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norrisradio · 3 months ago

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TRUE LOVE OF MINE

LINE BY LINE ᝰ.ᐟ "You with the dark curls, you with the watercolor eyes / You who bares all your teeth in every smile" - Lady Lamb, Dear Arkansas Daughter

ᝰ PAIRING: lando norris x reader | ᝰ WC: 5.5K ᝰ GENRE: best friends to lovers (we cheered!), reader = ex karting driver + med student, you have loved lando since the day you met etc etc etc ᝰ INCOMING RADIO: fun fact - the colors used in the title/headings on this post are actually the colors of lando's eyes from this post // this was a behemoth of a fic to write and i'm still nto entirely pleased, but the people yearn for lando norris ꨄ requested by anon!

send me an ask for my line by line event.ᐟ

The first time you see Lando Norris, he’s face-down in the mud, crying because someone called him a posh baby in the paddock, and you think he’s the most beautiful boy you’ve ever seen.

There’s mud crusted on his cheek like it belongs there, curls pressed damp to his forehead, and his whole face is crumpled like paper in a storm. He’s got one sock half off and a fresh scab on his shin, and still, somehow, he looks like he belongs in a painting. The messy kind. Watercolor, probably. Something soft and bleeding at the edges, impossible to frame.

He’s eight and you’re eight and a half, which means you get to say things like “it’s okay, babies cry,” even though you don’t really mean it. He wipes his face on his sleeve and looks up at you with blotchy cheeks and kaleidoscope eyes, like someone spilled a little too much green into blue, and says, “I’m not a baby.” You believe him.

You sit next to him on the curb, knees knocking together, watching his kart like it’s some sacred thing. The sky is gray, threatening rain, and he’s all flushed skin and scraped palms and frustration.

“They’re just jealous,” you mutter. He doesn’t look at you. “Of what? That I cry like a baby?” “No,” you say. “That your eyelashes are stupid long and you drive like the kart owes you money.”

That gets a huff out of him. Half-sob, half-laugh.

You offer him your juice box. He doesn’t smile, but he bares his teeth when he takes it, all crooked and endearing and real. That’s the thing about Lando. He’s always been real.

He holds out a sticky, dirt-streaked hand.

“I’m Lando.” “I know,” you say. “Everyone knows.”

You shake his hand anyway.

A month later, you beg your parents to sign you up for the junior karting class — not because you like cars (you don’t, really), but because you like him. Or maybe just the way he lights up when he talks about apexes and engine sounds like they’re things that breathe.

You come home smelling like oil. Your knuckles blister from gripping the wheel too hard. You cry once when you spin out and hit the barriers; but he’s there, pulling your helmet off like you’re made of glass, telling you, “You looked cool, though. Like, action movie cool.”

He makes you want to win. So you start trying.

When you’re eleven, he wins a race with his hair slicked back by sweat and wind, curls flattened into chaos. He leaps from the kart like he’s weightless, helmet swinging from one hand like a trophy of its own, and the grin he throws at you — all teeth, no restraint — nearly knocks you over.

“Did you see that?” he shouts, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Did you see?”

You did. Every lap. Every line. You saw the way his hands tightened before the last corner, the way his shoulders settled like he’d already decided to win.

You hand him his water bottle.

“You were okay.”

He gasps. “Just okay?”

“You’ll be cooler when you stop smiling like you’re showing your teeth to the dentist.”

He grins wider. Shoves you lightly with the back of his hand.

“Admit it. I looked sick.”

He did. He always does. Even like this, eyes stormy and pale all at once, flushed with the kind of joy that doesn’t need to be explained. He’s not handsome yet, not in the way the magazines will call him later. But there’s something about the way he holds a moment. The way you can’t look away when he’s in it.

Later that summer, you win.

It’s not a big race. Junior category, barely a crowd —but he’s there. Leans so far over the barrier during your final lap the marshal tells him to get down before he falls in.

You don’t hear the cheering. You don’t even feel the medal when they hang it around your neck. All you feel is Lando barreling toward you at the speed of light, helmet in one hand, arms wide, like you’re the one who gave him wings.

“You were flying,” he breathes, practically vibrating. “You were magic.”

You pretend to scoff. “Guess I’m not just here to hand you water bottles.”

He pulls you into a hug anyway. No hesitation. Just heat and sweat and the faint scent of petrol and whatever soap he uses. His heart’s pounding against your shoulder like he’s the one who just won.

Later, when you look at the photos, you don’t care about the trophy in your hands. You care about the boy behind you — curls wild, smiling so hard it looks like it hurts.

At fifteen, you start noticing the way other girls notice him.

It starts in Italy, or maybe Spain. Somewhere with sunburnt afternoons and the scent of burnt rubber curling off the asphalt like smoke. The girls linger after his heats now. They lean too close and laugh too loudly. Twisting their hair, asking if he’s going to the after-party, the lake, the whatever.

You stand beside him in the hoodie he gave you two summers ago: faded navy, sleeves chewed at the cuffs. It smells like sunscreen and old fabric and something unnameable that has always just been him. You pick at the hem while they talk, eyes on his profile.

The same boy you’ve known since he was sobbing on a curb with gravel in his socks has started to shimmer, like something just out of reach. Something made of light and speed.

His hair’s longer now, curling wild at the edges of his helmet. His smile’s the same, though. All teeth, all instinct. It still takes up half his face like he hasn’t learned how to hide anything yet.

But he doesn’t smile at them. He never does.

He looks at you. “You’re quiet,” he says, tugging at the drawstring of your hoodie. You shrug. “I’m always quiet.” “Not with me.”

He says it like a secret. Like he likes that about you — that there’s a version of yourself reserved just for him. You don’t say anything back, because you're not sure your voice would work even if you tried.

That night, you find yourselves walking the hotel parking lot, drinking vending machine soda that tastes faintly like metal and sugar. The sky's a navy bruise, and everything hums: the street lamps, the asphalt, your pulse.

“You’re kind of becoming a big deal,” you say, finally.

He laughs, low and a little shy, like you’ve caught him off-guard. “Don’t say that,” he says. “I’ll get cocky.”

“You already are.” You bump his arm with yours. It’s too dark to see his face clearly, but you know he’s smiling wide, teeth and all, like he’s baring it just for you.

And maybe he is.

Because even now, even with sponsors circling and flights booked across Europe, even with interviews and mechanics and the way his name sounds over loudspeakers, he still comes to your races.

He’ll show up between practice sessions with a baseball cap pulled low and sunglasses that don’t do much to hide him. You’ll spot him first, sitting on the pit wall like he’s always belonged there, one leg swinging like a kid with too much energy.

“Why do you still come?” you ask him once, after you’d placed second and felt like it wasn’t enough.

He shrugged. “Because I like watching you win.”

You think about that now, under the flicker of a buzzing lamp, watching the way his lashes cast soft shadows on his cheeks when he looks at you. His eyes are still that strange in-between — not quite blue, not quite grey, always shifting like skies about to storm.

Like watercolor left out in the rain.

You look away first.

You always do.

At sixteen, you run until your lungs burn. You don’t stop until your fists hit his front door, nails bitten down to nothing and eyes already stinging. He opens it in a hoodie three sizes too big, and the second he sees your face, he doesn’t ask.

He just pulls you in.

You’re crying too hard to speak at first, shoulders shaking, throat raw. He closes the door behind you and guides you to the stairs like it’s muscle memory, like this has happened before, and maybe it has, in smaller ways. Skinned knees. Lost heats. Bad days.

But this is different.

“They’re making me quit,” you finally get out. “They said— they said I have to focus on school. On real life.”

You say it like a curse. Like “real life” is something you never asked for.

Lando’s quiet for a moment. His hand curls around your wrist, thumb brushing a soothing rhythm over your pulse. His eyes — moss green in the dark — watch you without blinking. Always watching. Always knowing.

“Come on,” he says.

You frown. “Where?”

“Just— trust me.”

He doesn’t wait for you to agree. He just grabs his keys and your hand and pulls you out into the night. The wind has teeth. The sky hangs low, indigo and velvet. When you realize where you’re going, your heart breaks all over again.

The track sits behind the hill, silent and sleeping.

Lando hops the gate first, then turns and offers you his hand. You take it, fingers cold in his. He pulls you over like it’s nothing.

The lights are off, but the moon’s enough. It glints off the asphalt, pale and silver, the same way the sun used to gleam on your helmet when you’d throw it off at the end of a race, breathless and laughing. Back when your name had a number next to it and your dreams had engines.

Lando walks the edge of the track, then steps aside, gestures toward the start line like he’s offering you a crown.

“One more,” he says. “For old time’s sake.”

You laugh, watery and shaking. “There’s no kart, idiot.”

He shrugs. “Run it.”

So you do.

You take off, sneakers slapping the track, heart thudding like it’s trying to break through your ribs. Your hair whips behind you, tangled and wild, and you run like you used to race: reckless, full tilt, like the only thing that’s ever made sense is forward.

The wind hits your face and the tears dry on your cheeks and the world blurs around the edges. You run with everything you are; for every lap you’ll never finish, every podium you won’t stand on, every flame they’re trying to snuff out of you.

When you make it back to him, gasping and breathless, Lando is watching like he always does, with something quiet and fierce behind his eyes. Like he sees not just you, but the version of you the world won’t let exist anymore.

You collapse next to him, panting. He says nothing for a long time. Just sits beside you on the track, knees pulled to his chest, hoodie sleeves swallowed over his hands.

“You’ll come back to it,” he says eventually, soft like the curve of a turn. “I know you will.”

You don’t answer. You can’t.

He glances over, and for a moment, he looks like a boy again: the same boy with curls damp from rain, whose smile could split the sky. A boy who’s watched you win, lose, burn, rebuild. A boy who’s carried your dreams in the quiet way he carries everything.

“Besides,” he says, nudging your knee, “I’m still gonna win stuff. Someone’s gotta keep me humble.”

You laugh, finally — a real one. It cracks through the ache like sunlight through smoke.

“Always with the fast mouth,” you murmur. “And an ego the size of an engine.”

He grins. All teeth. Unashamed. Something ancient flutters in your chest, something that’s always been there but has never had the nerve to speak.

You don’t say you are the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen, but you think it. You don’t say I’ve loved you since I was eight and a half, but maybe he knows.

Maybe he always has.

By eighteen, Lando’s face is in magazines. He’s a headline now, a profile shot under stadium lights, a name that doesn’t need explaining anymore. He smiles with his whole face — wide and unguarded — and sometimes you see a photo that feels so much like him you have to close the tab and sit with your hands in your lap, breathing slowly.

You still see the boy who once spilled chocolate milk all down his overalls at Silverstone and sobbed so hard he hiccupped for twenty minutes. The one who used to braid daisy chains into the laces of your boots between heats. But now there are articles that say things like rising star and British darling, and he fits in their glossy pages better than he should.

He FaceTimes you after qualifying P1 for the first time. It’s late, past midnight, and you’re still in the library, alone but for the hum of the vending machine and the ache behind your eyes. You almost don’t pick up.

But then you see his name flash on the screen — 🚦LAN-DON’T CRASH🚦 — and your stomach flips like it used to before lights out.

He’s still in his race suit, curls a mess of damp ringlets, cheeks flushed like he’s been running. There’s something in his eyes, too: watercolor green, vivid and blurred around the edges, like adrenaline and disbelief have soaked into his skin.

His smile breaks the second you answer. Wide and wild and so familiar it stings.

“Did you watch?” he says, already breathless.

“Obviously,” you say, tipping your phone back so he can see the chemistry notes scattered across the desk. “Had it up on mute during organic synthesis. You’re lucky I didn’t scream when you took the final sector.”

“You think I was okay?”

“You were sick.”

He pumps a fist and flops back onto some impossibly white hotel bed, still grinning like a kid who’s snuck past curfew. The camera wobbles, then steadies on his face again: flushed and freckled, sweat still clinging to his jaw. He looks happy.

You used to know that feeling. That kind of high. The kind that only came with rubber and gasoline and the blur of corners taken clean.

Your helmet lives in the back of your closet now, tucked behind winter coats and forgotten notebooks. You’ve traded it for lab goggles and timed exams, for ink-stained hands and the quiet sort of excellence no one applauds. Your medals sit in a shoebox beneath your bed, and you haven’t opened it in over a year. You tell people you’re pre-med now. That it’s what you’ve always wanted.

Two years have dulled the ache. Sandpapered it down from a blade to something you can live with. Sometimes you still dream of the track, of the smell of rubber and the scream of engines, but you wake up and make coffee and keep studying until the want quiets again.

Lando watches you for a second. He sees things other people don’t — always has.

“You good?” he asks, voice soft now, like it used to be when he’d sneak out to meet you by the tire stacks after dark.

You nod, a little too fast. “Yeah. Just tired.”

He raises an eyebrow, not buying it. “What are you working on?”

You sigh and flip your notebook toward the screen. “Chemical compounds. I’ve got a practical on Monday. Enantiomers, ketones, the whole gang.”

He makes a face. “Nerd.”

“National treasure,” you correct, dryly. “And future doctor, maybe.”

He lights up at that. “Sick. You can be my medic when I crash.”

You roll your eyes. “So I’ll see you, what, every weekend?”

“Exactly,” he says, smug. “We’re soulmates, remember?”

You want to say, you with the stupid grin, you with the disaster curls, you with the heartbeat I could always find in the noise.But instead, you shake your head and say, “God help your insurance.”

He laughs, throws his head back, bares every tooth like he always does. There’s a soft curve in the center of his front two that never straightened out, even after braces. You used to tell him he looked like a Labrador when he smiled like that. You still think it now, but it feels like something tender and sacred, like a memory you keep pressed between pages.

“I miss you,” he says, quieter now.

You don’t say I miss the version of me that only exists around you.You just whisper, “Yeah. I know.”

The call ends eventually. It always does. But you sit there for a while after, your notebook untouched, watching the ghost of his smile in your screen’s reflection.

You’re twenty-one and a half when Lando sneaks into your college graduation. You don’t see him at first. You’re too busy sweating in your robe, clutching your diploma like it might disappear, wondering if your cap looks stupid in photos. Your parents wave from the stands, your friends cheer, and you try to hold still long enough to soak it in — but it never lands quite right. Everything feels too big, too loud, too fast.

Until he finds you.

Until he hugs you from behind and says, low in your ear, “Told you you’d look cool in a cape.”

You twist around, and there he is, in a hoodie pulled low over those unmistakable curls, sunglasses at night like the world’s worst disguise. His smile is crooked, tired. Familiar.

“What the fuck,” you whisper. “Aren’t you supposed to be—”

He grins wider. “I skipped media day.”

Your jaw drops.

“Shhh,” he adds, holding a finger to your lips. “I’ll get yelled at later. Worth it.”

You don’t know whether to laugh or hit him. So you do both —thump his arm, then drag him into a hug, still warm from the sun and whatever it means to grow up.

He stays through the party, tucked into the background, stealing finger food and smiling like he’s always belonged. He doesn’t pull attention the way he does on track. Here, he just… exists beside you. Quietly. Constantly. Every time you turn around, he’s already looking.

Later, long after the music dies and your parents have gone to bed, the two of you end up on the grass in your front yard, barefoot, robes ditched, diplomas crumpled somewhere behind you. The stars are blurry, a little from distance, a little from everything else.

He lies flat on his back, arms spread like a kid making snow angels, and says, “I’ve got a flight in two hours.”

You hum. “FP1?”

He nods.

You both fall quiet. The silence between you has never been uncomfortable. It stretches like elastic, worn in with years of knowing — from tire stacks and afterschool karting, from night tracks and vending machines, from every version of growing up that had the other curled into its corner.

“I’m scared,” you admit, finally. “For med school.”

Lando turns his head to look at you. You’re lying close, your hair fanned out against the grass, fingers plucking gently at the blades. You don’t meet his eyes, but you feel them on you. The color of seafoam, soft in the dark. The kind that still knocks the breath out of you when you're not bracing for it.

“You’ll be great.”

You scoff. “You don’t know that.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Why?”

There’s a rustle of denim and hoodie fabric, and then he’s sitting up, pulling something from his pocket. A worn-out square of photo paper, crumpled and soft at the edges. He presses it into your hand.

You blink. It’s a picture of the two of you, age nine, arms thrown around each other in the pit lane. His curls are messy and stuck to his forehead, flushed cheeks stretched in a grin so big you can count every tooth. You’re buried in his side, beaming up at him like he hung the sky. Lando’s holding a trophy, but even then, he’s not looking at it. He’s looking at you.

“You gave me your gummy worms right after that,” he says. “Said I earned it.”

You run your thumb over the crease down the middle. The image is faded now, but you remember the moment like it’s stitched into you.

He says it like it’s obvious. Like gravity. “Because we’re soulmates. And I feel it in my bones.”

You don’t answer right away. You can’t.

The stars above you scatter like sugar across navy velvet. Your eyes sting.

“You know,” you say after a while, voice low, “If you crash, I’ll be the one stitching you back together.”

He grins. Not his media-trained one — not the sharp, rehearsed smile he wears under paddock lights — but the real one. The one that splits across his face without warning. That bares all his teeth like he’s never learned to hold anything back. That’s lived on every page of your memory since you were old enough to chase him across a track.

“That’s hot,” he teases.

You roll your eyes. “You’re a nightmare.”

“But I’m your nightmare.”

And that’s the thing, isn’t it?

It’s always been him. Him with eyes that shift with the light, that catch everything, that still find you first.

You with your goggles and your notebooks. Him with his fireproof gloves and nowhere to land.

You, who traded circuits for classrooms.

Him, who never stopped circling back to you.

He looks at you like he always has, like you’re the only thing that’s ever made sense. You think maybe you believe him.

That you’ll be okay.

Because he said so. Because he always shows up. Because he’s flying across the world in an hour, but somehow, you’ve never felt more grounded.

At twenty-three, he invites you to Monaco.

You’re dead on your feet when he calls. It’s nearly midnight and you’re cramming for your pathology exam, cross-eyed from the fluorescent lighting in your apartment. You don’t even remember what you said exactly; something like “med school is killing me and I swear to God I haven’t seen the sun in four days.” Laughed it off with the tired grin he knows too well.

You forgot it by morning.

He didn’t.

Now, a week later, you’re barefoot on his balcony, letting the gold-tinged air sink into your skin as the sun sets over the Riviera. The track lies sprawled beneath you like a secret. The sea beyond it glints like something ancient, something wild.

Your breath hitches without meaning to.

“I used to dream about racing this track,” you say, barely above a whisper. “When I was fifteen, I’d watch the onboard cams on my laptop and try to memorize every corner. I knew the lines like poetry.”

Beside you, Lando is quiet. But when you glance over, there’s a glint in his eye, the one that always spelled trouble. Or magic. Or both. His curls are pushed back haphazardly, like he ran a hand through them too many times on the flight, but there’s still that boyishness, untamed and familiar.

“What?” you ask warily.

He doesn’t answer. Just grabs your wrist. “C’mon.” “Lando—” “No time. Let’s go.”

You barely have time to yank on your sneakers before he’s dragging you out the door, past the sleepy concierge and down the quiet streets like he’s done it a thousand times. He takes sharp turns with muscle memory, his fingers tight around yours.

Only when the city’s noise has thinned and the streetlights spill onto the famous asphalt do you realize where you are.

“Lando,” you whisper. “We can’t—” “We’re not driving,” he grins. “Just running it. Like when we were kids, remember?" “FIA—” “Would fine me until my hair turns gray.” He pauses. “Still worth it.”

Your heart kicks against your ribs, but your legs are already moving.

You run.

Past Sainte Devote, hair flying behind you. Past the casino, your laughter ricocheting off elegant facades. You’re breathless by the tunnel, aching by the chicane, but he’s still pulling you like he did when you were kids and he insisted you could make it to the top of that hill if you just didn’t stop.

The air smells like salt and speed.

By the time you reach the harbor, your lungs are burning and your face is flushed and he’s glowing, cheeks pink, smile wide, teeth bared like he’s daring the night to find a brighter joy than this. He looks every bit like the boy you fell in love with fifteen years ago.

The one with grass stains on his overalls. The one whose curls never obeyed a comb. The one who grinned like mischief itself. The one whose eyes — not blue, not quite green — shimmered like someone had taken watercolors and washed them into something soft and stupidly beautiful.

You stop, breathless. He does too.

And for a second, it feels like everything’s still. Like the world just pressed pause.

Later, you sit at the edge of the marina, legs swinging over the water. Your shoes are abandoned on the dock. The air is heavy with the scent of engine oil and sea spray. The waves slap gently against the boats, like applause winding down after a show.

Beside you, Lando says nothing. But you feel him watching. And when you turn, he’s looking at you like he’s never seen you before.

But of course he has. He’s seen you in worse light: that post-rain haze in your old garage, your hair frizzed to hell and braces catching on your lower lip, oil on your jeans and mud on your ankles. He’s seen you bleary-eyed on FaceTime at 3AM. He’s seen you panicking over exams, crying in the paddock, snorting over bad pizza and better jokes.

Still, he looks at you now like he forgot the color of your laugh until this exact moment brought it back. His hair hangs loose over his forehead, still damp from the run, and the way his mouth twitches — almost a grin, almost not — makes your stomach turn over.

He bumps your knee with his.

“You okay?” he asks.

You nod. “Better than okay.” “You looked happy back there.” “I was happy back there.” “Good.” He’s quiet for a beat. Then: “I miss that.”

You glance at him, surprised.

“Miss what?”

“You. Like that.” He exhales, eyes trained on the moon's reflection on the water. “Laughing. Running. Being ridiculous with me.”

You don’t say anything.

He does.

“I miss you all the time,” he says, voice low. “Even when I’m with you.”

Your breath catches.

“You’re always somewhere else now. In your books. In your head. In hospitals I can’t pronounce.”

Your heart tugs at the edges. He doesn’t sound bitter. Just tired. Honest.

“I get it,” he adds. “It’s important. It matters. But sometimes I think about that summer when we were fifteen, and you stole my hoodie, and we made fake pit passes just to sneak into the garage.”

You laugh, quiet. “We were so stupid.”

“We were so happy.”

The silence after that isn’t awkward. It’s full. Like the city’s holding its breath.

You look over at him. Really look.

His lashes are darker now. His jaw’s sharper. A lock of hair curls against his temple, untamed. But he’s still him. Still the boy in the mud, the boy who taught you how to drift on your cousin’s farm, who shared his Capri-Sun at the track because you forgot yours, again. Still the one who taped your wrist when you wiped out in the rain and told you you’d make it to Monaco someday.

And here you are.

“Lando,” you murmur. “Yeah?” “I missed you too.”

He doesn’t wait this time.

He kisses you like he’s been waiting years to remember how.

And maybe he has. Maybe you both have.

The world blurs for a moment: the moon climbing higher, the boats bobbing gently below, the buzz of the city dissolving behind you, and all that’s left is him.

All sun-warmed skin and trembling fingers and eyes the color of every good memory — soft-washed, warm, like light bleeding through a window at golden hour.

He pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, breath mingling with yours.

“I didn’t think you’d let me do that,” he whispers.

“I didn’t think you’d actually do it.”

You both laugh. Just a little. Just enough.

You’re twenty-five when you catch him watching you from across a hotel room in Japan. There’s a storm outside, low thunder rolling through the glass, and Lando’s shirt is damp from the run to the lobby. His curls are still wet, clinging to his forehead in loose, chaotic swirls. He should be tired — hell, you’re tired — but he’s watching you like you’re something new.

It’s not the first time he’s looked at you like this. Not by a long shot.

He’s never been subtle about it, not when he warms your hands in his pockets on cold walks back from the paddock, not when he lights up the second your name shows up on his phone. He’s the kind of boy who leaves his heart in plain sight, who grins with his whole body, who never learned how to want quietly.

You feel his gaze before you meet it. The kind that makes your chest go a little soft, like the edges of a photograph curling with time.

“You’re staring,” you say, without looking up from your textbook.

“I’m allowed to,” he replies. “I’m in love with you.”

You blink. Not because you didn’t know — he’s never been subtle — but because of how easily he says it. No drama. No orchestra. Just him. Lando, who once stuck gum in your hair during a twelve-hour drive to Wales. Lando, who whispered you’ve got me into your hair the night your grandmother died. Lando, who still trips over his own shoes in hotel corridors and grins like a child when room service arrives.

You toss a pillow at him. “Say it prettier.”

He catches it one-handed, kaleidoscope eyes glinting in the dim light. Smirks. “You make me want to write poetry, but all I know how to do is drive.”

That shuts you up.

His eyes crinkle at the corners, a blue-green haze in the lightning glow, and he grins wider, like he knows he’s just won something. Like he’d lose a thousand races and still call this the prize.

“Told you,” he murmurs.

There are races, years, chapters.

Seasons where you barely see each other, where you wake up to hotel ceilings and unfamiliar time zones and forget what city you’re in until he kisses your shoulder and mumbles something in a sleep-heavy voice like, It’s Thursday. We’re in Austin. His curls are flattened from sleep, his voice rough at the edges, and his arms still warm from whatever dream he was having.

Sometimes he wins. Sometimes he doesn’t. You never love him any more or less.

He still gets grumpy when he’s hungry, still laughs at memes from 2014, still buys you the weird flavored gum at petrol stations because you used to love this stuff, remember? Still leans into your space like gravity’s something personal. Still has a grin that cracks through your worst moods like sunlight.

There are cameras. Headlines. Speculations. But you’ve always known who he was.

You know the versions of him that never make it to the press: the quiet frustration of a red flag, the way he presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek when he’s nervous, the silence he sinks into after a loss. The way his curls flop over his forehead when he finally takes off his helmet. The way he says your name when he’s scared. The way he finds you in every crowd like it’s instinct. How his eyes — storm-colored, sometimes soft, sometimes sharp — flick to you the second anything starts to feel too loud.

And you’ve always let him. You always will.

He’s thirty-one when you find an old photo in a drawer: the two of you, muddy and grinning, barely ten years old. His curls are a mess, more fluff than form. You’re wearing his jacket, sleeves bunched up to your elbows. Neither of you have front teeth. You’re both sun-drenched and ridiculous.

“God,” you mutter, holding it up to the light. “We were a disaster.”

From the kitchen, he says, “Still are.”

You hear the clink of a spoon against ceramic. The rustle of his socks on the tile.

“You still love me?” you call, teasing, but not really.

He appears in the doorway, hoodie half-on, spoon in his mouth. He’s older now — jaw more carved, eyes a little softer around the edges — but the grin he gives you is the same one from every memory that matters. That lopsided, toothy thing like he’s always one second from bursting into laughter. A single curl falls against his temple, and for a moment, it’s hard to tell what year it is.

He swallows and says, “I’ll love you even when we’re bones.”

You believe him.

You always have.

2K notes · View notes

goldenhourology · 11 days ago

Text

IRL.

pairing: jeong yunho x f!reader

genre: smut, friends to lovers, coworkers to lovers-ish

summary: using a video game to release your daily frustrations had to be a new low for you. but without it, you wouldn't have met your team leader, yunho. when an embarrassing voice chat leads you both to meeting at a conference for work, it ends in a night neither of you ever saw coming. not even in your imaginations.

warnings: dom!yunho, mutual masturbation, masturbating over a (probably discord) call, fingering, handjobs, unprotected sex, missionary position, belly bulge, praise, forced proximity, a little bit of miscommunication, yunho is kinda mean but it's ok!!, mutual pining. nsfw (minors / ageless blogs dni).

word count: 8.3k

note: soooooooo. how do I explain myself here lol. I've had a million other fics running in my head and yet this was the first piece of writing I actually finished in weeks. go figure. basically I went to go see ateez on tour and was hit smack in the face (I wish, literally) with these feelings for yunho that can simply not be contained 🙂‍↕️☝️ and in fact, I might write MORE for him. also, this fic hardly has a plot, as you can see from the word count lol. just kinda pure smut. enjoy!!! (taglist posted at the bottom.)

in rotation: fantasize, the boyz / slide to me, ateez / more than friends, isabel larosa / we don’t talk anymore, charlie puth ft. selena gomez / make you mine, madison beer

You started playing Valorant as a means of relaxation. Forever exhausted from your grueling 9 to 5 and needing an outlet for your anger management, your therapist suggested to either take up a recreational sport or try video games. Typically, she wouldn’t recommend the latter, but she figured it was better than nothing. The thing was, though, you were definitely not athletic, so what other choice did you have? The last time you let your frustration from work bubble up, you ended up digging your nails so far into your palm that you drew blood.

That wasn’t going to happen again.

You had first seen an ad for Valorant online, and then heard your coworkers talking about it. Back in high school, you had been pretty good at RPGs – probably the best out of your friend group – so you decided it was time to take up the hobby again. You cracked open your years-old PC one night, set up an account, and hit download. Within minutes, you were immersed in the world and quickly learning how to find the best team to join. It was a lot to absorb at once, but it was such a good distraction from all the worries that come with being an adult. Before you knew it, the clock was hitting 1 AM and you hadn’t even done your skincare for the night.

Suffice to say, this was how you met Yuhno, your team leader.

Gamertag: YunhoGizer99.

Being around the same age, you two formed a friendship rather swiftly. Everyone else on your team was either just hitting 21 besides you two, who were on the cusp of hitting your late 20s with “real, adult jobs,” as your team member, Wooyoung, liked to put it. Yunho had taken a chance on adding you to his team, but your skills improved so fast it felt like whiplash. You could rival him in the game … someday. Not today. As time went on, you both began to talk outside of the game, frequently sending messages during working hours about what you both did for jobs and relationships. This was how you found out that both of you worked in data science and played Valorant as a distraction from everyday life.

Using a video game to solve your anger issues and discontentment with work was probably the cringiest thing you could ever do. However … it was helping. Even your therapist noticed a difference. And despite it all, you liked Yunho. Over the past 6 months, he’d become someone you talked to everyday.

Your friends didn’t exactly understand it – talking to this guy you met in a video game. You could admit how nutty it sounded, but they wouldn’t get it until they experienced something similar. It was so easy to form a friendship to someone without a face, so easy to share things you’d normally keep to yourself. Alexa, your roommate, was convinced he was your boyfriend that you were trying to keep secret, while your other friend, Laura, said you two were having phone sex. “You’re both so ridiculous,” you had said before rolling your eyes and changing the topic.

And then came that rainy night in July.

Your apartment was so hot when you came back from your ice cream date with some guy you met on Hinge. Or at least, it was supposed to be an ice cream date before the rain started. Jared – or was his name, Jacob? – had decided to take you to frozen yogurt instead, but the shop was full of families and you both decided to shared your large cup of strawberry froyo in his car while the rain battered against the windshield. And, to be honest, there was nothing romantic about that. Not that you were particularly looking for anything at the moment, but you would’ve given anything for him to at least take you back to his place. But the mood had been ruined and he dropped you off at your building before the clock hit 9 PM. Unmatched. Unbothered. Undone.

Turning on the air-conditioning, you put on your favorite sleep shorts and big t-shirt before opening up Valorant on your PC. Alexa was staying with their boyfriend for the night, so it was just you, all alone, in the apartment. You fiddled with a few keys on your computer as the game booted up, noticing that you received a message as soon as you logged on.

YunhoGizer99 [9:27 PM]: why are you online? thought you had plans You [9:28 PM]: I did. I just got back earlier than I assumed YunhoGizer99 [9:28 PM]: bad date?

You called him immediately and it only took him a second to pick up. Before he could say a word, you replied, “Horrible date. I probably could’ve sucked it up and gone to bed early, but I logged on for the distraction.”

Yunho chuckled on the other end. You were always so surprised by how deep his voice was. Alexa once walked in while you two were on a call and remarked that they were surprised someone named YunhoGizer99 had a “bedroom voice.” You simply called them a pervert.

“What happened this time?” He said through your headphones, his voice amplified more than before.

“Why do you say it like that?” Your eyes narrowed, even though he couldn’t see them. “It was just bad. I don’t want to explain it. The guy is automatically an asshole for dropping me off before 9 o’clock. And it’s humid and my apartment is fucking muggy because Alexa didn’t leave the air conditioner on –” You stopped yourself with a huff.

At this point, you were just staring at the home screen of the game. You didn’t even want to put in the effort to play, given the state of your mood. When Yunho realized you were done, he said, “You know that you don’t have to go on dates, right?”

You scoffed, “Of course, I know that. It’s just –”

“Because in the short time I’ve known you, you come back from them with no good news.”

“Yes, I get that. But –” You spun around in your desk chair. “You’re one to talk. You told me once that you haven’t been on a date since college.”

You heard him blow a raspberry through your headphones. “Hey, now. Don’t use my unwillingness to put myself out there as a defense mechanism.”

“I just –” You sighed, going silent for a moment. Licking your lips, you toyed with the idea of being honest with not only him, but yourself. “This is so embarrassing.”

“I’m sure it’s fine.”

“And maybe I’m being too subtle with the way I approach this –”

“Maybe you are.” He let out a frustrated groan, which sent a shiver down your spine that you didn’t expect. Your fingers fidgeted in your lap. “Oh, come on, just say it –”

“I just really need to be fucked.”

The line went completely silent. So silent that you thought Yunho dropped from the call. You checked your computer and despite it all, his icon of a golden retriever with glasses was still on screen. His mic was just completely silent. You were pretty sure he could hear you gulp on his end. “Yunho?” You called out, voice surprisingly quiet.

“Sorry,” he finally said. “I just … didn’t expect that.”

Your cheeks were heating up. You considered dropping the call, closing the laptop – anything to get you out of this situation. He couldn’t even see you, but you already felt so vulnerable, almost naked. Your chair spun away from the screen, as if that could do anything.

“I shouldn’t have said that –”

“No, no, it’s fine. Seriously.” He exhaled, and you felt like your lungs were burning as you held your breath. “You could just … message a guy on some dating app and tell him that you want him to fuck you.”

Your brow immediately furrowed. Turning around in your chair, you saw your frown reflected in screen of your laptop. Maybe you should’ve guessed that he would say something outrageously stupid like that. “Oh, like it’s that easy. Big help, Yunho,” you sneered.

“Guys don’t like subtlety. I thought you knew that at your big age,” he laughed softly.

“You’re a fucking comedian,” you replied with a shake of your head. “My therapist said that video games can’t be my only distraction in life, but I hate being so upfront with guys about what I want. I try to avoid awkward situations at all costs.”

“If a woman was that upfront with me … it would work.”

You paused, noticing a shift in his tone. You bit into your cheek, trying to stop the word vomit, but you simply couldn’t help yourself – “I shouldn’t have to try so hard to get a dick inside me. My fingers can only do so much.”

“God, you can’t just …” You heard rustling on the other end, as if he was running a hand down his face. Suddenly, you were thinking about what your friend’s hands looked like. How big they were, if his fingers were really that long. You’d seen them once – in a photo he sent you a couple months back – and you couldn’t help but notice how slender his digits were, the veins that were etched between his knuckles.

“You can’t just say things like that to me,” he finished.

You traced your bottom lip with your fingernail. “And why’s that?”

He took a moment. You froze, and it felt like years until he spoke again.

“You know why.”

Your mouth curved slightly. “Women don’t like subtlety either, Yunho.”

“I think I’m done talking about this now. I –” He huffed suddenly. “Fuck.”

His voice had taken on a tone you had never heard before. It was deeper, more of a groan than anything. The kind of tone that you might have fantasized about once or twice on a really lonely night. It wasn’t hard to guess why he sounded like that, and you struggled with sinking your nails into your palm. But it wasn’t out of anger this time; it was far, far different.

Your voice was like a mere croak when you said his name, “Yunho.”

“I’m gonna log off for the night –”

“I can help you, if that’s what you need.” Your fingers were now tugging at the hem of your oversized tee. The one that you bought on clearance because it had off-brand Hello Kitty on the front. “Maybe we can help each other.”

His lips smacked, making you rub your thighs together instinctively. “That would ruin our friendship.”

“It would.”

“But I think I would rather ruin you more.”

Your breath hitched, and the line was so silent that you knew he could hear it. You could almost hear the smirk on his lips when he spoke next. How was that even possible when you’ve never even seen his face?

“I think I’ve always wanted to, as stupid as it sounds,” he admitted, and you could hear him playing with something on the other end. A cable? Drawstring? “Whenever you would come back from these dates all pent up, I couldn’t help but think … what I could …” He trailed off, a sigh escaped his lips as you heard him grip something. “God, fuck.”

This was such a bad idea. It was crossing a line that you never thought was there. A line that all your friends had already assumed you crossed, and you hated to prove them right. But you were just so frustrated with … well, everything, and god forbid you finally give into your desire to hear your friend masturbate over a voice chat.

You should hang up. But your hand was already creeping up under your shirt.

“Do you want me to end the call?” You breathed out, your palm squeezing your breast.

“No,” and the soft laugh he let out sounded so cocky. “I want you to touch yourself and imagine it’s me.”

Just his words had a gasp slipping from your mouth. “Okay,” you rasped, fingers playing with one nipple. His voice was enough to turn them into pebbles, but you started to envision your fingers were his, how they would feel as they toyed with you in person rather than over a call. You rolled your nipple between your fingers, teeth sinking into your bottom lip. “Yunho –”

More rustling on the other side, and you heard him grunt. “You haven’t started fingering yourself, right?”

You looked down at your other hand, still playing with the end of your shorts. “No,” you replied, and it was the quietest you ever heard yourself. “Not yet.”

“Good girl,” he groaned, and you heard him start to slowly stroke himself. “Can you get those fingers wet for me with your mouth, princess?”

This felt absurd. You were practically debasing yourself for your Valorant team leader over a call, all because you were pent up with so much sexual frustration that it felt like you couldn’t breathe sometimes. If anyone found out about this, you’d be eaten alive. But now you were slipping two fingers into your mouth, swirling your tongue around them, and he let out another groan when he heard how sloppy it all sounded.

“Just like that,” he muttered, his grin practically audible through your headphones. “Do you think they’re wet enough now?”

“Mmhmm,” you said around your fingers.

“Are you wet enough?”

You took your fingers out of your mouth and nearly screamed, “God, yes.”

He chuckled, and it was just about evil the way he sounded. “I want those fingers to play with that pretty pussy while I fuck my hand. Can you do that for me?”

You didn’t care that he was commanding you. All you cared about in this moment was getting off as you whispered, “Yes, Yunho.”

Trailing down your torso, you slipped your hand underneath the waistband of your shorts, not even bothering to take your panties off either. Your fingers, wet and warm with saliva, parted your folds so easily, just barely brushing your clit and yet, your hips jumped anyway. You pressed down on it, before starting to rub slow circles, imagining this is how he’d be. Clearly, he was into teasing. Perhaps you should’ve known this from all the times he called you names between rounds, as if you were students at recess.

You moaned out his name and it sounded like heaven through his headphones. He muttered curses under his breath, and you hoped he was squeezing himself at the tip, like you would do for him. You wondered how much precum was coating his hand now; all you could hear was a faint tacky sound in your ear. You wondered if his cock curved to the right or left, if the same veins that ran along his hands were also carved on his shaft.

“I know you’re just playing with your clit, princess,” he said breathlessly. “I don’t wanna fuck my hand faster until I know those fingers are inside you.”

“But it’s not the same as if you were here,” you whined.

“I need you to imagine their mine,” he commanded. The seriousness in his tone was like a shock to your system, making your toes curl. “And then, I’ll let you put three fingers inside and you’ll know what it would feel like if I were there.”

Your eyes opened, staring at the voice chat screen, not believing that your friend behind the golden retriever icon was saying such dirty words to you. Without processing it, your legs curled up to your chest and you leaned all the way back in your desk chair, praying you wouldn’t fall over. Your thighs spread and you could feel your arousal dripping between them, soaking your favorite pair of panties. You sunk two wet fingers inside, and the way you whimpered, “Fuck, Yunho,” had him fisting his cock so fast he almost forgot to breathe.

You struggled to play with your clit at the same time, too focused on Yunho’s hard breathing pouring through your headphones as you pumped your fingers inside your sopping wet hole again and again. If you didn’t think too hard, this almost felt like he was here, and you imagined your hand on your breast was larger as you squeezed and toyed with it.

“Keep going, princess,” he breathed out, voice fighting to remain level. “Shit, I wish I was there … you’ve seen my hands before. My fingers would stuff that pussy so nicely … fuck, wish I was touching you. Wish it was your mouth on my cock instead of my own hand.”

Drool was spilling from your pursed lips just from the thought of his dick in your mouth. You didn’t care if he pulled your hair or shoved your face into his groin – you would kill for just a taste. “Please.” The word slipped from your mouth before turning into a plea. “Pleasepleaseplease.”

He chuckled darkly, and then let out a deep grunt, the kind of sound you liked to hear when you cupped a guy’s balls while he was inside you. You imagined Yunho would like that too. “At some point,” he huffed, slowing his strokes. “For now, I want you to put three fingers inside of you, and then we can cum together. You think you can cum for me, princess?”

“Mmhmm,” you hummed, too lost in the pleasure to utter a real word. You hardly waited for his go ahead, shoving a third finger inside your pussy so quick that you almost orgasmed on the spot. Now, this was what being full felt like, but you knew, somehow, that this was nothing to what his cock would feel like. Your jaw unhinged as you fucked three fingers inside of you, your hips bucking to grind against the heel of your palm. Through your headphones, you heard him fist his cock faster, all wet and sticky and damn near sloppy. His deep breathing had to be the hottest thing you’d ever heard in your life, next to how his voice vibrated when he got angry while in game. You wondered if his voice trembled like that in real life while fucking into you deep from behind.

Jeez. Had you always been this much of a pervert?

Before you could come to terms with that assumption, Yunho was groaning in your ear, “Fuck, I’m gonna cum. Are you close?”

“Yeah,” you muttered, already on the precipice of shattering, “I’m cl–”

It happened before you could even comprehend what was happening. Your hips stuttered, and it felt like a dam breaking as your fingers curled at your g-spot, soaking them with your own cum. You cried out his name, which was all that he needed to finish, ropes of hot, white seed probably blanketing his chest. God, you wished you could see it. You wished he could see you, cumming all over your fingers while thinking about him. There was something so depraved, yet embarrassingly hot about all of this, but you couldn’t stop your cheeks from heating up when your heart rate settled and you realized what you both had done.

Your eyes snapped open and you sat up in your chair, staring at laptop screen. Both of you were as silent as ghosts. Your mouth opened, then closed, unsure of what to say. “I –”

“Goodnight,” he said abruptly, ending the call before you had the chance.

YunhoGizer99 [10:49 AM]: we shouldn’t do that again

You [10:55 AM]: agreed

YunhoGizer99 [10:56 AM]: not that I didn’t like it

You [10:56 AM]: I didn’t assume that at all

YunhoGizer99 [10:59 AM]: it’s just not a good idea

You [11:01 AM]: again agreed

YunhoGizer99 [11:03 AM]: oh, okay. great. so we’re both on the same page

You [11:04 AM]: definitely

You [11:12 AM]: things are gonna be weird now between us, right? [UNSENT]

Days turned into weeks, and then months. You couldn’t remember the last time you opened your PC, let alone talked to Yunho. As dumb as it sounded in your head, you couldn’t bring yourself to play your favorite game, the best outlet you ever found to pour all the rage from the day into. You tried to find something else to play, but nothing was suiting your fancy.

You felt silly. It was silly – not doing a hobby you enjoyed just because you were avoiding Yunho of all people. Even worse that this was over a stupid video game.

So you did what you always did: throw yourself into work, even though that was the very thing you needed to be distracted from in the first place. You came home most nights exhausted, frustrated with yourself over your lack of productivity. There was just so much to be done and so little time to do it. Your mind was racing again most nights, leaving you tossing and turning, or even worse: scrolling through dating apps. Not that you were actually going on dates right now. Not that you were actually talking to any men, left to your own devices on lonely nights with the memory of Yunho’s voice in your ear.

Your therapist told you that you needed to find another outlet. And you were trying. But you were still so embarrassed over what happened with – ugh. If you thought his name again, you might implode.

In a strange turn of events, your company extended an offer to all the data analysts to attend a conference out of state next weekend, and you thought this was the perfect opportunity to get yourself out of your usual routine. You had absolutely no clue why there could be a conference about your chosen field, but hey, a free trip was a free trip. So you packed up your carry-on suitcase the day before, and headed off to the airport after about only 4 hours of sleep. You prayed that no one would be able to tell.

The conference was being held in a swanky hotel just off LAX. You were greeted by the sight of palm trees and trash on the ground, pollution heavy in the air. But still, the weather was nicer than you imagined. The hotel was all plush carpets and expensive furniture, and after checking, you realized they were using Egyptian cotton sheets. A small card was placed on your bed that listed all the events happening this weekend. There was a cocktail hour and dinner tonight, even an arcade being hosted just off from the ballroom.

You got yourself ready, sliding into the most work-appropriate dress you owned: a high-neck, black dress that showed just enough of your legs to be a little sultry, but still suitable for a conference. After slipping on your comfiest pair of heels, you headed down to the cocktail hour, hoping to find some man that would talk your ear off so you wouldn’t have to speak a word tonight.

Unfortunately, you might’ve arrived too early. There were only a few groups of people grabbing drinks, and the solitude of it all made you want to die. Everyone was so engaged in conversation, it was hard to even introduce yourself. You sipped your lemon drop martini in a corner, fighting the urge to scratch your nails against your palm. Maybe the arcade they’re hosting is open, you assumed. Everyone could be there.

There were a significant amount of people in the arcade being held next to the ballroom. As you passed, you could already see that every table was decorated for dinner. This might be the fanciest event you ever been to. No wedding had an arcade like this either. The room was filled with vintage games, even some from your childhood. You remembered playing Street Fighter with your friends at a local pizza shop after school, before it was replaced by an oversized fish tank. Everyone was yelling at the screens in front of them, or mingling by the Dance Dance Revolution booth. The bright Street Fighter visuals reflected in your eyes, and you smiled at the memories of years past.

“I used to play this too at a penny arcade,” a voice said beside you. “Hard to imagine that this is still around.”

You never thought your blood could run cold until now. Your body froze, the grip on your martini glass tight. Because you knew that voice. You knew what he sounded like when he was annoyed, his laughter, even how he moaned while cumming in his hand.

Turning your head, you realized you had to look up at the man beside you. He had tufts of wavy, dark brown hair on his forehead, with a straight nose and eyes so dark they reminded you of a night sky. His lips looked like they were constantly graced with a smirk, slightly wet from dragging his tongue at the corners. He was lanky in all the right places, yet toned, with wide set shoulders, stuffed into a pressed white button-up and well-fitting dress pants. His shirt was just open enough at the top to show the tiny chain sitting on his collarbones, a small pearl pendant in the middle.

You almost didn’t want to say anything. Maybe you could pretend to be mute, anything to survive these next couple of days without him finding out who you were. But your mouth was opening before you could stop it, your voice loud enough even over the volume in the arcade.

“Yunho?” You said, eyes growing wide.

His smirk dropped. He would’ve dropped the glass of beer in his hand if it wasn’t so heavy. Both of you stayed eerily silent, the vivid lights of the arcade room flashing around you. All the people in this room had absolutely no clue what went down between you two during a voice chat months ago.

He grabbed your arm, his grip firm as he pulled you out of the arcade and into the main hall hosting the cocktail hour. Sending a soft smile to anyone who passed by, he let go of you once you reached a corner, and you looked up at him again. Jesus, he was taller than you ever expected.

“Yunho?” You said again, tilting your head to get a good look at his eyes. “YunhoGizer99?”

“Okay, well, don’t say it out loud and remind me how ridiculous it is,” he remarked, setting his glass down on a nearby end table. He then called out your old username, which you confirmed with a nod.

You arched a brow. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I was invited here,” he argued, “through work.”

It was then that you were reminded that you both worked in the same field. “So was I.”

Yunho lifted a hand, pinching the bridge of his nose, and you were able to study his fingers in real life. You had only seen them in a photo that one time, and they were … longer than you assumed. Nails only slightly manicured, especially for a man his age, with tiny wisps of hair at the knuckles. You had to swallow hard to stop yourself from drooling.

“This is a mess,” he finally said.

“You’re telling me.” You gulped down the last of your lemon drop, placing the empty glass on a waiter’s tray as he walked by.

He lowered his eyes on you again, and you never expected that they could have such an edge to them. “What happened to you?” He asked, even though he knew the answer. His lip curled slightly to one side. “We stopped talking. I never saw you online again.”

“I …” Your eyes darted around the room, looking for just about anyone to grab and get out of this conversation. But there was no one close enough. Besides Yunho. “I found something else to do with my time.”

He snickered, “Bullshit.”

“Excuse me?”

Yunho rolled his eyes, and it was so cocky that you weren’t sure if you were pissed off or turned on. He had so much confidence for a guy who worked in data science and spent most of his time in his apartment playing Valorant.

Your eyes narrowed. “What do you want me to say?”

“Preferably, the truth.”

“Yunho –”

They were called into the ballroom then for dinner, and you shuffled off in your heels before he had the chance to grab you. You meandered through the crowd of analysts, trying to find your name card printed on a table, when it finally appeared near the middle of the room. You looked around at the people gathering at your table and – just your fucking luck.

Yunho plopped down in the seat beside you, both of your backs as stiff as boards as you fought to make eye contact. Waiters were already starting to hand out the first course as a speaker got up on the stand to introduce what seminars would be included this weekend. You could hardly hear anything but the ringing in your eyes, desperate to find a way out of this.

“You’re really not gonna talk to me, huh?” Yunho muttered, trying not to draw attention to the two of you.

You shook your head. “Not now.”

“Why not?” His tone was almost pleading. “It’s not like I could’ve done this months ago with the way you were avoiding me.”

Your head snapped in his direction, and your voice was low as you whispered, “Because I’m done with this conversation.”

His hand was on your thigh then, his palm hot against your skin and the hem of your skirt hiking just a little. You paused, both looking at each other, no one else knowing that he was touching you like this underneath the table. His eyes were slightly dangerous, studying you, despite his innocent demeanor. Then his mouth were curling again, especially when he noticed the way your teeth sunk into your bottom lip.

“You sure about that?”

Without a second thought, you stood up, walking out of the room and leaving your seat abandoned. You didn’t care that people were watching you. You just needed to get out of here. Only a minute after, you could hear footsteps following you. It wasn’t hard to guess who it was, and maybe … just maybe … you secretly wanted him to do this. Yunho followed you to an empty coat closet near the kitchens, locking the door from the inside as soon as you both stepped inside. Empty racks were littered amongst the room, an old couch that looked like it had once been in the main lobby now deserted to the corner of a closet.

You stepped around him, back pressing against the locked door, as if that could get you away from the situation that you made. Hands laid flat against the wooden surface, you fought the urge to fist them, to let out the frustration bubbling inside you. But you remained collected – somehow – even with Yunho’s simmering gaze following your every move.

“What is your problem with me?” You damn near barked.

“My problem?” He mocked, and his voice suddenly made your thighs squeeze together more. “I just want to know why you started avoiding me.”

Your brows furrowed. “Are you oblivious?” The last thing you wanted to do was spell it out for him, but unfortunately, that might be the case. “I was embarrassed, Yunho. And the way you reacted the day after didn’t help. I didn’t want to face you after that.”

“You could’ve just told me that months ago,” he said, so nonchalantly, walking close until your feet were touching. “We were friends.”

“Were,” you repeated, as if trying to taste it on your tongue.

He smirked a little, head leaning down until you both were eye level. You swallowed hard. “It’s difficult to imagine us as friends after admitting that I wanted to ruin you.” His tongue dragged over his bottom lip, and you were hypnotized. You had wondered what that tongue could do to you for months. “Can I tell you something? Since you obviously don’t want to talk to me again after this.”

You nodded dumbly. Words were beginning to fail you.

“I tend to think about that call between us at least once a day,” he continued, his voice deep, even. “It never fails to make me hard.”

Your pupils widened.

“Sometimes I’ll remember the way you moaned my name while I jerk off.” His eyes flickered to your lips, watching your teeth sink into them once again. You could feel his growing hardness against your thigh now. “But nothing will ever compare to how it sounded in the moment.”

He then sighed, so out of the blue, and straightened his back. Just when his lips were inches from yours, he pulled away. You were like a fish and he was dangling the bait. “Too bad you’re done with me now. We have closure and can go our separate ways. If you’ll excuse me …” He reached out to unlock the door, but you slammed your hand on it so fast you almost yelped.

Your eyes never left his, and he grinned, knowing he had you exactly where he wanted you. And honestly, you didn’t care. Your legs were shaking now, desperate. “You’re not going anywhere,” you said, palm slowly sliding off the lock to play with the loose thread on your dress. “I want …”

His brow raised. “What do you want?”

“I want you to ruin our friendship again.”

“What is there to ruin?” He chuckled, leaning down once more, his mouth so close to yours that his hot breath was making your cheeks heat. “We stopped being friends months ago, princess.”

Your hands locked around his collar, tugging him the short distance to smash his mouth onto yours. The kiss felt like a bruise, aching and swollen, but you decided then that any mark by him would be a blessing. He didn’t touch you yet. Instead, he kept his large hands on the door, shaking the surface and caging your body into his. Slotting his knee between your legs, your skirt hiked up and you didn’t bother to tug it back down. It was like your hips had a mind of their own, rubbing up and down the meat of his thigh, and you sighed into his mouth. Your lips tried to move away – wanting him to hear you, since he loved those sounds so much – but he wouldn’t let you. He needed to taste you from the inside out.

If your mouth was this sweet, the arousal seeping into his pants must taste like candy.

You didn’t know how it happened, but suddenly, your ass was hitting the cushion of the vintage couch. How did he move you without touching you? You were sure that if he had his hands on you, you would’ve felt it. His touch practically burned your skin when his hand met your inner thigh under the table earlier. But he was sitting you down now, detaching his lips from yours and standing up to his full height. You felt so small then: sitting there in front of him, cheeks flushed red and pupils blown wide. Your skirt was hitched so far up he could almost see your panties, the whole dress feeling so constricting now.

He wiped away the trail of spit that seemed to connect you two, and he kicked one of your legs more open. “I want you to show me,” he said breathily, adjusting his pants.

Jesus, you thought, staring at the prominent bulge, is that a third leg?

“Show you what exactly?” You finally replied.

His smile was like a threat. “Show me how you made yourself cum all those months ago.”

You just stared at him, not believing what he was asking. Minutes ago, you told him how embarrassed you’d been after the voice chat situation, and now he wanted you to masturbate in front of him? You wanted to say no, call him a sick, perverted freak and walk out the door before finding the next flight home. But … oh, god, but he’d hardly even touched you and it felt like you were dripping between your legs. You were so soaked that your panties were clinging to you, uncomfortable and sticky. You needed him to touch you, but if your own fingers had to suffice, then you would do it. God knows that’s all you’ve been getting off with for a while.

He put his hands up in mock surrender, stepping back slightly and leaning against one of the empty coat racks, giving you some room. Your legs pried apart, your skirt bunched up around your waist now, before bringing them up to your chest. He saw all of you then, and you could feel your heart batter against your ribcage, practically visible through the tight fabric of your dress. You pulled your panties to the side, and you noticed his hand flex for the first time at the sight of your exposed folds, weeping with arousal for him.

He watched you. And you watched him. Despite the fact that you wanted to fucking die at putting yourself in this scenario, you used two fingers to open yourself up and started rubbing tight circles on your clit. Heat pooled in your stomach, a tight coil bunching in your abdomen, as you worked yourself. Your teeth clenched as he grazed a single finger over his top lip, and you finally let out a soft cry of his name when you sunk one digit inside yourself.

“I think you could take two,” he commented.

Your breath hitched, fucking a single finger inside of yourself as your thumb flicked at your clit. You swallowed hard before muttering in short breaths, “Or you could … do it … for me.”

“Nuh-uh,” he snickered. “I fuck you when I want to fuck you. Now, two fingers.”

You didn’t think twice. Two fingers curled inside of you, stretching your walls for his eyes only. You whimpered, still in disbelief at what was happening. What was it about Yunho that made you turn into putty, that made you demean yourself so easily? Maybe it was the way he held himself. Even in something as silly as a video game, he commanded a room. He was intimidating – even when he didn’t want to be, even when he was friendly.

He was certainly not being friendly right now, watching you fuck yourself dumb on your fingers. “Yunho,” you whined, “please. I want to cum on your fingers, not mine. I … I’ve thought about it since that call. Come on, please don’t be an asshole. Pleeeeeeease.”

“Well,” he said evenly, “are you about to cum?”

You felt that coil in your stomach tighten even more. You were so close to release that if you rubbed your clit even faster, you’d tumble into the same ecstasy that you brought yourself to every night in the comfort of your own bed. Head nodding, you couldn’t even form the words to express how you felt. Your body felt like it was on fire and the only thing that could extinguish it was cumming all over his fingers. Or wherever he wanted, for that matter.

Yunho nodded, quickly closing the distance between you two once again and smacking your wrist out of the way. “You don’t get to cum yet,” he said, nearly dragging your hand out from between your legs. You gasped and your mouth dropped in surprise. You had just been on the precipice and it was just … stolen from you. By Yunho.

“What the hell?!” You whispered loudly, instantly aware that this coatroom might not be soundproof. “I was doing everything you asked of me.”

“Just like how I decide when I want to fuck you,” he smiled, “I also decide when you cum.”

You fingers twitched as he held your wrist. His gaze softened slightly, and then he asked, “That okay?”

You saw a flicker of the Yunho you’d always known, the flicker of the innocent man behind the alarming demeanor. It was enough to make your heartbeat skyrocket again, and you nodded at his question.

He tipped his head, finally looking at your hand that was locked in his grip. Your slick dripped down your fingers – warm, inviting. Yunho had to stop himself from taking them in his mouth and sucking them dry. He’d taste you eventually. Maybe not tonight, but someday, he’d bury his face between your thighs for hours.

Using one hand, he tugged off his belt and let it clatter around his hips. He pushed down his pants a bit, pulling his cock out from his soaked boxers. Precum beaded at the tip, leaking onto the musty carpet below you. With one hand holding his cock and the other clutching your wrist, he commanded, “I want you to take these wet fingers and paint my cock with them.”

He let go your wrist, and you didn’t hesitate. You sat up, reaching out and tracing his pretty pink tip with your slick fingers. Veins ran down his shaft, which was darker than his pale skin tone, and you grazed them, coating him with your essence. He was longer than you ever expected; you could probably cover his entire length in your two hands. You looked up at him when you gripped him at the base, silently asking permission, and he nodded. “I wanna be covered in you,” he whispered.

You stroked him slowly, feeling his cock twitch in your grasp, his precum slipping down your knuckles and mixing with your own essence. He threw his head back and grunted, “Oh, fuck.” His eyes closed, and when you viewed up at him while you squeezed him at the head, you wondered if this was exactly how he looked when he jerked off on the phone with you. Had he been in just some sweatpants, the waistband pushed down to accommodate his length, and a cheap t-shirt? Something so simple as he threw his head back and fucked his hand while asking you to finger yourself. You were kicking yourself now for not asking him to turn his camera on because this … this was a sight.

Your hand was moving faster and the other cupped one of his aching balls, wishing he had asked you to put one in your mouth. Drool might be slipping down your chin now; you weren’t exactly sure. You just needed something in your mouth or you might just combust –

It was like he could sense you were about to moan his name and ask, because he placed a hand over your mouth. Your eyes went wide, and you squeezing his other ball, making his hips jump. “Shit, fuck, I might –” His eyes snapped open, and before you could even blink, he pushed your hand off his cock.

When his palm moved off your mouth to shove his pants and boxers to his knees, you frantically asked, “Did I do something wrong –”

“I’ll be damned if I cum in your hand and not inside of you,” he replied, turning you so that your back was hitting the cushion and yanking you to the armrest of the couch. He peeled your panties off with precision. Swiping a single finger in the air, he said, “Open your legs more.”

The back of your thighs were resting on the armrest, your feet angling off, and you did your best to spread yourself for him. You just wished he took your dress off. You wanted his hands all over you, squeezing and marking wherever he pleased. The temperature in this closet was sweltering, and your dress wasn’t helping. But everything about this was quick, dirty, raw. You weren’t going to get your way no matter how much you begged.

He tapped your weeping slit with the head of his cock. Your hips bucked and you gripped the sides of the couch to stop yourself from falling off. “You like that, princess?” He smirked, repeating the action. “Are you sure you can fit me inside you?”

You nodded, too cock drunk and he hadn't even fucked you yet.

“Hmm … I’m not so sure.” He made his point by pushing just the tip in, and you felt the stretch immediately. He loomed over you, tilting his head as he looked down. “It’s gonna be a tight fit, princess,” he chastised, shoving another inch inside and making you choke, “but I think you can take it.”

It felt like the wind was being knocked out of you with each brutal push of his long cock. But when he was seated fully, leaning down over you so you could feel his teeth grazing your jaw, you finally felt like you could breathe again. “Look at you,” he cooed, one hand snaking up to capture your own, pinning your wrists above your head. “Such a good girl.”

He still wasn’t moving. He was reminding you how full this felt, how all the guys you had complained about to him over voice chat were always going to be nothing compared to this. Compared to him. You were made to fit him and he was made to take you. You felt him deep, so deep you could hardly move your hips. His lips dragged down your jugular, nipping, as his free hand pressed down on your stomach, feeling how far he was nestled inside. He practically snarled against your skin.

“I’m gonna fuck you now and you’re gonna cum all over my cock before I fill you up,” he said, almost casually. “Understood?”

“Yes, Yunho,” you breathed.

He pulled out until only the head remained, and then slammed right back into you. Your back arched off the old cushion, jerking as he held your wrists down. His thrusts were ruthless, each one feeling different than the next, as he tried to find that place that would make you see stars. It was only when he curved his hips to the left that he got a choked moan to fall from your lips, and he grinned big, like he just won a brutal 5 on 5 tournament. He hit it again, making you scream, “Fuck, Yunho, oh my god –”

He latched his mouth onto yours, swallowing your moans as he fucked into you hard. You felt exactly how he imagined, tight and warm and just for him. He wouldn’t tell you this until later, but you had the prettiest pussy he ever seen, the best one he ever felt. Like every shit date and all your frustrations had led up to this moment where you two could meet in person at a stupid conference and he could fuck you in an abandoned coat closet.

You let out another desperate whimper when he leaned back, tugging your lip between his teeth. Your mouth was swollen from his kiss, but he wasn’t done with you yet. Not until he filled this perfect pussy with his seed, not until you were dripping with him like he always imagined. “Can’t have you too loud, princess,” he chuckled, slamming into you again. Your response was in an anguished plea. “Wanna cum?”

You nodded, lips pursed slightly. Spit dribbled from the corner. Lipgloss smeared onto your chin.

Yunho’s lips spread wide. “Beg me.”

Tears pricked at your eyes and you struggled to lift your hips, trying to meet his to get yourself over that peak again. It was no use. You were too full of him and he was too heavy on top of you. This was torture, and he was playing you like a controller.

A sick part of you loved this far too much.

“Princess,” he said calmly, oh so carefully, “use your words and beg me to let you cum.”

You let out the loudest sigh, eyes snapping open as you met his dark gaze. You bit your lip for a moment longer before whispering, “Please, let me cum.”

He bobbed his head, trying to decide if that was good enough as he nudged your g-spot once again.

“Fuck, oh my god, okay, please –” You let in a sharp intake as he filled you again and again with his thick cock, making sure your pussy was molded to fit him. “Yunho, please, let me cum. Pleasepleaseplease. I need you. I need to cum on your cock so bad. Pleeeeeeease.”

You could feel his smile as his lips ghosted over your ear. “That’s what I like to hear.” His hand slipped off your wrists finally, reaching between your bodies so he could rub your clit while fucking into you. “Now, cum on my cock like a good girl.”

And he made it so easy to. His long, slender fingers rubbed you just right while his cock pistoned into you had you hurtling towards an orgasm so fast that you forgot how to exhale. Your arms locked around his neck, anchoring yourself to his broad body, as you clenched around him and cried his name into the crook. Your walls milked his cock, cumming for what felt like forever and making him groan into your shoulder. He didn’t realize when, but at some point, he stopped fucking you and released. He felt his vision go bright, his brain short circuiting as he moaned and actually whined for you. His hot seed painted your insides white, marking you as his, letting your pussy take all he had to give. And when it felt like he was finally done, he held himself above you, breathing heavy against your earlobe. Your body shivered when you felt him press a ghost of a kiss at the shell.

He moved his head, wanting to look at your eyes, how fucked-out you looked underneath him. His cock softened, but still twitched slightly inside you. Distracting you from his release dripping down your thighs, he traced a single finger over your top lip, like he had done to himself minutes ago. Or had it been an hour at this point? You weren’t so sure.

“So,” he laughed, his smile warm and innocent, “you think we can play nice for the rest of the weekend?”

tag list: @taz-97 @bumbleteas @healingmv @skzbangchanniee @koliki @novawon @cherryhwa-02 @moxhi7 @yvnhoos @lalataitai @bloomyroses @ackermansass @soupbinlily

#fic: irl #my fics #goldenhourology #the k fic collection #ksmutsociety #yunho #jeong yunho #yunho x reader #yunho smut #jeong yunho smut #ateez #ateez fic #ateez smut #ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #yunho x you #atz smut

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moonchild1 · 6 months ago

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jeon jungkook fic rec list (Ⅺ)

hi everyone i am back and boy has there been some amazing fics posted while i was away it's awaken that spark in me again and this list is honestly packed, i went over like 60 fics for this one and i even added some of my ult. faves. the ones i have to mention again because they are just so amazing, trust me you will be going back for more over and over again too. you might notice some fics from ao3 and wattpad included as well they are hold a special place in my heart, they are masterpieces that need to be shared with you guys so please enjoy this new list and give all the authors mentioned all the love and respect they deserve seriously they work so hard on creating these beautiful fics and they deserve all the attention and gratitude we can offer them so please share your love through a like, comment and reblog them so they can feel the love and more people can find their masterlists and accounts because they have some really good fics there as well.

I just wanna send an honourable mention to every single writer i have added to this list without you i would not have so much happiness when i come on this app and you have filled my heart and countless others with so much joy and happiness we appreciate you more than you will ever know and you make being here 10 times better your stories help us through alot and puts smiles on our faces and we get to spend time with a community of people who love what we love and we get to interact because of your ideas and it creates such an amazing experience so thank you for everything that you do the worlds you create and the ideas you come up and for sharing it all with us i adore you so much and you are just the best so once again thank you for everything and i look forward to what so many of you have planned - kiki ♡

NO MINORS ALLOWED PLEASE DON'T INTERACT!

happy reading everyone i hope you enjoy this extra long list of my faves and please remember to be happy and keep on smiling and interact if you want i love hearing from you guys and if you want you can send me a few of your faves 🥹🖤✨

f - fluff s-smut a - angst

series

yuanfen by @azurefangirl AzureFangirll s a unrequited love slow burn brother's best friend arranged marriage dadjk widower jk (315k) ao3

⋆ Yuanfen (yuánfèn), "fateful coincidence," is a concept in Chinese and Vietnamese societies describing good and bad chances and potential relationships. Koi No Yokan (Japanese): the feeling upon first meeting someone that you will inevitably fall in love with them. You did not know what was stupider, falling head over heels for your older brother's best friend the day you saw him, or agreeing to marry him after his wife died. Either way, you're now stuck with Jungkook whom you've loved since before you hit puberty, who can't stand the sight of you. Will he ever feel the same way, or does he just see you as the replacement mother for his infant?

lines of fate by @kookiestarlight s a exes au zombie apocalypses tattooist jk

⋆ the last thing Jungkook ever imagined was an outbreak that turned the dead into the living. But even more unexpected is seeing you—an ex he’s known nothing about in the past four years—with a small child who bears a striking resemblance to himself. As Jungkook grapples with the shock and the city spirals into chaos, the two of you are thrust back together, forced to confront unresolved feelings, long-buried truths, and the horrors of the deadly virus taking over.

lost stars by @hueseok f a roommates e2l slow burn college au (33.2k)

⋆ the last person you’d expect to be there for you is your roommate, jeongguk, on the night you break up with your cheating boyfriend; because as far as you’re concerned, the both of you aren’t exactly friends, and he definitely shouldn’t be running to get you upon hearing you sob via phone call.so when he does, you begin thinking that maybe you’ve just been hard on him over the years, or perhaps he just liked pretending to be an annoying shit most of the time. either way, it becomes the beginning of an unexpected friendship finally blossoming.

a lovers kiss by @/hueseok f s a fwb i2l college au (55.6k)

⋆ a friends with benefits relationship never ends on a good note. unless, both parties are not dumb fucks who find themselves falling for each other along the way of their agreement, of course. and in yours and jeongguk’s case, you should have known better than to think the two of you would be an exception to the so-called curse of being friends with benefits with someone you already hold dear to you, since not even five months since it was agreed upon—the line between being only friends and being a little like lovers only continue to get hazier and hazier.

hell is empty by @aquagustd f s a ft.kth love triangle dadJK exJK CEO kth (164.4k)

⋆ life has a tendency to throw things your way when you least expect it, when you’re content, and the ominous presence knows exactly how to steer your existence back into the darkness.

to the stars by arckook (ao3) a zombie apocalypse (94.6k)

⋆ It was always you, and Jimin, and your best friend Jihyun. But fate, regardless of whether you believed in it or not, had other plans for you. Jimin told you once, "It's a tough road to the stars." Nowadays it was hard to believe the stars were somewhere you could reach.

moirai by norabean (ao3) f s a soulmates slow burn (95.2k)

⋆ On your 18th birthday a name appears on your wrist. The name of your soulmate. It’s a momentous day that everyone looks forward to, but you’ve always brushed aside; refusing to believe in a fickle mistress called destiny. But what happens when on the morning of your 18th birthday you wake to find the name of your mortal enemy? Jeon Jungkook.

from home by @yuzukult f s a e2l richkid jk fakedating au (89.5k)

⋆ a rich kid who gets cut off from family money meets an average post-grad girl who may be the key to getting him back on his parents’ good side.

and they were roommates by @hoseok666 f s a ft. kth e2l love triangle tsundere jk s2l (103.k+)

⋆ it all started with a rejection from your longtime crush, jeon jungkook. you decided to confess to him on your last day of high school. after a harsh rejection and a rough summer dealing with the heartbreak, you were starting anew once your freshman year of college came. you were going to be sharing an apartment with two other roommates that you don’t even know. what a surprise you’re going to be in for once you find out it’s the one and only: jeon jungkook and kim taehyung.

future hearts by @jungblue f s a ft. pjm punk jikook s2l band au f2l lost love (114.6k)

⋆ It was everything, from his tattoos, to his touches, to the way sweat rolled down his neck as he strummed into his guitar on stage; everything about him completely enthralled you. So why are you now, two and a half years later, on a train to Seoul, telling a complete stranger the recollection of how you became fated to forever have scars on all of your future hearts due to the happiness, but most of all the pain, that came along with falling in love with Jeon Jungkook.

mind games by @yerion f a tsundere jk roommates au (31.8k)

⋆ jungkook drives you to think strict criticism isn’t too bad, purely because you didn’t expect things to turn a bit steamier than intended. as the one and only female esports player, misery was at your fingertip when your skills suddenly deteriorated. however, the stoic leader of your team—jungkook, simply couldn’t sit back. he puts you back on track, yet no one told you sparks would fly; and the crazy fact that it’s inevitable

heartbeat by @xbaepsae s a ft myg unrequited love (24.9k)

⋆ “You fell in love with a boy who was in love with music, and you weren’t sure if he was capable of loving you the same way. This thought should’ve caused you to move away from him; but, if anything, it just drew you closer.“

one year, my love by @hayjeon f s a historical/royal au 100 days my prince kdrama (31k)

⋆ You forge a marriage contract with the strangely speaking man who suddenly stumbled into your town with memory loss, but little do you know that he’s actually the lost Crown Prince, and a lot can happen between a married man and woman in one year.

the love prognosis by @awrkive f s a medical au roommates f2l (90.7k)

⋆ for as long as you can remember, you've always been a hopeless romantic. the girl who’s always dreamt of cheesy encounters with her soulmate, grand love declarations, and a cute little beach wedding to boot. but reality pretty much slaps you hard right on the face, because love, unfortunately, doesn’t come grand — it’s simple and it’s quiet, but it is quite painful, especially when the love that you’ve been seeking for all your adult life has just been right under your nose all this time.

ever a never after by @yoonia s ft. ksj enchanted au (51.8+k)

⋆ Some say fate can be a cruel thing. Yet you never knew how true it was until fate played a hand in your bad luck. Merely moments before your happily ever after, you are suddenly sent out to a weird place. A different world. You wonder if this is a test from fate to see if you are truly deserving of your happy ending, or if perhaps fate wants to show you something else. Something that fate wishes you to learn before you can finally move on to take the next step towards your happiness.

between takes by @jeonstudios f s a fluffer au porn star au (74.6k)

⋆ as a fluffer for a popular porn star, your focus is to keep him hard and performing on set. turns out he's not the only thing that's hard

Shatter With Me by @colormepurplex2 f s a surrogate au best friends husband (46.4k)

⋆ Your best friend, Jiyoon, and her husband, Jungkook, have faced years of hardship trying to start a family. In a last-ditch effort to have their dream life, they seek solace in surrogacy. Wanting to see your best friend smile, you offer to become the bright beacon at the end of the tunnel, giving them what they have always wanted. But what happens when you begin to shine your light on their darkness? Things aren’t always as they seem—happiness can be a façade, shattering under the lightest pressure.

Chasing Cars by @oddinary4bts f s a college au brother best friend forbidden love (218.5k)

⋆ when your brother goes to study on a semester abroad, your life collides with his best friend Jeon Jungkook, who's coincidentally your roommate. Will you survive the collision, or will you crumble into dust?

hold me close by @ahundredtimesover f s a brother best friend (41.8k)

⋆ When you're asked to look after your parents' house and meet them before they go on vacation, you, Jimin, and Jungkook take the trip to your hometown of Busan and relive memories of your youth. While your new relationship has you feeling like a lovesick teenager with all the affection that Jungkook shows you, you're still you - a professional trying to make it in the corporate world, and an eldest child trying not to disappoint her parents. And that turns out to be your undoing, as a little blunder causes a rift between you and Jungkook, resulting in a trip that you might as well have messed up… Not if your brother can help it, though

sugar high by @yeojaa f a idol au childhood best friends unrequited love (33.3k)

⋆ You thought you’d known real love and maybe you had - it just wasn’t with who you thought.

the law of attraction by @jexnkookie f s a lawyer jk girl of his dreams (26.9k)

⋆ Throughout his life, Jung Kook has only ever loved one girl. Despite her being out of his league and of an elite class that he wasn't born into, he fell hard, keeping his feelings a closely guarded secret. When they parted ways, and Jung Kook pursued his law career, he did so with the intent of moving on. But when she unexpectedly arrives back into his life, Jung Kook finds himself once again face to face with his own insecurities, and the girl of his dreams.

love bug by @here4kpopfics f s a established relationship (30.4k)

⋆ A collection of stories and drabbles with my comfort couple Jungkook and Love Bug as I affectionally call her. They were my first couple to write in over a decade and I hold them very close to my heart.

sh by @wwilloww f s a ot7 f2l (118k)

⋆ Six months of quarantine have kept you apart. Somehow the distance sparks something new in each of you: questions, unfinished conversations, threads once chased now left cold. So when your roommate invites you to come with him to a mysterious house in the mountains with your friends, how could you even think of saying no?

bloodlines entwined by @spideyjimin f s a s2l soulmates werewolf au royalty au (30.8+)

⋆ having a baby alone was supposed to be easy. but an accidental twist of fate pulled you into a hidden world of werewolves, and ancient bloodlines. navigating your already complicated life becomes even harder as you uncover your past; one tied to a legacy you never knew existed. and in the middle of this chaos stands jungkook, the werewolf king… and the father of your child.

jump then fall (into you) by @writtenwhalien f s a bf2l fake dating (52k)

⋆ bringing Jungkook along as your date to your ex’s lavish cruise wedding seemed like a perfect idea at first — all of your family and close friends together, nothing can go wrong… then Jungkook’s ex shows up and all of a sudden you’re in a years long relationship with him. You don’t mind though, really, how hard can sharing a cabin and pretending to be deeply in love with your best friend really be?

not in that way by @girlygguk f s a ft. myg unrequited love bf2l (30k)

⋆ in which you're hopelessly in love with your best friend, min yoongi. meanwhile, your other best friend, jeon jungkook, is hopelessly in love with you.

live through this by @starshapedkookie f s a band au exes to frenemies to lovers (46.5k)

⋆ A record deal. The one thing Violet needed to become the next big rockstars. As the front-woman to the band, life couldn’t have been any easier for you. That is until a devastating life event changes everything for you, leaving you heartbroken and in a downward spiral you can’t get out of. With your biggest competitor, Whailen 52 on your heels, your bandmates worried about the future, and your ex Jeon Jungkook being your only solace; you weren’t sure if you were going to live through this to see your dreams come to fruition.

a story that we paint by @thedefinitionofbts f a ft.kth college au scifi au (25k)

⋆ in which the lines between virtual and reality are blurred.

crimson park by heartbeatan f s a e2l crime au(159.6k)

angel in the darkness by @icyhobi s a mafia au prostitution au

⋆ after a patient urgently pleads you to go and help a friend of his, you naively agree to it. little did you know, that you would get more than what you agreed to, when he leads you to a brothel, to help a dangerous prostitute named jeon jungkook.

one night stand by @buryhny f s a ceo au e2l (382k)

⋆ as if the unexpected twist of a one-night stand turning out to be your CEO boss wasn't surreal enough, the situation takes a more challenging turn when both of you discover that you're expecting his child.

the alpha omega series by @borathae f s a childhood best friends to enemies to lovers werewolf au (40.8k)

⋆ Jungkook is the son of the pack Alpha and therefore heir of the titel. You are an omega and utterly out of his league. This is the story of how, against all odds, you and he became true mates.

4-7-8 by @jiminrings a marriage au (73k+)

⋆ you’re secure when it comes to loving jungkook, knowing that your husband loves you beyond words. what you aren’t so secure about is his first love — someone who isn’t you. alternatively, jungkook’s married to you, but he still celebrates his anniversary with his ex out of sentimentality.

netflix & chill by @1kook f s blindate collge au (113.7+)

⋆ If you planned things right, you could rain down your raging displeasure on Jeon Jungkook right after the meal but before this proposed ‘Netflix and chilling,’ maybe dramatically throw your glass of wine at him, before storming out of his place and reporting him to the authorities (Namjoon) for his douchebag personality.

the bad blind date by ravsisrekt f s a idol au f2l (wattpad)

⋆ Being set up on a date is hard as it is. But being set up on a date where the boy you're with loves your best friend is even harder-and trust me, being bubbly, cute, and incredibly hilarious doesn't work on him either…but on the other members it certainly does.

sns by narcotichobi f s a idol au s2l (wattpad)

⋆ Jae is a twenty-one year old Korean-American university student whose life is just ordinary. Struggling through the confines of cultural differences between her lifestyle and ethnicity, Jae finds herself through social media outlets and the integration of k-pop into her American life. Jungkook is a twenty year old singer, dancer and producer of the Korean-Pop idol group, BTS (방탄소년단). He works over twelve hours a day and has almost every second of his life circulating around social media. Jungkook, with newly found dating privileges, is slow to trust another person with his personal life and thoughts. Follow Jae and Jungkook through a love-story heavily motivated by social media and press

40 weeks by magicalmochii f s a teeange pregnancy f2l (wattpad)

⋆ They didn't want to be virgins when they graduated. Two friends agree to let go of their innocence together, no strings attached. Life had other plans.

unconditionally by magicalmochii f s a parents au (wattpad) sequel to 40 weeks

⋆ They survived high school and overcame the obstacles that tried to break them apart. Together they adapt to college life and work, all while caring for their new baby. Now, two friends turned lovers prepare for their wedding. Life had other plans. The continuation of 40 Weeks. Bring tissues.

blood ink by pocketbangtan f s a gang au tattoo artist jk (wattpad)

⋆ "That's my tattoo, Y/N, on your body. You know exactly what that means."

one shot

wait for your love by @/spideyjimin f s a exes2lovers parents (17.3k)

⋆ sixteen years ago, your life was turned upside down when you surrendered to the temptation — none other than jungkook, the star basketball player on your school’s team. today, after all that time, you reunite under tragic circumstances; a car crash where he saves your life.

Inkling by @gguksgalaxy s a f2l tattoo artist jk (17.7k)

⋆Jungkook is your brother’s boyfriend’s co-worker, they own a tattoo and piercing parlour. In other words, he’s tall, gorgeous, has his passion literally etched into his skin, looks incredibly good in a man-bun, and is semi-unattainable for you. Why? Well…you’re not entirely sure but him ditching right after a very heated make-out session sure isn’t a good sign. His extremely poor mood the next week sure isn’t either, but the only way to fix it is to face the beast head-on. Right?

in this paradise by @ressjeon f s a s2l survivor au (16.3k)

⋆ in an attempt to escape what’s been planned for him, Jungkook hopped on a ship only to face a tragedy that he didn’t expect and then there’s you who somehow couldn’t believe to find company in this isolated land. was this fate or was this just a temporary chance of bliss as a challenge for you both?

sleepover by @personasintro f s best friends brother (10.4k)

⋆ Jungkook is your best friend’s little brother who invites you to have a sleepover at his place. Nothing can happen, right?

bottle up old love by @wintaerbaer f s a exes to lovers (4.6k)

⋆ Jungkook may have broken up with you a year ago, but that's not going to stop him from coming to your rescue when he sees you being cornered by a creep.

the devil’s change up by @/jungblue f s a coach au (41.3k)

⋆ Majoring in athletic training means you have mandatory observation hours to perform with every single sports team at your school throughout the year, and so far it’s been going pretty great. However, when regrets from your past cause your rotation with the baseball team to become a little rocky, there’s one star pitcher who says that he can make it all better.

entertainer by @taegularities f s a s2l (32.4k)

⋆ Growing singer Jeon Jungkook is as charismatic as he is self-absored – that is, until he meets you. Caught in a web of secrets, he finds a riddle in you he urges to solve; even ready to turn the spotlight towards you until nothing remains… but regret.

habits of a clandestine nature by @alphabetboyluvr s a college au rich jk e2l (16k)

explorer by @/1kook f s alien au s2f2l (17.8k)

⋆ Jungkook does not want to impress the frankly tyrannical ways of his planet on you. He just wants to stay here and keep your couch warm for you, hold your hair back when you wash your face in the morning.

million dollar darling by @kooktrash f s a e2f2l crazy rixh asians inspired (19.7k)

⋆ jeon jungkook is well aware of how privileged he is to have been born into the life he was given. it was glamorous and influential yet close-knit and suffocating, something he thought he wanted to escape from. a trip back home to the circle of wealth and snottiness for his best friend’s million dollar wedding has reminded him of all the reasons why he wanted to leave in the first place… and all the reasons he should stay — the main one being you, the spoiled rich girl he knew was utterly perfect for him.

little surfer girl by @ppersonna f s a summer love suferjk (9.8k)

⋆ every summer you watched jeon jungkook turn into a perfect, professional surfer. every summer, you wanted him more. this summer, you were determined to make him yours.

the whole of your heart by @lcksndkys f s a husband au band au (8k)

⋆ Save a drum, bang a drummer.

sketch by @moonscriptsx f s soulmate au artist jk (9.6k)

⋆ After sixteen years of dreaming about the same unknown beautiful girl, Jungkook finally gets to put a name to the face — and she's so much more than what he's dreamt of

strings attached (to my heart) by @jungkoode f s spiderkook college au (11.8k)

⋆ You were a journalist at Yonsei University when you started noticing the strange coincidences between your favorite bumbling freshman and Seoul's newest superhero. The way Spider-Man's voice cracks on 'noona' exactly like Jungkook's does. The way they both bring you the same snacks, have the same nervous energy, the same tendency to ramble when flustered. You tell yourself it's just a coincidence, because the alternative means admitting something you're absolutely not ready to deal with.

it was always you by @/hueseok f s a childhood best friends to lovers (13.2k)

⋆ for as long as you remember, you’ve always had the fattest crush on your childhood friend, jeon jungkook. it never blossomed into something more though, because that’s what happens when life naturally takes it course—you grow up, you move on, and you pretend that those feelings never existed in order to maintain the good friendship that remained between the two of you over the years.so when he visits you after work one day, asking you to marry him, you do everything you can to refuse, because the reason he’s asking you isn’t due to the fact that he finally realized that he loved you after all this time, but because he thinks he’s doing you a big favor.or at least, that’s what you think.

mio angelo by @/hueseok f s a mafia au established relationship (33.3k)

⋆ it’s no secret to the whole nation how powerful the jeon family was. the efforts of the highly respected don jungsoo was the reason why the name of their clan continues to be a name that people thought greatly of and sometimes even feared. despite your father working alongside with the don, you never truly understood what the family possessed to earn them such acclaim; that is until you got closer to one of his grandsons, jeon jeongguk, that you caught a glimpse of how much power they truly seized as you see it first hand and become a part of it yourself. inspired by the godfather and vincenzo

ultimatum by @parkmuse f s spiderkook (10.3k)

⋆ Your pervy, idiotic boyfriend just so happens to also be your friendly neighborhood Spider-man (in bed).

melomaniac by @jungkxook f s a band au f2l (13k)

⋆ you’re wholeheartedly, madly in love with jungkook and yet you shouldn’t be because he’s supposed to be your best friend and nothing more. worst part of it all is that you know he’s in love with you too.

Navigating Tides by @jjungkookislife f s a exes2lovers (18.9k)

⋆ A cruise is the last place you expect to see your ex-boyfriend, Jeon Jungkook. You broke up six months ago, and your best friends Jimin and Yoongi assured you your ex wouldn't even remember this cruise that you booked a year in advance. However, on your first night on board, you discover your ex isn't only on the cruise ship, but there are no rooms available for him to stay in other than yours.

will it fit? by @jeonsweetpea f s idiots2lovers roommate au (6.7K)

⋆ So what if your roommate caught you masturbating? At least he forgot about it the next day. But he can’t exactly forget the big dildo you left in your shared bathroom…

pull me down by @starryeyedkoo f a badboy gang college au (22.9k)

⋆ “Do you regret it?” “What?” “Falling in love with me? It feels like I only weigh you down.” “I’ll let you pull me down to the depths of hell if that’s what it means to love you.”

espresso by @joonberriess f s a boxer jk idol oc (14.6k)

⋆ a rowdy boxer and the pretty it-girl he bagged by being him. jungkook’s doing anything to prove he’s serious, even if it means making a fool outta himself.

changes in between by @/taegularities f s a roommates s2f2l (24.7k)

⋆ Becoming the roommate of Jeon Jungkook is the biggest change you’ve ever gotten thrown into - but little do you know that the addition of another man will bring even further turbulence into your (love) life.

not my fault by @/taegularities f s college au classmates 2 lovers (12.6k)

⋆ After sparking a sinful conversation on a dating app, you vow to yourself that you won’t give in to more the notorious college fuckboy Jeon Jungkook might have to offer. That is, until he rings your doorbell just one night later – and it’s truly not your fault that he’s so damn hard to resist.

the secret beneath our stars by @subvk s a college au f2l (13.1k)

⋆ Falling in love with Jeon Jungkook was everything you’ve ever dreamed of and more, but maybe it was exactly that: a dream so blissful and comforting that it was too good to be true, something that could all disappear when the night changes to day, and your eyes open again. Or, making a marriage pact with your best friend was supposed to instill a sense of hope for you, so why does this hurt you more than it should?

mature by @/jiminrings f a pining f2l (8k)

⋆ alternatively, crushing on jungkook who's in your friend group is, has, and will never be a good idea.

movie goers by @mi55delulu f s a e2f2l (16.4k)

⋆ starting off on the wrong foot with your new neighbor was not on the top of your bucket list, yet you’ve made an enemy of jeon jungkook in less than 24 hours. unlucky for you, he’s not backing down either.

hopless hearts by @cupofteaguk f idol au s2l (17k)

⋆ you never understood the gravity of your position as an intern working Kcon until you fall for one of your favorite idols, Jeon Jungkook—quite literally too.

dissonance by @/yuzukult f s a rockstar jk student oc (19.4k)

⋆ something that first seems out of reach becomes a reality for him. screaming adoring fans, billboards with him and his band plastered on it, and touring across the globe with venues sold out. he has everything… but all he’s missing is you.

this is how we break by @ahundredtimesover f s a exes au (20.6k)

⋆ There are things you prepared for coming back home and that includes seeing your ex-boyfriend, but helping him design his apartment isn’t one of them. From meetings over coffee and lunches with your friends, you both learn more about the time in-between, and what you find out leave you heartbroken, wondering if there’s enough of you left to try to get back what you’d lost.

↬looking for other jjk fics or the other members check out my library

coming soon....

2K notes · View notes

eli-com · 6 months ago

Note

need me some more judd pretty pls

୧ *·˚ — JUDD BIRCH

୨୧ includes — fem!reader, afab!reader, mature content, p in v, oral (f! receiving), jealousy, fingering, ooc!judd, terrible writing, MDNI

a continuation of my other 2 Judd posts with innocent!shy!reader. not in the same order as the og scene in the show just for the purpose of the fic.

please have some grace. I stayed awake all night writing this whilst trying to fix my sleep schedule for my lecture monday x

— Judd loves his younger siblings, as hard as that may be to believe. He’s always been protective over Leah and Nick; only he got to make fun of them. However, a lot of the time, they do things that really piss him off. Whether it be Nick hitting on you, or Leah throwing a slumber party with her overly loud and clingy friends, as she was doing now, his brother and sister really knew how to annoy him.

Currently, he was laid on his bed, a pillow shoved over his face as he did his best to drown out the excessive giggling coming from Leah’s room. If there was one thing that really got to him, it was overly loud people. Why couldn’t they just speak at a normal volume? They wouldn’t speak at all if it were up to Judd, but he’d accept anything lower than the volume they were at right now. He despised his sister’s peppy attitude and overly-optimistic way of thinking, which, unluckily for him considering the situation, she shared with a lot of her friends.

You were supposed to be coming over tonight, so at least that gave him one thing to look forward to. The two of you had been ‘seeing each other’ for a three or four months by now, and in all honesty, Judd was loving it. He couldn’t get enough of you, and he wasn’t afraid to show it. He was all over you, every second he could be. Whether it was at his house, at school, when you were getting lunch at your favourite cafe, he didn’t care. If he wanted you, he was gonna have you. In all honesty, Judd considered you his girlfriend by now, even though he’d never actually used the word.

He’d never been in a real relationship before, only ever having a few girls he’d sleep with when he needed the relief. But it was different with you, he wanted to be around you, enjoyed your company. He’d never experienced that with anybody before. He was used to the comfortable routine of sleeping with someone and completely blanking them the next day. He could never do that to you, he wouldn't even dream of it. Maybe it was laughable, the fact he was known throughout school for his rebellious attitude, yet he'd wound up falling for one of the best behaved girls in town. He didn't care enough to think about it that much, though. All he knew was that he liked you, and he was going to do whatever it took to keep you around.

It wasn't long before he heard a familiar ring tone from his phone, a small grin gracing his lips as he grabbed it and saw your name on the screen, along with a photo he'd taken of you asleep in his bed. He'd been tempted to change it, especially when Leah and Nick had first seen it and relentlessly teased him for 'being a sap', but the sight of that sleepy smile on your face stopped him every time. He'd answer the call without second thought, already knowing you were outside.

"How many times do I need to tell you to just use the doorbell like a normal person?" He'd growl down the phone, doing his best to act annoyed, though you knew he was anything but. In fact, he was actually extremely excited at the prospect of getting to spend time with you.

"I don't wanna disturb your family." You'd argue back, sweet, gentle voice coming through somewhat robotic on his phones speaker. He could only scoff, shaking his head as he all but ran down the stairs and opened the door. The moment his eyes met yours, he was pulling you inside, wrapping an arm over your shoulders and beginning to guide you towards the stairs that led to his bedroom. Though, he'd never been the luckiest person in the world, and the two of you were spotted before he could whisk you away.

"(y/n)!" Elliot would exclaim, throwing his arms up into the air as he made his way over, Diane close behind. The older couple would give you the same welcoming smiles that they always did, pulling you into a warm hug and asking how you'd been. Judd was unsure how he felt about the fact you got along so well with his family. On one hand, it was frustrating. He'd do anything to just be able to rush you upstairs and have his way with you without any interruption. But on the other, he couldn't deny the way his heart ached at the sight of you laughing with his sister and mother, or helping his dad out in the kitchen. You seemed to slot yourself into their dynamic with such ease, as if you belonged. The idea was sweet. Not that he'd dare voice that thought aloud. At least, not this early in the relationship.

"Judd didn't tell us you were coming over." Diane would hum, eyeing her eldest child with a look of annoyance. His mother wasn't a fan of how he tried to hide you away. It wasn't like he was ashamed of being with you, the mere idea of that was laughable. He simply wasn't a fan of his entire family knowing what he was getting up to in his spare time. Especially when it came to his activities in the bedroom. Besides, he wanted to save you at least some of your dignity.

"Oh, it was kind of a last minute decision." You'd explain, though that wasn't true at all. Every time you left Judd's company, he'd make sure to create plans for when you'd next hang out. He didn't like last minute decisions, and he wanted to ensure there would always be a definite time for him to see you. He craved your company in a way he'd never experienced, and so, he didn't like the idea of going without it for too long.

"That's no problem. We'll set a place for you at dinner right next to Judd-y." Elliot would nod, smiling down at you. Though, Judd was quick to intervene.

"No need. We'll eat in my room. I don't need Leah and her friends sending (y/n) deaf." He'd roll his eyes, tightening his grip around your shoulder, hand running along your arm affectionately. He'd never imagined himself to be a physically affectionate person until he met you, but he just couldn't seem to get enough.

"Don't be rude, Judd." Diane would chastise, despite the small smirk that rested on her lips. Even she had to admit that her daughters friends spoke in a tone too high pitched to be natural. "You know how important family dinner is to your father." Elliot would simply shake his head, patting his wife's back.

"Don't worry about it. I'm sure these two just want as much time together as they can get. I remember when we were like that. I couldn't keep my hands off of you when we first got together." The older man would sigh lovingly as he stared at his wife, bringing her closer by the waist. Diane would chuckle under her breathe, grinning.

"You're still like that now." She'd note, causing Judd to hold himself back from gagging. He was used to his parents open-nature when it came to anything surrounding the subject of sex and physical intimacy, but he'd rather they didn't freak you out with it.

"Right, well, we'll be going." He'd grumble, successfully guiding you up the stairs this time. He was quick to shove you into his room, shutting the door once he was inside with you.

"I think it's sweet how your parents are still so in love, I mean-" You were cut off by Judd slamming your back against the bedroom door and practically shoving his tongue down your throat. He didn't want to talk about his parents right now. He'd been thinking about you all day, ever since he'd first woken up to a painful hard on with nothing but the thought of you on his mind.

"Stop talking about them." He'd grumble against your lips, his knee moving to slot between your legs and rub against your crotch. Instantly, a breathless moan escaped you, causing him to grin. He'd never get used to just how reactive you were to his touch. Just the pretty noises you made were enough to have him straining against his pants.

One of his hands would move to rest against the back of your head, fingers weaving into your hair and guiding your head ever so slightly back. Slowly pulling back from the kiss, a thin strand of saliva would form between your lips, a smug grin pulling at his mouth. Those wide doe eyes of yours would never fail to make his heart thump in his chest.

"You miss me?" He'd ask, nosing at your cheek before beginning to trail kisses along your jaw. Maybe the question made him sound needy, pathetic even, but he couldn't help it. "I missed you." He'd admit, kisses moving down to your neck now, quickly finding that one spot that had your head leaning back and hips gliding over his leg. His tongue would run over the skin, before he bit down gently, humming at your salty taste. "Know how many times I fucked my fist thinking 'bout you this morning?" He'd all but growl.

"Judd..." You'd sigh, tilting your head to the side as if to offer up more skin for his mouth to attach to. Though, you quickly froze up when you heard the loud laughter coming from the direction of Leah's room. Judd could only groan, continuing to bury his face into your neck and assault your soft skin with his mouth. "They're g'nna hear us." You'd whimper, his hips rolling against your lower belly.

"Don't give a shit." He'd huff out, shaking his head as his hands began to slide under your shirt, thumbs running under the wire of your bra. Instinctively, you'd press your chest further into his touch, arching your back in the process. He'd grin to himself. "Let them hear." He really couldn't care less if Leah and her little friends heard him fucking you. They were allowed to be as loud as they wanted and disturb his peace, so now he'd disturb theirs.

"But-" You'd choke out the singular word, cut off by how his hands slid beneath your bra and cupped your breasts. He'd quickly get to work, pinching at your nipples and rolling them between his fingers and thumbs. God, he could play with your pretty tits all day if you let him. He'd worship every part of your body for as long as possible.

"Just shut up." He'd bite out, pulling back to glare down at you. It wasn't a mean glare, but one of lust and need. He craved you, needed you in every possible way he could have you. "Don't you wanna make me feel good, huh? Just ignore them and focus on me. Gonna make us both feel so good, baby." He'd mumble into the curve of your jaw, hands sliding down to your waist and beginning to undo the button of your jeans. You seemed to finally give in, nodding and helping him pull down the offending clothing.

As he yanked them down your legs, he'd sink onto his knees, staring up at you as he did so. His lips would travel over your thighs, pressing gentle kisses to the soft skin every now and then. He'd help you step out of the jeans, leaving you in a pair of pretty navy panties. His fingers would trail affectionately over the lacy material, groaning under his breath as he toyed with the edges.

"So pretty like this, baby." He'd murmur into your skin, pressing another kiss to your inner thigh, hearing you whimper in response. His hands would move back to cup your ass, groping at the flesh as his kisses moved up to your heat. He'd press a gentle kiss to the front of your panties, grinning when your hips jolted forward, chasing him as he pulled away. You were so damn desperate, no matter how many times he had his way with you. Every time was like the first.

"Judd." You'd groan out, one of your hands moving through his hair this time, yanking on it so that his gaze met yours once again. You were frustrated, that much was obvious. "Just want you. Now." You'd whisper.

He wasted no time in rising to his feet again, pulling down his own pyjama pants as he did so. He never wore underwear underneath; that was something you'd learnt pretty early on. You'd almost moan at the sight of his length, a bead of pre already leaking from the pink tip. You couldn't stop yourself from running your thumb over it and bringing it up to your lips, causing Judd to groan in response. You were so damn hot without even trying to be.

With that, his hands would grab at the back of your thighs, arms working to lift you up into his hold and wrap your legs around his waist. Your back remained pressed into the door, and his fingers would waste no time in pushing your panties to the side. A low hum rumbled at the back of his throat as he ran his shaft through your folds a couple of times, lubing himself up with your arousal. Then, as if the two of you were running out of time, he'd press himself into you to the hilt, groaning as he rested there. You'd cry and claw at him, arms wrapped tightly around his neck, one hand lost in his hair.

You'd breathe in slow unison, both doing your best to catch your breath and relax. It wasn't often you went straight into it like this, Judd always preferred to play about with you a bit first. But, who was he to deny you when you sounded all whiny and looked at him with those big, pleading eyes of yours? He was weak for you, and he made no attempt to hide it. He'd give you a few moments to get used to the size of him, feeling your velvety walls clench around him and holding himself back from just pounding into you.

Soft hands would play with his hair, and your lips would press to his cheek. He took that as a sign to move, and so, he did. His hips would roll up into yours, making sure to go slowly at first, allowing you to feel just how deep he could reach at this angle. You'd whine and mewl in his ear, his face burying itself into the crook of your neck, breathless pants escaping him. You were so tight, so warm, so perfect. His hands remained resting on your ass, fingers flexing as he groaned into your skin.

"That's it... That's all you wanted, huh? All you ever want, hm? Such a slut for me." He'd murmur, feeling you nod in response, eyes squeezed shut. Slowly, his hips were beginning to pick up the pace, his own need to feel you overwhelming him. "You like that? Like feeling how deep I can go?" He'd continue to ramble, slowly moving to push one of your legs up to your chest until it hooked over his shoulder. You'd whine out, throwing your head back. He was even deeper now.

"God, Judd, feels good... So full." You'd moan weakly, head tilting to the side, jaw hanging open. All kinds of small sounds continued to pour from your lips, and he'd do his best to memorise every single one. His forehead would press against yours, gaze never daring to glance away from your own. He loved watching you fall apart for him, loved seeing just how much he affected you.

"Yeah? You like that?" He'd hum, grinning sadistically as he once again picked up the pace. He was practically slamming into you now, his own body keeping you pressed to the door as his hips pounded into your own. The door would creak with each movement, and he was sure just about anybody in the house would be able to hear your loud moans now, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. The only thing on his mind was feeling you cum around him, and so, that was what he continued to work towards.

"Judd..." You'd stutter out between sob-like moans, tears appearing in the corners of your eyes, hands travelling up to cup either side of his face. He'd turn to press a quick kiss to the palm of your hand before going back to focusing on his ruthless pace. That familiar coil was forming in your belly, and you knew you wouldn't be able to hold on much longer. Your head was spinning, and you could feel hot tears of pleasure cascading down your cheeks. He was pounding into you so deeply, hitting all the right spots that made your toes curl and back arch. "Fuck, Judd." You'd babble, glancing down at where your bodies connected, seeing how he moved in and out of you with such ease.

Though, he was quick to steal your attention, nudging his forehead against your own and huffing out. "Eyes on me." He'd murmur. "Wanna see your eyes when I make you cum." You could only whimper in response, brows furrowing as he chased your orgasm. With just a few more harsh strokes, your legs would begin to shake, and that familiar feeling of white, hot, pleasure would come down upon you. You'd let out a loud cry, and he'd gasp, picking up his pace yet again. It wasn't long until he was reaching his own breaking point, feeling himself spill inside of you, eyes still holding your gaze. There was something so intimate and loving about the way he stared at you, the way he handled you with such gentleness.

The two of you would stay in place for a while, continuing to stare at one another, breath mingling together as one. He'd lean into your touch on his face, momentarily allowing his eyes to close now as he regained his strength. His hands would slowly massage your trembling thighs, helping you to calm down, relax. A low sigh would escape him before he began to pull himself out of you, moaning as he did. With that, he'd carry you over to the bed, placing you into it with gentle care.

"You okay?" He'd hum, leaning down to brush some hair from your face. His eyes held nothing but care and affection in them, his touch tender. You'd nod, panting and chasing his touch, causing him to grin. "Let me get a cloth for you." He'd grumble, reluctantly pulling away to begin cleaning you up.

The process wasn't long, and he was in bed with you in no time, arms wrapped around you, holding you to his chest. He loved being able to just hold you and relax with you like this, the two of you simply existing with one another, appreciating each others company. These were his favourite moments, the ones where all he could hear was the sound of your light breathing, and all he could feel was your body against his. Of course, the moment couldn't last, and before long it was interrupted by his brother opening his bedroom door.

"Judd, mum says you need to come down for dinner-" Nick was cut off by the sight of the you laid across Judd's chest. His face would grow a deep shade of red, eyes wide. Soon enough, his pervy little friend was stood behind him, also taking in the view. The two boys would simply freeze, eyeing up the sleeping girl in his bed.

He was quick to act, grabbing hold of a pillow and throwing it in their direction, pulling up the blankets so that no part of you was on view to them. He'd die before he let Nick and his freaky friend get a look at any part of you belonging to him. Those kinds of views were for his eyes only.

"Get the fuck out!" He'd yell, pushing you gently off of his chest and sitting up to cover you with his own body. The boys would yelp and run away when they saw Judd sit up, slamming the door shut as they left. Though he was glad they were gone, he could feel you beginning to stir beside him. He'd kill them later for waking you up.

"What is it?" You'd huff out, rubbing at your eyes and leaning up. Judd would run a hand over your arm, smiling at the sight of you so groggy from your power nap.

"Dinner." He'd huff out. "I'll go down and get you a plate, yeah? You stay here." He'd insist, though you seemed to have other plans, shaking your head and slowly moving to sit up.

"No, we should eat with your family, don't wanna be rude." You'd mumble, fixing your hair and slowly crawling out of his bed on shaky legs. He'd groan, not only at the idea of having to sit through dinner with his family, but also at the thought of not being able to just lay in bed with you for a little while longer.

He'd helped you get dressed into a pair of his jogging bottoms and an oversized shirt, before beginning to guide you downstairs. He'd grin proudly to himself when he noticed the shake in your legs as you came down the stairs, but you were quick to slap at his chest, causing him to huff.

His parents would give him knowing looks as the two of you entered the dining room and he pulled out a chair for you, but he'd choose to ignore them, focusing on you instead. You gave him that sweet smile that never failed to make his heart flutter, before taking a seat and allowing him to push you in. As he moved to his seat beside you, he'd finally notice Leah's friends who were sat at the table, greeting him and completely disregarding your presence.

"Hey Judd.."

"Hi..."

"Wanna watch me eat a sausage?"

Judd could feel bile raise in his throat, but he did well to just roll his eyes and ignore them, biting back an insult that he knew both you and his mum would tell him off for. Leah would glare at her friends and give them a look of warning, which they seemed to completely ignore.

You, on the other hand, didn't find it so easy to ignore their flirtatious tones. It was uncomfortable to hear other girls openly flirt with the guy you were sleeping with, of course it was. And, to make matters worse, it wasn't exactly a secret that you were sleeping with him; you were in his house, wearing his clothes and eating a meal his parents had made (not to mention the fact they'd most definitely heard him having his way with you less than an hour ago). Yet, despite all of that, they continued to flirt with him like you weren't even in the room.

Neither you or Judd had brought up the topic of a relationship in the last few months. Things were good as they were, and the two of you were comfortable in the little routine you'd created. You had no idea what his thoughts were, but you'd most definitely begun to fall for him. Your heart slammed against your ribcage every-time you caught him so much as look in your direction at school, cheeks growing hot whenever his shoulder grazed yours in the halls. The sex was great, no doubt, but you wanted more than just that. You enjoyed his company, craved it. You wanted to be able to spend time with him without using the excuse of wanting a good fuck. Not that you'd ever bring it up to him. As far as you knew, you were nothing but a way to get off for him. Sure, he spoke to you sweetly and gave you better treatment than you ever thought he was capable of, but what if that was just how he was with every girl he slept with? He could be a gentleman and still keep his reputation of an asshole.

Whilst you zoned out, Judd would take it upon himself to grab hold of your plate and begin to place food onto it. As he did so, he could feel Leah's stare on him, causing his natural frown to grow deeper. He already knew she had something to ask.

"Um, hey, Judd..." She'd say as sweetly as possible, staring at her older brother with a look of hope. He was already bored of whatever this was.

"Whatever it is, fuck off." He didn't even glance in her direction, making sure to give you an extra scoop of the potatoes he knew you loved. Then, he was sliding the plate in front of you, grabbing his own plate and scooping on just about the same thing he'd given you.

"Oh, come on! I just want you to text your hook-up in the city and, like, buy us some mushrooms tomorrow." She'd plead, holding her hands to her chest as if to look somewhat innocent. It was ironic, considering she'd just asked for drugs.

"Yeah, we wanna get high and figure out if we're actually friends." One of her friends would chime in, writhing in her seat in an attempt to look cute. Judd didn't even bother glancing in their direction.

"Please? We'll pay you double." Leah would add on, which seemed to finally convince him.

"Fine. I'm saving up for a pressure cooker." He'd grumble, placing his own plate in front of himself and shoving some chicken into his mouth.

The group of girls seemed to light up upon hearing his agreement, cheering amongst themselves and smiling brightly at him like he was God's greatest gift. Just the way they ogled him was enough to have you shuffling in your seat, feeling a strange possessiveness build up inside of you. You weren't used to this; you'd never been jealous over a person. Were you being pathetic? Would he laugh at you if he knew you were feeling this way? Probably.

"You're our hero, Judd." A brunette girl would sigh.

"I love you, like, for real." Another would chime in, sending Judd a look of pure adoration.

"Gabrielle!" Leah would exclaim, sending her friend a look of disapproval.

"What? Your brother's hot!" The girl would defend herself, causing your face to scrunch up as you did your best to focus on the food in front of you rather than their conversation. Judd seemed to ignore them with such ease, why couldn't you?

"Seriously, he's such a badass." Another would murmur, eyeing him up like a piece of meat. It just didn't sit right with you. Everyone at school was always too scared of Judd to approach him, you'd never expected girls to fawn over him like this.

As if noticing your distress, Judd would glance at you out of the corner of his eyes, taking in the way you stabbed at the meat on your plate. His hand would move to run along your leg, before he affectionately squeezed your thigh, brows ever so slightly raised, silently asking if you were alright.

You couldn't tell him that the way they spoke about him upset you. He'd probably panic about the fact you were clearly growing feelings for him and kick you out. So, you just smiled and continued to eat, leaving him to watch you in confusion.

"Exciting, the Birch house, isn't it?" Nick's barely moustached friend, Andrew, would sigh, eyes trained on you. Judd's gaze would sharpen when he saw how the two boys were looking at you, knuckles turning white from how tightly he clutched at his knife and fork.

"Don't talk to her, you little shit." He'd grunt out, giving Andrew a deadly stare that had the smaller boy shrinking back in his seat. You'd turn to Judd, shaking your head as if to tell him to stop scaring the kid. He'd huff, subtly moving his chair closer to yours, knee brushing your own. He had no doubt the creepy teen would be having wet dreams about you later, and that made his stomach turn.

"You wanna come with me tomorrow?" Judd would hum as he ate, tone low, eyes glancing at you every now and then, trying to gauge your reaction. You'd freeze for a moment, turning to him. He'd never really asked you to hang out like that. At least, not anywhere that wasn't at school or his house. Going out with him like that would be new. "To get the 'shrooms for Leah and her pack of crows." He'd nod his head over to the lively girls, as if you'd been confused by what he meant.

"Yeah, 'course." You'd smile in return, nodding. Though, you still felt a slight discomfort in your stomach. The flirty glances Leah's friends continued to send Judd didn't go unnoticed by you, and you weren't sure how much longer you could put up with it.

Dinner didn't last too long after that, and by the end of it, you'd only managed to finish about half of what Judd had put on your plate. Clearly, the continuous comments and looks from Leah's friends had ruined your appetite.

Now, you found yourself back in Judd's room, sat in his bed scrolling through your phone as he sat on the side lifting some weights and watching you. He'd noticed how off you'd been at dinner, and the urge to find out what was bothering you gnawed at him. You always finished whatever his parents had made you for dinner, not only because you thought they'd hate you if you didn't, but because you genuinely enjoyed his father's cooking. After a while, it was clear you weren't going to say anything, so he took it upon himself, placing the weight to the side and moving to rest a hand at your ankle.

"What's up with you?" He'd grunt, brows narrowed in question. You looked sad, uncomfortable, and he hated it. He was so used to you being giggly and playful around him, so to see you like this was unsettling. It didn't feel right.

"Nothing." You'd glance up, meeting his gaze and shrugging your shoulders. Then, you went back to your phone like nothing was wrong. No, he wasn't having that. You weren't going to just shrug this off like you weren't pouting and feeling sorry for yourself. He could read you like a book by now, and that frown on your lips was telling him you were anything but fine. So, his hand wrapped around your ankle, pulling you further down the bed so that he could climb on top of you.

"Talk to me." He'd huff, snatching your phone from your hands and placing it to the side, ignoring how you whined in protest. He was practically straddling you by now, hands either side of your head. It took all of his willpower to ignore the rise and fall of your chest.

"'S nothing, I already told you." You'd huff out, resting beneath him with a defiant look in your eyes.

"Stop being such a fucking brat and tell me." He'd demand, hand travelling down to slide beneath the sweatpants he'd given you and glide over your folds. Your entire body would jolt, eyes growing hooded as you bit your bottom lip. "I'm not stupid, can tell something's bothering you."

"Never said you were stupid." You'd whine, hips rolling up to chase his fingers, which he quickly pulled away. A noise of upset left you, which made him grin.

"Tell me what you're thinking about." He'd encourage, thumb moving to draw slow circles over your clit, eliciting a breathless moan from you. You looked conflicted, as if debating whether or not to really tell him what was on your mind. A part of you wanted to, wanted to just confess your jealousy and hope he'd comfort and reassure you. But, another part of you was screaming not to, telling you that it would be stupid to even mention the thought to him, that he'd just shrug it off and call you an idiot. Finally, after a few more strokes of his thumb, you'd break, gaze tracing over anything but him as you let out a shaky breath of air.

"I don't like how Leah's friends look at you." You'd whisper, head turning to the side to look at the wall. Judd's movements would pause as he hovered over you, a look of confusion overcoming his features.

"How they look at me?" He'd repeat. You'd nod.

"How they look at you. How they speak about you." You'd add on, moving to brush away some hair that had fallen into your face, nervously fiddling with the strands. Judd would take a few moments to think about your words, before a small grin settled on his features. "Like you're a piece of meat."

"Yeah?" He'd hum. "You sure you're not just jealous?" He'd grumble, leaning down to press a kiss to the love bite he'd left on your neck earlier. A shiver would run down your spine, back arching off of the bed as you chased his lips.

"No." You're respond quickly, lips pulling into a pout. You knew this would happen, knew he'd just make fun of you. You shouldn't have said anything. His hand would move back to your cunt, fingers gliding ever so gently through your folds, causing you to whine and gasp.

"You're not?" He'd hum. "Not jealous of how they were trying to flirt with me? Of how they look at me?" He'd ask, collecting your arousal on his fingers before bringing them up to his lips and taking them into his mouth, allowing himself a taste of you. A low hum escaped him, and he was quick to move his fingers from his mouth to yours, allowing you a taste as well. "'S not a bad thing, baby. It's kind of cute." He'd shrug, making you whine around his fingers as they stuffed your mouth full. A low chuckle left him.

"You worried I enjoy it? Worried I like 'em?" He'd ask, gaze never breaking from your own. You seemed to hesitate for a moment, but when his fingers moved from your mouth and back down to your crotch, you'd quickly find yourself nodding. Judd would coo mockingly, tutting under his breath. "Poor thing." He'd mumble, hand moving again.

Slowly, he'd begin to sink down on the bed, until he was face to face with your heat, lips ghosting over the material of the sweats you wore. His gaze was heavy on your face, hands smoothing over your clothed thighs as he continued to rile you up.

"Did you see me look at them? Even once?" He'd ask, moving forward to press a soft kiss to the material. "When did I ever even glance in their direction, huh?" He'd practically growl. "Didn't, did I?" You shook your head in response.

"No." You'd mewl, staring down at him, using your forearms to hold you up so you could watch him.

"So what makes you think I like 'em? In what world would I give them even a moment of my time, huh? Acting like I wasn't up here fucking you an hour before dinner." He'd hum, slowly pulling the sweatpants down, grinning as you lifted your hips to help him. You were always so damn eager and willing. Such a good girl for him. He'd take your panties along with them, wanting to just get to your skin. "Such a greedy little thing, huh? Don't even want other girls looking at me?"

"Yeah." You'd admit breathlessly, nodding like an idiot. You didn't care how pathetic you looked right about now, all you could think about was having his mouth on your cunt. He'd chuckle when he heard your agreement, shaking his head and pressing a soft kiss to your clit.

"Those annoying shits don't stand a chance with me, sweet thing." He'd murmur, pressing more kisses over your inner thighs. "Not when I've got you." He'd grin.

With that, he was leaning down, pressing a gentle, open-mouthed kiss to your heat, causing you to gasp and lift your hips from the bed. He was quick to react, wrapping his arms around your thighs and taking hold of your hips, holding you down so that you couldn't move. His tongue would flick out to move in tight circles over your clit, lips pulling into a smug smirk when you cried out a moan.

"Such a pretty girl. All mine, right?" He'd murmur into your pussy, licking a long stripe through your folds and humming as your arousal collected on his tongue. You were so sweet.

"Yeah." You'd squeak out, making him chuckle.

"Mhm, and I'm all yours, yeah?" He'd continue to ask, knowing you weren't really in the right mind to be answering questions right now. His mouth was attacking your heat, and he expected you to respond to every word he asked.

"Uh-huh." You'd sigh, nodding deliriously.

"Smart girl. My smart girl." He'd praise, moving his thumb up to rub circles over your bundle of nerves, tongue moving down to kitten-lick over your hole, leaving your walls to clench around nothing. Breathless gasps and whimpers would continue to pour from you, going straight to his head.

"Judd." You'd sigh out, head thrashing from one side to the other as you did your best to contain the sheer need you felt for the man between your legs. He'd just continue to chuckle to himself as he heard your whines, applying more pressure to your clit with his thumb.

"Mm? My jealous girl need something? What d'you need, baby?" He'd coo almost sadistically, evil eyes staring up at you as he leaned away from your heat. You'd sob at the loss of contact, attempting to roll your hips but failing due to his grip on them.

"Wanna cum." You'd huff, one hand moving to rest on his head, attempting to guide his mouth back down. He'd refuse, remaining where he was and grinning.

"You g'nna be good? G'nna tell me when you're upset next time instead of being a little brat and ignoring me?" He'd ask, causing you to immediately nod along. You'd agree to anything if it meant he'd finish what he'd started. "Need your words, baby. C'mon." He'd encourage, causing you to sob.

"Yes, Judd, do what ever you want." You'd whine.

"Don't cry, baby." He'd hum, leaning back down and moving his hand away from your clit, fingers circling around your entrance now. His tongue would move to take over the job his thumb had been doing, kitten-licking at your bundle of nerves. "Been so good for me." He'd mumble.

With that, two fingers slowly slid into you, immediately beginning to pump in and out. He was practically making out with your cunt by now, fingers curling and hurling you towards your orgasm. Your own fingers would yank on his hair desperately, anchoring his face to you as you continued to try rolling your hips, still failing.

He was relentless in his movements now, giving you exactly what you'd asked for, though it was somewhat overwhelming. The pleasure was building quickly, not allowing your mind to keep up with your body. Before you could even register it, you were coming undone, chest heaving and moans vibrating in your throat as you felt yourself release. Judd would groan, lapping up whatever he could get, nose bumping with your clit every now and then, causing you to whine.

His lips continued to kiss at your cunt until you finally began to calm down, pussy growing sensitive and hips attempting to escape his touch as it grew too much. He'd hum, moving back up to lean over you until his lips met yours in a sweet kiss. It was slow and gentle, as if he was deliberately being soft with you.

"Meant what I said." He'd whisper against your lips, clean hand moving up to run over the side of your face, stroking your cheek tenderly with his thumb. "'M all yours, don't want anybody else like I want you, especially not Leah's bitchy friends." He'd grumble with a huff from his nose.

"Haven't wanted anybody else since we started... Only ever crave you, crave havin' you near me, crave your company." He'd explain, tongue momentarily sliding into your mouth, causing you to hum when you tasted yourself on it. Then, he'd pause, as if silently debating over something.

"I don't normally do the whole relationship thing, never thought I'd be any good at it." He'd admit quietly, leaning back to look at you beneath him. "But I want that with you. Want to know that you're mine, want everyone to know that you're mine and I'm yours." He'd confess almost shyly. You'd go silent for a while, causing him to frown and huff. "You don't have to say anything-"

You'd cut him off by pulling him down into another kiss, this one faster, more excited and passionate. "Yeah." You'd sigh. "I'd like that." You could feel him smile, genuinely smile, against your lips, causing your heart to flutter.

"Good." He'd growl. "Was gonna have to kill you if you said no."

#reader insert #x reader #fanfic #judd birch #judd birch x reader #smut #big mouth judd #big mouth netflix #judd x reader #judd x you #judd birch x you

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retrosabers · 8 months ago

Text

𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐦𝐞, 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

FICMAS DAY 3: GIFT-GIVING

bucky barnes x fem!reader

summary: as bucky’s secret santa, you’re determined to give him the best christmas present he’s ever received.

contains: grumpy buck fluff, some angst, idiots who are crushing hard, swearing

word count: 2.4k

a/n: this is a long one i’m apologizing in advance

i am SO SORRY for crickets in the ficmas department the past week, i hit a big brick wall with this and i’ve been so all over the place with my own holiday planning and such that i ended up having to cut the masterlist in half because i knew i couldn’t get it all done. i’m very sorry to anyone who was looking forward to what got scrapped, but i couldn’t bring myself to rush through writing and put out something i don’t believe it my best work.

also, do people even want avengers fix it fics anymore?? i debated between the “everything is fine the team lives at the compound together” vibe and setting this post tfatws, but ultimately decided the former was easier to write. and i think it worked in my favor because this turned out really cute :)

!! divider by @strangergraphics !!

FICMAS MASTERLIST

your heart feels like it’s going to burst out of your chest.

who’s idea was this again? wanda? tony? steve? it didn’t matter anymore. all that mattered right now was that you didn’t pass out in the elevator. a feat that was becoming more and more difficult the closer you got to your destination.

a secret santa is supposed to bring you joy, not near paralyzing anxiety.

at first, you were 100% on board with participating in a gift exchange. as much as you wanted to shower all of your teammates with presents galore, not everyone shared the same sentiment, and thus the idea of a secret santa was proposed.

excitement courses through your veins as you reach your hand into the cheap santa hat tony grabbed from god knows where in storage, with little pieces of paper containing the names of your fellow avengers. you decided to wait until you were back in the privacy of your room to open it up, afraid of any wandering eyes taking a peak. the last thing you wanted was the element of surprise to be stripped away. it was half the fun after all.

as sam pulls the last name, you quietly excuse yourself and all but rush upstairs, too eager to get in the holiday spirit and brainstorm. as soon as the door shuts behind you, you hurriedly reveal the contents of the paper.

if it’s natasha, i can get her a pair of ballet slippers. she’s been mentioning how she wants to start dancing again.

what about bruce? maybe a journal for all his ideas? he always seems to be losing sticky notes in the lab.

a million different ideas swirl around in your head, reminding you just how much joy this time of year brings. to you, there was nothing better than seeing the gleeful looks on people’s faces when they opened their gifts. the corners of your mouth turn up at the memory of your first christmas with the team. how shy and reluctant you were, afraid of going overboard. now, a few years later, you’re completely unabashed in showing just how much you care about them.

your bright smile morphs into a deep frown as you unfold the paper.

bucky barnes.

quite possibly the most difficult person you could’ve chosen.

to be clear, there’s nothing wrong with bucky. he may be a bit grumpy and standoffish, but it’s with good reason and you know it. that also doesn’t change the fact that he’s going to be impossible to try and shop for.

what do you get for the man who seemingly despises anything the modern world has to offer? the same man who you’re 99% sure hates your guts. come to think of it, how did you even pull him? he most definitely wasn’t downstairs 20 minutes ago when everyone scribbled down their names and tossed them in tony’s direction.

it was irrelevant now. you were stuck being his secret santa, and you’d be damned if you didn’t give james buchanan barnes the best christmas gift he’s ever gotten in his century-long lifetime.

the two weeks it took to come up with an idea sure felt like a century. if it wasn’t for the concerning amount of snooping you did, you’d probably be showing up empty handed. thankfully, at almost 1 in the morning on a random tuesday, a lightbulb went off in your brain. you scrambled bright and early the next day to go shopping, and by some lucky form of divine intervention, you acquired the perfect gift.

flash forward to now, and you’re carrying an insanely large box up to bucky’s room. in a blatant stray from what the rest of the team was doing, you decided to give him his present one on one, secluded from everyone else. partly because you were afraid of public embarrassment if he hated it, and partly because you knew bucky wasn’t very fond of being put on display.

you hope he’ll at least be grateful for that.

when the elevator finally chimes, signaling you’ve arrived at the dormitory floor, the box nearly slips from your grasp. not just from how heavy it was, but from the nervous sweat coating your palms.

the hallway is quiet enough to hear a pin drop, save for the faint sound of christmas music playing over the speakers. with careful, calculated steps, you make your way down the length of the corridor, dragging your feet the closer you get to bucky’s room. there’s a small part of you that hopes he’s downstairs in the gym, the kitchen, the backyard, anywhere but here. dropping and dashing wasn’t what you had in mind, but the anxious thumping of your heart was becoming unbearable. you know it will only amplify tenfold if you’re forced to stare into those steel blue eyes of his. the thought alone sends a chill down your spine.

you freeze in place when you hear the sound of a door knob clicking open.

please be wanda’s room, please be wanda’s room.

in front of you, the very last door on the left creaks open, revealing the tall and brooding super soldier whose company you were aiming to avoid.

it’s easy to forget how handsome bucky barnes is when he normally does nothing but grimace in your direction.

you still weren’t used to his new haircut, but it was clear he felt significantly more confident with it. is that a hint of aftershave, or cologne? whatever it was, the scent fit him perfectly; cedarwood with a hint of spice. the green henley he wears fits snugly against his broad frame, emphasizing all the muscles you’ve been caught staring at on more than one occasion. for once, he’s not wearing a scowl, though that changes when he catches sight of you.

surely you must look strange, standing dumbfounded in the middle of the hall with a box covered in santa-printed wrapping paper and a big bow that you can barely hold. right now the floor opening up and swallowing you whole was at the top of your wish list. and st. nick better make it quick.

bucky’s expression shifts from one of disdain to curiosity as he quirks a brow wordlessly. your own knit together in frustration, knowing you now had no choice but to do this exchange face to face.

“need any help?” he questions monotonously. as much as you want to be prideful and reject it, your arms feel like they’re going to fall off any second. he seems to catch your drift despite a verbal response, because in the blink of an eye he’s striding towards you, sweeping the gift from your arms and into his own with ease. you try not to gape at the way his biceps strain against fabric.

you stutter out a “thanks,” as you straighten out your sweater. bucky grunts in return and eyes the package in his hands cautiously. you’re half expecting him to shake it like a child when you catch the tiniest twitch of his upper lip.

it’s the closest thing to a smile he’s ever shown in your presence. something that gives you the courage to actually form a sentence instead of continuing to gawk at him.

here goes nothing.

“this is for you, actually,” you manage to shakily breathe out. bucky halts his observations, a glimmer of surprise briefly dancing across his face.

a beat of silence passes between you. “don’t remember asking for anything," he finally says. it’s still laced with his typical dry sarcasm, but there’s a legitimate amusement in his tone that can’t be missed.

you narrow your eyes at him playfully, feeling a little bit more at ease now that he didn’t completely rebuff you.

“i’m your secret santa, smartass,” you jab with your hands on your hips.

for the first time ever, bucky smirks at you.

“don’t recall asking for that either.”

you throw your hands up in defense, offering him a surprisingly nonchalant shrug. “don’t blame me, i’m pretty sure steve was the one who put your name in.”

“punk,” the man grumbles. he shakes his head, attention turning back to the present in hand once more.

despite his apparent annoyance, you can’t seem to stop yourself from continuing on.

“i know you’re supposed to do this kind of thing with everyone around,” you start off shaky, afraid of upsetting him any more than you may already have. his gaze immediately falls to you upon hearing your voice.

“i also know you’re not a big fan of being the center of attention,” you continue, shoving your hands into the pockets of your jeans. “figured you’d like this better if it was in private.”

bucky’s features soften. his jaw unclenched, his eyes not so narrow and judgmental. he looks relieved, flattered; a myriad of things you can’t name or place.

“i appreciate that,” he admits, suddenly shy and impish. for a second, he completely forgets about the gift you brought. the simple fact that you were kind enough to consider his feelings, despite how cold he could be to you, makes his heart skip a beat.

you simply nod your head in reply, teetering back and forth on your feet awkwardly trying to decipher your next move.

“you don’t have to open that right now you know.”

he sets the box down on the floor next to his door. “kinda defeats the purpose don’t you think?”

you shrug. “whatever you’re comfortable with. doesn’t matter what you’re “supposed to do.””

why did you care so much about his comfort level? he hardly showed any concern for yours. the notion consumes his thoughts, prohibiting him from offering anything except a nod of acknowledgement.

that awkward silence comes once again, signaling maybe you’ve overstayed your welcome, or that the moment of peace is over. you check your watch in hopes that father time was ending this exchange for you.

just your luck, he’s right on schedule.

“i uh, better get downstairs,” you announce, pointing your thumb in the direction of the elevator. “don’t wanna miss thor forcing everyone to do christmas karaoke.”

a noise akin to laughter snorts out of bucky’s nose, evoking a delightful warmth in your chest. it was different than all the other times you’ve been flustered in the presence of the super soldier. this was less about intimidation and more about…camaraderie. now wondering if maybe he doesn’t hate you as much as you thought.

it’s exactly what you need to reignite your holiday cheer and shed any remaining worries.

before you can second guess, you turn on your heels, closing the gap between your bodies. wrapping a hand around his arm, his metal arm, and offering a gentle caress, the sincerity in your words is clear as day.

“merry christmas buck.”

your touch burns straight through vibranium all the way to his chest. across his entire body, igniting every cell ablaze. a fire consuming him in ways unimaginable.

and yet. he enjoyed the burn.

as you pull away, much to his dismay, the tips of his fingers brush against the inside of your wrist. goosebumps errupt on your skin, from the cool metal, or that fact that bucky was so pretty this close, only time would tell.

“you too,” he murmurs with a faint grin. the soft crinkles by his eyes are likely going to be the subject of your daydreams for the next week.

you flash him a smile over your shoulder before turning down the hall and averting his gaze, not wanting him to see just how much you were blushing.

while unbeknownst to you, bucky was now a very bright shade of red.

he waits until he can hear the elevator doors close before slipping back into his room and very carefully unwrapping the box. there’s a nervousness in his stomach that’s unfamiliar, but not unpleasant. as the bare brown packaging becomes exposed, he begins ripping back the numerous layers of packing tape. you really took your time on this, he thinks to himself.

that funny feeling only amplifies when he sees the contents of the box.

a record player, a very expensive looking one at that, sits inside with another three wrapped items that he concludes are vinyls, judging from their flatness. on top of it all, there was a small note shrouded in luxe stationary. bucky’s heart stutters when he sees his name scribbled delicately in your handwriting.

his fingers falter briefly before he digs into the envelope.

i know this isn’t like the ones from the 40s, but it’s the closest thing i could find. also got a few of your favorite records, and one i think you’ll like too. don’t forget i have quite a collection of my own in case you ever want to try something new.

merry christmas ♡

bucky unceremoniously plops down on the edge of his bed. the normally stiff feeling mattress now mirrored a sea of clouds and feathers. he’d gladly sink into the abyss of softness, if it meant pumping the brakes on his thundering heartbeat.

from the moment he met you, bucky knew he was in trouble.

you had an aura about you that was magnetic, always drawing people in and bathing them in your light. your unconditional kindness and consideration, hell, even your mere presence in a room seemed to liven it up entirely. it was a hypnotizing, almost dangerous thing for the man, and if there was one thing he knew how to do, it was to push people away. for their sake, and his. bucky was certain that once he started keeping his distance, that you’d eventually give up in trying to crack his tough outer shell, or that the silly feelings he had would disappear.

but right now, as he’s staring at your handwriting and rubbing his thumb repeatedly over that little heart, he knows it was all in vain.

later that night, he stares up at the ceiling, listening to the familiar croon of it’s been a long, long time wafting from his present. he tries to focus on the beauty of the song, or the lights he can see from his window twinkling out on the lawn, but it’s nearly impossible. you’re the subject of all his thoughts. have been since the moment he saw you standing out in the hall. from the scent of your perfume to the little intricacies of your penmanship. the thing that’s plaguing him the most, however, is your hand on his arm.

bucky’s real arm had been gone for over half a century, having stopped experiencing phantom limb syndrome ages ago. yet somehow he felt it there, clear as day. the same tactile sensations on his flesh, right arm, in the metal prosthetic of his left. an electric shock that he’s never recognized before, and that he wouldn’t be opposed to feeling again.

tomorrow, he plans to thank steve for mischievously adding his name into the lottery.

and to ask you about your record collection.

thanks for reading! <3

tag list: @alastor-simp @j4desblurbs @pandapetals

!! if you would like to be tagged in the rest of the ficmas blurbs, please send me an inbox message or leave a comment !!

#retrosabers #sid writes shit #ficmas #ficmas 2024 #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes #the falcon and the winter soldier #sebastian stan

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bapelana · 28 days ago

Note

heyyy moot, can u maybe write a fic where we give toji sloppy head? like toe curling, him biting his fist to keep from being too loud type of dome. let ur demons take ova pls

POOKIE. STAWP. yk i had to add to the wife!reader x husband!toji franchise! YOU HIT THE PENTAGON WITH THIS

toji was laid up in bed, one arm behind his head, the other resting on your thigh.

a random tv-show that you both couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to played on the screen.

he was wearing his infamous grey sweatpants, no shirt, chain still on his neck from earlier, chest rising slow like he was finally relaxing.

you were posted next to him in your favorite night-dress.

the blue and yellow one with the print down the middle and the loose sleeves. your bonnet was still on. your thighs were bare underneath the dress. and he’d been palming the inside of them the whole night without even realizing it.

it was something he always did unconsciously.

you looked over and up at him. at how good he looked just laying there, face all calm, brows relaxed. and then your eyes trailed down from his chest, biceps, to the half-hard and heavy imprint sitting fat against his thigh.

you tilted your head, blinking. “…you hard?”

he glanced over to you and then down. he scoffed.

“damn near always am when you sittin’ next to me,” he muttered. “why?”

you shrugged. chewed your lip. your hand slid over his abs real slow, fingertips tracing over the ridges.

“wanna suck it.”

he blinked at you, slight confusion taking over his expression as his brows softly furrowed. “…for what?”

“no reason. i jus’ do.”

your eyes dropped back to the bulge in his pants. “you don’t want me to?”

“shit.” he exhaled sharp through his nose. “you ain’t even gotta ask.”

you pulled the covers down and slightly over your head as you settled between his legs, knees tucked under you on the soft mattress. he helped you tug his sweats low. no boxers. just his thick dick and heavy balls, sitting relaxed.

he was already hard when you pulled them down. he was thick and big—enough to make you feel as if you were getting ripped apart—his mean mushroom tip flushed and red.

you let your wet lips part, tongue sliding out to lick across the head—slow. lazy. like you were trying to savor it.

he groaned. hand laying softly against your check. thumb slightly flexing at your jaw.

“shit, ma—why you act like this dick yours?”

“’cause it is,” you whispered, looking up at him as you take him in deep.

he moaned. deep in his chest. head tilted back against the pillow, eyes fluttering. “o-oh…”

your throat squeezed around him. spit bubbled and popped every time you pulled back. his dick was so big ‘n fat, your thumb could barely reach your fingers.

and you slurped—nasty, obscene, wet noises echoing off the walls. he looked down and nearly passed out at the sight.

you, all pretty in your bonnet and moomoo, drooling on his dick like he was your first meal in days.

slapping your tongue against the underside, sucking on his mean tip like candy, eyes big and shiny like this was the best thing you ever tasted.

“shit—shit, mama, s-slow down—f-ffuuck.”

you didn’t slow down.

in-fact, you sped up. gripped his thighs and pushed them apart, lowering your face until your nose brushed his shaft.

he choked on a moan. loud. ugly. back arched forward, abs jerking.

“b-baby please—! oh my ffuuckin’—”

his hands moved to your head and trembled. one leg twitching.

you stroked the base while your mouth worked the top—spit running down your chin, lips puffy and glistening, throat making the nastiest little gulp noises every time you swallowed him whole.

“g-gon’ cum,” he whimpered. “haaah, i’m gon’—b-baby—ma, i’m—”

and he did. hard. hips almost off the bed, loud moan tearing from his throat, eyes squeezed shut.

ropes of cum flooding your mouth, hot and tasty, so much it almost leaked out the corners. you swallowed what you could. wiped your chin with the back of your hand.

he tried to breathe. chest rising and falling like he just ran sprints.

but you weren’t done. you couldn’t be. not when he tasted this good. not when he looked so pretty crying and moaning over you.

you sucked him back in.

toji gasped. twitched. his thighs jerked like he’d been electrocuted.

“oh-oooh shhitt, w-wait—ffuuck! mama, i can’t—i jus’—!”

“mhm.” you moaned around him. bobbed your head faster. used your hands again.

“hah—! o-oh my—n-no, baby—shit, you’re fffuuckin’ crazy.”

you looked up. tears were falling down his cheeks. real ones. his lip was trembling. his body was stuck in this lil shaky loop, muscles jerking every time your tongue slid under the head.

you pulled back just to speak. your voice was sweet. mean.

“you actin’ like i ain’t seen you nut through worse, pa. come on. be good f’me.”

he whimpered.

you dove right back in.

wrote this in 30 mins guys stop. nutted 400 times just at the thought ughhhhhh toji WILL be seeing me & my moo-moo tnite.

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povlnfour · 1 year ago

Text

ੈ✩‧₊˚ CRASH LANDING (LN4)

pairing: lando norris x f!reader

summary: lando accidentally hits a stranger with his car — the internet can’t stop referring to it as a meet cute. (un)fortunately for lando, mclaren agree.

genre: comedy, fluffy

authors note: a continuation of the ending to beached! you don’t need to have read that to understand this, however it will give some insight to the mclaren matchmaker jokes <3 also in light of that, this is set a few races in the future! *oscarsgf user refers to the character in beached!

*faceclaim: keeahwah on ig (but please imagine her as you see fit!)

landonorris posted a tweet ੈ✩‧₊˚

tmz posted a tweet ੈ✩‧₊˚

landonorris posted tweets ੈ✩‧₊˚

lando’s texts with y/n ੈ✩‧₊˚

landonorris just posted ੈ✩‧₊˚

liked by carlossainz55 and 203,488 others

landonorris practicing safe driving

view all comments

user you are so unserious sir

user SOOOO IS THAT THE GIRL HE HIT BC

user no clue but she’s CUTE

oscarpiastri @/fia look here

landonorris i will literally remind your girlfriend of your murder attempts when you first met

user it’s giving meet cute

user i’d read a fic on it

yourusername you literally drove off BEFORE I WAS EVEN IN THE CAR

landonorris IT WAS AN ACCIDENT I WAS DISTRACTED

user ASSUMING THIS IS HER???

user @/user CLICKING ON HER ACCOUNT IT DEFINITELY IS

yourusername just posted a photo ੈ✩‧₊˚

liked by bestfriend, landonorris and 3,907 others

yourusername monaco recap🇲🇨 successfully didn’t get hit by too many cars!

view all comments

user AS IF LANDO HIT THE HOTTEST PERSON IVE EVER SEEN

user nah this is actually a full meet cute i’m sorry this is the shit you see in romcoms

bestfriend still can’t believe you didn’t take compensation but accepted a lunch date instead

yourusername can you blame me

user @/yourusername oh girl no one can you are so real for that

friend1 wait till everyone finds out you’re only there for another 4 days

user WHAT. i can’t have them separated already😶

user parasocial relationship with lando ended y/n is my new idol now

twitter reacts ੈ✩‧₊˚

yourusername just posted stories ੈ✩‧₊˚

[captions:

photo 1: lando paid for me to get my nails done !!!

photo 2: :D

photo 3: ur all romanticizing my life rn but this is my view in a fancy ass restaurant]

texts with your best friend ੈ✩‧₊˚

yourusername just posted a photo ੈ✩‧₊˚

liked by landonorris and 11,276 others

yourusername final days in heaven. i’ll miss so much about this place

👤 tagged bestfriend, landonorris

view all comments

user wait she doesn’t live in monaco?? she’s leaving??? just after i’ve gotten attached to her and lando???

bestfriend please come back to visit asap i cannot go too long without my y/n cuddles

landonorris seconded

user um lando sir,,, seconded the whole thing? cuddles included?

user this cannot be the end of the meet cute i refuse to

landonorris just posted a photo ੈ✩‧₊˚

liked by oscarpiastri and 286,425 others

landonorris safe to say i’ve had a pretty good break between races

view all comments

user a whole post dedicated to her with THAT caption? oh yep they’re whipped

user please tell me y’all are going to stay in contact?

user my heart is shattering already

mclaren 🧡

user MCLAREN PLEASE YOU’VE DONE IT ONCE BEFORE

texts with lando ੈ✩‧₊˚

mclaren interview ੈ✩‧₊˚

[transcript:

o: safe to say you’ve had a pretty interesting break before this race

l: hey let me remind you what happened for you over winter break!

o: okay but i didn’t literally hit my girlfriend with my car!

l: oh so you finally asked her out officially?

o: stop deflecting!

l: okay okay! yeah safe to say i had a nice time. always need a bit of a change in life!

o: so how are things going now?

l: (awkwardly) well you know how it’s… yeah

o: ah i get it. quite literally been there done that got the t shirt. but hey you did say all that when i got my big moment about mclaren—

l: no no no don’t give them any ideas! they’re listening!]

mclaren just posted a photo ੈ✩‧₊˚

liked by 203,467 people

mclaren the boys are back! don’t forget to check out the new interview on our channel where lando and oscar talk all things hopes for the second half of the season, workouts and… girls?

view all comments

user mclaren. mclaren look at me. you know what you have to do

mclaren 👀

user when oscar asked him about y/n… i wanted to cry he looked so sad are things over between them?

oscarsgf @/oscarpiastri you’re such a gossip

oscarpiastri you love me for it

oscarsgf @/oscarpiastri you know what i’m thinking?

oscarpiastri @/oscarsgf plotting?

oscarsgf @/oscarpiastri plotting!

user what on earth is going on…

yourusername just posted a photo ੈ✩‧₊˚

liked by oscarsgf and 29,481 others

yourusername lately :)

view all comments

user you are so ! gorgeous !

user i can see why lando is obsessed

user speaking of… where is our favorite brit in the likes☹️

oscarsgf pretty girl!!!

yourusername oh?!? thank u cutie!!!

user ^ oh their plotting is in progress???

mclaren you’d look good in orange👀🧡

landonorris posted a tweet ੈ✩‧₊˚

an email from mclaren ੈ✩‧₊˚

yourusername just posted stories ੈ✩‧₊˚

mclaren just posted a photo ੈ✩‧₊˚

liked by 287,456 people

mclaren it’s race day🫡

view all comments

user WHO IS THE GIRL

user IS THAT WHO I THINK IT IS

user PLEASE TELL ME THATS Y/N

user LOOK AT HER STORIES ITS DEFINITELY HER

user SOMEONE WHO IS THERE KEEP US UPDATED PLEASE

user just posted a thread ੈ✩‧₊˚

yourusername just posted a photo ੈ✩‧₊˚

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri and 106,544 others

yourusername i don’t know guys, do you think he’s cute?

view all comments

user OH MY GOD FINALLY

landonorris i will hit you with my car again

yourusername is that a challenge mr. norris?

landonorris @/yourusername oh you better run fast

yourusername @/landonorris well duh cause you don’t know how to do the speed limit

user i love them. i love them so much.

oscarsgf omg can we force the boys to do mclaren double dates

landonorris leave this comment section now

yourusername @/landonorris too late we’re already texting

landonorris just posted a photo ੈ✩‧₊˚

liked by yourusername, mclaren and 300,091 others

landonorris we are successful victims of mclarens matchmaking services

view all comments

user THEYVE DONE IT AGAINNN

user new fav couple fr

oscarpiastri oh how quickly you all forget me

user @/oscarpiastri WE COULD NEVER

user clearly i need to work for mclaren to get a cute gf

oscarpiastri @/oscarsgf is the second photo giving you flashbacks as well

oscarsgf they’re stealing our thing

yourusername thank you for posting the nice park date photo of me

landonorris well in all the others you’re mid cartwheel

mclaren glad to be of service🧡 anyone else? @/patriciooward how are you doing?

landonorris i’m gonna stop you right there

———————

a/n: WELL. hello friends. i said i wasn’t gonna post a one shot for a while, then this happened. i just hope its up to standard! i’m a little rusty in my writing considering everything!

in regards to new works, gonna be working on getting my wips out soon, and maybe popping some new smaus out at the same time as they’re easy and quick-ish for me to work on considering everything going on! do forgive me if i do some random family orientated stuff — pregnancy hormones are giving me baby fever for everything (is it still baby fever if you’re having a baby?)

let me know your thoughts in the comments/reblogs/asks — i’ve missed talking to you all sm! i have anon emojis available if people wanna chat too🤍

for the first time in a very long time,,, love, giselle xx

taglist (found here): @idkiwantchocolatee @vellicora @alessioayla @bborra @crimeshowjunkie @minkyungseokie @paolexsstuff @celestialpato @champagnelovers101 @loxbbg @hobiismyhopeu @tsukishitm-a @moonypixel @champagneproblems17 @ironmaiden1313 @lqvesoph @sunflower-golden-vol6 @six-call @skatingiswalkingincursive @peqch-pie @m0cha-bunny @woozarts @he6rtshaker @iluvvmeeee @goldenalbon @izzy-marvel @lucyysthings @lichterfee @tallrock35 @treehouse-house @iloveyou3000morgan @scopeiguess @amaranthineghost @gwginnyweasley @hetfieldd @sweetbabygirlsworld @wittywhispers @dark-night-sky-99 @namgification @casperlikej @marshmummy @geniusalpaca

tags for this post: @the-untamed-soul @itsprashimusic @purplephantomwolf @jasminesacademia

#f1 x reader #f1 #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris au #lando norris imagine #mclaren #lando norris blurb #lando norris smau #lando norris scenario #lando norris one shot

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maxverstappendefender · 11 months ago

Text

ain't no love in oklahoma // op81 smau

description: twisters actress!reader x op81 but lando is convinced oscar is lying (from request)

a/n: sorry for being completely inactive. life happened and it didn't happen in a good way! i have a huge exam coming up soon so i will most likely still be inactive besides maybe a few short things here and there. anyways first oscar fic so enjoy! all pics found on pinterest, i don't own any

a/n pt2: might do something fun for each day in october but im not sure what so send me some ideas. also might do some more headcannons/blurbs soon here!

requests: closed but feel free to send me some messages since i love talking to you guys

masterlist

liked by oscarpiastri, glenpowell, and 2,927,641 others

youruser: go see twisters!! if you don’t, you suck and you better hope you don’t get stuck in a tornado because there’s useful information in our movie

tagged: glenpowell

view all comments

oscarpiastri: proud of you!!

↳ youruser: 🧡

glenpowell: caption is so real of you

user1: doesn’t yn have a boyfriend? why is she so close to glen?

↳ user2: yes but probably because there’s limited space. yn isn’t like that

↳ oscarpiastri: exactly what user2 said

landonorris: cute!

↳ user3: what are you doing here??

↳ user4: lando in the comments?

user5: such a good movie

user6: yn + glen = power duo

liked by youruser, landonorris, and 3,951,750 others

oscarpiastri: proud boyfriend award goes to me 🏆 thx for all the bts selfies

tagged: youruser, glenpowell

view all comments

landonorris: i just laughed out loud

landonorris: “boyfriend” lmaooo

↳ user7: i cant tell if he’s joking or serious

user8: cutest couple ever

glenpowell: aww so glad you remembered the time you took me to the aquarium, what a romantic!

↳ youruser: get your own boyfriend capybara

↳ user9: yn CLOCKED him

// lando’s phone//

liked by mclaren, oscarpiastri, and 4,027,835 others

landonorris: POLE BABYYYY!!! everyone ignore my teammates instagram posts, i have told him to stop. i think he took a hit to the head or something

view all comments

oscarpiastri: do you want to go to the farm or not?

↳ landonorris: you already said i could go so no take backs

↳ user10: lando is going to yn's farm??

↳ user11: LANDO'S MEETING YN?!

↳ user12: oh i know he's going to fangirl so hard

user13: get me someone who looks at me the way oscar looks at lando

↳ user14: are we sure that they aren't the ones dating?

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris, and 3,017,426 others

youruser: back home finally! pic 1: yeehaw. pic 2: my cat cora had her babies!!! pic 3: dinner date :)

tagged: oscarpiastri

view all comments

user15: CORA HAD HER KITTIES

↳ youruser: i am officially a grandma. i feel the gray hairs coming in now

user16: oscar and yn are endgame

oscarpiastri: the best company

↳ landonorris: STOP, idk how you got her in on this joke either

↳ user16: i can't tell if lando knows they are actually dating and is joking or if he truly does not believe oscar

user17: boyfriend is back on the feed!

↳ user18: farmer yn is back on the feed!

glenpowell: miss you lady

↳ youruser: you miss my animals more

↳ glenpowell: and what about it.

liked by youruser, oscarpiastri, and 4,209,384 others

landonorris: OMG HE WASN'T LYING i got to feed so many animals, got to channel my inner cowboy, AND get drunk with the yn? i can die a happy man

tagged: youruser

view all comments

oscarpiastri: believe me now?

↳ landonorris: never doubted you

↳ user19: lando seriously didn't believe oscar lol

↳ user20: i fully thought he was joking the entire time

user21: how hard did you fangirl to meet yn, lando?

↳ landonorris: surprised i didn't pass out honestly. i facetimed GLEN POWELL

youruser: so glad you had a fun time!!

liked by youruser, landonorris, and 3,298,361 others

oscarpiastri: everyone clear that this is my girlfriend?

tagged: youruser

view all comments

user22: sassy oscar

↳ user23: channeling his inner lando

landonorris: yes sir 🫡

↳ oscarpiastri: stop being weird ?

youruser: MY MANNNNN

↳ user24: oh she's in deep

user25: there is one thing oscar doesn't play about in life: yn

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris, and 4,208,763 others

youruser: didn't even know there was confusion that this was my boyfriend lol

tagged: oscarpiastri

view all comments

landonorris: how was i meant to know?!

↳ user26: literally how everyone else knew, instagram.

glenpowell: yn stop posting pics of me and my boyfriend and acting like he's yours

↳ youruser: i dont like this joke.

↳ oscarpiastri: bromance or whatever

↳ user27: they're in a throuple

↳ youruser: ew

↳ glenpowell: disgusting

↳ oscarpiastri: huhhh

user28: couple goals forever and ever

user29: if they don't get married... love isn't real

1K notes · View notes

delilahsturniolo · 1 month ago

Text

— 𝜗ৎ birds of a feather . . . m.s

in which . . . you and your boyfriend matt share a cute and heartwarming moment together

warnings . . . just fluff & kissing!

written by @delilahsturniolo. do not copy, steal, or modify my works. if you are taking any inspiration from this, please ask me first before posting and credit me in your description. happy reading! :)

HIT ME HARD AND SOFT WRITING MARATHON . . . fic #4

it starts with his fingers poking at your side under the blanket. you’re laying on top of matt, your cheek resting against his chest, eyes fluttering shut every few seconds while the hum of the tv plays something neither of you are really watching. everything feels still and sleepy and perfect… until his fingers move again. you jolt a little, lifting your head to squint up at him. “did you just—?”

“me?” he says, wide-eyed, fake innocent. “i didn’t do anything.” you narrow your eyes, suspicion all over your face. “matthew.” he smiles way too big to be innocent. “what? you’re imagining things.” you try to settle back down, but the second your head hits his chest again, poke. this time both sides. “okay, that’s it!” you sit up suddenly, tossing the blanket off and climbing onto him, straddling his hips with a grin. “you wanna play?”

“whoa, whoa,” he laughs, hands coming up like he’s surrendering. “i didn’t do anything! you’re the one starting stuff!”

“liar,” you say, and launch your attack. your fingers find his sides and he loses it, he’s squirming and giggling, trying to grab your wrists but you’re too fast, too focused, too proud of yourself. his laugh is all breathy and loud and you swear it makes your chest ache in the best way. “okay—okay! i give up!” he’s laughing so hard he can barely breathe. “you win!”

“say i’m the best,” you demand, grinning like a menace. “you’re the best,” he chokes out, still laughing. “you’re the actual best, i swear.” you slow down and stop, letting your hands rest gently against his chest as you sit there, smiling down at him. he’s flushed and glowing and beautiful in a way that makes your heart feel like it’s going to explode.

“you’re so dramatic,” you say, giggling. he reaches up, hands landing on your waist, holding you there like he never wants you to move. “only for you.”you roll your eyes, even though you’re blushing hard now, and he notices. of course he does.“aww,” he coos, pulling you down until your nose bumps his. “you’re blushing.”

“shut up,” you whisper, trying to hide your face, but he cups your cheek and holds you there. “nah,” he says softly. “you’re cute.” he kisses you then, slow and warm, with that same gentleness he always has when it comes to you. like he’s memorizing your mouth, like kissing you is his favorite thing in the world. you sigh into it, hands sliding up into his hair, and he melts underneath you like you’re the only thing keeping him alive. you pull back after a while, just enough to catch your breath, and he keeps his forehead pressed to yours. “i could do this forever,” he murmurs.

“good,” you whisper. “’cause i’m not going anywhere.” he hums, thumb brushing your jaw, and you feel so full of love you don’t know what to do with it. you tuck your head into the crook of his neck and he wraps his arms all the way around you, blanket pulled back up over your shoulders.

you lay like that for a while, your bodies tangled up, hearts beating slow and steady in sync. he keeps mumbling little things into your hair. “you’re my favorite,” and “you’re so beautiful,” and “i love you, like, so much it’s actually insane”—and every single word melts into you like honey. he starts tracing circles on your back again, soft and absentminded, and you let your eyes close because it’s warm and quiet and you feel so safe, like nothing in the world could ever touch you here.

💌: i hate writing fluff but anyway I NEED TO SLEEP it’s 5 am for me and i’ve been up all night 😭😭 so i just decided to post this now lol

416 notes · View notes

joaeriz · 4 months ago

Text

8 LETTERS (Paige Bueckers x Fem!Reader)

📎 inspired by “8 Letters” by Why Don’t We 📖 fluff | slow burn | soft romance | college AU 💌 word count: ~2.8k

summary: When Y/N is assigned to write a feature on UConn’s star player Paige Bueckers, the last thing she expects is late-night FaceTimes, secret hangouts, and catching real feelings. As the line between friendship and something more starts to blur, both girls are left wondering if they’re brave enough to say the eight letters that could change everything.

authors note: (Okay, so before you jump in—I just wanna say I had so much fun writing this. It’s honestly a mix of two of my favorite things ever: Paige Bueckers (who I adore) and “8 Letters” by Why Don’t We (which lives rent-free in my head, always). The idea hit me out of nowhere—like, what if that kind of soft, slow, “I love you but I’m scared to say it” kind of story played out between Y/N and Paige? And it just spiraled from there in the best way. I got way too emotionally invested in these two (not sorry), and writing all the cute moments, the late-night FaceTimes, and the feelings they’re both too scared to admit? Ugh. I loved every second.So if you’re into a little angst, a lot of softness, and some seriously sweet vibes, I hope this gives you butterflies the way it gave me butterflies writing it. Thanks for reading—it means so much. — Jo)

P.s: this is my first fic i have posted on here!! Im not new at writing, but let me know if you guys want more :)

You weren’t supposed to fall in love with your story subject.

That was rule number one of journalism school. No dating your interviewees, no crushes on profile pieces, no getting involved. But rules felt irrelevant the first time Paige Bueckers smiled at you like you were more than another face with a notepad.

Your assignment was simple—write a semester-long feature on the UConn women’s basketball team for the student paper. Paige, naturally, was the center of the piece. A star on and off the court. Already a national name. Every sports journalist dreamed of covering her.

You were supposed to remain objective.

Instead, you were falling for her.

Hard.

—

It started with a dead recorder.

Your first real conversation wasn’t planned—unless you count fate as a planner. You’d been huddled near the sideline at practice, trying to record a quote from one of the assistant coaches when your recorder sputtered out and died mid-sentence. You swore under your breath and slapped it, like that ever helped.

Paige had been walking by, sipping on a water bottle, and stopped. “Need backup?”

You looked up, startled. “Only if you’ve got a time machine.”

She smiled. “Nope. But I’ve got the Voice Memos app.”

She handed over her phone like it was no big deal—like she hadn’t just offered you her lifeline. You blinked. “You trust a random reporter with your phone?”

“You don’t seem like the type to scroll through texts.” She leaned in with a smirk. “Besides, you’ve got an honest face. And a tragic relationship with electronics.”

You laughed, cheeks heating. She stayed next to you for a few minutes, watching as you wrapped up your interview with her phone in hand. When it was over, she texted you the audio file with the message:

“Try not to let your technology trauma ruin your career.”

You responded with a lame thank-you and a joke about threatening your recorder with a hammer. You didn’t expect her to reply.

But she did.

“Violence is rarely the answer, but I’ll allow it.”

From there, it snowballed. Texts turned into full-blown threads. Threads into daily check-ins. She started sending random memes between practices—some sports-related, some completely unhinged—and you’d match her energy with cursed TikToks and sarcastic commentary.

Then came the first FaceTime.

You were editing audio at 11:47 p.m. when her name lit up your screen. Paige Bueckers is FaceTiming you.

You stared at it for a second. Then answered.

She was wrapped in a hoodie with damp hair and tired eyes, lying in bed. “Hey,” she said softly. “Didn’t wanna be alone tonight.”

That first call lasted three hours.

You talked about everything: your major, her injuries, your complicated relationship with your hometown, her fear of letting people down. She confessed that sometimes, the pressure made her want to run away to a place where no one knew her name.

You said you understood.

After that, it became routine. Late-night FaceTimes. Morning Snapchats. Study breaks where she'd call and say, “Tell me something random,” and you’d ramble about your day while she half-listened, half-dozed.

—

The first time you hung out outside of school was under the guise of an interview follow-up.

She invited you to a local coffee shop—some cozy little place with plants in every window and tables just slightly too small. You showed up with your laptop and pages of notes. Paige showed up in a hoodie and beanie, no makeup, looking infuriatingly good.

You talked for two hours.

Only twenty minutes was about basketball.

She paid for your drink when you weren’t looking.

“I’ll Venmo you,” you said, pretending to dig for your phone.

She just shrugged. “Nah. Call it a reporter’s hazard fee.”

After that came more not-quite-dates. Study sessions in the campus library where she never actually studied. Walks through the trail behind the dorms where she'd kick pebbles and talk about life like it was something she hadn’t quite figured out yet.

One night, she invited you to “movie night” with the team.

You showed up with snacks and nerves, expecting a whole crowd.

But it was just her.

Two mugs of hot chocolate already on the table. A blanket tossed casually over the couch. She tried to play it off. “The others bailed,” she claimed with a sheepish shrug.

She was a terrible liar.

You stayed anyway.

She fell asleep halfway through the second movie with her head on your shoulder, and you didn’t dare move.

After that night, everything shifted.

—

There were moments. God, there were moments.

The way her hand would brush yours when she passed you something and linger—just a second too long. The way she’d light up when you walked into a room, like you were the only one she’d been waiting for. How she’d say things like:

“Sometimes I forget how to breathe around you.”

And then immediately pretend it was a joke.

You wanted to say it.

You almost did—on Valentine’s Day, when she left a note in your dorm mailbox with a chocolate bar and the words “you’re my favorite notification.”

But you chickened out.

Because if she didn’t feel the same way, you’d lose her. And that possibility was more terrifying than staying quiet.

But then came the silence.

She started pulling away. Fewer texts. Missed calls. Short replies like:

“Practice ran late.” “Sorry, just tired.” “Talk soon?”

And soon became never.

Until the day it broke.

—

It was cold. Rainy. The kind of day that made everything feel heavier. You were walking past the practice facility, hood up, heart aching, when you saw her.

Paige. Alone. Leaning against the wall like she was waiting for something—or someone.

You slowed. She looked up.

“I think we should stop,” she said.

Your stomach dropped. “Stop…?”

“This. Us. I don’t know what this is to you, and I can’t keep pretending I’m okay with not knowing.”

You blinked, throat closing.

“I’m not asking you to guess,” you managed to say.

“Well, then tell me,” she whispered. “Because I think about you all the time, and I don’t know how to make it stop. And it hurts, Y/N. It hurts not knowing if I’m just another story to you.”

And finally—finally—you said the words.

“You asked what love looks like to me.”

She held her breath.

“It looks like you. Like FaceTime calls at midnight and cold coffee on a Sunday morning. It’s how you fight through everything and still smile like you’re not carrying the weight of the world. I didn’t say it before because I was scared, but I’m more scared of losing you.”

Her eyes glossed. She stepped closer.

“You love me?” she asked, barely a whisper.

“I do.”

And when she kissed you, it was soft and shaky and real. Like exhaling after holding your breath for too long.

—

That night, your article sat unfinished.

She lay beside you on your tiny dorm bed, her hand brushing yours under the covers, the silence between you humming with peace.

“Say it again,” she murmured.

You smiled.

“I love you.”

Eight letters.

—

It had been twenty-six days since you told Paige you loved her.

Twenty-six days since she kissed you in the rain like her world had just started spinning again.

Twenty-six days since things finally became real.

And every single one of those days had felt like waking up in the softest dream.

Being with Paige wasn’t loud or flashy—not most of the time. It was slow mornings in bed, tangled limbs and quiet whispers. It was FaceTiming just to sit in silence while you both worked. It was warm hoodies borrowed without asking, and her stealing your socks because “they’re the soft ones.”

It was peace.

One Sunday morning, you found her asleep on your couch, wearing your crewneck and hugging your stuffed animal. She’d crashed the night before after watching movies in your room, the two of you curled together on your tiny dorm bed until she got too warm and rolled onto the floor, dramatically sighing, “This is why we need a queen-sized mattress and a lease.”

You’d laughed, thinking she was joking.

Then she blinked up at you and said, totally serious, “Like… a place. You and me. Off campus. Someday.”

Your heart soared, and you tucked the idea away like a wish on a star.

Later, she sleepily mumbled, “I want you in my mornings and my nights.”

And you knew she meant it.

—

Dating Paige came with little adventures.

Like the time she surprised you with a picnic—on a Tuesday.

You’d been having the worst week: deadlines, papers, zero sleep. Paige texted you in the middle of class: “Be ready at 6. Trust me.”

You met her behind the student union, expecting takeout and a movie.

Instead, she’d laid out a blanket under a canopy of fairy lights she somehow got from the volleyball team’s gear closet. There was music playing from a Bluetooth speaker, a thermos of your favorite hot cocoa, and a little box of cupcakes from the bakery you once mentioned you liked.

“I know you’re overwhelmed,” she said, pulling you into a hug. “So I’m forcing you to pause. Just for tonight.”

You nearly cried.

“I don’t deserve you,” you whispered.

She kissed your forehead and grinned. “Nah. We deserve each other.”

—

Her love came in a thousand small ways.

When your period hit hard, she showed up with snacks, heating pads, and the world’s ugliest cartoon pajamas she said were “scientifically proven to improve moods.” (They did.)

When she won a game, she didn’t go out with the team—she came to your place and danced with you barefoot in the kitchen to 2000s R&B.

When you got a bad grade on a paper and spiraled about being “not good enough,” she held your face in her hands and said, “You’re brilliant. One grade doesn’t get to rewrite the story.”

She never let you forget your worth—even when you did.

—

Your favorite tradition was Sunday mornings.

You’d wake up slow—her arm slung lazily around your waist, her cheek against your shoulder. She always looked soft in the mornings, voice scratchy, hair messy, face unfiltered.

“Don’t look at me,” she’d mumble, burying her face in the pillow.

You always did anyway.

You’d take turns making breakfast—read: burning toast and debating whether Pop-Tarts counted as a real meal. You’d play records on your vintage player, dance around the room in socks, kiss in the doorway like it was a scene from a movie.

She called you “home” once.

You didn’t say anything in return.

You just pulled her into your chest and held her tighter than words could manage.

—

There were no more secrets now.

People knew. Slowly, sure. But Paige had started holding your hand in public. At first on quieter streets, where no one looked. Then at campus parties. Then at a game.

After a home win, she ran over to the bleachers—where you were waiting—and kissed you in front of a thousand fans and a dozen cameras.

“I love you,” she said breathlessly. “Needed you to know before anything else.”

The video went viral. The team teased her endlessly.

She didn’t care.

Neither did you.

—

One night, lying in bed with your laptop open on your stomach and Paige half-asleep beside you, you said, “This is the happiest I’ve ever been.”

She looked up. “Because of me?”

You smiled. “Because of us.”

She kissed your shoulder and whispered, “Let’s stay like this forever.”

And maybe the future held more challenges—graduation, jobs, long-distance talks if things got complicated.

But for now, you had everything you needed.

Her heartbeat beside yours. Her laughter echoing in your chest. And the words you once feared to say now lived freely between you.

“I love you.” Eight letters. Forever on repeat.

#paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers uconn #uconn wbb #uconn huskies #paige bueckers #x reader #college wbb #uconn women’s basketball #Spotify

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 6 months ago

Text

Captain's Orders 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, controlling behaviour, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The Captain takes it upon himself to change your life.

Characters: Steve Rogers

Note: I am still dizzy her and there but feeling a bit better.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You wouldn’t call it doom scrolling. That’s not what this is. You try not to search out the depressing headlines or the studies of the human character assuring you of your race’s inherent flaws. Yet, all those boastful posts about engagements, weddings, and promotions still make you feel crummy.

Jealous? Sure. You don’t have any of those things and it isn’t as if you can hope for as much, either. You’re in a dead-end job, living in cramped apartment with your sister and her irresponsible friend, and your romantic life is next to non-existent; not that you’ve been looking. None of that is meant for you, otherwise, you’d have had some glimmer of interest by now.

It’s like quicksand. Not very quick but it pulls you down lower and lower. Sinking and sinking until all you can see is the muck. There’s no way out now, you’re waist deep in it.

You click under your favourite communities and start a new post. You don’t make many. Mostly you read and judge silently. You’re a lurker. Like in many facets of your life. You watch, you don’t do. But you’ve had a shitty day and you need to just let it out.

Your fingers move as your thoughts boil in your head; your nagging manager, your lazy landlord, and your immature roommates. Nothing ever goes your way. Everyone else has it figured out and you’re just left to rot. You try! You do. Resumes, profiles on friendship apps, online courses; free, of course, it’s all you can afford, but you do try to improve yourself. It just doesn’t work.

You hit ‘post’ and close the lid of your ancient laptop. It’s as thick as a book. The battery doesn’t hold a charge and the fan is as loud as a jet. You fall back onto your bed and look around your tiny room. That’s all you have. This space is as much as you can call your own and not really. You rent it, it can be taken away with one of those red stamped notices.

You yawn and drag yourself up. A whole shift and you didn’t bother to have more than the bland break room coffee spewed from the off-brand pod machine and a couple sticks of gum. Tia got herself sushi before her shift but she can just ask her parents to send her money to cover her Door Dash addiction.

You plod out to the kitchen. Your sister closes the fridge and cracks the tab of a beer can. You’re sure it isn’t her first.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” Shea bobbles her head.

Funny since Donna pretty much hollered at you for interrupting her TV show. You all pitched in on the flat screen yet it’s never your turn with it. You shrug and go to the cupboard. It’s not sushi but the spicy shrimp ramen isn’t too bad...

“You work?” You ask.

“Pfft, no. Didn’t I say I was going to lunch with Mason?”

“Did you?” You take down at bowl. She probably did. You never remember. She’s always got a date or a party or a fall back. If she can’t make rent, she’ll smile a cute guy and get some money.

“He bought me some shoes! You’ll never believe.”

“Right,” you try not to seethe.

You’re scraping the bottom of the barrel. You’re eating sodium-laced noodles and holding back tears against old people wanting to print out their life story from a corrupt PDF. She’s pretty. She doesn’t have to try. Shea is all the proof you need that some people are just lucky.

You put the electric kettle onto boil and the smell of burnt—something makes your lip curl. You pop the lid and look inside. It’s brown. What the hell?

“What’s wrong with this?” You ask as you flip off the switch.

“Donna!” Shea yells, “what did you do to the kettle?” No answer. Your sister hollers again.

A door swings open and Donna stomps out with a huff. Her face is green as she has a mask spread over it and eye masks pasted beneath her lashes.

“I’m getting ready--”

“The kettle stinks,” you reach for a pot and find none. They’re all stacked and waiting to be washed. You snatch one off the top and flip on the faucet.

“Oh, I heated up some bone broth in it. I’m doing a cleanse,” she smirks. “Tasted kinda weird.”

“Bone broth?” You scoff. See. You try, they can’t even clean dishes. “Great.”

“I’m sure it’s fine, just rinse it out,” Shea says.

You scrub the pan and ignore her. You glance up as she slurps noisily from the can. Pre-drinks. Her and Donna are going out. Again. They can afford to because they don’t buy their own drinks. They don’t need to. You went out with them once and paid for all of your own, even though you’d have been happy enough with a single round.

“Have fun,” you dry out the pan and slam it on the burner.

“Jeez, maybe you should loosen up?” Donna chides.

“Yeah, come with us. Dance it out,” Shea drawls.

“No thanks,” you twist the knob and light the burner. “I have work tomorrow.”

“Call innnnn,” Shea insists.

“I can’t,” you sniff and step back to wait for the water to boil.

“Boring,” she chirps.

“Yep, I am,” you cross your arms. Your annoyed. When the go out, you’ll have to clean up this mess. You can’t handle another bout of fruit flies.

You put the noodles in and let them soften. You stir in the oil and powder then retreat to your room with the bowl of boiling cholesterol. You let it cool and put a video on your phone. You don’t want to think.

You eat deliberately. You savour the processed flavouring. You can’t go out sneak a midnight snack; Donna ate all your cookies. You label all your stuff in thick marker and she apparently can’t read.

You hear them leave. They’re loud. They leave the television on. At high volume.

You go out and shut it off. You need to sleep soon. Opening always comes after a late shift. Otherwise, how else would the corporation keep you disempowered.

You open your laptop. You’ll but on some lo-fi while you charge your phone. Heck, the fan is like white noise on its own.

The little red number at the bottom of the page stops you. You left the browser open. Someone actually responded to your post. You click and your stomach drops as you read the first sentence.

‘Sounds like you cause a lot of your own problems. Maybe try some mindful exercises and get out more. You should also consider making some friends.’

You read it over and over. You’re angry. Hurt, too. But most that first thing. You can’t stop from replying.

‘You got all that from me venting? I wasn’t asking for advice. I walk to and from work and I have friends.’

It’s mostly true. You do walk. Most days. And your sister is a friend, isn’t she? By association, so is Donna.

Before you can look up your favourite twelve-hour lo-fi, another notification pops up.

‘Looking at your post history, your diet could use some improvements. More veggies. And walking is a good starting point but you need to increase your endorphins. I’d be happy to send you some helpful guides. They’re easily searchable on the internet. We live in the age of information, you should consider taking advantage of that.’

Wow, what an asshole. He’s smug and obviously better than you. You click on his username and scroll through. Just as you expect. He posts in fitness communities. Not any videos of him but sharing tutorials and recipes for high-protein smoothies and fibre-laced juices. He wouldn’t know flavour if it puked in his mouth.

You his ‘esc’ and go back to your own post; ‘thanks for the advice. Have a good one.;

That’s it. You’re not arguing with some faceless douche on the internet. His response is as quick as the first.

‘A helpful link.’ He hyperlinks the words. ‘You should at least stretch in the morning and go outside on your breaks at work. You might work long shifts but it’s no excuse to be lazy. If you’ve been in that role for so long, you should have more than enough references to move on to something that doesn’t make you miserable.’

You don’t answer. You know if you do, you’ll just embarrass yourself. Judging by the few pics of his real life and his cadence, he’s got everything. He just thinks it’s a matter of mindset. There can’t possibly be anything else which could make things more difficult for people. You just don’t work hard enough. Duh, everyone always says so.

You close out of the page. If he replies again, you’ll block him. Simple as. You put on a lo-fi track and dim the screen. You roll over and tuck into bed. You fall asleep in a ball of stress; you have to wake up, shower, do all that human stuff, then make yourself face another eight hours of hell.

⭐

“I hate working at the fucking copy desk,” you hiss as you take your bag from the cubby in the break room. “Good luck.”

Darcy gives you a look as she sits at one of the tables, waiting for her shift to start. You grit your teeth as you should your purse and grip your jacket tight. You punch your employee number into the clock then head out.

As you march down the aisle of toner, a customer tries to stop you. “I’m off duty.”

“But I need a keyboard.”

You ignore them and keep going.

“I’m going to tell a manager, young lady!”

You don’t care. Besides, why are they looking for a keyboard in the toner aisle. The signs above with the giant letters clearly show that the computer accessories are in the opposite corner.

People are stupid. They might be able to read, technically, but they definitely lack comprehension. Just like Donna who can’t keep her hands off your snacks.

You walk home in a simmer. If you let your temper get away from you, you won’t be able to hold back when you walk into the inevitable shit show waiting for you at home. Shea and Donna hungover, probably having got into more of your sparse groceries, and amidst a brand new mess for you to tidy. You won’t not this time.

You have a mission. Go to your room and don’t come out.

As you enter your building, you find the elevator non-responsive. A tiny post-it is stuck to the doors. ‘Out of Order’. Couldn’t have made something a bit more legible?

You take the stairs. The hallway smells like onion and dirty clothes. You take out your keys as you get to your door, ignoring the rabble coming from the apartment next to yours. Before you can get your key in the slot, the door opens.

“Heyyyy, she’s back,” Shea greets. You blink at her in confusion. Is she already drunk again?

“Starting already?” You ask as you try to get past her.

“Hm, no,” she says tritely, “you have a guest.”

You roll your eyes, “don’t be a bitch, alright?”

“No, really,” she grins. You stop and look her up and down. She isn’t falling apart like usual after a Friday night. Her hair is done, her makeup too, and she’s not in her sweats.

“Is it mom?” You whisper.

She snorts, “you’re stupid. No, it’s your friend. Steve.” She backs up with a shimmy, “I think some people call him Captain.”

You make a face. What?

“Who...”

“Ahem,” a figure appears by the corner of the kitchen counter, “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

You crane to see over Shea’s shoulder. The man behind her is tall. And familiar. Steve Rogers. Your expression contorts as your lashes flutter in confusion.

“Not at all, Stevie,” Shea spins, “I’ll give you two the room. So nice to meet you.”

She squeezes by him and touches his forearm as she does. He doesn’t react. She giggles and flits off. Her door shuts but you can tell that the latch didn’t catch. She’s listening.

“Should we go outside? Get some sun?” He asks.

You glance at him again. You’re lost.

“Do I know you?” You grimace.

“After all day under fluorescent, you should really get out--”

“I-- I’m sorry, can you slow down and explain--”

“Outside. Privately,” he says.

You peek past him then look into the hallway behind you. You search your mind for an explanation. The only place you know him from is the internet or a history book.

“Like I said before, going outside can really help with mood issues.”

You hesitate and your mouth falls open. It can’t be...

“Was that you? Last night?” You shake your head.

“How about I buy you a smoothie?” He offers.

You snap your mouth shut. He can’t be serious. This can’t be real.

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #series #captain's orders #captain america #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #mcu #marvel #avengers

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wonallofme · 6 months ago

Text

pinching!

tw and tags: bully!heeseung x plus size!fem!reader, descriptions of bullying, a lot of physical contact, noncon then heavy dubcon, oral sex (f receiving). word count: 2.3k note: originally written with a different idol in mind, this fic was already posted in my old blog. while talking to one of my best friends in the app we decided to re-post old fics for fun and idk why but while checking some of them I felt this one fitted Hee. I changed it a lot tho. anyway, hope someone here likes the concept. i’m a big fan of plus size/chubby reader but haven’t had the opportunity to talk about it here in the blog yet so, if you like it too, please don’t hesitate to hit my (empty) inbox! special thanks to fairy for being my first-ever beta reader ❤️

You have a couple of memories from that place, like how good it felt to hug your grandmother before bed, how there was a little stall in front of your school that always had tasty sweets, and how there was a little boy you used to walk home with after classes finished.

There wasn’t much objection once your mother said you would go back and live together in your grandmother's place not to leave the house empty. You had a couple of friends, but it was nothing special, so you said goodbye to them and moved with your mother without problem.

You had to admit you were kind of happy to move. Yeah, you wouldn’t be able to hug your grandmother, but at least you would feel her presence with the old floors and flower decorations that surrounded every room. Perhaps you could eat those sweets again, and there was the chance of making new friends too. Good things could come, you thought.

If you’re honest, you just hoped you could see him again.

You should've known at that point in your life that having expectations only leaves the sour aftertaste of disappointments.

The stall wasn’t there anymore, the entire house had changed because of your mother's decision, leaving no trace of your grandmother behind, and the sweet boy that used to follow you with a smile now followed you to make fun of you.

It was easy to recognize him. He had the same eyes and shiny smile, and you were elated to see a good, old friend all grow up into a real man. Sadly, he wasn’t as happy as you to see you again, showing you a disgusted face once you told him who you were.

‘’Don’t fucking talk to me,’’ he said, and you didn’t understand what you had done wrong. Perhaps you were too confident, your perfume wasn’t to his liking, or your hand was sweating too much when you touched him. You honestly had no idea why he reacted like that, but you understood that, just like his appearance, he had changed too.

After all, that sweet boy you used to know would’ve never talked to you that way.

That interaction alone was enough to make you never want to approach him again. You didn’t want to hear that tone or see that expression again, so you did your best. You avoided him in the hallway, you stayed in your seat not to cross his way during breaks, and you didn’t look his way when you recognized his voice.

It was all useless though.

You had become his new favourite thing.

At first, he was all words and no bite. He’d throw comments every now and then about your physical appearance, like comparing you to a pig when you ate your lunch in the cafeteria or mocking your uniform for being bigger than normal because of your size.

His friends only laughed at these comments, and those who weren’t his friends stayed silent. They were different groups but shared one same trait– None dared to approach you, afraid of receiving the same treatment from him.

Then, he started to touch you.

He pinched your arm, telling you to give him your homework to copy it. Later, it was your cheeks, telling you to stop eating if you didn’t want to gain weight. Finally, one day, when everyone had left for the PE class while you were searching for your towel in your seat, approaching you silently from behind, he pinched your waist.

Scared, you turned to him. It had hurt a lot more than when he did it to your cheeks. You knew that, more than to bother you or call your attention, like on the other occasions, he had done it with all the intention of hurting you.

When you looked at his face, you noticed that his typical grin wasn’t there, replaced by a surprised expression and curious eyes instead. Somehow, you felt that something bad was about to happen, so you pushed him out of the way and walked out of there as soon as you could without caring that you were leaving with empty hands.

‘’Where’s your towel?’’ your teacher asked you.

‘’I forgot it,’’ you answered, not wanting to return to the classroom.

Later, Heeseung arrived with your towel in his hand, and you got punished for not bringing all the obligatory material.

He got worse.

if he crossed you in the hallways, he would shamelessly pinch your waist until you hissed, and when he found you in the library, between shelves, he would pinch your ass, grinning from ear to ear at the picture of you biting your lips not to make a sound so you wouldn’t get in trouble again.

As if everything he did was an innocent game, he smiled at you after nipping different parts of your body, like the side of your ribcage when you decided to walk away from his teasing, the back of your hand when you tried to push him away, or your thighs when he sat beside you in the cafeteria or the study room.

‘’Why are you doing this?’’ you whispered, pushing his hand away from prying under your skirt and pinching your upper leg.

‘’Look at all that skin,’’ he answered, grabbing your round hand with force to stop you from getting away. ‘’Your body is begging for it.’’

When you tried to do it again, to get away from his hands, he pinched the space of your chest that your bra didn’t cover.

Making you whimper in pain, he laughed at your hurt expression.

‘’It really hurts!’’ you tried to reason with him, but he was a lost cause. It didn’t matter that you were full of little purple and green spots, flinching at the mere sight of him lurking around, he wanted more.

This is going to end at one point, you tried to tell yourself.

He’d get tired and leave you alone when he found a new toy. It was impossible he only focused on you the entire time, and even if it was like that, it was your last year. After that, you prayed, you’d never see him again.

Everything comes to an end.

Your house was the only safe space you had. Even if it wasn’t anything like the warm memory you had about it, it was a place that had never been tainted by Heeseung, unlike your school, or the streets you walked to arrive there.

Sometimes, he would follow you while murmuring insults, pretending to be a good friend walking you home. Nonetheless, once you opened your entrance door and saw that he stayed feet away, you would exhale, relieved that he didn’t try to follow you inside, too.

‘’Your friend is waiting for you in your room,’’ your mother smiled. ‘’I’ll go and buy something for you to eat later’’

She, unlike you, was excited to have him there, and you, trying to breathe properly not to show how the panic was consuming you, nodded.

‘’He’s become such a handsome man,’’ she murmured before leaving.

There was nothing you could do to run away, it was your house, and opening your room door, you saw him calmly looking at your stuff.

Your pillow wasn’t where you left it, so it was impossible to deny he had been roaming around for a while, invading your space and doing whatever he wanted, like he always did.

Standing in front of your bookshelf, one of your diaries open in his hands, he sensed your presence.

‘’Didn’t know you took so many walks, thought you would never come,’’ he said, passing the page and inspecting its content as if there was something in particular he was looking for. ‘’It doesn’t explain why you still look like that though.’’

‘’Heeseung, I’ve done nothing to you,’’ you sounded as if you were begging at that point. ‘’Why– I just don’t get why.’’

‘’I have my reasons,’’ he answered, closing the book and leaving it where it previously was.

You flinched when he showed the intention of getting close to you. Your hands became fists behind you, fully alert, one of them gripping the knob, ready to run into another room in case he tried to hurt you again.

‘’We were friends,’’ you said, lower lip slightly trembling. ‘’Please, stop. It hurts, Heeseung. It hurts a lot.’’

He saw you like that, broken, vulnerable, and he beamed.

Walking towards you, you thought your body would listen to you and escape, but it didn’t.

As you remained frozen in your place, caging you with his body, he finished closing the door behind you. Too late, you only reacted after hearing the loud click the secure did.

You started trembling as you realised he had blocked the only way of running away you had.

‘’But if I don’t touch you, who else will?’’ he whispered, taking your shaking hand in his.

Not pinching it this time, he interlocked his fingers with yours and pulled you closer to him. Your torso compacting his made you more conscious of how you were completely alone in your room, and, therefore, of how unrestrained he was allowed to act.

‘’If you’re good, I’ll stop being so hard on you. What do you think about that?’’ he offered.

You didn’t understand him. Being good with what?

Looking up at him, you couldn’t move your chest from pressing his because his other hand, forcing you to stay in your place, went to rest over the small of your back, the generous curve from your ass to your waist that was the object of so many of his jokes.

You could see where his actions were going.

You felt yourself get nauseous with his body temperature and his aroma suffocating you due to the inexistent distance between your bodies.

‘’My mom will come back in any second…’’ you didn’t know what other excuse to use.

‘’I’ll be quick,’’ he smiled, wetting his lips, unconsciously sending a signal to your brain that screamed for you to just be good and get it over with.

‘’Will it hurt?’’ Your face betrayed you, plainly showing all the fears you had, giving him, once again, the upper hand.

‘’Not anymore,’’ he assured you. His hand that used to bring you so much pain suddenly became gentle and trailed up, caressing your arm with multiple marks created by him before finding your chest, and groping it with obvious satisfaction a few times, he felt them until he decided he wanted to touch more of you.

His hands continued their way until he found his new goal.

He cupped your face with a tenderness you had never met from him before, and not wanting to provoke him in any way, you muted yourself.

To his unpleasant care, thumbs caressing your cheeks, you didn’t make a single noise, not the hiss you always let out when he pinched you, nor the cry when he painfully rubbed your soft skin.

‘’Well done,’’ he praised you, proud of what he recognised as your acceptance.

He expected you to continue being so obedient when he obliged your thighs to open with his knee.

Quickly, he found his place.

You didn’t know what to expect, but you never imagined the situation would end with him ditching your pants somewhere in your room and desperately dropping to his knees so he could accommodate between your trembling legs, slurping all the involuntary wetness your body made you drip not to suffer when the moment of taking him arrived.

Not being able to call his name properly, you whined when his palms gripped your meaty thighs a bit too hard and his tongue found your entrance, penetrating it with sloppy stabs.

The sensation of the tip of his nose bumping against your clit and his fingers separating your plump folds made you bite your lips to stop what felt like a moan.

He was eating you out like a starved man.

Your hands went to his hair, and you have no idea what flooded you, but you felt free to hurt him too.

You wanted him to suffer too.

Full of unknown courage, you pulled his hair and moved your hips to crush his face, using him instead of the other way around.

Then, it felt good– To hurt him felt way too good.

You thought, maybe this is why he does it, because you had never felt so powerful and in control before, especially, with him.

Looking down, you two made eye contact even with your chubby stomach prodding out.

His eyes had nothing of the mockery they always showed. Instead, they were completely lost, drunk and unfocused. You couldn’t contain your moans anymore when his eyes batted and he seemed pleased to have your attention on him.

Not much after he started fucking you harder with his tongue, the knot in your stomach started to feel so tight you knew it would snap in any second.

Without intention, or maybe with all the intention, you closed your large legs around his head, not caring that you were crushing his face as you strongly came over his mouth and nose.

He mewled, hugging your legs as you asphyxiated him for many seconds before your orgasm finished and you inevitably relaxed.

Just after giving him everything you had, you finally allowed him to breathe.

You freed him from your hold, but he didn’t move away immediately.

Gulping your remaining juices, he hardly inhaled once through his nose before he started licking the drops of your orgasm inside your thighs, leaving a trail of kisses along the way until he found his new favourite thing.

With both hands on the back of your thighs, he blinked multiple times before his tongue found its way between your folds, searching for your clit to leave a last loving lick.

As if he was proud you had abused him, only separating forcedly because of your hands pushing his head away from your sensitive clit, he took open-mouthed deep breaths with a still dazed expression.

Regaining some of his senses, he talked with the lower half of his face glistening.

‘’See? This didn’t hurt, right?’’ he smiled.

#─★dark enhypen #─★heeseung #─★fanfic #─★plus size reader #tw dubcon #enhypen smut #heeseung smut #enhypen x reader #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen hard hours #enha smut #heeseung x reader

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pullmecloseman · 18 days ago

Text

HONOR & DUTY

Pre-Boyfriend!Bob x reader

summary: What was supposed to be a fun week in paradise quickly becomes something more when two quiet souls are thrown into close quarters. As the days unfold—from lazy mornings and town adventures to wedding prep and late-night confessions—tension simmers, walls begin to crack, and unexpected connections start to bloom. It’s just one week. But sometimes, that’s all it takes to change everything.

word count: 21.8k

A/N: If you can’t tell, yes i did rewrite it completely from the beginning, it’s a lot longer and a lot more detailed but i honestly wouldn’t have it any other way! please comment and tell me if u liked it or not :)) ALSO OMG THIS IS THE LONGEST FIC I HAVE EVER WRITTEN?? unfortunately it did cut off so i will have to post it in 2 parts 😭. Something about the whole airport chaos gets me, might need to write another squad trip

Warnings: This fic has some mild swearing and squad-style banter, a bit of drinking and party vibes (nothing too wild), and a slow-burn romance with a sweet first kiss—no explicit stuff. Lots of chaotic humor, teasing, and pranks, plus some wedding and travel stress moments. There are light mentions of past military stuff (nothing graphic), crowded group hangouts, and flashbacks to crazy party moments with some confusion and mixed-up sleeping spots. Also, some minor hangover and sore muscle vibes. Just a heads-up in case any of that’s a trigger for you!

masterlist boyfriend!bob masterlist

You’d set five alarms. One on your phone. One on your tablet. One on your smartwatch. One on the hotel alarm clock just in case. And one on a travel timer that beeped like a nuke countdown.

Because there was no way you were going to be the reason the Dagger Squad missed their 4:00 a.m. flight to Maui for Rooster and Phoenix’s wedding. You were the Maid of Honor. Bob was the Best Man. You were the only ones keeping this entire operation from crashing before wheels-up.

At exactly 2:01 a.m., your phone buzzed with an incoming FaceTime call from the squad group chat:

💀 DAGGER DEATH FLIGHT 207 💀

You accepted with a groan, still half buried in your comforter. The screen filled with a grid of faces, some upright, some terrifyingly horizontal.

First was Fanboy, sporting a cracked pair of Star Wars sleep goggles and surrounded by open suitcases and piles of graphic tees. “Yo. Who needs me to smuggle Sour Patch Kids in their carry-on?”

Next was Coyote, dead-eyed and already in a zip-up hoodie. “If you bring candy or collectibles, I’m reporting you to TSA before we even hit the parking lot.”

“They’re not collectibles, they’re conversation starters!”

“They’re why you get cavity searched every damn trip,” Payback chimed in, yawning as he popped up on the screen from the driver’s seat of a parked car. “Y’all better be packed. I rented a land yacht to haul everyone’s nonsense to the airport.”

You joined the call with a sigh, dragging your phone onto the pillow beside you. “If I don’t get coffee within twenty minutes, I’m murdering someone and using my Maid of Honor dress to hide the body.”

“You can borrow my tux jacket for that,” Bob said, appearing on-screen in a navy hoodie, hair an absolute disaster, voice still low and rough from sleep. “You’ll look classy while doing it.”

You gave him a flat stare. “Floyd.”

“Yes, Sweetie?”

“Did you pack?”

“Technically? Yes.”

“…Define technically.”

“I know where my suitcase is. That counts, right?”

“Bob,” you said, sitting up, “you are the Best Man. You’re supposed to be organized.”

“I am organized,” he argued, entirely too calm. “I just like to do things last minute. Keeps the blood flowing.”

Hangman popped on screen, shirtless, brushing his teeth with one hand and holding a can of Red Bull in the other. “Everyone shut up. I’m in charge of good vibes and airport mimosas. I expect full participation.”

“You’re not even dressed.”

“Yet I still look better than Coyote.”

“Eat dirt, Seresin.”

Rooster’s face appeared next, squinting against the bathroom light as he attempted to shave and talk into the camera at the same time. “If any of you idiots forget your suits, I’m replacing you with local hula dancers and calling it a day.”

From off-screen, Phoenix’s voice rang out: “We are not late to our own damn wedding!”

“Tell her I packed,” Bob muttered.

“No one believes you,” you replied, grabbing your toiletry bag with one hand and your charging cords with the other.

Coyote snorted. “If packing means bringing seventeen bottles of sunscreen and three different types of insect repellent, then yeah, Bob’s a legend.”

Payback laughed. “And I swear he’s got at least one of those bug zapper rackets hidden in his sock drawer.”

“Actually,” Bob said, leaning closer to the camera with a mock-conspiratorial grin, “I’m starting a bug sanctuary.”

“Great,” you said, pinching the bridge of your nose. “So when we get eaten alive, we know who to thank.”

Fanboy raised a tired hand. “Guys, can we just agree the real MVP is Sweetie for actually having a packing list that doesn’t include three different wigs and one portable karaoke machine?”

“Hey!” You held up your hand in defense. “The wigs are for the joint bachelorette party. Which is going to be wild.”

“Wild?” Hangman grinned, mouth still foaming a little from brushing. “Like how wild? Should I bring fireproof pants?”

You glanced sideways at Bob, who gave you a small smile and a shake of his head. No words necessary.

“Speaking of,” Rooster said, “who’s in charge of making sure Sweetie doesn’t lose her shit before the wedding?”

“Bob’s job,” you said without hesitation. “Mostly by being loud enough to drown me out.”

“Hey, I’m a delicate flower,” Bob said, mock offended. “And you need someone to balance out the planner energy.”

“You’re balancing it out by being a human wrecking ball.”

“Touché.”

The group laughed—softly now, the chaos simmering into something almost comfortable. You caught Bob’s eye on the screen, that familiar warmth behind his sleepy gaze making your heart do a little sprint.

Before you could say anything else, Fanboy’s phone buzzed with a notification, and his face went from “space commander” to “please kill me.”

“Guys, I just remembered,” he said, voice cracking, “I still need to download like, ten more playlists.”

“Great,” you muttered. “We’re going to Maui with 200% more bad music.”

Payback nodded solemnly. “I’m already blasting the sound system in the car. It’s going to be a long ride.”

“Get ready for my rendition of Livin’ on a Prayer,” Hangman promised.

You groaned. “Please no.”

Bob chuckled. “Can’t wait.”

Your phone buzzed again, this time with a message from Phoenix: “Everyone packed? No drama. No late arrivals. I’m trusting you.”

You looked at the group, smiling despite yourself.

“Alright, team,” you said, “let’s make this nightmare happen.”

Bob’s eyes met yours again, and for a brief second—longer than it should be—everything else fell away.

The squad was going to Maui.

Payback rolled up to your place first, in a comically large black SUV that looked like it could transport a rock band and their entourage. The engine rumbled like it was challenging the sunrise to a duel, and the smell of lingering coffee and leather hit you before the door swung open.

You climbed in shotgun with your travel pillow, planner, and a bag of emergency chargers. Already, you could feel the familiar knot of excitement and exhaustion twisting in your gut.

“I’ve made an itinerary,” you declared, voice sharp but playful, brandishing your planner like a weapon. “If any of you derail it, I will throw you into the ocean.”

Payback gave you a solemn nod. “Noted. Ocean it is.��

The interior of the SUV was already a chaotic mess — discarded energy bar wrappers, a rogue sunglasses case, and what looked suspiciously like a half-empty thermos of Hangman’s questionable homemade “energy elixir” on the floor.

Next pickup: Bob.

He emerged from his place looking like a professional who just survived a surprise drill — single duffel bag slung over one shoulder, a neck pillow looped around his shoulders like a scarf, and a coffee in each hand.

He handed you one without missing a beat. “I got you the cinnamon one,” he said, voice low and rough with sleep but laced with that soft warmth you knew well. “Even though you called me a disgrace on the group chat last night.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “You remembered that?”

He shrugged like it was no big deal. “You always get the cinnamon one. Even when you say you’re gonna try vanilla.”

Your heart did a weird little flip, and you forced yourself to look away, pulling the sleeve of your pajama top down over your hand. He climbed into the third row, sliding his duffel under the seat with a tired sigh. You didn’t look at him. Not really. But you felt him there anyway.

Next stop: Hangman.

He arrived like he was headlining a rock show — suitcase in one hand, a hanging tuxedo bag slung over the other, a tote full of random clinking glass bottles balanced precariously on top, and a ukulele strapped to his back.

You raised an eyebrow. “Why.”

He grinned, unfazed. “It’s Maui. I’m bringing ambiance.”

“You’re bringing chaos,” Payback muttered from the driver’s seat.

At the front door, Fanboy and Coyote were locked in their usual pre-trip standoff, voices raised just enough to be heard over the hum of the city waking up.

“I’m just saying if I don’t bring my Captain Rex helmet, who’s gonna protect me from UV exposure?”

“You’re gonna end up on a TSA watchlist, man.”

You smirked to yourself. The helmet was a relic from Fanboy’s cosplay days, too bulky for travel but apparently essential.

As the door opened, they both piled into the back with the grace of a pack of raccoons digging through a dumpster.

The SUV was filling fast.

Finally, Phoenix and Rooster slid into the backseat together, each lugging matching duffels and wearing the same slightly frazzled look.

Rooster muttered, “This is cozy.”

Phoenix swiped through her inbox on her phone. “Cozy like a warzone.”

You shifted in your seat, scanning the crowded interior — 5 groomsmen, one Maid of Honor, one bride, one groom, seven bags of snacks, a ukulele, and approximately zero patience.

Payback started the engine, and the SUV lurched forward with a groan, tires crunching over gravel as you pulled out of the driveway and into the predawn traffic.

The air inside was thick with half-suppressed yawns, the hum of sleepy voices, and the faint scent of coffee that clung stubbornly to Bob’s jacket.

You caught Bob’s eye across the SUV as he settled in next to you, and for a split second, the chaos faded. You both knew this ride was just the beginning — the slow, messy, beautiful unraveling of everything you’d been holding back.

The engine hummed steadily as Payback expertly maneuvered the massive SUV through the quiet, pre-dawn streets. Inside, it felt like the world had been shrunk down to this cramped, noisy bubble of blankets, chargers, and endless coffee cups.

Fanboy immediately popped his headphones on, blasting what sounded suspiciously like ’80s rock ballads, and promptly started belting out every lyric—off-key but with full enthusiasm.

“Dude, lower it!” Payback barked without looking. “I’m trying to drive, not attend a karaoke competition.”

Fanboy gave a dramatic shrug. “You don’t own the radio.”

From the back, Hangman strummed a few chords on his ukulele, setting an impromptu soundtrack that didn’t quite mesh with the ’80s rock but somehow fit the chaos perfectly.

Coyote, who had wedged himself into a tiny corner between duffels and snack bags, deadpanned, “This is how I imagine hell smells.”

Bob tossed you a grin as he took a sip of his coffee, careful not to spill in the tight space. “You know, for someone who claims to have this itinerary locked down, you’re already off schedule.”

You shot him a look, fiddling with your planner as if it was a weapon. “That’s because I anticipate chaos, Floyd. I live for chaos.”

“Of course you do,” he said, smirking.

Your eyes caught his for just a moment longer than necessary before you looked away. The air between you was charged with something unspoken—an undercurrent beneath all the noise.

Payback suddenly slammed a hand on the console. “Snack time!”

Everyone groaned but reached for the bags anyway.

You raised an eyebrow at Bob as he peeled open a bag of overly salted chips. “Watch out, Sweetie. This might throw your whole hydration plan off.”

“Better than your plan to drink nothing but energy drinks and coffee,” you teased back.

Bob grinned. “I have a system.”

“Which involves being a walking jitterbug.”

As the miles ticked by, conversations bounced wildly—from Rooster’s awkward attempts at wedding puns (“If you mess up the vows, I’ll ground you for life”) to Phoenix’s strategic analysis of flight delays (“We’ll be lucky if the plane’s on time”).

Hangman suddenly blurted out, “We should start a playlist battle. Everyone submits one song. Loser has to do the chicken dance at the reception.”

Fanboy immediately shot back, “You’re going down, Seresin.”

Coyote just shook his head, muttering, “I’m too old for this.”

You and Bob exchanged a glance—half amused, half tired—before he quietly said, “You’re gonna kill me for this, but… I actually like this chaos.”

You smiled softly. “Me too.”

Payback glanced in the rearview mirror. “Alright, squad. Ten minutes till airport. Last chance to make peace with your luggage.”

“Speak for yourself,” Hangman said, unzipping one of his bags and pulling out a questionable bottle labeled ‘Liquid Courage.’ “I’m already made my peace.”

Bob caught your eye again and gave a subtle nod, like a silent promise that he’d be there to steady you through whatever came next.

And as the SUV rolled closer to the airport lights flickering in the distance, you felt it—this trip, this mess of friends, family, and maybe something more—was going to change everything.

Valet parking? A nightmare.

Hangman tried to tip the valet with a shot-sized bottle of rum.

“Bro,” the kid blinked at him, “I can’t take this.”

Hangman held it out again, smiling like he was on a resort commercial. “C’mon, you’re telling me you don’t need this more than I do?”

Phoenix groaned and yanked him backward by the backpack strap. “Put the contraband away, Jimmy Buffett.”

The rest of the squad poured out of the car like clowns out of a tiny circus vehicle. Bags hit the curb. Coffee cups spilled. Someone’s neck pillow went flying.

“Whose Crocs are these?” Payback yelled, holding them up like roadkill.

“Mine,” Fanboy said proudly, slipping them on. “Flight mode: activated.”

Check-in? Worse.

Fanboy’s bag got pulled aside because his lightsaber replica “looked suspiciously real.”

“It’s a collectible!” he argued as the airline employee gently prodded it like it might explode. “It’s signed by Ewan McGregor!”

Coyote had to dig through Bob’s bag after it flagged for “unusual items.”

“Bro,” he said, pulling out what looked like thirty tiny travel bottles of sunscreen. “Are you trying to open a beachside CVS?”

Bob shrugged, completely unbothered. “Skin protection is squad safety.”

Rooster, already stress-sweating through his t-shirt, frantically patted his jeans. “Where’s my wallet? I had it—”

“Check your left jacket pocket,” you and Phoenix said in unison, not even looking up.

He paused, reached in, and held it up sheepishly. “Thanks.”

You were carrying six people’s boarding passes like some sort of chaotic air-traffic controller.

“Stop handing me snacks! I have important documents!” you barked as Fanboy tried to pass you a mini bag of Cheez-Its.

Phoenix was at the counter, all but breathing fire at the airline rep. “I paid for aisle seats. We were guaranteed aisle seats. Why does my fiancé now have to middle-seat between two strangers named Gary and Donna?”

“Ma’am,” the agent said flatly, “the system auto-assigned based on status—”

“My status is BRIDE, I will burn this system to the ground.”

You were three seconds from combusting. You hadn’t even gotten through security and you were ready to fake a medical emergency just to lie down.

“Hey,” Bob murmured, stepping up beside you while the others bickered over snacks and whose luggage had wheels.

You turned, your shoulders still tight.

“You’re keeping everyone alive right now,” he said gently.

You exhaled, scrubbing a hand down your face. “Feels like I’m babysitting grown children.”

“You are,” he said, smiling faintly as he handed you a granola bar. “But I’ve got your back.”

You didn’t answer, not with words. But your fingers brushed his as you took the wrapper. His hand lingered for a second longer than it should have. You didn’t move away.

Then Hangman yelled, “C’MON! LAST ONE TO SECURITY PAYS FOR DRINKS AT THE GATE BAR!”

Suddenly it was the Kentucky Derby and your squad was off like caffeinated horses.

The security line was somehow both long and entirely unequipped to handle this particular brand of chaos.

Hangman tried to flirt with the TSA agent.

“Ma’am, do you believe in love at first pat-down?”

The woman didn’t blink. “Sir, take your boots off and step aside.”

Fanboy’s backpack sang the Star Wars theme when it passed through the scanner, drawing a solid ten seconds of dead silence from the line.

“It’s the bag,” he said, holding his hands up. “It has motion sensors. It was a gift!”

You, meanwhile, nearly left your phone in the plastic bin and had to run back barefoot while Bob frantically waved it at you.

“You’re literally the one with the itinerary!” he hissed, handing it over.

“I’M UNDER A LOT OF PRESSURE,” you shouted, tugging your shoes on and stumbling forward.

Somehow — by the grace of every wedding god in existence, including probably Aphrodite herself — you made it to the gate.

The sun hadn’t even risen. The airport still smelled vaguely like bleach and stale muffins.

Only six more days until the wedding.

God help you all.

You all made it through, somehow.

Only minor casualties: Hangman got flagged for “suspiciously charming energy,” and Fanboy almost cried when TSA opened his duffel full of Marvel merch and confiscated a replica Mjölnir.

“I need that for emotional support!” Fanboy had argued while Payback filmed from behind a potted plant.

Rooster got randomly selected for an extra pat-down and immediately claimed it was “because they could sense greatness.”

Coyote, stuck behind a family of seven with matching Mickey Mouse ears, looked five seconds from committing a felony.

Eventually, the Dagger Squad emerged victorious into the terminal—sweaty, half-awake, and fueled entirely by spite and overpriced coffee.

You flopped into a chair next to Bob with the kind of boneless exhaustion that came from being awake since 3:45 a.m. and mentally wrestling the squad through security.

Bob passed you half his granola bar without looking, eyes still scanning the boarding monitors.

You accepted it without a word, chewing slowly as the chaos unfolded around you like a play no one had rehearsed.

Across the terminal, Rooster was aggressively trying to herd the rest of the group toward the gate. He was yelling something about boarding zones, final calls, and “WHY IS NO ONE LISTENING TO ME?”

Hangman, naturally, was ignoring him and live-commentating strangers’ outfits like he was hosting a red carpet.

“Okay, we’ve got cargo shorts at two o’clock—bold choice. And—oh!—a fanny pack and Crocs combo. Revolutionary. We’re witnessing history, folks.”

Payback had started singing for no reason. No lyrics, just pure dramatic humming like he was the soundtrack to an epic war film.

Fanboy had re-opened his backpack on the floor and was aggressively reorganizing his Funko Pops like they were combat troops.

Coyote, meanwhile, sat hunched over in a nearby chair, neck pillow on, eyes closed, mouth slightly open, looking like a man who had aged ten years since curbside drop-off.

It was the kind of beautiful disaster that only this group could cause in a public space.

“You okay?” Bob asked softly, voice barely above the terminal buzz.

You turned your head toward him. He was watching you, calm and quiet and steady, like he hadn’t just been stuck between Hangman’s feet and a crying toddler for a five-hour layover.

You exhaled. “It’s a good chaos. I love this chaos.”

His mouth quirked, just a little. “Same,” he said. “As long as you’re in it.”

And that was—goddammit. That was dangerous.

You turned to say something—something dumb and sarcastic and safe like, ‘aw, you’re getting soft on me,’ or ‘tell that to me after another week of wedding stuff,’—but before you could open your mouth, the gate agent’s voice cut across the speakers like a battle cry:

“Flight 176 to Maui is now boarding. First class and Group One may now approach the gate.”

Rooster stood up like he was being deployed to a combat zone. “Let’s move, assholes! We trained for this!”

Hangman tripped over someone’s duffel. “It’s not mine, but I’m suing whoever left it there.”

Fanboy dropped his Switch and screamed like he’d been shot.

Payback fist-pumped. “CHAAARGE!”

(Several other passengers flinched.)

Phoenix, holding a cold brew like it was a weapon, just muttered, “And this is why people hate group travel.”

And Bob?

He turned to you, held out his hand. “C’mon.”

You took it.

Just for a second—to help you up. Just to steady yourself.

But it lingered a little longer than it had to.

Warm. Familiar. Electric.

You didn’t let go right away either.

And neither of you said anything about it.

Not now. Not yet.

The chaos of boarding swallowed you up, but your hand still felt like his had never left.

You all surged toward the gate like a pack of caffeinated raccoons in overpriced athleisure.

Rooster tried to organize the line based on boarding groups. “Group Three! Where’s Group Three? Hangman, you’re Group Three! Quit trying to sneak up with Group One!”

“I am Group One,” Hangman argued, holding out his phone like it was proof of royalty. “I paid for premium. It’s called treating yourself, baby.”

“You paid for an exit row,” Fanboy snorted. “Relax, Bezos.”

Phoenix sidestepped them both and handed the gate agent her ticket with the precision of a Navy sniper. Payback followed, dragging a carry-on that kept wobbling like one wheel had committed treason.

You scanned your boarding pass, barely dodging a stray elbow from a woman who looked like she would cut someone for an overhead bin.

And Bob?

Bob had your backpack slung over his shoulder, because you’d switched with him back at security when your strap started digging into your collarbone. He didn’t complain. Just adjusted it and kept walking.

You reached the jet bridge.

“Smell that?” Hangman announced behind you.

Phoenix didn’t even look back. “If you say something weird, I will hit you.”

“I was just gonna say it smells like vacation,” he defended. “And maybe a little like disappointment and Jet-A fuel, but mostly—vacation.”

Fanboy wheezed. “I thought that was Coyote’s deodorant.”

Coyote shoved him gently into the side of the jet bridge.

Rooster handed his ticket to the flight attendant and turned to yell over his shoulder. “Remember! Assignments don’t matter. Just sit down and shut up!”

Thirty seconds later, karma hit him like a delayed airbag.

Because somehow—some beautiful, divine twist of fate—he got separated from the group and was now wedged in the middle seat of Row 21 between a man named Gary, who smelled like boiled peanuts, and a woman named Donna, who was knitting with steel needles.

“Hi there!” Donna chirped, stabbing the air three inches from Rooster’s ribs with her scarf-in-progress.

Gary gave him a solemn nod. “You with the military?”

Rooster blinked. “Uh—yeah.”

“Cool. Wanna see pictures of my lawn mower?”

Twenty rows ahead, you buckled into your window seat and looked over at Bob in the middle. His knees were already pressed uncomfortably into the seat in front of him.

You offered him the aisle. “You want to switch?”

He shook his head. “No, you love the window. I’m good.”

Fanboy flopped into the seat next to Bob with zero grace, nearly elbowing a flight attendant in the process. “DIBS ON BOB. Road trip rules, I ride with the snack guy.”

Bob looked at you like help, but you just smiled sweetly and put in your earbuds.

Across the aisle, Payback and Phoenix were already arguing about what to watch.

“Let’s do a thriller,” Phoenix suggested.

“Woman, I am barely held together with caffeine and prayer. We’re watching Moana and we’re crying about it.”

Coyote and Hangman had somehow finagled exit row seats and were now trying to convince the flight attendant that they definitely read the safety instructions.

“Of course I know how to open the emergency door,” Hangman said, leaning back like he was already on a beach. “Just throw a chair through it, right?”

You stifled a laugh behind your hand.

Bob leaned toward you slightly, voice low. “Place your bets. How long before Rooster snaps?”

You checked the clock on your phone. “We haven’t even taken off yet.”

“Exactly.”

A loud thwack echoed from the back of the plane.

Fanboy hissed, “Oh my god, what was that?”

Bob peered over the seat. “Donna dropped a knitting needle. Rooster looks…trapped.”

You looked too.

Gary was now showing Rooster something on his phone that looked suspiciously like a spreadsheet of lawn care stats.

Rooster’s soul had visibly left his body.

You turned back to Bob, trying not to laugh. “We should help him.”

Bob tilted his head. “Should we?”

You grinned. “No. Definitely not.”

The plane started to taxi.

Hangman yelled from somewhere up front, “IF I DIE, DELETE MY BROWSER HISTORY!”

Payback shouted back, “TOO LATE!”

The engine roared.

You closed your eyes and leaned back, fingers lightly brushing the armrest between you and Bob.

His hand was right there.

Close enough to touch.

Close enough to feel.

And for one second—just one—you thought about linking your pinky with his.

But then Fanboy yelled, “I LEFT MY FUNKO BAG AT THE GATE!” and Bob shot up so fast he almost headbutted the overhead bin.

Chaos resumed. The moment passed.

But your hand still tingled.

And you weren’t sure if it was the altitude, or just Bob.

The seatbelt sign dinged off.

Which, apparently, was everyone’s cue to descend into lawlessness.

Hangman immediately reclined his seat into Coyote’s lap like a Victorian fainting lady. “Wake me up when we land, darling,” he mumbled, already yanking his hood over his face.

“Bro. I can’t move my legs.”

“Then die quietly.”

Across the aisle, Phoenix was already popping her second Dramamine like she was prepping for war. “Don’t touch me,” she warned Payback. “I’m entering my dissociative travel state.”

Payback grinned and opened a pack of Skittles with the sound of a tiny explosion. “Want one?”

“No.”

“Want five?”

You watched with silent amusement, adjusting your tray table and glancing sideways at Bob, who’d just pulled out a book. One of those worn paperbacks with a cracked spine and a small yellow highlighter clipped inside.

“What are you reading?” you asked, genuinely curious.

He showed you the cover. Dune.

“You brought Dune on a six-hour flight?”

“I like the world-building,” he said, softly.

You smiled at him, about to ask a follow-up, when—

THUD.

A kid two rows behind you kicked the back of Hangman’s seat so hard his head snapped forward.

He jolted upright like he’d been tased. “WHAT—”

The kid’s mom shushed him without even looking up from her iPad. “It’s fine, he’s just excited.”

Hangman turned around. “Excited to do what, commit war crimes?!”

Bob sighed, rubbing his eyes.

Fanboy reached into his bag. “Okay, I brought snacks. Like actual snacks. I had a coupon.”

You stared at the pile he produced: three Lunchables, a can of Pringles, two sleeves of Oreos, an unwrapped mozzarella stick, and a jar of pickles.

“A jar?” Bob asked.

Fanboy shrugged. “Emotional support pickles.”

“I’ll allow it,” you said, taking a Pringle.

Rooster, meanwhile, was suffering. From twenty rows back, you could see Donna knitting like her life depended on it, while Gary showed Rooster videos of squirrels using tiny umbrellas in his backyard.

“Did I ever tell you about my nephew?” Donna asked.

Rooster opened his mouth. “No, but—”

“Well, he’s in jail.”

“Oh.”

“For arson.”

Bob leaned forward again to peek back. “I’m giving him twenty more minutes before he jumps.”

“Optimistic,” you murmured, cracking open a Sprite.

Then—turbulence.

A hard bump shook the plane like someone had uppercutted it from below. Your drink splashed over the edge, fizzing on your tray. Phoenix cursed. Fanboy screamed “WE’RE GOING DOWN” in a falsetto. Bob instinctively reached out, hand bracing the seat in front of him—and accidentally brushing your thigh.

His touch was fleeting.

But it lingered.

You didn’t say anything. Neither did he.

But now you were very aware of the space between you.

Another bump rocked the cabin. Hangman yelped. “If I die next to this demonic toddler, I swear to God—”

“Stop yelling at children,” Coyote hissed.

“I’m not yelling. I’m disciplining.”

Meanwhile, Bob was calmly digging around in the seat pocket, pulling out the barf bag and offering it to Fanboy. “Just in case.”

“I don’t need that,” Fanboy said proudly.

Then immediately turned green.

The seatbelt sign dinged back on.

Phoenix opened her eyes. “Are we crashing?”

“No,” Bob said evenly. “Just mild turbulence.”

“Mild?” Hangman shouted. “My organs just realigned.”

A flight attendant wobbled down the aisle, bracing herself. “Folks, please remain seated—”

She didn’t finish the sentence before someone spilled their orange juice across the aisle, narrowly missing her.

Rooster suddenly stood up from Row 21, looking disheveled and haunted.

“I need to switch seats,” he said, loudly. “Gary’s showing me squirrel taxidermy. Donna just invited me to her nephew’s parole hearing.”

The flight attendant smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry, sir, please remain seated.”

“But I can’t remain mentally intact—”

“Sir.”

Rooster sat back down with a groan so loud, you heard it all the way up front.

Fanboy was now half-curled in the aisle like a shrimp. Bob was patting his shoulder with medical-grade calmness. “Deep breaths. You’ll be fine.”

You were trying not to laugh.

Until Bob looked at you and said, “Wanna split a Lunchable?”

You lost it.

For the next twenty minutes, the plane jostled mildly, Fanboy whimpered quietly, and you and Bob passed back and forth tiny slices of cheese and crackers like it was some post-apocalyptic picnic.

When the turbulence finally subsided, the cabin slowly relaxed.

The kid behind Hangman fell asleep mid-kick.

Fanboy muttered, “I lived, bitch,” and passed out on Bob’s shoulder.

And you?

You leaned against the window, eyelids fluttering.

Just as you felt yourself drifting off, you felt something.

Bob.

His arm. Shifting, slightly.

Not enough to wake Fanboy.

Just enough to brush your elbow with his.

And then—he left it there.

You pretended to be asleep.

But your heart was wide awake.

Maui.

They say paradise smells like plumeria and saltwater.

But for your squad, it smelled like recycled cabin air, old socks, and emotional damage.

The wheels touched down on the runway with a jarring bounce that had everyone bracing like it was a crash landing. Fanboy cheered. Hangman clapped ironically. Rooster muttered, “Thank you, Jesus,” like he’d just survived war.

“Welcome to Kahului,” the flight attendant said over the speaker, way too cheerfully for a woman who had just endured seven hours of chaos and a man named Gary explaining the ecosystem of squirrel mating rituals.

The plane doors opened. A wave of heat slammed through the cabin like God turning on a blow dryer.

Coyote stood up and immediately hit his head on the overhead bin. “Maui, baby!” he yelled, while clutching his skull.

Rooster stumbled out behind him, dragging his carry-on like it was a corpse. “I need therapy,” he whispered. “And ginger ale. And possibly an exorcism.”

Hangman tossed his bag over his shoulder like a movie hero, then turned back to the toddler who’d been kicking his seat.

“Hey, champ,” he said, kneeling to the kid’s level. “Hope you step on a Lego.”

The mom gasped.

Coyote yanked Hangman by the collar. “Leave the child, Jake.”

Baggage claim was carnage.

The conveyor belt whirred to life, and every person on your flight swarmed like seagulls spotting a french fry.

“Okay,” Phoenix said, cracking her neck. “We grab the bags, grab the van, and get to the resort before I die of dehydration or punch someone in TSA.”

Fanboy was leaning against a column like a man freshly reborn. “I left my soul somewhere over the Pacific.”

Payback’s duffel came out first, then Rooster’s floral monstrosity. Bob’s was last, because of course it was. He stood there silently watching the empty belt loop back around like it had personally betrayed him.

“I don’t even know if my bag exists anymore,” he said.

“I think it went into another dimension,” you added.

“Maybe Donna took it.”

“I wouldn’t put it past her.”

Eventually, the gang was luggage-loaded and shuffling toward the rental car lot, which was about ten minutes too far from the terminal for people running on zero sleep and spite.

Payback pulled up the booking on his phone. “Okay, I got us a van. Big one. Seats eight. Let’s ride.”

You spotted it first—silver, already running, air conditioning cranked. A beacon of hope in the Maui heat.

Everyone sprinted like it was the Hunger Games.

“SHOTGUN!” Phoenix yelled.

“HELL NO, I’M THE GROOM,” Rooster shouted, bounding up the sidewalk.

“I’M THE BRIDE!”

“AND I LOVE YOU, BUT THAT SEAT IS MINE.”

You were doubled over laughing, watching them both full-on sprint to the passenger side door like their lives depended on it.

Phoenix got there first and slapped a hand on the door handle.

Rooster, panting beside her, stared at her like a man betrayed. “Babe.”

“I’m the bride.”

He put a hand on his heart. “You’re right.”

Phoenix raised an eyebrow.

“No, seriously. You’re absolutely right. My bad. Please—” he opened the door with a dramatic bow, “take the seat. I’ll just crawl into the back row with Satan and his gremlin friends.”

The group exploded into laughter.

Fanboy screamed. Payback wheezed. Coyote was on the ground.

“Satan and his gremlins,” Hangman repeated. “Is that us? I’m honored.”

Rooster climbed into the third row with you, Bob, and Coyote, sulking like a Victorian widow. “I was this close to freedom.”

Phoenix tossed her bag at his feet. “You’re welcome, my love.”

“Unbelievable,” Rooster muttered, wedging himself between Bob and a cooler full of snacks.

Bob offered him a Capri Sun.

Rooster blinked. “Is this ‘Pacific Cooler’?”

“Only the best.”

“Okay, maybe this trip will be okay.”

Fanboy cranked the aux cord from the middle row. “Alright, what are we thinking? Beyoncé? Reggaeton? Or full ‘Mamma Mia’ soundtrack?”

“Option C,” Hangman said immediately.

“‘Voulez-Vous’ or nothing,” Payback agreed.

As the van pulled away from the curb, eight grown adults began belting ABBA like they were auditioning for Broadway.

You glanced sideways at Bob, who was silently mouthing the lyrics.

You bumped your knee against his. “You like this song?”

“I like any song you sing along to.”

And just like that—

You forgot about the flight. The chaos. The heat.

Because Bob was smiling at you like you were the whole reason he came on this trip.

And maybe, just maybe…

You were.

The van rolled to a stop under the shaded portico of the resort, the ocean glittering just beyond the palm-lined entrance like a smug postcard.

You barely had time to blink before the squad spilled out of the vehicle like gremlins escaping a box.

“Oh my god,” Phoenix said, staring up at the open-air lobby. “This is… wow.”

“I suddenly feel poor,” Fanboy muttered, dragging his suitcase like it owed him money.

The resort was absurd. Massive white columns, koi ponds, bellhops in floral shirts. Everything smelled like orchids and tax brackets.

A valet approached, and Payback tossed him the keys. “There’s an open Capri Sun in the back. It’s for emotional support.”

Rooster looked around, squinting behind his aviators. “Where’s the desk?”

You pointed. “There. Past the statue of King Kamehameha and the water feature shaped like a stingray.”

“Casual.”

Phoenix, with full bride energy, marched inside like she owned the place. “Let’s check in before I pass out and haunt this resort as a petty little ghost.”

You followed, dragging your duffel and sunglasses and the weight of a 4:00 a.m. wake-up call.

Bob, already sweating through his shirt, carried his backpack, your carry-on, and Rooster’s camera bag like the unproblematic king he was. “Do we know what name the reservation is under?”

Phoenix looked over her shoulder. “Mine. Natasha Trace.”

Hangman snorted. “Damn. Full government name. We’re serious now.”

The front desk attendant—young, shiny, and probably named something like Skylar—greeted you with a rehearsed smile. “Aloha! Welcome to the Kāne Kaiaulu Resort. Checking in?”

“Yeah,” Phoenix said, all business. “Natasha Trace. Bridal party.”

Skylar’s eyes lit up like Christmas. “Ooooh! You’re the bride!” She tapped away on her keyboard like this was the best thing to happen all shift. “We have you in the Ali’i Suite. And you’ve got two adjoining rooms and a villa booked for the rest of your group.”

“Villa?” Rooster echoed. “We got a villa?”

Phoenix gave him a look. “I got us a villa. You’re welcome.”

“You’re so hot when you’re aggressive.”

“Shut up and carry my purse.”

Skylar handed out room keys with a flourish. “Okay! Room breakdown is as follows: Phoenix and Rooster in the bridal suite. For the villa, Coyote and Hangman in Room 1403. Payback and Fanboy in Room 1405. And then…” she grinned, “1406 Bob and—” she looked at you, then down at the screen, then back at you, “Sweetie? That’s your callsign?”

“Don’t ask,” you said.

“She’s sweet until she’s not,” Hangman chimed in.

“She bit me once,” Coyote added.

“She’s never gonna live that down,” you muttered.

Skylar handed you both a gold keycard. “You two are in the ocean-view master bedroom with a king bed, private balcony, and rainfall shower.”

There was a pause.

You blinked. “King bed?”

Bob blinked. “Rainfall shower?”

Rooster cackled in the background like this was the best sitcom he’d ever seen.

“Enjoy your stay!” Skylar said cheerfully.

The elevator ride up to the villa was silent.

Well, almost.

Coyote was humming “Mamma Mia.” Hangman was FaceTiming his abs in the reflective ceiling. Rooster kept smacking Bob’s shoulder and mouthing king bed like a fourth grader in sex ed.

You looked at Bob.

He looked at you.

And yeah, this was gonna be a long-ass week.

The elevator dinged at the top floor with an overly posh chime that felt almost offensive after twelve hours of hellish travel. A hotel staff member led the way, unlocking a large frosted-glass door with a “Kaiaulu Elite” plaque that screamed if you have to ask, you can’t afford it.

You stepped inside and immediately forgot how to breathe.

“Holy shit,” Fanboy said, wide-eyed.

The villa looked like it had been ripped straight out of a travel influencer’s reel. Vaulted ceilings, sleek marble floors, floor-to-ceiling windows that opened to a massive balcony with a panoramic view of the Pacific. There were palm trees swaying dramatically in the breeze like they had an aesthetic to maintain. A massive kitchen gleamed like no one had ever dared touch it. The living room alone could host a TED Talk.

And the bedrooms?

All off a central hallway, each with its own locked door, each labeled with gold plaques: 1403, 1405, and 1406

“This isn’t a villa,” Hangman breathed. “This is Beyoncé’s panic room.”

Payback flopped onto the designer couch and let out a long groan. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be stuck to this leather like a Fruit Roll-Up.”

Bob hovered awkwardly near the hallway, scanning the room numbers. “Looks like… Hangman and Coyote are in 1403, Payback and Fanboy are 1405…”

He turned to you.

You were holding the 1406 keycard.

His said 1406, too.

You both stared at it. Then at each other. Then at the very large, very shared king-sized problem waiting behind that door.

“Oh, hell yes,” Hangman said, already halfway down the hall. “Roommate reveal time!”

“No shoes in the bedrooms!” you called after him.

“Too late,” he yelled.

Fanboy wheeled his suitcase in a lazy circle across the marble floor. “I feel like we’re in the final round of a reality show. Like if someone doesn’t cry in the shower by day three, it’s a failure.”

Payback raised a hand. “I volunteer as tribute.”

Bob set down his bags and looked over at you. “Do you wanna… check it out?”

You lifted your brows. “What, our shared domestic life in Room 1406?”

He blushed. “I meant the rainfall shower.”

You snorted and led the way.

Room 1406 was—of course—insane.

Cream walls, massive windows, a balcony with two lounge chairs and a view straight out of a dream. There was a complimentary bottle of champagne chilling in a gold bucket. The king bed looked like it could fit six people and still have room for regrets. The en suite bathroom had a soaking tub, twin sinks, and a shower big enough to host a concert in.

Bob let out a stunned little breath. “This is… wow.”

“Yeah,” you said. “We’re definitely gonna end up accidentally married in here.”

You didn’t mean for it to come out like that, but he laughed softly and rubbed the back of his neck.

“I mean, statistically,” he said. “I do already know your toothpaste brand and how you like your eggs.”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t get cocky, Floyd.”

He smiled. “Never.”

You dropped your bag on the bed and sank down next to it. The mattress cradled your body like it had been blessed by saints. You groaned. “I’m never moving again.”

“Dinner’s in an hour.”

“I will simply ascend and feast as a ghost.”

Bob, still standing awkwardly by the door, gave you a look like he was about to say something else—maybe something real. But then:

“YO! WHO TOOK THE MASTER BATH?!”

Coyote’s voice echoed down the hallway, followed by a crash and Hangman laughing maniacally.

You sighed. “And so it begins.”

The sun dipped low over the horizon, casting a syrupy gold light over the resort as you and the rest of the squad made your way across the winding, lantern-lit paths to the oceanside restaurant reserved for the welcome dinner.

You had about thirty minutes to unpack, shower, and pretend you weren’t feral. Somehow, you made it—barely. Your hair was damp from a frantic rinse, you were still applying mascara in the elevator, and Rooster had been yelling down the hallway for ten minutes about how “this wasn’t optional.”

You were in a beachy dress you didn’t remember packing, your sandals were on the wrong feet, and Bob had walked into the bathroom twice mid-shirt-change while politely trying to not see anything. So yeah. Normal vacation stuff.

By the time you reached the private outdoor patio at the restaurant, the place was already buzzing. Tables were strung together beneath rows of glowing bistro lights, the air heavy with the scent of plumeria, roasted garlic, and whatever cocktail was glowing bright blue in Rooster’s hand.

“Squad, assemble!” Phoenix called from the head of the table, raising a mai tai in greeting.

She looked stunning—white dress, flower tucked behind her ear, a total bridal vision. Next to her, Rooster was already schmoozing with guests like he was running for office. You watched him nod seriously at someone’s uncle, then immediately trip over a tiki torch.

“Smooth,” Payback muttered.

“Presidential,” Fanboy added.

You found your name card halfway down the table, tucked beside Bob’s—of course. He was already pulling out your chair for you.

“Wow,” you said, smirking as you sat. “Chivalry?”

He shrugged, smoothing his dress shirt. “Trying not to embarrass you in front of Phoenix’s mom.”

“Too late for that,” someone drawled from across the table.

You looked up—and nearly choked on your breath.

The man sliding into the seat opposite you was tan, broad-shouldered, with a crooked grin and hair a little too good for someone not famous. He wore his Hawaiian shirt open just enough to be a problem.

“Leo Trace,” he said, offering a hand. “Phoenix’s older, hotter brother.”

You shook it, heart skidding. “Sweetie,” you said. “Bridesmaid. Not hotter.”

“Debatable,” Leo said, smiling right at you.

Across from you, Bob choked softly into his water.

Phoenix leaned across the table and gave you a look. “I forgot to warn you. He flirts like it’s a sport. Feel free to ignore him.”

“Rude,” Leo said. “I came all this way for my only sister’s wedding and I’m being slandered already?”

“You came because mom guilt-tripped you,” Phoenix said flatly.

“She said I’d get a tan and maybe meet my future wife.”

You glanced down at your plate.

Bob quietly readjusted the silverware.

“Anyway,” Leo said, grinning at you again. “So. You’re in the squad? You fly, too?”

“She flies,” Rooster said, materializing beside the table with a fresh beer. “She terrifies.”

“Don’t encourage her,” Hangman called from three seats down. “She once threatened to land a jet on my truck.”

“Because you parked in her spot,” Phoenix added, sipping.

Leo looked absolutely delighted. “Do you come with subtitles? Because I’m trying to keep up.”

You smiled sweetly. “Oh, don’t worry. You’ll get the crash course soon enough.”

Across from you, Bob adjusted his seat again.

You turned toward him. “Hey, did you try the rolls? They’re like, stupid good.”

He blinked, clearly caught mid-spiral. “I—uh—yeah. The bread. Very good bread.”

“Best man, right?” Leo asked him.

Bob nodded. “Yeah.”

“Cool. Must be wild having your whole squad here. Feels like a reunion episode of a military soap opera.”

Bob let out a short breath. “That’s… one way to put it.”

You kicked him lightly under the table.

His eyes flicked to yours, and he relaxed—just a little.

By the time dessert rolled around, Rooster had spilled his third drink, Payback was crying laughing at something Fanboy showed him on his phone, and Hangman was deep in a bizarre debate with Phoenix’s aunt about whether or not Die Hard was a Christmas movie.

You were leaning back in your seat, completely full and very buzzed, when Leo turned to you again.

“So,” he said. “Any chance you’ll save me a dance at the reception?”

You opened your mouth—

“She’s sharing a room with me,” Bob blurted.

The table went quiet.

You blinked. “I—I am.”

Leo raised an eyebrow. “Good for you, man.”

You watched Bob flush crimson. “I just meant—like—we’re friends. It’s not—we’re not—”

“Bro,” Fanboy said. “Abort.”

Bob let his head drop into his hands.

You turned to Leo and smiled. “I’ll think about that dance.”

The welcome dinner had technically ended three hours ago.

But someone—probably Fanboy—had muttered “I’m not tired, are you tired?” and that’s how eight fully grown adults ended up sprinting toward the beach with zero plan and a dangerous amount of post-mai-tai confidence.

The tiki torches lining the sand were flickering low, casting long shadows. The stars were out. The pool lights were off. Your feet were bare. Your dress was still on. Someone had handed you a half-finished drink that tasted suspiciously like tequila and regret.

Phoenix kicked off her heels with dramatic flair and yelled, “I’m getting in whether you bitches follow or not!”

“You’re the bride!” Rooster shouted. “You can’t drown till after the ceremony!”

“She’s a Navy pilot, Bradshaw,” Bob said flatly. “She’s not gonna drown.”

“Thank you, Floyd!”

“I didn’t say you wouldn’t get bitten by a crab though.”

Hangman let out a gasp from where he was aggressively digging a hole in the sand with a margarita glass. “THAT’S WHY THE OCEAN SMELLED WEIRD. THEY’RE PLOTTING.”

“Who gave Jake tequila!?” Payback bellowed.

“You did,” Fanboy said calmly. “We all watched you do it.”

Rooster ripped his shirt off like he was auditioning for Baywatch and yelled, “If I die tonight, I want my gravestone to say ‘Died as he lived: dramatic and mostly shirtless!’”

And then he sprinted into the waves at full speed.

He got maybe six steps in before a wave took him out like God personally smited him.

You doubled over wheezing.

Coyote was crying laughing. “YOU LOOK LIKE LAUNDRY IN A WASH CYCLE.”

“I’M FINE,” Rooster yelled from the surf. “MY KNEE DID SOMETHING WEIRD BUT I’M FINE.”

Phoenix grabbed your wrist. “We’re next.”

“I don’t have a swimsuit!”

Phoenix looked you dead in the eye. “Neither does anyone. Let’s go, Sweetie.”

Before you could object, she pulled you full-speed into the surf. You screamed at the cold—only for a wave to slam into both of you with unholy vengeance. Saltwater hit your face. Your hair stuck to your skin. Someone behind you tripped and yelled, “WHY IS THE SAND SO UNEVEN???”

That was probably Leo.

You pushed your hair out of your face just in time to see Hangman cannonball directly into the water in jeans.

“HE’S IN DENIM,” Coyote shrieked. “SOMEONE STOP HIM.”

“I’M MAKING ART,” Hangman hollered, soaking wet, arms spread like Jesus in a Levi’s commercial.

Fanboy tried to body slam Payback. Missed. Got dunked.

Rooster reemerged from the sea with a piece of seaweed on his shoulder and shouted, “Poseidon has accepted me as his child!”

“Good for you, buddy!” Phoenix called.

Bob was still on the edge of the water, just past the shore, standing knee-deep with a calm look on his face. His dog tags glinted in the moonlight as he adjusted his glasses and watched all of you with the fond exhaustion of a man in love with the exact chaos he’d willingly walked into.

You waded over, soaked and breathless.

“Having fun?” he asked, voice barely above the sound of the surf.

“Define fun.”

“You’re smiling.”

You splashed him lightly. “You’re wearing socks with slides, Bob. Why?”

He glanced down. Groaned. “This is bullying.”

“No, this is love.”

He gave you a long look. A real one. His mouth twitched like he wanted to say something else. But you both let the silence sit there, sweet and salt-laced, just long enough for Hangman to start yelling about bioluminescence behind you.

You burst into the villa like a group of very wet, very overdressed burglars.

Hangman slipped first — his loafers had zero traction on the polished tile — and barely caught himself on the back of the couch. “Who builds a beach next to a resort?!” he yelled, as if the architecture was to blame for him falling in.

“Literally everyone,” Fanboy answered, already peeling off his soaked blazer. “That’s the point of beachfront property.”

Payback followed behind him, sloshing with every step. “I swear to God, if I get trench foot because you idiots started a splash war—”

“You jumped in!” Coyote reminded him, squishing past in his damp linen pants.

“You said I wouldn’t!”

You were too cold to speak. Your dress clung to you like a wet napkin, and your clutch was full of seawater. Bob walked behind you with a dazed, almost peaceful expression — like he’d accepted his fate. His glasses were fogged and useless, and his button-down shirt had become transparent enough to qualify as a scandal.

“Your hair looks like a mop,” you said over your shoulder.

Bob blinked slowly. “I think my contacts dissolved.”

“Sweetie, you got kelp in your bra?” Phoenix asked, poking her head in from the open lanai door as she and Rooster prepared to leave for their private villa.

You pulled a sad little seaweed string out of your cleavage. “I’ll never be clean again.”

Phoenix saluted you solemnly. “Godspeed.”

Rooster slung an arm around her shoulders. “If the villa floods, don’t call us.”

“YOU’RE the one who started the splash fight!” Fanboy yelled after them.

They were gone before anyone could throw a sandal.

Back inside, the rest of the squad was in various states of undress and defeat. Clothes hit the floor with dramatic flair. Coyote was already rifling through the mini fridge in the living room, dripping water onto the marble like a trail of chaos.

“Who wants a road beer?” he asked.

“You’re in the villa,” Bob said, pointing at their suite number as he dragged his bag across the floor. “Go shower.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, Dad,” Coyote called, grabbing a mini tequila and sauntering off to 1403 with Hangman trailing behind him.

“I feel like I’ve been exfoliated by the sea,” Hangman muttered.

“I think you mean violated,” Payback corrected.

Fanboy was sniffing his shoe. “This smells like fish death.”

“Then don’t bring it in the bedroom!” Payback snapped, grabbing his own bag and dragging Fanboy toward 1405.

The chaos slowly filtered out into doors slamming and muffled voices as the villa quieted down — or, at least, as quiet as it could get with six Dagger boys trying to figure out the bidet in their respective bathrooms.

That left you.

And Bob.

Both standing in front of your room: 1406, the master suite.

“I’m never getting the sand out of this dress,” you said quietly, twisting your braid over your shoulder.

Bob looked like a shipwreck survivor. “You could’ve taken it off before swimming.”

“You could’ve not walked straight into a wave like a sleepwalker.”

“…I panicked,” he mumbled.

You both stepped into the suite. The bed looked like a cloud made of marshmallows and wealth. There were soft robes folded neatly on the bench at the end of the bed, and a bowl of chocolates on the nightstand. The bathroom was the size of a studio apartment.

“Okay,” you said, voice barely above a sigh. “We survived the flight. The check-in. The dinner. The ocean.”

Bob sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off his socks with an exhausted grunt. “You forgot the part where Coyote tried to baptize me with a piña colada.”

“I thought you liked tropical immersion.”

“I didn’t think it would be literal.”

You both peeled off wet clothes — not in a sexy way, more like two soggy roommates trying not to drip on the expensive rug. You pulled on the villa robe, tied it tight, and rubbed a towel through your hair.

Bob reappeared from the bathroom in boxers and a soft gray t-shirt. His curls were damp, his glasses finally clean, and he looked like a man who had absolutely no control over his own life anymore.

“You want the left side or right?” he asked.

You climbed into the bed without answering, burrowing straight into the sheets like a creature reclaiming its natural habitat.

“…Okay,” Bob muttered, slipping into the other side. “Noted.”

A moment passed.

Then you both burst into laughter — half-hysterical, half-delirious. The kind of laugh you get when you’re tired and overwhelmed and slightly buzzed from an evening of dumb decisions.

“I smell like seaweed and rum,” you wheezed.

“I can’t feel my kneecaps,” he whispered back.

You rolled onto your side, finally catching your breath. “Goodnight, Bob.”

He reached over and turned off the light. “Goodnight, Sweetie.”

The room was quiet.

Soft hum of the air conditioning. Outside, the ocean churned somewhere in the dark. A palm frond tapped the balcony glass every so often like a polite ghost asking to be let in.

You weren’t sure what time it was when you woke up.

But it had to be deep in the middle of the night — the kind of hour where time felt soft and blurry, like the world had gone out of focus.

You were hot.

Or maybe cold. Or maybe just tangled. The comforter was twisted around your ankle, You shifted, trying to find a less cursed position.

Bob stirred beside you.

You froze.

“…You good?” he mumbled sleepily, voice thick and rough with sleep.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Sorry. Just—my spine’s in a permanent state of confusion.”

He made a soft noise, somewhere between a chuckle and a sigh. “You should’ve taken the fluffy side of the pillow.”

“Why is your side fluffier?”

“Because I claimed it.”

You squinted at him through the darkness. “Are you hoarding the good pillow, Floyd?”

“I’m not hoarding, I’m just—” he paused, clearly not awake enough to argue properly. “Whatever. Take it. I’ll survive.”

There was a brief shuffle, fabric rustling, and then he passed over the good pillow like some kind of medieval offering. You flopped dramatically onto it with a sigh of relief, and he laughed again — low and tired and genuine.

Silence returned.

But only for a minute.

“Hey,” you said suddenly.

“Mm?”

“If I die of sea-fungus or mysterious ocean bacteria from swimming in a saltwater infinity pool in clothes that have never been washed, tell everyone it was Rooster’s fault.”

“Obviously.”

“And bury me in this robe. Tell Phoenix it was my final wish.”

Bob shifted closer, just a little. You could feel the warmth of him behind you now — not touching, not quite, but close. The kind of close that buzzed.

“You’re not dying of sea-fungus,” he said. “I’m making you shower in the morning.”

You grinned into the pillow. “Bossy.”

“Tactical.”

You turned your head just slightly toward him. Couldn’t see much — just the vague blur of his face in the dark.

His voice went softer. “You warm enough?”

“Yeah.”

A beat.

Then — and you weren’t sure how or why it happened — you moved back half an inch. Maybe less.

Just enough for the back of your shoulder to brush against his chest.

He didn’t move away.

His fingers brushed yours under the blanket. Not a full hold. Just—there. Light, tentative.

Your pulse did something ridiculous.

“…Goodnight again,” you whispered.

This time, he didn’t respond with words.

Just a gentle squeeze of your pinky.

Somewhere in the villa, an iPhone alarm went off at full nuclear volume.

“WHOSE PHONE—”

“I’m gonna kill someone.”

“Make it stop. Kill it. Smash it.”

“FANBOY TURN IT OFF.”

“I thought I did!” Fanboy shouted from the other room, smacking random buttons on his phone. “Why is it connected to the bathroom speaker?!”

The alarm continued, now echoing through the villa like a demon inside a cave. Someone groaned loudly, then there was the muffled thud of a pillow being thrown and a distant splash — possibly Payback falling off the bed.

In room 1406, your eyes blinked open in slow, confused horror.

“What the hell,” you rasped. Your throat felt dry, your hair was stuck to your cheek.

Across the bed, Bob made a noise that sounded like a dying walrus and rolled over. “Did we get trampled by a stampede of sea cucumbers?”

“No,” you croaked. “That’s just Fanboy’s alarm.”

There was another thud, followed by Hangman’s voice somewhere in the hallway:

“Jesus Christ, I thought we were under attack. Fanboy, what are you doing, syncing it to the Bluetooth speaker like a war criminal?”

“I didn’t mean to! I was trying to set an ocean sounds sleep timer!”

You threw the covers off with a groan and stumbled into the bathroom. Your eyes were puffy, your eyeliner was half-melted down one cheek, and you had a faint outline of a leaf stuck to the side of your neck. Awesome.

Bob appeared in the doorway behind you, his hair sticking up at six different angles.

“I think the seaweed tried to strangle me in my sleep,” he said.

“You have a sock in your pocket.”

“Do I?”

You both stared at his reflection for a moment in silence.

“…We need to go eat something,” you finally said.

The squad stumbled into the hotel’s grand buffet like a group of very pretty, very hungover zombies.

Coyote had one shoe on. Phoenix was wearing sunglasses indoors. Rooster looked like he’d been dragged backward through a wedding centerpiece. Hangman kept muttering about “Bluetooth betrayal.”

The buffet itself was absurd.

Six omelet stations. A waffle bar with ten syrups. A juice fountain. There was a cheese concierge.

“I feel like I’ve wandered into a very sexy fever dream,” Fanboy whispered as he picked up a plate.

“I’m gonna get married just for this buffet,” Payback said, already scooping eggs like a man possessed. “Put it in the vows. Till death, waffles, and bacon do us part.”

Bob, still half-asleep but holding two mugs of coffee like lifelines, handed one to you without a word.

You took it gratefully, barely awake enough to register that it was somehow exactly how you liked it.

“Sweetie, you have a seaweed strand in your hair,” Phoenix deadpanned, not looking up from the fruit bar.

“I know,” you said flatly. “It’s part of my look now.”

You and Bob returned to the table, plates fully loaded, just in time for Payback to hold up his third croissant and say, mouth full: “So, what’s the plan today?”

“Town day,” Phoenix announced, still wearing her sunglasses like a celebrity in hiding. “We explore. We shop. I buy things I absolutely don’t need. I bully Rooster into matching outfits. I taste twelve flavors of shaved ice and rate them on a spreadsheet.”

Rooster nodded solemnly. “I accept my fate.”

“And,” Hangman added, pointing dramatically with a fork, “we all buy horrendous tourist merch. Like coconut bras. Or shell necklaces. No one’s leaving Maui without looking like a budget Survivor contestant.”

“You just want an excuse to wear a floral sarong again,” Bob said.

“Again?” Fanboy blinked. “I’m sorry, what do you mean again—”

“I said what I said.”

Phoenix raised her mimosa. “Squad goal: spend money. Avoid sunburn. Only two emotional breakdowns allowed today.”

“And no one gets left behind this time,” you added pointedly.

Everyone looked at Rooster.

“OKAY,” he barked, holding up his hands. “I got on the wrong shuttle one time—”

The hotel shuttle door slid open with a hiss, and the Dagger Squad spilled out like contestants on a deranged group vacation special.

Phoenix immediately clapped her hands. “Okay, listen up. Here’s the plan: shaved ice, souvenir shops, matching t-shirts, tourist photos by the banyan tree, and then happy hour at that place on the beach. No one wander off. No one get another tattoo.”

“I regret nothing,” Fanboy muttered, tugging down the collar of his shirt to show off the tiny pineapple on his collarbone.

Rooster was already squinting against the sun. “It’s hot. Why is it so hot.”

“Because it’s the tropics and you refused to wear sunscreen,” Coyote said, handing him a floppy hat. “Put this on before your face peels off.”

“I look like a grandma.”

“You are a grandma,” Hangman said cheerfully. “Now smile. Squad photo time.”

You were in a full pineapple-printed outfit: matching shorts and crop top, courtesy of a wildly overpriced souvenir shop that you all ransacked like drunk pirates.

Rooster was in a shirt that read I GOT LEI’D IN MAUI. Phoenix had a tote bag that said Bridezilla Mode Activated. Payback was carrying two coconuts like he was dual-wielding them in a cartoon.

Bob was in a navy blue Hawaiian shirt patterned with tiny fighter jets and palm trees. His bucket hat said ALOHA, NERDS. He looked unreasonably good.

You told him that.

He promptly forgot how to breathe for a full three seconds.

Hangman, of course, noticed immediately.

“Oh, did Sweetie just call Bob hot again?” he gasped, hands to his chest. “I think I felt the earth quake.”

“Shut it,” you said, but you were smiling.

“I hate to say this,” Coyote added, “but you two are getting dangerously close to ‘mom and dad on vacation’ vibes. If you start arguing about dinner coupons, I’m out.”

“WE ARE NOT—”

“Sweetie, do not yell at me like I’m the manager of a resort timeshare,” Fanboy interrupted.

“I hate all of you,” you muttered.

You were halfway through your mango shaved ice and actively ignoring Hangman trying to barter with a street vendor over shell necklaces when you heard someone whistle low and familiar.

You turned—and there he was.

Leo Trace, wearing swim trunks, sunglasses, and a sleeveless tank top that showcased his deeply unfair arms. His hair was windswept. His grin was criminal. His tan had gotten even better overnight.

“Oh no,” Bob muttered.

“Oh yes,” Hangman said under his breath.

Leo jogged over, flashing a grin that was already trouble. “Hey, you guys made it! I just got done surfing—figured I’d come see if you all survived the buffet hangover.”

Phoenix rolled her eyes. “Leo, go away.”

“You invited me to your wedding?.”

“That sounds like a you problem.”

Leo ignored her, turning to you with a lopsided smirk. “You look good in pineapples.”

“Thanks. You look like you belong in a cologne commercial,” you replied dryly.

“Appreciate that.” His eyes flicked to Bob. “Nice shirt, man. Really brings out the existential dread.”

Bob didn’t blink. “Thanks. So does your tank top. You buy that in the children’s section or was it just pre-shrunk from all the attention-seeking?”

You choked.

The squad exploded.

“Oh my god,” Fanboy whispered.

“Bob!” Payback clapped a hand over his mouth.

Leo blinked, then grinned wider. “Damn. You finally got teeth. Love that for you.”

Bob looked entirely unbothered. “Love that you noticed.”

Hangman was doubled over. “Someone give these two a kiddie pool and let them wrestle it out. I am begging.”

“Let’s not do this,” you said, somewhere between amused and horrified.

“We already are,” Rooster said, filming the whole thing on his phone.

Leo leaned toward you just slightly. “Hey—if you want to escape the senior citizens’ discount tour, I was gonna grab lunch by the cliffs. You in?”

Before you could answer, Bob said flatly, “She’s booked. Shaved ice, matching shirts, group meltdown scheduled for 2:15. Full itinerary.”

Leo snorted. “Well. In case you change your mind…”

He shot you a wink and sauntered off, giving Phoenix a noogie as he passed. She slapped him in the stomach and shouted “STOP BEING HOT AROUND MY FRIENDS” like she said it twice a week.

When he was gone, the group just stood there in stunned silence.

Then Fanboy whispered, “I’m scared to check Bob’s blood pressure.”

You turned to him. “Are you seriously beefing with Leo now?”

Bob didn’t look at you. “I’m not beefing.”

You just stared.

“Okay. I’m passive-aggressively defending your honor.”

Rooster howled.

You bit back a laugh. “My honor?”

“You heard me.”

“Okay, medieval knight.”

“Dibs on writing his dating profile,” Coyote said. “Bob Floyd: Defends Your Honor. Wears floral. Hates Leo Trace.”

“I don’t hate him,” Bob mumbled.

Everyone: “Mmmhmm.”

“I need an hour away from testosterone,” Phoenix announced, already peeling herself away from the group. “No offense, Bob.”

“None taken,” he said, still glaring in the direction Leo had walked.

You looped your arm through hers. “Are we ditching them?”

“We’re escaping them,” she corrected, pointing across the street. “That boutique. You’re coming with me.”

“Is this a bride-zilla errand or a retail therapy errand?”

“Yes.”

The shop smelled like plumeria and coconut candles. Soft acoustic covers of early 2000s hits were playing over the speakers — Norah Jones was crooning something about waiting. There were racks of linen sundresses, lace coverups, and flower-print wrap dresses. The kind of place that makes you believe in soft lighting and second chances.

Phoenix bee-lined toward a rack of flowing white maxi dresses.

You wandered toward a blush pink one with a tie at the waist. “You realize you already have your dress, right?”

“Yes, but I don’t have a brunch after the wedding, please excuse my post-nuptial glow dress,” she said, holding a sheer one up to the mirror. “This is logistics.”

“Sounds like an excuse.”

“I am the bride.”

“…Fair.”

You flipped through hangers. “So what’s the vibe you’re going for? Effortless goddess? Sexy domestic vacation wife? Do you want to look like you own a villa or like you own an espresso machine and a quiet divorce?”

She held up a white halter with a gold clasp. “This says I make organic smoothies and my husband writes screenplays.”

“This says you eat your husband,” you countered.

“Perfect,” she grinned, and slung it over her arm.

A few dresses later, you found yourself half-draped across the plush pink chair in the dressing room lounge while Phoenix modeled her fifth option.

“This one’s kind of giving… spiritual retreat leader,” she said, turning in front of the mirror.

You squinted. “You look like you’d charge me $800 to rebalance my energy with ethically sourced moon crystals.”

“Okay, that’s a yes.”

You both laughed — the kind of easy, familiar laugh that came from years of this exact routine. Dress shops. Dumb commentary. Her being fearless. You being her anchor.

Phoenix stepped out of the changing room again, barefoot now, holding a gauzy shawl like she wasn’t totally convinced about it. “Hey… you okay?”

You blinked. “Yeah. Why?”

“You’re doing the thing where you go quiet and start folding clothes that don’t belong to you.”

Sure enough, your hands were smoothing out a top that had nothing to do with you.

You sighed, sitting back down. “Just… exhausted. Long night.”

Phoenix raised an eyebrow. “Did Bob snore?”

“No. He was actually weirdly quiet. Like, suspiciously polite. Like he was pretending he was asleep for most of it.”

“He probably was.”

“I don’t think so.”

She gave you that look. The one that meant: Say it out loud or I will. “What happened?”

You exhaled. “Nothing. That’s the problem.”

Phoenix sat beside you. “Sweetie.”

You rubbed your hands over your face. “It’s just… I got in bed thinking it’d be awkward, or maybe funny, or we’d have a weird moment and joke about it. And instead, it was just—quiet. And warm. And he said goodnight like he meant it. And I—” you trailed off. “I didn’t sleep.”

“Because of Bob.”

Phoenix was silent for a beat. Then: “Can I ask something real?”

“Always.”

She turned toward you. “Are you scared it’s not just a crush anymore?”

Your breath caught. Then you whispered, “Yeah.”

“Sweetie.”

“I don’t know when it happened. Or how. It’s just—he’s always there. He listens, and he knows all my shit and doesn’t flinch. And when I wake up, I always kind of hope he’ll be there too.”

Phoenix leaned her head on your shoulder. “You know what I think?”

“What?”

“You’re already halfway in. And so is he. The rest is just one of you being brave enough to say it.”

You didn’t answer. You just sat there, surrounded by linen dresses and the smell of coconut, trying to breathe around the weight in your chest.

“Anyway,” Phoenix said, brightening, “I’m buying the expensive one.”

“I knew you would.”

“I deserve it.”

“Absolutely.”

By the time you and Phoenix made it back from the boutique, the rest of the squad had migrated to a beachside bar just down the road from the resort — the kind of place with frozen drinks served in pineapples, no walls, and a ukulele player crooning something vaguely Jack Johnson-adjacent in the corner.

You spotted them immediately: Hangman and Coyote arguing over who could bench more (both wrong), Fanboy building an elaborate tower out of coasters, Payback filming it for “scientific documentation,” and Rooster sipping a neon-colored drink that did not match his energy.

Bob was sitting between Rooster and an empty chair — sunglasses on, cheeks a little pink from the sun, shirt sleeves rolled up. He looked up as you approached.

And then blinked. And blinked again.

Because you weren’t wearing that hideous pineapple set anymore—no—you were wearing a dress. The one Phoenix had convinced you to buy. The one with the low back and the soft pink floral print and the sash that tied at your waist just so. Your hair was swept up in a lazy clip, and the breeze had pulled a few strands loose. You looked… warm. Relaxed. Like vacation agreed with you.

Bob? He looked like his brain had just short-circuited.

“Hey,” you said, sliding into the seat beside him.

He made a sound that might’ve been a word.

You tilted your head. “Everything okay?”

He took a slow sip of his drink and muttered, “That dress should be illegal.”

You laughed — and okay, maybe blushed a little too. “It was on sale.”

“That’s a crime.”

Rooster leaned over with a smirk. “You gonna say something or just sit there like a Victorian man seeing ankles for the first time?”

Bob didn’t even bother to answer him.

Phoenix returned a moment later, flopping into the seat next to you and stealing a sip from your drink without asking. “This is awful. I love it.”

“It’s a coconut mojito,” you said. “You ordered it.”

“Yeah, well, past me had terrible taste.”

Fanboy pointed dramatically across the bar. “Incoming hot older brother. I repeat: Leo approaching at six o’clock.”

You didn’t even have to look to know he was smirking.

“Afternoon, degenerates,” Leo said, all golden confidence and lazy charm as he slid into a chair beside Phoenix. “Y’all survive the swim last night?”

“No thanks to you,” Bob muttered under his breath.

“What was that, Floyd?”

“Nothing.”

Leo stretched like a cat and nodded toward your drink. “Sweetheart, you gonna let me try that or do I have to earn it?”

You gave him a slow blink. “You want to earn it? Go build a sandcastle with Fanboy and don’t speak to me for fifteen minutes.”

Fanboy gasped. “Wait yes, we should build a moat.”

“Only if it has tiny turrets,” Leo said, immediately on board.

Phoenix snorted. “God help us.”

Rooster leaned toward Coyote, deadpan: “How long you think until Leo gets himself kicked out of this bar?”

“Ten minutes,” Coyote said. “Five if he starts flirting with someone’s mom.”

“I don’t discriminate,” Leo said, raising his drink. “Moms deserve attention too.”

Bob looked like he was internally screaming.

You nudged him with your knee under the table. “Hey.”

He turned, and you smiled — soft, real, just for him.

“You okay?” you asked.

He exhaled slowly, lips quirking. “I think I liked last night better when it was just us and the fish.”

You laughed. “Me too.”

He looked at you for a long beat, like he was trying to memorize something. Then nodded, like he’d just come to a decision.

“I’ll get us another round,” he said, standing and heading to the bar.

You watched him go — watched the way his hand rubbed the back of his neck, the way his shoulders moved under his shirt, the way he still looked a little like your favorite secret.

Phoenix elbowed you. “You’re so gone.”

You didn’t deny it.

The squad villa was bursting at the seams with food, noise, and the unmistakable scent of garlic, salt, and something suspiciously sweet coming from a giant bowl of leftover Mai Tais.

The long dining table groaned under the weight of the feast: heaping platters of crispy fries, sushi rolls stacked like towers, at least four kinds of pizza (including one with jalapeños that had everyone pretending to be braver than they were), and a massive bowl of spicy noodles that was being eyed like a ticking time bomb.

Rooster was already halfway through a pizza slice, balancing it precariously in one hand while scrolling through his phone with the other. Phoenix sat at the head of the table, eyes darting between the squad and a list of last-minute wedding to-dos on her tablet, but a faint smile betrayed her amusement at the chaos unfolding.

“You know,” Phoenix said, “I feel like I should be stressed right now, but instead I’m just watching you all try to eat without setting something on fire.”

“You say that like it’s not a talent,” Payback said, dipping a fry into a suspiciously generous amount of ketchup.

Coyote gave him a side-eye. “You’re the reason we almost had to call the fire department last trip.”

Fanboy, meanwhile, was meticulously organizing his sushi pieces by type and color, while Hangman somehow managed to juggle a bowl of noodles, a slice of pizza, and a cocktail all at once.

Bob sat next to you on the couch, his plate overflowing with a dangerously large pile of fries and half a slice of pizza, eyes flickering between his food and you. You caught him staring and smirked, adjusting the sash of your dress as you took a bite of a spicy chicken wing.

Bob? Poor guy looked like he was short-circuiting.

Coyote nudged him. “You good?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Because you haven’t blinked in like… two minutes.”

“Totally fine.”

You leaned back casually, taking a bite of your fries. “He’s just trying to process how dumb you all are.”

“I’m trying to process how good you look in that dress,” Bob mumbled into his fork.

The room fell suspiciously silent.

Hangman’s head whipped around. “Sorry, what was that, Floyd?”

“Nothing,” Bob said, way too fast.

You gave him a slow side glance, lips twitching. “That wasn’t nothing.”

Fanboy whispered, “Y’all gonna kiss on this pizza box or what.”

Payback wheezed.

“Hey,” Rooster said, throwing a pizza slice onto your plate with mock generosity. “Eat before you turn into a stressed-out statue.”

You grinned. “Thanks, Captain Romantic. Don’t strain yourself with all this charm.”

Rooster smirked, glancing at Phoenix, who shook her head with a knowing smile.

The conversation swirled between silly and serious: debates over which wedding song would destroy the dance floor, last-minute checklist panic, and playful teasing about who would actually survive the wedding day without embarrassing themselves.

Fanboy made a passionate case for an ‘80s dance medley, which Payback immediately mocked by launching into an exaggerated version of the moonwalk that left everyone laughing.

Hangman attempted to one-up him with a clumsy breakdance move that ended with him sprawled on the floor, laughing so hard he could barely breathe.

Coyote rolled his eyes but grinned. “Remind me why I agreed to come on this trip again?”

“Because you love us,” you said, tossing a fry at him.

Bob laughed quietly, then leaned closer to whisper, “You really look incredible tonight.”

You felt your cheeks warm, but kept eating like it was no big deal.

“Yeah, well, I’m just glad you didn’t forget your manners and pick a fight with the food,” you teased.

Bob shrugged. “I saved my energy for keeping you alive all weekend.”

You glanced at him, catching that brief flicker of something unspoken in his eyes.

Phoenix clapped her hands, cutting through the noise. “Alright, lovebirds and degenerates — dessert’s on me. Let’s order something ridiculous.”

“Brownie sundae with extra whipped cream,” Payback declared.

“And a pineapple upside-down cake,” Fanboy added.

Rooster raised his glass. “To surviving weddings, friendships, and all the chaos in between.”

Everyone cheered, the noise swelling into laughter and loud conversation that carried well into the night.

Somewhere in between pheonix and rooster leaving, the boys going to bed and room service coming by to get the dirty dishes, you and bob went outside on the villa balcony.

It was quiet outside — just the distant sound of ocean waves and the soft hum of island nightlife. The breeze had cooled slightly, salt-heavy and sweet, rustling the palms below. The villa balcony overlooked the water, soft yellow lights strung around the railing and casting warm glows over the white cushions.

You leaned against the edge, arms crossed loosely. Bob stood next to you, one hand braced on the railing, the other shoved in his pocket.

“That dress really is…” he started, then gave a helpless little shake of his head. “You look beautiful.”

You smiled, turning slightly toward him. “Thanks, Bobby.”

His ears flushed. “Don’t call me that.”

You grinned. “You like it.”

“I tolerate it.”

“I know you like it.”

He didn’t deny it.

A few beats of quiet passed. You both stared out at the water like it had answers. Like it might solve whatever tension had been simmering beneath the surface all day.

“You ever think about it?” you asked softly.

Bob glanced at you. “About what?”

“Weddings.”

That startled him more than he expected. “Yours or in general?”

“Both.”

He hesitated. “I guess I think about… being there. The people I’d want. The vibe. Good food, live music. Definitely no choreographed dancing.”

“No chicken dance?”

“God, no.”

You laughed, and he relaxed a little.

“What about you?” he asked.

You shrugged, but it was the kind of shrug that meant yes, a lot. “Used to want a huge wedding. Now? I think I’d be happy with something small. Family, friends. Just… people who really know me.”

His eyes softened. “They’d know you picked that dress.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You gonna talk about this dress the whole night?”

“Possibly,” he said. “I’m in a bit of a spiral.”

You bit back a smile, looking away again. “I don’t think I’d want a big venue. Maybe something outdoors. Garden, beach. Sunset ceremony. Then dancing under lights just like these.”

Bob didn’t say anything for a long moment.

Then quietly: “I’d dance with you.”

You turned.

He was still watching the water, but you could see the way his hand curled tighter around the railing. Like he was holding onto something that scared him a little.

You stepped closer.

“Maybe you will,” you said softly.

That finally made him look at you — really look. Like his heart was right there in his eyes and he didn’t quite know what to do with it.

“…Are we still talking hypothetically?” he asked.

You just smiled.

The first light of dawn filtered softly through the tall windows of the villa, painting the rooms in gentle hues of pink and gold.

The squad villa was still, the kind of quiet that felt like the calm before a storm — and with the Dagger Squad, storms were basically guaranteed.

One by one, the bedrooms slowly came to life.

In room 1403, Coyote stirred under his rumpled sheets, the early sun warming his face. His phone buzzed quietly on the nightstand with a message from Fanboy: “You up yet? The plan’s happening.” He groaned, stretching, and reluctantly shoved his feet into slippers.

Down the hall in 1405, Payback lay half-curled on one of the queen beds, eyes fluttering open as his playlist softly filled the room. He reached over to silence his phone and immediately regretted it—the text preview read: “Coffee or death? Choose wisely.” He chuckled and rolled out of bed.

Meanwhile, in the master bedroom 1406, Bob was still tangled in sheets, the soft hum of his smartwatch quietly alerting him to a reminder: “Maid of Honor + Bachelorette Planning @ squad villa today.” He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, glancing toward the door where he knew you were likely stirring too.

You stirred as well, stretching beneath the light linen sheets, the faint scent of salt and island flowers lingering in the air. Your phone buzzed softly on the nightstand—a group message from Phoenix: “Ready to get the party started?!” You smiled and set the phone aside, deciding to give the squad a little more time before the inevitable morning chaos.

The kitchen slowly came alive as the first of you shuffled through to start coffee. Coyote was already up, pouring the first strong cup of the day, while Payback helped unpack a stash of pastries and fruit from the previous night’s haul.

Fanboy, freshly showered and still humming a half-remembered tune, appeared next, arms full of juice cartons and yogurt cups.

Gradually, the others joined in, drawn by the promise of caffeine and the low hum of morning chatter — no yelling yet, just sleepy smiles and the occasional groan.

Phones glowed as someone pulled up an iPad on the kitchen counter — Phoenix’s weapon of choice for today’s mission — a blank note ready to become a master plan.

The villa was calm, the squad gearing up for a day of strategizing and laughter, before the inevitable arrival of Phoenix and Rooster, who would soon burst through the door and kick everything into overdrive.

Just as the squad was settling into the rhythm of a slow, caffeine-fueled morning—quiet conversation, half-finished coffee cups, and the soft glow of the iPad screen—an abrupt knock-knock-KNOCK shattered the calm.

The door to the villa rattled under an enthusiastic pounding.

“Get up, you maniacs!” Phoenix’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding.

Rooster’s followed, just as insistent. “Open this door before I come in like a wrecking ball!”

Coyote groaned loudly, sinking deeper into his chair. “Is it too early to declare war on the bride and groom?”

Payback rolled his eyes but stood, heading to unlock the door.

You exchanged a look with Bob, the slight smile that said: Here we go again.

The door swung open, and Phoenix and Rooster burst inside like a whirlwind of energy and purpose.

Phoenix’s eyes sparkled with that determined “leader” vibe, while Rooster sported that half-smirk that meant he was ready to play referee and ringmaster all at once.

“Morning, degens,” Phoenix announced, dropping a bright tote bag on the kitchen island. “We’re officially on squad time now.”

Rooster followed, tossing his keys on the counter. “No more leisurely wake-ups. We’ve got planning to do — and someone’s got to keep Bob from going back to bed.”

Bob raised his coffee cup in mock surrender. “I’m awake. Mostly.”

Phoenix smirked and pulled out her iPad. “Alright, team. Let’s turn this beautiful chaos into a legendary bachelorette party.”

The squad circled the island, eyes on the screen as Phoenix started typing up ideas.

“Beach bars, scavenger hunts, ridiculous costumes,” she rattled off.

“Don’t forget the karaoke,” Hangman added with a grin.

“Only if we can force Rooster up there,” Payback laughed.

Rooster shook his head but laughed along. “I’m just here to make sure you don’t burn the island down.”

You caught Bob’s eye as the buzz of ideas filled the room — the quiet, simmering energy between you two suddenly feeling warmer in the tropical morning light.

The squad was gathered tight around the kitchen island, the iPad glowing like a beacon of organized chaos as Phoenix tapped furiously on the screen.

“Okay, so first things first — themes,” Phoenix declared, eyes scanning the eager faces.

Fanboy was the first to shout out: “Tropical fiesta! You can’t go wrong with palm leaves, flamingos, and endless fruity drinks.”

Hangman grinned. “Or how about a ‘Spy Games’ theme? Secret missions, disguises, and definitely some harmless sabotage.”

Coyote deadpanned, “Because nothing says ‘fun’ like covert ops and broken hearts.”

You laughed, setting down your coffee. “I’m voting for something that screams Dagger Squad chaos. Maybe an obstacle course with a cocktail at the end?”

Payback nodded enthusiastically. “Yes! And challenges like ‘Find the Worst Tattoo in the Bar’ or ‘Convince a Stranger to Buy You a Drink.’”

Bob raised an eyebrow, voice dry but amused. “Public humiliation already sounds like a plan. I like where this is going.”

Rooster shook his head, pretending to be the voice of reason. “Remember, Phoenix wants this memorable, not the next viral disaster.”

Phoenix smirked. “Speak for yourself, Rooster.”

The ideas flew fast and furious. There was talk of ridiculous costumes — you and Bob shared a look, imagining the horrors that might entail. Fanboy suggested a dance-off challenge, which Hangman immediately turned into a full-blown mock battle, complete with terrible dance moves and exaggerated trash talk. You caught Bob’s gaze again. His eyes lingered just a beat too long, that familiar warmth making your chest tighten.

“Alright,” Phoenix said, trying to regain control amid the laughter, “here’s what we have so far: a bar crawl hitting the best beachside bars, a scavenger hunt with ridiculous dares, costumes that may or may not involve glitter and tutus, and a dance-off karaoke showdown.”

Payback raised his coffee cup. “To the best chaos we’ve ever caused.”

Everyone echoed the toast, laughter filling the villa.

Bob leaned closer to you, voice low and teasing. “You ready to lose?”

You smirked. “In your dreams, Floyd.”

fic continued here

taglist: @yagurlannastasia , @funkyfable , @msfirth , @eclipse134 and sorry to anyone else that wanted to e tagged but didn’t i posted this in a rush

#top gun maverick #top gun fanfiction #ri talks #bob floyd #robert floyd #lewis pullman #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd smut #lewis pullman x reader #bob floyd x female reader #bob floyd fluff #robert bob floyd x reader #bob floyd fic #robert bob floyd #bob fluff

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