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hurtspideyparker · 5 months ago

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Avengers' Galentine's Day 💕

"You may be wondering why I've convened you here today."

Natasha looks around the table at the men, hands clasped and back straight. Bruce, Peter, Sam, and Bucky sit around her.

Peter perks up. "I'm just happy to be here, thank you for inviting me Ms. Romanoff!"

"You can call me Natasha. And don't make me regret it," she says pointedly.

Peter nods furiously, leaning in intently as she speaks again.

"Valentine's Day is tomorrow, and to my knowledge all of you are single. And my knowledge is always correct. So, I propose a Galentine's Day."

The men all share awkward looks.

"We're all...dudes."

"Yes, thank you Sam. I wasn't aware." She says sharply before continuing.

"Listen, contrary to popular belief around here, I am a woman. I want to do woman things. But Wanda has a boyfriend, Pepper is working, and Maria is out of the country. So, I'm left with you doofuses."

"Hold on, hold on," Sam puts a hand up, "why wouldn't we think you were a woman? I mean we treat you like a friend and not a sex object. That's not treating you like a man."

Natasha holds up a hand and starts counting on her fingers.

"You two were making fart noises and giggling during breakfast with me sitting right there, and only stopped when Pepper walked in for a bagel," she looks between Sam and Peter.

"You offered me your 3-in-1 when I forgot my toiletries bag on mission," she nods to Bruce.

"And you—" she raises her eyebrows at Bucky, "handed me a cup when I said I needed to pee during that road trip out West."

The men all turn to Bucky.

"Jus' instinct. My bad." he hunches under their scrutiny.

"What kinda road trips you going on man," Sam asks.

"Clearly not the same ones as you."

"CleArLy—"

"Anyways!" Natasha interrupts, "You owe me. And if you say no you're probably sexist. Who's in?"

Peter's hand shoots up enthusiastically, and the others reluctantly follow.

"Great! We need someone on decorations, someone to plan an activity, someone on dinner, I'll prepare the snacks, and then someone on drinks. Alcoholic and non. And yes this all has to be Valentine's theme. So...who knows a good balloon place?"

Sam gets dinner, Bucky drinks, Bruce on the activity, and Peter decorations.

"You're all capable people so do not call me every second asking stupid questions. Figure it out, it better be amazing. Steve and Tony are leaving at 6pm for their date and won't be back till late, so we have the place to ourselves. The dress code is red white and pink, be there or be square."

With that Natasha is up and breezing down the hall.

"Why do I feel guilty and manipulated at the same time. What just happened." Bruce contemplates.

"Spies man," Sam shakes his head.

Peter rolls his eyes, "you guys are so lame. Do you know what this means? Chocolate covered strawberries. Heart shaped balloons. Fun games. Frosting—I basically lived off of Red 40 when I was 13. And I like hanging out with you all, what's the difference now that it's Valentine's?"

"The difference is I have to party plan, and I can't go to the bar and flirt with lonely singles." Sam complains.

Peter shrugs and gets up from the table. "That's weird, and you're no fun. Later losers!"

Bucky crosses his arms and sinks into the chair. "Why is it Ms. Romanoff and Mr. Stark, but we're losers?"

"Probably because you two are morons and he beat your asses before his balls dropped." Bruce says nonchalantly, picking up his tablet and pulling out his reading glasses.

˖°. ⋆ ♡ ˖°. ⋆

Peter gets to work first, calling May because he has zero experience decorating anything, let alone a holiday themed girls' (?) night.

"Dollar store helium balloons. Honestly, dollar store for most of it; look in the Valentine's section. Also maybe ribbon, place settings, and of course flowers. And don't you dare leave the flowers in the plastic Peter Benjamin Parker—"

Peter finds most of what he needs at the dollar store, and then finds a red and white checkered tablecloth at the thrift store.

The day of he sets the table with heart doilies, pink dishware that Pepper found for him, and some random candles. The odd assortment makes it look rustic, and not like he stole them from people's rooms in the tower. (Wanda had a candle that smells like lavender! Score!)

He sets the balloons loose onto the ceiling and shrugs a good enough when they seem evenly spaced. He uses Mr. Stark's credit card to buy the flowers, because holy bejesus, 60 dollars for plants that aren't even going to make it to next month?! He fixes them up nice, an assortment in varying shades of pink with small white flowers in-between, and puts them in a vase he found when dumpster diving. He hangs streamers and heart garlands on the walls, and uses some Valentine's confetti to just... throw around. It looks like the dragon of capitalism threw up on all the flat surfaces, and Peter dusts his hands off with a job well done.

˖°. ⋆ ♡ ˖°. ⋆

Sam knows how to be romantic. He does not, however, know how to be "cutesy".

All his normal romantic dinner ideas go flying out the window—he is not ordering steak and salmon for a bunch of dudes and a minor, thank you very much.

The only thing he could find that would fit the theme without being romantic was heart-shaped pizzas. It sounds like the perfect party food and just might avoid disappointing a woman who carries a dozen weapons on her at all time (half of which are just the ways she can use her body with lethal force).

He calls five pizza shops trying to place a catering order for the 14th, receives a cacophony of "fuck you"s, "do you know what day that is? Do you know what day today is?", and some immediate hang ups before deciding that homemade pizzas are way more fun and creative anyways, and does a quick grocery shop.

˖°. ⋆ ♡ ˖°. ⋆

Bruce looks through blogs with pictures of millennial blonde women telling him about "great ideas for girls' night!" and finds his task far more difficult than anticipated.

Friendship bracelets? Clashing aesthetics aside, they'd probably rain down in a mess of beads mid-fight. He does not want to Home Alone his friends (don't even get him started on Hulking out).

Decorate your own hair accessories? He's not sure how the physics of trying to clip a hair bow onto Sam's head would work. Bucky and Natasha might appreciate a good claw clip though.

What he does land on is making clay fridge magnets. They have... a fridge. How hard can painting be?

He also pulls out Uno and Avengers Edition Guess Who—they get sent a lot of promotional items. Collectively their favourite was the Ben & Jerry's Super ice cream line, they bought a whole other freezer for it.

˖°. ⋆ ♡ ˖°. ⋆

Bucky buys 3 bottles of rosé, 2 tequila, 1 vodka, red jello packets, pink lemonade, edible glitter, and strawberry milk.

˖°. ⋆ ♡ ˖°. ⋆

Natasha placed an order for a beautiful array of cupcakes, chocolate covered strawberries, and a charcuterie board back in December.

She only waited so long to invite her guests because she wasn't sure how they'd react to her wanting a nice girly party. Her options were already slim to begin with, and it felt weird inviting a bunch of dudes to something she's been planning for months with the ridiculous expectation she'd magically have more women in her life.

Either way, she's determined to have a great night. These are some of her closest friends, why would it matter if they're men?

˖°. ⋆ ♡ ˖°. ⋆

"Maybe I should have been clearer about the dress code."

Natasha is wearing a beautiful red dress; mid-length, thin straps, and a plunging neckline. It fits her curves beautifully, emphasizing her hips in a silky fabric.

The men took the dress code in a...different direction.

Bruce is wearing jeans and a maroon cardigan.

Sam has a white button-up and a red tie, cuffs rolled up to the elbow, and nice black slacks.

Peter is wearing pink hello kitty pajama pants and a white t-shirt with an anatomical heart diagram.

Bucky is adorned in his usual black cargo pants and a baby pink hoodie.

The men all assess each other's outfits, eyes reflecting uncertainty. Sam in particular seems at odds with Bucky's pastel fashion choice.

"Where'd you get that sweater? I thought your favourite colour was "dark" and your closet consistent exclusively of black, noir, midnight, and charcoal."

Bucky seems content despite the fashion being out of his comfort zone. The soft warm colouring makes him seem sweet and approachable despite his perpetual glower.

"I don't know, it just turned like this one day. It used to be white."

Sam narrows his eyes, "I think you messed up your laundry dude."

"I thought this was just something that happened with your fancy machines. I like dark colours, so. I wouldn't know if this was normal."

"Did you wash it with something red? Used hot water?"

"I don't own any red."

Sam exchanges skeptical looks with the other confused Avengers, except Peter, who's completely turned away from them all and observing the wall.

"Peter." Natasha asks.

"Mhm?" he says, back still turned.

"You wouldn't happen to know something about this would you?"

Peter rocks back and forth on his feet, arms swinging like he hadn't a care in the world.

"Not a clue Ms. Ro—Natasha. I haven't the faintest idea."

"The kid did something to your laundry."

"Hey!" Peter spins around. "That is a wild accusation."

"Look me in the eyes and tell me you didn't do it."

Peter matches her unwavering stare, "I! ...Maybe put some of Spider-Man's things in the machine. It was already going and it was just socks—why would I start a new load for socks!"

"When the load that's already going is whites. Honestly, as a society shouldn't we have moved past separating colours? Cold water people, cold water." Bruce trails off.

Sam claps him on the shoulder with a "preach it brother!" while pumping his other fist in the air.

Natasha slices her hands through the air in an 'enough' motion.

"It's fine, it's fine. We're here, we're dressed, Peter managed to do a nice job decorating," Peter grins and shoots her two thumbs up, "so let's get the party started."

Natasha turns on some music while Sam grabs everything out of the fridge.

"We're gonna make heart pizzas! Thought I'd add a little fun and personality to the whole dinner affair."

Natasha looks him up and down.

"All of the pizza places told you to fuck off didn't they?"

"Loudly and immediately."

Her lips quirk subtly and then she helps him set the table up and pass out dough. Sam sighs in relief at the micro expression of joy.

The table is full of chatter and warmth, toppings being passes around. Peter sings along to Blank Space by Taylor Swift with an alarming passion, and Sam absolutely kills everyone with his rendition of Single Ladies by Beyoncé, even getting a chuckle from Bucky. There is a short stint between Natasha and Bruce in which she sees how many green peppers she can place on his pizza without him noticing after he said he didn't like the fruit.

"But you like red?"

"Red has flavour, green things all taste like water or small talk."

The answer was 6 before he noticed.

They take turns playing Avengers Guess Who while they wait for all of their food to cook. Peter and Sam are against each other as Natasha eats her fresh pizza.

"Is your character a man?"

Sam's eyebrows furrow. They just started the game, and already he's stumped.

"I don't know dude, I don't even know if he's got any junk in his trunk."

"Oh, so Vision?"

"Dammit!"

Bucky and Natasha go next.

"Would your character wear his own branded underwear?"

"Yes." Natasha replies immediately. "Would your character be picked for a stealth mission?"

"Nope," Bucky answers as he finishes flipping down his characters. He only has 3 left.

"Has your character had a press scandal in the last 6 months?"

Natasha thinks for a moment, "yes. Is your character Bruce?"

Bucky groans and slams down the last character he had up.

"Yeah. And yours was Tony."

"Indeed it was. Should have guessed when you had 3, better to gamble than play it safe." Bucky rolls his eyes but nods in agreement.

Bucky gets all of his drinks out while they eat, pouring lemonade and tequila haphazardly into their cups, stirring in glitter with an unenthusiastic flare.

"Voila."

Peter looks on.

"What about me?"

Bucky reaches back into the fridge and pulls out a litre of pink strawberry milk.

"Ta-da."

Peter looks at it with befuddlement.

"What, you want the glitter too?"

"Not a fan of micro plastics, thanks."

Bucky shrugs and pushes the jug of milk towards him.

˖°. ⋆ ♡ ˖°. ⋆

"Fridge magnets!"

They all stare at Bruce.

"Magnets! For our fridge!"

"And this made you think of us?" Sam asks.

Bruce throws his hands up. "I don't know man! Would you have preferred wine glass painting?"

Sam holds his palms towards Bruce in a soothing manner. "Struck a nerve there..." he whispers to Bucky.

Despite their apprehension they fall into a nice rhythm of sipping and shaping. The clay starts coming together under their palms; Bruce a pair of glasses, Peter an Iron Man mask, Natasha a pair of ballet slippers, Sam a set of sprawling wings and Bucky a kitten.

"You a cat guy?" Sam asks him.

"Is there something wrong with that?"

Sam's eyes flit between the small cat ears being shaped by gruff hands and the shadowed face of the taciturn super soldier.

"Naw, just didn't peg you as a cat guy. Or an animal guy. Or a loving guy."

Bucky stares at him for a moment before stretching a fist out and smashing Sam's wings-in-progress.

"Hey! Foul, foul! Natasha are you going to just let this happen?"

"It's Bruce's activity."

"Hulk smash."

˖°. ⋆ ♡ ˖°. ⋆

As the night progresses the adults become more and more tipsy, grazing the charcuterie board and sweets on the table.

"AH oh GOD what did you make these with, battery acid?!"

Everyone turns to Peter who's standing in the refrigerator door, holding a cup of half eaten red Jello.

"Oh, I forgot about those. They're Jello shots."

Peter balks at Bucky, "as in alcohol?!"

He rushes to the sink and tilts his head sideways under the faucet, water blasting onto his tongue.

"Well, that's dramatic."

"That is the most disgusting thing I've ever tasted. Why on Earth would you ruin perfectly good Jello like that?"

Bucky grabs the tray of Jello shots from the opened fridge, placing them on the table and handing them out to the adults.

"Cheers," they tap the plastic cups before shooting the gelatin down their throats to the sound of Peter spluttering in the sink. Bucky and Natasha's go down smoothly, Sam chokes a bit at the awkward chunk of food heating his throat, and Bruce spends 30 seconds trying to scoop the Jello out of the cup with an uncomfortable combination of finger and tongue action.

"How do you even know about Jello shots, you're like...old." Peter remarks once he's taken a few gulps of pink lemonade to wash down the aftertaste.

"How do you know about Jello shots, you're like...uncool." Bucky retorts. Natasha snorts and Sam bursts out laughing. Even Bruce chuckles.

"Dr. Banner," Peter whines at him.

"Sorry kid, but he's got a point. What kind of kid spits out a Jello shot. It's free, sugary, no-repercussions alcohol."

Peter just sits down with a pout and continues to sip on his lemonade.

˖°. ⋆ ♡ ˖°. ⋆

The night gets later, the adults more inebriated as they finish painting their magnets.

Sam has eaten all the salami off the board and Peter has taken to throwing the disproportionate amount of cheese leftover at people. Bucky is on his third cupcake, and Natasha keeps giggling into her cup of tequila.

"What if he was blue—" Sam starts cracking himself up, hovering a paintbrush near Peter's Iron Man face.

"I don't understand what's so funny about that. Stop, Sam stop!"

As the boys fight over the paint, Natasha and Bruce go with a quick all-over glaze of colour and then add the sealant and magnet before the others even make it to a second shade. Bucky paints his cat with an air of intense concentration, one even Sam doesn't want to go near.

Their finished magnets get placed onto fridge.

˖°. ⋆ ♡ ˖°. ⋆

The whole group seem to be moving around and restless, chaotic and boisterous. Sam complains loudly about the romcom they put on in the background, Peter, Bruce, and Bucky play a rapid round of Uno, and Natasha keeps popping in and out of rooms with a different cookie and drink in her hand each time.

Bruce starts to get weepy when he pronounces uno, mumbling something about being "uno" forever through a drunken tongue and snot as Peter rubs his back.

The next time they turn around Natasha and Bucky are on the other couch making out.

"Gross! No! No romance on Galentine's Day!" Peter shouts, throwing pillows and pink m&ms at them until they pull away. Peter couldn't see much other than the back of Bucky's head, but he shivers in disgust at the sight of reddened lips.

He starts counting down the time on the clock until Tony and Steve are said to come home. While the snacks, games, and company have been fantastic, the adults are becoming far too...exuberant for his taste.

Bruce is a weepy drunk, Sam simply annoying, Natasha is sneaky and suspiciously absent for odd lengths of time, and Bucky...

"Hey! What did I say!" Peter dumps his glass of water onto the brunet, watching him jerk his lips off of Sam's in dissatisfaction.

"I swear I'll get a spray bottle. Bad Bucky." he says before continuing to the bathroom.

He finds the door open and Natasha standing at the mirror, curling her hair.

"Why?"

Natasha just shrugs.

˖°. ⋆ ♡ ˖°. ⋆

The elevator finally dings a quarter to midnight.

"Oh thank goodness."

Steve and Tony exit with linked arms, broad smiles and sides pressed together in a matching gate.

Peter rushes up to them, backpack in hand as he starts shedding his t-shirt and socks.

"Woah there cowboy, I did not sign up for that kind of rodeo" Tony alarms.

Peter just pulls out his spider suit and starts slipping it on over his state of undress.

"Tell Natasha I had a great time, but I'm expeditiously out of here. Bruce is still hung up on his ex, Natasha feels distanced from her femininity and is trying to regain her girlhood, Bucky's a slut, and Sam is so totally tapping that tonight. I'd like to be far, far away when that happens."

Peter pulls on the final piece of the suit, masking up and sending enthusiastic waves to the couple.

"Hope your date was nice! This is not my problem anymore."

And then he scampers to the balcony and swings off into the night.

The couple share wide eyes, listening to the odd sound of their friends and the booming TV playing a romantic 90s soundtrack.

Is someone crying?

Steve turns away from Tony and steps towards the living area, but Tony doesn't loosen his hold on the other's arm, making his steps stutter to a stop immediately.

"Shouldn't we go check on them? Sounds like the party was too much of a hit."

Steve looks over at the empty bottles of wine and tequila tipped on the kitchen counter. There's food, half fallen streamers, and Uno cards everywhere.

"Right now? That is not our problem."

"But—"

Tony slinks forward, pressing their chests together and wrapping his arms around the Captain's neck, wide-eyed browns meeting baby blues.

"It's still Valentine's, and I have a far more pressing problem for you."

Steve stares mesmerized under Tony's touch, the man sly and hot against his front. They're close, close enough to feel...

"Oh! That's—"

"Mhm."

"Okay. Yeah, they'll be fine till morning."

Tony smirks and Steve matches his smile, moving his hands to his lover's waist before walking him backwards.

Tony allows himself to be guided to their bedroom without breaking eye contact, blocking all thoughts of the other Avengers with a slam of the door and giggling open mouthed kisses.

#domestic avengers #marvel #mcu #avengers #peter parker #natasha romanoff #bucky barnes #sam wilson #bruce banner #stony #sambucky #winterwidow #marvel mcu #steve rogers #tony stark #happy valentine's day #don't talk to me about this being late i was so upset i ran out of time 😭. 14 is such a pretty number 😞#valentine's day

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idkdudethisisntpermanent · 8 months ago

Text

Over the Limit - pt.v

jenna ortega x female reader

summary: An unlikely group forms—did someone say road trip?

word count: 10.8k

a/n: It's officially been a month since I've started posting Over the Limit on Tumblr! Thank you everyone for the overwhelming amount of support💚

————

How are weekends meant to look for the average 20-year old? Finally sleeping in after having a week of 8am classes? Scrambling to your job that funds all your stupid vices? Maybe it was stressing over picking the sluttiest outfit you can wear since you had a frat party and needed all eyes on you?

That realm of life seemed impossible for you. When you’re from Brimstone you don’t have the privilege of worrying about those things—no, instead on this fine Saturday morning you’re groggily rubbing your eyes open at 6am, while Hunter is panicking about the land lord who’s five seconds away from knocking the door down.

“Dude just answer,” you say annoyed, you could barely sleep last night and the last thing you needed was this antsy land lord playing drums on the door.

“I fucking can’t!” Hunter whisper yells, crouching down to your position on the floor where you had slept the night prior. “He’s gonna hand me an eviction notice when he sees me!”

And that is how your weekend begins when you’re from Brimstone.

After ignoring the loud knocks for some time, the land lord left grumbling angry curses at Hunter.

“So you’re backed up on two months of rent?” you ask, learning the information from the man that was once outside the door.

The older guy sighs with a nod, “Yeah, you know how it is. I haven’t been getting much races lately. I should’ve put a wager on you when you raced that Blond douche,” he says with a hollow chuckle.

You frown. You know exactly how it is. It’s not rare for you to walk into the garage and hear the whispers of unhappy Sinners about their pay cut.

Race clubs had their own economy. The quickest way for racers to make money was by paying an entry fee to compete, with the total pool going to the winning racer or crew. Crews like the Sinners also occasionally hosted parties, collecting entry fees to boost their earnings.

But gambling was the bread and butter—side bets, wagers, and deals made on the outcome of races. Anyone could place a bet, whether it was on their own crew or against them, but most of the money came from outsiders: third-party crews or devoted townspeople.

And then there was the fastest, most dangerous way to make cash.

“Didn’t you have a sponsor?” you asked.

Hunter's jaw tightened, and a shadow of bitterness crossed his face. "Yeah, I did. But things went south," he muttered. "Sponsors aren't what they used to be. They're too caught up in politics, or they want a cut so big it's not worth the payout."

You nodded, understanding that finding and keeping a sponsor was a double-edged sword. While they offered financial stability and access to better equipment, they came with strings attached—controlling interests, unwanted appearances, and expectations that sometimes choked a racer's freedom. You had to be in at least the top 5% of racer's to even be considered by a sponsor, and Hunter was just that good. But that lifestyle was clearly not worth it for him. You don't blame him, you've heard the stories of sponsor's having crazy asks for their prodigies.

"You'd be a sponsor's dream you know?" he suddenly says.

You quirk a brow up, not knowing how so.

"You're a great racer, you get along well with the rich, you're submissive—

"I am not submissive!"

————

After some more banter with Hunter you finally proceed with your morning and freshen up. As you're standing in front of the bathroom sink, wondering how you're going to brush your teeth, you noticed two toothbrushes in the holder.

Hunter lived alone.

Not knowing the origins of the second toothbrush and not willing to risk it, you opted to brush your teeth using your finger, and splashed some cool water on your face, trying to chase away the exhaustion and pull yourself together.

As you stared at your reflection in the mirror, a chill slid down your spine. Shock had a strange way of altering a person’s expression—jaw locked, eyes hardened, gaze steely. The revelations of last night were etched into your face like battle scars.

You were scared. Everything you heard last night was real—things that will directly impact you and your loved ones. It wasn’t just some joke, it was real life. And about your father...ever since the revelations of last night, it's been weighing on you—if you should tell your mom about the foul play in her husband’s death. How do you even tell someone that?

Your hands tightened around the edge of the sink, water dripping off your face and pooling on the counter. You thought about how it didn't shock you more to learn that your father’s death was no accident. Did that make you a terrible daughter? You thought of Anton, always armed, always prepared for whatever might come his way. Of course this life was brutal. Your father had been a founder, a leader—how could it not be dangerous?

But who wanted your father dead?

That was rather the question that gnawed at you, digging deeper with every passing second. Who could have wanted him gone, and why? Your fingers clenched the porcelain sink harder, the tremor in your hands matched by the anger coursing through you. And then the tears came undone, streaking down your face and mingling with the water already on the counter.

“Y/n?” Hunter’s voice cut through the fog of your mind, followed by a knock on the bathroom door. “Hey, you okay in there?”

You sucked in a shaky breath, fighting to steady yourself. Now was not the time nor place for breaking down.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you called out, forcing your voice into something resembling normalcy. You wiped your face with the back of your hand and swung the door open. Hunter stood there, a towel draped over his arm, eyes shadowed with worry.

He frowned as you brushed past him, taking the towel and pressing it to your damp face. The silence hung between you.

Hunter’s gaze followed you as you moved, his eyes full of questions. “Y/n, look” he started his voice soft, hesitant, as if he was afraid that speaking too loudly would shatter you. "I don't know what's going on with you. But I know it's a lot. I already know that Jenna is a Viper and now this Ghost Smoke shit. You can talk to me about whatever you're dealing with if you want."

You paused, towel clenched in your fists, staring blankly at the wall. The weight of everything threatened to crush you, but you felt the warmth of Hunter’s hand as he reached out, resting it on your shoulder. That simple touch was enough to crack the fragile shield you’d tried so hard to maintain.

Tears welled up again, this time falling freely. Before you could stop yourself, the words tumbled out, each one tugging at the raw wound inside you. “Hunter, I don't know what to do.”

He stepped closer and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a firm embrace. The warmth and steadiness of him anchored you as you broke down, sobs shaking your frame.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he whispered, his hand gently rubbing your back. “We’ll figure this out, I promise. You’re not alone.”

The floodgates opened, and you told him everything—how you met Jenna, her request to find dirt on Percy, your dad supposedly wanting out of the Sinners, and the revelation that Bullet and Apex weren’t just names, but legacies tied to betrayal and death. Hunter listened in silence, holding you tight, his own expression darkening with every word.

In that moment, the fear and uncertainty didn’t vanish, but they felt a little more bearable. You had someone who knew, someone who would stand by you.

————

You and Hunter sat side by side on his worn couch, the late morning sun casting a soft light through the window. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable now; it was a shared reprieve after an outpouring of truths.

Hunter leaned back, one arm resting along the back of the couch, the other in the bag of chips he pulled out for you two. Your breakfast. He let out a breath, shaking his head slowly. “So, Jenna came to you with this whole thing about Percy and the Ghost Smoke operation, and you just… jumped in? Talk about submissive.”

You punch his shoulder lightly, and managed a small smile, the relief of finally sharing the truth giving your chest room to breathe. “I didn’t think it would spiral like this,” you admitted. “It was supposed to be simple—find out what Percy was up to, help Jenna. But now, with what we know...”

Hunter’s eyes darkened as he nodded. “It’s more than just racing politics. It’s deeper, more dangerous.” He glanced at you, concern still etched into his features. “And you’re sure Anton has no idea you’re involved?”

The question hung heavy between you, but you felt more grounded now. You nodded. “For now, he doesn’t. But I don’t know how long that will last.”

A sudden thought crossed your mind, and you straightened. “Do you think Mikey knows Jenna is with the Vipers?”

Hunter shrugged, "She give you any reason to think that?"

"She was just... observant man. The other day—when we went on the drive. She remembered the Aston from the footage she saw of me and Jenna. Said something about how it was the car I rolled in with 'my girl' in."

Hunter’s smirk returned, and he nudged you again, playfulness edging out the tension. “Maybe she’s paying close attention because she’s totally into you.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile lingered. “I’m being serious, Hunter.”

“Alright, alright,” Hunter said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “But on that note... we need to talk about the Aston.”

You frowned, a hint of confusion crossing your face. “What about it?”

Hunter leaned forward, the playful glint in his eyes replaced by seriousness. “Think about it. We crashed that meeting last night and got caught snooping around. The only lead they have on us is the car. They know we escaped in the AM. If they’re looking for anything, it’ll be that.”

Fuck he was right.

"I say we demolish it. Scrap it for parts or something."

"—no!" you exclaim interrupting his thought. "I'll find a place to have it stashed. Don't worry."

The older guy squinted his eyes in confusion. You were a mechanic, you never got attached to your cars. You knew better than anyone that cars come and go. Yet you couldn't let go of this one.

————

Being a mechanic had its perks, and one of the best was the network of wealthy clientele you’d built over the years. If someone had enough money to buy a custom-built, fully modded car from you, chances were they also had plenty of land—land that could discreetly store a car like yours. Now, you just had to hope their generosity matched the size of their bank accounts.

You stepped out onto the balcony as you scroll through your phone, siffling through your contacts.

"Hmm, maybe John might help me out," you mummer to yourself pressing call.

John was one of your more calm clients. He was the proud new owner of a 1969 Ford Mustang Mach 1. You’d delivered the car just over a month ago—the same night Anton nearly gave you a heart attack by pulling a mock robbery, complete with a gun pointed at you. You shook the memory from your mind, focusing instead on the call as it began to ring.

You first engaged with some small talk before you asked him for help. For all you knew he was a sponsor involved in some shady shit, maybe even involved in Ghost Smoke. Is this what paranoia is?

"I hope there's no complaints about the Mustang," you laugh lightly.

"No complaints Y/n."

"Amazing...so I actually need a favour," you said, leaning on the balcony railing. “I’ve got a car I need to tuck away for a while. Somewhere discreet. Think you could help?”

There was a brief pause, then a hum of consideration. “Hmm, yeah, I’ve got a lake house not too far from here. You can stash it there. No one will bother it.”

“Appreciate it. I’ll swing by later today.”

“Anytime kid,” he said before the call ended.

You exhaled, relief washing over you. One less problem to worry about—for now.

————

After letting Hunter know you’d secured a spot for the car, you set out for the address John had texted. The drive felt almost reflective, the Aston Martin humming beneath you like it understood the significance of this moment. Arriving at the secluded lake house, you carefully parked the car— the car that had genuinely started it all for you.

The Uber ride back to Hunter's was quiet, except for occasional small talk with the driver and faint chatter of the radio. You leaned your head against the window, letting the scenery blur as you reflected on everything that had unfolded.

Your phone buzzed, snapping you out of your thoughts. Hunter’s name flashed on the screen. You swiped to answer.

"Hey," you greeted.

"Hey, where are you?" Hunter's voice was calm but direct.

"In an Uber. On my way back to yours."

"Cool, change of plans. Head to Brenda’s Diner instead."

You frowned, the name clicking in your memory. "Brenda’s? That’s in the next city, like forty minutes away. Why there?"

"Just meet me. We’ll grab breakfast, Hunter said nonchalantly. "I’m almost there already,"

Your confusion deepened, your brows furrowing. "Why are you suddenly all the way out there? And why can’t we eat closer to your place?"

He sighed, "Jenna texted me, okay? She asked me to come here, so I’m here. So just come.”

You blinked, caught off guard. "Wait, what? Jenna texted you? Why does she even have your number?"

Hunter chuckled lightly, clearly amused by your confusion. "Relax, Y/n. Just come here. Who knows, maybe she’ll butter your biscuits or drizzle your pancakes."

"Excuse me—what?" you sputtered, but before you could say more, he hung up, leaving you staring at your phone in disbelief.

You slumped back in the seat, your mind racing. What in the actual hell is going on?

————

“Thank you sir," you say as you get out the Uber. You squint your eyes as you take in the red and yellow sign that said that read Brenda’s. Even the sun shined brighter in this town, from what you knew the town you were currently in—Countsville, wasn’t tainted with race crews and class differences. It was an average suburban town.

You couldn’t help but wonder why Jenna had called you here of all places. Did she have some secret life here? A hidden family? The absurd thought made you chuckle under your breath as you shook your head.

Pulling out your phone, you caught your reflection in the camera and quickly fixed your hair. A pang of nervousness hit you out of nowhere, making you hesitate. Why were you even nervous? Shaking off the feeling, you squared your shoulders and stepped inside.

“Ah, there she is! Y/n!” Hunter’s voice boomed, his arm shooting into the air to wave you over like you were lost in a crowd.

Your eyes darted to him, already settled comfortably in a booth, and then to the two women seated across from him—Jenna and the girl from last night. The one whose name you still didn’t know.

Your steps slowed as their hushed conversation came to an abrupt halt. Without a word, you slid into the booth next to Hunter.

Hunter leaned back in the booth, a smirk playing on his lips. “Took you long enough. Thought maybe you needed a treasure map to find this place.”

“Ha ha,” you deadpanned. Your gaze darted to Jenna, sitting across from you with her arms crossed and her focus firmly planted on the coffee in front of her. She didn’t even glance up when you sat down.

The girl sitting next to her, however—was the complete opposite. She was all smiles, her gaze bouncing between you and Jenna like she was waiting for something to happen between you both.

“Uh, hey. I don’t think we’ve been introduced?” you said, leaning forward slightly.

“I’m Aliyah,” she replied, her grin widening as she reached across the table, hand outstretched.

You took it, chuckling softly. “Nice to meet you.”

Aliyah’s smile turned teasing. “I’m Jenna’s sister.”

“Sister?!” Your jaw dropped as you let go of her hand, the word practically punching its way out of your mouth. Was she a Viper too? Did you get caught up in a family of snakes?

“Well it's nice to meet you,” you muttered, your attention flickering to Jenna. “So, uh, what’s this all about?” You doubt she invited you here to introduce you to her family.

Nothing. Not a word. Jenna’s silence was loud, deafening even, as she swirled her spoon in her coffee like you weren’t even there.

Hunter glanced between the two of you, clearly picking up on the tension. “Oh, this is fun. Should I just grab some popcorn, or…?”

You shot him a glare. “Not helping.”

“Not trying,” he quipped, leaning back with a lazy grin. “Anyway, why don’t you ask Jenna why we’re here? She’s the mastermind behind this little breakfast summit.”

You turned back to her, trying again. “Jenna?”

Still nothing.

“Seriously?” you asked, the irritation creeping into your voice. “You’re just going to ignore me?”

Jenna finally looked up, her expression cool and indifferent. “Oh, I’m sorry. Were you talking to me? Hard to tell when you’ve been acting like I don’t exist for the past few days.”

Hunter snorted, barely holding back a laugh. “She got you there.”

You sighed, sinking back into your seat. This wasn’t what you had anticipated. Sure, you figured she’d be upset about you ghosting her, but you thought you’d moved past that. Last night at the meeting, it felt like you’d reached some kind of unspoken understanding. Yet here she was now, stone-faced and silent, her cold shoulder speaking louder than words.

“Anyways, can we get some actual food in here before someone combusts?”

Aliyah snickered, clearly amused by the dynamic. “Sure, Hunter. Anything to save the day.” She turned her attention to you. “You have to try these pancakes, Brenda’s makes the best pancakes in town!"

Jenna muttered under her breath, just loud enough for you to catch. “Probably too busy to eat pancakes these days.”

Your jaw clenched, but you forced yourself to stay calm. This wasn’t the time or place to start something. Instead, you turned to Aliyah, doing your best to ignore Jenna’s jab. “Yeah, pancakes sound good. Let’s do it.”

Hunter raised his hand to flag down a server. “Pancakes for the table, and maybe a side of good vibes, yeah?”

————

For the past 20 minutes, the table had been quietly enjoying their pancakes, the clinking of cutlery filling the gaps in conversation. You caught Hunter sneaking a glance at your plate, his eyes drifting to the fluffy stack of pastries and then to the glass jar of maple syrup conveniently sitting right next to Jenna. With a sly grin, he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, clearly not letting his earlier joke die.

Aliyah finally broke the silence, her voice cutting through the calm. "Alright, since Jenna's committed to this whole silent act, I guess I’ll get us started. Last night was absolutely insane, and I think we seriously need to talk about everything we learned."

You frowned, glancing between the two girls across from you. “Wait, we? What do you mean, we?”

Aliyah looked at you like you’d asked a ridiculous question. “I mean we, as in all of us sitting here. Jenna, Hunter, me—you. We’re in this now.”

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, your brow furrowing deeper. “But… Jenna got her dirt on Percy, didn’t she? That’s what all this was supposed to be about. What more does she have to do with any of this?”

The words came out sharper than you intended, and for the first time since you’d arrived, Jenna’s eyes snapped up to meet yours. Her expression was calm but laced with a distinct edge—and some hurt?

“Are you serious?” she said, setting her coffee cup down with a soft clink. “You think I can just walk away now?”

“Why not?” you shot back. “You wanted proof of what Percy was doing, and you got it. That’s what you asked me to help you with. This whole Ghost Smoke thing—it’s not your problem.”

Jenna’s jaw tightened, and her lips pressed into a thin line. For a moment, it looked like she was biting back a retort. Aliyah, however, was quick to jump in.

“It’s everyone’s problem,” she said firmly, her voice cutting through the tension. “Ghost Smoke isn’t just some petty racing drama, Y/n. It’s destroying lives, and if the Vipers start pushing it harder, it’s going to get worse. Way worse.”

Hunter nodded, his usual laid-back demeanor replaced by something more serious. “Aliyah’s right. Last night wasn’t just some casual run-in with Percy’s people. That dealer wasn’t joking around, and you saw how he talked about the ‘boss.’ They’re planning something big.”

You leaned back in your seat, the weight of their words sinking in. But still, a part of you couldn’t shake the nagging thought that none of this should fall on Jenna—or you, for that matter.

"I don't want you two getting involved," you said, your tone flat and detached, though the tightness in your chest betrayed the storm underneath. You stared at your plate, pushing a piece of pancake around with your fork, avoiding their eyes.

Jenna scoffed, the sound sharp and cutting. “Are you serious right now? You don’t want us involved? After everything last night?”

Your gaze remained fixed downward, even as her frustration bristled against you. “It’s not your fight,” you muttered.

“Not my—?” Jenna’s voice rose, and you finally looked up to see her glaring at you, her hands gripping the edge of the table. “You don’t get to make that call! You think you can just decide when you want me around and when you don't? Newsflash—you’re already in deep, and so are we. There’s no undoing it now.”

You stayed silent, your jaw clenching as you tried to tamp down the surge of emotions threatening to surface. She wasn’t wrong, but she didn’t understand. Couldn’t understand.

You couldn’t drag them further into a world where people are pushing drugs—where people are capable of taking lives, just like they had taken your father’s and uncle's.

“It doesn’t matter why,” you said finally, your voice still low. “I just… I don’t want you involved. Either of you. That’s all.”

Jenna let out an incredulous laugh, throwing her hands in the air. “Unbelievable," she muttered, pushing back her chair abruptly and standing up, her frustration was palpable as she strode toward the diner’s exit.

You watched her leave, a pang of guilt twisting in your stomach. Hunter sighed beside you, leaning back in his seat.

“She’s not wrong, you know,” he said quietly. “You can’t do this alone. They were there last night. As much as you don't it to be true, they're now part of it.”

You didn’t respond, the weight of your own thoughts pressing down too heavily. Even though your intentions were to protect them, you couldn’t help but feel like you were only making things worse.

————

"If you grip the wheel any harder, it’s going to fuse with your hands," Aliyah quipped, casting a cautious glance at her sister.

Jenna shot her a sharp side-eye but said nothing, her focus fixed on the road ahead as they made their way home.

When it became clear that Jenna wasn’t going to return to the table, Aliyah had reluctantly followed her, leaving behind the unfinished business that had brought them all together in the first place.

“I don’t get it,” Aliyah said, breaking the silence. “I thought you two were fine last night. What’s with the sudden mood swing?”

Jenna’s grip on the wheel tightened even further, her knuckles white against the leather. She thought she had been fine too. Last night, things had felt different—maybe not perfect, but at least... manageable. But seeing you again today had stirred something raw and unexpected inside her.

It's not your problem, you said.

“I don’t know,” she muttered, her voice strained, as though admitting it hurt.

"Well I don't think your girl—sorry Y/n had any bad intentions. And if you really want to get involved in this Brimstone drama, then you have to make up with her eventually" Aliyah said, her tone gentler now.

Jenna let out a slow breath through her nose, her eyes never leaving the road. “It’s not that simple,” she murmured. “She ghosted me, Aliyah. And now she’s acting like she has to carry everything on her own, like I can’t handle myself. She wanted me around at first and now she decides I'm out? Oh I'm sorry I wasn't aware I was some fucking doll.”

“Or,” Aliyah countered, “maybe she’s terrified of something way bigger than you realize and doesn’t want to drag you—us into it.”

That struck a nerve. Jenna’s fingers twitched against the steering wheel as she mulled over her sister’s words. Was it fear? Was that why you were pushing her away? Her frustration softened slightly, but the knot in her chest didn’t loosen.

“Even if that’s true, she’s going about it the wrong way,” Jenna said after a moment. “I can’t help if she keeps shutting me out.”

Aliyah smirked faintly, crossing her arms. “So tell her that. You’re not the type to sit around and wait for someone else to fix things, right? Go confront her, like the fiery little Viper you are.”

Jenna rolled her eyes at her sister’s teasing, but the words stayed with her. Maybe Aliyah was right—waiting wasn’t getting her anywhere, and the Brimstone situation wasn’t something she could handle without you. As much as she hated to admit it, you were already too entangled with one another for her to pretend otherwise.

She exhaled sharply, determination taking root. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll figure it out. But if she tries to pull some shit on me again, I won't hold back."

Aliyah grinned. “Now that’s the Jenna I know.”

Aliyah sighed in relief, glad her words had managed to ease her sister’s frustration. She could have kept up the teasing, sure, but she knew better. Deep down, she understood the root of Jenna’s anger—it wasn’t just about the danger or the argument at breakfast.

You weren’t wrong, after all. As far as Aliyah knew, the terms of whatever arrangement you and Jenna had were clear: you’d help her get what she needed, and once she had it, that was that. Simple, transactional, with no strings attached. But that simplicity seemed to be the very thing eating at Jenna now.

It wasn’t just frustration; it was hurt. Hurt because Jenna realized you seemed okay with it all ending there—with the two of you going your separate ways. And it wasn’t okay for her. Aliyah could see it—the sadness in Jenna’s eyes, the way her jaw clenched just a bit tighter than usual. It wasn’t about the Ghost Smoke or Brimstone drama anymore. It was about you.

Her sister wasn’t mad at you for walking away. She was sad that you didn’t seem to need her the way she found herself needing you. Sad that she no longer had a reason to stay connected.

Aliyah glanced at her sister, who was staring straight ahead, her grip on the wheel lighter now but still firm. Jenna didn’t want to admit it, not yet, but she was falling. And Aliyah could only hope she didn’t hit the ground too hard.

As Aliyah mindlessly glanced at her side view mirror, she noticed something.

"Uhm sis, do you think that car's been following us?"

Jenna raises her gaze up to the rear view mirror and she spotted the same car that had been trailing them for a while now—a solid black Escalade. But California traffic is like that, the typical resident wasn't going to lane change like a racer. "I'm sure it's nothing."

Still, to be safe, she made a series of deliberate right turns, one after the other, her pulse quickening with each corner. When she glanced at the mirror again, her fears solidified. The car was still there.

“It’s not nothing, Ali. They are following us,” Jenna said, her voice low but tinged with rising panic.

Aliyah stiffened beside her, her wide eyes darting to the side mirror. “W-what? Who do you think it is? Percy? Or those guys from yesterday?”

Jenna’s jaw clenched as she considered their options.

"Aliyah, call Y/n. Now," Jenna ordered, her voice steady, tossing her phone to her sister.

Aliyah fumbled with the phone, her fingers trembling. “What do I even say? ‘Hey, someone’s following us, want to join the party?’” she muttered nervously, trying to mask her fear.

Jenna shot her a sharp look. “Just tell her where we are and what’s happening. She’ll know what to do.”

Aliyah hesitated for a split second before dialing your number. “It's ringing.” Aliyah whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of her own heartbeat.

"Jenna?"

The girl driving couldn't help but feel relief upon the sound of your voice, maybe it was because you both have faced many high stakes situations together and have always made it out on the other side. And in that moment, she felt certain you’d all make it through this one too.

“Okay, so, there’s this car, and it’s been following us for a while. Jenna took a bunch of right turns, and they’re still there. We don’t know who they are, but—”

“Aliyah,” you interrupted, your tone sharp with focus. “Put Jenna on.”

Aliyah quickly handed the phone over, and Jenna brought it to her ear without taking her eyes off the rearview mirror.

“Jenna, can you lose them?” you asked, voice soft, sensing her hesitation.

“I-I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “I’ve never done this before—what if I mess up? What if—”

“Jenna,” you interrupted gently, but firmly. “Take a deep breath. You’ve got this. But I need you to help me help you, okay? What’s up ahead?”

Jenna blinked, her focus flicking back to the road. “Uh, there’s a left turn coming up, and... a main road with a lot of traffic.”

“Alright, take the left. Make it clean.”

She nodded, her hands slightly shaky as she turned the wheel, the tires squealing lightly.

“Good,” you encouraged. “Now tell me what’s next. What do you see?”

“There’s an on-ramp to the highway coming up,” she said, her voice tight with nerves.

“Perfect. Get on the highway. Blend into traffic and use the cars to block their line of sight.”

“Okay,” she whispered, guiding the car toward the ramp as Aliyah sat rigid in her seat.

“You’re doing great, Jenna,” you said, keeping your voice calm and steady. “Just focus. You’re faster and smarter than them. Trust yourself.”

Jenna weaved into traffic, her grip still tight on the wheel. She glanced in the rearview mirror and tensed. “They’re still back there.”

“Stay calm,” you said. “What’s in your lane? Any big vehicles?”

“Yeah... there’s a semi up ahead,” she replied, her voice rising with nervous energy.

“Good. Get in its blind spot. Use it as cover. When you’re close to an exit, slip off. They’ll have to stay on the highway.”

She exhaled shakily, maneuvering into position as you guided her through. The tension in the car was thick, but she followed your instructions to the letter.

“Whenever you’re ready,” you said softly.

Jenna swerved off the highway, her heart pounding as the pursuing car sped past the exit.

“They’re gone,” she whispered, her voice thick with disbelief.

“You did it, Jenna,” you said, pride clear in your tone.

She let out a shaky laugh, her shoulders finally relaxing. “We did it,” she corrected, a small smile tugging at her lips.

The line went silent for a moment, the weight of what had just happened hanging in the air. Then, breaking the tension, your voice cut through with a sudden, determined tone.

“Jenna, listen. Can you go home, pack a bag for you and Aliyah, and meet me and Hunter at the mall we went to?”

Jenna’s brow furrowed in confusion. Moments ago, you were adamant about keeping her out of your life, and now you were asking her to pack a bag? She glanced at Aliyah, whose puzzled expression mirrored her own.

Aliyah shrugged dramatically, mouthing, “YOLO.”

“Why?” Jenna asked, her tone cautious.

“I’ll explain everything when we meet. Just trust me and do it, okay?”

Jenna hesitated, her mind racing with questions, but something in your voice made her pause. Finally, she exhaled. “Okay. We’ll meet you there.” And hung up the phone.

“Well, would you look at that—your little lover’s quarrel is finally wrapping up,” Aliyah teased, her grin wide.

“Shut up,” Jenna shot back, though the corners of her lips betrayed her as they curved into a reluctant smile. “I’m still mad at her.”

————

“You two are so confusing,” Hunter chuckled as he drove, his laughter filling the car. “Do you hate each other? Or are you about to jump each other’s bones? Seriously, I can never tell.”

You rolled your eyes, but deep down, you couldn’t help but think he had a point.

“So, care to explain why we’re all packing a bag and meeting up with them again?” Hunter asked, his tone laced with curiosity.

“We’re going on a weekend getaway,” you replied nonchalantly.

Hunter’s head whipped toward you, excitement lighting up his face. “No way! I’ve always wanted to do the Bahamas.”

You laughed. “Not the Bahamas, Hunt. Just somewhere a few hours away. After everything that went down—the meeting, the girls being followed—I think it’s smart for all of us to lay low for a few days. I’m not taking any chances.”

Hunter nodded dramatically, placing a hand over his chest like he was pledging allegiance. “Protecting your girl and your sister-in-law. I respect it.”

Ignoring his teasing, you redirected him. “Just drive us to the garage,” you said firmly. “I need to let Anton know we’ll be out of town for a few days. The last thing I need is him freaking out and sending a search party.”

————

As Hunter pulls into the garage, you take in the sight of the Sinners hard at work, each one laser-focused on their tasks. Was there a race coming up?

Stepping out of the car, your eyes land on Anton at the back, working on a car with Mason. You hadn't seen Mason in a while—not since the Sinner-Viper race nearly two months ago. Not that you missed him; Mason was one of the most aggravating members of the crew. Apparently, Anton in the moment thought so too, judging by the way he was yelling at him for some reason.

"Hey! Long time, no see."

You turned to see Mikey approaching, her brown eyes bright with curiosity.

She tilted her head, eyes scanning both you and Hunter. "So, what have you two been up to?"

"Oh, you know," Hunter chimed in, "just the usual. Saving the day and eating pancakes"

Mikey raised a brow, her skepticism softened by amusement. “Uh-huh. Sounds like you two are living the dream.”

She shifted her attention to you, crossing her arms. “Haven’t seen you around for a few days. No more late nights at the garage?”

You felt a flicker of unease. Something about Mikey always made you cautious, as if she could see right through you. Keeping your tone casual, you rubbed the back of your neck. “Yeah, the Aston’s finished, so I’m finally catching up on sleep. Not much reason to be here right now.”

Mikey tilted her head, clearly not satisfied with your vague answer. “Really? And here I thought this place was your second home. What’s been keeping you busy?”

Before you could formulate a response, Hunter swooped in. “Oh, don’t worry, we’re not slacking off. We’re just gearing up for a little road trip.”

“Road trip?” Mikey repeated, her interest clearly piqued.

Hunter nodded, grinning. “Yeah, figured it’s time for some fresh air and open roads. Recharge the batteries, you know?”

You shot him a subtle glare, but he just winked at you, unfazed.

Mikey narrowed her eyes slightly, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. “Interesting. Well, have fun with that. Don’t get into too much trouble.”

“Us? Trouble?” Hunter gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. “Never.”

"We actually came here to let Anton know we’ll be gone for a couple of days,” you say, flashing Mikey a polite smile. “Catch you later.” Without waiting for a response, you grab Hunter’s arm and drag him along.

“Would it kill you not to spill everything?” you hiss under your breath.

Hunter shrugged, his usual carefree grin firmly in place. “Relax. It’s gonna get out eventually that we’re taking a couple days off. If we act shady, it’ll just make people more suspicious.”

You sighed, shaking your head at his nonchalance. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

Together, you made your way toward the back of the garage, where Anton and Mason were knee-deep in their latest project.

“I don’t know why I keep you around, Mason,” Anton groaned, his hands dragging down his face in exasperation. “You incompetent fool!”

Hearing your footsteps, he glanced up, his frustration momentarily melting into surprise. “Y/n? What are you doing here?”

“Hey,” you greeted, keeping your tone light. “I'm kind of in a rush, but just wanted to let you know Hunter and I are heading out of town for a couple of days. Figured I’d let you know so you don’t worry.”

Anton’s brows furrowed as he straightened up, eyeing the both of you. “Heading out? What for?”

“Just a road trip,” you said casually, shrugging like it was no big deal. “You know, get some fresh air, clear our heads. Nothing major.”

His eyes flicked to Hunter, then back to you, his suspicion barely veiled. “Where to and who’s going?”

"We don't really know yet, wanna see where the road takes us you know? And just us two," you replied smoothly, lying without hesitation.

Anton’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he was going to press harder. Finally, he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Alright, fine. But something feels off about this, and I don’t like it.” He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “If this is about something dangerous, you better tell me now. You know I’ll have your back.”

You swallowed hard but maintained your composure. “It’s not, I promise. We’ll be fine.”

He didn’t look convinced. Anton studied you for a moment longer before nodding, though his concern was evident. "Alright. Just be careful out there, okay? Keep your phones on and don't do anything stupid."

"Got it," you promised, trying to sound reassuring.

Hunter gave Anton a mock salute. "We'll be model citizens, swear."

Anton rolled his eyes but didn't press further. As you turned to leave, Mason chimed in from where he was leaning against the car. "Bring me back something cool! Like a souvenir or somethin'!"

Hunter snorted. "Sure thing, buddy. How about a map so you can finally figure out how to navigate a racetrack without crashing?"

You couldn't help but laugh as you walked away, though Anton's lingering concern weighed heavily in the back of your mind.

————

The SUV you “borrowed” from the garage rumbled along the highway as you adjusted your grip on the wheel, glancing at Hunter slouched comfortably in the passenger seat. Your packed bag sat in the back alongside his, evidence of your brief pit stop at home.

The memory of Anton’s concerned expression lingered, gnawing at you. You hated that you hadn’t told him the truth. He’d lost his father too—same as you—and you knew better than anyone how much that loss shaped him. How much it shaped both of you. But unlike you, Anton didn’t know there was more to the story. That it wasn’t just a tragic accident.

You felt awful for keeping it from him, for standing there and letting him believe everything was fine. But what were you supposed to do? Drop that bombshell and then tell him you were heading out of town for a few days? There was no way he’d have let you leave. No way he wouldn’t try to step in, to get involved.

And as much as it tore you up inside, you couldn’t let that happen. Not yet. Protecting Jenna—and by extension, your fragile alliance with her—had to come first. There was too much at stake, and dragging Anton into it now would only complicate things further. Still, the weight of your silence felt heavier with each passing mile.

“You good?” Hunter’s voice broke through your spiraling thoughts, pulling you back to the present.

“Yeah,” you muttered, though the word felt hollow.

He raised a brow but didn’t push, thankfully. Instead, he leaned back in his seat, letting the conversation from earlier drift back in.

“I gotta admit. I thought Anton would take a lot more convincing.”

Hunter glanced at you with a smirk. “What, you thought he’d put his foot down? He knows you’re stubborn as hell. Probably figured there was no point fighting you on it.”

“Maybe,” you murmured, though a part of you wasn’t so sure. Anton letting you go that easily still didn’t sit right. He’d been wary, his words cautious, but ultimately, he hadn’t stopped you. You wondered if he trusted you more than you expected—or if he had reasons of his own for letting you leave.

Shaking the thought from your mind, you shifted the conversation. “By the way, you seemed pretty comfortable with Jenna and Aliyah back at the diner.”

Hunter shrugged nonchalantly. “They’re cool. Aliyah’s funny, and Jenna’s… well, Jenna. We were just chatting for a bit before you showed up.”

“Before I showed up?” you echoed, glancing at him skeptically. “She didn’t seem in a chatty mood when I got there.”

Hunter chuckled. “I guess I have that effect on people. Smooth-talker, remember?”

Something about the way he said it made you pause, a memory resurfacing. “Wait. Jenna texted you, didn’t she? How do you even know her?”

Hunter tensed ever so slightly, and you didn’t miss it. “Uh… well…”

The gears in your head were starting to turn. “Hunter,” you pressed, narrowing your eyes. “How do you know Jenna?”

He fidgeted with his hands, clearly stalling. “It’s complicated, alright? Don’t worry about it.”

Before you could demand an answer, the bright lights of the mall parking lot came into view, and you spotted Jenna and Aliyah parked and waiting near the back of the mall. Hunter exhaled dramatically, clearly relieved to be off the hook—for now.

"We're here," he announced unnecessarily, pointing out the obvious.

You rolled your eyes but focused on parking the SUV. As soon as you stepped out, Jenna's sharp gaze locked onto you, her arms crossed, while Aliyah waved with a cheeky grin. Whatever Hunter was hiding would have to wait.

You park the SUV next to their car and step out, heading straight for the trunk. Without a word, you pop it open before turning toward Jenna and Aliyah. Stretching out your hands, you motion for their bags.

Aliyah hands over her duffle bag without hesitation, but Jenna hesitates, squinting at you with suspicion. Her scoff cuts through the quiet as you turn around and load the bags into the trunk.

Following you to the back of the SUV, she crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow. "Uhm, are you planning to explain what's going on anytime soon?"

You close the trunk with a sharp thunk and meet her gaze, keeping your tone steady. "I will."

You glance over your shoulder, flashing her a grin. "Oh, and hey—nice work shaking those guys. Not everyone's got those skills. Seriously, you were impressive."

As you turn back to the SUV, Jenna's voice comes softly, almost shyly, "Thanks."

You don't catch it, too focused on adjusting the bags in the trunk, but Aliyah and Hunter exchange knowing looks. Jenna's rare vulnerability wasn't something they saw often, and the faint pink dusting her cheeks didn't go unnoticed either.

————

You merge onto Interstate 5, the highway stretching south through California. The evening sun dips lower on the horizon, painting the sky in streaks of gold and fiery orange. Hunter has his window down, one arm draped lazily over the edge, while Aliyah hums along to a faint tune playing on the radio. Jenna sits diagonally across from you, arms crossed, her gaze fixed out the window. The soft pout on her lips and the sharpness of her glare suggest she’s deep in thought—and likely still mad at you.

You glance at her through the rearview mirror, unable to help the small smile that tugs at your lips. Even in her frustration, she looks ridiculously adorable.

As you bring your eyes back to the road, they flicker back to the mirror—and that’s when it happens. Jenna catches your gaze, her sharp brown eyes locking onto yours.

Crap.

She breaks the silence, her tone firm but tinged with curiosity. “Alright, enough stalling. Are you going to tell me where we’re going now?”

You’re relieved she doesn’t make a snarky comment about catching you staring. Instead, you sigh and focus back on the road, deciding it’s time to answer her question.

“I’m sorry,” you start, glancing briefly at her reflection, then at Aliyah. “To both of you. You were right earlier… about being involved in all this.”

Hunter nods in silent approval from the passenger seat, encouraging you to keep going. “…As much as I don’t want either of you involved,” you continue, catching him facepalming out of the corner of your eye, “there’s no avoiding it now.”

"Neither one of can help it, and that car following you? It kind of put things into perspective for me. So I think the safe option for all of us to get out of town for a few days."

Jenna raises a brow, her expression unreadable, but she doesn’t respond right away. Aliyah and Hunter both glance at each other, waiting for someone to fill the silence. When Jenna finally speaks, her voice is softer than you expected. “Still didn’t answer the question,” she says. “Where are we going?”

You shrug one shoulder, keeping your eyes on the road. “I don’t know,” you admit with a lopsided grin. “I’m just driving.”

Jenna stares at you for a long moment before exhaling and shaking her head. She doesn’t voice the acceptance of your apology, but something in her gaze softens, and you can tell she’s made her peace with it—for now.

“Unbelievable,” she mutters, loud enough for everyone to hear. “We’re on the run, and you’re winging it? Great plan, genius.”

Aliyah bursts into laughter, and Hunter cheers, “This is classic! Road trip roulette—who needs a destination when you’ve got vibes?”

Jenna pinches the bridge of her nose, mumbling something under her breath, but you swear you catch the faintest hint of a smile.

————

The next hour passes surprisingly smoothly. Everyone keeps themselves entertained in their own way, avoiding any mention of the issues that pushed you all to leave town in the first place. Aliyah has her headphones in, swaying gently to whatever music she’s listening to, while Jenna scrolls through her phone, occasionally glancing out the window. Hunter fiddles with the radio, switching stations until he finds a faintly decent song, only to switch it again moments later.

You keep your focus on the road, but your mind drifts. A part of you wished you could bring back the easy banter you used to have with Jenna—back before you ghosted her. It would've made the drive so much more fun. Instead, there’s this quiet tension hanging in the air between you two, one you’re desperately hoping will dissolve sooner rather than later. At least Hunter agreed to take over driving on the way back. Maybe by then, things between you and Jenna will be better.

Suddenly, Hunter starts humming, his voice cutting through the silence. At first, it’s aimless, but then it takes shape.

“Ninety-nine bottles of milk on the wall, ninety-nine bottles of milk!” he sings loudly, grinning as he looks around at everyone.

You groan. “Oh, no. Don’t.”

Aliyah chuckles behind you, joining in softly, “Take one down, pass it around, ninety-eight bottles of milk on the wall!”

Jenna sighs dramatically but mutters, “This is so dumb,” just before she jumps in on the next line. Within minutes, the whole car erupts into an awkward yet oddly harmonious singalong, voices overlapping and laughter spilling between verses. By the time you hit ninety-five bottles, everyone’s belting at the top of their lungs.

It’s ridiculous, it’s cheesy, and it’s exactly what you all needed.

When the laughter finally dies down, Jenna clears her throat. “Uh, I need to pee.”

You glance at her through the rearview mirror, raising an eyebrow. Internally, you can’t help but think, Really? We’ve only been on the road for an hour. Did she not go before we left?

But you don’t voice the thought. Instead, you nod, spotting a route stop up ahead. “Alright, we’ll pull over.”

As you exit the highway and roll into the rest stop, Hunter claps your shoulder. “Road trips, man. This is what it’s all about.”

You just shake your head, chuckling as you park the SUV.

————

As everyone steps out at the route stop, the golden light of the setting sun casts long shadows over the parking lot. Hunter stretches dramatically, mumbling something about his aching legs, while Aliyah is already darting toward the brightly lit convenience store, proclaiming her hunt for snacks. Jenna heads to the bathroom, and once she returns she lingers by the SUV, her arms folded, her body language closed.

“Need anything?” you ask, hesitating slightly as you approach her.

She shakes her head but doesn’t look at you. “I’m good.”

You nod, biting back the urge to say more, and join Aliyah and Hunter into the store. The shelves are stocked with everything from bags of chips to questionable gas station sushi.

Hunter immediately gravitates toward the candy aisle, gleefully holding up a pack of gummy worms. “You know you want some,” he teases, tossing a pack at Aliyah, who yelps and tries to dodge.

You chuckle at their antics but can’t help glancing back toward the SUV, wondering if Jenna’s still standing there, or if she’s wandered in.

She hasn’t.

Grabbing a couple of bottled drinks and a bag of chips, you head to the register. Aliyah sidles up beside you, arms full of snacks. “Do you think we should get something for Jenna? She barely ate earlier.”

You hesitate, and recall her eating a chocolate the day you both hung out at the mall and then grab that brand of chocolate from a display near the checkout.

Outside, you find Jenna leaning against the side of the car, scrolling through her phone. You hold out the candy as you approach. “Figured you might want this.”

She glances at it, then at you, her lips twitching like she’s suppressing a thank-you. “Thanks,” she says quietly, taking it without meeting your eyes.

There’s a pause. The others are still inside, their laughter faintly audible from the store. For a moment, it’s just you and Jenna in the fading light.

“You okay?” you ask softly, unsure if you’re even expecting an answer.

She finally meets your gaze, her expression guarded but not unkind. “I’m fine,” she replies, but her tone doesn’t match the words.

You want to push, to ask what’s really on her mind, but something about the way she holds herself stops you. Instead, you nod and step back, giving her space.

She seemed fine interacting with you in the group, she was more vocal. But once it was just you two she got all quiet. But she surprised you with her next words.

She finally glances at you properly, her eyes searching yours. “Thanks, by the way. For this. I know you didn’t have to.”

You swallow, suddenly aware of how close she’s standing. “You don’t have to thank me, Jenna. I just… I want to make sure you’re safe—and your sister!”

She nods faintly, looking down at the ground. For a second, it feels like the rest of the world fades away, leaving just the two of you under the flickering lights.

Before the moment can stretch too long, Hunter sticks his head out of the car window. “Yo! Are we road-tripping or setting up camp here? Let’s go!”

Jenna chuckles, the tension breaking as she steps back. “Guess we should get going.”

“Yeah.” You push off the SUV, giving her a small nod. “Let’s hit the road.”

As you both climb back into the car, you can’t help but glance at her through the mirror again. She doesn’t notice this time, and you’re glad she doesn’t.

————

"Hey, Y/n, remember the car I was driving yesterday?" Aliyah asks, her voice breaking the comfortable silence that’s fallen over the SUV.

It’s been about two and a half hours since you hit the road, and everyone is busy with their snacks. Conversations drift in and out, short bursts of chatter punctuated by the rustling of wrappers.

You hum softly, urging her to continue.

Aliyah glances at you in the rearview mirror, her tone casual. “It’s pretty cool that you own that car. My dad used to have the same one, and I remember him always going on and on about how rare it was. Small world, huh?” She shrugs, clearly amused by the coincidence.

You and Jenna freeze. For a moment, no one says anything, and the awkward silence hangs in the air like a weight.

You glance at Jenna through the rearview mirror, and she avoids your gaze. Great, you think. Of all the things to come up right now, this had to be it.

“Well…” you clear your throat, deciding Aliyah deserves to know at this point. “That was your dad’s car.”

Aliyah’s brows furrow in confusion. “What? No, his was black.”

“Yeah,” you admit with an awkward laugh, “and then I wrapped it green.”

The realization dawns on her, and she turns to Jenna, her jaw dropping as she whisper yells, “Oh my God! You like the girl who stole Dad’s car?”

Jenna’s eyes widen, and her face flushes. “Aliyah, shut up!” she snaps, but her tone lacks bite.

Aliyah smirks, clearly reveling in her discovery. “I mean, this is peak comedy. She stole Dad’s car, and you’re just fine with it?”

“I’m not fine with it,” Jenna retorts, but her lips curve slightly as if she’s holding back a smile. “And for the record, it was both of us who stole it.”

Aliyah raises her hands in mock surrender. “Oh, so now you’re an accomplice? Love that for you.”

While they bicker in their private conversation, Jenna’s eyes soften, and her gaze turns nostalgic. “That day was insane,” she murmurs, more to herself than anyone else. “We had no idea what we were doing, but it was... kind of thrilling."

Not knowing what the two girls were talking about, you glance at her in the mirror for the millionth time today. Jenna’s smile, faint and genuine, tugs at something deep in your chest, but before you can dwell on it, Hunter’s voice cuts in.

“Well, look at you,” he says with a laugh, nudging your arm. “Stealing the car of the dad of the girl you like. That’s one for the books, huh?”

“Shut up, Hunter,” you groan, shoving his arm off you.

He just grins wider. “Nah, I’m serious. You’ve really outdone yourself here. Romantic and criminal—who knew you had it in you?”

Rolling your eyes, you lean back into the seat, but an idea suddenly strikes you. "Alright, since we're all in a sharing mood, how about this—Hunter, how exactly do you and Jenna know each other?" Your tone pointed, almost teasing.

Silence.

Not a word, not even the rustle of snack wrappers from the backseat.

Aliyah breaks the tension, her brows knitting as she glances at her sister. "Wait...what? I thought we both met Hunter this morning?"

You glance in the rearview mirror. Jenna’s expression is stone cold, her face unreadable, like she’s mastered the art of giving away nothing. She doesn’t so much as blink, just stares out the window as though the question didn’t even register.

Hunter, on the other hand, looks like he’s sweating bullets. His hand fidgets with the strap of his seatbelt, and he clears his throat awkwardly. “Uh, well… you see…”

Before Hunter can dig himself into an even deeper hole, Jenna suddenly bursts out laughing. The sound is so unexpected, so completely jarring after the tension-filled silence, that your head whips around to look at her.

Her laughter is light and melodic, the kind that shakes her shoulders and makes her eyes crinkle at the corners. For a second, you forget about the chaos in the car and just stare.

Her laugh is kind of… cute, you think, catching yourself and quickly looking back at the road before anyone notices.

Jenna waves a hand, her laughter dying down just enough to speak. “Relax, Hunter. Seriously, it’s not a big deal. Go ahead, tell them.”

Aliyah sighs loudly from the backseat, crossing her arms. “Okay, my patience is wearing thin. Someone better spill before I start throwing snacks.”

"Okay fine, you tell them Jenna, since you think it's so funny," Hunter mumbles defeated, shrinking into his seat.

Jenna glances at Hunter, who is clearly trying to become one with his seatbelt. With a small shrug, she answers casually, “I walked in on Hunter… being intimate.”

You blink, nearly missing your next lane change. “Oh, wow. That’s… embarrassing,” you mutter, trying not to laugh. But then your brain starts piecing things together, and you frown. “Wait a second. How does that even happen? Like… was this in public or something? Did you come to Brimstone, or were you—”

Hunter interrupts, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “I was in Summer Valley, okay?”

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye. “Oh, okay. Get that bag, I guess. But, man, from the way you were sweating, I thought it was something really bad.”

For a second, you think the tension has finally lifted. But then Hunter lets out a resigned sigh, muttering, “I was with someone from the Viper's crew.”

It all made sense now, why Hunter was so understanding of the idea of you being affiliated with a Viper—why there was two toothbrushes in his bathroom.

He had his own fucking Viper.

“What the fuck?!” you shout, your voice climbing a whole octave as you instinctively swerve the car.

Hunter grabs the oh-shit handle. “Whoa, whoa, focus! You’re driving, not judging!”

“What the fuck Hunter?!” you yell again, steadying the wheel as the SUV veers slightly back into the lane. Thankfully, it’s almost 8 pm, and the highway is relatively empty, so you narrowly avoid disaster. "You're fucking a Viper?! What the actual—"

Hunter throws up his hands defensively. “What’s the big deal?! You are too!”

You slam the brakes—figuratively, of course—your head whipping around to glare at him. “EXCUSE ME?!”

Your face goes red-hot, and you stammer, “I’m not—what—literally who?! I’m not fucking anybody!”

Hunter smirks, sensing your flustered state. “Oh, sure. But you wish you were fucking a Viper.”

If you thought you couldn’t blush any harder, you were wrong. From the backseat, Aliyah is howling with laughter while Jenna buries her face in her hands, her own ears tinged pink.

“You’re delusional,” you snap at Hunter, but your embarrassment only fuels his laughter. “Seriously, who even—"

“Doesn’t matter!” Hunter interrupts, his grin practically splitting his face. “I’m just saying, don’t judge me when you’ve got your own Viper situation brewing back there.”

“Hunter, I swear—”

Aliyah cuts you off, gasping between giggles. “Oh my God, I can’t breathe. This is the best road trip ever!”

Jenna groans softly, pressing a hand to her forehead, but the small, stupid smile tugging at her lips betrays her. She hated being teased, especially by Aliyah, who had the precision of a sniper when it came to embarrassing her. Yet, as the chaos bubbled in the backseat, Jenna found her thoughts wandering to the things Hunter had been saying to poke at you.

What had you two been talking about? Hunter clearly knew something she didn’t, and now, curiosity gnawed at her despite herself. She glanced at you, watching as you muttered under your breath and tightened your grip on the steering wheel like it might save you. It wasn’t just the teasing; something else was making you squirm, and Jenna couldn’t stop the faint curve of her lips from growing into a fuller smile.

She didn’t know what Hunter was hinting at, but the way your ears burned red and your gaze stayed glued to the road… she couldn’t help but find it a little endearing.

————

The freeway stretched ahead in an endless ribbon of asphalt, swallowed by the inky darkness of night. The faint glow of distant city lights barely pierced the dark sky, leaving only the occasional flash of headlights to illuminate the passing road signs and surrounding emptiness. It was quiet now, except for the hum of the tires against the pavement and the faint sound of Aliyah’s soft snores from the backseat. The earlier chaos had subsided, leaving the SUV calm in stillness.

You glanced over at Hunter, slumped against the window with his head bobbing slightly with the movement of the car. He and Aliyah had devoured the candy earlier like children on Halloween and, predictably, crashed hard. For the last thirty minutes, they’d been completely out, and you were silently grateful for the reprieve. Any more teasing, and you were sure your heart would’ve leapt out of your chest.

Your heart was still pounding, though.

You sigh as you wrestled with a thought you’d been avoiding for a while. You never addressed ghosting Jenna. You mentioned to her at the meeting that you’d talk later, but then you didn’t. And now, things between you were stuck in this strange, awkward limbo. You hated it. You hated the distance and the way your banter had evaporated into stilted exchanges.

More than anything, you wanted this trip to be enjoyable for both of you—for her.

“Hey, Jenna you awake?” you said softly, testing the waters. You knew she was awake. Her breathing wasn’t even enough to fool you. You just needed something to break the ice.

“Yeah, what’s up?” she muttered, her voice low to avoid waking her sister.

You hesitated for a moment, your hands flexing nervously against the steering wheel. Then you took a deep breath and decided to do what needed to be done.

“I just… I want to apologize,” you began, keeping your eyes fixed on the road ahead. “For ghosting you. I know it was shitty, and you didn’t deserve it.”

She didn’t respond immediately, but you could feel her eyes on you, listening.

“I… I had a conversation with my mom the first day I didn’t reply to you,” you continued, your voice soft and unsteady. “And it—it messed with my head. I found out my dad wanted out of the Sinners. That completely flipped everything I thought I knew. I was already so confused, and it just made things worse. And then…” You paused, forcing yourself to push through the lump in your throat. “It made me feel terrified. Of everything. Of this whole situation. And of you. Of what you made me feel—what I felt for—”

You clamped your mouth shut, cutting yourself off realizing you spilled too much. Your mind was already coming up with excuses for what you meant by what you made me feel. Heat crawled up your neck, your knuckles stark white against the dim light from the dashboard. You scrambled internally for a way to gloss over your slip-up, but the words weren’t coming.

“I’m not trying to excuse what I did,” you said after a beat. “There’s no excuse for it. I just wanted to explain, to tell you why I acted the way I did. And to say I’m sorry. Really sorry.”

She's not saying anything. The silence stretched uncomfortably, and you risked a quick glance in her direction, her expression unreadable in the faint glow of the passing headlights.

Panic began to claw at your chest.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” you blurted out, your words rushing now. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I know what I did was shitty, and I know I have no right to expect forgiveness—”

"I know you didn't mean to hurt me, Greaser."

Greaser.

You smile.

And that was all she said until Hunter and Aliyah awoken from their slumber twenty minutes later. But it was enough.

————

"Damn, how long was I out?" Hunter grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck as he shifted in his seat.

Aliyah stretched with an exaggerated groan, yawning as if she'd been asleep for days.

"Only about forty minutes," you replied, glancing at them. The weight in your chest felt lighter after your moment with Jenna, but a part of you braced for the teasing chaos that might erupt now that they were awake.

Aliyah groaned dramatically. "Ugh, I was hoping the driving part would be over when I woke up. Are we seriously just gonna spend days cooped up in this car?"

"We’ve only been driving for like three hours," Hunter pointed out with a shrug.

"And that’s not far enough?" Aliyah raised a brow.

Hunter nodded, turning his gaze to you. "She’s got a point, you know."

"...I have a suggestion." Aliyah finally says.

"Shoot," you encourage her.

She leaned forward slightly, a mischievous grin spreading across her face as she looked at Jenna. "How about we visit Markus? We’re probably close to him already."

Jenna’s face lit up instantly, her smile matching her sister’s excitement. "That would be amazing, Ali, but… are we really gonna risk leading trouble straight to him?"

Aliyah waved the concern off with a dismissive hand. "Come on, you really think those bad guys are gonna follow us all the way to LA?"

While the sisters debated, you leaned toward Hunter, lowering your voice. "Who the fuck is Markus?"

Hunter smirked, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "What’s the matter? You jealous?"

"What? No!" you snapped, scoffing like the idea was ridiculous. But your mind betrayed you, lingering on Jenna’s radiant smile. Who was this guy, and why did she look so happy talking about him?

The sisters’ conversation quieten down, and Aliyah finally addresses you, her grin still firmly in place. "Y/n, how does a trip to UCLA sound?"

next chapter

Taglist: @godamnityess @machyishere @freakshow2501 @nwestra @mcchicken88

@101rizzlrr @snowdrop1026 @ilovesneezing069 @btay3115 @burntoutghost

@cobaltperun

#jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x female reader #tara carpenter x female reader #tara carpenter x reader #jenna ortega x y/n #tara carpenter imagine #tara carpenter x y/n #beetlejuice #wednesday x reader #wednesday addams #wednesday x enid #cairo sweet x reader #cairo sweet #tara carpenter #wednesday netflix #jenna marie ortega

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moistmailman · 17 days ago

Text

*Jaune agreed to give Pyrrha a massage after she complained about back pains*

Jaune, holding massage oil: *walking to his dorm* I hope I'm good enough to actually give her a good massage. Hopefully I don't fuck this up.

*Jaune reaches his dorm before opening the door*

Jaune, walking in: Hey, sorry for being late. Took a while to find the- *quietly gasp*

*Inside the room is Pyrrha in a revealing white bikini sitting crisscrossed in her bed while she's on her scroll*

Jaune, blushing madly:..........

Pyrrha, smiling: Oh there you are. I was wondering where you were. *Slides her legs across the bed so she's now sitting with her legs off the bed* What took you so long?

Jaune, face on fire: I-I I uhm- I was uhm, I-I had to go to a few stores t-to find t-the oil.

Pyrrha, smiling: Oh, I'm sorry then. I shouldve been the one to get it then, since I am the one getting the massage after all

Jaune, looking at the ceiling: It's alright. I d-didnt mind. You're fine- I'M FINE!

Pyrrha: ??????

Jaune, taking great interest in the ceiling:.........

Pyrrha, who is now much closer to Jaune: Are you alright?

Jaune, who is now realizing a bikini clad Pyrrha Nikos is currently standing right in front of him: *voice cracking* G-great. I'm d-doing great.

Pyrrha, confused:......*follows Jaune's eyes to see what he's so interested in before waving her hand in front of his eyes* Hello?

Jaune, finally staring at Pyrrha again: S-sorry. I-I just thought i-I saw a bug is all. Y-yeah, a bug! That's the reason!

Pyrrha: Oh, okay then? Are you ready then? *Stretches her arm* I think my body has been begging for a massage lately.

Jaune: Y-yep! I'm as r-ready as I'll e-ever be!

Pyrrha, smiling: Great! Let me just go lie down in my bed then. *Turns and walks towards her bed*

Jaune, internally: DONT LOOK DOWN DONT LOOK DOWN DONT LOOK DOWN DONT LOOK DOW- FUCK!!!!! IT LOOKS PERFECT! WHY IS SHE WALKING LIKE THAT ANYWAY?!

Pyrrha, now lying down in bed: Okay, I'm ready!

Jaune, mind running a mile with dirty thoughts:........A-actually, hold on! I-I n-need to do something real quick!

Pyrrha: Wha-

Jaune, leaving quickly: Be right back!

Pyrrha: ?????

Jaune: *banging on RWBY's dorm*

Yang, opening the door: Whoa, vomit boy. Where's the fire?

Jaune, blushing: I have to give Pyrrha an oily massage as she's in a bikini!

Yang, confused: Okay? Congratu-fucking- lationt, dude. Are you bragging or something? *Goes to shut door*

Jaune, stopping the door: I need advice, woman!

Yang: Advice?! Here's some advice, thank whatever God you've prayed to because he finally threw you a bone. *Shuts door*

Jaune, banging door: Wait! That's not enough! I'm just a man! A weak man!

Pyrrha, poking her head through her door: Jaune? Are you okay?

Jaune, freezing up before turning: Y-yeah, I just.....I just needed some quick massaging advice from Yang. I-Im good now.

Pyrrha, smiling: Great! I'll just go back to lying down again. Make sure you wow me with those hands of yours. *Goes back inside*

Jaune, face on fire:........I'm so fucking cooked.

#rwby #pyrrha nikos #jaune arc #arkos #yang xiao long #jaune x pyrrha

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juliettejwnewinesa · 2 months ago

Note

bro ur smut fics actually make me giggle and kick my feet AUGHHH

i was wondering if you could do a sub beomseok one?? 😇

like yk how he started hanging around his other group of 'friends' near the end of s1 and started acting all cocky and different around others? well like HEAR ME OUT.. what if he was a brat and got put in his place by dom reader...

(and maybe she overstimulates him while riding and gets jealous and like yk does that thing where she makes him say he's hers 🤗...)

im sorry if this request is complicated but like ur writing is literally so fire man 🥹🥹🫶🏻 ILY

TITLE: Fall In Line PAIRING: Sub!Beomseok x Dom!Reader RATING: 🔞 Explicit WORD COUNT: ~5.2k TAGS: Brat!Beomseok, dom!reader, power play, jealousy, overstimulation, riding, marking, possessiveness, brat-taming, praise and degradation, cock-dumbed Beomseok, whimpering, creampie, claiming kink, "say you're mine," soft corruption

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Fall In Line

He’d been acting different lately.

You saw it in the way he walked—like the world owed him something. In the way he laughed louder now, sharper, too showy. And most of all in the way he started hanging around those fake, cocky friends of his—dudes who talked too much, looked too hard, and acted like they owned whatever room they walked into.

And Beomseok? He played along. Played it way too well.

Like he forgot what he sounded like when he was begging you to let him cum. Like he forgot who turned him into a mess behind closed doors. Like he forgot who he belonged to.

So tonight, when he showed up at your door with that same boyish smirk, you didn’t waste time. You let him in. Let him kiss your neck and call you pretty. Let him act smug—just enough to let it boil.

Then you pushed him onto your bed and said, “Strip. Now.”

He blinked like he wasn’t sure he heard you right. So you repeated it, slower.

“Take your clothes off, Beomseok. Or I’ll rip them off myself.”

And just like that—his fake confidence cracked.

You were already on top of him, straddling his hips, grinding slow against the curve of his cock. He was hard—way too fast. His skin flushed, his mouth open, and that stupid little brat smirk was long gone.

“Not so cocky now, huh?” you purred, leaning down until your lips ghosted his ear. “What happened to the tough guy act?”

“I-I didn’t—” he stuttered, hands gripping the sheets because you’d already told him he wasn’t allowed to touch you. “I wasn’t—”

“Don’t lie to me.”

You rolled your hips, slow and cruel, just enough pressure to make him gasp but not enough to give him anything real. He whimpered, eyes squeezing shut.

“Y-You were jealous,” he mumbled. “You saw me with them…”

“And you liked that?” Your nails dragged down his chest, making him shiver. “Liked pretending you weren’t mine?”

He didn’t answer fast enough.

You slapped the inside of his thigh. Not hard. But enough.

“Answer.”

“N-No!” he cried. “I didn’t—I just— I just wanted—"

“What, attention? A little power? Thought you could act like a brat out there and still get off like my good boy in here?”

His face turned red, and his hips bucked without permission. Pathetic.

You smiled. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll remind you how this works.”

He was already dripping by the time you finally let him inside—his cock twitching, tip flushed and wet, the kind of hard that came from desperation, not control.

You sank down on him slow. Torturously slow.

And Beomseok moaned.

Loud. Shameful. The kind of sound that made your jealousy curl even deeper into your gut.

He gripped the sheets like a lifeline. “F-Fuck, you’re s-so—”

“Say it.”

He blinked up at you, dazed. “W-What…?”

You snapped your hips forward, making him cry out. His toes curled.

“Say you’re mine.”

“I-I am—!”

You tightened around him.

“All the way. Say it like you mean it.”

“I’m yours!” he cried, tears starting to prick at the corners of his eyes. “I’m yours, I’m yours, I swear—!”

You grabbed his jaw, forced him to look up at you while you rode him harder now, his cock hitting deep every time your hips slammed down.

“Say it again. Loud. For everyone you were trying to impress.”

“I’M YOURS—!” His voice cracked, a broken moan tangled in the words.

“Damn right,” you growled, and clenched around him just to hear him whimper.

He was close already. Way too close. You could feel it in the way his thighs shook beneath you, in the whine trapped in his throat.

“D-Don’t stop, please—please—”

“Oh, you think I’m letting you cum that fast?” You leaned forward, dragging your hips in tight, dizzying circles. “Not after you’ve been acting like a slut for everyone else’s attention.”

He looked up at you with wide, watery eyes. “I-I wasn’t—!”

“You were.” You ground down, hard. “And now you’re gonna cum again and again until you forget their names.”

He whimpered. “I-I can’t—”

You tightened around him. “You will.”

The first orgasm hit him like a wave. Violent. Shaky. His voice cracked with the moan that tore from his chest as he came deep inside you, hips twitching under you uncontrollably.

But you didn’t stop.

Didn’t even slow down.

He whimpered immediately, trying to squirm, but your hands pinned him down, and you just kept riding him, slick and full.

“Too much, too much—!”

“Too bad.”

You leaned down and bit his neck, hard enough to leave marks. Your tongue soothed the bruise after.

“You wanted to act like a man,” you whispered against his skin. “But you’re just my pretty little toy.”

And then he came again. Just from your voice. Just from being used.

By the third round, he was wrecked.

Tears running down his cheeks. Cock twitching pathetically inside you. The words spilling from his lips barely made sense anymore.

“Y-Yours… only yours, please, n-noona—!”

You smiled, wicked and sweet, dragging your nails down his chest again.

“That’s right, baby. That’s more like it.”

You leaned in and kissed him, tongue slipping into his mouth while you fucked him slow now, deep, rhythmic rolls of your hips that had him shaking.

“Next time you try and play tough in front of your little friends…” You tugged his hair back, watching him pant under you. “Remember how easily I break you.”

#smut #fluff #cute #weak hero class 1 #weak hero class #weak hero class two #weak hero class one #fwb #weak hero fanfic #beomseok x reader #oh beomseok #weak hero webtoon #weak hero #weak hero x reader #weak hero imagines #weak hero smut #beomseok

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reverieblondie · 4 months ago

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Bad Dream

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: Nightmares, Mysterious passes, Breaking and entering, Panic attack, Breaking washers, Bucky touches your underwear (whoops...)

Summary: You and Bucky are not only neighbors but friends for months now. You two are close... but are still finding out new things about each other...

Word Count: 2,613

A/N: This was inspired by an amazing request got from an anon. I loved the idea so much that I can see this being turned into a full series if enough people like it! Just let me know! I look forward to feedback like always! and request are always open!

Part two in the works!

"So... What am I eating?"

Bucky says almost suspiciously as he looks at the macaroni noodle on his fork.

"I can not believe you are so picky," you say, rolling your eyes before taking a delightful bite of the casserole dish you made. Once swallowed, you point your fork accusingly toward Bucky. "It's called tuna mac. It's cheap to make but delicious. Now you can either eat it, or I will stop being such a friendly neighbor and stop sharing my dinners with you."

Bucky chuckles before giving you a smirk, "If that's the case, don't come knocking on my door when something of yours breaks again."

You huff, he doesn't play fair.

He watches as you pout and sigh before he takes the macaroni and tuna mix into his mouth. When he eats it, his eyes bulge slightly. "That's actually really good?"

"See, you just need to trust me neighbor. It's something my mom used to make. Boil noodles, mix up the sauce, and top with cheese. It tastes better than it sounds."

Bucky smiles as you ramble on. When you look over at him, he quickly goes back to looking at his plate, mixing it around as he makes a face before eating more. "That's true. This is way better than that chicken we had last Thursday."

"Hey! We agreed to forget that monstrosity!"

Of course, Bucky laughs at your dramatics, and you can't help but echo it back. Thursday night dinners have become your favorite tradition since moving in; no matter how shitty your week could have been, this always lifts up your spirits, even just a little bit.

Most people in your building seem to avoid Bucky; they won't join him in the elevator or even greet him at the mailboxes. They judge his past... but who are you to judge?

Though getting to know him didn't happen instantly, it happened because of an accident you might have caused…

You have been fighting with these washers and dryers since you moved in. And now here you are fighting with the washer. The stupid thing won't spin, and it's starting to flood with water. You paused the cycle and knew that you should just ask the maintenance guy for help, but that has the risk of being blamed for it being broken.

Distracted, you don't notice someone walking in to use the other machines. Honestly, it's surprising someone else is up this late just to do their laundry. So much for not running into anyone while you're dressed in your lazy day pajamas—no bra just to add to the pending embarrassment…

Trying your best to keep your head down and fix the machine as silently as possible, you didn't realize that your rattling around has definitely drawn attention. Until a shadow is cast over you. Turning slightly, you look up at the imposing figure and see your next-door neighbor. James Barnes... Ex Winter soldier and a current Avenger...

His head tilts as he stares down at you, "Problem?"

This is the first time you have really seen him up close… he's much taller than you thought, and his eyes are the clearest shade of blue… You shamelessly let your eyes wonder over him, his hair looks freshly cut but his jaw is still decorated with a scruff. He's dressed so casually it throws you off, if you didn't see him on TV or see the vibranium arm holding the basket of clothes you would think he's just some random dude... a cute random dude. While you're clearly staring, Bucky shifts on his feet, his scowl deepening.

Great, now you not only look crazy now your staring... you mentally chastise yourself for being rude before pulling your hand from the filled drum to offer him a handshake, stumbling out your name in the process. This was a mistake, however, because you ended up splashing the super soldier with washer water… -Shit…

You look around forb something to wipe him with only finding one of your old tees, When you offer it he lifts his brow before just wiping the liquid away with his hand.

"I'm sorry, and yeah, I'm just trying to get this washer to work… they never want to act right… old machines acting wonky, what's new?" You huff a laugh, but Bucky keeps looking at you unamused… ah yes… he's an old machine, you idiot…Or maybe not? Danmit why didn't you read more about him!

You quickly take another step closer to him in panic mode to clear up your unplanned insult, your first impression clearly not going well... "Oh! But not all old machines! My grandma had a vacuum for like 20 years, and it never crapped out on her!" -what are you even saying? shut up! Shut up!

Buck just further scoles you, keeping his eyes locked on yours. Okay... he's defiantly a bit intimidating—his intense stare locked onto you. Then there's the fact that his glare doesn't roam—it's just set on your eyes. Plus, you're just rambling on, and he's just watching you like you have lost your mind! You can't afford to move again…

"Why don't you just call for maintenance?" he says in a confused tone, his brows knitting together.

You give him a gentle smile, "I don't want to be blamed for breaking it…"

He doesn't seem too impressed with your excuse as he rolls his eyes, but to your surprise, instead of walking away, leaving you to struggle, he places his laundry down and begins to investigate the machine.

You step closer to him, "So you're going to help me?" you chirp.

"I'm going to try, but if it breaks further, that's on you…" -Okay can't really blame him for that..

"Fair enough, neighbor." he only seems to hum at that before continuing his investigation.

He does his do diligence checking everything out; while he does that, you're doing your own checking out. It's not like you're trying to be a perv.... but curiosity always gets the cat in the end, so you allow yourself to check him out a little. His back faces you, and it's incredible how sturdy it appears; you can even see how the muscles ripple with every move despite it being hidden underneath his t-shirt. Then his narrow waist that draws your attention down the length of him, and his arms bulging with every move as it roots around on the inside of the drum. The dark metal arm is so eye-catching you can't help but stare even though you know you shouldn't... But you can't help yourself from admiring how pretty it truly is… and the craftsmanship is impeccable…

"I think something is just caught if I can unwrap it…" With another pull and a slight groan, he rips out what was caught. Surprisingly, it's small... red and-

Bucky holds up the dripping wet material, and now that he has it unscrambled, you are mortified... Of course, out of everything to get tangled up and caught, it had to be your thong. Turning it about, Bucky looks at the material confused, unsure, until he meets your wide eyes and flushed face. It must suddenly click for the man that he's holding a stranger's underwear because, with the inhuman speed, he's met with realization and he's practically throwing your underwear at you like it would bite him.

The flush of his neck and the way he suddenly does not meet your eyes tells you he's thoroughly embarrassed.

"I'm sorry, ma'am…" Ma'am? Wow, now he's talking to you properly; he really is embarrassed...

It's quiet for a moment as Bucky awkwardly shifts on his feet. Then you can't help yourself any longer, and you laugh. You laugh so hard you all but fall over yourself, and to your shock, Bucky breaks from his embarrassment and joins in on your laughter till you both were on the verge of tears. As you wipe away your tears, you catch him smiling, and it's like looking at a completely different guy. If people saw this, they wouldn't be avoiding him, that's for sure.

With the washer fixed, you could finish your laundry cycle as Bucky moved to start his. As you're turning to thank your helpful neighbor, he is gone? Scanning the room, you see him leaving, shit!

"James!" You shout without thinking. He pauses before turning back with a small smirk.

"Don't tell me you broke something else."

He's… teasing you? A grin spreads to your face, "I wanted to thank you for helping me out."

He shrugged, "It's no problem, but call me Bucky." With that, he walked off.

Days later, you were still troubled by the feeling you didn't get to properly thank your neighbor for saving your panties from doom. So you did the only thing you could think of; making him food. Make sure debts and gratitude are always paid... or it could come back a bite you... it's something you picked up from how you grew up, but where your dad made sure to do it with favors and money, your mom would always pay by making desserts and meals. So, in your situation, you decided on a platter of brownies.

The look on his face when you knocked on his door was priceless. Of course, he accepted, and thus, the cycle between you two started. You would have a favor, Bucky would help, and then you would make him a meal or dessert. Over time, Bucky's grumpiness was replaced with friendliness, and your friendship got stronger. Even though you had fewer favors, you two continued the tradition of eating a home-cooked meal together once a week until suddenly, it was odd if you were not seeing him.

Like now...

It's been three weeks since you last saw him. It's honestly so lonely in the building without him around. Sure, he's not talkative all the time, and there are still things you know you two have not shared, but it's undeniable this closeness you feel to him.

You just hope you get to see him soon, or you will be forced to break something and force him to come back…

It's another quiet night. It should be a night that you rest easy, drifting far off into dreamland. But you just can't seem to fall asleep. Perhaps it's the fault of a certain super soldier's absence or maybe it just sometimes getting your mind to settle is just an impossible task. As you lay pondering whether you should just force yourself to rest or get up and do something until you're tired, a loud bang from the neighboring wall interrupts the stillness.

On instinct, you freeze and try to listen to where the crashing is coming from. Bucky's place... but that's odd; he's not home. Or did he come back and you just miss him? Another crash makes you second guess, it could be a break in…

But who would be dumb enough to break into a super soldier's apartment?

Apparently, you...

It is technically breaking and entering, but is it bad if you do it for a good reason? What if someone is wreaking his place? What if he's in danger? What will you do if you actually run into someone?

You ignore that for now as you concentrate on picking the lock... You hated it then, but you're now thankful for the skill at times like this. It clicks with a few more twists, and you're now sneaking through the threshold.

It's the same place you have been in multiple times, but tonight, you see the crumble of blankets on the living room floor, the flipped furniture, the mess of wreckage. Then you see the more heart-aching sight in the room's darkness.

Bucky usually stands so tall and has that sly smirk for you with some greeting. Now, he is crouched so small, disheveled, and trembling. Those ocean-blue eyes clenched tightly...

A step towards him immediately has him on the defense, ready to fight. But he pauses at the sight of you, confused, rightly so. But you're more distracted by how the outside lights for a moment reflect on the tears rolling down his cheeks.

You're about to say something, but his hoarse voice cuts you off before you can, "Get out!".

The sound of his rough voice gives you pause, you should really listen, but as he sinks back to the floor, your feet feel like lead. With a swallow and a steadying breath, you step closer. He should understand by now that you're not one for listening.

Closer now, you can take in his sweat-drenched body and matted hair and how he tries to stop shaking but just can't... Thousands of questions flock to you; but you just swallow them down. Slowly, you sit close enough to be noticed but not enough to touch him… Settled beside him, you place your hand out towards him on the floor, making a silent offer. "I'm going to stay for as long as it takes... I don't think you should be alone..."

It could take minutes or hours. There is also the chance of him lashing out, but you will just be silent and patient and let him feel your presence and hear your calm breaths. It's the only thing you can think to do... to wait...

You're there for a couple of minutes until a clammy warmth touches your hand. Looking down, you can tell the shaking has stopped a little. You spread your fingers and let him lace them with his own.

"I... don't know what to say..." he mumbles, but you shake your head before meeting his eyes.

"You don't have to explain... We all get bad dreams. "

"Every night I have bad dreams... Sometimes, I just randomly shake awake."

"Other times, you just lay there waiting for the sun to rise."

The look he gives you tells you he's shared the experience. You shrug and look out the window, "Like I said... bad dreams."

As you two sit there, his shaking slowly stills, but the grip on your hand only tightens.

"I'm sorry..." It was such a silent whisper that you almost didn't hear it. Looking at Bucky he looks so tired, and a wreck, it brings back memories you thought were packed away.

"Don't be sorry. Let's just work on getting you cleaned up. Go rinse off and I will clean up."

Bucky looks like he is about to protest but you just shake your head before standing, "Don't argue with me, go."

Bucky nods before standing up... He walks towards his bathroom but pauses just short... He has his own set of questions he wants to ask...But it will just have to wait.

You start placing what you can remember in their proper spots. Sure, this place was a mess, but you have had to fix the fallout of worse. Once done, you move on to the kitchen to brew the tea, your mom always liked tea on rough nights so it just seems like part of the process now. As the water heats, you just listen to the muffled sound of the shower.

Does this happen often? And if so, how have you never noticed before? You know he has a checkered past but, you never noticed this... he's always so buttoned up you guess he just popped...

Bucky takes longer to wash off than you expected, but ultimately, it's a good thing he took the time for himself. Getting the tea set in the living room you wait in dim silence till eventually he comes out of the bathroom. He emerges only in pajama bottoms, wet hair dripping down on a towel resting on his shoulder, and fixing his metal arm back into place. Bucky plops down on the couch and for a long moment he's just quite. From the look on his face he's still thinking of what to say, but you just slide the peppermint tea over to him.

Bucky gives a small thank you before he lifts the cup, letting the smell waft to his nose and the cup warm his hand. When he finally takes a sip, you feel like you can breathe again. While he works on his tea, you notice the drops falling from his hair and landing on his skin, causing him to shiver. He didn't even bother to dry his hair, huh? Carefully, you take the towel from his shoulder and softly start to dry his wet hair away. Bucky looks at you curiously as you focus on the task before you.

"Why are you so good at this?"

"Like I said, everyone gets bad dreams. Some worse than others."

He hums before slightly chuckling, "Is that also why you know how to break into apartments?"

The playful tone in his voice makes your heart squeeze, and you can't help but grin, at least his humor seems to not be fazed, "You're not the only one with secrets, soldier boy."

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letthemkook · 2 months ago

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Pairing: Rich Preppy Jungkook x Oblivious Reader Genre: Romantic Comedy, Fluff, Slow Burn (kind of), Light Smut Vibes Later Themes: Bet-Gone-Wrong, Childhood Crush, Rich People Problems, Forced Proximity

Part I: The Bet

Intro: You are not in love with Jeon Jungkook. He's always been a side character in your life. The one guy who's always there, regardless of how painfully obvious he is, you've never caught a clue. That is until a certain wager changes everything.

------

Jungkook’s been in love with you since second grade.

Since you knocked over his juice box and cried harder than he did when the teacher yelled at you.

Since you called his Spiderman lunchbox “tacky” and then lent him your glittery one the next day.

He’s never really gotten over it.

Now you’re both seniors at St. Cecilia’s Prep — a disgustingly expensive school where everyone has last names that open doors and closets full of uniforms tailored by people with French accents.

And Jungkook?

He’s rich, hot, athletic, drives an imported black McLaren and walks around like the school was built just for him. Girls love him. Guys worship him. Teachers pretend not to notice when he shows up late to class with a caramel macchiato in one hand and a smug smirk on his face.

And he only has eyes for you.

The worst part?

You're completely oblivious.

You treat him like… a friend. A boy. Just some guy you’ve known since forever, who’s always in your orbit and always teasing you and always finding new ways to make your face turn red.

You've always been confident in your academic prowess, so when he teases you about scoring lower than him on the latest exam, naturally you boast about how much more intelligent you are.

So when he makes the bet, he does it with a grin. That he can score higher than you on the next history exam. Worth 35% of your grade.

“If I win, you do whatever I say for three months.”

You frown at him across the school lawn. “Whatever?”

“Whatever.”

The whole friend group groans.

“Dude,” your best friend hisses, “you’re literally walking into a trap.”

“I’m not gonna lose,” you say, too confident.

But you do. Because if you don't, the alternate condition was a shaved head. And you weren't a good looking bald woman.

And that’s how you find yourself standing outside Jungkook’s penthouse-sized dorm room, cheeks already burning before you even knock.

He opens the door, smug and gorgeous, leaning against the frame in his hoodie and plaid pajama pants like a Calvin Klein ad.

“Hey, baby.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“You’re blushing.”

“Am not.”

He steps aside and gestures you in. “You ready to start your first day as my personal favorite person?”

“I already hate this.”

“No, you don’t,” he says, handing you a contract. A real contract, printed on creamy paper and everything. “Clause 1: You owe me one kiss a day.”

You choke. “What?!”

“One,” he says, dead serious. “I’m being generous.”

“That’s not—!”

“Clause 2: You spend your lunch breaks with me. Clause 3: I get to walk you to class. Clause 4: If anyone asks, you’re mine.”

“Jungkook—”

He leans in, grinning. “Clause 5: If you try to escape, I double the contract.”

You’re sputtering. Dying. Blushing so hard your ears burn.

He just taps the paper. “Sign it, Y/N.”

And somehow maybe because of the way he’s looking at you, or the flutter in your chest you’re trying to ignore, you do.

From that day on, your world flips.

He holds your hand in the halls like it’s casual. He kisses your cheek in front of your friends. He texts you good morning, beautiful and don’t forget your stupid water bottle. He calls you “baby” in front of the entire cafeteria and smirks when you try to hide behind your book.

Your friends won’t shut up about it.

“He’s obsessed with you.”

“He’s always been obsessed with you.”

“You’re telling me you didn’t notice?”

And the worst part?

You start noticing.

The way he always remembers your favorite drink. The way he gets mad when you sit too close to other guys. The way he looks at you like you hung the moon and maybe knocked it slightly off orbit just to piss him off.

And the way his kisses - those once-a-day, cocky, confident kisses ... start to feel like something more.

Like maybe he’s not the only one falling.

-----

Twelve days in.

That’s how long it takes for the kisses to start changing.

At first, they were quick. Flirty. Just enough to fluster you and feed Jungkook’s ego. A peck on the cheek when you handed him his coffee. A kiss to the corner of your mouth when he caught you staring during physics. One stolen in the hallway between classes, fast and cocky while your friends screamed in the background.

But now?

Now he lingers.

His fingers skim your jaw when he pulls away. His thumb brushes your lower lip. He stares at you like he’s memorizing the way you breathe.

And you?

You can’t stop thinking about him.

His smirk. His scent. The way he always tugs you a little closer than necessary, like your body naturally belongs next to his. It’s getting harder to write it off as a game — as a stupid bet.

Especially when you catch yourself… wanting the kiss before he even asks for it.

Today, he corners you after school in the parking lot.

You’re about to unlock your car when you hear his voice behind you, low and playful.

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

Your stomach flutters.

“Home?”

“You forgot something.”

You turn. He’s leaning against the hood of his car, arms folded, mouth twitching like he’s trying not to grin too hard.

“What?”

He shrugs. “Kiss number twelve.”

Your cheeks warm instantly. “Can’t you skip a day?”

His brow arches. “Do you want me to?”

You hesitate.

And that’s all the answer he needs.

He crosses the space between you in two strides, gently tilts your chin up, and kisses you — slow this time. No audience. No teasing.

Just lips and breath and the faint sound of your keys hitting the pavement when your fingers go slack.

You’re dizzy when he pulls back. Blinking. Your heart pounding like you just ran a mile.

Jungkook just smiles.

“See?” he says, brushing your hair behind your ear. “Not so bad.”

You don’t answer. You can’t.

He reaches down, picks up your keys, presses them into your hand, and leans in to whisper against your cheek.

“Text me when you get home. Or I’ll come find you.”

He walks away like he didn’t just rearrange your entire nervous system.

You get in your car, hands shaking.

And it hits you then, like a lightning strike to the heart:

This isn’t a game anymore.

Not for him.

And definitely not for you.

-------

Jungkook’s flirting with someone else.

You can see it from across the courtyard — the way he leans against the ivy-covered wall with that lazy smirk, sunglasses pushed up on his head, sleeves rolled to his elbows. The girl in front of him giggles, twirling her hair like she’s in a shampoo commercial, practically melting under his gaze.

You can’t hear what he’s saying.

You don’t need to.

He does that thing — the thing he always does to you — where he tilts his head and leans in a little too close, like he’s sharing a secret meant just for her.

Your stomach flips.

You hate it.

It’s stupid. You’re not his girlfriend. This is just a bet. A three-month contract you were dumb enough to sign. It’s not like you want him to only look at you.

Right?

You’re still scowling when you slam your tray down next to your best friend at lunch.

She gives you a look. “So. What’s with the face?”

“Nothing,” you mutter.

She follows your gaze.

Then grins. “Oh.”

“What?”

She nudges you. “You’re jealous.”

“No, I’m—”

“Yes, you are.”

Before you can argue, a shadow falls over your table.

And then he’s there.

Jungkook. In all his smug, post-flirting glory. Dropping into the seat next to you like it’s reserved, slinging an arm around your shoulders like he’s the one who owns your body now.

“Hey, baby.”

You glare. “Don’t call me that.”

He just grins wider. “Someone’s cranky today.”

You shove his arm off. “Why don’t you go sit with your little girlfriend?”

He freezes — just for a second — before his smile returns, a little more dangerous this time.

“Oh?” he says, leaning in. “You jealous, baby?”

You scoff and turn away, heat flooding your face.

He follows, whispering against your ear, voice low and satisfied.

“You are. That’s so cute.”

“I am not—”

“I only flirted with her,” he interrupts, eyes dark now, “because you haven’t kissed me yet today.”

You look at him, stunned.

He shrugs, still too close. “A deal’s a deal.”

“I’m not kissing you here,” you hiss, glancing around.

He leans back, stretching out with a smirk. “Then meet me after school. Your locker. Five minutes. Don’t make me wait, sweetheart.”

And just like that, he gets up and walks away — leaving behind the scent of his cologne, your racing heart, and a very annoyed sense of how right your best friend was.

You’re jealous.

Very jealous.

------

You almost don’t go.

You spend the last period of the day staring at the clock, chewing your pen, trying to convince yourself you’re not going to meet him at your locker. That this whole bet is stupid. That he’s messing with you. That he wants you flustered. That you’re just another toy in Jungkook Jeon’s very expensive, very privileged collection.

But when the bell rings… your feet move before your thoughts can catch up.

And suddenly you’re there.

Empty hallway. Soft afternoon light pooling in through the windows. Your locker in front of you, slightly dented from when Jungkook playfully kicked it open last week like he owned the entire school.

Which, to be fair, he kind of does.

He’s already waiting.

Leaning back against the row of lockers across from yours, one knee bent, arms crossed over his chest like he’s the final boss of some video game and you just unlocked a new level.

His gaze flickers to you instantly. And then he smiles — soft, smug, and slow, like he’s been expecting this exact moment forever.

“Took you long enough.”

You stop a few feet away, arms folded.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

He pushes off the lockers and steps into your space.

You try to back up, but your locker stops you.

He cages you in with one hand on either side of your head, eyes warm and intense, head tilted like he’s studying something precious.

“You were jealous,” he murmurs.

“I wasn’t.”

“You were.”

“I—”

He leans closer, voice dropping. “Say you weren’t. Go on.”

You can’t.

Because you were. And he knows it.

Your silence makes him grin — not the cocky kind, but the real kind. The one that makes your stomach twist and your knees feel like melting butter.

He dips his head until your noses almost brush.

“You ready to give me my kiss now?”

You should say no.

You should push him away.

But instead, your eyes flutter shut.

And that’s all he needs.

He kisses you slow — not teasing, not playful. Real. His hand finds your waist. Yours end up clutching the front of his stupidly soft hoodie, like you might float away if you let go. His lips move gently at first, but when you don’t pull back, he deepens it — just slightly — and you gasp.

He pulls away then, but not far. Just enough to breathe the same air.

His voice is quiet. Raw.

“I’ve been in love with you since we were kids.”

Your eyes snap open.

“I used to wait for you outside the art room every Tuesday even though I hated the smell of paint. I sat behind you in bio just so I could hear you talk about weird sea creatures. And I made that stupid bet because it was the only way I could get you to actually see me.”

You blink up at him, breath caught in your throat.

“I do see you,” you whisper.

He smiles, but there’s something softer behind it now. Something almost shy.

“Yeah,” he says, brushing your cheek. “But I want you to want me, too.”

You don’t answer.

You just kiss him again — because for once, you want to.

And this time, it’s not part of the contract.

It’s just you.

And him.

And something terrifyingly real starting to bloom between you.

-------

It starts with the bracelet.

A simple silver chain, nothing too flashy — but when your lab partner Theo slips it around your wrist during chem, the sparkle it catches in the light is nothing compared to the look on Jungkook’s face from across the room.

You glance over, expression innocent. Jungkook’s jaw tightens.

Good.

Because maybe it’s petty.

Maybe it’s dangerous.

But after days of him flustering you, stealing kisses, flirting with other girls just to mess with your head, and cornering you at lockers like he owns your entire life — you decide it’s time he blushes for once.

So you make a plan.

And it starts at Noah Park’s birthday party.

The Park estate is lit like a music video — bonfires in the backyard, string lights over the tennis court, and speakers blasting Top 40 hits so loud you can feel the bass in your lungs.

You dress up a little more than usual. Shorter skirt. Glossy lips. Eyes lined in a way you know will make Jungkook feel things.

You arrive late, walk in like you’ve never been nervous a day in your life, and make a beeline for Theo — who, bless his flirty, dumb heart, is more than happy to play along.

You laugh a little louder than usual. Let your hand rest on his arm a little longer. Tilt your head when he compliments your lip gloss and say, “Want a closer look?”

From the corner of your eye, you see Jungkook freeze.

He’s standing near the patio, drink in hand, surrounded by his usual crew. But now he’s gone completely still — dark eyes locked on you like a storm cloud about to break.

Good.

Let him simmer.

Let him burn.

Theo leans in. Says something about going somewhere quieter. You smile — sweet and wicked — and before you can say yes, there’s a shadow behind you and a firm hand on your waist.

“Hey, Theo,” Jungkook says, voice smooth but sharp like broken glass. “Mind if I steal her for a second?”

Theo blinks. “Uh—"

“She has a boyfriend,” Jungkook adds, turning to you. “Right, baby?”

Your pulse skips. “Do I?”

His jaw twitches.

You let him pull you aside, through the crowd, until you’re half-dragged into the quiet of the wine cellar hallway — dimly lit and way too close.

He pins you with a glare.

“What the hell was that?”

“I don’t know,” you say innocently. “Looked a lot like what you do every day.”

His breath catches.

“Are you jealous?” you tease, voice soft, smile smug.

“Jealous?” He steps in, crowding you against the wall, one arm braced beside your head. “I nearly punched him.”

You raise a brow. “Why? Afraid I’ll fall for someone else?”

His hand slides to your waist, grip tightening just slightly.

“No,” he growls. “I’m afraid you’ll figure out you deserve someone better than me.”

That shuts you up.

Because for all his cocky grins and flirtatious teasing — you’ve never seen him look like this. Desperate. Wrecked. Like you just ripped the ground out from under him.

His voice drops to a whisper.

“Don’t do that again.”

“Why not?”

He leans in, forehead resting against yours.

“Because I’ll lose my goddamn mind.”

And when he kisses you this time — it’s not playful. It’s not smug.

It’s hungry.

Possessive.

Like he’s trying to claim every piece of you before someone else even thinks about trying.

And you let him.

Because, revenge or not…

You liked watching him fall apart for you.

--------

You thought the kiss in the wine cellar would be the end of it.

That he'd get it out of his system, that you'd get your petty revenge, and that things would return to whatever weird, flirt-heavy, kiss-a-day limbo you’d been floating in since the bet started.

But that night…

Jungkook doesn’t let you go home.

He doesn’t even ask.

He just says, “You’re staying,” and tugs you by the wrist up the winding staircase to the Park family’s guest wing like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

And the worst part?

You don’t fight him.

His room is massive, predictably obnoxious — floor-to-ceiling windows, private balcony, bed big enough to hold your denial and your crush and all your nervous heartbeats.

He tosses you a hoodie. It’s warm, oversized, smells like him. You sit on the bed while he changes behind a screen, and every second feels heavier than it should.

When he finally joins you, shirtless and in sweats, he’s quieter than usual.

No teasing. No smirk.

Just Jungkook.

Barefoot, tired, beautiful Jungkook — standing at the foot of the bed, looking at you like he’s trying not to fall apart.

And then he says it.

“I don’t want to lose you.”

Your breath catches.

“I know this started as a game. I made it one. But it’s never been a game for me. Not really.”

You open your mouth to say something, but nothing comes out.

He sits next to you, close enough to feel the heat of his skin, but not touching you — not yet.

“I’ve been in love with you since we were eleven,” he says, eyes on the floor. “You had braces and ugly glitter socks and told me my eyebrows were too perfect for a boy.”

You blink.

He lets out a soft laugh, bitter and soft. “You don’t remember, do you?”

You shake your head. “Not really.”

“I do,” he whispers. “I remember everything.”

He turns to face you then, eyes shining — not with cocky confidence, but with something raw. Something real.

“You make me crazy, Y/N. Every time you laugh at someone else’s joke. Every time you look at me like I’m just some guy you grew up with. Every time you act like you don’t know I’d burn this entire school to the ground for you.”

Silence.

Heavy.

Sacred.

You reach out, slowly, fingers brushing his.

“I didn’t know,” you whisper. “I swear I didn’t. I thought… you were just playing.”

“I was,” he says. “At first. Because it was the only way I could get close to you without scaring you away.”

You finally meet his eyes.

And this time, you don’t look away.

“I’m scared now,” you say quietly.

“I know.”

“But I think…” You swallow. “I think I’m falling for you too.”

That’s all it takes.

He surges forward, mouth crashing against yours, hands tangled in your hair like he’s been dying to touch you properly for years. And this kiss — it’s not part of any bet. There’s no clause, no teasing smirk.

Just mouths and breath and confessions pressed between teeth.

He pulls you onto his lap without breaking the kiss, hoodie slipping off one shoulder as his hands roam over your back, gentle but desperate.

“I love you,” he says again, against your mouth this time. “Say it back. Please.”

You pause — dizzy, flushed, aching.

Then: “I’m not ready.”

He stills.

But then — he smiles.

And kisses your forehead.

“That’s okay,” he whispers. “I’ll wait. I’ve already waited half my life.”

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