless he wanted to get lost in them forever. Fucked enough that he dared to wonder again and again when there might be a fourth kiss - if there would be a fourth kiss. 

He just never thought it would happen the way it did - with you, standing outside his front door. 

“I’m sorry, Toru.” you mumble, “It’s just- I think we both need to grow up.”

You’ve freshly graduated now, looking more and more irresistible each time he sees you - even when you’re looking at him like that. 

Rolling his eyes, “Ha, is this another way of saying you want my secret to getting taller? Because the first thing is to-”

“I’m serious, Satoru.”

And oh how he wished you’d say something - anything - else right now. Call him anything but that. Maybe even throw an insult his way, tell him those new sunglasses look ugly, or about how you got that internship he would’ve died for. 

Satoru manages to choke out a heavy, “I don’t understand.” But that uncomfortable coil of something curling at the pit of his stomach said otherwise. And it causes him to finally breathe out a hesitant, “Maybe you’re right.”

As if that was all the answer you needed, you’re stepping out of the front door. Slow, and deliberate like you were giving him another chance - a thousand more. Sighing out a defeated, “It’s been years.” It has. “And we’re just running in circles.” You have. “I’m starting to think this is just some game to you.” It wasn’t.

“Wait!” he grasps your hand - soft. The look in your eyes even softer as you turn around to face his desperate face. “Please, sweetheart.”

Satoru doesn’t even know what words he wants to say - let alone whether they’d come out of his heavy mouth. 

So, instead, he’s crashing them into yours. 

Brief. Fleeting. Like each one before this. Too addictive, too short, that he thinks he’s almost imagining it as you pull away gently, until he sees that look in your eyes. 

“Toru, I have a date.”

The fourth kiss.

Satoru’s letting go of you like it burned - and, truly, it felt like some deep, dark part of him was burning down right now. “Great.” That should be hm that should be him that should be- “I’m…happy for you.”

And the last.

He fucked up.

He really, really fucked up.

That first date turned into a second. The second into a third. And unfortunately for Gojo, eventually, you were nearing your one-year anniversary with that asshat you’d met during the early days of your internship. 

He’d seen the man himself once, briefly at another one of Suguru’s famous parties. Ducking out of sight before he could be introduced, yet long enough to know that he wasn’t as tall, or as handsome, or as absolutely fucking hilarious. 

What did he have that Satoru didn’t? 

The answer to that, Satoru’s reminded of every time he’s causing ruckus over at Suguru’s apartment, and sees you walking out of your room, tittering on the phone to none other than your boyfriend. So gorgeous. So not his. 

You, that loser had you.

“If you sigh again I swear I’m shoving this popcorn up your a-”

“It’s a sad movie, Suguru!” he defends, draped across your couch at another one of those movie nights you loved to organize. As usual, there was the popcorn, the god-awful movie (if Satoru picks it), and the arguments. The only thing missing, however, was you. Ugh, something about an “anniversary” and a “seafood date”. Seriously, it’s not like you even enjoyed that new seafood restaurant in town, and he’s sure that bastard didn’t know-

“Satoru.” his best friend’s deadpan voice cuts through his little reverie. “We’re watching Mean Girls.”

And he’s barely even opening his mouth to snark back before-

SLAM!

Suguru pauses the movie almost immediately, turning to the direction of the front door. “Uh oh.” 

And lo and behold - there was you in all your pissed off, beautiful glory. Throwing your keys on the table, your fiery glare passes over the two men as you stomp to your bedroom. 

“Seafood wasn’t that good, sweetheart?” Satoru calls out behind you, eyes sweeping down your figure. Heart stuttering in his chest when you turn around with your fists clenched, lower lip wobbling in a way that Satoru would both kill whoever made you feel this way and die to be on the other side of those daggers in your eye. 

Sniffing out an icy, “Fuck off, loser and loserette.”

Then in a whirlwind of rage, you’re gone - your bedroom door slamming only slightly more gently than you’d done with the front door. Leaving a deafening silence, and Satoru whining, “Why am I the loserette?”

“Deserved.” Suguru shrugs. Warily eyeing your door, as if it was about to pounce at any given second, “Let her cool down before you give her an aneurysm at least.” Unpausing the television, propping his feet back up, “S’enough having to deal with you on top of a boyfriend like that.”

And that has Satoru perking up in interest - both figuratively, and literally as he snatches the remote and pauses the movie. “Wait wait wait what-” Holding it way out of Suguru’s reach, “What do you mean a ‘boyfriend like that’?”

Scoffing, “Funny. Now give me back the remote.”

A beat of silence passes. One. Two.

Only then does it dawn on Suguru that this might just not be some strange prank to stroke Satoru’s ego, and he was actually  more serious than he’d ever seen him. Damn. 

“Bro, have you really never met the guy or something? He’s a complete tool. I don’t know what happened, but this breakup was a long time coming.”

Satoru blinks, feeling a red hot surge of anger. “What? Seriously? Why didn’t you do anything about it?”

“You think I didn’t try?” he sighs, running a hand through his hair at the other’s uncharacteristic silence. “Hah, and just imagine, the man was talking about marriage, too. As if.”

And suddenly, Satoru’s hit with an image of you walking down the aisle. Not something he was a stranger to, but it still takes him aback. The sway of the fabric beneath his fingers, your lips against his. Hell, in that split-second he even dreams up how Nanamin would be crying very reluctant tears of joy. 

Everything. Everything that wasn’t his.

His fist tightens around the remote, until he could hear the cracking of plastic. Mind whirling with the thought of you and him and you. How he wished it was him and you. “I would’ve been better.”

Oh. 

Shit. 

“I- fuck this. Suguru, since elementary school I…”

And, well, Satoru’s so busy putting that extra physics seminar he took in university to work - trying to calculate the odds of surviving a jump out of this seven-storey window - that he almost misses Suguru’s low hum, a distant, almost barely-audible little interruption, “Well duh.”

“Hold on.” he’s snatching away the remote that had somehow slithered its way into the other’s hands once again. Ignoring his best friend’s croak of protests to pause in the middle of Regina George being hit by the bus - which, he felt was strangely enviable right now. “That was- what? YOU KNOW?”

“Huh? Even my parents know, the only one that doesn’t is her.”

“...”

Satoru didn’t know how Suguru seemed so calm, but he felt like he was about to spontaneously combust. Heart stuttering in his chest as he sideglances at your firmly shut door - like he was just waiting for you to jump out and tell him this was some elaborate prank. 

Begging for you to come - it would’ve hurt less.

But you don’t.

Fuck. 

And the only response he gets is a low whistle, before a phone is being shoved in his face - flashlight illuminating that crimson blush. “Damn, the great Gojo Satoru speechless? The groupchat is gonna love this, might even send it to my sister, y’know.” 

He didn’t care - didn’t give a shit if this video made rounds to Gakuganji himself. Only one thought racing through his mind right now. 

“But why aren’t you punching me like in elementary school?” 

And Satoru knows he’s smart - intelligent even. Hell, he was the valedictorian, the youngest employee to claw their way up to being on the board of directors. But he’s never felt more stupid when Suguru breathes out a bewildered, “Dude. That was for blaming me for the paper planes.” 

“Oh.”

Then the movie is unpaused. 

---

The last time you kissed Gojo Satoru was at the doorstep to that overpriced penthouse of his, exactly a year ago today. 

The last time you saw Gojo Satoru was just a few hours ago, lounging around your living room like he owned it. Honestly, he might as well have been part of the furniture at this point - like some expensive, fluffy couch. One that prattled on about your “dumbass boyfriend” and god-knows-what else to rile you up just for the fun of it.

Which is why it was odd to step out of your bedroom - eyes just a bit puffy, throat still tight - to a suspiciously quiet hallway. 

The lights were turned off, nothing but the pouring rain sounding from outside, television paused on some rerun of The Princess Diaries. Damn, you told those idiots not to start that one without you.

“Sugu?” you call, finding his bedroom empty. “Thought tonight was movie night?” Padding across the empty apartment, contemplating whether or not to get your phone and call him when-

Ding!

Ah, there. 

You roll your eyes as you head towards the front door, ready to give Suguru a piece of his mind for going out at this ungodly hour and forgetting his key. Seriously, what if you opened the door and he was hurt, or worse, or…

Satoru. 

Speaking a mile a minute.

Satoru.

“-florist was closed and the store clerk looked at me like I was crazy but I got this for-” he pauses abruptly, as if realizing something with a jolt. “-you.”

“You- what-” you don’t know where to look - at the drenched, disheveled Satoru filling your doorframe - rain in his hair, curtaining his frantic eyes, drenching his snug t-shirt. Or at the obscenely large bouquet of cheap strawberry lollipops being placed gently into your arms. 

What follows was an electric silence - and you have half the mind to tease Satoru for finally shutting the fuck up for once in his life. 

But, no. Instead, you eye the way he stands stubbornly at the doorway, fists clenched, blue eyes locked so intensely on yours that it was like they burned. 

Face flushed a familiar pretty pink that makes you realize that shit, he might be taller, voice deeper, broad shoulders tight against his t-shirt - but this was still the same boy that cried when you stole his favorite Digimon card in middle school. The same one that kissed you underneath a dingy slide, smelling of strawberry lollipops.

It’s the steady tap! tap! tap! of the water droplets from his hair that have you tearing your traitorous eyes from his see-through white t-shirt.

Guess you’ve both done some growing up since then.

“You loser.”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

The pink wrapping of the bouquet rustles as your grip tightens. “He proposed to me today, y’know.” and yet, your quiet, even voice was the only thing ringing in Satoru’s ears. He jolts, as if some visceral, primal part of himself had been poked awake. Breathing heavy, fists clenching until he could feel the neat indents of his fingernails on his palm. Of course. He’s late. He’s late he’s late he’s late-

That is, until you’re plowing on, “I said no.”

“Huh?”

You think back to the stuffy restaurant, the man sitting from across from you - how wrong it felt. And all it took were those four words for you to realize that. “I said no.” 

Satoru snaps his head up, stepping close - so close. Voice strained like he wasn’t asking - begging. Praying, “Why?”

“We…” you raise a brow at the way Satoru flinches as you trail off. So desperate. A smirk makes its way onto your face, “...we haven’t divorced yet, right?”

And then you’re kissing him - or maybe he’s kissing you. 

Fuck, you don’t know - nor do you really care right now. Not when Satoru’s got his lips crashing against yours for the fifth time in your life, kissing you like it would be the last. Big arms dipping down to your waist, pulling you so tight against his muscled frame that he had half the mind to wonder whether it hurt. 

“Love this. Love the way you kiss me- fuck-” he’s spitting against your lips, kicking the door shut behind him. “Oh- would ya get mad if I-” he tries to get out through kisses. Only to suck on your pretty lips with a pained grunt. “If I-” Again and again, like it killed him to part. “-hah- celebrated right now?”

“Yes.” You’re letting the bouquet fall to the foor, white-knuckling that useless, drenched excuse of a shirt. “Now kiss me properly, Toru.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Such a sloppy mix of teeth and hands and him. Shoving a knee between your legs, making up for years and years of late nights with nothing but his fist and the pretty thought of you. 

“Yeah, that’s it, sweetheart.” Satoru breathes out, as your urgent fingers that dispose of his shirt, feeling the gorgeous dips and curves of years of hard work to impress you. “Suck on m’tongue pretty- fuck-” His own fisting your shirt, pulling. Ripping.

“Toru!”

“I want you.” He’s letting the poor, tattered pieces drop in a pile on the floor, trailing a hand between your damp thighs before he can stop himself. “Oh how I’ve wanted you. And I don’t care if I have to buy fifty new outfits to make up for it.”

And it’s the feeling of his long index stroking up your sopping slit through your shorts that has you pulling away with a gasp. Delicate little strings of saliva snapping from Satoru’s kiss-bitten lips. “If we continue like this…” your voice wavers as he presses hot kisses along your collarbone. “-my brother’s gonna walk in.”

“...wouldn’t wanna relive that playground kiss, huh?”

It’s all he says before picking you up so easily, hands resting on your ass. Giving a playful spank ass you wrap your legs around his toned waist. 

And it’s sloppy.

Both his lips still hotly on yours and the way he’s stumbling urgently to your room through pure muscle memory. Pulling away only when you’re all splayed out so prettily for him on your mattress.

“Blue?” he breathes, pulling your shorts off. And it comes out strained - like the very sight of your panties - all soaked and flimsy with your slick - has whatever’s remaining of Satoru’s sanity flying out the window. “Blue? Oh, you’ve gotta have planned this, you little minx.” his hot breath hits your cunt as he shifts down the bed, tongue drawing languid, wet little circles on your inner thigh. “Because don’t tell me this was all for him?”

It was coincidence - or maybe fate - but that doesn’t stop you from giving Satoru a slow, teasing nod. Muttering out, “So what if it was?”

The only answer you get is thumb hooked around your shorts, pulling it just enough so that your brother’s best friend can spy your pretty pussy.

“Well then.” he chuckles at the way you jump when his fingertip just barely grazes your clit. “Guess I jus’ hafta prove m’better.”

A low groan is falling from his lips as soon as they meet your puffy ones, giving your pretty clit a chaste peck. Lingering long enough that he’s sure your sweet sweet juices cover his mouth.

And oh Satoru’s sure he’ll never forget the way your jaw falls slack, glassy eyes following his every move as he runs his tongue along his glossy lips. Savoring your candied taste, “Never kissed you like this before, huh?” 

Fuck, you’re sweeter than he’s imagined.

You whine desperately, something that has him smirking smugly, “Hah, what? Cat got your tongue?”

“You’re better when you shut up.” It’s all you can do to buck your hips into Satoru’s pretty face - not that you had to, because one taste of your dripping cunt and he was addicted. Surging forwards until he was nose-deep, locking your ankles around his head with a firm yank.

And you can’t lie - maybe you’ve imagined this exact scene a few times before on those lonely nights. But you just never expected Satoru to be so depraved. Desperate.

“Ngh- fuck, Toru-” you reach a hand down to thread your fingers through his hair, tugging his face up. But Satoru doesn’t stop - not even for a second. Tongue still dipping to spread your swollen folds with his tongue, looking you right in the eyes as he murmurs a strangled, “Mhm?” 

“Thought you were gonna prove you’re better, hm?”

So goading. So like you. 

At this, Satoru pulls back ever-so-slightly to laugh - laugh. His plump, glistening lips curling into a humorless little grin, “Oh I will.” Thumb circling your throbbing clit. Just dragging your twitching body across the silky sheets close to his, one hand pinning your hips down. Hard. “I will.”

Loving his new favorite place between your legs one hand toys with your clit, quick, messy little patterns. Tongue even more so. 

“Not just better.” he grunts, “Gonna make you cum so much harder, too.” Having your thighs shake with each word hissed out into your cunt, each turn of his deft fingers. “Till I’m the only thing on your mind. Me.”

And it’s all you can do to let out choked up groans of his name, back arching off the plush mattress to let him make out with your cunt deeper. Sloppier. So, so starved with the way he’s speeding up, tongue dragging across your walls. In and out in and out in and-

“Fuck! Hngh-” you angle his head - and he lets you. “There- Toru-”

Honestly, you didn’t even have to tell Satoru - he could feel it. Could feel it in the way your plushy walls are squeezing his hot tongue so harsh, until it was almost difficult to fuck your pussy so sloppily. In the way you’re letting out such delicious whines each time he grazes against those sweet spots. 

“There? Hah- I know.” he pulls away to muse, and your cute, disappointed whine goes straight to his already rock-hard cock. “Did he?”

He didn’t. And you’re shaking your head so pathetically - in a way you’d be embarrassed about usually. 

But that’s the last thing you’re thinking bout because you feel it - the cold, sinful feeling of Satoru spitting on your filthy cunt. Once. Twice. Blue eyes widening in delight at the way the mess of spit and slick drip down your slit. 

“Cute.” his tongue smoothes over the slutty pool, and the only thing your delirious brain can make out now is a low moan of, “So? Who’s better?”

It’s all you can do to choke out a broken little, “T-T-” Face burning at the way he was so clearly enjoying your struggle. And, well, no matter painfully hard it made his dick - he had to go just a bit easy on his girl, right?

“Shhhh, s’alright.” you flinch as he shoves two absolutely drenched fingers into your mouth, making so much more of a mess of it than necessary. Drinking in your cute gags, “I was asking her.” He’s making your head spin with the way he’s speeding up. “N’ she’s hah- very talkative.” Words muffled, and slurring together - like he was drunk off of you and your cunt. “Let’s hear what she has to ngh- say, huh?”

And with that, he’s alternating between lapping at your clit and squeezing into your sloppy entrance - like he couldn’t - didn’t - want to make up his mind. Oh, with your teary mewls strangled, the sound of Satoru making out with cunt is so loud. The squelches so obscene. 

“Fuuuuck.” he drawls. “Louder than I thought. I think she says I’m better, don’t you think?” 

You angle your head just right to catch the way his jaw grinds deeper into you, eating you out like his last meal. Your slick drooling down his chin so sinfully. 

“Ngh- fuck fuck fuck- ngh-” your yelps are dreamy, feeling like you were losing your mind with the way he was stretching you out. 

Like you were about to snap. Any second now. 

But Satoru’s only increasing his movements, drawing out your little moans. “And I think she’s saying…”  Getting sloppier. More erratic - and it didn’t matter if his fingers were cramping up now, cock aching with the need to be inside you. “-that she’s about to cum.”

You do - so hard and loud - both you and your cunt. 

You’re shaking, all but gushing all over Satoru’s mouth, tight pussy squeezing his tongue so hard. Barely even realizing the searing grip you’ve got on his hair as you drag your sloppy pussy all over his mouth.

But Satoru doesn’t mind - he gladly welcomes it, in fact. Tonguefucking your snug cunt senselessly, letting you chase your high as roughly as you wanted. Over and over.

Even when you’re vision isn’t as spotty as before, even when nothing’s coming out of your mouth but little whimpers. Your breathing dying down until all that rings in your barely-lucid mind were those obscene noises of Satoru’s lips all on yours. 

“T-Toru-” you whine, big fat tears pricking at your hazy eyes. “M’so sensitive.”

And of course this is Satoru, the same boy who’s been pushing your buttons for years just to giggle at your adorable reactions. Which is why he grins against your twitching cunt, “So?”

It takes everything in you to raise your head off the pillow that just seemed to be swallowing you whole, and even more to shoot Satoru a half-hearted glare. “So m’gonna ngh- assume you’re jus’ a pussy with a s-smaller dick than-”

You don’t get to finish your sentence - he doesn’t let you. Because Satoru’s fumbling with his belt, peeling off those still-drenched pants just enough for you to admire his clothed erection. 

And, shit, admittedly you expected him to have a big dick - having been subjected to way too much locker room talk with your brother - but this was ridiculous. 

“What? Too big?” He flashes you that infuriating grin. Palming his rock-hard cock through his boxers at the way your beautiful eyes trace the outline of his cock, all swollen and big. So intimidatingly big. “Damn, sweetheart, if I knew that this was how I’d get that feisty lil’ mouth of yours to shut up then I’d have done it a lot sooner.” 

And you don’t even know if you’re breathing, the pads of your fingers dancing along his bulge. Tracing those prominent veins. Thumbing that little damp spot at his fat head. “You wouldn’t have.” 

He hisses as your soft hands dip into the hem of his underwear. Voice cracking slightly, “I wouldn’t.”

Then you’re gasping - in sync with Satoru’s low moan - as you finally let him spring free. Thick cock hitting his sculpted abs, red tip smearing precum in a lewd little pool. Weeping and so so angry at the sight of you.

At the heavenly feeling of your thumb teasing under his sensitive slit, “Oh, shit.” 

He’s throwing his head back when you give an experimental pump, all the way from his pretty tip to the tufts fo white at his hilt. Fist gliding all over the thumping veins. Bucking his hips up like such a slut into your touch. 

“O-oh fuck.” he cracks an eye open at the way your hand looked so small compared to his dick, how well you were taking care of him. “Been ngh- dreaming of this since I learned what handjobs were, y’know? Hah- shit- ya gotta stop before I fuckin’ pass out.”

And Satoru thinks he could cum right then and there at the way you’re bringing your soaked index up to your mouth. Batting your lashes as you suck on them with a lewd pop! “From jus’ that?”

“You have no idea.”

That’s all it takes for Satoru to throw your still-quivering thighs over his shoulders, effectively shutting up whatever tease is on the tip of your sharp tongue by kissing your swollen folds with his fat head. Giving it one, long drag. 

Your mouth is sagging open at the slow, torturous teasing. The sheer anticipation that had your mouth running, “S-so much for ah- jus’ being ‘friends’, huh?”

“Oh, sweetheart.” And you’re flinching from Satoru’s deep, dark tone. The way he’s bracing his fingers so bruisingly on your hips, reeling all the way back till his tip was just kissing your hole. “We stopped being friends the day you married me on that playground.” 

And then he’s slamming in - pushing past that first, feeble ring of resistance, gummy walls stretching out so perfectly for him. As if he fit right in - and he tells you that. Pants it into your open mouth a little over fifteen times, in fact. 

“Shiiiit, look at you.” he can’t tear his eyes away from the side of your lips stretching so wide to try and milk him. Sloppy entrance stretching out like magic. “S’like you’re made for me, huh? This pussy is made f’me?”

“Ngh- fuck, Toru! S’too big-” you keen, feet flattening on the mattress. As if to escape. To maybe fucking breathe.  

Not even half-way in yet, but aleady torn between pushing away and sinking yourself down on his swollen cock for more more more-

“Don’t you dare run away.” he warns, looking up at you through his long lashes. “I’ve waited too long for this. N’ you’re not taking this pretty pussy away any time soon.” Inch by fucking inch. Grinding in short, sharps jabs - no rhythm of rhyme, like they were genuinely out of control. “Way too f-fuckin’-” All the way until your puffy folds was meeting his hilt. Finally. All the way in. “-long.”

And once Satoru had you split apart on his dick - had those tears rolling down your cheeks, cunt swallowing him so sluttily - it’s like something snaps. 

Because he doesn’t waste a second - he’s already wasted almost two decades, anyway - filling you up with his mean hips. Not fucking easing you into it because you always did bring out that part of him, the part that him looping two strong arms around your waist. Pulling. 

“Oh- f-fuck c’mere.” Satoru gasps, pressing your body so crushingly against his. Kissing your shaky shoulers, your sweaty forehead, the gentleness so contrasting to his hips.“God I’ve missed out- fuck fuck fuck-” 

You’ve never seen the great Gojo Satoru - campus sex symbol - so uncomposed. Eyes half-lidded, just boring into yours, mouth slack in a soft oh! as he drags his cock all over inside your gummy walls. And the sight is so heavenly that you make the mistake the mistake of cracking a minute smile.

Just barely curling your lips before - “Don’t smile at me like that.” He’s dipping down a hand to roll your ravaged clit between two bullying fingers. “Fuck, she’s gonna be the death of me. Right?”

You keen at the- stimulation? The strech? The sheer embarrassment as you realize that Satou’s still talking to your sloppy pussy? Nodding so mockingly up at you as he plows on, “Mhm, she says you needa be ngh- knocked down a god, you’re tight- peg or two. So- get- ready-” 

He’s using this as an excuse to sit up on his knees, dragging you onto his lap so easily like some ragdoll. 

“That’s more like it.”

You’re sliding deeper down his painfully hard cock - all the way till his heavy balls rest beneath your ass, clit rubbing against his pelvis every time he bounces you like some slut.  

Deep. Ruthless.

“Keep your eyes open, sweetheart.” He chuckles, and you’re screwing open your eyes that you don’t even remember shutting. Trying so hard to stop crying out at the feeling of the curve of his dick massaging your walls. “Ya gotta hngh- see the o-only one who’d fuckin’ you properly, right?”

You squeal when he’s taking your clit captive once more. Finger quick, deft. “Y-yes.”

But that wasn’t enough for Satoru - it might as well never be. Because he’s only ramming his hips up further. Like he’s pushing into your stomach, your lungs, all the way into your cockdrunk brain. Fat head alternating between kissing your poor, abused cervix and all those sweet spots he’d mapped out with his tongue.

“Sounded unsure to me.” he’s pouty against your hardened nipples bouncing enticingly in his face. Fingers quirking faster on your clit, “Maybe I should ngh- stop then?”

“No!” Your hips stutter against Satoru’s. Nails clawing down the sculpted panes of his shoulders, leaving red angry marks for him to take as a sign tomorrow morning that no, it wasn’t just one of his dreams this time. “No no no- m’sure. You’re the only one makin’ me feel this way.”

You can feel the way he’s twitching wildly at your words, dick thumping harder inside your sensitive cunt. 

He punctures each word with a heavy, calculated thrust. Hand stretching and squeezing open your cunt from behind to let him slide impossibly deeper. “Hmmm, I’m not convinced.” 

Your stupid mouth is only capable of letting out broken, choked-up little moans of his name, ankles locking around those dimples at the end of his spine. “S’you–”

“Still not convinced.”

But he’s still speeding up his movements, just dragging you up and down his cock. “Who else made you hah- feel this good?” Sure to claim you from the inside out - to leave marks everywhere. Heavy balls on your ass, weeping tip on your cervix, lips bruised as you whimper at his murmured, “That ex of yours?” Biting down your neck, “That barista that always flirts with you?” Pulling away only to breathe into your lips, “Who?”

“ I- fuck it’s only you, Toru.”

“Sound convincing to you?” Satoru hums down at your cunt, biting his lower lip at the way you were milking him so good. Your slick soaking him all the way down to his balls - so needy in a way he never thought he’d see. “Yeah-” be breathes, nosing at your neck. “She agrees- fuck does this tight lil’ pussy of yours agree.” A few tears, a few gorgeous marks down his back, and he was finally convinced. “You’re mine.”

You don’t even realize it when you’re cumming, and Satoru doesn’t either.

Both of you too caught up in each other to recognize that familiar, white-hot pleasure running down your spine - all the way down to where he was so mercilessly buried in your cunt.  

And you’re well into the blood roaring deafeningly in your ears, the sight of Satoru - all wrecked - blurring as he fucks his hips up. Harsh. Eyes rolling to the back of his head as he paints your quivering walls white. 

Cumming and cumming so hard that you can feel his seed dribbling down your thighs, making such a mess all over Satoru’s lap. Your poor, overfilled cunt soon bloated and unable to keep up with it.

“Toru–” you whine, like a prayer. Milking the fucking soul out of him while he gently paws at your messy hair.

“Shhh, I know I know, sweetheart.” Such a stark contrast to the way he was filling you up like his favorite sex toy. Not even bothering to move anymore, one hand on your hip, moving your limp body up and down his sensitive cock to fuck it deeper. The other still playing with your clit, “S’alright, my girl”

Satoru’s hands never leave you, and he prays that now that he got a taste - well, you better be alright with them not leaving you for as long as he lives.

“As long as you live, huh?” you chuckle groggily, a noise so dreamy that Satoru can’t even be mad that he said it out loud. “And all that riling me up these years. Do you have a degradation kink or something?”

“Well, only one way to find out~”

“Oh shut up you-”

SLAM!

“Yooo, I bought dinner from that- WHAT THE FUCK?”

There were only two more lessons to be learned:

Always lock the door. Always. And in case you don’t, a bouquet of lollipops will do the trick to a Suguru reeling from the newest addition to the family. 

Cheap takeout tastes better with an apologetic Suguru, and an ice pack to his cheek - and you to kiss it better.

A/N. Can you tell I kept listening to that one Artemas song while writing this?

Plagiarism not authorized.

[writesvani]

dear me | 06

lawyer! jeonjungkook x privatechef! reader

SUMMARY: Once upon a time, Jungkook and you were everything. Best friends who shared every moment, every secret—except one: you were in love with him. But life changed. High school ended, real life began, and slowly, you drifted apart, the distance between you growing too wide to cross.

The end. Except it isn't.

One day, after a long day at work, you open your email to find a message from 13 years ago—written by your younger self. A letter you’d forgotten, sent by a service you paid to remind you of your youth, your love for him. As the emails keep on coming and you keep reading, the flood of memories hits you, and you realize something heartbreaking: you never stopped loving him.

But now, it’s too late. Jungkook is about to marry someone else. Or is he?

estranged childhood best friends-to-friends-to-lovers?CHAPTER FIVE

TRIGGER WARNINGS: jealousy, insecurity, unresolved feelings, envy, emotional discomfort, love triangle, heartbreak, sexual content (brief), mentions of underage drinking

comment here for Dear Me taglist;

SERIES M.LIST;

— previous chapter // next chapter (pending...)

wc: 5,7k // date: 13th of April

CHAPTER SIX — The Orbits; happy reading my gummies...

AN: ok, hold on to your seats because we’re officially diving into jk and nina’s brains. things are about to get messy—real plot and action is kicking off in the next chapter, i swear! i repeat—no more slow burns, no more introspection, we're getting down to business (just kidding, still slowburn but with more action).

the note goal for this chapter is 350 notes, and i KNOW you all can do it! let’s see how fast we can hit that and get to the juicy stuff. buckle up because shit’s about to get WILD and i’m here for it!!

Days blur into each other, slipping through your fingers like sand. Jungkook and Nina return to Philly, and for a moment, it’s almost like they were never here—almost being the key word. Because even though they’ve left, remnants of them linger. In Cape May. In the air. In the spaces Yoongi and you exist in. And nothing feels the same anymore.

Especially now that you and Jungkook are trying—fumbling, grasping—to pull your friendship back from the dead. As if you can undo time. As if you can stitch back something that once burned to the ground.

But at least you’re both trying. Really trying. And that has to count for something, right? Because for years, neither of you did.

You slip back into your routine—waking up at dawn, reviving yourself with that first sip of coffee, going to work with a carefully practiced smile, soothing your evenings with green tea. Everything is the same. Almost.

There’s a small, barely-there adjustment—one that seeps into your days so effortlessly, you don’t even realize how much you’ve come to crave it.

The familiar ringtone cutting through the silence at night—Jungkook calling after he gets home, his voice laced with exhaustion, asking about your day like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The occasional pings of your phone while you're working—stupid reels, TikToks, things that make you roll your eyes and smile at the same time.

It’s a welcome disruption. The kind that sneaks into your heart without a warning. The kind you didn’t know you needed—not until it became something you couldn't imagine your days without.

And it’s Wednesday.

Your hands clam up with sweat at the thought—because you know what that means. Another email is waiting in your inbox.

You never read the last one.

You were too caught up in making amends with your ex-best friend, too wrapped up in the chaos of that night at The House. By the time you remembered it a day later, you made a decision—you ignored it.

Because opening it would mean stirring up old ghosts, unearthing things best left buried. And you couldn’t afford that. Not now. Not when you and Jungkook had just started to rebuild something that had been left in ruins for years. Not when you were supposed to stand beside him at his wedding.

You didn’t need the reminder of who you used to be. Of the way you used to love him.

So you let the email sit there, untouched, unread. Like ignoring it could erase its existence. Like not clicking on it could save you from what was inside.

Like it could stop the past from clawing its way back to you.

But you don’t have enough willpower to leave the email unread.

Not when you sink into your sofa, legs stretching out, fingers curling from exhaustion.

Not when the warmth of your laptop presses against your thighs, a steady reminder of the task you’ve been avoiding.

Not when the email feels like it’s pulling you in, its presence too loud, too obvious—read me, read me.

You take a long, steadying breath, feeling the weight of your own hesitation. You shift in your seat, trying to ignore the way your body tenses. You take a small sip of your tea, the warm liquid a weak comfort against the unease curling in your chest.

And then, with a resigned exhale, you click on last week’s email.

“Dear me, how’s it going? Today was so boring. Ugh, I had a math exam—already?! It’s only been two weeks of school, and they’re already testing us like we’re some kind of math geniuses. Doesn’t that suck?”

You skeem through the screen, snorting a little at the memory of dreading those endless math problems. You never understood how anyone could actually like it—rules on top of rules with zero fun. The irony that you, of all people, hated math, considering you love sticking to routines and schedules, isn’t lost on you. Still, math was just too much. Too many numbers, too many formulas. You did ace it every time, though.

“Anyway, enough of the math (because seriously, ew). I’ve got something way more fun to talk about—this weekend! Jungkook and I were just wandering around town, and we found the coolest place ever. It’s called ‘The House.’ Kinda a cheesy name, I know. But trust me, the place is amazing.”

And there it is—the mention of that place. You knew it was coming. The House. It had to be. Your memory’s kinda shot, but you remember the first time you and Jungkook stumbled across it, back when you were just starting high school. The discovery was like an initiation or something.

“Jungkook actually loves the name. I guess he’s just as lame as the people who decided to call it The House,” you laugh at the thought. “Anyway, there’s this guy who works there. Not much older than us, but let me tell you, he gave us free drinks. Like, actual alcohol. Isn’t that insane? I swear, this guy’s probably underage, too, but he knows his stuff. Knows drinks like the back of his hand.”

A grin tugs at your lips. Ah, Alex. Underage drinking with him, the wild nights, and laughing until dawn. Good old days. Some things never change, though. Alex still has his talent for mixing drinks—and, considering Yoongi’s wild hangover after your last night out, it seems that talent has only gotten stronger with time.

“So that guy—his name’s Alex, I think—got us so fucking drunk. I’m talking plastered, like, can’t even stand, slurring our words drunk. We were the only two people there, plus Alex behind the bar, and we were giggling like maniacs on crack or something. It was all fun and games until... Well, something weird kinda happened. Like, it’s still a blur, but it was off.

So, Alex, poor guy, was trying way too hard to flirt with me—honestly, it physically pained me, but he’s chill, I guess. But then I turned to look at Kook, and he was just staring at me. Not like normal, you know? It was like... I don’t know, there was something in his eyes. I was like, okay, whatever, maybe it’s the booze messing with me, but then, HE JUST REACHED OVER AND TOOK A PIECE OF MY HAIR—MY BANGS OR SOMETHING—and TUCKED IT BEHIND MY EAR.”

The flash of the memory cuts through you, sharp and sudden, like a slap across your chest. You’re frozen, unable to move, as the past rushes back in full force. Jungkook and you, drunk for the first time together that night. You remember it so clearly—laughing, carefree, the three of you in your little world at the bar. You were talking to Alex, totally lost in the conversation, but when you turned around to say something to Kook, to pull him into the moment with you, he wasn’t just there.

He was watching you. Not in the way a friend watches, no. It was like... he was devouring you with his eyes, as if he was memorizing every detail, committing you to memory. It felt wrong. Or maybe, it felt too right.

And then, slowly, unsurely, his hand reached out—tentative at first, like he was still figuring it out. His fingers brushed against your hair, and you still hear Alex’s soft chuckle echoing in the back of your mind. And then Jungkook tucked that strand of hair behind your ear, like he was marking something—claiming it, claiming you.

That was the moment. The one that shifted everything. The moment you started questioning what had always been there, lurking just beneath the surface.

“Look, I don’t even know what happened, but am I delusional if I think that was like a sign or something? He looked at me in a way friends don’t look at each other. In a way I look at him. UGH, I DON’T KNOW. Maybe we were just too drunk. We didn’t mention it the next day. We only talked about how fucking cool The House and Alex are.”

You didn’t mention it, of course. You didn’t mention the way your heart had hammered against your chest, like it was about to leap out. It’s not like it meant anything to Jungkook. Poor guy had no idea he’d just fed into your fifteen-year-old fantasies. He didn’t know how something so small, so simple, like tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear, would leave you drowning in thoughts of him for years to come. He didn’t know how desperately you’d fallen for him in that moment, like some kind of hopeless, lovesick fool.

But that’s what you were.

“Okay, I am indeed delusional, but IDFK, sometimes it really seems like he likes me and then the next second it looks like I'm completely in the friendzone.”

As you skim over the screen, a long, tired sigh escapes your lips. You can’t help it. You feel bad for the teenage version of you—for the girl who lived in that strange limbo of almosts and maybes. She had no idea where life would take you and Jungkook, no clue about all the detours and heartbreaks that would come. And you feel desperately bad for her because seeing these words now? It feels like a punch to the gut.

Because no—Jungkook never liked you. Not like that. Not the way you hoped. You know that now, with painful clarity.

But there’s still a part of you, buried deep beneath all the years and healing and pretending, that held onto that teenage hope like a lifeline. And you secretly hate yourself for it.

“Anyways, let’s talk about Yoongi and Nina. Ugh. I love them both, they’re awesome. Yoongi is like an introverted and calmer version of me and I love it. We started hanging more during the past week (I literally forced him to hang with me and I know he secretly loves it) and we honestly hit it off. We read the same books, listen to the same music and hate the same celebrities which is honestly a valid reason to be friends with a person.”

You laugh under your breath. Jesus. Your fifteen-year-old self was so deep into celebrity drama it was practically a personality trait. You vaguely remember how emotionally invested you were in the whole Justin and Selena saga, and how Yoongi—quiet, unbothered Yoongi—was secretly just as obsessed. He’d never admit it out loud, but you still remember that one time he actually gasped when Justin posted Hailey for the first time.

And as much as you love the version of Yoongi that exists in your life now—the calm presence, the one who brews his own coffee and rarely checks his phone—there’s something so precious about those early days. The ones spent breathing in the dusty scent of the school library’s old books, crafting burner Twitter accounts to defend Selena Gomez’s honor, sharing earbuds at lunch and blasting Mobb Deep like you were way tougher than you actually were.

You miss it. God, you do.

But your friendship with Yoongi has grown into something so solid, so real, that maybe letting go of those chaotic teenage selves was worth it. Maybe growing up didn’t mean losing everything.

Maybe, just maybe, it meant finding something better.

“And Nina is just as awesome as Yoongi. She’s so shy—too shy. Every time Jungkook or I talk to her, her face lights up red like the tomatoes my granny grows in her garden. It’s kind of adorable. She always sides with Justin instead of Selena, though—I swear, she has way too much empathy for men. It personally offends me, but oh well. She’s just nice like that. Nice to everyone. It’s her thing.

She’s also a huge One Direction fan. I never really got into them, but Kook likes a few of their songs, so now the two of them spend an ungodly amount of time debating over which era was the best. I just sit there and watch, but I secretly love it. It feels like she’s slowly letting us in—bit by bit. Like we’re earning her trust in this soft, careful way that feels almost sacred.”

A smile tugs at your lips, uninvited but warm. Those early teenage years—the chaos of pop culture wars, the desperate need to belong somewhere, to someone. That’s what your world was made of back then. And Nina? She was a huge part of it. You remember how much you adored her. How protective you felt over her—like she was a little sister you never knew you wanted until she was suddenly just there. Fragile and kind and yours.

But as the warmth settles in your chest, so does the ache. Because losing Jungkook felt like losing your whole heart, sure—but Nina? Losing her meant losing one of your limbs. A quieter, tender kind of pain that still hasn’t found its resolution.

“Nina and I started studying together a week ago and it’s great—we make notes together, quiz each other, and honestly? I prefer studying with her over Kook or Yoongi. Kook always ends up getting distracted—we’ll sit down to revise and five minutes later we’re playing GTA San Andreas or watching The Fast and the Furious for the hundredth time. Yoongi, on the other hand, just refuses to study with someone else. He says it’s ‘not efficient’ or whatever.”

You chuckle softly, then continue reading.

“It’s different with Nina, though. She asks the right questions. We fill in each other’s blanks. She’s so calm and patient, too—it makes me a little jealous, honestly. I wish I was like that. I hope being around her more will help me become a bit more grounded.”

There’s a dull wound gnawing at your soul. You forgot—or maybe you tried to forget—just how much she meant to you. As a friend. As a confidant. As a person. Life’s cruel like that. It doesn’t steal people from you all at once. No, it does it slowly. Quietly. So slow, in fact, you don’t even realize how much of yourself you’ve lost in the process.

You chew your bottom lip, trying to keep that pain from crawling any further.

“Anyways, that’s all for this email because I can’t keep this too long (mom only lets me use the computer for 3 hours a day and I’m not planning on wasting all the time writing emails, sorry). Next one’s coming next week and girl, you better be reading my mails. Love love love you. Hope you’re okay.

Love,

You.”

You lean back into your seat. Take a sip of your tea. Drag a cigarette to your lips and let the smoke curl around your thoughts. It shouldn’t feel this heavy—this is life, right? You meet people, you grow close, and then sometimes, you drift. You lose. You rebuild. You grieve. You move on.

But still, it pangs. Hard. It plays a cruel little melody with your heartstrings because the confusion is unbearable. How do people let this happen? How did you let it happen?

Younger you would be livid if she knew. If she knew you let two of the most important people in your life just... go.

Yes, you’re trying with Jungkook. You’re piecing it back together, but God only knows if it’ll ever be the same. If either of you will ever look at each other the way you did before the world got in the way.

But Nina?

With Nina, you don’t even know where to begin. Don’t know what to say. Don’t know if she’d even want to hear it.

Your phone startles you out of the haze. The ringtone slices through the stillness, weaving itself with the nausea bubbling in your stomach and the frantic beat of your heart drumming against your ribs.

You answer with a soft yawn, stretching your legs across the sofa. “Hey.”

“Hey, what’s up?” Jungkook’s voice filters through the speaker, casual and warm. You can picture him settling onto his own couch, probably lounging like he always does—comfortably careless. Nina’s name drifts into your mind before he even says it. She’s probably there, too.

“Literally nothing, dude,” you say, voice light. “Just clocked off work and catching up on some emails.”

“Anything interesting?”

Your throat tightens. Technically, yes. So much he’d find interesting. Actually, another email—the one from this week—is open and glowing on your screen, practically mocking you with its presence. Your gaze flits to the subject line like it might catch fire. But you can’t bring yourself to read it. And you definitely can’t talk about it. Not to him. Not right now. Not with everything the way it is.

So you laugh a little, fake and breezy. “Nah, not really. You know how it is… What are you up to?”

“Nothing. Nins is showering and I’m just waiting around,” he says, like it’s the most ordinary sentence in the world. “We’ll probably throw on a movie or something.”

You nod even though he can’t see you, fingers tightening slightly around your phone. “Sounds chill,” you manage, and it does sound chill. So chill it hurts.

Because that used to be you.

You were the one he used to wait on. The one he used to watch movies with, no matter how shitty the plot was or how many times you’d both seen it already.

You’re not mad.

You can’t be.

But something inside you sinks a little lower, like a small ship finally giving in to the stormy sea it’s been fighting for years.

“She still into that British drama stuff?” you ask, keeping your voice teasing, light.

“Yeah,” he chuckles, and your chest aches at the sound. You love his laugh. Always have. “We’re rewatching Skins because apparently she has to analyze every character’s trauma.”

You laugh too, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Sounds like something she’d do.”

A silence falls—not awkward, but not quite comfortable either. You hear the distant sound of running water shutting off and your mind starts to race.

She’ll come out soon. He’ll go. The call will end. The moment will be over.

And still, you haven’t said anything. About the email. About the memory. About the way your heart never really stopped hurting since the moment you realized the person you used to love just didn’t love you back.

“Hey, Jungkook?” you say suddenly, a little more breathless than intended.

“Yeah?”

You hesitate. You could tell him. About the night at The House. About the way you still remember how he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered. About how that moment—so small, so stupid—changed everything for little you.

But instead, you smile again. That same smile you’ve used to hide everything since you were fifteen.

“Never mind. Just—miss hanging out, that’s all.”

There’s a pause. A flicker of something—regret, maybe—settling into his tone. “Yeah. Me too.”

And when the call ends, and the silence returns, you’re left staring at the glowing screen. The unfinished email waits. Lingering. Like everything you never had the guts to say.

Jungkook’s eyes instinctively flick to the doorway the moment he hears the soft creak of it opening.

There she is.

Nina.

Her hair is piled into a messy bun on top of her head, loose strands sticking to her neck where the steam from the shower still clings to her skin. The faint scent of lavender body wash fills the room in a subtle wave as she pads in barefoot, a white towel tucked securely around her body.

There’s nothing performative in her movements—no sultry glances, no dramatics. She’s just moving through her space, through their space, the way you only do when you’ve truly settled into someone. She flips through her side of the closet, humming quietly under her breath.

And then the towel drops.

Not with flourish, not like a scene out of a movie. Just a simple, unconscious surrender to routine.

Jungkook watches as she pulls on her soft cotton pajama top—the one with a tiny faded strawberry embroidered near the collar—and he feels something stir in his heart.

Comfort, maybe.

Or peace.

Because this is what they have.

A life.

Unapologetically safe. And at this point, nakedness isn’t charged with tension or expectation—it’s just another part of being known. Entirely.

“You look serious,” Nina says suddenly, her voice light as she buttons her top, “Who were you talking to, baby?”

Jungkook blinks, as if snapped out of something. “Oh. Uh, just Y/N.”

She turns, crawling into bed beside him and tossing the blanket over her legs, the corners of her mouth tugging up into a soft smile. “That’s good. How’s she doing?”

“Same old.” He shrugs, pulling her into his arms like he’s done a thousand times before. His voice is steady, but something about it feels a bit... muted.

“I’m really glad you two found your way back to each other,” she murmurs, resting her cheek against his chest. “It’s a good thing. You’ve been through so much together.”

Jungkook swallows. The words settle somewhere low and tight in his stomach.

He is glad. Truly.

But the discomfort that creeps in at the edges of his mind is undeniable.

Why does it suddenly feel like something unspoken is dragging itself between the syllables?

“Yeah,” he says softly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Me too.”

But even as he says it, he can’t shake the heaviness in his chest—the flicker of hesitation he tried to ignore during the call. The way he glossed over your name. The sudden ache when he heard you say you missed hanging out.

He closes his eyes, holds Nina tighter.

And wonders what it says about him—that he feels safest in the arms of the woman he loves, but part of his heart is still stuck in a memory he never dared to fully face.

“Did you tell her we’ll be back home for good after the wedding?” Nina’s voice is gentle as she peers up at him, her eyes wide and gleaming with that kind of innocent excitement that used to calm Jungkook.

But right now, it makes his chest tighten.

He swallows hard, like the truth’s caught in his throat. “No… I haven’t yet.”

Her brows pinch. “Why not?”

And there it is. The question he’s been avoiding even asking himself.

There’s no real reason—at least not one he can explain out loud. Not one that wouldn’t sound like betrayal. Or weakness. Or something worse.

They are moving back. In just a month, they’ll be packing the last of their things, saying goodbye to their big city apartment, and driving back home—for good. To plan the wedding. To settle into their new house, the one with space for a nursery. To build a future, one with everything they’ve both talked about for years now.

An adult life. A family. A home.

But still, he hasn’t told you.

“I just… haven’t had the right moment,” he lies, fingers absently brushing the hem of Nina’s sleeve as she cuddles closer.

The truth is messier. Uglier.

The truth is—he’s scared.

Because being close to you again always comes with a double edge. One side soft, glowing, nostalgic. Full of laughter, comfort, history. The part of him that missed you more than he realized. The part that aches for the ease of how things once were.

But the other side… the other side is dangerous.

It whispers in quiet moments. Sneaks up when Nina’s laughter fills the room but his mind is somewhere else entirely. It’s the part that remembers how your eyes used to find his in crowded school hallways. How your voice used to sound when you were teasing him about his hair or his favorite songs.

“Okay,” Nina says finally, not pushing further, her voice already melting into sleepiness as she settles against his chest.

Jungkook closes his eyes and tries to will the thoughts away.

He has everything he ever said he wanted.

Nina’s body is warm and soft against his, the quiet rhythm of her breathing syncing with his own as she flicks through Netflix absentmindedly. Her hair fans out over his chest, strands tickling his skin, and the faint scent of her shampoo mixes with the smell of their shared apartment—familiar, grounding.

She’s beautiful. Stupidly beautiful. The kind of beautiful that catches him off guard in the middle of mundane moments like this. And right now, Jungkook feels it more than ever—this throb inside of him, a pull he can’t quite name.

He wraps his arms around her tighter, needing the weight of her, the steadiness. His fingers find her chin, tilting her head just slightly before he leans in and kisses her. It’s slow at first. Then deeper. Not rushed, not urgent—just full of something that shouldn’t be named.

She lets the remote drop.

His hands move to her hair, threading through it like a lifeline. He presses his lips to her jaw, her neck, and then to the curve of her shoulder. She sighs into him, body turning to meet his.

They move together like they’ve done this a hundred times before—because they have. But something feels different tonight. Quieter. Needier. Not desperate in a physical sense, but emotional. Jungkook doesn’t understand why. He just knows he needs this. Needs her.

When they’re done, tangled in sheets and soft silence, her head resting against his shoulder, his eyes drift up to the ceiling.

And the truth—that heavy, restless truth—lingers.

They’ll be back in Cape May in less than a month. Back to the town that raised them, shaped them, bruised and blessed them.

Back to you.

Yeah, he hasn’t told you yet.

He could blame it on timing. He could say he forgot. But really, it’s because every time he thinks about telling you, something yells, "Don't do it."

So, he keeps the truth buried deep in the quiet corners of his mind.

At least for now.

If there’s one thing Nina has always used to define herself, it’s realism. She sees the world for what it is—not for what she wishes it to be. She reads people like well-worn pages, watches patterns, notices silences more than words. And maybe that’s why she’s always known the truth.

She’s the love of Jungkook’s life.

But you?

You’re his soulmate.

Not in the cliché, eye-roll-inducing way, where he’s secretly pining for you while sleeping next to her. No—it’s not about unspoken love or stolen glances. It’s worse, in a way. More subtle. More cruel. This kind of connection doesn’t scream. It hums. It lingers. It shows up in the quietest of moments—the way he softens when talking about you, the unintentional tenderness in his voice, the hesitation before he mentions your name.

Nina has learned to live with it. She’s adapted. She knows him like the back of her hand—she’s memorized the tiny shifts in his mood, the twitch of his jaw when he’s overthinking, the way he taps his foot when trying to make a decision. She’s mapped him, studied him, loved him through every version of himself.

But she wishes she didn’t have to study him so hard.

She wishes it came naturally, the way it came with you.

That part hurts.

Nina doesn’t feel insecure about your dynamic with Jungkook. She’s not one to fall into jealousy’s clutches. She knows her place in his life—she knows where she stands, and more importantly, what she cannot be. She cannot be his soulmate the way you are. She cannot be that magnetic force, that other half. And, strangely, she’s okay with that. She's accepted it because that’s how life works. You can't fight fate.

But she's still human. And sometimes, just sometimes, being human stings.

The sting isn't a deep wound, but it's there—quiet, like a splinter under the skin. And it flares up unexpectedly when Alex, that now lowkey irrelevant presence in their shared world, made his comment. He said it so casually, like a joke, but Nina saw through it immediately. His words stung more than she wanted to admit. She played it cool. Laughed through it. Gotten drunk minutes later and pretended like it never happened. But Nina knew the truth buried beneath that comment, knew the way he genuinely thought you two would have something more than just a friendship.

It wasn’t a joke to him.

And maybe it shouldn't matter to her.

But somehow, it did.

Jungkook and you—there was a weight to it. It wasn’t just the past you shared or the way he lit up when your name came up in conversation. It was something deeper, something Nina couldn’t even fully name.

Her heart twisted, but she refused to let it show. She couldn’t. She was Nina—practical, composed, grounded.

But sometimes, even the strongest of us feel the earth tremble beneath our feet. Even the most realistic of us falter in the face of truth we don’t want to see.

So logically, the selfish part of her—the deeply human part—was relieved when you were gone. When you weren't a presence in their life. When she didn’t have to watch him recalibrate every time your name appeared on a screen.

But now that you’re back, she’s surprised by how steady she feels. Maybe even grateful. Because the truth is—she missed you too. More than she ever let herself admit.

You were her friend once. Maybe still are, in some broken way.

And now you’re back to him.

And just like that, somehow, back to her too.

Because even if it’s complicated, even if it aches in all the quiet places of their hearts—both of them need you.

Each in their own messy, untranslatable, heartbreakingly honest way.

Jungkook’s soft snores fill the bedroom like a lullaby. But Nina? She’s wide awake. Restless. Her body’s still, but her mind won’t shut off. She’s been tossing for hours, trying to count sheep, breaths, memories—anything. Nothing works.

So, she does what anyone would.

She grabs her phone.

The screen glows harsh in the dark as she opens Instagram, her thumb swiping through stories like it's a lifeline. Mindless. Automatic. Until—

There it is.

Your face.

A new selfie.

It’s a pretty one. Really pretty.

Nina stares at it for a moment longer than she wants to admit. Her stomach twists, and she doesn’t know why.

Maybe she does.

She wonders if Jungkook’s seen it already.

Wonders if it made him smile.

She doesn’t want to care.

Before she can stop herself, she replies to the story.

“OMG GIRLIE, you’re so pretty.”

It’s genuine.

You reply almost instantly.

“TYYYY soo much.”

That should be the end of it.

But something gnaws at her.

That tiny thing—the one that keeps clawing at her ribs every time Jungkook mentions your name.

“We should totally have a coffee again once we get back.”

The words slip out too easily. Too casual. Too light for how heavy they feel.

Your reply is harmless.

“Sure! Hope you guys will come to visit soon.”

There it is. The knife twist.

You still think it’s a visit.

Nina stares at your message. Then, her thumbs type before her brain can catch up.

“Visiting? Girl, we’ll be back there for good in a month.”

The second she hits send, her stomach sinks.

She shouldn’t have said it.

She knows that.

Knows it too well.

You take a second to reply. Just a second. But it’s enough to send Nina’s mind spiraling into a familiar place. She stares at the screen, unmoving, unsure whether to lock it and pretend this conversation never happened or to keep waiting like she’s waiting for a sign—something small and stupid to validate this little mistake she just made. And it was a mistake. She knows it. Telling you about the move wasn’t her news to share, wasn’t something she was supposed to say. But it slipped out anyway, like her subconscious wanted you to hear it from her. And maybe it did.

Nina wonders what you’re feeling on the other side of the screen. Are you surprised? Confused? Are you smiling to yourself, maybe rereading her message to make sure you understood it right? Or are you disappointed? Maybe even a little hurt that it was her who told you instead of Jungkook. Secretly—silently—Nina hopes you are. And God, she hates herself for that. But the feeling still lingers, low in her stomach like guilt wrapped in jealousy, disguised as justification.

She doesn't think she's a bad person, though. At least, she tries not to. She’s loved you for years in the kind of quiet, complicated way only someone who has watched from the sidelines can love. Appreciated you, even when it stung. She knows what you mean to Jungkook. Knows he lights up in a different way when your name comes up. But she’s tried not to mind. Tried to carve a place for herself in his orbit without being bitter about yours. Still, there’s something cruel about always being the second kind of important. The “I chose you” important. Not the “I couldn’t help it” kind.

Because that’s the thing about you. You were never a decision. You were never something anyone had to choose. You were just... you. Effortless. Natural. The sun in a sky people plan their days around. Nina, on the other hand, always felt like something circumstantial. Picked because of proximity. Picked because she stayed long enough. She was Yoongi’s twin. She was Jungkook’s girlfriend, now his fiancée. She’s proud of those roles, grateful for them even. But it’s hard to ignore the ache that whispers: You were the one who waited in line. She was the one who got in for free.

And so, maybe that’s why she said it. Why she let it slip even when every fiber of her being warned her not to. Just once, she wanted to be the one to say something first. To watch your reaction and feel like she had the upper hand, even if just for a moment. She knows it doesn’t fix anything. It doesn’t change the fact that Jungkook didn’t tell you himself. And that silence? That’s what eats away at her the most.

Because if he hasn’t told you, it means something. Nina doesn’t know exactly what—but she’s smart. She’s always known she wasn't his soulmate. She's the woman he wants to build a life with, sure. But the difference is: you didn’t have to be wanted. You already were.

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[hhaechansmoless]

OFF THE GRID PT.2

pairing: f1driver!scoups x ex!femreader

genre: angst, romance, exes to lovers au, childhood bestfriends / neighbours au

description: Part of the Beyond The Grid series Four-time world champion Choi Seungcheol has spent years at the top with Ferrari, but as the 2025 season drags on, he can’t shake the feeling that he’s not quite where he used to be. The competition is catching up, his team isn't what it used to be, and for the first time, he’s starting to wonder if he’s past his prime. By the time the season winds down, he finds himself back in his hometown, which isn't quite the same either. But the hardest race was never on track, and sooner or later, he’ll have to figure out what comes next.

warnings: strong language, stressful situations, descriptions of car crashes and physical exhaustion, f1 heavy

w/c: Part 1 - 14k Part 2 - 13k Part 3 - 19.5k

glossary taglist a/n: please don't hesitate to comment / reblog / leave an ask w your thoughts !! hope y'all like this too <3

HOME

You walk down to your driveway, car keys jangling around your finger. Across the street, you see Seungkwan nearly colliding with his own front door as he stumbles outside, yelling a rushed goodbye over his shoulder. His bag is half open, a half-eaten apple in one hand, keys barely hanging onto his fingers. It’s a mess, but a familiar one.

You scoff, shaking your head before calling out to him. “Hey! Why are you still here? Didn’t you say you had an early meeting today?”

He grumbles before biting into his apple. He takes a minute to swallow it while he throws his bag in the back seat of his car before he turns to you. 

“Do you really have to shove it in my face? I’m already late, stop bothering me!”

“You look like you’ll crash into the next tree you see,” You roll your eyes, “Do you need me to drop you off?”

Seungkwan shakes his head and is about to say something when a car pulls into the driveway next to yours. You turn towards it, getting ready to wish Seungcheol’s dad a good morning. Seungkwan probably waits for him to get out of the car too, seeing that he hasn’t driven off yet and stands next to his opened door.

“Good morning, uncle!” Both of you greet him at the same time, making him chuckle. He waves at the two of you before looking back into his car’s window.

“How come you were out driving so early?” You ask him as you wipe some of the snow left on your windscreen wiper. He lets out a sigh, tapping the roof of the car before turning to you.

“Had to pick a certain someone up from the airport.”

The car door opens, and Seungcheol steps out, stretching his arms over his head with a quiet sigh. His hair is a little messy, like he’s just woken up or spent too long resting against the window. He adjusts the strap of his bag over his shoulder, blinking against the cold morning air. For a second, he pauses, glancing around the neighborhood like he’s reacquainting himself with it.

“What the actual fuck.” Seungkwan huffs out in disbelief, making Seungcheol snap out of his daze. He turns towards the voice to see the younger boy standing, one leg inside his car and one out, jaw hanging down. His gaze shifts towards you who’s equally surprised yet a little better at hiding it.

“I really need to get to work because I am criminally late for that meeting but I will talk to you later, Cheol.” He blinks before shutting the door.

Seungcheol’s dad pushes him towards you as Seungkwan turns his car on and drives off, not before yelling a warning for Seungcheol to fucking stay or I’ll find you. Seungcheol stumbles a little before coming to a stop in front of you.

You don’t know what to say to him, honestly. It hasn’t been long since the news of him leaving was announced, and right now as you look at him, it’s the only thing on your head. But you doubt he’d want you to ask about that, so you settle for something else.

“How come you’re here?”

He narrows his eyes at you, “Well, it’s my house. Why wouldn’t I be here?”

You roll your eyes, “Gee, thanks. Thought it was mine.”

“It should be,” His dad huffs as he pulls out a suitcase from the boot, “You’re here more than him. It’s like you’re our child.”

Seungcheol scoffs, scooting over to his dad to take the bags from his hand, “I’ll keep them myself.”

His dad gives him a look but lets go of the suitcase, clapping a hand over Seungcheol’s shoulder before heading inside. The front door swings shut behind him, leaving just the two of you standing there in the cold.

Seungcheol shifts one of his bag higher up his shoulder, eyes flicking toward you before he exhales, watching the cloud of his breath disappear into the air. “You’re up early.”

“No I’m not,” You raise your eyebrows, “I usually have work around this time.”

“I know that,” He rolls his eyes, “I was just trying to make conversation, but whatever, I guess.”

“Why are you back so soon?” You ask, kicking snow at his suitcase. It makes him hiss in annoyance. You try to hide the way your lips curve up.

“I don’t have much to do, so I thought I’d grace this town with my presence.”

“Sure.” You hum, “Well, I’m off.” 

Seungcheol almost stops you. Do you want me to drive you there? The words sit on his tongue, ready to jump out any moment. But he holds it in.

Instead, he watches as you step toward your car, keys twirling around your finger. You don’t hesitate, don’t turn back, just reach for the door handle like this is nothing, like he hasn’t been gone, like this isn’t the first time you’ve stood in front of each other in months.

You pull the door open and pause, just for a moment. “I’ll see you later, Cheol.”

And then you’re gone, leaving him standing there, hands tightening around the handle of his suitcase. He stands there for a second too long, the cold air creeping into his jacket, before finally turning toward the house.

The front door creaks when he pushes it open. It always has. The house smells the same too,faint traces of his mother’s morning tea, the sharp bite of the winter air sneaking in through the open window. Nothing’s changed.

His dad is already in the kitchen, rummaging through the fridge like he has something more important to do than acknowledge his son who just came home. His mom isn’t here, probably out running errands. Seungcheol’s brother, nowhere in sight.

Fine. He drags his suitcase over the tiles, the wheels thudding over the uneven floorboards. He should take it upstairs, put everything away, but instead, he stops at the couch.

The blanket draped over the armrest isn’t any of theirs. The corner of the right armrest, dented from years of picking at it, welcomes him, and before he can think too much about the person who owns this spot, he sighs, dropping his bag beside the couch before collapsing onto it, leaning his head back against the cushions. For a second, he closes his eyes. He knows he won’t sleep, but God, that flight was exhausting.

His dad clears his throat, finally speaking, “You hungry?”

It’s a simple question, but Seungcheol can sense the hesitation in it. The elephant in the room hasn’t been addressed yet, and honestly, he doesn’t feel like talking about it right now. So he ignores it.

“No, thanks. I’m good.”

“You ate on the flight?”

“Yeah,” He breathes out, kicking his legs up onto the sofa, “Was shit, but I’m full anyways.”

His dad hums in response, “Mum’s next door. Went to give something, but she’ll be back in a few minutes. You can go freshen up.”

Seungcheol nods and then realizes that his dad’s probably not looking his way right now, “Fine. I’ll go in a second.”

He leans back against the couch. The blanket still smells faintly of you.

—

Seungcheol spends most of the day drifting between the couch and his room, ignoring the unopened suitcase by the door, ignoring his phone, ignoring the weight of being home again.

It’s only when the sun has set, the house quieter than before, that there’s a knock at his door, soft, but firm, before it creaks open.

His mom steps inside, hands on her hips. "Are you planning to hide in here all night?"

He mumbles, rolling onto his side. "Not hiding."

"Mhm." She doesn’t sound convinced.

She takes a few steps in, eyeing the room. It looks almost exactly the same as when he left it. Same shelves, same framed photos, same forgotten belongings that no one had the heart to pack away. But there are little changes, things he wouldn’t have noticed before. A new lamp on the nightstand. An extra blanket folded at the foot of his bed.

"You should’ve told me you were coming.”

He lets out a quiet breath, turning his head toward her. "Didn’t think I needed to send out a press release."

She scoffs. "Maybe not, but at least let your mother know before you already arrive at the airport.” She studies him for a second, tilting her head. "Have you been eating properly?"

"Here we go," he groans, running a hand down his face.

"I’m serious, Cheol!" She moves to sit at the edge of his bed, reaching out to brush his hair back like she used to when he was younger. "You’ve lost weight."

"I haven’t," he grumbles, but she’s already pinching his cheek like he’s sixteen again.

"See? You’re all skin and bones. Do they not feed you? Must I argue with Seokmin to give you a diet that doesn’t consist of eating nothing"

"Not this again," he mumbles, trying to pull away, “Ma, I eat what I’m supposed to eat. I’m an athlete, come on. I’m fit.”

She exhales dramatically, shaking her head. "You get a little older and suddenly think you don’t need your mom fussing over you anymore. Unbelievable."

"Yes, well, I’m thirty and-"

"You need to eat properly, sleep more, and stop frowning so much. Look at those dark circles-"

Seungcheol groans, flopping back onto his bed. "Okay, okay, I get it! I’ll eat. I’ll sleep. Happy?"

His mom chuckles, patting his leg. "I’ll be happy when you actually do it."

He grumbles before turning away from her, making her pinch his side. Seungcheol protests with a loud yelp, but if feels nice to be here, to have someone fawning over him. He’s missed this comfort.

She sighs, softer this time. "It’s good to have you home."

He hesitates for a second before nodding. "Yeah," he says, even though he’s not sure if he means it.

Before she can pick something else to tease him about, a faint flicker of light flashes against the wall.

Then another.

His mom glances toward the window, then back at him, lips twitching. "Looks like someone’s waiting for you."

Seungcheol groans, rubbing a hand over his face before turning toward the window. He already knows what he’s going to see.

"Of course they are," he mutters.

She chuckles, standing up. "Some things never change."

"They should," he mumbles, but he still gets up anyway, shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket as he heads for the door.

His mom follows him out into the hallway, watching as he makes his way downstairs. "Be nice to them, Cheol."

He pauses on the last step, glancing back at her. "I am nice."

She raises an eyebrow.

He scoffs. "I can be nice."

She snorts, waving him off. "Hurry up before they blind the whole street. And ask them if they want to come over for dinner!"

Seungcheol shakes his head, a small smile on his face as he opens the front door, stepping out onto his porch.

“Look. It’s the king. The lion. He’s decided to grace us with his presence.” Seungkwan announces. Seungcheol sees you trying to suppress the laugh bubbling through your throat and rolls his eyes as he crosses the road, hands in his pocket, stepping onto Seungkwan’s lawn.

Seungkwan gasps dramatically, “Wow. My timing was so perfect. I literally mowed the lawn yesterday, so now Your Highness, thou can place thy sacred feet on it.”

“How about my sacred feet kick you in the face.” Seungcheol hisses, kicking his foot up. Seungkwan dodges, but it makes him laugh anyways.

You shake your head, lips twitching as you glance away, while Seungcheol just exhales, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets. "You done?"

"Not even close," Seungkwan says, tossing his flashlight into the air before catching it again. "I mean, I get it. Who wouldn’t want to trade this boring town for the glitz and glamour of Monaco, Milan, Maranello-" His tone turns pointed on the last word, eyebrows raising ever so slightly.

Seungcheol shifts, rocking back on his heels. "It’s not like I haven’t been back."

Seungkwan scoffs. "Oh, yeah, the wedding. A whole weekend of your presence. How generous."

“Oh yes, I should’ve skipped the race that I was supposed to drive in and spend time with you, since you missed me so much.”

The latter rolls his eyes, “Okay. What about the last winter break?”

Seungcheol stills at that. His glance flickers over to you, but you’ve already been looking away, hands stuffed in your jacket’s pockets as you stare at the floor, silently kicking Seungkwan’s shoes.

“Come on. Can you stop battering me already? My mum’s invited the two of you for dinner. Where’s Jihoon?” He clears his throat, frowning at Seungkwan.

You pipe up at his mention, “He’s on a business trip, probably coming back in a day or two.”

Seungkwan nods before punching Seungcheol’s shoulder playfully, “You said your mum’s invited us to dinner? I’m free.” He looks at you.

You stare back at him, glaring daggers before looking at Seungcheol, a little unsure. You’ve never hesitated to hang around at his parents’ house despite the history between you two, because you’ve known them your whole lives and because they’d convinced you that breaking up with their son did not make you any less of the daughter they never had. But with Seungcheol there, it’s different. He might not want you to be around. You’d understand.

Instead, he simply shrugs, “Are you just going to stand here? Don’t think you’re very busy either.”

You nod, making Seungkwan loop his arm into yours before he drags you across the road. You hear the little laugh Seungcheol lets out as he jogs up behind you two.

“Just so you know, I was here last night too.” Seungkwan sticks his tongue out, “Pretending to ask you was just an act. At this point, the rest of us are more familiar faces here than you are.”

“I don’t return for one year and suddenly all traces of me have apparently been erased.”

“Hell yeah, you’re quite replaceable, you know?”

Seungkwan says it playfully. He doesn’t mean it, Seungcheol knows he doesn’t. But it still hits a sore spot. His grip on the house keys slackens, just for a second, unnoticeable to anyone but him.

“Have you come home just to sit in your room all day and laze around?” Seungho asks as he leans against Seungcheol's opened door. 

“Leave me alone.” Seungcheol sighs, facing away from him, eyes glued to his phone.

“Man, you're going to fucking rot in here. Get out.” 

Seungcheol doesn’t even look up from his phone. “I am out.”

Seungho scoffs from the doorway. “Right. Sitting in a dark room all day like some washed-up, retired athlete totally counts.”

Seungcheol finally turns his head, glaring. “You’re so encouraging.”

His brother doesn’t even blink. “Not my job to encourage you. Just here to remind you that you look like shit.”

Seungcheol sighs, tossing his phone onto the bed beside him. “And you’re doing a great job. Can I rot in peace now?”

Seungho doesn’t respond right away. He just leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes studying him.

"You know," he says after a moment, voice quieter now, "Mom and Dad are actually worried."

Seungcheol exhales, rubbing his face. “They don’t need to be.”

“Well, they are.” Seungho tilts his head. “And so am I. I literally came here as soon as I got off work.”

Seungcheol looks up at him then, eyebrows furrowed. Seungho isn’t usually like this. He’s blunt, sure. Always has been. But he doesn’t usually say things like that.

Seungho sighs, running a hand over his face. “Look, I get it. This is a lot. But you’re acting like your entire life just…ended. Like there’s nothing left.”

Seungcheol clenches his jaw, looking away.

Seungho doesn’t stop. “You’ve barely left your room. You won’t even talk to anyone. And if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you want to disappear.”

Seungcheol exhales sharply through his nose. "Well, good news, I already did.”

Seungho scoffs. “You think locking yourself in here is going to help?”

Seungcheol presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, shoulders tense. “I don’t know. I just—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head. “Listen, I don’t want to talk about this right now.”

Seungho clicks his tongue, staring at him for a second. Then, finally, he mutters something and pushes off the doorframe. Seungcheol hears his footsteps down the stairs and closes his eyes again, sinking deeper into his pillow.

The palm of your hands burn from the heat as you place the paper bag down on the kitchen counter. Seungcheol’s mom peeps into it, shaking her head with a smile.

“Mum said she made too much. She saw Seungho’s car in the driveway and thought she’ll send some over since both the boys are here,” You giggle as she ruffles your hair.

“Well, she always makes too much, doesn’t she?”

“Don’t tell her I told you this, but I’m pretty sure your kids were just an excuse,” You lean in closer, “She definitely made more because she knows it’s your favourite.”

It makes her laugh out loud, clapping your shoulder affectionately before she takes the boxes out, blowing at the tips of her fingers after setting it down. As she moves around the kitchen, you notice the small sigh she lets out, a quiet, tired thing, like something’s been sitting on her chest all day.

You tilt your head. “You okay, Auntie?”

She pauses, before plastering a smile back on her face. “Oh, it’s nothing.”

You don’t buy it.

“Come on,” you say, leaning against the counter. “What’s wrong?”

She huffs out a laugh, but then, instead of brushing it off, she glances toward the staircase, voice softening.

“It’s Seungcheol.”

Your breath stills for a moment.

“He’s barely left his room since he got back,” she continues, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “Won’t go out, won’t talk to anyone, just sits up there all day doing God knows what.”

You swallow. “…He’s been like that the whole time?”

She nods, lips pressing together. “His dad and Seungho have tried, but you know how he is.” A pause. Then, gently, “Maybe he just needs the right person to talk to him.”

You stare at her, a pleading look on your face. You knew this was going to happen. You knew the moment you stepped into this house that his mom would ask you this. And still, hearing it makes you want to run right back out.

You bite your lip, shaking your head as she walks around to stand next to you, both hands on your shoulders, “Auntie, please, no-”

“Honey, he’ll listen to you. You don’t have to talk to him too much. Just try to bring him out. Please?” She pouts, tilting her head at you.

You look away from her, knowing that if you don’t, you’ll end up agreeing. It’s futile anyway because it’s like you’ve already agreed by just coming here.

“He might not even want to talk to me,” You argue weakly.

“Oh!” She waves, dismissing the thought, “You’re still his best friend. He’ll still care about what you say.”

There’s every reason to say no. It’s going to be awkward, difficult, and messy. You don’t know what you’re supposed to say to him. It was easiest at the wedding because you didn’t think you’d have to be around him for more than a few hours. It was easier that night because Seungkwan was there to fill in the gaps between you two. What will you do now?

But there’s another part of you, the part that has known Seungcheol your whole life, that has spent years learning every stubborn, impossible part of him, that knows he won’t come out of this on his own.

And so, after a long pause, you nod.

"Alright," you murmur. "I’ll try."

She squeezes your hand in thanks, offering a small, grateful smile before turning back to the food.

You push off the counter, inhaling deeply as you make your way toward the stairs.

This is going to be a mistake.

But you climb the steps anyway.

The hallway is quiet. His door is shut. You lift your hand to knock, and pause. What if he really doesn’t want to see you? What if he tells you to leave?

You shake the thought away and finally knock.

"Cheol?"

Silence.

You wait for a few more seconds before gently pushing the door open.

He’s lying on his bed, blanket pulled over his head, face turned away.

"Your mom told me to come up," you say, stepping inside. "She wanted me to check if you’re still alive."

Seungcheol voice comes out muffled. "Unfortunately."

You don’t laugh. You don’t even roll your eyes. Instead, you cross your arms.

"Come on. Get up."

He groans. "Not now."

"Yes, now."

"Why?"

You reach for the switchboard to turn on the lights. "Because if you don’t, your mom is going to start guilt tripping me instead."

Seungcheol peeks at you from under his arm. “Sucks for you, then.”

You don’t move. "Seungcheol."

He knows that tone.

And yet, he still tries. “Just let me-”

"No." Your voice is firmer now, something final in it. "You’ve been sitting in here for days. If you don’t want to talk, fine. But you need to move. I don’t care if we just sit outside. We’re leaving."

He exhales, staring at the ceiling for a moment before finally sitting up, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. "Where are we even supposed to go?"

You tilt your head. "Just put on your clothes and come out.”

Somehow, that works.

He groans as he stands, reaching for the jacket in reach. He doesn’t feel like going out. But he also doesn’t feel like fighting you.

You turn away from him, pulling out your phone to send a message to Seungkwan and Jihoon. 

“I’m going back home to find my scarf,” You tell him, still typing away on your screen, “It’ll take just a minute so wait outside.”

Seungcheol sighs, “Just take one of mine.” 

You whip your head towards him, eyes narrowing, to which he replies. “I don’t want to be out any longer than needed.”

You hesitate for a second, still holding your phone, before slipping it into your pocket.

“Fine,” you mutter, stepping past him.

Seungcheol doesn��t say anything, just sighs as you brush past his shoulder and into his room.

The room feels lived in but distant, like someone occupying a space they don’t expect to stay in for long. A jacket is draped carelessly over the chair in the corner, his suitcase still half-zipped by the door. On the desk, a set of keys, a crumpled receipt, and an old water bottle sit untouched, like he came back, but never really settled in. 

You shake your head, hoping he notices and cleans up. You haven’t been in this room since… Since after you two broke up. 

Your eyes drift toward the chair in the corner, the one you used to curl up in whenever you came over and he was too busy doing something else.

It’s stupid, how comfortable this still feels. Like no time has passed. Like everything is still the same.

You push the thought away and head for his closet, fingers brushing over the hanging jackets before grabbing the first scarf you see. It’s only when you pull it around your neck that you realize that it was yours. Memories flicker, piecing themselves together. A winter evening, a half-hearted argument, him tugging the scarf from around your neck with some teasing remark before stuffing it into his jacket.

"You’re always forgetting your stuff anyway," he’d said, grinning as he walked ahead.

But you never got it back. You don’t even remember when you stopped looking for it.

Yet, somehow, he had it all along.

Seungcheol is already leaning against the banister, hands tucked into his hoodie pocket. When he glances up, his gaze stays on your for a few seconds, like he knows exactly what you just realized.

The cold nips at your skin the second you step outside.

Seungcheol exhales sharply, shoving his hands deep into his hoodie pockets as he follows you down the steps. 

For a while, neither of you say anything. Your footsteps crunch softly against the thin layer of snow coating the pavement, the air crisp and quiet.

Eventually, Seungcheol sighs. "So where are we actually going?"

"Nowhere far," you say simply.

He doesn’t push, just breathes out, tilting his head back slightly as he walks beside you. The silence between you is less heavy than before, but not quite comfortable either.

When the playground finally comes into view, you hear the soft creak of the swings in the distance, the last few kids of the evening still chasing each other across the grass. The sky is turning shades of deep blue, the early winter sunset settling over the town.

Seungcheol slows his steps, eyes narrowing.

"Seriously?"

You step onto the curb, turning to face him. "You got a better idea?"

He looks at the park, then at you, then back at the park again before scoffing.

“…God, we really are just lingering at this point, huh?”

You snort, brushing snow off a wooden bench before plopping down. "Just sit down."

Seungcheol exhales, shaking his head. "This is pathetic. We’re like jobless thirty year olds who look like we’re avoiding our real world responsibilities.."

“Speak for yourself, I have a job,” You frown as he sits down next to you.

Seungcheol huffs after a few seconds of silence, “Why are you here? I mean, this must be uncomfortable. I’ll let my mom know that-”

“That what?” You interrupt him, but he flinches in a way that makes you think you came out snappier than you meant to.

“I don’t know,” He shrugs defensively, “We broke up, but we’re here now pretending like nothing happened.”

“Well, you quit your job and the one thing you’ve spent your entire life doing and we’re here pretending like that didn’t happen either,” You snap now, “What do you want me to do Cheol? Ignore you and pretend like you haven’t been my best friend for my entire life?”

“Can we not do this now?” He sighs, rubbing his hands over his face. “I just thought—”

You tilt your head, voice quieter now. “Oh, so you’re okay with talking about our breakup, but not something that’s literally changed the course of your life?”

Seungcheol shakes his head. “That’s not-” He stops himself, jaw tightening.

You don’t push.

Because you could. You could press him, ask him why he won’t talk about it, why he can sit here and acknowledge that you left him but won’t say a word about how he left racing. But you don’t.

Instead, you sigh, rolling your shoulders back. “Alright, fine. No more talking about feelings. You want to discuss the economy instead?”

He scoffs, his expression caught between amusement and frustration. “Shut up.”

You shrug. “You don’t want to talk about anything real, so I figured we’d pivot to stocks or whatever.”

Seungcheol huffs, shaking his head as he leans back against the bench. “I hate you.”

You hum, “You can avoid stuff, but lying is a new low.”

And before Seungcheol can respond, a voice cuts in.

“Are you guys seriously arguing at a children’s playground?”

The two of you turn to see Seungkwan and Jihoon standing behind you, the younger with his hands on his hips, thoroughly unimpressed.

You groan, rubbing your temples. “Seungkwan.”

Jihoon sighs, already tired. “Can we go now?”

Seungcheol blinks, shifting where he sits. “Go where?”

Seungkwan raises a dramatic eyebrow. “To the supermarket.”

Seungcheol stares at him. Then at Jihoon. Then back at Seungkwan.

“…Why?”

Jihoon exhales sharply. “Because I just got back home and my fridge is literally empty.”

Seungcheol’s expression barely changes. “And that’s my problem because…?”

Seungkwan smacks the back of his head.

"Ow—"

"Because we’re functioning adults who need food to survive, and you need some fresh air and some normalcy in your life, dumbass.”

Seungcheol glares, rubbing the spot where he got hit. "You say that like you function."

Seungkwan gasps dramatically. "How dare you."

Jihoon pinches the bridge of his nose. “Oh my God, just get up before I starve to death.”

—

It starts the second you step inside.

Seungkwan grabs your arm, Jihoon immediately makes a beeline for the produce section, and Seungcheol ends up pushing the shopping cart.

He stares down at it, hands gripping the handle. “Why am I the one doing this?”

Seungkwan breezes past him, dropping in a family-sized bag of chips. “Because you’re the tallest. Cart-pushing is a tall person’s job.”

Seungcheol squints. “That’s literally not how that works.”

Jihoon, standing by the vegetables, doesn’t even look up. “It does now.”

You snicker as you step past Seungcheol, tossing a pack of instant noodles into the cart.

His eyes flick to you, unimpressed. “And you’re contributing to my suffering.”

“I don’t make the rules,” you hum.

Seungkwan immediately points. “Yes, you do.”

You wave him off, reaching for something on the shelf. Seungcheol watches as—without thinking— you pick up a box of his favorite cereal and toss it into the cart.

Then, like your brain just registered what you did, your hand twitches slightly.

You don’t take it out.

Seungcheol exhales, looking away before he can think too much about it. “Jihoon, hurry up, you’re taking this way too seriously.”

Jihoon doesn’t appreciate that comment as he inspects the head of lettuce that he’s holding

“It’s called being an adult, Seungcheol.” He puts the lettuce back, reaching for another one. “Maybe you should try it sometime.”

Seungcheol scowls. “You say that like I don’t literally pay taxes—”

Jihoon holds up a finger, “You’ve been living in Monaco recently, man. Don’t know about that.”

Seungkwan grabs the cart and dramatically swerves it away. “Okay! We’re splitting up. Jihoon, you get your boring groceries. Cheol, you stay here and mope. We-” He gestures between you and himself. “-are getting snacks.”

Seungcheol watches as Seungkwan drags you away, leaving him with Jihoon, who is now very aggressively examining a bell pepper.

“I hate my life,” Seungcheol mutters, rolling the cart forward.

Jihoon hums. “Yeah? You think this bell pepper cares?”

Seungcheol sighs, rolling the cart forward as Jihoon picks up another vegetable.

“You’re seriously overthinking this,” Seungcheol mutters, watching as Jihoon turns a tomato over in his hand, eyes narrowed in intense concentration.

Jihoon doesn’t respond immediately. He places the tomato back, fingers tapping against the cart’s handle as he walks a little further down the aisle. “And you’re seriously underthinking everything.”

Seungcheol furrows his eyebrows. “Is this about the groceries, or is this about something else?”

Jihoon hums, inspecting a bag of onions before dropping them into the cart. “You tell me.”

Seungcheol grips the handle of the cart a little tighter, jaw tightening. “If this is your way of saying I should start talking about things, you should know by now that it’s not gonna happen in the middle of a supermarket in the fucking vegetable aisle.”

Jihoon finally turns to look at him. “When is it gonna happen, then?”

Seungcheol doesn’t answer.

Jihoon sighs, pushing his sleeves up. “Look, I’m not gonna sit here and lecture you like some after school special. But I know you, Cheol. And you know me. So let’s skip the part where you act like you’re fine, and I pretend to believe you.”

Seungcheol rolls the cart forward, not meeting Jihoon’s eyes. “It’s not that deep.”

Jihoon laughs under his breath, shaking his head. “Right. Not that deep.” He gestures vaguely. “You’re just home, doing nothing, avoiding everyone, and pretending like leaving Ferrari and your career was just some casual decision you made overnight.”

Seungcheol’s grip on the cart tightens. “You know it wasn’t.”

Jihoon watches him for a second, then sighs. “I’m not trying to piss you off.”

“You’re not,” Seungcheol mutters, but he doesn’t sound convincing.

Jihoon doesn’t call him out on it. Instead, he picks up a bunch of bananas, inspecting them for a second before tossing them into the cart.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Jihoon says, voice a little quieter now. “But don’t expect people to pretend it’s not happening, either.”

Seungcheol exhales, tilting his head back.

For a second, he just stares at the ceiling. At the blinding, stark white, boring supermarket lights, at nothing in particular.

Then, finally, he mutters, “I don’t expect anything.”

Jihoon watches him for a moment longer, then shrugs. “Good.”

And just like that, he grabs the cart and starts pushing it forward like the conversation never happened.

Seungcheol lingers for a second before following him without another word.

When he gets the message from Seokmin, Seungcheol tries hard. He tries really, really hard to not care. To just swipe away the notification, to switch his phone off and go outside. But Seungcheol’s own mind is his jail, his actions his chains, and he unlocks his phone to open Twitter. He still follows the Ferrari account, thinks it might be too harsh to unfollow them already, so the tweet is the first thing on his time line.

“Welcoming in a new era of Scuderia Ferrari, we are glad to announce that Kim Jungwoo will be driving with us in 2025!”

Attached to it is a visualiser of Jungwoo—who was previously a reserve driver for Mercedes— donning the Ferrari suit.

Seungcheol doesn’t know how long he’s been staring at his screen when a follow up message from Seokmin pops up. He clicks on it by mistake and is instantly hit with a bunch of messages asking how he is. How does he reply to this news? If he said he didn’t care, Seokmin would see right through him. If he admitted to being surprised, it would be too honest. So instead, Seungcheol leaves him on read.

He gets up, shoving his phone into his hoodie’s pocket. He should probably go out for some air. It’s a Sunday morning, and even though it’s still December, the sun shines a little brighter today, and the cold bites a little less. It’s pleasant. Maybe he’ll just catch some sunlight outside in his backyard. 

Seungcheol walks out of the back door, still lost in his thoughts.

The red suit, the new ‘era’. Even though he chose this, it stings. It feels like they’re erasing his presence. The rational part of his mind reminds him that this announcement has actually come late. That any other team would’ve found a replacement as soon as they could’ve. That Seungcheol leaving actually did leave them stranded for a while. 

Jungwoo. Jungwoo. Why would they replace him with… Jungwoo? 

It’s not like he’s a bad driver, Seungcheol reminds himself. His talent was being wasted as a reserve.

It’s just that Jungwoo wouldn’t have been the first person he thought of. He feels a little bad for thinking that the man wouldn’t have been Ferrari’s first choice either. But Jungwoo has always been a nice guy to be around. The team will have it a little easier this year without two drivers constantly fighting each other on track, all the time.

A muffled thud against his chest makes Seungcheol snap out of his daze. He looks down, seeing the white remnants of snow before looking up again. His first thought is Seungkwan, but the boy’s house is too far for him to aim so accurately. His eyes slowly move towards your backyard, separated only by a picket fence.

“What are you thinking so hard about, man?” You squint at him, “Not a very common sight.”

“Hey,” Seungcheol greets before bending down. It makes you yell in defence.

“Don’t! Please!” You squeal, running away from the fence, “Cheol, I have a cold.”

“Oh come on,” He rolls his eyes, “Excuses.”

“No, seriously.” You nod, stepping closer to show him, “My nose is red, see! From all the blowing.”

“Really?” Seungcheol asks, walking over to you.

You nod again, sticking your face over the fence so that he can see.

He bends down to your level, leaning in to observe. And then he gasps.

Seungcheol doesn’t usually gasp, you realize. Not unironically, anyway. But you’re too slow to move away before he drops a small snowball onto your face.

You stumble behind, spluttering to get the snow off your nose and mouth. You hear Seungcheol laugh, bright and loud and for a second you have half the heart to deck him in the face. But it hits you that you haven’t heard him laugh like this in ages, so you hold it in and splutter a little more.

But just as soon as he realizes it, he stops, drawing his lips back into a straight line.

You narrow your eyes at him, “What was that?”

“What?”

“Why are you suddenly frowning again?”

He shakes his head, telling you to let it go but you don’t. “Come on, just tell me, it’s not going to kill you.”

Seungcheol stalls for a second. He could tell you. You’d understand, and it isn’t something that he’s very, very deeply upset by. He knows he’ll get over it in some time. So before he can second-guess himself, he opens his mouth.

“It’s nothing really,” He shrugs, shifting weight from one foot to another, “Ferrari’s getting Kim Jungwoo to drive for them from next year.”

“Oh.” You nod slowly, an understanding expression flashing over your face. He waits, wondering if you’ll say something else. When you don’t, he speaks again.

“Did you already see the news?”

“Nah,” you purse your lips, kicking the snow around absentmindedly, “After it was announced that you were leaving, I kind of unfollowed them on all my social media. Not much reason to know what’s going on with them anymore, is there?”

Seungcheol hates that what you said makes him smile. It’s good to know that the only reason you kept up with the team was him. He tries to keep a blank face. “Huh.”

You snort. “Honestly, I don’t know why I even followed them in the first place. They’re so unserious.”

Seungcheol raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

She shrugs, leaning against the fence. “Come on, you know what I mean. Always making the worst strategy calls, acting like they have their shit together, and then screwing you over, like, five laps into the race.”

He shakes his head, “That’s not-”

“Ok. Explain Brazil 2024, then.”

It makes him groan, hand coming up to cover his face, “Can we not talk about that. God.”

“Like? Who the hell puts intermediates on a drying track? God, imagine spending years dealing with that.”

Seungcheol rolls his eyes. "Yeah, imagine."

And somehow, just like that, he finds himself slipping into it, this old, familiar rhythm. Complaining about Ferrari like it's just another bad joke between them. It’s easy.

Too easy.

"Honestly, I should’ve known they were hopeless when they let you sit in the pit box for ten minutes at Silverstone with no tires ready," you muse, shaking your head. "Like. Be so fucking for real."

Seungcheol is about to laugh when he realises.

His ex is standing here, bitching about his old team the way best friends complain about their friend’s shitty ex.

And the irony of it fucking knocks the wind out of him.

He pushes the thought away before glancing at you again. “Have you always disliked Ferrari? I thought you liked them.”

You scoff, shaking your head, “No, not really. I just had a favourite driver.”

And fuck.

That shouldn’t get to him, but it does.

Without thinking, he mumbles, “Yeah? Don’t have one anymore, do you?”

You still, gaze flying up to his face. “It depends. Are you going back?”

Seungcheol holds your stare for a few seconds before looking away, bringing his hand up to brush his nose. He pretends to sniffle, to fill the silence. But you wait. It’s about time he answers anyways. It’s been more than two weeks. None of you know what’s going on with him.

“Cheol.” Your tone sounds a bit stern now, and it makes his turn further away from you, “Cheol, look at me.”

He begrudgingly faces you, glancing at your face for a second before looking down at his shoes.

“Are you going back?”

He doesn’t reply instantly. You didn’t expect him to anyway, but when he does, it only confirms what you’ve been suspecting all along. 

“No,” He sighs, “Not for this season, no.”

“Okay,” You nod, “You’re just taking a break. Not retiring.”

He nods too, swallowing hard before looking up at the sky, “Sun’s out today. Don’t you have anything better to do?”

You roll your eyes, “Just say you want me gone.”

Seungcheol shrugs, “Assume whatever you want.”

“Alright then,” You hum, turning around, towards your house to leave when you remember. “Did Seungkwan tell you, by the way?”

“What?” He’s looking at you.

“He was wondering if we’d like to visit this rooftop bar on New Year’s Eve. I think it’s opened recently.”

His shoulders drop visibly. He’s trying to put on the exhausted act, you know. 

“I don’t know, I don’t feel like celebrating anything right now and-”

“Okay, I’m sorry, I should’ve phrased this better.” you interrupt him, “He’s already reserved a table for the four of us and wanted me to inform you.”

Seungcheol scoffs, “Then why’d you say it like that?”

“Just wanted to make it seem like you had the option to decline, sorry.” You yell over your shoulder as you skip up to your porch. “Guess I’ll see you day after, then.”

The door swings shut behind you.

Seungcheol exhales, shoving his hands into his pockets as he kicks lightly at the snow.

“Guess so.”

The bar is warm, buzzing with life. On second thought, coming here in the midst of winter was probably not the best decision, but the heat from the alcohol and the many radiators around the place make up for the cold. The low hum of conversation weaves through the clinking of glasses and the occasional burst of laughter from a nearby table. The four of you have been here for a while now, tucked into a corner booth, half-empty plates in front of you and the remnants of shared appetizers pushed to the side.

Seungkwan, already three drinks deep, leans back against the booth with a dramatic sigh. "Man, I love this place. Good food, good company—" He points a fry at Jihoon. "Except for you."

Jihoon, unbothered, spears a piece of chicken with his fork. "Good."

You snicker into your glass. "Couldn’t even make it ten minutes into the meal before fighting, huh?"

Seungcheol exhales, shaking his head as he pushes his sleeves up. "It was inevitable."

Seungkwan groans. "Oh my God, listen, I’m just saying, I don’t understand why you’re like this. We’re here to have a good time, and you’re sitting there like a- like a-" He waves his hands, searching for the right words.

Jihoon deadpans, "Like a what, Seungkwan?"

"A fun-hating, emotionally repressed, grumpy old man."

Jihoon hums, chewing. "And yet, here you are, still inviting me places."

Seungkwan gasps. "Because I pity you."

Seungcheol, who has been stirring the ice in his glass with his straw, shakes his head. "You two have issues."

Seungkwan scoffs when you nod along, “Hey, you two have issues too!”

It makes you snap at him playfully, “At least we’re still amicable about it!”

Seungkwan continues, “Okay, then. Only ‘Mr. I won’t fucking talk about my emotions’ does.”

Seungcheol stiffens. He recovers quickly, taking a slow sip of his drink, but you catch it.

Jihoon does too. "Seungkwan."

"What?" Seungkwan blinks, setting his drink down. "I’m just saying-" He stops when Jihoon elbows him under the table. His lips purse, eyes darting to you, then back to Seungcheol. "Fine. New topic."

You exhale, trying to ease the sudden tension. "Yeah, let’s maybe talk about literally anything else."

Seungkwan, still slightly flustered, snaps his fingers. "Okay. Resolutions. Everyone, go."

Jihoon rolls his eyes. "I’m not doing this."

Seungkwan ignores him. "I’ll start. I am manifesting a rich, hot, emotionally available woman into my life. Preferably earning like seven figures. I can be her house-husband if she wants."

Seungcheol snorts. "Good luck with that."

"Don’t be jealous just because my standards are higher than yours."

Jihoon hums, “I know you mean to insult him, but don’t you think it’s more insulting to her?” He waves his fork in your direction, “I mean, they literally dated for what, like three years? And they’d been crushing on each other for literally half their lives.”

Seungcheol narrows his eyes. "You guys are literally bullying me at my first social event in weeks."

Seungkwan pats his shoulder. "Welcome back, buddy."

You smile, watching them banter. This feels normal. Almost like it used to be before everything changed. Before Seungcheol’s entire world flipped upside down. Before yours did too.

You glance at him. He isn’t saying anything, just stirring his drink again, gaze slightly distant.

"Cheol?"

He looks up.

You tilt your head. "Resolutions?"

He holds your stare for a second before he exhales, leaning back into his seat. "I don’t know," he mutters. "Haven’t thought about it."

Seungkwan clicks his tongue. "Think your next career should be in PR, honestly."

Seungcheol shrugs. "Don’t have anything I want to manifest into my life, I guess."

Jihoon, still picking at his food, speaks without looking up. "Or maybe you just don’t know what you want yet."

Seungcheol stills.

No one says anything for a moment.

You watch him carefully. He’s good at hiding things, good at pretending he’s unbothered, but you know him better than that.

The silence stretches, too long, too heavy.

So you break it.

"Well, I’ve got a resolution for you."

Seungcheol raises an eyebrow. "Oh?"

You nod, leaning forward. "Go outside more. See the sun. Maybe even touch some grass."

Jihoon hides a smirk behind his drink.

Seungkwan points. "Ohhh, she got you there."

Seungcheol rolls his eyes but exhales, his shoulders easing up. "Wow, thanks. Really helpful."

"Anytime." You grin.

Jihoon, now slightly more invested, sighs. "Fine. If we’re actually doing this-" He sets his fork down. "I guess my resolution is to sleep more."

Seungkwan stares. "That’s your resolution? That’s so boring."

"It’s realistic."

Seungcheol hums, tilting his glass slightly. "Yeah. Maybe I’ll add that one to my list too."

Seungkwan gives him a look. "Right. Because you totally need more excuses to lie in bed all day." He turns to you.

“What about you, my favourite person in the room?”

You hum, rolling your glass between your fingers as you think. "I guess… just figuring things out."

Seungkwan tilts his head. "Figuring what out?"

You hesitate. "Life. What I want from it."

For a second, no one speaks. Jihoon glances at you briefly, then looks away. Seungkwan, for all his dramatics, stays quiet, watching you with something like understanding.

Seungcheol’s gaze lingers the longest.

It’s not an obvious thing, not something anyone else would catch. But you feel it. The weight of his stare. The way his fingers drum against his glass, like he’s stopping himself from saying something.

Finally, Seungkwan exhales, breaking the moment before it stretches too long. "Damn. That was deep."

You snort, shaking your head. "You asked."

Seungcheol lets out a quiet breath, tipping his glass slightly before setting it down. "Figuring things out, huh?"

You glance at him, but his expression is unreadable.

Jihoon shifts in his seat, crossing his arms. "Makes sense. We’re not exactly eighteen anymore."

"Thank God for that," Seungkwan mutters, before perking up suddenly. "Oh! Speaking of—what’s the first thing you guys wanna do next year? Like, the second it turns midnight?"

You tilt your head. "I don’t know?"

Seungcheol lets out a quiet laugh, and something about it settles warm in your chest.

Seungkwan dramatically shakes his head. "Boring. Jihoon?"

Jihoon shrugs. "Go home."

Seungkwan glares. "Why do I even ask you guys things?"

Before anyone can reply, the TV volume rises slightly, and the sound of the New Year’s Eve broadcast pulls your attention. One minute.

The countdown hums in the air, anticipation bubbling in the spaces between laughter and half-finished drinks. From up here, the city stretches endlessly, a thousand tiny lights flickering.

Ten. Seungkwan wobbles slightly, the telltale sign of one too many cocktails. He grabs your arm, eyes twinkling.

Nine. "Guys," he slurs, "New Year’s tradition. Come here."

Eight. Jihoon exhales sharply, rubbing his temples. "Whatever it is, don’t."

Seven. "You didn’t even let me finish!"

Six. "No," Jihoon repeats.

Five. Seungkwan is already moving, ignoring Jihoon completely. He leans in and smacks a kiss onto your cheek, holding your face in both hands as you laugh and return the favor.

Four. Then, Seungcheol’s name slips past Seungkwan’s lips.

Three. Seungcheol finally looks over, his gaze breaking away from the skyline. You see the exact moment he realizes what’s about to happen.

Two. "Don’t you fucking-"

One. Seungkwan grabs him by the shoulders, dramatically pressing a sloppy, exaggerated kiss to his cheek. Seungcheol jerks back like he’s been physically attacked, wiping his face aggressively.

Zero. Jihoon tries to escape, but he’s not fast enough. Seungkwan catches him by the collar and yanks him back in, completing the set. Jihoon lets out a noise that’s half a groan, half a plea for mercy.

Fireworks explode in the sky, casting everything in bursts of color, reflecting off glass, off city windows, off Seungcheol’s skin.

And when you turn back toward him, he’s already looking at you.

Something heavy settles in your chest.

Because this…this moment, this night, this space between you. It’s familiar. Too familiar.

New Year’s Eve used to mean something different. It used to mean his hand finding yours before the countdown even finished, his smiling lips pressing against yours, just as the first firework lit the sky.

It used to mean you and him, always.

And now, it means this.

Seungcheol swallows. His fingers twitch slightly at his sides, his gaze flickering lower for a second too long, too telling.

For a moment, you wonder.

If things were different, if things hadn’t changed, he would’ve been kissing you instead.

And God, wouldn’t everything be so much easier?.

The world feels softer around the edges, your pulse too loud in your ears, and you wonder if he hears it too.

Seungcheol exhales, blinking like he’s trying to shake something off. And then just like that, the moment passes.

Seungkwan sighs dramatically, swaying where he stands. “God, I love you guys.” He throws his arms around both you and Seungcheol, completely ruining the moment.

Jihoon, still rubbing his cheek aggressively, mutters, “I hate all of you.”

You don’t laugh.

Instead, you break the silence first. “Happy New Year, Cheol.”

Seungcheol looks at you again. Something unreadable flickers in his eyes, something you can’t name. Something you don’t dare to. But it’s the new year, girl. You better start figuring your life out.

He exhales. “Yeah,” he murmurs. "Happy New Year."

The driveway is full of movement. Suitcases rolling, car doors slamming, voices overlapping as their parents double check everything for the tenth time. Seungho leans against the car—the designated driver for the airport run— arms crossed, looking thoroughly unbothered by the chaos.

“Are we done?” he calls, watching the four parents shuffle through their bags. “Or do you want to unpack and repack one more time just to be sure?”

His mother slaps his hand playfully, still making him flinch as she walks past him.

You drag the last suitcase down from your house, stumbling over the lawn, onto Seungcheol’s driveway where your parents wait. But before you can lift it into the car, Seungcheol steps in. “Just leave it here,” he says, nodding toward the side. “I’ll keep it.”

You blink. “Why?”

Seungcheol jerks his chin toward the trunk. “There’s no space left. Just leave it, I’ll figure it out.”

You glance at the car’s boot, suitcases jammed together in a precarious puzzle. He’s right. Trying to squeeze in another bag would probably end with someone’s luggage flying out on the highway.

Before you can respond, he’s already reaching for another suitcase, lifting it effortlessly into place. His arms flex under his t-shirt, veins prominent along his forearms as he shifts the weight. You look away before your gaze can linger.

When everything is put in and all the last checks are done, Seungcheol’s dad walks up to him, clapping a hand over his shoulder. “Take care of things while we’re gone, yeah?”

He nods, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Your mom’s voice comes out muffled as she keeps her handbag inside the car, “Take care of each other, okay?”

His mom nods, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “And try not to fight.”

It’s such a simple remark, one that could easily be brushed off as something parents would say to any two people left alone for a while. But the way they say it, the way their voices dip just slightly. You don’t really like it. Feels like they’re intentionally teasing the two of you.

You open your mouth to protest, but Seungho honks the horn impatiently. “Do you guys want me to book another flight for tomorrow, or are we leaving now?”

Your mom reminds you to throw out the milk tomorrow as she gets into the car and closes the door shut. Last minute reminders and goodbyes are thrown at the two of you before the car finally pulls out of the driveway.

You watch your dad wave from the window, making you smile as you wave back. You stand with Seungcheol in silence until you see the car disappear around a turn.

He sighs, a fond expression on his face before he turns to you, “Well. I’m still shocked with the fact that no one’s sent in a noise complaint about us by now.”

“They’re used to it, I guess,” You snort. “Hey, remember the last time they left us alone?”

Seungcheol lets out a short laugh, shaking his head. “How could I forget? You almost burned the kitchen down.”

You scoff. “Excuse me? We almost burned the kitchen down.”

He gives you a pointed look. “You put an entire metal pot in the microwave.”

“And you watched me do it,” you fire back.

Seungcheol groans, rubbing his temples. “I was a little distracted, alright?”

You huff out in disbelief. “By what?”

“I don’t know? You were the one with your hands up my shirt-” Seungcheol clamps his lips shut as soon as the words escape him, his mouth running faster than his brain.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK. Why would you say that, you buffoon?

You blink at him, an awkward sound leaving your mouth. He looks like he’s about to strangle himself to death any time now, so you try to push down the colour rising to your cheeks and decide to take him out of his misery.

“Yeah, well, whatever,” You roll your eyes, but it doesn’t come off as dismissive as you intend for it to. If anything, it almost sounds like you’re agreeing with him.

Seungcheol notices too. His eyes flicker, like he’s not sure whether to be alarmed or relieved.

The awkwardness settles heavy in the space between you, which Seungcheol should’ve definitely not opened up.

He clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “Right. Uh. Anyway.”

“Yeah.” You nod, a little too quickly.

Seconds pass, then a few more.

And then, deciding this is definitely getting too weird, you spin on your heel. “I’m going inside.”

“Good call,” Seungcheol mutters, dragging a hand down his face as you walk off.

Great. Fantastic. Just what he needed to begin the three weeks without your parents.

—

You step into your room and shut the door behind you, exhaling sharply.

What the fuck was that?

You press your hands to your face, as if somehow, somehow, that will help erase the last five minutes from existence. But your brain is already working against you, replaying the moment in crystal clear detail.

I don’t know? You were the one with your hands up my shirt—

You groan, dragging your palms down your face. Why would he say that? No. Actually, why would he say it like that? Like it was just a casual, normal fact? Like it was something that could be thrown into the conversation without completely derailing your entire sense of self?

And then—oh, because it wasn’t already bad enough—you had to go and agree with him.

You groan again, louder this time, flopping onto your bed before immediately sitting up again. No, you can’t sit still. You need to move, shake this weird, unbearable feeling out of your body.

It’s fine, you tell yourself. This is fine. It’s just Seungcheol. You’ve said worse in front of him, he’s said worse in front of you. It is not a big deal.

Except it feels like a big deal. And no matter how hard you try, you can’t quite ignore the way your skin feels a little too warm, or how your mind keeps circling back to the fact that, for just a second, he looked like he was waiting for you to say something else.

You take a deep breath, fanning your face with your hands, and march toward the window to pull the curtains closed.

And that’s when you see him.

Standing in his own room, directly across from yours, also mid-freakout.

Seungcheol’s hands are in his hair, mouth moving like he’s talking to himself. He paces around his room and then, as he turns, his eyes land on you.

Both of you freeze.

The silence stretches. Neither of you move.

Then, at the same time, you both panic.

Seungcheol immediately grabs his phone and stares at it like it holds the meaning of life, screen dark and completely off. You, on the other hand, take the only logical course of action. You very slowly reach for the curtains and pull them shut.

Nope. Not dealing with this.

Behind the fabric, you stand there for a moment, gripping the edges so tightly that you think you might pull the curtains down. Outside, you hear a muffled “Fuck.”

Yeah. Exactly.

Your hands are still gripping the curtains when your phone buzzes.

You don’t even need to check to know who it is.

Seungcheol: you saw nothing. [16:25]

A disbelieving scoff escapes you before you can stop it. Like hell you saw nothing.

Your fingers hover over the keyboard, debating whether to respond or pretend you’re already asleep. But then, another buzz.

Seungcheol: You… didn’t right? You looked just as surprised. [16:25]

You roll your eyes and push the curtains open just enough to peek out. Seungcheol is still in his room, still looking thoroughly distressed, one hand on his hip and the other rubbing at his jaw. When he sees you looking, his eyes widen comically.

You narrow your eyes and type back.

You: Oh I saw EVERYTHING. [16:26]

Across the window, Seungcheol visibly groans. Your phone vibrates again.

Seungcheol: okay but honestly what the fuck was that. [16:26]

“You were the one that said it, idiot.” You call out to him, an edge of irritation in your voice as you whip the curtains open completely.

Seungcheol has the audacity to open his windows as he scoffs, “Well, you replied to that in a very weird way.”

You open your mouth to argue, but you have nothing to say, really. You could’ve ignored him, or just thrown a weird look, or called him an idiot. But no. Your stupid mind went Yeah, well, whatever.

You glare at him through the window. “Maybe I was just too stunned to think straight.”

Seungcheol runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah. And I wasn’t thinking. There. Done.”

“Like you ever do, come on,” You throw your hands up in the air, “Really, what was the need to even say that in the first place?”

Seungcheol looks offended as he points at you, “You were the one who fucking put that metal pot in there. You were also the one who was getting handsy, not me!”

You let out a strangled sound, nearly slamming your hands against the windowsill. “You probably enjoyed it then, shut up! That was three years ago, Cheol.”

“And yet, here we are!” He waves between the two of you. “Still dealing with the consequences!”

You stare at him, chest heaving. Seungcheol stares back, just as fired up.

Then, at the same time, you both inhale deeply before breathing out.

“three weeks,” you mutter. “three weeks without our parents.”

Seungcheol nods, looking grim. “We might not survive.”

Another pause. Then, without another word, you both shut your windows.

Two days in and Seungcheol hasn’t bumped into you, thankfully. To be fair, he hasn’t actually stepped out of the house, so there’s not many ways to see you. Unless, of course, through your windows. But your curtains haven’t opened up since that day and while it makes him cringe at himself everytime he sees the soft blue fabric through your window, it also amuses him. Your room must be a little depressing by now, with not much sunlight or air coming inside. He wonders how long you can go.

Right now, Seungcheol’s dragged himself off the couch and into the kitchen to cook something up for dinner. After digging a little into one of the cabinets, he settles on a pack of rigatoni. Shrugging to himself as he sets the pasta aside, Seungcheol moves around the kitchen, pulling out the rest of the ingredients. A can of tomatoes, a head of garlic, some olive oil. He checks the fridge next, grabbing a wedge of parmesan and a pack of butter, setting them onto the counter in a neat row.

If there’s anything he’s learnt from spending all those months in Maranello for Ferrari, it’s how to cook Italian food. In the beginning, Seungcheol remembers thinking how much of a hassle it was to go to Italy all the time. Most of the other teams had their bases in England, which meant that for most drivers, home and work weren’t too far apart. But for him, every return to Ferrari meant another flight to Maranello, another stretch of weeks spent in a place that never quite felt like home.

But food was easy. Food was routine. It was something he could rely on, even when everything else felt uncertain. Late nights at the factory meant post-midnight plates of pasta, thrown together with whatever was left in the kitchen. Pre-season training meant strict meals, but the off-season? That meant sitting down for a proper dinner, watching as the mechanics argued over which trattoria had the best carbonara. Somewhere along the way, he’d started paying attention.

So now, as he stands in his kitchen, setting up to cook, he almost functions on autopilot. He pulls out the ingredients one by one, the process easy, familiar. Olive oil first, then garlic, then tomatoes. The butter sits on the counter to soften while he grates the parmesan directly onto a plate, the fine shavings piling up neatly.

The water on the stove is boiling now, but before he reaches for the pasta, he moves to the counter where he usually keeps the basil. His hand goes straight for the small ceramic pot near the spice rack, expecting to pluck a few leaves from the bunch.

But when he looks inside, it’s empty.

He frowns. Checks around the counter, glancing near the sink, even peeking inside the paper bag of groceries he never put away. Nothing.

He could do without it. The sauce would still turn out fine. But knowing it was supposed to be there would bother him the entire time. He glances at the clock. 10:15 PM. It’s not too late, but late enough that he feels lazy to drive over to the grocery store.

Just make it without basil, He tries to convince himself, sighing as he walks back to the stove. It’s fine. The sauce will be fine.

And yet, for some reason, his body refuses to continue. He knows exactly how this will go. He’ll finish cooking, plate it up, sit down, and take one bite before getting annoyed at himself for skipping the basil.

Seungcheol’s fingers tap against the counter, slightly restless. He could just finish cooking. He should.

Or, a small part of his mind pipes up. Or you could just shoot her a text and ask if she had some.

Seungcheol shakes his head, huffing out a small laugh. No way.

Not like we have another choice. Unless you want to go buy some.

He stares at the stove for another long second, arms crossed over his chest. The water keeps boiling, steam rising steadily, like it’s waiting for him to make up his mind.

It’s just basil.

Seungcheol huffs, dragging a hand down his face before finally pulling his phone out of his pocket. His thumb hovers over your contact name, debating.

Then, before he can overthink it, he types out a message and presses send, locking his phone and setting it face down on the counter.

And then he waits.

You see the message immediately, blinking as the words register in your head. Basil? Out of all the things he could’ve texted you for.

For a second, you debate leaving him on read. Your bed is comfortable and you were probably only a few minutes away from falling asleep. But you sigh, pushing yourself off the bed before sluggishly moving to your kitchen.

When he opens the door after two knocks, you’re standing there, hand stuffed into your hoodie pocket, eyes flicking toward the ground like you’re not sure why you’re here either. In your free hand, a small bunch of basil.

"You owe me," you mutter, holding it out.

Seungcheol huffs out a laugh, shaking his head as he takes it. "Yeah, yeah. Come inside before you freeze."

You hesitate for a second—just a second—but then you step past him, kicking your shoes off at the entrance as he closes the door behind you.

The kitchen is warm, the scent of garlic and tomatoes filling the air.. You lean against the counter, arms loosely crossed, watching as Seungcheol moves around like this is second nature to him.

It’s easy to fall into this, watching him cook, letting the quiet stretch between you. The way he moves, the unhurried rhythm of it all, is strangely familiar. Like this isn’t the first time. Like it won’t be the last.

You watch as he picks up the basil, rolling a few leaves between his fingers before tearing them over the pan. His movements are steady, practiced.

“Well,” you say eventually, tilting your head, “guess your time in Ferrari was fruitful after all.”

Seungcheol huffs, raising an eyebrow as he stirs the sauce. “Yeah?”

“At least you learned how to cook.”

He scoffs, shaking his head. “Right. Spent years fighting for championships, but I guess this is my real achievement.”

You smile a little. “It’s not nothing.”

He hums. His voice is a little softer when he agrees, “No, it’s not, I suppose.”

You watch the steam rise from the pot, twisting into the air, before speaking again. “You know… you used to be really bad at this.”

Seungcheol lets out a small laugh, shaking his head. “I wasn’t that bad.”

“You were,” you insist, amused. “You didn’t measure anything. You used to dump in way too much garlic and just hope for the best.”

He presses his lips together, looking down at the counter like he’s holding back a grin. “And you used to complain the whole time.”

“I had to,” you say, “Otherwise, you wouldn’t have learned. But to be fair, I wasn’t that great either.”

Seungcheol glances at you then, gaze undeniably soft. But instead of saying anything, he just shakes his head, stirring the sauce like this conversation isn’t stirring something else up entirely.

You exhale, tapping your fingers against the counter. “I used to think about it, you know.”

“Think about what?”

You shake your head, letting out a small laugh. “Who’d do the cooking.”

He pauses, glancing at you again.

You shrug, “We were both pretty bad at it back then. I used to wonder if we’d ever get better or if we’d just end up eating terrible food forever.”

Seungcheol blinks at you before scoffing, shaking his head. “Wow. That’s what you were worried about?”

You laugh lightly. “I mean, it was a real concern.”

He huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “And? What did you decide?”

“I figured one of us would have to learn eventually,” you say, flicking a stray basil leaf across the counter. “Guess I was right.”

Seungcheol rolls his eyes, but there’s a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He turns back to the stove, stirring the sauce one last time before lowering the heat.

“Well,” he mutters, “you still haven’t seen how it tastes.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Is that an invitation?”

He doesn’t look at you, but you catch the way his fingers drum quietly against the counter, the way his jaw tenses like he’s debating something.

Then, finally, he sighs. “I wouldn’t make you bring me something and then just make you leave without tasting it.”

You shift against the counter, watching as he reaches for a pair of plates. A pair.

“Alright,” you say lightly. “Don’t screw it up, then.”

Seungcheol snorts, shaking his head as he grabs the ladle.

“No promises.”

Seungcheol twirls his fork slowly through his pasta, gaze flicking toward you between bites. “So,” he says after a moment, “what’s everyone else been up to?”

You glance up. “Everyone?”

He nods, leaning back slightly. “Yeah. I know what Seungkwan and Jihoon are up to, but what about the others? It’s been a while.”

You pause, thinking. “Well… Hyerin got fired.”

Seungcheol stops, fork mid-air, eyebrows lifting slightly. “Fired?”

“Mhm,” you hum, spearing a piece of pasta. “She got into an argument with a customer and called him an dumbfuck or something.”

Seungcheol lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “That doesn’t surprise me.”

“It shouldn’t,” you say, smiling faintly. “But what should surprise you is that the customer just so happened to be the owner's brother.”

His fork clinks softly against his plate. He blinks at you once, then exhales, rubbing a hand down his face. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish,” you murmur, shaking your head. “She had no idea who he was, and by the time she found out, it was too late. He complained, and she was fired the next day.”

Seungcheol huffs a laugh, tilting his head slightly. “I bet she doesn’t regret it.”

You shrug. “Not even a little. She said she hated the job anyway. She works at a bookstore now, says it’s peaceful.”

“Figures.” He takes another slow bite, chewing as he watches you. “Didn’t she always hate dealing with people?”

You nod in agreement, twirling your fork absently as you think. For a moment, it’s almost easy to forget how much time has passed.

Seungcheol leans forward slightly, resting his elbow on the counter. “What about Daehwan?”

Your lips press together. “Still an idiot.”

His mouth twitches. “That bad?”

You sigh, setting your fork down. “Worse, actually. You remember how he used to do those ridiculous stunts?”

Seungcheol nods, “Hard to forget.”

“Well, now he does them online. He started filming them, and somehow, he has an actual following.”

Seungcheol walks over to his fridge, pulling out a drink. You notice how he slides your favourite one towards you. “…Are you telling me Daehwan is famous?”

“Unfortunately,” you mutter, rubbing your temple. “Last month, he tried to skateboard down the town’s library’s stairs, and the video got over a million views.”

Seungcheol stares at you for a moment before shaking his head, laughing quietly. “That’s ridiculous.”

“You’re telling me.” You take another bite, shaking your head as you chew. “And, of course, he hasn’t changed at all. Still does everything last minute, still never thinks things through. I swear, one of these days, he’s going to get himself seriously hurt.”

Seungcheol hums. “He’s lucky, though.”

You tilt your head. “What?”

A faint smile plays on his lips, but there’s something thoughtful in the way he exhales. “Not everyone gets to stay the same.”

You hesitate, your fingers tightening around your fork.

Seungcheol doesn’t elaborate. He just shakes his head slightly, reaching for his drink. “Anyway,” he says, voice lighter now, “who else?”

You let out a slow breath, deciding to let it go. “Jiwon’s engaged.”

That gets his attention. His brows raise slightly as he sets his glass back down. “Really?”

“Mhm.” You nod. “Her fiancé proposed in Jeju. On a boat.”

Seungcheol scoffs, leaning back in his chair. “Of course he did.”

You smile. “She called me after and talked for forty-five minutes about how seasick she got.”

Seungcheol huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Sounds like her.”

You push a piece of bell pepper to the edge of your plate, barely paying attention as you continue talking. Seungcheol absentmindedly reaches over with his fork and takes it.

You pause mid-sentence, watching as he eats it like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

For a second, your brain stutters. Because it is.

Because he’s done this before, so many times that it’s instinctive now, something he probably doesn’t even think about. He never liked bell peppers much either, but back when you were together, he always ate the ones you picked out, saying it was “a waste to leave them.”

When you go back home to your room, climbing under your covers, you see the faint light from Seungcheol’s room fall onto your wall. 

What were you thinking, really? Pretending like everything would be fine if you just acted like you always did in front of him. You’d been his best friend before his girlfriend, yes. But you realize now that it doesn’t make anything easier. Pretending you could sit across from him, talk to him, let him be a part of your life again without it meaning anything. You’d hoped and convinced yourself—in the fifteen minute car ride to work, the day he came back—that it would be easy. None of this is, you know now. Maybe you've always known.

Maybe he had made it easier for you by not coming back last winter, even if he didn’t intend to do it. There’s no part of your life he wasn’t in. No part of you that wasn’t shaped, in some way, by him.

And now he’s here again, living across from you, eating across from you, seeing you almost every day like this is normal. You press the heel of your palm against your eyes, exhaling shakily. You were supposed to be okay. 

You left him. You were supposed to be okay. You told yourself you did the right thing, that there was no other choice, that this was what needed to happen. So why does it still feel like you lost something?

He did have a point. You didn’t have to act like everything was fine. That whatever happened between you two didn’t exist. Maybe you really should have ignored him. Maybe that would make this easier. But Seungcheol remembers. You remember. It’s only been a little over a year. Did you just need more time away from each other? Maybe if he’d never come back, then you’d finally have enough time to forget him.

You had convinced yourself that distance was enough. That if you just stayed away long enough, if he stayed away long enough, the weight of him would eventually fade. But he’ll never truly leave you and you know it. Because the moment he sits across from you, the moment he speaks to you like nothing’s changed, the moment he reaches across the table and takes something off your plate like he always used to, it’ll all come back. The familiarity, the ache, the unbearable knowing that he still fits into your life in ways you thought you’d outgrown.

Your body betrays you, months of restraint splintering apart as a sob slips past your lips before you can stop it. You press a hand over your mouth, but it doesn’t help. Your shoulders shake beneath the weight of it, your lungs constrict, and for the first time since he came back, you let yourself break.

You don’t think he even realizes what he’s doing to you.

You don’t think he knows that with every little thing he does, he’s unraveling everything you’ve spent the past year trying to stitch back together.

You squeeze your eyes shut, exhaling shakily. It’s not like you can suddenly ignore him and start acting different now.

Maybe tomorrow, it’ll hurt less.

Maybe tomorrow, you’ll be able to look at him and feel nothing.

Maybe tomorrow, you’ll finally believe it.

tagging: @sojuxxi @fancypeacepersona @stupendouschildnerd @reiofsuns2001 @archivistworld @teddybeartaetae @selenethings @angelarin @gyuguys @starshuas @coupsma @the-vena-cava @smiileflower @minjiech @luxmoonlight @kookiedesi @znzlii @syluslittlecrows @blckorchidd @yawnozone @exomew @ceruissleeping

[sillymommy6969]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𝕲OOD LUCK, BABE (X’MAS SPECIAL)

Sophia Laforteza x fem!reader

summary: when sophia left for dream academy, she bid you a quick and gut-wrenching goodbye then disappeared from your life. now, two years later, when she’s welcomed home for the holidays, she has mixed feelings when she sees the new boyfriend you’ve brought to meet your family

warnings: nsfw, suggestive/sexual themes, harsh language, angst, mean!sophia, toxicity, jealousy, cheating, dom!sophia, sub!reader, degradation

Y/N always knew Sophia was going to a pop star. She was so passionate about singing, so passionate about performing, she knew her ambition would drive her to success.

The Laforteza’s and the L/N’s were extensions of families. They spent every big holiday together, ever since Y/N and Sophia were babies. Growing up to be best friends, then something more in high-school, it was safe to say the two were closer than they wished they were. It made falling in love easier; hence, it also made the heartbreak just a little harder.

Y/N remembered pacing around Sophia’s room, her chest tight and beads of tears spewing from her eyes as she watched the Filipina pack her suitcase.

“Sophia, please,” Y/N pleaded, “Just stay a little longer.”

Sophia shook her head, her lips pursed together. Her gaze fixed on piling her clothes neatly in the suitcase, refusing to meet the younger’s bloodshot eyes.

“My flight’s early, I don’t have time to stay.”

“I just—I just want you here with me for a little longer. Please, baby, I don’t want you to go.” Y/N begged. She lied, she did want Sophia to go, because it meant she would be taking this big step towards her dream. But the way she was acting like she didn’t mean anything really stung.

Sophia’s arms slumped, her head thrown back with a sigh.

She didn’t want to drag it out—the suffering. She wanted to rip this bandaid off as quick as possible because she knew Y/N would never recover otherwise.

“I think you need to go home,” Sophia said, “Now.”

Y/N’s lips pursed into a pout, her hands shaking and her glossed eyes glaring at Sophia. Even in her attempts to look resentful, like she absolutely hated Sophia for gutting her with such heartless comments, she couldn’t.

Sophia could still see the glaring signs of adoration. Of love.

But she wouldn’t budge, and Y/N left. Sophia would leave for two years, solidifying her place in Katseye, without saying goodbye. And after about a year, Sophia found herself thinking back on the way she’d left things whenever she was left alone wallowing in her thoughts in silence.

On Christmas Eve, Sophia’s hot breath fogged in the crisp December air as she stepped out of her car. The snow crunched beneath her boots, the familiar smell of pine and firewood kissing her senses. After two years away, everything still looked the same—her childhood home nestled at the end of cup-de-sac, the warm glow of Christmas lights and blow-up decorations twinkling in the windows and the roof.

And yet, everything felt different.

The last time Sophia stood here, her dreams had been too big for this little town. She’d rushed her best friend, her love then out the door and shut her out. She bid her a quick goodbye, but they both knew it was a goodbye that carried the weight of finality. Life at Dream Academy swallowed her whole, and she had the benefit of not having time to think about the state of heartbreak she had left Y/N in. The gruelling, seemingly endless rehearsals, competitions, and performances leaving little room for texts or calls with anybody.

Now, standing in the same driveway, she felt a pang of guilt. Y/N deserved more than the silence Sophia had given her.

The door swung open, and Sophia was greeted by her dad beaming back from the other side of the doorway. “Sophia, you made it!”

“Hi, Daddy. Merry Christmas.” She forced a smile, wrapping her arms around him as he pulled her into a tight hug. Inside, the chatter of familiar voices inside reached her ears, and she braced herself for the reunion she both longed for yet dreaded. “Sorry I’m late, traffic from the airport was horrible.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it, baby, I’m just glad you made it. Come in, come in! Your mother’s just setting the table, but everybody else will be so happy to see you.”

The house was bustling, with the scent of cinnamon and roasted turkey filling the air. Sophia greeted family members, greeting the children of her aunts and uncles. Y/N’s dad was by the fireplace, sharing a laugh with her own. It was a tradition for their families to spend the holidays together, a bond forged over decades of friendship.

When he spot Sophia, he stood, his arms wide open.

“Oh, Sophia! It’s been a while. How are you, my dear?”

She was like a second daughter to him, but a huge surge of guilt swirled in her stomach when she saw just how happy he was to see her. It made her think about how heartbroken she had left Y/N. It also made her wonder if their parents knew about their relationships—how they ended things.

“I’m—I’m good. I’m glad to be back.” She smiled politely.

“It’s great to see you, Sophia. Really. Have you seen Y/N yet? She’ll absolutely go crazy when she sees you.”

Sophia pursed her lips together. “No, not yet.”

“Well, she should be just around here—!”

And then she saw her. Y/N stood near the kitchen, her smile as radiant as ever. But it wasn’t just her.

Sophia’s heart dropped.

Next to Y/N stood a guy, his arm draped casually around her shoulders. He was tall, with an easy charm and a laugh that seemed to fit perfectly into the room. He had defined features, shaggy dark brown hair and icy blue eyes. He looked like the boys Y/N used to date before Sophia, the picture perfect type of guy she knew Y/N’s parents wanted. Sophia’s chest tightened as she watched him lean in, whispering something that made Y/N’s cheeks flush.

From across the room, Y/N caught Sophia’s dumbstruck gaze. Her own eyes widened, taking in the majestic sight of the Filipina standing amidst her family again. In a way, she looked like she was back where she belonged, but somehow still managed to stick out like a sore thumb.

“Sophia,” Y/N gasped, breaking Sophia’s trance. She crossed the room with a wide smile, pulling her into a hug. “Hi.”

“Hey,” Sophia managed, her voice catching. Her arms hesitantly hooked around Y/N’s tinier frame, a hand sliding to give her a quick squeeze. She wanted to say more, to explain her silence, but the words stifled in her throat.

A cleared throat interrupted their moment.

Y/N stepped back, her hand slipping into the man’s behind her. His hand casually slid to palm her hip, tugging her towards him in a possessive manner. Sophia felt like gagging at the sight, but she somehow struggled to look away. “Sophia, this is Matt. My, uh… my boyfriend.”

Matt extended a hand, his grin warm and genuine. “Matt Sturniolo. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” Sophia replied, her voice steady even as her stomach churned. All that training put into putting up an act for work seemed to be paying off.

“You’re… Godfrey’s daughter?” he asked, receiving a quick nod and tight-lipped smile from the Filipina. “How do you two know each other?”

Sophia eyed Y/N, not sure which explanation she wanted to say; “We used to date until I had to leave the country to chase my dream” or “I used to fuck your girlfriend behind the backs of guys like you.”

“Uh, well, Sophia and I grew up together. Uncle Godfrey and Dad are really close.” Y/N explained, a hand on Matt’s chest as the man nodded. “We were best friends.”

His fingers smoothed out the creases in her dress over her ass, clutching her close to him like a trophy.

Sophia wanted to punch his lights out.

“How have you been? How’s life in LA?” Y/N asked, her eyes holding Sophia’s gaze. Her face still held the same sincerity, the same kindness Sophia took advantage of two years ago.

The Filipina nodded, “Good. It’s going good so far.”

The younger smiled, her bottom lip tugging in between her teeth. “That’s nice to hear. Your folks missed you a lot. They have me over more just to have a voice around here.”

Speaking of her folks, her mother appeared in the doorway between the vast living room and the kitchen. When she spotted her daughter conversing with Y/N, she let out a loud sigh. Her arms waved above her head, jogging over to tackle the singer in a hug. Sophia laughed, hugging her mother as the older woman squealed in excitement.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Oh, baby, you’re here! And you both are together again, ugh.” She clutched her heart, glancing between the two of them. “I’ve prayed for this day.” She kissed Sophia’s head, before turning to Y/N. “Y/N, sweetheart, will you please come help me with the cookies? I would ask Sophia, but y’know her, Ms. Clutz. I trust you around not things more than I do her.”

The Filipino clicked her tongue. “Rude.”

“And I see you’ve met Matt.” The man shot the mother a smile. She sighed, a hand squeezing Sophia’s arm. “Isn’t he just the most perfect boy you’ve ever met? I hope you find a boy just like him in the future, mahal.”

Nobody else seemed to notice, but Y/N caught the way Sophia’s guarded expression faltered just the slightest before that poker face of hers masked her true thoughts. She was never once to go against what her parents wanted, but what her parents wanted always seemed to be her getting married to a man and having grandchildren. Even then, Sophia knew the only person who truly understood her passion, the love she had for music and performing was Y/N.

But now she was too busy ogling Matt Sturniolo.

“Yes, of course, Mrs. L.” Her hand slid down from Matt’s chest, squeezing his hand briefly before she left with Sophia’s mother, arm laced around hers.

Awkward silence engulfed the two of them.

“So…” Matt began, “Heard you’re a pretty big star.”

Sophia hummed, shrugging. “Yeah, my bandmates and I work really hard. But there’s always room for improvement.”

“Yeah, yeah,” the Sturniolo nodded, “Look, I don’t want things to be weird, but I’ve heard about you and Y/N before you left and I just wanna say, she practically worships you.”

Sophia felt her heart begin racing. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’ve only ever heard her talk about you once or twice, but… she loves you. A lot. You’re like the person she admires most.” Matt chuckled, “When we started dating, she had this notification on her phone to alert her whenever your band would put something new out. She stopped a couple months in, but she definitely still tries to keep up.”

Sophia hadn’t realized Y/N would know things about her and Katseye. It made her feel quite… exposed.

Yet, it felt freeing, to know somebody from her past cared.

And of all people, it made her feel guilty it was her.

“Really?” Sophia feigned happiness, “That’s… really sweet.”

“Anyway, you looking for a drink? There might be some beer or wine at the bar.”

Matt offered to go grab them some drinks, as if he was the host and she was the guest. It didn’t feel like her home anymore, watching the man work his way around her house, standing beside Y/N, hanging off her arm almost felt like he was replacing her in a way. Two years ago, she was in his place; she was the one pouring the greeting guests with drinks on Christmas eve, she was the one with her arm around Y/N, whispering things in her ear that made her laugh.

Now, it was all Matt Sturniolo this, Matt Sturniolo that.

Walking past the doorway to the kitchen, Sophia’s ears picked up on a familiar sound. A light, heavenly laughter that eased into the gentle crackling fire and faint Christmas jazz.

She saw her mother telling a story about some funny encounter she experienced that day, her hands focused on decorating the cookies on the tray. Beside her stood Y/N, in her element, a hand over her mouth as she tried containing that contagious laughter. One side of her hair tucked behind her ear, her eyes curved and soft and her smile grew.

She looked so beautiful. Fuck, how could somebody look so beautiful doing nothing?

Feeling her chest tighten, a tap on her shoulder shook her from her daze. Spinning on her heel, she was met with Matt holding up two bottles of beers.

“Woah, my bad. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Sophia sighed, grabbing the bottle from his hand. “Hey, Matt, can I ask you a weird question?”

The man furrowed his eyebrows. “Shoot.”

“How long have you and Y/N been… dating?”

He pondered a moment. “Coming on two years, why?”

“And has Y/N ever told you about her exes or…?”

He shook his head. “Not really, no. It’s a touchy subject. I just know the last guy she dated absolutely shattered her.”

Sophia wondered if Y/N was telling people her ex was a man, or if she just never corrected what people automatically assumed of her. Whichever one, it soured her mood.

“How long has it been since you’ve talked to Y/N?”

The question caught Sophia off guard. “Hm?”

“You and Y/N. You’re supposed to be best friends, right? But you two seem a little… distant. Don’t get me wrong, I know it’s not my place to say, but you guys don’t exactly give besties.”

For the rest of the evening, Sophia tried to focus on the conversations, the laughter, the shared stories of the past two years. But her eyes kept drifting to Y/N and Matt. The way he looked at her, the way she leaned into him—it was everything Sophia missed about her.

The evening wore on, and soon the house grew quieter.

It was easier to distract herself when she was bombarded with questions from relatives about her career. Eventually, Sophia stepped out onto the porch, the cold air biting her skin as she tried to clear her thoughts. She walked down the stairs to their backyard, taking a seat by their pool. She took her shoes off, dipping her feet into the lukewarm water.

“Thought you’d be out here.”

She turned to find Y/N standing behind her, arms wrapped around herself for warmth. The sheer long sleeve she was wearing definitely gave her no sense of warmth, especially not in the skirt she was wearing.

“Yeah,” Sophia mumbled, looking out at the snow-covered yard. “Just needed some air.”

Y/N reluctantly took a seat beside Sophia, who refused to look at her. She shook her Uggs off, feet sinking underwater as well.

“This is bringing me back,” Y/N chuckled, “To when we would just sit out here and we’d fall asleep after a late night dip.”

Sophia didn’t reply, just savouring the sound of her laugh. She didn’t realize just how much she missed hearing it until she heard it again. She don’t know what to say, she didn’t know if it would be appropriate for her to say anything.

“Did you miss me?” or “Do you hate me?”; no, “I’m sorry.”

Instead, Sophia opted for a passive statement. Her ego shielding her from seeing her true attitude.

“That boyfriend of yours seems nice.”

Y/N cradled herself, her hands slowing at rubbing her arms for warmth. Her gaze fixed on the Christmas lights dangling from the roof. It had been the second time tonight she’s left Matt to fend for himself in a room full of people he didn’t know. If they were anywhere else, she would feel bad; but, sitting here, just feeling Sophia’s presence after such a long time, Matt seemed to be the last place her mind was hung on.

“Yeah. He’s a sweet guy.”

Sophia rolled her eyes at the soft edge in Y/N’s voice.

The muffled sounds of the dinner party inside drowned in the sounds of their feet swishing water around.

“Hm, he looks exactly like the assholes you used to date,” the Filipina snarkily remarked, “Just your type.”

There she was, the mean Sophia that left and didn’t look back.

“He treats me well. And he loves me.”

“Yeah? Bet he loves sticking his dick in you more.”

Y/N’s shoulders stiffened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sophia leaned back on her hands, a sardonic smile playing on her lips. “Come on, Y/N. You really don’t see it? He’s so… basic. Does he even know what you like? How to turn you on—?”

“That’s enough, Sophia.” Y/N’s voice wavered, but her eyes stayed steady.

Sophia leaned forward, her expression softening for a moment. “I’m just saying… it doesn’t seem like he’s what you need. Your taste got better, but now it just kinda plummeted again.”

Y/N stood abruptly, water flicking at Sophia as she grappled at her shoes. “Y’know what? I’m glad to see fame hasn’t changed that nasty attitude of yours. I was trying to be nice, put it all behind me because I missed you and I wanted to at least be friends again, but clearly I was wrong to think you would’ve matured at least the tiniest bit.” She shook her head, scoffing. “You don’t get to sit there and insult someone you don’t even know.” Her voice shook with anger. “Matt’s nothing like the guys I used to date, and he’s certainly nothing like you. He was the one there for me when you weren’t.”

Sophia blinked, her cool demeanor slipping. “When I wasn’t?”

“Yes, when you weren’t.” Y/N’s voice cracked as she stared down at Sophia, the memories bubbling to the surface. “When you fucking just—tossed me aside when you had a chance at your career, your dreams. And then you didn’t even have the decency to give me a reason why you were being such a jerk about it. I tried calling so many times after you left, I stay up late at night just thinking about you, crying myself to sleep. So no, you don’t get to waltz back into my life, insult Matt, and act like you know me. You don’t know me anymore.”

Sophia’s jaw tightened, her eyes flickering with guilt and something deeper. Her own feet pulled out the pool as she propped herself up. “Y/N, I—”

“No.” Y/N’s stammered, still shivering from the cold. “I’ve given so much of my time and myself to you and your stupid fucking games. This—” she gestured to Sophia, her tone full of frustration— “this is exactly why I stopped trying to call you. Why I decided I needed to move on.”

For a moment, silence stretched between them, thick and unbearable.

Watching the way Y/N shook, Sophia wasn’t sure whether she was shivering from the cold or from the sheer force of finally letting her emotions loose. The younger woman had never been one to argue, never been one to confront. She was always Sophia’s obedient little plaything, just the way she liked it. But seeing her like this, standing her ground, staring the monster terrorizing her life—her every breath and thought—straight in the eye was so… comforting.

She had grown, something Sophia should have done.

Shrugging her jacket off, the Filipina draped it over Y/N’s shoulders, despite the younger’s groans of protest.

“Is that what you call this?” she asked, stepping closer. Her voice was low, almost trembling. “Being with someone so... safe, so easy? Someone your parents want as an in-law?”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as Sophia came closer, the familiar scent of her perfume making her heart ache.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sophia was inches away now, her gaze searching Y/N’s face. “Don’t I?” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Before Y/N could respond, Sophia’s hand brushed against her cheek, tentative but electrifying. “You’re lying to yourself,” she said softly. “And maybe I deserve all of this—the anger, the blame. But don’t pretend he makes you feel the way I do.”

“Don’t.” Y/N whimpered, her tone less convincing than the way her body language was giving her away.

Instinctively, she needed to draw Sophia close, her body leaning towards the magnetic pull from the Filipina’s hands.

“He’s a fucking cuck and you know it.”

“I love him.” Y/N muttered.

“And I love you,” Sophia whispered back, leaning in to gently press her lips against Y/N’s, the kiss igniting every suppressed feeling she’d buried. It was reckless, infuriating, and utterly terrifying impossible to resist.

Y/N moaned against her glossed lips. Her own hands fighting Sophia’s off before they reached any further up her skirt. “Sophia, somebody will see.”

“Meet me upstairs then.” Sophia stole a quick kiss again, “Where nobody can see.”

The Filipina securely fastened her coat over the shorter’s shoulders, her hot breath thawing Y/N’s cool cheeks. She leant down slow, torturously pecking the corner of her lips, before glancing up at the woman’s eyes, then down again.

“Don’t make me wait.”

When Y/N stepped back into the house a couple minutes after Sophia did, she was immediately approached by Matt, who had a beer bottle clutched in his hand.

“Hey, there you are. I’ve had to listen to your uncle talk about drag racing the past twenty minutes.” He snorted, “Woah, your cheeks are all pink… is that Sophia’s jacket?”

Y/N felt bad, lying to him.

Deep down, she knew she still had very intense feelings for Sophia. The same feeling she felt when Sophia left her, when Sophia told her to leave her house like she was some stranger, when Sophia was all smiles and super happy in every photo taken of her after she had successfully debuted as Katseye’s leader. Somehow, despite Matt being the safe and better option, she would rather be used, be drained dry of whatever she had to give and discarded than be with him if it meant she got to feel what it was like to be Sophia’s girl again.

“Yeah, yeah, I, uh—I’m not feeling very well.”

“Oh. Do you wanna go home? I’ll get the car.”

“No! No, it’s okay. I just need to use the bathroom.”

“Oh, yeah, of course. Go ahead. I’ll be fine.”

Y/N smiled gratefully, feeling the man’s hand rub her arm soothingly. She gently brushed him off, giving him one last look before heading towards the stairs.

There was no turning back now.

Quietly, she crept upstairs, walking past the hung portraits of Sophia and her family, some of which Y/N appeared in.

When she finally got to the door with a customized plaque with sticker letters spelling out “Sophia”, she knocked softly. Nearly immediately, the door flung open and she was yanked in. The door slammed shut behind her, and she was thrusted against the surface. The sound reverberated in the small space. It was dimly lit by a single lamp in the corner, casting shadows on the walls lined with posters and old photos of the two of them.

Y/N barely had time to take it all in before Sophia’s lips were on hers again, desperate and full of unspoken apologies. Her body pushed Y/N’s against the door, the younger’s hands threading into her hair as if she were afraid she might disappear again.

“You drive me insane,” Sophia murmured against her lips, her voice low and rough. Her hands slid down Y/N’s sides, gripping her hips like she was anchoring herself. “I’ve missed this.”

“Sophia,” Y/N interrupted, her breath hitching as Sophia’s lips trailed down her neck, leaving a trail of heat. “This doesn’t change anything.”

Sophia pulled back just enough to meet Y/N’s gaze, her dark eyes filled with something raw and unguarded.

“Okay,” she whispered, her eyes dark. “Let’s see if you’re saying the same thing after I fuck you senseless.”

Y/N’s felt heat pool straight down to between her legs. She couldn’t stop herself from pulling Sophia closer, her fingers tangling in the loose fabric of her shirt. “You’re such a fucking prick,” she whispered, the words a mixture of accusation and longing. “Still just as cocky.”

“You love it,” Sophia said again, her lips trailing wet kisses down her neck. “Y’know you love me.”

Something in her tone shattered Y/N’s remaining defenses. She pulled Sophia into another kiss, this one fiercer, fueled by a newfound hunger she had to engulf her senses in Sophia. They stumbled toward the bed, their limbs entangled. Sophia’s hands were everywhere, sliding under Y/N’s shirt and hiking her skirt up higher until the band of her black lace showed. Y/N gasped as Sophia’s lips found the sensitive spot below her ear, her knees buckling as they fell onto the mattress together.

Clothes were discarded in a frenzy, the space between them disappearing as if it had never existed. Sophia’s touch was both familiar and foreign, reigniting sensations Y/N had tried to forget. Every kiss, every caress, felt like a plea for forgiveness—a desperate attempt to make up for all the time they’d lost.

Y/N arched into Sophia’s touch, her breaths coming in short, shaky gasps as Sophia’s lips moved lower, exploring every inch of skin like she was memorizing it. The heat between them was almost unbearable, the air thick with the scent of desire and the faint perfume Sophia always wore.

“Sophia,” Y/N moaned, her fingers gripping the sheets as Sophia’s mouth worked its way down her body.

Sophia’s lips hovered just above Y/N’s skin. She looked up, her gaze locking with Y/N’s. “Eyes on me, baby,” she whispered, her voice sending vibrations straight through Y/N. “I wanna see that pretty face when you cum”

Y/N eyes squeezed shut, head thrown back as she breathily gasped at Sophia’s tongue hitting just the right spot. “I hate you for leaving,” she admitted, her voice breaking. “Fuck, I hate you so much.”

The confession broke something in Sophia, and she surged forward, eating Y/N out with a desperation that felt like it could consume them both. Her hands locked into Y/N’s thighs with her legs thrown over her shoulders. When the younger’s breath grew erratic, she knew she was close. And with a pitched gasp, Sophia’s tongue lapped up whatever had gushed from Y/N.

For a couple minutes, they just laid side by side on Sophia’s bed, catching their breaths before Y/N propped herself up, picking up her discarded clothing off the floor.

She slipped them on, back facing a confused Sophia who watched her movements with a tilted head.

“Heading back downstairs,” Y/N stated flatly, “Matt’s probably waiting for me to head home.”

Sophia scoffed, “Are you fucking serious? I just had you cumming on my tongue and you’re going back down to him?”

“Yes, Sophia.” Y/N’s eyes shut, sighing. “Maybe now you’ll know what it feels like to watch someone leave without a goodbye.” She flung the door open to the bustling liveliness of festivities downstairs, disappearing down the hall.

Sophia lied in her bed, a hand through her hair. She scoffed.

If it’s a game Y/N wants to play, it’s a game she’ll play.

[aanxiousangel]

a piece of me | portgas d ace .MDNI. AANXIOUSANGEL ©

AANXIOUSANGEL © DO NOT FEED ANY OF MY WRITINGS TO AI PROGRAMS OF ANY SORTS; I DO NOT CONDONE THE USE OF AI. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: a request from my ao3 comments! i really hope this is enjoyable because i lowk hate it the more i reread it... so... i'll be rewriting this eventually (i really don't think i can ever top my asl bro fic lol). 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴: character death (not Ace), blood, angst and fluff, kid!bully!Ace, teen!depressed!reader, violence/death depicted at the end 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 3.5k 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: you're empty without your flame by your side. what will you do when he comes back for you?

Several years ago… ages 8 + 10

“Ace!” You called out, trying to keep up with the older boy.

Luffy was right behind you, panting, “Y/N/N! Wait for me!”

“Sorry, Lu,” you huff out, hands on your knees as you try to catch your breath.

Just a moment of you taking your eyes off of Ace and he was gone! You pout, kicking the dirt on the path. Surrounding you and Luffy were the woods you’d been around all your childhood. Off in the shade, you plop down against a tree with a huff. Why couldn’t you be fast like Ace or Sabo..?

“I’m hungry,” Luffy whined, sitting next to you.

You glance over at the younger boy, frowning slightly. He was always hungry. This was nothing new. You just still couldn’t understand how his stomach was basically a bottomless pit. Then again, you basically burned off everything you ate on a daily, running like this.

“Head back for lunch, Lu. I’ll try and find Ace, ‘kay?”

Luffy frowned but didn’t argue, mumbling out an ‘okay’ before getting up to trudge the whole way home to Curly Dadan and the others. Once the younger boy disappears from your sight, you break down. Pulling your knees to your chest, you sniffle. You tried so hard to keep up with him , but it never worked. He was too fast, too agile, too smart allowing him to disappear into the forestry.

You were all alone once again. Just like the day your parents left you here to set sail on an adventure, hearing about the infamous Gol D Roger’s treasure hidden somewhere in the world… At least you were fed, clothed, and housed here with Dadan.

Before you knew it, fat tears rolled down your cheeks, leaving streaks in the dirt ghosting your skin. You bury your face into your knees, trembling as you cry. You didn’t even know why you were crying. It just felt like your heart hurt, aching and sinking in your chest.

A branch snaps not too far from you, making you freeze up. Your head lifts just enough to peer over your knees, searching the deep greenery. You couldn’t see him, but…it felt like he was there. For some reason, you always felt his presence like it was a sixth sense. Maybe you had some kind of superpower.

“Hello?” You call out with a shaky voice, getting up.

Another snap has you looking all around, trying to find the source. You started to creep back, turning on your heel to get ready to run. Before you could take another step, you hear a sigh from above you.

“You’re no fun when you cry,” Ace’s voice startled you, letting you find him sitting in the branches of the tree you sat against.

“You’re so mean!” You retort, turning to walk home.

“I’m not mean!” He argues back.

You hear the sound of his shoes scraping bark before a thick thump hits the ground. He runs over to you, catching up easily. You don’t even dare to look at him. Dummy… Stupid, stupid dummy..!

“Take it back,” he pouts, poking your arm.

“No.” You snap, keeping your eyes trained ahead of you.

“I’m not mean! You keep following me like a lost puppy! And Luffy!” Ace attempts to explain his reasoning, but you don’t care. “You’re both crybabies..!”

Well, you try not to care. It still hurts your feelings.

“You never let me play with you,” you sniffle, roughly wiping the tears sliding down your cheeks.

“You’re too young! You cry too much.”

“Maybe I wouldn’t cry so much if you were nicer!”

He stops in his tracks, but you don’t. You continue on, following all the subtle markings imprinted in your mind to lead you home. Home where you’d be safe and acknowledged.

Ace doesn’t speak to you for the rest of the day, leaving you to pout even through dinner. And when the next day came, you didn’t run after him through the forest or even come out to play with Luffy. You stuck by Dadan’s side, asking to help with anything your short self could manage. Dishes, dusting, learning. Anything. Mostly, she had you read a lot, telling you it’d benefit you.

Though, she was worried. Why were you suddenly a recluse? Why did sticking your nose in a book entice you more than playing with the other village kids? Eventually, Dadan got tired of you wanting to ‘grow up too fast’ and sent you out to play with the other kids. You pretended to go play, but really… You hid in the forest with a book, hiding away from everyone.

“Y/N?” Ace’s voice startles you out of your own little world, crouched beside you. He peered over at your book, wide eyed and curious.

Your chest hurts. “What?”

He nearly flinches at the surprising harshness in your tone. “Can you come play now..?”

Some years later… ages 15 + 17

He wasn’t so bad… Actually, Ace was refreshing to be around. He made you laugh until your sides would hurt, wipe away your tears while simultaneously teasing you about being a crybaby, and even patch up your scrapes and cuts. Though, you knew he wouldn’t stick around forever. His need for freedom still stayed even in his aging.

Not to mention, he always spoke about it. About getting off this island and living a long life being the best pirate in the world. The king of pirates, he claimed. He’d swore he’d be even better than Gol D Roger himself. Something about that…you believed it. It was a feeling in your gut that told you Ace was meant to be something amazing in life.

So, you stole any ounce of his time that you could, not telling him your reasoning for being even more clingy.

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” Ace whispers.

The stars above twinkled, the full moon illuminating the shoreline. The waves rolled in and out, just barely kissing your bare feet planted on the ground. You didn’t flinch, didn’t dare move a muscle. Even as your vision blurred and your chest started to hurt, you didn’t move. Not even when he shifted, almost uncomfortable within the silence.

“The moon is beautiful, isn’t it..?” Your voice cracks, just barely speaking above a whisper.

Ace’s head turns to you, searching the side of your face for something. Anything… Anything to tell him you gave a shit that he would be gone. All he could see was the tears sliding down your temple with quivering lips. The pain that sat on your chest was unbearable.

“Y/N…”

“Just stay with me tonight,” you whisper, shutting your eyes. Begging, pleading, hoping that it was just a fucked up joke… But it wasn’t.

Ace moved closer, wrapping his arms around you. And you cried. You didn’t stop crying all night even as you lay in bed, clinging to your pillow to muffle your sobs. Not even the next morning when you could barely drag yourself out of bed. Not even as he left your side. Not even as he left with a piece of you he didn’t know he had.

You couldn’t breathe, broken and sobbing every hour of the day, every day of the week... Luffy swore he’d become the next pirate king and beat Ace up on your behalf. Even as he was being a crybaby at your side, hurt by his brother’s departure. Almost as if his brother betrayed him.

You swore you’d set sail one day when you had the courage. You promised yourself you would find him one day. You’d find Portgas D Ace and…you weren’t sure what would come after that. He couldn’t just leave you like this. Like a shell of your old self. Right? Right..?

Ace was better than that. Better than leaving you all alone in this world. He wasn’t like your parents who left you to fend for yourself. Or like Luffy’s parents who technically did the same to him. This was Ace we’re talking about here. Your favorite guy in existence…

Your entire reason for breathing.

Days passed, turning into weeks. Weeks where you sat in that same spot, hoping to see that familiar grin coming back to you. Months where you laid under the night sky, realizing he left you. He truly left you behind.

The five stages of grief took a toll on you. Denial had come and gone, leaving you with anger rotting your very bones on that shore. Bargaining had you screaming at the waves to bring him back, tears sliding down your face. It didn’t work. There was no sea god to listen to your pleas. Depression so terrible you couldn’t even look at the ocean. So terrible you couldn’t bring yourself to all your regular spots because it reminded you of him too much.

Finally, one day you accepted that he was gone, but so were you. The joy you once held onto so tightly disappeared, sinking you into this pit of hidden misery and masks to cope with the pain. Anyone who knew you… They could see the pain in your eyes, in the smiles that didn’t meet your eyes.

The pain lingered even as you and Luffy set sail years later, a sliver of hope moving through your veins that you’d see him again one day.

Present day. ages 18 + 20

“Luffy!” Zoro’s boots thudded on the deck, having dropped from the crow’s nest. “Ship incoming!”

Luffy swiveled around, looking out over the ship’s ledge. A ship, yes, but a tiny one at that. It wasn’t like the Going Merry that was made for a huge crew. No, this one made for maybe three people at most.

“What the hell..?” Luffy frowned, “Y/N!”

You were leaning on the starboard rail, looking over the ocean when Luffy called you over. You walk over, standing between the captain and swordsman to see what the fuss was about. Eventually, Nami and Usopp were standing beside the three of you, curious and alert.

“What is that..?” You ask, the ship growing closer and closer.

“No clue…” Luffy mutters, rolling his shoulders. “But get ready in case…”

He stopped. A tall figure stood at the back of the boat, flames controlling the water to direct the ship towards your crew. Black hair, red pearls, a familiar hat resting atop his head…

That smile…

You stepped back, immediately believing you were hallucinating, “Luffy…”

“ACE!” Luffy screams, waving his arms like a crazy person.

You flinch at the sudden outburst, blinking away the tears threatening to spill. It couldn’t be him. Not yet. You weren’t ready! This pirate life was still so new to you! You weren’t even sure you could kick his ass, make him regret ever leaving you in the first place. Honestly, you didn’t want to fight him.

In the midst of Luffy’s chaos and Zoro holding him back from falling into the water, you couldn’t control your hurricane of emotions. You step back a few feet, catching Nami’s attention quickly. You probably looked insane to her with tears in your eyes and disbelief written all over your face.

“Y/N?” Nami quickly catches you by the arm before you trip, searching your face. “Y/N, what’s wrong?”

“Ace,” you choke out, wiping away the falling tears. “I-Is that him? Really him?”

“How do you know Fire Fist Ace?” Nami asks, sitting you down. Clearly, he had his own reputation.

“He…” You peer up at her, unsure how to describe him. “I… We…”

Ace wasn’t your brother like he was to Sabo and Luffy, no. He was your friend..? No, that felt too basic. Too restrained. What you felt for this man… This was like a flame, burning brighter than the sun. Passionate, energetic, confusing. He still held that piece of you…

“Y/N,” Ace’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts.

Oh, god. Oh, no, no, no! Your mouth hung open, staring up at him. Freckles dusted his face, his shoulders… Sunkissed and ripped, he stood before you in all his glory. He shook his hand off, flames dying out on his fingertips.

The devil fruit… He ate one?! Your confusion lay evident across your face, making him laugh. Ace held his hand out to you, helping you up with ease. You didn’t get a chance to say anything before he had you wrapped in his arms with a tight grip. He smelled like the sea and sweat.

“Ace…” you whisper, finally wrapping your arms around him.

“I’m here,” he whispered against the side of your head, squeezing you.

“I’m so confused right now…” Usopp nudged Nami’s side, brow raised as he watched the reunion.

“Honestly, me too. Luffy, do you guys know him?” Nami looks over at Luffy who was grinning brightly.

“That’s my big brother!” Luffy tells them, causing chaos among the crew so bad that even Sanji, Chopper, and Vivi came out from the galley.

While Luffy was busy being interrogated, you were still in disbelief that Ace stood right before you. He was real and alive and… here . You peer up at him, eyes starting to water.

“Still a crybaby?” Ace smiles, reaching to caress your cheek gently.

“Still an asshole?” You sniffle and your lips pout.

“Only for you.”

Eventually, the night overwhelmed the sky and dinner was served. You lingered near Ace for most of his stay, fearing that you’d never see him again. And then it happened. The two of you out on the deck, looking up at the stars. You were terrified he’d tell you this would be the last time you’d see him for a while if not forever.

“Y/N,” Ace took a deep breath.

“Hm?” Your eyes drift over to him, meeting his gaze.

“I want you to come with me,” he tells you quietly, shoulders tense.

Your eyes search his for a minute. “Come with you? Like…”

“Sail the world with me, pretty. Stay by my side.” Ace steps closer to you, his fingers brushing over your knuckles.

Your heart stops. “Why now?”

“Because I realized leaving you was the biggest mistake of my life.”

Ace leans in, his nose brushing against yours. For years, he held this regret deep in his soul. He’d been restless, hoping to find you once again. When word had spread about the Strawhat Pirates and Luffy gaining a hefty bounty, he’d needed to find you more than anything. He knew you’d be right alongside his kid brother.

He couldn’t just let you slip through his fingers again.

“Ace,” you breathe out, his breath tickling your lips.

“I’m here, Y/N. I can’t do this without you,” Ace’s hand moves to cup the back of your head, fingers tangled in your locks.

“I want to come with you…” You whisper, melting against him. “But what will Luffy say?”

“I don’t know. I’ll take you as a hostage if I have to,” he murmurs, attempting to make the situation lighter.

“I’ll do it. I’ll come with you, Ace.”

Hearing your words made his heart soar. Hell, he didn’t think he’d ever been happier than knowing you’d be right as his side.

Beneath your touch, Ace relaxes. He breathes out a sigh of relief, brushing his lips against yours. Ace pulls back slightly to look at you for a second, seeing your parted lips and glossy eyes. He sinks his mouth against yours desperately. You crumble, tears sliding down your cheeks. Just as your knees give out, he lifts you into his arms. Ace’s hands find their way to hold your thighs, keeping your legs wrapped around his waist.

You never expected your first kiss to be like this. Under the stars, listening to the ocean waves, clinging to the love of your life.

“It’s gonna be tough,” Ace tells you quietly after pulling away.

“I don’t care,” you watch him carefully, hoping he wouldn’t retract his offer.

And he didn’t. The next morning, you had a long talk with Luffy and your crew, but only Luffy could truly understand your hidden reason for leaving. You were nearly hollow the first time Ace left. What would the second do to you?

“Promise me something,” Luffy grabs your arm.

“Yeah?” Your brows furrow.

“Promise we won’t be enemies the next time we cross paths.” Luffy looks at you, his tone more serious than you’d ever heard him before.

“Oh, Lu…” You lock your pinky with his, smiling, “Never in a million years, Pirate King.”

Luffy returns the smile, a laugh escaping him, “See ya, Y/N/N.”

Nearly your entire crew fought off their tears with a final goodbye. And you? You let the tears roll freely, still smiling brightly. You’d never forget them and you’d never forget the life you were giving up.

Ace almost felt bad for whisking you away, but…he didn’t regret it. He would never regret finding the love of his life once more.

“You’ve always had a piece of my heart,” Ace tells you quietly once the Going Merry was no longer in your eyesight.

“You did too,” you smile at him, your chin resting on your palm.

“When I left…” Ace sighs, sitting across from you on the boat, “I thought Luffy needed you and Sabo to take care of him. Then, I heard about this strawhat pirate causing a ruckus all over the sea, I figured…”

You wait for him to continue, sensing he’d had some unresolved feelings from all those years ago, “You figured..?”

“I figured…he’d be okay with his crew. I needed you, Y/N. I wasn’t sure I could live with myself for leaving you behind. I wanted to be selfish.”

“You’re not selfish. I think Luffy knew that. He knew I needed…to feel whole again. To live. I didn’t feel that way without you. I couldn’t.”

Ace stays quiet for a while, thinking about your confession. He chews on his inner cheek, the cogs in his mind turning. He felt like half the man he was when you weren’t by his side. Now? His heart felt full just like it was back when you two were kids, playing pirates with his brothers.

“Let’s promise each other something.”

A soft laugh escapes from under your breath as you nod. Another promise.

“Promise we’ll be together forever. No matter what happens, we won’t leave each other’s side.”

Your smile falters, seeing the severity of the fear lingering in his eyes. Why was he so worried..? You wouldn’t dare leave his side. Ever .

“I promise,” you take out a dagger you kept hidden in your boots, slicing your palm.

Ace took the dagger, slicing his palm just to grab your hands to interlace the newly made blood pact. He pressed a kiss to your knuckles, squeezing your hand. In his mind, he vowed to never allow you to get hurt. Not while he was alive.

“Forever."

Content warning here: this ending is completely optional & is what I'd consider as "The Bad Ending." (Character death ahead.) Kind of like video games with multiple routes.

You promised forever, but…you couldn’t follow through. The memory hung in Ace’s mind, a war raging on around you. You were supposed to stay by his side forever…

But now? Your torso lay blown open, your blood soaking the pavement of the building. This was a mistake. You weren’t supposed to die. You weren’t supposed to take the blow meant for him.

“Y/N!” he choked out, grabbing your face that was far too pale. “Pretty, c’mon. You promised! You promised you’d stay with me! Please, Y/N, I can’t do this without you!”

You choke on the blood pouring from your mouth, attempting to take a breath, “You have to, Ace. Y-you have to keep going. For me. For us. ”

“No, no, no,” Ace clings to you, nauseous as he looks at the gaping wound in your torso, “Pretty, stay with me. Please.”

“I love you, Ace. I’ll love you forever,” you smile weakly, feeling awfully cold in his arms.

“I love you, Y/N. You promised. You can’t break a promise,” Ace peppered your face with kisses, attempting to keep you awake.

“Ace…”

Tears roll down your face, leaving streaks in the dirt that coated your face. It was just like when you were kids all over again, hurt and exhausted… He kissed your lips, tears falling from his own eyes. You were supposed to marry him. You were supposed to grow old together.

“I love you so much…”

Your breath escaped you, brushing his skin. With eyes glazed over, you were gone. It was impossible to fix the damage that was done, the smell of your flesh burning making him sick to his stomach. Why did you have to push him out of the way? Why did it have to be you?

You never imagined your last kiss to be like this, leaving blood stained on his face, leaving Ace all alone in the world once again.

extra author's note: masterlist! archiveofourown! please be patient with me as I continue updating and getting out of my writer's block! love ya!

[youkissedareaderinthedark]

Sunshine

Synopsis: You are the youngest and only daughter of the Leclerc family, and no matter how much he tries to hide it, Charles can’t deny you’re his favorite

monegasque female leclerc reader x brother charles leclerc

A/N: let’s say that y/n was born in 2006, making her about 17 now, 15 years younnger younger than lorenzo, 9 years younger than charles, and 6 younger than arthur

. so

. pascale leclerc has always wanted a daughter

. a little girl she could love and spoil with all her heart

. don’t get me wrong, she loves her sons with all of her being

. but i’d be lying if i said she’s never wished for another girl in the house

. the rest of the leclercs know this

. so it wasn’t a big suprise when she told everyone that she was pregnant in 2005

. and nearly cried of happiness when she learned she was carrying a baby girl

. now at first

. 8 year old charles leclerc didn’t know how he felt about this

. because he already has 5 year old arthur following him around everywhere

. what would it be like with another sibling in the house?

. so he wasn’t entirely thrilled at first

. but the second pascale and herve brought you home from the hospital a few months later

. he knew he’d love you no matter what

. his friends at school constantly talk about how annoying their baby sisters are

. but charles is always more endeared with you rather than annoyed

. he would play and watch kid shows with you for days on end if that’s what you wanted

. would be lying if he said he’s never played pretend with you

. repeatedly asked for pascale to allow you to come to his karting races

. something that didn’t happen until you were 3

. shows you off to all of his friends at said races

. “you see that baby over there with my maman? that’s my sister, y/n”

. “she doesn’t really know what’s going on, but she always cheers for me anyway”

. charles makes sure he’s there for every milestone in your life

. first day of school

. the first time you drove a kart

. when you learned how to ride a bike

. etcetera

. it does get harder as the years go on, with his karting career continuing and everything

. but your brother makes sure he’s there for you

. because no matter how busy he gets

. he’s never too occupied to see you discover yourself

. finding your own personality and hobbies

. interests and dislikes

. this has all happened by the time you’re 9 years old

. nearing the end of your childhood but still enjoying it nonethless

. pascale even lets you follow charles to formula 1 races, because she knows he’s really following jules bianchi

. your older brother loves when you come with him to races

. but he wishes more than anything your mother made you stay home with her instead of going to suzuka with him

. because he knows you love jules

. he’s like another brother to you

. he’s always the one to have you sitting on top of his shoulders, doing anything to help you see more than the world you were given (both literally and figuratively)

. jules was the one who gave you his kart to practice with

. the one that taught you everything you know about cars

. the one that taught you to always dream for more

. the one that taught you what grief felt like

. charles remembers the moment it happened, the crash, the noise, the shock

. the way you looked up at him, your 9 year old self not old enough to realize what just happened

. “charlie, what happened? where’s jules?”

. he remembers how much you cried in the hospital, looking way too young to be sitting in those waiting room chairs and losing one of the people you loved the most

. he remembers hearing you sob in your room when you got home, how helpless he felt that he couldn’t do anything to stop his own emotions, nonetheless his baby sisters’

. he remembers how instead of driving the kart jules left you, most of the time you just sat in front of it, staring at it, wishing jules would come outside like he always would, and persuade pascale to let you two drive around for just a few more hours

. arthur was the one who looked out for you in these times, because charles was too busy either being looked after by lorenzo, or trying to drive his own feelings away in formula championships

. 2015 was a sorrowful year in the leclerc household

. so it makes sense that charles is happy when you start to show some progress in late 2016

. when you start to drive your kart again, improved by the JB17 stickers you start to put everywhere

. you start enjoying school again, hanging out with your friends and playing outside

. it almost gives him hope

. almost

. because by 2017, charles is nervous

. because herve is getting worse

. and charles knows his litter sister, you’re not stupid

. you can tell that your father is sick, and he’s not going to be get better

. he tries to subtly encourage you to spend more time with him

. makes sure you tell him all your stories from school, tell him what you want to be when you’re older and what you want to do

. soon enough though, you can’t do these things because your father was emitted into the hospital

. charles is nearly twenty now, he’s old enough for his mother to give him the truth about these sorts of things

. but still not old enough to tell his eleven year old sister the truth

. the whole family is there with herve in the hospital in june 2017

. none of them are ready to lose another one of their own again

. you’re sobbing, arthur’s arms wrapped around you and hand pushing your head into his neck because he know you shouldn’t have to see this

. lorenzo is the only thing keeping both his mother and first younger brother standing, all while trying to keep his own tears from blurring his vision

. this time, you don’t let anybody help you

. you never leave your room, only to go to school and to eat

. you stopped karting completely, not wanting to unless your father was standing on the front porch, cheering you on and giving advice from where he stood

. you don’t come to either arthur’s or charles’ races, not the one charles wins after herve dies, not the ones he continues to win after that

. the family almost forgets what your smile looks like, they only remember the faint sound of your cries at night

. charles beats himself up over it, feels guilty and helpless

. he couldn’t stop jules from crashing, couldn’t stop his father from getting sick, and can’t even protect his younger sister from losing herself

. he tries his hardest to be there for you, to hug you, tell you he loves you, and that he’s always there if you want to talk

. he waits as long as it takes for you to open up to him

. it comes eventually, the day you knock on his bedroom door and let yourself talk and cry in his arms

. it takes much longer for you to co-exist with your grief this time

. but charles is there for every step of the way

. you go to his first formula 1 race with him in 2018, cheer him on from the sauber garage with lorenzo and pascale no matter what position he comes in

. you hang out with arthur while he’s racing in formula e and formula 4, cheer for him just as loudly, if not louder than you would for charles

. you’re 12 by the time 2018 ends, but feel much older than you actually are

. this is the point where you and charles bond on a deeper level

. because whereas the rest of the world just sees you as a tweleve-year-old girl

. charles see you as a twelve-year-old girl who’s been through more than she should’ve, and now feels the emotions to match

. so as time continues to pass, you guys talk about the real stuff in your lives

. he talks about joining ferrari and what it feels like to do what jules had always wanted to

. what it felt like lying to your father about the ferrari contract and how he wonders what herve thinks about it now

. you talk about what it feels like going through life without a father

. what it feels like fearing for your brothers’ lives every time they get into their cars

. he tries to help you get over this fear by bringing you to the paddock with him

. which includes becoming friends with andrea after all the hours you two spend side by side in the ferrari garage

. meeting sebastian who instantly becomes a mentor to you

. you’ve known pierre for longer than you can remember, so you hang out in his team garage sometimes

. your brother tries to keep an eye on you while your in the paddock, but as you get older, the more freedom you have

. by the time you’re 15 in 2021, you roam around the paddock on your own free will

. with carlos joining ferrari, you hang out with his younger sister ana, who leads you on all sorts of adventures in whatever city you two are in that weekend

. meeting all sorts of celebrities while you’re walking down the pit lane on sundays

. spending time in the aston martin hospitality because you’re still close with seb

. passing time with lewis in the mercedes garage, he sheds some of his wisdom on you, you tell him all the drama in your life

. bothering pierre while simultaneously befriending yuki in the alpha tauri garage

. and of course, hanging out with charles in the rare moments when you both have nothing do to

. these are the antics that carry on throughout your late teenage years

. so by the time the end of 2023 rolls around, you’re close to graduating school and moving on to whatever you wish to pursue

. it’s in those moments, the ones where you’re talking about college and moving away and your career

. truly makes him realize that you’re growing up

. and you’re not the little girl that will always be there to cheer him on from the stands

. you assure him that you will though

. that wherever you end up, still in monaco or not

. you’ll always be rooting for him

. and he knows he’ll always be rooting for you too

. because you’re his little sister

. and he loves you more than you know

[hughiecampbelle]

The Boys Preference: Being Their Younger Sibling And Part Of The Boys

Requested: Hi! Cliche preference I am sorry, but how would each of The Boys act if R their younger sibling who helps out with the boys is like this really sweet and genuinely nice person to all? Would they be protective, or annoyed, just an idea! Love your work! - anon

A/N: Not cliche at all my love! I absolutely adore this idea! I will 10000% be writing more about being Homelanders sibling!! Thank youuuu I hope you like it!!! Feedback is always appreciated 💜

Butcher wants nothing to do with you. When you're old enough, years after Lenny's death, you escape home and track down Billy. You had nothing. Billy took you in under the guise that it would be temporary and it wouldn't meddle with his work. Bit by bit you learned from M.M. and Frenchie about Becca and Ryan and Vought. You make it known you want to help. Billy forbids you and threatens The Boys: if they even so much as look at you, he'll kill them. Stubbornness runs in the family, though. You worm your way in whether he likes it or not. It's not that didn't miss you or think about you, he just can't bear the thought of you getting hurt. Or killed. Especially at the hands of Vought. It's become a habit for everyone to call him Butcher and you Little Butcher so as not to get confused. Now that there's two of you to keep track of, everyone's a little more annoyed and a lot less forgiving for poor behavior.

Hughie worries about you so much. This life has taken everything from him, he can't imagine why you'd want to join. Still, he knows he can't stop you. You were always coming to his defense as kids, sticking up for him against bullies. You were his backbone for a lot of your childhood. When you want something you go for it. He can't help but lecture you, even over the smallest stuff. After your father passes and your mother finds her way into your lives, he's extra protective. Especially after Tek Knights party, he doesn't let you out of his sight. He's not glad it happened, but he sure is grateful it was him and not you. You've been stabbed and hurt and nearly killed. He jokes that it's taken years off hid life, but there's some truth to it. You're all he's got. He can't lose you. He can't let this life kill you.

Annie stopped talking to your mother a long time ago, but she never stopped calling you. Like your sister, you got a dose of V and trained hard, wanting to be the first pair of siblings in The Seven. After Annie publicly leaves and turns her back on them, you're not sure what to think. Tired of her avoiding the questions, you confront her. You track her down and barge into where The Boys are. You guys get into a pretty serious fight, one everyone can hear through the thin walls. Annie abandoned you. She left Vought and became this fantastical symbol. She had a life and you weren't a part of it. You wanted her to stop lying and avoiding you and tell you exactly what was going on. It takes most of the night, but she tells you everything. In the end, she wants to send you back home with your mother, but you refuse. The Boys need every advantage they can get, that includes you and your abilities. She's not thrilled, but she understands you're an adult, she can't stop you.

M.M. forbids you. Janine is getting into trouble and he's having panic attacks and he just can't have you trying this now. He can't babysit you on top of everything else. You remind him you're an adult, that you're perfectly capable of taking care of yourself. He can yell and scream all he wants, you both know you're not going to stop wanting this. It was your grandfather and father too who were killed by Supes and the stress. You didn't walk away from that unscathed. You had a right to be upset and a right to want to stop Vought. You kept your distance, but Marvin was blowing you off any chance he could get. You got his address from Monique and made a surprise appearance. Butcher tells you everything. You're furious your brother didn't tell you sooner. You could have been a part of this from the beginning. Butcher reminds you it's never too late, but Marvin tells you to go home and leave it to the professionals. You don't. You can't. This is too important. He doesn't like it, but he can't stop you. He never could.

Frenchie couldn't have been happier to have you in his life. Your upbringing was harsh, your father a monster. When he left for New York, he had to make a choice: leave you behind or take you along with him. In the end, he left you behind. The guilt killed him, but you never blamed him. Not then, not now. You learned a lot from him, you're as equally as skilled. As soon as he becomes a part of The Boys, he asks Mallory to look for you. You vanished though. He'd assumed your father had killed you. It isn't until years later that you reappear looking for him, for Serge. You might not have an entire team of powers and knowledge, buy you're smart and skilled and you track him down. He doesn't recognize you at first. You're so much more grown up. But he knows your voice. You're the only one who calls him Serge and most of your conversations are entirely in French. Neither of you are particularly proud of your pasts, choosing instead to live in the moment. When you ask if you can join him he's over the moon. His baby, his best friend, reunited again.

Kimiko can't believe it's you. Like your sister, you and Kenji were captured by the SLLA. Then you and Kimiko were later taken and given Compound V. After that you two were split up. She never thought you made it. It's years later that you escape, killing everyone in your path. Police plaster your face all over the News where Kimiko recognizes you immediately. You're older of course, but you'd always be her baby. She can't let it happen all over again like how it went with Kenji, she can't lose you. Kimiko hunts you down, alongside The Boys, who are wary of you. She assured them you couldn't hurt a fly. The carnage you leave in your wake tells a different story. When you do reconnect, she makes sure they don't draw any of their weapons. You two sign for what feels like forever before she takes you back to The Boys hideout. It hurts her, but she wants to know what happened in all the years between. You and your sister are unstoppable. Literally. You were never meant to have normal lives. This was how it was supposed to be. Trying to be normal just got you hurt.

Bonus! Homelander absolutely fucking hates you. You were created long after him, but you had the same upbringing, the same childhood. The only anomaly was that you turned out far more humane. Because of this, Vought needed extra time to break you in. You never did, though. Not as severely as your brother. Vought was going to turn your debut into this grand political scheme, a massive fuck you to anyone who thought they could stop them, but before they could, you broke out of the labs. Eventually you found your way to The Boys. You and Homelander have identical abilities, though you're not layering through people's skulls or letting entire planes worth of people die. None of them believed you at first, but after you told them about your upbringing and your powers, they had no choice but to believe you. You were exactly what they needed. You and your brother were equals. John wanted you dead just like he wanted the rest of The Boys dead. Keeping you alive was necessary for now. So, he let you live.

[luvseisagi]

— two years late.

read part 1 here.

ft. itoshi sae x reader. wc. 5.7k

summary. after two years apart, the call you thought would never come finally did. content. gn!reader, no pronouns used, reader wears makeup. even more angst and even less comfort (sorry), right person wrong time, childhood friends to strangers, miscommunication. aged up characters (sae and reader are 20, rin is 18). sae might be ooc and has issues. author's note. there was like a FULL power outage in my country today i was isolated completely alone in my house with no light no cooked food no electricity no internet connection for HOURS. SUFFERING.. so i wrote this - it was actually supposed to be shorter than the first one?? and it's twice as long?? i like writing angst too much i fear.

𝜗𝜚 english isnt my first language, so any corrections or advice are highly appreciated, as well as feedback (please) ! enjoy

rin

did u arrive alr? mom says u have to pack everything u wanna keep before we come back give it two hours or so

sae sighs, the messages on his phone too bright for his liking. he has just arrived home from a twelve-hour-long flight and a painfully slow ride from the airport. the last thing he wants to do right now is start packing his old room’s things.

“sure” he types back, before shutting off his phone and throwing it onto the bed. his relationship with his little brother isn’t as bad now —sae is twenty and rin eighteen—, but he still gets slightly annoyed when they talk over text. only it isn’t exactly annoyance, but a cluster of unpacked feelings and regrets he never learned to express. 

not to his brother, at least. not to anyone in his life, since —well. since you and him weren’t friends anymore.

sae shakes his head in annoyance, as if a physical movement could somehow make the thoughts disappear. he leaves his suitcase in a corner of his room, still closed, near the window whose blinds he hasn’t bothered to raise yet. the jacket is lost somewhere in the pile of clothes cluttering the messy living room —it isn’t usually like this, his family has someone help with the cleaning daily. however, since they’re moving to a bigger house, his parents didn’t care at all if the common rooms stayed untidy. they just wanted to move out as fast as possible.

at first, he hadn’t understood why. sure, it was a matter of time before they bought a bigger, more expensive house —specially now that sae had just turned twenty and gotten signed for the actual re al team, and not the u20 one, and rin was considered the star of his generation, next to his always friend-and-rival isagi yoichi—, but why the rush? 

he had just come back from spain, again, and they were already pushing him to pack up and leave the only place where he had lived the memories he actually treasured.

it was unfair for him to think that way, though —him, who had been the first to abandon said place, and said memories, not once but twice. 

and that’s why now, standing alone in the gloom of his old room, he understands. because he isn’t the type of getting attached to things, people, places, or anything that has nothing to do with football, and he doesn’t really care about living in a big apartment or even a bigger house, but he feels the urge to run away from the moment he sets foot inside his old room.

instead of a bunk bed, there is now a big double bed his parents had ordered when he came back from spain the first time, two years ago. next to it, there’s a wide closet that takes up almost the entire left wall. and in the corner near the window, there’s the custom-made glass shelf they gave him when he was younger —which quickly filled up with trophies and awards from his high school years—. 

right beside it, there’s a dark wood desk he never really used —he didn’t like studying—, that would be empty if not for the pile of colorful envelopes sitting on top of it. 

his thought process is fast: if he lies down on the bed now, he will fall asleep for more than the two hours their parents are going to take before coming home. the trophies are valuable for him, but he isn’t on the mood to remember all the matches and competitions that they carry, and there are too many memories stuffed inside his closet that he doesn't want to dig up now.

so he walks to his desk, and he sits on the chair in front of the pile of letters.

they’re letters from fans, he remembers. his manager had dropped them off two years ago, a few days after rin left for the blue lock project. when he was younger, he would usually read all —or almost all, at least until he got bored— of the letters he received. his favorites were always the ones written by little kids telling him how he inspired them. 

he never really thought he could ever make an actual impact in japan’s football scene, but those kind of letters reminded him of his little brother, so he did appreciate receiving them.

it’s weird he hadn’t read these, considering most of the envelopes are pink, blue, or orange, and his manager’s address —the one published for receiving fan mail— is adorned with little hearts, flowers, and football balls. it’s pretty obvious most of them were written by kids.

he’s just about to open the first envelope —a dark pink one, similar to the color of his hair, adorned with little spirals, hearts, and a doodle he thinks it’s supposed to resemble him— when he remembers why he didn’t read them back then.

reality hits him like a punch straight to the stomach, and his chest feels suddenly so heavy he needs to close his eyes and focus on breathing. 

the shouting. the blame. the unanswered questions. he remembers everything, second by second.

the regrets. the indifference. the anger and the sadness. and you, crying so loudly you couldn’t even talk, sitting in the same chair he’s sitting in now.

he had been about to read the letters right before your argument —the first and last time you came to his house, after four years separated by thousands of kilometers, two continents and one ocean —, and he hadn’t had the strength to read anything after you left.

because the first thing you had said to him was “why did you say all those awful things to rin?”

not i missed you, or i’m really happy to see you. not even a hi, sae, but a question about his brother —which he knew he was important for you too, of course, but you were his best friend, not rin’s. sae should had been your first priority, not his brother.

the next thing he knew, you were shouting at him, blaming him for something he wasn’t even aware he had done. rin had a full breakdown because of their silly encounter that first day? he had just been being a big brother, telling him the truth —it was better if it was him, and not the big world outside, who taught him a lesson. 

but rin hadn’t understood that, apparently. and neither had you.

he had entered the autopilot mode —the same one he used while in interviews, or irrelevant social events in madrid— right after you mentioned rin. he barely even remembers what he told you now, what he answered or what he tried to explain. back then, the only thought of his mind was that you were standing right in front of him —taller, your features more mature, and somehow even prettier than you already were— and you hand’t even brought yourself to hug him yet. 

sae opens his eyes. 

yn’s not here. he thinks, repeating it to himself as a prayer, as if his words could make your ghost disappear from the room. there’s no one but me here. i’m alone.

again.

he lifts his head, feeling slightly dizzy after nearly choking in the waterfall of memories that just flooded him. i’m here alone, he tells himself once more, knowing full well he must look insane right now.

because he’s lying. you’re there. you’re everywhere.

you’re lying on his bed, even though you never actually had time to sleep in there —back when the old bunk bed he shared with Rin still stood in the room—, and you’re laughing in whispers while trying to decipher what rin’s dreaming about. 

you’re sitting on the floor, struggling to explain him a math problem for the twelfth time, annoyed because he insists on kicking a ball instead of paying attention to you. 

you’re almost drowning in a mountain of clothes, his room a runway while you try on his football jersey with a long skirt you stole from his mother. 

and you’re standing in front of the shelf, pretending to ask about each trophy —even though you knew exactly which belonged to which victory, because you had been there for every single one.

you’re also where he is now, sitting by the desk, your trembling hands playing with the colorful envelopes, fighting your urge to cry. 

but your voice —it sounds broken; and he knows he lost you way before you slammed the door and left his house forever, your jacket sleeve stained with the makeup you tried to wipe away and your lips pressed tight as if you were about to throw up your heart.

and still, everything on his room is so him he doesn't even understand why it's reminding him of you.

the only thing that anchors him to the real world right now, he thinks, are the envelopes on top of his desk. he tries to control his breathing, he tries to focus his gaze, and his hands are nearly shaking when he plunges his hand in the pile of letters. he doesn’t know why he clings to one, but he pulls it out of the pile and stares at it, the tips of his fingers brushing over the messy star drawn on the paper.

and suddenly he stops.

then he wonders.

he wonders why there's a letter on his hands, and why does it have your handwriting in it. 

for sae, and nothing else. there’s no address, which means no one sent it to his manager, and he knows it's yours, because he still recognizes your handwriting —and because even though all his fan letters have hearts drawn around his name and brightly colored envelopes, you're the only one who would have chosen the exact shade of teal of his eyes and the drawing of a star instead of the a in his name. 

he can't understand why his hands are practically shaking when he frantically tears the flap open, and he can't swallow the lump that forms in his throat as he reads the sentences written in black ink by a hand that seems unsure of itself. 

your handwriting is so familiar that his heart skips a beat, and now he doesn’t know if it’s because of sadness, regret, nostalgia or the excitement of having a piece of you in his hands again. 

as he reads, sae realizes when exactly you wrote that letter —since there’s no date to be seen anywhere. it looks like you had been trying to start writing something to him more than once, but your words never felt natural enough to express everything you wanted to tell him. not until he came back, and had an argument with rin.

in the letter, you tell him you expect a reasonable answer as for what happened with his brother, but that’s everything you mention about him. the rest of the message —three full pages of messy handwriting and some mistakes you crossed out with the pen—, talks about everything he wanted to hear that day. 

you wondered about his life in spain, you told him some stories he knew already —because you always went to him when you wanted to talk about your day—, and you kept telling him, over and over, how much you had missed for the past four years.

sae chuckles, reading every word with your sometimes excited, sometimes bored, sometimes indignant voice in his head. you are so cute, he thinks, caressing the sheet of paper without realizing it. 

“by the way,” the letter said, halfway through second page “do you remember that time you played against that other team of spain while i was in a sleepover, and i stayed awake just to congratulate you for scoring the winning goal? i was in a friend’s house, and everyone was asleep already but i watched the end of the match on my phone under the blankets.”

a small smile grows on his face. of course he remembers, your friends’ complaints were the background noise of the audios you had sent him after the match. you were, what, fifteen years back then? sixteen, maybe?

“well, the conversation was a bit embarrassing so i’m not going to tell you, but basically, i realized that i like you that night.”

sae stops reading for a second.

what?

the words resonate in his mind, unearthing a feeling whose funeral had already been celebrated years ago. 

he takes a deep breath before continuing to read, but the letter only gets heavier. 

you’re telling him how you realized it, what you liked about him, why you felt this weird feeling —one you would later learn was jealousy—, whenever you saw your friends happy in their relationships. for two whole years before you wrote that letter, you had been carrying the weight of discovering what a first love felt like.

and said first love was him.

sae’s world falls down. 

he doesn’t cry just yet, but he feels himself on the verge of tears right after reading your last sentence. 

“ps: for the sake of my dignity, i really hope you’re reading this in the airplane back to spain, or in your apartment in madrid, ‘cause i don’t think i could stand looking at you in your eyes knowing that you read this. however, please, call me when you read it —it doesn’t matter if you feel the same way or not, you don’t need to mention it. just call me, tell me how your flight was, complain about your manager and everything he’s making you do, if you must. but tell me something, please. 

i missed you, and i love you. and no ocean could ever drown that.”

sae freezes for three long seconds, his body static from pure shock, before practically throwing himself onto his bed, searching for his phone. he feels like he’s dying during the time it takes for the device to turn on, and he types his passwords as fast as his fingers allow before clicking on the contacts app. 

your name shines so bright in his screen he swears he could go blind, but this doesn’t stop him from staring. he gulps, nervous, and presses the call button under your profile pic —still you, when you were seventeen and asleep on his bed with his jersey as a pajamas.

the phone rings three times before someone picks up on the other end.

he doesn’t say anything at first, waiting for you to talk. his heart is beating so hard he can hear it, so loud it’s deafening, but the silence on the other side is even deeper, pushing the sound of his heart to the background. his expectations have never been higher, as well as his anxiety —creeping from his legs to his stomach, his chest, his arms and finally reaching the hand holding the phone.

“hello?”

he almost jumps when a voice that is definitely not yours comes through the phone.

sae hangs up so fast his mind barely processes it before he's staring at your name and your profile picture again. could you have changed your number? no, unlikely. as far as he knows, you still keep in touch with his parents, and his mother would have messaged him in an instant to give him your new number, even if she knew he wouldn’t use it. —she loved you like family; as she used to say when you were younger, you would definitely end up part of it if one of her sons was smart enough to wife you up.

so why did a man’s voice answer his call?

grabbing his phone with both hands, staring so hard it might break from it, sae lets his body fall back onto the bed. he stays there for a few seconds, your peaceful, sleeping face on the screen almost seeming to blame him for disturbing the peace you always had when you were together —by calling a number that was forgotten, forbidden.

when his brother had sent him that picture back then, he had felt a very weird, very unusual feeling forming in his chest. 

jealousy, maybe, because there was nothing he wanted more than being with you and rin right now. hurt, probably, since he had been living in spain for almost three whole years now, and he missed you two a lot. 

love, he concludes now, because he realized long ago that he loved you — he just never let himself think about it long enough to understand those feelings.

you were too far away, he told himself every time he thought of you like that — and there was no point in trying to tie you down when you were living your best life, being everyone's crush, having normal teen experiences with your new friends.

but how did he not know you loved him too?

before letting himself get lost inside his memories and regrets again, his thumb presses the call button once more. this is your number, he’s sure of it, and if he the guy that answered was with you in any kind of way… well, that’s something you would have to tell him yourself.

“hi? yn?”

he finally gathers the courage to be the one to do the talking first, but his voice is almost a whisper when he pronounces your name, each syllable soft after leaving his lips. 

it’s the first time he’s said it out loud in two years.

“hi, uh, sae?”

sae sighs, relieved, and he closes his eyes as he hears your voice. his head rests on one of the pillows, one hand holding the phone, the other on his chest, now breathing at a normal pace. he can’t stop the small grin spreading on his face.

then he remembers: you answered the phone, so it’s his turn to talk.

i missed you, he wants to say first, but discards it —might be too much. i’m happy to hear your voice, is another option, but perhaps too straightforward. how are you? seems right, or so he believes —no one taught him how to start a conversation with his lost childhood best friend before. he wants to appear casual, yes, but he also wants to show that he cares.

he has it all so clear in his head, he surprises himself when he suddenly speaks, his brain too slow to process his words before they spill from his mouth.

“i read your letter.” is what he says instead.

on the other side of the line, you frown, not expecting a call from him at all. not now, at least.

“what letter?” you ask, genuinely confused. you don’t remember sending anyone a letter, much less sending one to itoshi sae. 

he is so famous now, much more than what he was back when you two were still friends. even if you tried to send him something, you doubt he would have ever receive it.

you could have given it to him through his parents, though. through rin, now that their relationship was back to normal —you think, at least. ever since he was signed in the japan’s u20 team, you barely kept in touch.

a little smile grows on your face, not sweet, but bitter. nostalgia tracing your lips, and memories invading your chest.

sae speaks again.

"the one you wrote me two years ago. i never read it until now.”

reality hits you then. oh, that letter. the one you poured your soul and heart into at seventeen, when you thought your life would end if he read it. 

sure thing, you were wrong. your life didn’t end because he read it — it ended because he never did.

you stay quiet, half-hoping your silence is torturous for him. you have no words, anyway —how could you expect to receive the call you dreamed of, the one that kept you up at nights and anxious every morning, two years later?

so sae, desperate to fill the silence, starts talking again —words rushing out so fast you wonder if you’ll even be able to keep up.

"i thought you hated me and thats why you didn’t call or come back to my house after the argument" he says. his voice sounds weird, raspy, like he’s choking in his words —on his feelings, really, the guilt twisting him up inside.

"i thought you got on rin's side after we argued, and i thought you didn’t want to talk to me anymore after you left my house crying.” still laying on the bed, his posture the same as minutes ago, sae feels his chest tighten with every word he says. a whirlwind of memories, regrets and nostalgia, and unsaid feelings tearing him apart, from his heart to his head —his rationality, too, as he seems to be unable to stop talking.

“i never took your letter to spain and i never read it till now —didn’t even know it was yours, it got messed up with some of the fan mail. i found it today, in my desk—, and i was so angry back then, because you didn’t come to say goodbye before i went back to madrid after the u20 match.” he speaks in a rush, thoughts unfiltered, pouring straight from his heart to his mouth “it felt unfair, having strangers write me letters, tell me they would miss me, when the only person I wanted to hear it from was you.”

he falls silent after that, expecting an answer.

since you are saying nothing back, he keeps talking. 

meanwhile, you can only think it is so not sae, speaking this much, having the need to explain himself —no one had, never in his life, asked him to justify his actions. so why is he so desperate for you to understand him? 

he feels the urge to say sorry —worse, even. he feels the need for you to forgive him.

so he doesn’t stop.

“i… i’m sorry for not taking your letter to spain. and i’m sorry for not reading it, and not calling you.” he exhales, voice breaking slightly “i expected you to reach out first, but since you didn’t, i thought…”

“that is not your fault” you finally say, cutting him off mid-sentence. 

you hate hearing him like that —so vulnerable, so hurt. you had dreamed of this call for a long time, wanting it, for a while, to be this dramatic and intense. but not anymore. two long years have passed, and your mourning had ended a while ago. 

“i was the foolish one” you say softly “for thinking you would read all the letters and find mine there. but that’s fine now, i was a dumb teenager, in love with a famous football player who lived on the other side of the planet. it sounds like a cliché fanfic trope” you chuckle “what was i expecting?” 

your voice is calm, and even your posture, sitting in the sofa on your living room, is composed too. you are able to control the lump of feelings forming in your throat —you are not lying when saying you were the naive one. yes, it was the most hurtful heartbreak of your life, but you had gotten over it already.

“i am really sorry, yn.” sae sighed, his eyes closed again, tightly pressed together as if afraid of letting a rebellious tear scape. “i’m sorry i disappointed you.” 

and when you hear these words, you know he’s hurting. you know he is because, even though he never got the courage to say it out loud, that’s always been his biggest fear—disappointing people. 

he was scared of not being good enough at football —he was a prodigy in japan, but he had to train for what he thought it would be natural for him once he started playing in spain—. he was terrified of failing at being a good older brother —he had always taken good care of rin. why, when he was just trying to protect him, did he make his relationship worse? 

and deep down, he hated the thought of not being good for you, too —which, he thinks bitterly, he wasn’t, either. he waited for you to come to him and tell him goodbye, waited for you to text him or call him or tell him you missed him instead of doing it himself, when he was the one dying to hear your voice again.

“look, sae, i…” 

you don’t know what else to say, anyway, because he did disappoint you, but you can’t just tell him the truth. he would not be able to handle it —you had always thought that he would, but you weren’t so sure right now.

“it might be a bit late for the call” he says, swallowing hard. the words taste metallic on his tongue, just like blood, and he’s saying them out loud before he can bite his lips and shut up “but i think you have the right to know that i loved you t-“

you cut him off in an instant.

“sae” 

his name in your mouth sounds like a warning, a plea, and a cry all at once. however, you don’t give yourself enough time to analyze each of them —he has, finally, nothing else to say. he’s run out of excuses to tell you, to fix a huge mistake he had made without even realizing it.

you summon the courage to keep talking.

“i have a boyfriend now” 

sae’s chest freezes for a second, his breath getting stuck in his throat after hearing your words. he mutters an oh, but he can’t bring himself to say nothing else.

“that guy from maths, in high school.” you tell him, as if talking could somehow fix the awkward silence between you two “the one who had a crush on me when we shared that class. he’s studying the same degree as i am, and we got paired up for a group project not so long ago. i guess he never gave up liking me, and, well, when he asked me again, there was nothing stopping me from dating him.”

it is not until you finish your last sentence that you realize how cruel you have just been —until now, the only thing stopping your for dating him was precisely sae. and he knows that.

you haven’t said it on purpose, really, but for a moment, you wonder if sae is feeling what you felt the day you two argued. if he is now discovering the effect he has on people when he’s being rude. unintentionally, but rude anyway.

you stay in silence a while longer, waiting for him to say something —it’s not like you don’t care about what he was saying, or feeling, when you interrupted him; but two years later, really? a lot has happened since you two were eighteen, and it is true you have a boyfriend. it doesn’t really matter what he tells you now.

"i'm sorry, yn.” he finally says, voice soft under his, for some reason, shaky and uneven breath —could it be that this conversation is actually affecting him? “i’m sorry for not reading your letter. and for saying sorry now. and for not telling you that i loved you when i should have." 

those last words make you feel your heart break, just a bit, just a crack —only enough for a tear to fall from it through your eyes and down your cheek. 

"im sorry too, sae. but you are late for that”

then there’s silence again. neither of you says nothing for a while, but neither of you hangs up. for a few seconds, him laying on his bed and you sitting on your sofa, it feels like you are together again. rin’s superhero cartoons in the television, sae’s arm over your shoulders and your head against his neck. he would say something about his practice, and you would detangle his dark pink bangs from his long black eyelashes, then laugh at the face he made whenever you touched his hair.

everything was so easy when you were still kids, practically living in the same house three days a week —when his brother and you shared first place on things he loved, alongside football, not after it.

you sigh, escaping the bubble you had gotten in. you couldn’t blame football, practice, or matches at all —it was what distanced sae and rin, but it had nothing to with you. 

it was loving him what changed everything for you two, you think. or, at least, being such a coward you were never able to tell him. or maybe it was nostalgia. or anger. or lack of communication.

you would never know now.

the silence is mortifying. sae is the one who breaks it.

"nothing would have changed, though.” he whispers suddenly. you’re sure he’s holding the phone close to his face, for how his voice sounds, and you are right —still lying on his bed, sae lays on his side, one hand under the pillow and the other loosely playing with the sheets. the phone is on the pillow too, near to his lips, which talk very softly. “you know that, right?” 

you wonder if he’s aware he’s sounding a bit mean again, even if he’s whispering.

“i mean, you were just about to start your dream degree at college and i was centered in my football career in spain, so even if i had read the letter before and i had called you, probably nothing would have changed at all” he’s biting his lip now, curled upon his bed, as if you were kids again, telling each other secrets under the blankets. “maybe it was for the better.”

you can’t help it but chuckle. this is so sae, trying to fix something with the right intentions but the wrong words. 

he was never good at comforting people, honestly, but no one, not even you, had ever told him that —the fact that his words are always true doesn't mean they can't hurt, and that’s something he never understood.

maybe he thinks you are immune to them now, now that you have a new boyfriend and, apparently, your dream life. but it does hurt anyway.

"i would have waited for you" you confess, throwing another sharp truth to him. you hear him swallow the lump in his throat "but it doesn’t matter now, does it?” 

on the other side of the line, sae presses his lips together, and sighs silently. he doesn’t even react to your sarcasm —of course you would have waited for him. of course he would have waited for you, too. 

and well, you have a boyfriend now, but it’s the guy you had been complaining about for weeks on facetime when you were younger, at very late hours in japan and very early hours in spain. and it might be selfish for sae to think this, but you couldn’t like your boyfriend that much if it had taken him more than four years to get a yes from you.

so maybe, after clearing the feelings between you two, you could fix the friendship you had —and had lost— during his time in spain. maybe he could... 

“would you like to hang out sometime?” he asked boldly, voice now louder and less of a whisper. his idea had potential, he thought “my family's moving out, you could come and visit the old house before we sell it, to say your goodbyes —you have memories here too.” 

your heart shrinks a little bit again,

“no, sae, i told you already. it's too late.” you try to portray a composed image, voice calm, but the distress is noticeable in your voice anyway. maybe sae hasn’t done it on purpose, but nostalgia is your weak point, and he knows that. “you are too late.”

so you don’t wait for him to say anything more before hanging up the phone. you were on edge already, a knot tightening more and more around your heart, tears piling up under your lashes. 

he has no idea how hard it was for you to move on, not just because of the distance, but because of the silence. the silence he had left when he left, and which stopped being a painful void only to become a wall between you two.

you throw your phone to the carpet of the living room; your boyfriend, still inside the bathroom, completely unaware of the state you are in —tears falling uncontrollably down your cheeks, breath uncoordinated and hard to swallow, hand covering your mouth as if, just like in a very vivid memory, you were about to throw up your heart.

of course you had spent two whole years trying to get over your first love just because itoshi sae had not recognized the envelope you’d left on his desk the last time you went to his house, and he had mixed it up with his fan’s letters. of course he hadn’t read any of them at all, because he didn’t care about his fans’ thoughts of him the way he cared about your goodbye, which he thought he would never get.

of course he hadn’t forgotten about you, and he didn’t hate you —he loved you, how could he not? and he had been scared of telling you because he thought you were the one angry at him. 

your trembling lips exhale a long sigh, and you wipe away your tears, staining your hoodie with your now-smudged makeup. you can’t help it but laugh at the irony.

of course you forgive him for everything, because you still love him. 

at least a little bit. even if you have a new boyfriend and a new whole life and you've spent drunken nights trying to forget him and rainy evenings missing him like crazy. 

in the end, seems like he loved you, too. you wonder if it was fate what didn’t allow you to be together —sae was right, though, distance was difficult and your lives way too different for a relationship to have worked. but who knows, you think. you had believed, religiously, for so many years, that sae was the one made for you —it doesn’t feel real realizing that he might have thought that about you before, too.

you sigh, closing your eyes and hugging one of your cushions. you have no more tears to cry.

if only he hadn’t read the letter two years late.

masterlist.

tags ౨ৎ @princesssae .ᐟ

pls lmk what u think in the comments, reblogging, through messages, asks or wtv!! feedback is important to me in these first posts and i'd appreciate it a lot 🤲🏼

﹫luvseisagi, april 2025.

[kabr0ztrousers]

Can you do a story with Oreg and the reader :>

You're skipping the line, because I'm behind schedule today and the ones ahead of you need setup.

You're welcome

Kabr0z Writes Episode 47: One year later

This episode picks up from Episode 42!

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

CWs: Not many today! Creampie; size difference; interspecies relations; fucking on a table; squirting;

A/N: I got into BattleTech today, which is absolutely one of those "Dear God, is that daylight?" Games, so it's 23:30 now.

Hopefully this doesn't keep me up all night again 🤣

Also, send in your requests already, you know you want to

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A year ago, you were sold to an orc warrior. It just so happened, that orc warrior was a duke who also runs a soup kitchen. You'd probably have wound up with him anyway if your adoptive father had let you get to know each other first. Things didn't really end up that way, and you were sold for thirty gold pieces and railed in childhood living room to seal the deal.

You weren't sure he really understood the idea behind an anniversary, he woke up at the crack of dawn as usual, trained until breakfast with you and your son together, then left to do whatever good works he took it upon himself to do. You like it, sure, he's certainly well-loved in the city but it is a little unbecoming for a marcher lord to be seen rethatching a roof.

You spent the day making preparations, arranging flowers you picked from the garden, setting up your child at a playdate so he wouldn't disturb you, you'd even bought him a gift, though he was a bit of an ascetic so it was only a new tunic and some hobnailed boots. Something he'd actually use.

He came home in the early evening, clomping into the house. You could hear him going towards the chapel where he'd normally stay for a while in quiet reflection before dinner.

Oreg had been a paladin since he was very young, abandoned by his warband and adopted by an elven conclave. He was younger than you when he ventured into the Shadowlands to kill the lich, and always carried his faith with him. You sat with your husband, gazing silently at the icons on the small altar, dedicated to the god of fertility and rebirth. Your hand brushed his, grasping a couple of his huge fingers in your own hand. He looked away from the altar, smiling at you as you rested your head on his shoulder.

"Dinner time?" He put an arm around you, placing his hand on your waist as he held you to him

"I was thinking of something else first, it's been a year since we met, you know?"

His greenish-grey skin went even greyer "Oh, I haven't got you anything!"

You laughed and gave him a peck on the cheek "I noticed, you'll make it up to me later, for now, let's go to the dining room"

You led him by the hand, a five-foot-nothing woman leading an eight-foot orc through your house to the grand dining room that only ever seemed to get use when you had company, or your child wanted to play there. On the table were the presents you'd bought, and the bouquet you'd made.

Your husband's eyes lit up. "For me?"

"Yes, dear, for you. Go ahead and open them"

You'd never seen such childlike glee from this man, normally lodged somewhere between practical and stoic, now filled with anticipation as he turned the first gift over in his hands before tearing off the paper and holding his new clothes to his chest. He was even more impressed with the boots, remarking on the sturdy soles as he tried them on. You couldn't help but beam at him as he stomped up and down the length of the room, clearly loving the clack-clack-clack of the nails on the smooth granite floor

You finally managed to convince to stop stomping, holding this giant man who suddenly has the boundless energy of a teen half his age. You pushed him onto one of the chairs arrayed on either side of the great table, climbing on top of him

You whispered in his ear "Now, you get to give me my gift" before hiking up your skirt, revealing your pussy to him.

He got the idea. Bundling you up, he lay you on the table, kicking the chair away and kneeling to dive face-first into you.

His hands gently gripped your thighs, squeezing the plump flesh as his tongue gently explored you. He started slow, barely touching as he licked the outer lips up and down. Speeding up, he started to tease the inner lips and your hole, running his tongue vertically, slightly catching your clit every now and then to send electric tingles through you. You could feel how wet this was making you. Hell, you could hear how wet it was making you! He still wasn't stopping, rubbing your hole with a thumb as he moved his attention upward, his tongue rolling around your clit as you whimpered and whined on the table.

When his finger started pushing into you, it was too much. You cried out as the tip slid in, feeling yourself clenching as your hands gripped the back of his head through your skirts. Oreg wasn't done yet, though, that finger pressed on, getting deeper inside before he curled it upwards, pushing hard against your g-spot, making you gasp as your knuckles whitened on your clothes. He moved with a practiced purpose, listening to the crechendo of gasping cries you made as you approached your next peak. At last, you came again, squirting straight into his mouth as waves of pleasure flowed over you. Ever since he figured out how to do it, it's been his favourite thing to do with you, you weren't sure if he enjoyed getting off as much as making you squirt for him.

He definitely enjoyed getting off though, and as he stood up, you felt the imposing thickness of his cock against you. You'd gotten more used to it over the months, but it was still challenging at first. He held the absurdly sized cock against you, rubbing it up and down your slit, slathering it with your juices before angling it into you. A moment passed, you could feel it pushing into you. Your body relented, and the tip stretched its way inside. Your breathing once again turned to gasping and your toes curled as he slid in, being careful not to go too quickly even as you could see he desperately needed your body.

"Do it, give it to me like you want" you breathed your enthusiasm to him. He looked at you a moment. You met his gaze.

He thrusted. You screamed. Wide-eyed, he looked down at you, even as you held him in "Deeper, Oreg, please, deeper"

He pulled out an inch or two, then forced himself deeper into you, letting his bodyweight force his cock inside. You bucked and rolled your hips, fucking him back as he pressed in. He picked up speed, your moans emboldening him

"Cum in me, cum in me, cum in me" you repeated your mantra over and over again as the orc took you. The table rocked and creaked with the force of his thrusts, again and again until at last, he did as you asked.

His hips hit yours and he let out a groaning sigh, cock twitching, filling you up as he dropped his load into you. You stroked his face and pulled him to you. You kissed. Your tongue was in his mouth now, he gently caressed it with his own as his balls pumped more and more of his essence into you, already leaking out and pooling below you.

You held him to you, closing your eyes, not letting him go. This is the only present you wanted from him.

Though a sword would be awesome.

########################################

Hope you enjoyed that, it's super duper late now so I'm just going to remind you all that requests are open and you're welcome to leave one!

[withwritersblock]

Think Later

~think later by Tate McRae~

Author's Note: Requested! I love this song so mf much Summary: Jack and Luke's sister is in town to visit when she finds a different Devil's player more interesting Warnings: implied smut, a very brief mention of toxic relationships Word Count: 1,585 Nico Hischer vs. Hughes fm!reader

Jack pulled his gear from his shoulders, letting out a huff of air. The team had beaten the Bruins in a 4-2 win. Where he scored two goals. He was excited to get out of the locker room because his older sister was in town. Her flight landed an hour before the game started, she barely had to time to go to Jack’s apartment and drop her bag off. 

“You guys going to Jerry’s?” Nico asked. It was bar and restaurant that the team liked to go to after they won games. Or even after horrible losses. Jack shot a look towards Luke across the room. Luke took a deep breath.

“Our sister is in town, she might want to just go home,” Jack offered. Nico perked upward, a smirk toyed to his lips. 

It was safe to say, he has crushed on Y/N since the first time he met her. It was during Jack’s rookie season, she stayed with Jack for a few weeks. Jack was struggling emotionally for a lot of his rookie year, and having his older sister in town was simply enough to help him get through it. 

“Don’t even think about it,” Jack pointed towards Nico. The locker room was pretty empty at this point, most of the guys had showered and left already. Luke furrowed his eyebrows harshly as he whipped his head around. 

“I wasn’t-” Nico started but Luke interrupted.

“She just got out of a relationship,” Luke let out as he walked towards Nico. 

“I said I wasn’t thinking about it,” Nico defended as he ran his fingers through his hair, “I’m gonna hit the showers,” Nico continued as he had a small smirk on his lips. 

It took another twenty minutes before both Jack and Luke left the locker room to see their older sister Y/N waiting for them. Luke smiled widely as he quickly made his way towards her. She gladly opened her arms for her youngest brother. 

She was technically the oldest. She was older than Quinn by twelve minutes. A fact she constantly reminded Quinn of. She was the only Hughes kid that lacked any interest in hockey, other than her brothers playing. She was a theatre kid, which was a complete one-eighty to what her parents childhoods were like. Her brothers were always more than supported. 

She felt teary-eyed as she engulfed her younger brother in a tight hug. This was the first time she saw Luke play in person in the Devils jersey. Her ex-boyfriend was a really difficult guy and wouldn’t let her travel on her own. He never wanted to spend the money to travel, so she never went to see the games. She was tightly wrapped her arms around his neck tightly. 

“Good job, Lukey Boy,” she let out as she pulled away meeting his eye. He smiled softly as he blinked away his own tears in his eye. She moved away from Luke towards Jack. “What a game, J,” she mumbled as she hugged him tightly. 

“Thanks, how are you feeling? Up for Jerry’s?” he said as he pulled away, his eyes slightly teary. She nodded dramatically. 

“Oh god, my rich brothers buying me drinks all night? How could I say no?” she asked as she stared walking towards the parking garage, blindly hoping they’d show her where Luke’s car was.

~~ 

They stepped into Jerry’s to see the entire bar was the team and their partners. The three of them walked towards the bar. Nico was sitting alone, nursing a beer as he kept his gaze on the TV screen replaying their game. It was in the middle of the first period. Jack patted on his shoulder, pulling his attention towards him. 

“Nico, you remember our sister, Y/N!” he let out loudly, over the noise of the bar. Nico met Jack’s eye for a second before he turned his gaze towards Y/N. Her eyes widened slightly as she met his gaze. The smirk on her lips quickly went away as fast as it appeared. Jack gave him a visual warning, a small head shake. “I’m gonna get us drinks, Lukey what do you want?” Jack shifted his attention towards Luke. 

“Nico, it’s nice to meet you again,” she offered as she stood beside him, close enough their arms could touch at any moment. He turned his gaze towards her, his heart beating hard against his chest.

“You too, Y/N,” he licked his lip as he shifted his gaze towards Jack and Luke behind her. 

“What do you want?” Jack asked smacking his hand against her back. She jolted suddenly, looking towards the bartender.

“Tequila soda extra lime, please,” she expressed. The bartender nodded as he began to work.

“Are you sure? Tequila may not-”

“Jack,” she scolded. He nodded reluctantly as he leaned against the bartop. Over his entire life, he knew to never argue with his older sister. She was feisty and could easily ruin him. She turned her gaze back towards Nico.

He never once looked away from her features. He couldn’t focus, he couldn’t breath as she was so stunning. She knew it too. The second she met Nico’s gaze, she pursed her lips forward. She tried to not smile. 

“Bold choice,” Nico muttered as he lowered his gaze towards her lips. They were glossed with a red color. She shrugged slightly. 

“Boring choice,” she pointed towards the beer in his hand. Nico dropped his head, a chuckle leaving his lips. “Trying to act all tough in front of your teammates?”

“I don’t need to try, I am,” he never wavered eye contact as he brought his beer towards his lips. He took a small sip. 

The bartender slid the tequila soda towards her. She smiled politely towards the bartender as she brought the glass towards her lips. Taking a sip, it tasted perfect.

“At least my drink has flavor,” she mumbled as she took another sip. Jack and Luke got their beers and were long gone, didn’t want to stay to witness Nico hit on their sister. Or even worse, their sister play along.

“It has flavor,” he defended, taking a sip of the beer. Cringing at the taste, her eyes widened as she chuckled. He smiled, “Didn’t say good flavor,”  

She leaned towards him, sliding her glass over, “Go ahead, try it,” she expressed. He clenched his jaw as he reluctantly placed his beer down. He hesitantly took a hold of the short glass. “Come on it’s so good,” she offered as she delicately rested her hand onto his forearm. He smirked towards her as he took a small sip. He quickly pulled his face away, his face scrunch together.

“Oh that’s awful,” he barely got out. 

“Oh come on!” she groaned out as she pulled the glass towards her, “You’re joking,” she let out. He shook his head, quickly pulling beer towards his lips.

“No, that was horrible,”

It had been an hour since she showed up to the bar, and it was pretty obvious that her and Nico were into one another. Jack would show up between them every so often, trying to shut down whatever was happening but it wasn’t working. 

“You know, I’m not supposed to be talking to you,” Nico let out as he tilted his head to the side. He scraped at the label of his beer bottle. She squinted her eyes slightly.

“Why’s that?” she pulled her lip gloss from her front pocket and slowly started applying it to her lips. 

“Jack doesn’t want me involved with you,” he let out. She rolled her eyes dramatically. 

“He can’t control who I talk to, or who I get involved with,” she explained confidently. She shoved her lip gloss back into her pocket as she hopped off the stool. She seductively ran her hand across his arm, slowly gripping his bicep. 

“I live across the street,” he mumbled as he lowered his gaze towards her lips. She nodded as she slowly ran her hand down his arm again, interlocking her fingers with his. 

“I just got out of a bad relationship,” she explained, meeting his gaze, “Bad in more ways than one,” she let out. Hoping he caught on. He nodded as he cleared his throat. 

“Come on,” he mumbled as he stood up from his stool, guiding her towards the bar exit. Y/N’s met Luke’s gaze from across the bar.

He tried to hold in his laughter as he watched Nico drag Y/N out of the bar. Luke smacked his hand against Jack’s arm. Jack and Dawson both shifted their gaze towards Luke. “Caps hooking up with our sister,” he let out, subtly pointing towards Y/N stepping out of the bar. He started laughing. Dawson tried to keep his laughter inside as he saw Jack’s angry expression.

“That motherfuc-”

Nico continued guiding Y/N across the street towards his apartment complex. They stepped into the lobby, he nodded towards the receptionist as he walked towards the elevator. He pressed the up button multiple times. 

“Think once is enough,” she whispered. He rolled his eyes playfully as the doors opened. He took a hold of her waist, pulling her inside. 

“Once is never enough,” he muttered as he pressed the button to his floor. He quickly guided her towards the back of the elevator, devouring her lips in the process.

“Oh my god,” she mumbled against his lips as she ran her fingers through the ends of his hair.

[enwoso]

new traditions | niamh charles x reader

twelve days of christmas | day 4

based on this request

this christmas, your girlfriend of a year and a half, niamh had convinced you spend christmas day with her and her family up in her home town of liverpool.

you say convincing but really all the girl had to do was ask, but now it had come to the day you were starting to feel a little overwhelmed.

it was nothing against niamh or her family, if anything you couldn’t be more greatful that they had invited you to join their christmas day, that and the fact you loved niamh and the rest of her family as if they were your own.

you felt a little out of place, the christmas traditions that niamh had with her family like all wearing the same christmas jumper or not opening presents until after dinner when the rest of the family had arrived were unfamiliar to you and you felt as thought you were intruding.

which is why you’d excused yourself to go to the bathroom but really you were sat in your girlfriends room on her bed trying to hype yourself back up before dinner was ready.

“love?” you could hear niamh call out for you from the other side of the door, “there you- are you okay?” niamh asked as a flash of worry flashed across her face as she looked at your anxious state as your hands bounced on your leg.

you only hummed to niamh’s question as you concentrated on steadying your breathing. niamh only becoming more worried by your response as she walked deeper into her childhood room.

“love?.. baby?”

no response. niamh got a bit closer and kneeled down in front of your taking your hands from your lap and placing her own over the top, your head moving slightly as you looked up meeting niamh’s worried eyes.

“baby, what’s wrong?” niamh asked as you let out a shaky breath, a small shrug coming from you.

“i just feel like a bit out of—“ you paused shaking your head, now realising that the words coming out your mouth just made you sound pathetic. “-no it’s fine i’m just being silly”

a pout came across niamh’s face as she listened, it was her turn to shake her head. “it’s not silly, your feelings aren’t silly love. now what’s got you hiding up here?” niamh asked as a loving smile appeared on her face, replacing the pout.

“i just feel out of place, like these are your traditions that you have with your family” you mumbled, your cheeks going a little red as you still did feel a little silly admitting it out loud.

“oh love, i’m sorry i didn’t notice sooner” niamh wrapped you in a hug, placing a sweet kiss to your lips which did help to settle some of the feelings you had.

the hug lingered a little longer before niamh pulled you up from sitting on the edge of her bed. “now is there anything i can do to help” niamh asked you humming for a moment or two.

“just hold my hand” you asked as niamh nodded, as she over exaggerated you movements and her own until your hand was in hers before using her strength to pull you in for another kiss which poured everything you both were feeling in the moment into it.

“now are we ready to go back downstairs as i know dinner is nearly ready and if we leave it any longer my brother will have stolen all the roast potatoes..” niamh asked as her eyebrows rose, you now feeling a lot calmer having your girlfriend by your side as you both made you way back downstairs.

going back downstairs and niamh never left your side, from leaving her childhood room every task became a two person job, even pulling out a chair at the table.

niamh also managed to wrestler her brother for the last roast potato, that drawing a few giggles out of you as you watched her fight for it with her younger brother.

but even during that niamh’s hand never left yours and if she couldn’t hold your hand, it rested on the next closest thing — your thigh.

as the night went on, the feeling of being an outsider was long gone as you moved into smooth sailing talks with the charles’ family, feeling like one big happy family at christmas.

“to new traditions!” niamh cheers as everyone raises a glass cheering to niamh’s toast. niamh glancing over to you as a big smile was now on your face, your smile shining as niamh found herself smiling. her hand resting on your thigh as she mouth an ‘i love you’ your way.

[sweetdispatch]

Hidden feelings - T. Zegras

masterlist pairing: Trevor Zegras x Hughes!reader summary: You moved to Anaheim and couldn't keep your feelings towards Trevor anymore warning: swear words note: based on this request because my sweet @toasttt11 is giving me the best ideas❤️

You were the youngest sibling, but as your brothers you played hockey. Finally the day of the draft came and you’ve been drafted to play for the Anaheim Ducks. Your brothers were delighted for you and the fact that all of you found your way to professional hockey. You wanted to follow Jack’ steps and not go to college but straight into the league. You just turned 19 and had to live far away from home in California. Jack knew about you being scared for the move.

“Don’t worry. You’ll find new friends there quickly plus there’s always Trevor to help you settle down” Jack hugged you.

Trevor Zegras - your silly childhood crush. You met him when you were 13 and he was 17. He looked up at you as a younger sister but you loved the attention he was paying to you. Your brothers often ignored you, wanting to be with their friends but he never was like that. He enjoyed stepping up when your brothers ditched on you. 

“I don’t know, I don’t want to bother him” You said to your brother.

“Bullshit. He’ll be more than happy to have you around. Just talk with him” Jack encouraged you. 

The next day you woke up to a message from Trevor himself.

“Congrats sister Hughes. I guess we’re stuck together from now on” You smiled seeing this text. The fact was that your crush on him never disappeared but you tried your hardest to hide it. 

He sees me only like a sister and nothing more.

“Thanks Z, can’t wait to move there” You replied to him. Before you could go to the bathroom, you saw another message from him.

“If you want, I have a spare room so you don’t have to live by yourself” You blushed. 

“I don’t really want to bother you and feel like yo have to babysit me”

“Nonsense, I’ll be more than happy to have a roommate” You giggled and went to the bathroom to get ready for the day. You had to pack all your life from Michigan and move to California. 

The time has arrived. You were now in California. Trevor promised to pick you up so now, you were waiting for him. He saw her and immediately pulled her into a hug and ruffled her hair. This was his thing that he was always doing since you knew each other. You laughed and went with him to your new home. Trevor helped you bring your things into the room and left you. You sighed and looked at your new bedroom.

You couldn’t believe that now, you’re gonna be living by yourself. Well, without parents. It was a dream to play hockey but you never thought it might happen. Since you haven’t got your driving license, Trevor was your chauffeur. Two of you were spending every moment together. The team was laughing that you’re glued to each other. It was the “siblings” love that you shared but with time, this grew into something more. 

Trevor thought you’re beautiful since he saw you on your 16th birthday. At that moment, he saw you more as a love interest than Jack’ younger sister. He never let his true feelings be revealed because he was aware that your brothers would freak out. Around this time, he went to Anaheim and focused on hockey. This helped him to forget about you.

Of course, Trevor was still caring for you and called you anytime you had an achievement or birthday but in the past 4 years, he hadn’t seen you in person. When he was coming to Michigan, you were out. When you were back home, he was in a different place. The moment he saw you at the airport, his feelings returned. He couldn’t believe how grown up and beautiful you are now. 

First months went by in no time. You two bonded with each other. Moving out didn’t look scary anymore, you were delighted that you have Trevor by your side and don’t have to feel alone in a new city. Your dynamic changed during a New Years Eve party. At midnight, Trevor grabbed your face and kissed you. You kissed him back and smiled at him when he pulled out of you. 

You thought the kiss would make everything awkward between you two but this hasn't happened. Life went on and Trevor became more flirty with you. You acted like an old marriage but you loved the change. You two were touchy with each other. While watching movies, you were laying on top of him. Often, you slept with him in his bed. It wasn’t anything sexual. It felt like teenage love. 

With time, you couldn’t hide your feelings towards Trevor. Your silly childhood crush was a serious one and you wanted to have him as your boyfriend but was too scared to address this to him. He felt the same. He wanted to be with you but didn’t know how to bring up the conversation. 

The end of the season came and you went together to the season ending party. You two acted so obviously about your feelings that people started asking questions about your relationship. None of you knew what to say and Trevor started changing topics. It hurt you but you held your tongue and played it cool, but he knew you. He could read you like an open book. 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He asked you.

“Nothing, I’m fine” 

“You were always a bad liar” He chuckled. “Now tell me the truth”

“It’s stupid” 

“Please” He gave you the cute look and you couldn’t hold it anymore.

“I might have a crush on you” He stood there and looked at you. “I told you it’s stupid, just ignore what I said” You wanted to leave but he grabbed your arm.

“It’s not stupid and I won’t ignore it. In fact, I’m delighted you told me that because I feel the same” You looked at him with wide eyes.

“What?” 

“Yeah, since your birthday party I found you cute but never admitted it because of your brothers. Later we moved on with our lives but when you arrived here, I fell deeply for you” He said.

“I had a crush on you since I met you but I always thought you see me only like a sister. That’s why I was going away from Michigan when I knew you were coming” You admitted.

“You were doing this on purpose?” Trevor asked, shocked at your confession.

“Yeah, it was easier than hiding my feelings” 

“I have something to admit too” He took a deep breath. “I kissed you at the New Years Eve party to see how you would react. If you wouldn’t kiss me back, I would use an excuse that it’s tradition or other bullshit” He giggled at the memory. “But you kissed me back and I felt like it’s a green light” 

“So all the months you were checking if you had a chance with me?” 

“Pretty much. Now, I had my answer” Before you could say something back, Trevor kissed you passionately. “Will you be my girlfriend?” 

“With pleasure” You kissed him back.

“One question, how are we gonna tell this to your brothers?” 

“I don’t think Luke will react, Jack will probably start calling you brother in law but…”

“But?” 

“Quinn might want to kill you” Trevor looked at you scared and you laughed at his reaction. “But that’s not something to worry for now, let’s enjoy the moment” You pecked his lips.

[ledesaid]

Billy: Excuse me, sir! Do you know where the great ship-eating whirlwind of the north is!?

Random Sailor: What!?

Billy: Do you know how to get to the northern ship-eater!? I got lost in the storm!"

Random Sailor: What!?

Billy: Never mind! Thanks anyway!

Amidst a fierce storm, their silence makes sense. However, falling through a transdimensional rift linked to a third act? That's beyond comprehension.

After that, he met a guy named Sinbad with a great ship. This ancient world, with its bizarre tales of kings of the seven seas and magical weapons, feels surreal. Magical dungeons with hidden treasures?

The strangest part: everyone believes he's a Magi! A mage of creation who has immense power capable of creating dungeons or destroying countries… Okay, Billy could do that, he can do that, he doesn't plan to do it, but it’s curious that they know what he is capable of without him telling them. It takes a bit of the burden off his shoulders.

Yet, it seems Sinbad wants Billy to stay as Sindria's Magi permanently.

While looking for a way home, he can't help but admire him. He treats Billy as an equal, even without knowing about his big magical transformation.

However, Billy suspects the king is not too keen on helping him return.

Their quest to stop the marine disaster responsible for the typhoon hasn't been very successful.

Sinbad: Billy, any luck!?

Billy: No! The storm is very strong, and people are running for shelter!

Sinbad: We'll try again tomorrow! Let's return to the ship!

The storm that was battering the region only disappears when Billy manages to interact with the glowing butterflies called Rukh and stops the whirlwind causing the problem.

Obviously, they return to Sindria to celebrate. Sinbad's friends and the townspeople celebrate him in a way he knows won't happen at home. He decides to enjoy it.

The days turn into months, and they refine into years. The League takes ten years when they can finally come to rescue him.

Billy: Friends!

Superman: Captain!

Wonder Woman: Brother! Thank Athena you're in one piece. It took us a few weeks to find your location. We feared that something…

Flash: Buddy, you look younger, or is it my imagination?

Billy: Well… it's been a bit more than a week for me…

Superman: You can tell us at home. The portal won't last long.

The now twenty-year-old man looks back. It is not his childhood that frames his gaze; he left that place long ago. But he has waited for this moment for so long that... he already had some short-term plans in mind... He has lived ten years as Billy Batson and ten years as Billy the Fifth Magi.

Flash: Cap… how long has it been? Flash seems to understand Billy's dilemma a little.

"Ten years."

That makes everyone hug him. Billy cries with happiness.

Billy: I’ve helped this world a lot. I’ve met many countries… I’ve been the Magi of several of them. I feel like I’ve learned a lot. But despite having enjoyed it here so much… I don't forget my role as the champion of magic at home… let's go back.

The people of our dimension also have the right to their own Magi to protect them. I have many stories to tell you. There was a really cool guy named Sinbad, a boy named Alibaba who reminds me of myself, a little Magi named Aladdin, and this pink-haired girl like Jinx who was as strong as you, Diana.

But I'm happy they arrived now. If they had arrived seven years ago, they would have had to face Sinbad, the king of the seven seas.

-------

Hi!, I am participating in BILLY BATSON WEEK 2025! @marybatson

Day 1 | u are here | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5

[bunnysbrainrot]

But I’m Better

Kintober prompt: Toys

Relationship: dbf!Joel Miller x fem!Reader

Content: explicit sexual scenes, praise kink, guided masturbation, dom/sub (kinda) dynamic, size kink (kinda sorta). No outbreak AU, age gap (Joel is around his mid-40’s, reader is early/mid-20’s).

Summary: When something breaks, you always know who to call. Your dresser is broken, and you’re left hopeless. But what happens when Joel finds something peculiar in your drawer?

A/N: Y’all. I am so pissed right now because i wrote so much on my drive home, and it deleted because of a bad connection. i can’t recall everything i wrote, so i did the best with what i could remember. i hope it’s up to your liking!

“Shit,” you grumble as you stare blankly at the clothes strewn across the floor. The knob of your dresser drawer sat stupidly in your hand, the mangled wood and metal mocking you. It looked completely ruined.

You thought about messaging your dad about the repairs, but chose against it. He was never exactly notorious for making these things simple - it would be a question of ‘So how did this happen?’ or ‘How did you manage to break it?’, and it really wasn’t worth the effort for you.

The knob sat in your hand, the screw that held it in the drawer was bent to the side, and incredibly dull. No surprise there, you thought.

To be fair, it was an old ass dresser, given to you by your grandmother when you were younger. It was weird to think that you’d had this dresser for over twelve years.

You bent over the pile of clothes and hoisted the hefty drawer in line with the empty space, grunting in frustration as you tried to shimmy it in. It was settled haphazardly and tilted backwards. Completely screwed up. You took your phone from your pocket and snapped a photo of your mangled dresser, sending it to Joel.

Dresser finally gave out, I guess. Knob fell clean off when I tried to open it

Almost immediately, Joel haha reacted to the image and began to type. He was unlike any other man you’d talked to before. Joel was timely and consistent, and he was always reliable. Even if he didn’t have the time to help, he would instruct you on how to solve an issue, but typically he helped you in person.

As much as you tried to deny it, your feeling for Joel had warped over the past few years. It began as a silly childhood crush - those early days where you and your friends joked about what older men were sexiest. Your friends had given you teasing looks when you mentioned Joel, and even more shocking was how long you’d liked him. It was a simple, harmless, childhood crush.

Until it wasn’t.

You were freshly eighteen and readying yourself for college when the realization hit you. After all those years having crushes on older guys, it would be considered okay. Weird and taboo, sure, but still allowed now that you were legally an adult.

Joel had come to your graduation dinner at the end of senior year. You remembered that night in vivid detail. More particularly, Joel’s presence set your skin ablaze with a new type of anxiety. At long last, you could freely crush on Joel, except that there was now a chance he could like you, too.

That night he’d passed you a small velvet box, tied neatly with gold ribbon. You opened the box to reveal a gold, oval-shaped locket with a simple clasp. Inscribed on the face of the locket were whorled spirals, breaking off as flowers scattered over the gilded surface. Gazing up at Joel, you couldn’t contain your joy as you gave him a quick hug. He briefly wrapped an arm around you, holding you close by the small of your back.

He broke away, smiling proudly at you below him.

“You did a great job, baby girl. You keep that up in college, and you’ll get by just fine.”

You were thankful dessert had arrived in time for you to turn your attention away, hiding your rouged cheeks. Joel probably didn’t remember that night, but you remembered every little thing.

—

You’d done your four years of college and after the endless nights with little to no sleep and hard work, you were finally graduated, and taking a gap year before considering anything further. You worked hard, and didn’t want to burn yourself out with more school immediately.

But now you were back home, and your sights were set on something else. It was a golden opportunity to spend time with Joel - time that you’d lost by being away for so long. Holiday visits and summer break was hardly generous enough to give you any alone time with Joel. You left for college as a timid girl, developed yourself as a whole, and came back a woman. A woman who knew herself and her wants.

And you wanted him, ached for him in a way you could neither define nor justify. He was almost twice your age, a wholly developed man with his own complex past and unsteady dating life.

Mr. Miller.

He had lived in the next neighborhood over for as long as you could remember. He and your dad met about ten years back at a ‘work thing’, as they described it.

Joel was kind and endlessly generous when it came to helping others. He was the first call when something broke, and the best person to have over when times were tough, despite his sometimes-rugged personality.

You’d gotten back in town over a week ago, and since then you’d seen Joel a few times, mostly to ‘inspect’ the furniture in your room - if anything had worn down over time and needed to be replaced, the whole nine. The both of you knew it was some bullshit excuse to see him at work, with those corded muscles flexing under his tanned skin, sending shivers down your spine.

That day, the two of you had enough bravery in you to flirt. It started out lightly, you gave more emphasis on Mr. Miller, until Joel requested you call him by his first name.

“Makin’ me feel like an old man, darlin’,” he teased. You remember how he sounded saying it, with a voice as thick and sweet as molasses.

Before he’d left he’d held you by the waist, staring a little too closely at your face, watching your eyes grow wide when he leaned toward you. He fixed your hair with a gentle hand, said your name, and trailed off, his eyes never leaving your lips.

He refused to kiss you that time. Though the time after that you’d decided to break the boundary, drinking him in like someone dying of thirst. You memorized his scent, the softness of his skin and rough, eager hands across your chest, between your thighs, your throat. You both had been greedy that night. It was a high that coursed through your senses. You needed him, more than you led on.

I’ll get my toolbox, looks like it could be some old hardware. Be over in 10.

You picked up around your room in the meantime, your heart fluttering in your ribcage with each passing second. The room had become stiflingly hot. Suffocating.

A knock at your bedroom door startled you out of your anxious stupor. You reached for the door and now faced a smug Joel Miller in the doorway.

“I could’ve met you at the front door, you know,” you chastised him playfully. Joel shifted his weight of his feet, pulling something from his pocket.

“Helps that I have a house key. Means I can help you even faster.”

You rolled your eyes at him and turned on your heels without a word, striding toward your broken dresser. Joel followed casually, craning his head to look around your room, at the decorations that covered the walls and ceiling. This was no longer the bedroom of a the kid he’d met all those years ago. No, you were fully your own woman now.

“Yup, the screw’s shot to shit,” he muttered, holding out the drawer’s knob to you. “See the end of it? Shouldn’t be that dull - gotta have it replaced every now and then.”

“Do you have the right screw for it?”

He nodded, popping open his toolbox and assessing the different screws in each compartment. His hands flexed with each movement, the veins branching across them shifted with every twitch and roll of his thick fingers. Your legs clenched while the most intrusive thoughts filled your head. Specifically those hands, and what you could imagine them doing to you.

Procuring the right screw, Joel handed it to you. You looked at him in innocent confusion.

God, those eyes. If he had the chance, Joel would look into them all day, to let himself get swallowed whole by their beauty. And when you looked at him all pretty like that, as if you had no idea what you were doing to him, it drove him wild. You knew exactly what you were doing when you’d flirt with Joel, but couldn’t gauge his reciprocation, or if he was even okay with the weird ‘relationship’ you had.

It had been confusing for long enough. Someone needed to make a move, and Joel wasn’t sure if you had it in you to do it. Neither were you.

“I wanna see you try it for yourself,” he explained.

“If it’s so easy, why can’t you do it?” you quipped with a smile, but still taking the knob in your hands. Joel gave no reply and waited patiently for you to back down and do it yourself.

It was far easier than you thought. You handed it back to Joel with a proud smile. His eyes thoughtfully scanned your face before finding home in your eyes.

“Smart girl. I knew you could do it.”

Heat rushed across your cheeks like a harsh sunburn, completely taken over by the brightness in his honeyed tone and brown eyes. Joel laughed at your reaction before he worked on the drawer knob, fiddling it into place. His hands rummaged through your drawer as he worked, and paid no mind to the clothes, though you just realized. This was your underwear drawer - full of lacy underwear, bras of all varieties, and one final item you prayed you hid well enough.

Joel’s hands pushed through your panties as you held your breath. After the drawer had fallen out you’d lazily threwn everything back in the drawer and paid no mind to its organization. Since it wasn’t on the bed or the floor, by accident, you were certain that Joel would cross paths with a toy of yours.

He struck something solid amidst the clothes. The material was solid and heavy, with a bit of give from the silicone. At that moment, he could’ve left it ignored, but there was no fun in that, he thought. Joel gripped the dildo at the base, pulling out of the tangle of clothes and handed it to you, flashing you with a smirk.

“You should find a better place for this,” he drawled. “Never know who could find it.”

You quickly grabbed it from him and scanned your room for another hiding spot, but nothing came to mind. Instead you plopped it back in the drawer, on the opposite side.

“Most people don’t get to go through my underwear, so you can’t give me shit for that,” you grumbled. Joel stood, groaning at the strain on his joints. You giggle at the noise, and gave him your usual teasing, “Old man.”

Ignoring your jab, Joel leaned against the chest of drawers, arms crossed over his chest in a stare down.

His voice was dark. It had become devious, knowing, and more stern than you’d imagined.

“You use it on yourself?”

You choked on your spit harshly, not expecting his question to be so direct. Joel placed a wide hand between your shoulder blades and gave you a pat, coaxing you back to normal.

“Joel,” you pant, catching your breath, “you can’t just- just ask me that.”

“And you wouldn’t be curious if the roles were reversed, I’m sure,” he said coolly.

The redness had returned to your cheeks while you debated on your answer, but your hesitation told Joel everything he needed to know. In the smallest way, you’d let it slip that you imagine him in your free time, not that it wasn’t the same case for him. If anything, it’d been worse. Every text you’d sent him set him ablaze; at night he thought about you in detail and palmed himself through his pants, or pumped his cock in a fervent hand as he thought of you, squeezing himself inside your tight pussy. Countless nights he’d stained himself with his own seed, wishing it was inside of you instead, where it belongs. That toy should be him, it always should’ve been.

“Do you?”

You huffed and turned away from him, striding toward the bed to adjust your pillows - any sort of casual distraction from the question.

“Why do you want to know?” you countered.

Joel’s hands brushed against your hips from behind, his feather-soft fingertips brushing across the skin above your jeans. You drew in a breath as Joel whispered next to your ear.

“Because I’m a selfish old bastard, and I’m wondering what it looks like.”

“What what looks like?” you ask softly. You knew precisely what he meant but you wanted to hear something from him anyway.

He burrowed his head at the crook of your neck, gently kissing your skin up to the soft spot below your ear. His breath flew over your skin hot and heavy, sending a new wave of heat to your core.

“I want to see your face when you’re all filled up. I gotta see what your little pussy looks like when it’s all stretched out.”

You pushed your hips back flush with his to find a growing bulge trapped in his jeans. Joel rolled his hips into your ass, groaning at the constraint of the rough denim.

“Joel,” you breathed.

He mumbled against your neck, “What is it baby girl?”

Shoving your ass against his crotch, you whined, “I need you. Please… need you so badly.”

His hum rumbled against your skin, sending goosebumps rolling across your arms. A hand wound up to your hair and tugged a good handful back toward him. You gazed up at him with those beautiful glossed over eyes he dreamed about. He pictured this look on your face for a few years now, and he finally had the joy of seeing it, of causing it himself.

“Not givin’ it to you yet, baby,” he tugged once more on your hair when you whined in protest, “Gonna try something different first.”

In one movement you were facing him, finding two dark eyes staring you down, pupils both blown in lust. Joel gripped the back of your head carefully now, cradling you like something precious, something coveted. This was exactly how he saw you. You were someone to protect and take care of, and now it’s shifted to something far more intimate. Joel vowed to himself that he would make you feel every ounce of pleasure you’d been missing out on. All those nights where his hand replaced your pussy built up a frustration only you could truly fix.

Joel crashed his mouth to yours, as he’d done twice before this, and the kiss sent the same heat through your body. You clenched your thighs in a pitiful attempt to gain pressure against your swollen clit, nestled sweetly between your soft folds, soaking your underwear with your slick.

He pressed you backward until your knees hit the edge of the bed. The kiss was no short of pure ecstasy. The way his stubble scratched against your cheeks, the way his breathing grew heavy when you bit at his lower lip, the way his tongue edged into your mouth to explore every inch.

You gasped when Joel pulled away, watching him step to your dresser and draw out the dildo you’d hidden back inside. He turned to you with the toy in hand, wobbling slightly in his grip.

“‘S a pretty big one, sweetheart, you actually use all of it?” his voice was far too casual for a man holding your dildo.

You offer him half a nod, “Kind of. I’ve been trying to get… all the way in.” Joel assessed your words before he joined you on the bed, holding the toy against your stomach, at the base of your pelvis. He let out a low whistle when he saw where the toy’s length ended at your tummy, past your bellybutton.

“All of that inside you… felt pretty daring getting one so big, huh?”

That wasn’t the case and it was the most embarrassing part. The truth is, you chose the size based on your image of Joel. You didn’t even know how endowed he was, but you let your fantasy of him take over. That, and the time your hand brushed against his erection during your last kiss.

“I wanted to see if it would feel like you,” you admitted.

Joel’s eyes crinkled with his laugh, “Darlin’, a toy don’t compare to the real thing. Not really.”

You jabbed his arm at his teasing, “Listen, I’m doing the best with what I got, okay?”

“Yeah, but it’s not the best you could get, now is it?” he purred, pushing forward to plant a kiss on your neck. You shook your head, knowing he was exactly right. The toy would never really feel like the real thing.

You glanced up at him with a nervous expression, furrowing your brows, “What did you want to do?”

Joel looked at you coolly and leaned back onto his elbows. He eyed you, then the toy in his hand, then back to you.

“You gonna make it fit - take it all the way - and I’m gonna help.”

Crimson shaded your cheeks at the thought, staring nervously at the toy. Surely you were wet enough to take it, but the action of pushing further, to get it in completely, had been a challenge. In hopes to boost your bravery, you hunched over him, kissing him harshly as your hands flew to your pants. You fumbled with the waistband and slid them off of you, until you were stark naked, laid and bare before Mr. Miller.

He simply drank you in as you sat nervously in the lamplight. Joel eyed you darkly, his eyes raking from your quivering thighs, your slightly hidden sex - masked by your censoring hands, to your perk nipples atop each soft breast, and to your face, eyes half-lidded in pleasure adjoined with your soft panting.

“Jesus.”

You ducked your head sheepishly, shaking slightly to decline the compliment. Joel looked you over fondly as his hand found your cheek, brushing a thumb over your cheekbone. You glanced down at him, still giving you that goofy smirk and a excited glint in his eye.

Joel kept eye contact as his hand traveled down your body - through the valley between your breasts, down your tummy, to just above your slit, daringly close to dipping between your wet folds. You pushed yourself into your knees and knelt at his side, your aching cunt exposed to him in the dimly lit room.

He trailed his hand up each thigh, halting just before he reached your pussy. Each touch was carefully light in a way that made your whole body shudder against him. A single finger slithered up your thigh once again, finally finding its way through your slit, nestling comfortably against your clit and drawing lazy circles.

You cried out against a hand held at your mouth. Joel’s hand smelled of metal and bourbon, mixed with pine and lemongrass. He smelled smoky and fresh and completely warm against your face. You bestowed your face into his palm as he gained a rhythm on your clit, drawing out the smallest cries against his skin.

“Nice and wet for me already, darlin’, that’s good… that’s such a good girl. Drippin’ and ready.”

Another dumb nod has him chuckling while his finger skirted lightly across your clit, teasing the bundle of nerves until your stomach grew tighter.

“Gonna cum, baby? You gonna cum for me already?” His comment draws another moan from you, falling like a melody past your bitten lips, a chorus straight from heaven, just for Joel.

“It’s okay, baby doll, go ‘head. Cum for daddy,” he said sweetly, the Southern drawl thick through his words.

You unravel around him, jolting your hips as your orgasm takes over your senses. A soft cry sounds through your gritted teeth; you gently grind your hips onto the pad of his finger to ride through the shockwaves. Joel leans up to kiss your shoulder, his lips warm and supple.

“Just as beautiful as I imagined,” whispered Joel. His tongue skirts along your skin to your neck, fully sitting beside you to bore his eyes into yours.

You glanced back at him with lust-blow pupils, steadying your breath as his hand slowed its tempo. Joel gave you a lazy smile, the lamplight catching the salt-and-pepper hairs of his scruff in a soft display of his rugged features.

“Can,” you started, “you be… inside me?”

Joel’s hands found your hips and gripped snugly. The look in his eyes was nothing short of affectionate. Even still, he shook his head.

“Not tonight darlin’,” he replies, “I want you to show me how you look using this-“ he points to the dildo on his opposite side, waiting. “Since you think a toy could be so much better than me-“

“That’s not it at all,” you protest, “I needed something, Joel.”

He holds up a hand to stop you mid-sentence, “You could’ve asked me, but ya didn’t, did ya?”

You gave him a scowl, “I didn’t think this would happen, Joel.”

Ever since you hit eighteen, he wanted you to practice calling him by his first name purely out of comfortability, and since you’d grown up, it seemed more fitting.

He doesn’t reply, but his smirk grows when he brings the dildo over to you, sitting between your thighs. It was embarrassing enough with how little of the toy you could handle this far, and to do it in front of Joel seemed doubly humiliating.

Joel gives your ass a small smack to lift you up. You rise, letting him set the toy between your thighs and beneath your throbbing entrance. He cleared his throat, daring your attention back to him.

“Go at your own pace, but get it all in, sweet girl.”

All thought had left you - your only reply being in an eager nod. You started off slowly, notching the toy in at your tight hole, and slowly bounced yourself along its length. Your legs shook with each movement as you filled yourself more and more, every gyration sent shockwaves of pleasure through every inch of your being.

It took a few moments to ease yourself fully, now bouncing on the dildo’s length until it became glossy with your slick. Joel eyed you affectionately. Your face twisted in ways he couldn’t imagine, and your cunt wrapped around the toy in ways he could only dream of.

Joel patted your thigh as you bottomed out at the hilt of the toy. He pawed at your hips, kneading at the tender flesh of your ass, and pulled you into a grinding motion, setting the dildo ever deeper into your cunt. It struck a new spot deep inside of you, pushing against your cervix. A low moan fell from you as you moved your hips absentmindedly, solely following Joel’s command.

The tightness in your stomach only grew as his praises flowed through your head.

“Such an obedient lil’ thing.”

“That’s a dirty girl, gettin’ all needy like that. Wishin’ it was me in your sweet pussy, don’t you?”

“You have no idea how badly I want to fill you right now, baby doll.”

You mewled softly as another orgasm crashed through you, your hips sputtering as you ground onto the toy. Joel’s hands caressed you through your high, though he didn’t stop tugging your hips. He beamed lazily when you cried his name once again, shuddering around the toy nestled inside of you.

“Attagirl,” whispered Joel, “so fuckin’ beautiful..”

You shook your head at him like before, but he showed no signs of backing down from his stance. Joel peppered your thighs with kisses and he lifted you off the toy, listening to your whines as you were left feeling empty. His cock twitched in his jeans, eager to play.

But not yet. He needed to see this first.

“How was that, sweet girl?”

A beat of silence said every unspoken thing you’d come up with. It was good, but not mind-boggling. Not the ‘fucked til you’re dumb’ pleasure you’d expected from tonight.

Joel patted your ass, “That’s the thing. Toys… they feel nice. But-“ He plants a kiss to your cheek, then your lips, grazing over the swollen skin.

“I’m better.”

The next few minutes consisted of cleaning after yourself and settling back into your clothes. Joel fixed your hair neatly before looking you over.

“Cant stay long tonight, darlin’, gotta get back home.”

You sighed dramatically at him, to which he scoffed away the gesture. On his way out, he gave you a far more longing look - a loving, thoughtful gaze that told you one thing.

You were his. Completely and wholly. It was clear he saw you differently now, as you did him.

Joel fucking Miller.

MDNI spacer is by cafekitsune!

hi everyone! thank you for so much incredible support on this fic!

Just FYI: Blood Flow, and Daddy’s Girl are now up as parts 2 and 3! have fun, lovelies

[torgerandsuzanne]

Just finished listening to Toto on the Armchair Expert with Dax Shepard. Such a great fun interview. Toto really opens up on a variety of topics. Some highlights:

His childhood: He talks about growing up, his dad being ill, how that affected him and his mom not being present. His mom who is 79 and “not doing well”, told him “I wasn’t a good mother.” He says he told her “I forgive you because I know how hard it was to be at home and see the suffering” 😢

Anxiety about failure: He says that in the years past he was always fearing failure. “Everything could end tomorrow. The racing, the winning, the money—gone. My wife leaves me for the hairdresser.” 😂 (Dax says it’s the personal trainer Susie would have left him for not the hairdresser 🤣) But he says a couple of years ago, he let go of that fear “I realized that I have an amazing relationship with my kids. I have the best wife I can Imagine. I’ve done what I wanted to do. That’s why I have peace if I were dying today” ❤️

Susie’s call during the interview: Toto says his phone is always on silent unless Susie or the kids call. In that case he has a ringtone override. His phone rang during the interview. It was Susie. Dax was yelling “I love you”. Toto passed him the phone and Dax told her “If my wife dies and Toto dies, I am sprinting to you” 😂

The love and respect for Susie: He said if she wanted to grow her career in motorsport he would give up his role as a team principal “She’s such a good manager and entrepreneur. She could do so much more. And I’m saying to her, if you were to have a career in motorsport and you were conflicted with me, I would step out of an executive role” ❤️

She doesn’t like his mirror poses “We have fun at home. When you’re in front of a mirror and you’re doing some stupid posing. Yeah she says that’s really turning me off” 😂

The “model cliche“ discussion with Dax: Toto and Dax talk about the cliche of being with a model. “If a girl stares at her own pictures on the computer, that’s a warning sign for me” 😂 One of his friends got together with a younger lady who then dumped him, Susie told the guy “what did you expect” 🤣

He’s not into fashion: “I’m the most boring fashion guy”

Free diving with George done wrong: He went free diving with George while Netflix crew was there to film. But he ended up bursting his eardrum, and the whole thing fell apart 😅

His go-to drink is vodka, nothing else: 😂 “I don’t drink wine. I don’t drink beer because of gluten. It doesn’t do me well. If I’m drinking alcohol, then it’s full blast vodka. You don’t drink huge amounts and after 20 minutes you’re already having fun. The liquid is not huge and you’re not mixing. So I don’t feel sick. I don’t feel bad the next day. No hangover”

He never got into drugs: He shares a story about trying a “water pipe” with friends when he was 16. Afterward, he went to the subway station and realized he didn’t have his shoes on 😂. But he says he stayed away from the heavier stuff because, “I was always mentally fragile, and I was scared it would leave me in a dark place.”

Lewis gave him his motorcycle as a gift ❤️: He shared a story about Lewis coming over to have dinner with him and Susie in Monaco. He told them to come down, that he needed to show them something and then he told Toto “You’ve done so many great things, and together we’ve accomplished so much. I’ve never given you a gift before so I want you to have this, the #1 bike out of 44 edition series.” (he gave him a MV Agusta Lewis Hamilton edition)