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mustyrosewater · 3 days ago

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𝖆𝖋𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖉𝖆𝖗𝖐

𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖐 𝖈𝖆𝖒𝖕𝖇𝖊𝖑𝖑 𝖝 𝖆𝖋𝖆𝖇!𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗

𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙: 14.7k

𝖘𝖞𝖓𝖔𝖕𝖘𝖎𝖘: you met your best friend julia in highschool two years before graduation, you kissed her older brother on halloween, logic says that four years later, you would completely forget about something like that, right?

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘: mutual pining, a little bit of angst, mentions of a cheating boyfriend, drunk kisses, rated n for nasty, SMUT, cursing, cliche in the form of falling for your best friends older brother. also julia is a lesbian no i don’t take criticism.

𝖆𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗𝖘 𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖊: hey gang, so, in an attempt to write something small before releasing another chapter of an ongoing series, somehow i managed to turn this into a 14k word slow burn, please enjoy and as always comment and reblog to show your support! it means the world to me! also massive thanks to @babybluebex for brainstorming all of this with me including being the one who came up with the idea that erik drove a 2005 ford taurus post graduation.

It hadn’t been something you expected when you became friends with Julia, being paired together for a project by your teacher in eleventh grade had seemed to be some sort of divine intervention.

Initially, you’d been apprehensive; Julia was hardly the type of person you would be drawn to, her blonde hair and tan being a more than enough difference to your own more alternative choice of dress and appearance, yet somehow, a friendship bloomed quite promptly.

She’d been so sweet, offering you gum while you sat together and cracking jokes that actually made you laugh, not at all the dense popular girl stereotype you’d unfairly constructed of her inside your own mind. Julia actually evidently loved hanging out with you, and you with her.

Where you’d first spent time with each other out of obligation, sitting together in the library to study together or inviting her around to your house to work on the project, it then turned into going to the mall together and sitting together at lunch so that she could bitch about her brothers and laugh about things with you.

The first you’d heard of her brothers was purely by mention when you were studying together in the public library after school, Julia’s phone had vibrated, and she opened it up only to chuckle and type something back.

“Who’s that?” you’d asked curiously, peering your head over with a smirk, initially thinking that maybe it was a boy, someone she’d been flirting back and forth with.

“Just my brothers.” she’d laughed, turning her phone around to reveal the photo that had seemingly been taken from the inside of a car, two males varying in age making silly faces at the camera as the older brother drove, the photo seemingly taken by the younger.

“Oh, i didn’t know you had any siblings.” you’d responded, nodding your head as you looked back at the photo.

“Yeah well, Erik already graduated, and Bobby’s three years younger than me.” Julia explained, shrugging her shoulders as she closed her laptop and began placing things in her bag, humming to herself.

“They’re actually on the way to get me now. Do you need a lift?” She’d offered, smiling across at you in that way that was always contagious, leaving you unable to stop your own smile from crawling across your features.

Mulling the offer over in your head, you bit your lip and tapped your pencil against the table, trying to decide whether or not you wanted to stay a bit longer. It was pretty late after all, just now starting to get dark outside, even if it was only about six thirty, even more of a marker that summer was starting to finish up.

“If that's okay?” you finally asked, starting to pack up your own things as Julia nodded brightly and excitedly, holding out her hand for you as soon as you stood, which you took in your own, swinging your interlocked hands together as you exited the library.

“You should sleep over!” she offered, seeming like she was excited by the idea as she gripped your hand tighter, only spurring on a laugh from you. “We can watch that stupid movie, fuck what was it called..” she trailed off, placing a hand on her forehead as she tried to remember.

Snapping her fingers, she pointed a finger at you as her eyes brightened up, “After! The one that was like a fucked up Harry Styles fanfiction!”

Rolling your eyes, you groaned audibly and tilted your head back, looking back at her as she nodded in tandem with you shaking your head.

“Jesus christ, no, Julia.” you laughed through your words, still holding her hand as you stood by the entrance of the library and waited for your lift to arrive.

“I’ll sleepover, but we’re not watching that movie.”

Seemingly only excited that you said yes to the sleepover, Julia did what could only be described as a little happy dance, balancing her books in one hand as she held yours with her other.

“Oh my god, im so excited, i’ll get Erik to order us pizza.”

As if it were a speak of the devil type summoning, the sound of what could only be described as a tin man gargling nails began to sound out in the distance, your brows furrowing as you looked around the almost abandoned parking lot for the source of the sound.

Coming peeling around the corner, the silver car that looked to be a model that was over a decade old pulled into the parking lot of the library, its motor sounding like the depths of hell and the tires skidding slightly as the driver turned.

The sound of metal music blaring only got louder as the car got closer. You could see the passenger side window rolling down when it finally pulled up in front of you, Julia walking down the steps with a large grin as she waved.

You were hesitant as you stepped after her, part of you worried that this car could blow up any second based on the sound, much less hesitant to get inside based on the way her brother was driving.

“My friend’s coming over to stay.” she spoke matter-of-factly, opening the back door and leaning in to seemingly brush trash away, old cigarette packets and McDonald's bags.

When she shuffled her way into the backseat, you leaned in to finally catch a glance at these lucrative brothers, the youngest of whom in the front passenger seat couldn’t have been any older than fifteen, waved at you and grinned, looking like the nicest kid you’ve ever seen in your life.

The older brother, the one in the driver's seat with one hand resting on the steering wheel, only spared a glance at you as you got in, buckling your seat belt.

“Did you ask dad?” he spoke pointedly, looking at Julia through the rear-view mirror with his eyebrows raised, only for Julia to roll her own eyes and let out a long sigh.

“Dad doesn’t care.” she responded, her tone laced with an overwhelming sense of sass that for a moment you wondered if she even got along with her brother.

Just as you thought an argument was potentially going to start between the siblings, the eldest brother, Erik, shrugged his shoulders before putting the clutch into drive.

“Works for me.”

Before you even got the chance to open your mouth to thank him for giving you a ride, you were gripping the passenger door for dear life as he spun the steering wheel and turned the radio back up, peeling out of the library parking lot like he was drag racing.

When looking over at Julia, she only laughed at your nervous expression, evidently used to her brothers' more than lenient view on traffic laws and speeding limits.

Managing to make it to the Campbell family home without crashing, even if your legs felt wobbly getting out of the absolute death trap that was Erik’s 2005 ford taurus, you and Julia retired to her bedroom and began to settle in for a movie night, even if she’d gone ahead and put on that stupid after movie anyway.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t finding yourself even slightly pulled in by the awful plot and acting, turning into a hate watch as you sat on the bed with Julia.

“This is horrible.” she wheezed as you sat shoulder to shoulder, shovelling popcorn into your mouths together.

You shrugged your shoulders, tilting your head as a scene with the main male lead played on the screen, a horrid rendition of a Harry Styles knockoff, though the tattoos weren’t bad.

“He’s kinda hot.” you mused, unable to stop yourself from cracking up as you watched Julia’s face contort into a look of judgment and horror all at once.

“Ew! He literally looks like my brother!” she cried, holding her hand out at the screen for extra emphasis.

The sudden realization of the shared resemblance between the two men made you almost spit out your popcorn with laughter, leaning over the side of the bed to cough as you both laughed until your stomachs hurt.

This was always going to be the sign that you and Julia were going to be best friends for the rest of your lives, only with her did you ever laugh so hard that you got lightheaded or feel comfortable telling even your deepest thoughts.

The rest of that same year had been more than enough time for you to wedge your way into the Campbells’ lives, coming around almost every week, her parents loved you, always overjoyed when you came around to the point it was like you lived there half the time.

Dinner sat with the rest of her family, or barbecues out in the backyard when the weather was warm, there was so much effort on her and her family’s part to include you.

It made your heart soar.

So much of your time was spent by Julia’s side, whether it was playing video games with Bobby or the pair of you begging Erik for a lift to the mall, the pair of you putting all of your power to be annoying together to eventually get him to cave every time.

“Ok, Ok, if i take you to the mall, will you both shut the fuck up and leave me alone.” he’d groan from where he sat on his bed, the pair of you nodding excitedly from where you’d stuck your heads into his room.

Howard had seemed to recognise parts of himself in you, even if you didn’t say it, you both knew that the Campbells were the closest thing to family you had. With your mother’s tight work schedule, the only family member you had was barely home half of the time, leaving you to essentially need to function on your own.

The Campbells’ family home became your safe haven, to the point that the guest room started becoming your go-to bedroom when you came to sleep over. Your possessions and clothes were starting to be left in there to the point that it was hardly even a guest room anymore.

Within a year, you’d been accepted as an extra family member.

Even your eighteenth birthday had been spent with the Campbells, who’d gone to the trouble to get you a cake and prepare a little barbecue with some small decorations.

As much as they might have thought it was small, you hugged Julia behind closed doors and cried softly in her arms, so thankful to have her in your life to the point of tears.

Bobby and Erik had even gone to the trouble to get you a present, Bobby handing it to you sheepishly as Erik stood behind him with his hands in his pockets.

You hugged Bobby tightly and resisted the urge to pinch his cheeks, the now sixteen-year-old looking awfully proud of himself.

“Alright, come here..” you’d heard Erik say, laughing together as he pulled you into a one-armed side hug, his desire to put forward a nonchalant nature betraying him as soon as he’d seen your eyes start to fog up all over again.

While they might not have thought it was anything special, the little Claire’s necklace never left your neck from that day onwards, even when the chain started to rust, you just got a new one.

The little skull and crossbones were a pretty obvious nod to your alternative choice of wear, something that you and Julia always thought was funny, the stark difference between your two styles always being a point of conversation.

It only made sense that when Erik needed somebody to practise on when he started getting trained to be a body piercer by the tattoo shop in town, Julia had come to you.

“Fuck no.”

“Please! He just needs to do a nose, then they can upskill him, he only needs one person!”

Julia sat across from you in the food court, her arms outstretched towards you as he gripped your wrists and shook them softly.

“I’m not letting your brother come anywhere near me with a needle!” you argued, pulling your hands away from her, only for Julia to put her hands together in a motion that looked similar to either prayer or begging.

“Come onnnn! He won’t stop bugging me about it! If he can’t get his certificate, he’s gonna be miserable, and I’m the one that’s gonna have to deal with it.”

You sat and stared for a few moments, biting your lip, obviously a free nose piercing wasn’t something you would normally turn down, considering you wanted it for ages, but the idea of letting Erik do it only filled you with anxiety.

It would look pretty sweet, though.

Holding up a pointed index finger, you watched Julia’s expression light up with hope.

“You have to hold my hand.”

Your confirmation made Julia practically jump out of her seat, pulling you into a hug and rocking you back and forth as you tried to push her off.

“Thank you!” she cried out.

That was how you then found yourself lying back in the black leather chair in the tattoo studio Erik was currently apprenticing at, Julia sat by your side and gripping your hand tightly as Erik used a marker to put a little dot on your nose.

“Please don't kill me.” you whispered, only producing a chuckle out of him as he rolled his stool back to reach for the sterilized needle on his side table.

“I make no promises.” he spoke softly, only to receive a smack on the shoulder from Julia.

“Shut up, she’s already nervous.”

When he finally pushed the needle through, you shut your eyes and squeezed Julia’s hand so hard that you thought you might hurt her, trying to maintain a steadiness to your breathing as he put the jewelry through, a plain silver stud.

Maybe it was a good way to celebrate being eighteen, being able to sign off on your own piercing, just so happened that it was convenient timing to be around the same time Erik needed a guinea pig.

Rising from the leather seat slowly, as instructed, you could already see Julia smiling brightly as she leaned in to have a closer look.

“Look’s hot.” she mused, only resulting in you rolling your eyes.

“Shut up.” you chuckled, pushing her shoulder slightly so that you could pick up the mirror Erik was handing you, holding it up to your face and beholding the small silver stud that was now sticking through your nose.

You loved it, of course you did, and it was difficult to hide that, considering the massive grin coming across your face, turning your view to where Erik sat, satisfied with his work.

“Well, you’re not dead.” he stated with a smirk, tossing the used needle in a jar. “Guess that means I did a good job.”

Shaking your head, you pushed yourself off of the black leather chair and reached forward to take Julia’s hand in your own, grabbing your bag off her shoulder and swinging it over your own.

“Thank you, Erikkkk..” you mused, swinging Julia’s hand in your own as you headed for the exit, swinging the studio door open with a ring of the bell and walking out, laughing with Julia as you did.

Halloween was always something you’d loved as a child, fond memories of fake blood and jack o lanterns that still brought warmth to your heart even now.

Obviously the holiday and its activities seemed to take a sharp turn when you turned eighteen, the party you and Julia had been invited to promising to be a “rager.” or at least that’s what Julia had said.

Her bluetooth speaker had thrilled blasting out of it as the pair of you got ready together, finally looking at yourself in the floor length mirror, your mouth hanging open at the costume she’d convinced you buy.

“Julia, I can’t wear this.” you spoke, turning to look at where she was sitting on the floor applying mascara with her hand mirror, her head turning to look at you as she looked you over and shook her head.

“It’s perfect, I was right.”

Her words only brought a huff from you, the short skirt and fishnets seeming an odd match for the red hooded cape and corset, a crude version of a sexed up red riding hood.

As much as you wanted to pull it off of your body and opt for something else, maybe even something that was genuinely scary, you knew there was no arguing with Julia, especially when she had set her mind on something.

Apparently her mission for the night was to get you laid, at least that’s what it seemed based on what she’d picked for you.

You knew there was a girl that was going to be at the party that Julia had her eyes on, the pair of them having been exchanging flirty text messages for a few weeks now, so you were wholeheartedly supportive of that.

“Oh yeah, don’t forget to ask Erik if he’ll buy us some booze.” she mused, applying a coat of lip gloss and adjusting the sleeping beauty costume she’d changed into.

“I don’t understand why we can’t just drink the beer in the fridge downstairs, didn’t your dad say we were allowed to?”

Howard was an executive for a local brewery, and in turn, always had access to a stupid amount of beer, tucked away in a fridge downstairs that he’d given you both express permission to take from for the night, along with the promise of drinking responsibly.

“I’m not drinking beer all night, besides, Erik already agreed to drop us off, not that big of a deal for him to stop and get us a bottle of vodka or something.”

You didn’t realise you’d already had a lift organised, assuming that you’d either walk or get picked up by somebody else in attendance, but you weren’t complaining, the boots you were wearing with this outfit certainly weren’t made for walking.

“Can you go ask him, please? I have to finish doing my hair.” Julia mused, her eyes not turning away from the mirror as she plugged in her curling iron.

Rolling your eyes, you nodded, walking out of her bedroom and taking the eight steps down the hallway to bring yourself to Erik’s closed door, a sign reading “KEEP OUT.” greeting you.

Rapping your fist on the door, you heard shuffling for a few moments, footsteps getting closer before the door finally opened, Erik’s grumpy face awaiting you.

His expression shifted rather quickly when he saw your outfit, his brows furrowing and his lip curling in a look that read nothing but judgement.

“Seriously?” he breathed with a scoff, his response making you cross your arms and feel just a tad bit more self conscious.

“Julia made me wear it.”

Your reasoning seemed to leave him unconvinced as he leaned on the door frame.

“Yeah, well, it looks like it’s missing some fabric.” he spoke, reaching forward to pull softly at one of the sleeves, bringing it up to try and cover more of you. “You’re not gonna wear a jacket or anything?”

His voice held the slightest bit of concern, but you brushed it off with a sigh, tapping your foot impatiently against the hardwood floor.

“Can you buy us a bottle of vodka?” you asked, only for Erik’s brows to furrow just as the sound of Julia’s footsteps started to come in behind you.

“Pleeaasee!” she begged, a bottle of beer in each hand, one of which she promptly handed to you, which you took a tip of and curled your face up in a cringed expression, made sense why she didn’t wanna drink this all night.

“Dad gave you permission to drink from the fridge didn’t he? so why is it my problem?”

Julia let out a groan, hand reaching into her purse as she ruffled around and eventually pulled out a fifty dollar bill which she passed over your shoulder and held out to her brother.

“You can keep the change, just please, I can't drink this shit all night.”

As the pair of you stood in front of Erik, making a show of making puppy dog eyes at him, he seemed unconvinced until he took another look over at you, his expression changing just the slightest when he looked down at you, only to sigh and take the bill from his sisters hand, signalling that he agreed.

Pulling up to the house, you and Julia sat in the backseat of Erik’s car, multicoloured lights in the windows and music already blaring out.

Julia’s hand in your own, you opened the door and crawled out of the car, almost tripping over as you exited, only eliciting loud laughter from you and Julia, already a little bit tipsy off the vodka you’d both been taking turns sipping at.

Turning back to face the car, you both waved at Erik as you stumbled onto the sidewalk, leaning in each other.

“Thanks Erik, we love you!” Julia yelled, resting a hand on your shoulder.

“Alright, Just be careful! Ok?” he yelled out to the pair of you, taking one final look at you before he pulled away and drove away, leaving you and Julia to your party.

The night consisted of the usual shenanigans, jell-o shots and dancing to shitty music, far too many drunken selfies taken in your costumes as you and Julia celebrated your last Halloween as highschool students.

It was coming around to almost one in the morning when you were letting one of the guys from your science class suck on your neck, pushed against a wall outside and giggling to yourself as his hands gripped your hips.

It wasn’t anything special, just a drunken make out at a party as was the usual, letting out soft exhales and moans as you ran your fingers through his stubble.

Julia and you had been separated when she’d pulled you aside to tell you she was going to say hi to the girl she’d been texting with, also known as, i’m going to go make out in the bathroom with this girl, which you had no problem with.

Just as the boy from your science class hands began to wander, you heard your name being called out, your head turning to look in the direction of Julia drunkenly calling out for you.

Pushing him off of you, you laughed softly at his insulted look, putting a hand flat on his chest as you wished him a good night and walked away, going on the direction that Julia’s voice was coming from.

While it initially took a little bit searching, you eventually found where she was standing by the back door, your arms outstretching and a wide smile on your face when you spotted each other.

Grinning like a pair of idiots, you used each other as support as you walked back through the house, more than intent on heading home for night, knowing exactly who you would be calling to drive you.

As the pair of you sat on the sidewalk, now shivering in the october weather but not seeming to have a care in the world, you wheezed as you watched Julia struggling to get out her phone, paired with a sloppy attempt at tapping Erik’s name in the contacts.

Listening to the phone ring, Julia’s head found its place comfortably on your shoulder, the two of you swaying softly as you waited for her brother to pick up the phone.

You knew Erik wouldn’t have been asleep by now, he’d always been a night owl for as long as you’d known him, even now that he worked full time at the tattoo shop, so it was hardly surprising when he picked up relatively quickly, sounding wide awake.

“What is it?”

His annoyed voice only made you and Julia snicker, the state you were both in making everything seem hilarious, especially when it was coming from her older brother.

“Erikkkk…” Julia spoke in a little sing song voice, making you laugh even harder in a way that made you feel like you couldn’t even breathe properly.

“Come pick us up!” you continued for Julia, leaning towards the phone to make sure the receiver could pick up your voice. “It’s cold and we’re drunk!”

Initially you could hear an audibly annoyed sign coming from the phone, but it seemed Erik knew better than to try and say no, especially considering that he’d been explicitly told by Howard to pick the two of you up if you rang.

“I’ll be there in ten.” he spoke, “I swear to god if either of you vomit in my car, I’ll kill you.”

His warning was ignored, only a resounding cheer from you and Julia as you watched her try to hang up the phone sloppily.

“I can’t hang up, you do it.” she said through her laughter, handing the phone to you.

“Love you, Erik.” you slurred slightly, a giggle leaving your throat as you hung up the phone.

He said he’d be there in ten, but he made it in eight.

Helping Julia into the car first, when he turned to help you, his eyes drifted to your neck immediately, focusing in on the purple marks along your skin, seeming to visibly stiffen and take in a sharp breath when he saw them.

Too drunk to notice or care, you just let him help you into the car and laid your head against Julia’s shoulder, the pair of you smiling like idiots and occasionally giggling to yourselves as Erik drove you home silently, seeming slightly more ticked off than you would have expected.

When you finally arrived home, Julia had managed to get out of the car without too much of a struggle and make her way back inside, leaving Erik to help guide you up the path to the front door, his hand resting on your back.

As you tried your hardest to sneak back inside the house quietly even with your inebriated state, you expected Erik to find the sight of you this drunk to be more amusing, yet when you looked at him as you laughed, his face was stone cold, his eyes straight ahead.

It made the smile fall off of your face as you finally made it to the guest room, turning to look up at him as you stood in the doorway, grabbing his upper arm when he went to try turning and walking away without a word.

When you’d grabbed him, he turned, but he didn’t look at you, keeping his eyes trained in the ground as he stood there.

“What is it?” you asked, stepping closer and using the hand on his upper arm to try and rub his shoulder comfortingly. “I’m sorry, we shouldn’t have called you, we just didn’t wanna walk home and-“

“It’s not that.” he interrupted, finally looking down at you, his eyes once again going to the marks across your neck, clearly showing what he was annoyed about yet not saying a word.

Furrowing your brows, you were confused, he was clearly annoyed about something yet he wasn’t even willing to explain himself? that wasn’t your problem.

“If you’re not gonna tell me what’s wrong, then how am i supposed to fix it?”

Your hand reached up to grip his chin between your thumb and your index finger, forcing him to look at you, offering up a smile in the hopes of him actually explaining rather than just brooding.

He was twenty three now, his face had taken on just a little bit of stubble and he’d cut his hair a bit shorter from when you met him, now that he was working at the tattoo studio, he’d gotten his ears pierced, the thick rings hanging from his lobes.

When he’d mentioned wanting to get his septum pierced, you disagreed, but you had a feeling he was planning on doing it anyway.

You weren’t entirely sure why you did it, maybe it was the alcohol, or the leftover adrenaline from making out with a stranger, but you got on your tippy toes and put a hand on Erik’s cheek, capturing his lips in a kiss that had him letting out a small sound of shock.

Any second now, he was gonna push you away, let you down easily and let you live out the embarrassment of kissing your best friend's brother.

Until he didn’t, instead, Erik’s hands were immediately on your hips, pushing you into the guest room and pushing the door closed as he did.

His face was warm, his cheeks seeming to be burning up as you both held your eyes shut and let a sloppy make out begin to take place, just as you had been doing before, except as opposed to the boy from your science class, Erik seemed to know exactly what he was doing.

His hands squeezed your hips tightly, his tongue immediately pushing its way into your mouth without hesitation.

You felt like your nerves were on fire as he pushed you against the wall, holding you against it with a strength that only made you want more of him, desperately.

It had seemed that your hand guiding itself down his body before finally running your fingers along the hard tent in his jeans had only resulted in the harsh reality of the situation coming crashing back down on the pair of you.

Where you were, who you were currently kissing, as well as who you were.

Never before had you ever seen Erik pull away so quickly, taking a step back and looking at you, taking in the sight before him of you panting with swollen lips in your skimpy little halloween costume.

Shaking his head, he took another step away from you, a hand coming to wipe his face as he turned for the door.

He didn’t say anything when he left, opening the door and walking out, closing it behind him as you listened to his footsteps getting quieter and quieter as he walked away and back upstairs to his room.

As you stood there, it dawned on you that you had absolutely no clue why you’d done that, maybe you were just still too drunk to realise why kissing your best friends older brother was a really fucking bad idea.

Even more so, you had no idea why the rejection had stung as much as it had, tears beginning to prick at your eyes as you took in a shaky breath and started to rip off the costume that was now feeling more constricting than anything else.

He didn’t talk to you the next morning, wouldn’t even look at you when he walked into the kitchen for breakfast with the rest of the family, just grabbed a juice out of the fridge and went back to his room.

Your brain was swimming with the possibilities of what he must be thinking of you, who gets that drunk and kisses someone’s brother with no fear of the repercussions, did he think you were a slut?

For some reason, the thought that he felt that way about you just made you even more upset.

Life continued on after that halloween, you and Julia’s friendship stayed the same, and eventually both you and Erik just continued on as you always had, electing to both ignore the kiss as if it had never happened.

You never spoke about it, and seemingly had no intention to.

Julia started at college, you didn’t, but even as Julia’s free time dwindled, you were still around at the Campbell’s house fairly often, even if it wasn’t for sleepovers anymore.

As often as her schedule would let you, you and Julia still spent time together as often as possible, oftentimes meeting her on campus to have lunch together, or even just to sit with her while she studied in the library, even if it meant sitting on your phone in silence.

Initially, the closest you and Erik ever got to addressing what happened was an awkward smile when the two of you crossed paths in the house, but eventually, things returned to the way they were, a comfortable friendship was reestablished between the two of you, which allowed for matches of Mortal Kombat to become a common past time while you waited for Julia to finish classes for the day, or even messaging him to ask for a lift when he finished work when you were going to visit Julia at the house.

You even let him pierce you a few more times, unable to hide your expression when you’d walked into the shop, only to see he’d gone ahead and gotten his septum pierced.

“I thought I was gonna hate it.” you mused as he got his supplies ready, marking up the other end of your nose to prepare you for getting your other nostril done.

“Does that mean you like it?” he asked with a laugh, the two of you now more than used to this routine to just talk casually while he lined up the needle.

“No I- jesus, ow. No, I don’t.”

You tried not to scrunch your nose as he pushed the jewellery in, holding the mirror up to look at the two perfectly lined up matching studs now sitting on your nose.

“Too bad, it’s not going anywhere.” he shrugged his shoulders, rolling away in his chair and taking off the black latex gloves he’d been wearing.

“I thought you thrived off my approval.” you spoke sarcastically, tilting your head as you stood, swinging your bag over your shoulder.

“Oh I do, I just don’t care.”

His response incited a laugh from you, rolling your eyes as you reached for your purse, opening it and beginning to rifle through the bills sitting inside.

“Don’t worry about it.” Erik spoke, waving his hand at you as he began to clean off the chair and prepare for the next client.

“Erik, I can’t not pay you, won’t you get in the shit with your boss?”

Struggling his shoulders, he continued laying out his tattoo supplies, wrapping the gun as he spoke.

“Call it an early birthday present.”

Part of you was touched that he remembered your birthday was coming up soon, but considering that Julia had probably already been talking about it, you suddenly weren’t surprised.

Letting out a stubborn sigh, you just shook your head and put your purse back in your bag, turning to walk out.

“Thaaaanks Erik.”

Ever since he’d given you your first piercing, it just became the norm to always give him the same thank you in the same sing-song tone.

You weren’t teenagers anymore, hell, Erik was turning twenty six in may, but even now, so many years later, neither of you wanted to address the unspoken ‘thing’ you two had, whatever you could call it.

Sometimes you could have sworn Julia knew, she always was more observant than she let on, and there was only so many times the glances shared between you and Erik were going to go left unnoticed.

You couldn’t pretend you hadn’t noticed the look he’d given you when he pierced your tongue for your twenty-first birthday, or how hard he’d gripped his coffee mug when he watched you cry to Julia over your boyfriend cheating on you.

It was pathetic really, to be crying in your best friends arms over a relationship that hadn’t even lasted a full year, but when you’d found the pictures on his phone of other girls, and the messages he’d been exchanging, it still wrecked you to what felt like the point of no return.

Julia seemed to save the i told you so’s and just let you cry it out in her arms in her bedroom, as much as she’d always hated your boyfriend, especially the way he treated you, she understood that right now you were in pain.

You weren’t concerned about Erik standing in the doorway, if anything, it was nice to have two people to vent to, especially when it was him who came and picked you up with Julia when you’d called her in tears.

“I found the photo’s on his fucking phone.” you sniffled, wiping your red and puffy eyes with you sleeves as Julia rubbed your back. “He’s been fucking other girls since we got together.”

Your voice broke as you finished your sentence, seeing Julia shaking her head out of the corner of your eye, Erik muttering something to himself that you couldn’t quite hear, but enough to understand he was pissed on your behalf.

“What a lowlife.” you heard Erik scoff, his comment bringing a soft laugh out of you surprisingly, nodding your head in agreement as you sniffled.

“I wish I was gay so that we could just be girlfriends.” you laughed through your tears, inciting a laugh out of Julia.

She held you in your arms and let you cry it out for the rest of that night, and even though Erik went back to his room, you could tell what had happened had upset him.

You’d gone to his room and knocked on the door later that night when you finally started to calm down, leaning in the door frame and offering a soft smile, as exhausted as you were.

“Thank you for coming to get me today.” you started when he looked up from his book, picking at your sleeve as you stood in his doorway.

“Of course,” he started, sitting up and putting his book to the side “Didn’t really want you spending another second at that assholes place.” he shrugged his shoulders, resting his elbows on his knees.

Nodding your head, you sniffled slightly and rubbed at your eye, willing any other tears away when Erik stood up from his bed.

“Hey, hey.” he said softly, his hands coming to rest on your shoulders, “Please don’t cry, especially not over someone like him. I hate seeing you cry.”

You let Erik pull you into his arms, not quite crying, but still shaking and shutting your eyes tightly.

“I just don’t know what I did wrong.” you whispered, Erik resting his chin on the top of your head as he rocked you softly.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” he reassured you, simple yet effective, enough to have you nodding your head as he held you.

That was just over a year and a half ago, but it was still fresh in your mind.

As much as it was likely that the Campbell’s had something planned for your birthday, you decided you could find some comfort in your own company a few days before your birthday, maybe that was why you’d ended up in the bar in town, a cocktail nursed between your fingers as you watched a live band performing.

The bar was known for a more alternative crowd, fitting the bill for you anyway, and with the addition of live music for the night, it was a nice way to spend your free time.

It was reasonably packed for the show, taking you at least five minutes just to travel from one end to the other after getting your drink, needing to weave through people before you’d ended up in your comfortable little corner by one of the pillars.

When you’d been approached by the stranger, a smirk on his face and a confidence that you initially found off putting, his not very subtle flirting and willingness to playfully persevere despite your cold response, eventually he went from annoying to endearing.

You talked about all the basic topics, music, movies, anything really; he was very clearly just biding his time until you agreed to let him stick his tongue down your throat, which lucky for him, you eventually caved and let him.

What was a little pre birthday make out with a stranger after all.

He had you with your back against the pillar as he kissed you softly, a smile present on both of your lips as his hands found their way to your hips and yours became tangled in his hair.

It was really only by chance that your eyes had begun to scan the bar when he started to kiss along your jawline, your head turning to allow him access and your eyes opening lazily.

Fuck. Oh fuck.

There he was, leaning against the bar, a beer having been long forgotten in his hand, presently staring absolute daggers at the pair of you.

Erik’s glare wasn’t necessarily focused on you as it was on the guy that was presently all over you.

You were so sick of this, so tired of pretending that you never stopped thinking about the kiss you’d shared so many years ago on halloween, sick of the way he looked at you and just let the two of you pretend that there was nothing there purely just because he was your best friend's brother.

The eye contact you made with him was pointed, your mouth falling open in a gasp as a particularly sweet spot in between your neck and your jaw was caught between the strangers lips, yet you kept your eyes on Erik, who looked straight back at you.

Even from the distance, you could see him gripping his beer bottle just a little tighter, like he knew exactly what you were doing.

There wasn’t any room to pretend, you even let a few little soft moans leave you as you shut your eyes again, turning back to face the stranger again and kiss him in a way that was entirely just for show, hoping to incite some sort of jealous rage within Erik, so that might stop pretending and actually just take the plunge.

So many years spent pretending like you hadn’t developed something for him that extended beyond the reaches of just being friends, the tears you’d cried after he left the room on halloween, the way that you’d closed your eyes and wished it was him when your first real boyfriend took your virginity.

And yet, just as you’d feared, he did nothing.

Pushing the stranger off of you, you felt a pang in your heart, refusing to even speak a word in response to his questioning as to why you’d stopped, even when he’d called you a “fuckin’ tease.” as you walked away, pushing your way through the crowd and headed for the door.

The night air was cold, tears pricked at your eyes but you ignored them, only pulled your jacket closer to your body and began taking steps away from the bar and onto the sidewalk.

You didn’t even want to believe that you were hearing the sound of the bar door opening, your name being called and accompanied by fast footsteps; it wasn’t until a hand grabbed your shoulder and you were forced to turn and look at the perpetrator that you were face to face with those same icy blue eyes looking down at you.

“What the fuck was that?” he asked, his tone accusatory as if he didn’t know exactly what was happening back there in the bar, the way you were begging for him in every single way other than verbally.

“I’m tired of doing this, Erik.” you spoke, running a hand over your face as the two of you stood there in the cold.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, shaking his head in disbelief.

“You know exactly what i’m talking about.” you started, “are we just going to dance around this forever? pretend like it doesn’t exist? pretend that whenever i hear about you having some new little girlfriend for the week that i don’t die a little bit inside?”

By the way his face began to shift, you knew that he was well aware of what you meant, seemingly unable to find the words to say as he opened his mouth to speak, only for nothing to come out.

“We can’t.” was all he said when he finally spoke, his eyes remaining trained on you, hands staying stuck at his sides.

Your face contorted, a deep sigh leaving your lips as you shook your head, trying so hard to fight the way that your bottom lip was starting to wobble.

“We could.” you countered, bringing your hands to your pockets. “But you’re just a coward.”

You knew you didn’t mean that, but the pain in your chest was bringing fourth emotion that you’d had no way of getting out until now, so many things you’d wanted to say but never got the chance to.

Part of you wanted him to chase you, run after you calling your name like in the movies, but he didn’t, he just let you walk away, like he always did.

You’d regretted what you said as soon as you turned and walked away, feeling yourself already starting to sob quietly to yourself, wiping the tears from your eyes with your sleeve.

After that night, you hadn’t been round to the Campbell house for days, Julia had messaged you when she was free, offering to come and get you so that you could hang out, but you just lied through your teeth and told her you were busy.

It hurt to treat your best friend this way, but you were just too torn up to care, the risk of seeing Erik and having any chance of an interaction with him was just too much, more than you were willing to take.

Just as before, you were certain Julia had some idea as to what was going on, when you’d spoken to her on the phone and you’d said you weren’t feeling too good, she sounded too knowing for her own good when she said goodbye, like she had something she needed to go do, she sounded determined.

You just went to work and came home, the next three days being a slow moving blur of feeling nothing and then the next minute feeling everything.

It was exhausting pretending for so many years that you hadn’t felt the way that you did about Erik, pushing it down and acting normal.

Of course you had thought about how it would affect your friendship with Julia, it was one of only things you thought about every time Erik crawled his way into your thoughts, the potential for such a betrayal made you feel ill, but then the other part of you, the part that had known Julia for almost six years at this point, wondered if she would have accepted it, embraced it even.

Just as you were thinking of her, your phone began to buzz next to you on your bed, ripping you out of your thoughts and seeing the image of a photo you and Julia had taken together at a party as her contact floated above it.

With a sigh, you swiped to answer the call and put the phone to your ear, Julia’s voice immediately coming through.

“Happy Birthday!” she cheered, your brows scrunching together as you realised that you’d just forgotten your own birthday entirely.

“Holy shit.” you laughed softly, rubbing your eye as you sat up. “I didn’t even realise, I forgot my own birthday.”

Her laughter rang through, unable to stop a smile coming across your features no matter how hard you tried.

“When are you coming around? we got a cake for you and everything, well, mom did at least.” she explained, causing you to look over to your clock and see it was already one in the afternoon. Jesus.

“Uh, i’ll be around in like twenty, just let me have a shower.” you responded, standing up and reaching for the towel hanging on your door.

“Do you want me to ask Erik to come get you?”

The mention of his name had you stiffening up, the grip on your phone getting tighter as you walked into the bathroom.

“No.” you said flatly, only to correct yourself “I mean, i think i’ll just walk, i need the fresh air.”

Seemingly satisfied with your answer, Julie said goodbye and hung up the call, letting you turn the faucet and get the shower going.

The Campbell’s family home was always welcoming, even just walking in, it always felt warm, that was something you couldn’t deny.

It spoke volumes that they’d organised a birthday celebration for you, the only people that ever did, having not spoken to your mother since you graduated, it seemed they were the only family you had left.

When you’d walked around to the backyard, Julia was the first person to spot you, running to you with open arms and birthday wishes, pulling you in for a tight hug.

“You need to talk to Erik, he’s miserable.” she whispered to you as she hugged you, ignoring your confused face when she pulled away and took your hand, guiding you to where the rest of the family were.

Choosing not to address what she had said, you let yourself accept hugs and birthday wishes from Bobby, saying your hello’s to Howard and receiving a kiss on the cheek from Brenda.

You and Erik didn’t even look at each other.

He was sat on one of the outside chairs, nursing a beer which he took occasional sips at, staring at it like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

It was obvious to everybody around you that you were seemingly giving one another the silent treatment, yet they didn’t say anything, just allowed the festivities to continue as Howard worked at the grill and Julia handed you a white claw.

However you managed it, you’d been able to spend almost your entire birthday celebration without saying a word to Erik, even when Bobby and Julia had handed you a present that was labelled to have come from all three Campbell siblings, he still stood at a distance, talking to his dad or sulking a few meters away.

You knew completely that it was immature, to put this much effort into not even talking to him purely due to rejection, but the other part of you, that eighteen year old girl that cried herself to sleep after the boy she liked kissed her and ran out of the room? she was still there, and she was hurt.

By the time it all started to wrap up, Julia had already convinced you to stay the night, even if you were hesitant, she seemed adamant, giving you a look that seemed to imply that she knew exactly why you’d been acting so miserable, especially considering what she’d said to you when you’d arrived.

Wishing your goodnights to Howard and Brenda, you helped Bobby clean up while Julia packed up the leftovers, and yet during this entire time, Erik still sat outside, now nursing a cigarette between his fingers as she sat on the porch swing.

At first, you were going to turn around and go to bed, let him wallow out there and regret what was literally his decision in the first place, but when you turned, you came face to face with Julia, who had a brow quirked as she looked at you.

“Get out there,” she spoke with a hushed tone, pointing to the back door “and talk to him.”

You wanted to argue against it, really you did, but just as it had always been and will continue to be, there was no arguing with Julia.

Stepping out into the backyard that was now only lit up by garden lights, you could see Erik in the distance, the small orange glow on his cigarette lighting up his face as he inhaled.

Without saying a word, you came and sat down next to him, keeping your eyes forward as he did the same, the pair of you being too stubborn to speak at first.

As the silence grew, you huffed and crossed your arms, looking out at the garden that Brenda was so proud of.

“Julia told me to come out here and talk to you.” you finally broke, unable to stand just sitting there in the overwhelming tension any longer.

“She told *me* to talk to *you*.”

Erik’s response made you exhale out of your nose in a sort of soft laugh, at least only as much as you could laugh in that moment; it just made perfect sense that eventually Julia caught on to what was happening between you, it was bound to happen.

“I had a feeling she figured it out.” you mentioned, only for Erik to nod his head.

“She knew when i came home after the bar, said i looked like a kicked puppy.” he mused, a soft smile now falling across his features as he turned his head to look at you for the first time since you’d sat down next to him.

“I’m sorry.”

Your apology had him shaking his head and sighing.

“I’m the one that should be sorry. That wasn’t fair.”

“Which part, kissing me and then pretending it never happened? or friendzoning me for almost four years straight?”

It was crazy just how quickly the tension between you melted away when you finally started talking. Letting it boil in silence had probably been the least wise course of action, but you were anything if not stubborn.

“Both I guess?”

Letting out a small laugh, you let him continue.

“I’m not sorry about pulling away on halloween though, you were drunk, i wasn’t about to be the monster that screwed his little sisters shitfaced best friend.”

Seeming to let the last bit of tension fade away, he turned to face you completely, resting his elbow on the back on the porch swing.

“Even if she really wanted you to.” you said softly with a laugh, acknowledging that was the easy part, of course it had been a smart thing to do, considering Julia probably would have killed him if that were to have happened.

“Especially if she really wanted me to, of course you’d have to be drunk to wanna kiss this face.” he joked, pointing to his face with his index finger.

Shaking your head, you ran your hand along his arm that was resting in the backrest, furrowing your brows.

“I don’t know about that, i’m pretty sober.” you replied lazily, tilting your head as you smiled at each other “I still wouldn’t say no to a kiss if you’re offering.”

That seemed to add another layer of realism to it all, the reminder of who you both were, and the connection between you.

Julia had seemed to make it clear that you had her blessing, why else would she order you outside to talk to her brother, when she seemed to already know exactly what was happening when Erik had come home from the bar that night.

It was the sudden realisation that right here, right now, there was absolutely nothing stopping you anymore, that you’d effectively been given the green light.

So when that smile on Erik’s face only grew, it seemed like a knee jerk reaction as you both leaned in, hands coming to rest on each others cheeks as for the first time in almost four years, you laid a kiss against Erik’s lips, at least one that was going to be reciprocated without question.

Would it have cliche to say that it truly did feel like fireworks going off in your chest? like his fingertips were made of lightning as they rested against your neck, the thickly feeling of his facial hair not bothering you in the slightest.

God, he smelled like cigarettes and cheap cologne, but in the best way possible, just the same as he’d smelled when you first kissed him when you were eighteen, like nothing had changed at all since then.

But that was definitely a lie. Four years was a long time, a lot can happen in that time, lots of life to be experienced, and you were a very different person when compared to the version of yourself who was only just on the brink of graduating.

At first it felt like being stuck in this weird sort of limbo, you just kissed him softly like he was going to be spooked and run away like last time, some small part of your brain fearing it was going to happen all over again; yet when his hands fell to your waist and pulled you in closer, it felt like confirmation that he wasn’t planning on letting you go anywhere.

Finally breaking for air, you kept your foreheads connected, soft pants against each others lips while the pair of you just sat there and took one another in.

“Julia’s gonna kill us.” Erik breathed out with a soft laugh, the mention of it suddenly making you pull away and turn your head in the direction of the house.

As you both turned your attention back to the kitchen window, the sight of two heads quickly ducking out of view made it pretty clear that both of Erik’s siblings had been watching from a distance, seemingly to make sure everything went down smoothly.

Shaking your head, you turned back to Erik with a smile, your arms coming to wrap about his neck.

“Something tells me she had this all planned out from the beginning.” you spoke, just about to lean in to capture another kiss from Erik’s lips before his attention was caught by something around your neck, his hand coming up to wrap his fingers around the claire’s skull and cross bone necklace him and Bobby had gotten you almost five years ago now, which had now fallen out of its place hidden under your shirt.

He ran his thumb over the worn down metal, most of the details almost unrecognisable after so many years of wear, his smile growing as he chuckled.

“I can’t believe you still wear this thing.” he sighed, his eyes looking back up at you; his smirk definitely seemed to reveal that there was at least some small bit of satisfaction on his part, knowing you walked around with a necklace he got you around your neck.

“My ex hated it.” you laughed, leaning forward to east your forehead on his shoulder to try and shield the blush now steadily starting to form on your cheeks. “He told me it was weird to wear a necklace that my friend's brother got me, I think he was jealous of you?”

You heard Erik scoff, pulling away to see him rolling his eyes. “I literally met him once and he acted like he was ready to fight me any second, stupid.” he muttered the last part, only to lean forward and steal another kiss from you.

“Maybe he had a reason to feel threatened after all.” you spoke against his lips, allowing yourself to just sit back and enjoy the feeling of having your lips and face peppered with long overdue kisses.

“Mhm, maybe.” he laughed, bringing your face forward to lay a kiss on your forehead, letting you shut your eyes and melt into the feeling of him wrapping his arms around you and holding you there in a hug.

“He’d feel even worse if he knew what i’m gonna do to do as soon as we get back upstairs and in my room though.”

His sudden boldness had your head flying back, looking across at him as your face shifted from a look of shock, into an expression that resembled the exact image of a horned up teenager, biting your lip and leaning forward to put a hand on his jean clad thigh.

Quirking an eyebrow at you, he let his hands squeeze your waist just a little bit tighter, his voice taking on a deeper and slightly more serious tone.

“You really shouldn’t have tried so hard to make me jealous back in the bar the other day.” he started, pulling you up with him as he stood, his grip on you tight like a vice. “Cause now i’m gonna do exactly what i wanted to do when i had to sit there and watch that fucker throw himself all over you.”

Without any other word exchanged, the pair of you were walking back into the house, hands gripped together.

The lights in the kitchen had been turned off by the time you made your way back inside, the rest of the Campbell’s seemingly excusing themselves into their respective rooms to go to sleep, providing a quick and easy uninterrupted party back up to Erik’s room.

It would have been a lie to say it didn’t feel like an adrenaline rush to practically be sneaking into his bedroom quietly, something you’d definitely thought about on more than one occasion, the thrill that would have come with sneaking around with your best friend's brother.

As much as she must have known exactly what she was doing, there was still some mischievous undertone to it all as Erik shut his bedroom door quietly and turned to face you.

With only his lamp illuminating the bedroom, it was dim but still light enough to make out his face clearly, even more so when he took the few small steps across the carpeted floor to now stand in front of you, looking down at you like you were something to be devoured.

“Do you have any idea how hard I jerked my cock when you left for that halloween party? When I watched you get out of my car in that outfit?”

His voice was rugged and deep, already resulting in your body starting to have a physical reaction, shivering as he stood over you, not too unlike the big bad wolf to your little red riding hood.

Biting your lip, you let your hand reach forward to trace your index finger over his belt buckle, watching him take in a sharp breath.

“Is this a good time to tell you it still fits?” you asked, tilting your head and doing your very best to look up at him with the innocent puppy dog eyes that you already knew drove him wild.

The sound he let out could truly not be described as anything other than a growl, a deep rumble from deep within his chest that had a shiver running along your spine.

Without another word, Erik leaned down to capture you in another kiss, except this was unlike the soft pecks you’d exchanged in the garden, this kiss was hungry, not too unlike the one you’d exchanged on halloween, you could tell from the way he began to grab at you that he was just as desperate as you were.

This was years of buildup now seeming to come spilling over, like the lid had well and truly been blown off and now it was all coming out in a wave, sexual frustration and jealousy for someone that you hadn’t even dated.

His hands molded to your body like they knew it instantly, knowing exactly where to hold you and where the little spots were that made you let out those little sounds that were like music to his ears.

Guiding you to the bed had been easy work, and when the backs of your knees touched it, he shoved you down before you could sit, landing on your back with a soft “Oomph!”

Standing above you now, you could only watch as Erik looked down at you, watch as he reached down to lazily pull at his belt until it became undone, unbuttoning his jeans and letting them sit open and undone around his hips before he kneeled on the bed.

The moment his hands were back on you again, running up your sides and coming to your chest, he didn’t seem shy or hesitant in the slightest, squeezing at one of your tits with no shame, running his thumb back and forth over your peaked nipple through the fabric of your shirt.

Letting out a small whimper, your hands came to shield yourself out of instinct, only to be met with a sudden and harsh resistance in the form of Erik’s free hand gripping your wrist and wrenching it away from yourself.

“Don’t try it.” he warned.

This was a version of Erik you hadn’t seen first hand, you’d always known him as sweet and caring towards you, but there were definitely times where you could see something behind his eyes when he looked at you.

You’d seen it in the bar when he glared, the darkness that overtook his entire being. It would have been a lie if you said it wasn’t a thrill.

As if it was bringing something out of you as well, you couldn’t stop the way you looked up at him, the puppy dog eyes seeming like a completely natural reflex as you couldn’t fight the whimper that came out of you when he gripped your wrist so hard it almost hurt.

There seemed to be something unspoken between the pair of you over those years of pretending you didn’t want each other, something extended beyond feelings and presented itself as more of just this feeling that neither of you could doubt, this understanding that when the pair of you came together, there was going to be flames.

The hand that wasn’t gripping your wrist continued to touch you, pinching your nipple between his index finger and thumb, twisting slightly just to look down at the way you whimpered, letting yourself surrender to the headspace completely.

As you tried to turn your body away, be just wrenched you back to face him even harder, his free hand coming to grab your face and force you to look up at him, squeezing your cheeks so hard your lips pressed together like a fish.

“You’re really gonna be like that?” he breathed with a soft laugh, like he didn’t take you seriously as tall, almost like your attempts to pull away from him were entirely in vain.

It’d had never been like this with old boyfriends, missionary where you’d laid there like a goldfish and let them finish up, or even when they’d pathetically beg you suck their dicks; No, there was something playing within you that wanted Erik fired up, like getting him annoyed was all part of the fun.

Trying to pull your wrist away from his grip, even if it was futile, you let out a small grumble, looking up at him in a way that more than put across the attitude you were purposely giving him, like you knew exactly what you were doing.

“Be like that if you want Princess, works for me.” he spoke lowly leaning in to look down at you in a way that just read as “you asked for this.”

Without another warning, Erik’s hand was disappearing up your skirt, his fingers starting to rub up and down your panties with little to no mercy or warning, your mouth opening to let out a sound only to be promptly stopped by Erik’s other hand clamping over your mouth.

His fingers were skilled, running along your fabric covered slit with a precision that was above what you even thought possible for a guy, like he knew exactly where to touch you in a way that immediately had you whining against his hand.

It didn’t take long for your panties to be pushed aside only to make room for his fingers to start gliding through your wetness, promptly soaking his hand as you tried to close your legs out of reflex, only to clamp down on either sides of him, using his body to keep you open for him.

“Fuck, you’re soaked.” he mused, a dry laugh leaving his lips as he looked down at you, once again giving you no warning as he pushed two fingers straight inside you, gifting you no patience on his part as he wasted no time pushing them inside you up to the knuckle.

Your muffled cry only served to egg him on further, the feeling of your hips trying to pull away from his fingers and your back arching spurring on a slightly cruel smirk across his features.

“You’re that fucking wound up just from my fingers inside you? Seriously?” his tone was mocking at best, leaving you only able to look up at him with eyes that were starting to grow misty as he fucked you with his fingers at a pace that almost hurt, but in the best way conceivable.

God, it was almost embarrassing how much your body reacted to him, the sounds you were making against his hand purely from his touch, you were acting like a cock hungry slut, but it seemed that it was exactly how Erik wanted you, especially when he ripped his fingers out of you out of nowhere with seemingly no warning, the pathetic sound you made at the absence that left you clenching around nothing.

He lifted his fingers up so that they were held right in your face, the sticky mess on his fingers glistening as he spread his fingers to show it off.

“Look at that..” he breathed, letting out an exhaled chuckle as he stared at it like he was almost in a trance, only to open his mouth and suck your mess off of his fingers with the most atrociously sloppy sound you’d ever heard, pulling them out of his mouth again and looking down at you. “Like fuckin’ honey.”

That image along was enough to have your whole body shivering, watching him slurp on his fingers, sucking your own essence off of them like it was the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted; where you legs had been attempting to close before hand, your own body began to betray you, your hips lifting off of the bed as you let out a desperate sound, chasing after his touch again.

Seeing your response to losing the feeling of him, Erik only seemed to find amusement from the way you were whimpering and trying to find any sort of relief, his solution being to bring his hand back down to your pussy, yet only letting his finger tips begin to ghost over your clit, hardly making any contact, nowhere near enough as far as you were concerned.

All you could do was let out sounds of protest, your hands desperately fighting to break free from where he was holding them down with only one hand, his strength and ability to overpower you being more than enough needed to keep you right where he wanted to.

“Whats wrong, princess..?” he cooed at you, mocking you as he kept his face close to yours, continuing his string of almost touching you as he waited to see how long it would take for you to break. “Something you want? You want me to touch you?”

With his hand still held over your mouth, it wasn’t exactly easy to verbalise your answer, but a whimper that came out sounding more like a rugged groan and the nodding of your head, all paired up with the desperation of your eyes that were blown out to the size of dinner plates, he seemed to understand the message clear enough.

Just as he’d done before, he gave you no warning when he plunged his fingers back inside you, fucking you with them with a starting pace that had your eye’s rolling back into your head, practically crying out into his hand the sudden jump from feeling barely anything to being heinously overstimulated, your brain was beginning to turn to mush, you were becoming putty in his fingers.

You’d always imagined it might be something like this to a degree, but fucking yourself with you fingers late and night and shutting your eyes pretending it was him was practically nothing when compared to what was happening right then and there, the knot in your stomach growing tighter and tighter as you felt yourself starting to go numb.

“You gonna cum?” he teased, “Gonna gush all over my fingers like a nasty little slut? Fuuuuck, look at you, you can’t even hear what im saying.”

He was correct of course, anything he was saying to you was coming out as white noise as you finally felt you body coming loose around him, pulsing around his fingers as you let out obscene muffled noises and felt your toes curling, swearing for a moment or two that you went blind on one eye.

You were still in a daze when his hand came off of your mouth, taking in a deep breath of air that you hadn’t even realised was being kept from you, silence except for the sound of your panting.

Numb to the world around you, you hardly even felt real for the first ten seconds of laying there, feeling a few soft kisses peppering your forehead accompanied by a hand on your cheek.

“Hey now, come back to me..” Erik’s soft voice rang out, a small laugh following after it, finally starting to come back down to reality to see him looking down at you like he thought that state he’d left you in was hilarious.

You couldn’t form words, but he seemed to realise your eyes were focusing back in on him, his thumb running along your cheek as he tilted his head.

“You okay?” he whispered, watching you let out a small hum and a nod, one of your shaky hands coming up to grip his shoulder, almost in an attempt to ground yourself.

When you gave him another nodded, the hand that was on your cheek proceeded to give it a soft encouraging pat, a smile remaing on Erik’s face as he sat back and gripped your hips.

“Can I fuck you princess? Is that what you want?”

His question had you biting your lip as you looked up at him, the way his hands rubbed the tops of thigh’s slowly and softly, his own little way of keeping you grounded and comforted, seeking out permission from you before he went any further, that was the Erik that had always taken care of you, even if from a respectful distance.

“Please..” was the first word you’d managed to get out, your voice slightly croaky but clear enough that he definitely understood, causing him to let out a low groan at just how pathetically you begged for it.

With the jeans that were already undone, it hadn’t taken him much effort to pull them down to his knees, his grey boxers leaving nothing to the imagination as you pushed yourself up on your elbows, your bottom lip being caught between your teeth as soon as you saw the length and size you were about to be working with.

The only way you could have been described in that moment was a bitch in heat, desperate and needy in a way that couldn’t be described in words.

Then as if you weren’t already cock hungry enough, even just from seeing the tattooed barb wire on his v-line, or the dark hair creepy out of the boxers and up towards his belly button; As he pulled himself out and lazily pumped himself, your mouth fell open, the whimper leaving your throat being so pathetic that you were almost ashamed.

Looking down at his own cock, Erik let out a throaty laugh, continuing to continued to slowly drag his hand up and down his shaft when he looked back up at you, realising what it was that had constituted the noise from you.

“You like it?” he teased, running his thumb over the top of the thick curved barbell, letting you stare at it for a few more seconds before he put a hand on your knee.

“You want it?” he asked, his hand gliding down to rest on your hip.

When you nodded, he smiled and lifted your hips, turning you over slowly so that your ass was up in the air, your cheek coming to rest snugly against the sheets as he placed his hand flat inbetween your shoulder blades to push your upper body down.

“That’s it, I’ve got you..” he reassured, his hand coming to glide over your ass cheek, admiring the view for a few sweet seconds, letting you enjoy the feeling of a soft touch against your skin, at least for a few seconds.

**THWACK**

You were lucky your face was in the sheets, otherwise the sound of you crying out would have been audible throughout the whole house, the sharp pain of Erik’s hand coming down to spank you barely even registering before he was sending another one down on your skin.

The kicking of your legs was futile, the whimpers leaving your throat seeming to produce little mercy from Erik as he let down one more harsh smack, just as you felt his tip starting to run up and down your entrance, the cold metal of his piercing making you jump.

“You gonna let me fuck this pussy? Huh?” he grunted, making a point to push just his tip inside you, barely even penetrating you to begin with. “Gonna let me fill it up with my cum? You gonna take it all?”

His words, along with the unbearable teasing, had you pushing your ass back against him, desperate for him to push himself deeper inside you, only for him to back away each time you tried to your dismay, a desperate whimper emerging from your throat each time.

“Pretty baby wants dick so bad..” he cooed, almost as if he genuinely felt sorry for you, but you both knew better, the more you were begging for him, the better it was.

Not as harshly as he had pushed his fingers inside you, Erik gripped your hips, pushing himself in at a fast enough speed that had you gasping, but didn’t hurt by any means, telling you that beneath the show he was putting on, he still was making sure not to hurt you, at least not in a way that you didn’t want him to.

Your gasp was quickly offset with a soft cry, your eyes squeezing shut as his cock invaded your insides, pushing through without resistance as your wetness let him glide inside fairly easily.

It was a little bit of a push before Erik finally sunk inside you completely, when his hips finally made contact with your ass, bottoming out with a deep groan that had him tipping his head back and shutting his eyes.

“Fuuuuck..” he groaned, you could feel the way his grip on your hips tightened, along with the way his cock twitched inside you; just as much as you could feel him fighting back his instinct to move, fighting back his desire to pound into you with no mercy until you were ready.

“Just..” he breathed “Tell me when I can start moving princess..”

The way he was able to switch back and forth between cruel and caring was just so painfully Erik, just as it always was with him, one minute he’d act like he was bothered by your very presence, then you’d give him those same puppy dog eyes and he’d be left unable to say no to you.

Turning your head and straining your neck to look back at him, your mouth hung open for a few moments as you let yourself finish getting used to the stretch, as well as the feeling of his piercing tickling right against that sweet spot inside you, every time he moved in the slightest it sent lighting through you, unable to hide your whimpers.

Opening your eyes back up, you gave him a nod, preparing yourself for what was no doubt going to be a brutal pace that he was about to set.

He started out slow, giving you a chance to make sure he wasn’t hurting you, gradually gathering up speed which only made your moans grow louder, giving you no choice but you let your face fall back against the sheets to make sure it was muffled, eventually he was pistoning inside you, a concentrated rhythm being followed as he gripped your hips so tightly it stung.

Risking a look back, you turned your head only to be greeted by the sight of Erik thrusting into you, staring down at the sight of himself coming in and out of you as his mouth hung open, low groans and grunts leaving his chest.

As if he had felt your eyes on him, Erik looked up, meeting your gaze which only seemed to stir him further, biting his lip as he leaned forward and reached to grab a fistful of your hair, forcing you to arch your back and stare up at the wall, letting him fuck you so hard no sound was even coming out of you anymore, just leaving your mouth hanging open and your eyes rolling into the back of your skull.

“Thaaaats it.. fucking take it like a dirty fucking cockslut…” his words sounded just as desperate as you had previously, breathed out and slightly higher pitched in a way that told you he was feeling it all just as much as you were. “Fuck, fuck, wanted to have you like this for so long… wanted you on my bed spread out just like this..”

Memories of touching yourself just to the very idea of something like this happening came flooding in, laying there in your bed back at home and closing your eyes and picturing Erik in your head, wondering if he ever thought about you in the way you thought about him.

Now here you were getting confirmation that he’d wanted you for just as long as you’d wanted him, years of frustration and pining finally being thrown out of the window as you were actually there, bent over for him and letting him fuck you like a whore, pent up urges years in the making fuelling the way he jack hammered into you.

“Shit.. turn over..” he grunted, pulling out of you and gripping your shoulder in his hand to flip you onto your back before you could even compute what he was asking you. “Need to see those eyes..”

Letting Erik manhandle you into whatever position he wanted, you couldn’t stop yourself from lifting your head to get a glimpse of him lining himself back up, unable to stop your legs from shivering and your mouth falling open with a whine when you pushed his cock back inside you.

Bringing you gaze back up to where he was kneeling above you, you stared into each others eyes, making a point to put on those same puppy dog eyes that got him every time, feeling him begin to fuck you noticeably harder when you looked up at him.

“Fuck.. yes.. look at me..” he groaned, his hands coming to rest on the backs of your knees, pushing to where your knees were almost touching your shoulders, folding you in a way that allowed for a whole new angle, unable to hide the way your face contorted and your brows turned upwards.

Your head tipped back, soft cries being the only sound you were capable of making anymore, so completely and totally fucked out to the point that you could hardly even form any proper thoughts.

A hand came to rest on your cheek, your head coming forward and your eyes opening again to see Erik looking right in the verge himself just as you were, his eyes staring down at you intensely as he seemed to be chasing your gaze.

“Please don’t stop looking at me..” he begged, the dominant nature he had taken on previously becoming replaced by the unbearable urge to cum, chasing his release desperately.

The way you were gripping at each other, your hands coming up to rest on either side of his face, you silence each other in the form of a kiss, Erik’s moans into your mouth seeming to be exactly what was needed to push you over the edge, wrapping your arms around his neck as you cried out, tucking your face in his neck as you began to pulse, soaking his dick and squeezing it tightly in a way that had his thrusts turning shallow, barely even pulling out of you before he was pushing back in.

Your hand found its way to the back of his head, tangling your fingers into the tufts of dark hair and gripping whatever you could as you practically sobbed against his shoulder, your legs shaking as your pussy squeezed him.

Pulling on his hair and cumming around his cock proved to be exactly what was needed to push Erik over the edge he’d been chasing, feeling his thrusts stiffen and stop and start randomly as he painted your walls with cum, starting to leak out of you already.

His moans we’re high pitched, his hips going from ramming against your own to softly and slowly rolling deeply, riding out his orgasm bit by bit as you felt his body starting to give way, letting him collapse on top of you and into your arms.

Each time his hips moved again the slightest bit, you whimpered, gripping his hair again and squeezing his hips with your legs, still highly sensitive from the way he’d been mercilessly fucking you only moments ago.

You had no idea how long you both laid there on his bed, letting his thick cum leak out of you as he sat inside you, resting his forehead on your chest and panting deeply, trying to come down from his high before you both felt even semi conscious again.

When it finally felt real again, like you had floated back down into your physical bodies once again, you looked at Erik and couldn’t fight back the smile that made its way onto your features, apparently contagious as Erik let out a soft laugh and leaned forward to capture your lips in a soft kiss, the sudden movement making you whimper against his lips that had him pulling back suddenly.

“Shit, sorry.” he wheezed, pushing his weight off of you and slowly pulling his now soft dick out of you with a sharp hiss through his teeth.

Pulling his grey boxers back over his hips, he moved back down to lay next to you on his back, turning his head to look over at you and reaching out to slowly pull you against him, letting you rest your head on his chest.

“I’ve got you..” he whispered, letting you lay there and recover slowly but surely, letting your eyes open and close softly as the exhaustion finally started to claim you.

When you shut your eyes, you didn’t even realise you’d fallen asleep until you woke up to a hand on your face, having now been tucked into the covers while Erik got up and fetched a washcloth from the bathroom.

“Shh..shh, it’s okay, it’s just me..” he whispered when you’d fussed softly, running his thumb along your cheek and letting you open your eyes slowly to see him standing there.

You let him clean you off softly, feeling him take care to be as gentle as he could before discarding the cloth and pulling a pair of his own sweat pants and shirt over you while you faded in and out of consciousness.

Finally as he crawled back into bed with you, you didn’t hesitate to roll back into his arms, feeling them wrap around you as a kiss was laid on the top of your head.

“You have no idea how long i’ve been waiting to do that..” he whispered against your temple as you clung to his body heat, letting him trace little shapes along your back with his finger tips.

“Just wish you hadn’t waited as long as you did..” you whispered back, a soft exhale of a laugh leaving him.

“Good things come to those who wait?” he offered up, only receiving a soft smack against his arm from you which only made him laugh more.

“Yeah, okay, I deserved that one.” he wheezed as he just pulled you closer against him, taking a deep inhale of your scent and exhaling with a satisfied hum.

“Hope you know that now that i’ve got you, i’m never letting you go.” his last words to you before you both started to fall asleep, snoring softly in each others arms in his bed, something you’d both waited almost four years to do, finally happening here and now.

#erik campbell x reader #erik campbell smut #erik campbell final destination #erik campbell #erik campbell fangirls rise up #richard harmon #richard harmon x reader #richard harmon smut #final destination bloodlines #final destination #erik final destination #richard harmon final destination #final destination 6

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tifa-simp · 18 hours ago

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Interesting.

I always felt like SOLDIER Cloud is closer to Sephiroth than Zack. But that's because I associate SOLDIER Cloud with pre Nibelheim Seph more than post Nibelheim Seph. However, with First Soldier and Crisis Core context, I think it's safe to say sane Seph actually torments himself a lot by his sins. Sephiroth called himself all kinds of name to desensitize himself from all the killing, he tried to convince himself that this was his true self, while knowing damn well that it's not. Sane Seph was a liar, and he tricked himself for so long that when Nibelheim happened, he broke. His belief, his life, his purpose, all lies, all fake, nothing is true anymore. And he knew. Deep down, he's always aware of the truth. But that's why he clung even harder on the lie, to protect himself. That's why the Nibelheim massacre is such a turning point for Seph. He didn't discover the truth, he finally learned to accept it.

While Zack is different. If I have to make a comparison, he's like Gon from Hunter x Hunter. He's not good, he's pure. He decides what to believe and does whatever benefits his belief. Monster, Wutaian, Soldiers, and Turks are all the same. They're "the other side", as in "me and they". If you're on my side, I'll ride or die for you. If you're on the opposite side, you're enemy. All left is to fill the blank.

If you're on -Shinra side-, I'll ride or die for you. If not, die.

If you're on -honnor side- (the definition based on Zack ofc), you can live. If not, die.

If you're on -Cloud's side-, you can live. If not, die.

Zack has the authority over his own belief. There's a checklist in Zack's moral compas, and anything closer to his criteria will take the place, in which, life is not the priority. Don't take this the wrong way, but Cloud's life isn't what is important. It's Zack's affection for him. The reason Zack tried so hard to save Cloud cos he has become the next closest thing that fits Zack's criteria, his cause to die for. Aerith is also in the same category cos Zack was trying to go back to her, too. Now the first condition is fulfilled, the second part becomes much easier: the enemy to kill.

You can see this trait in SOLDIER Cloud's behavior. Let's take Tifa as the cause and watch:

Bombing reactor is something Tifa can't do? I'll do it.

Johnny is someone bringing trouble to Tifa? Die.

The troopers got in the way of Tifa's business? Die.

Scarlet and her men are putting Tifa in danger? Die. (You can argue that Seph possessed him in Gongaga, but I'm sure he wouldn't have any problem killing them on his own volition.)

Later in the temple, his goal changes to the black material, and the pattern remains. Tifa has openly expressed her uneasiness with this many times and has to physically restrain him on multiple occasions. But the thing is, SOLDIER Cloud doesn't enjoy killing. He does it out of necessity. This is a trait that neither belongs to sane nor insane Seph. Sane Seph kills against his will and insane Seph kills for his own enjoyment. Killing isn't a moral challenge to Cloud, it's just a mean to an end.

And I say THIS is the biggest trait of Zack in SOLDIER Cloud. The trait of a killer.

Zack Fair has a really fascinating relationship with killing where a lot of the rest of the cast doesn't. He fights people as well as monsters and gradually stops being able to differentiate the two. He helps clear out beasties and ghoulies but he also intros the game with a massive attack on a foreign nation just to shore up corporate interests and for a good chunk of the game places those two activities in the same spot in his mind. One of his side projects at work is quashing the last remnants of rebellion in said occupied country and rooting out the spies in their resistance, at which point he hands them over to his bosses to be interrogated and presumably tortured. But if he comes face to face with the same people in a combat scenario, he won't kill them, because he views their desire to see themselves free as an honorable trait. Then he turns around and attacks hordes of people who defected Shinra. He uses the blunt side of his sword, not to spare lives, but because he doesn't want to damage the sharp edge.

Wutai forces and Genesis clones have a different categorization to him, something he can mentally label as "other". But after Nibelhiem, your primary enemy type becomes other Shinra soldiers. Just after Zack has had his realizations that the monsters he was wiping out share a haunting amount of basic building blocks with his coworkers. And with himself.

Actually, let's pause. Zack is the only character we see have any sort of acceptance of being Jenova-ed. Every other character is unwilling and usually not even a conscious being yet, but Zack A) knows what is being done to him, and B) openly states he wants those monstrous traits for himself. "Those wings / I want them too." Up to this point, every other character has equated being Jenova-ed to being baser, to being subhuman, but Zack at the very beginning tried to convince Angeal that it meant freedom. Power to do what you want.

Zack Fair willingly and with open arms embraced being made less than human because he thought it would give him the strength to break out of captivity.

So he busts out, and the first thing he's greeted with it a horde of enemies that he knows are human, has worked and talked with, and are in fact the same shape and type of person as Cloud. Just a couple cutscenes ago, these were his coworkers.

The easiest way to get through them is to set them on fire and blow up the munitions they're carrying on their person.

(It's such a beautiful demystifying of the elemental system. I love it.)

Oh also, you're on a time limit, so you gotta kill all these guys fast, because they're trying to go for the weak spot, Cloud, who can't fight and is getting dragged away.

After that, the next thing Zack does is find a gun and start taking long ranged killshots.

There's a tangible feeling of a lesson being learned.

Zack is (I think?) the only SOLDIER we ever see use a gun. It's worth noting that even the most fallen of SOLDIERs stick to their flashy blades and their weird swordfights. Other characters even comment how bizarre it is, but ffvii also runs on that fantasy world logic where if you just Get Good enough, swords are just as good as guns if not better. Guns are the lower, more primitive weapon, fit for grunts and hitmen but not elite fighters.

(I could also go into detail on how some of the SOLDIERS weapon are sold as bespoke merch in world, and basically another tool in the toolbox of how to sell these flesh and blood men as mythologized products. But we don't have time to unpack all of that.)

For Zack, we know that his sword is even a symbol of honorable combat and a legacy of trying to do the right thing. Zack picking up a gun is basically debasing himself to being just another man in the field. And it's a sniper rifle. The weapon guaranteed to get him as little contact with his opponent as possible and does not even give them a chance to fight back. But it's whatever gets the job done.

Zack starts the game as someone who kills people, but it's hand-waved aside the same way it is for most everyone else, only for him to bite that awareness apple like five minutes before it becomes absolutely vital he survive at all costs. Zack becomes aware that he's on a slippery slope and due to circumstances has to start sprinting. Over the course of the game, we watch as Zack Fair goes from being someone who kills people to a killer.

#zack fair #sephiroth #cloud strife #tifa lockhart #ffvii #ff7 #final fantasy vii #ff7 remake #ff7 rebirth #rant

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bucketbueckers · 2 days ago

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RECKLESS DRIVING

CHAPTER TWO

content: language, a cam roman crash out disguised as humor, mention of a panic attack (not an actual one, literally a mention), implied mental health issues, HORSE as foreplay, author won't pretend to know anything about the dallas geography

wc: 7.2k

notes: not gonna lie, this was lowk a rly tough chapter to write but im happy with how it turned out 🙂‍↔️ i love paige and cam so bad and i can't wait until we get to the heart of their relationship once the season actually starts. also i honestly wasn't gonna post this tn but somehow the wings won so why not. do not expect future updates to be this fast. shout out li yueru tho thats my goat fr. if i missed anyone on the taglist pls lmk !!! anyways i really appreciate the love on chapter one and i love hearing from y'all 🫶 as always i hope y'all enjoy this one ❤️

tags: @cowboybueckers @indigo491 @wnba-scotland @volleyballgirlsblog @sillystarv @middyprincess @intoblonde6ftwbbplayers @user1269 @fivest4rbuecks @everyonewatchesuconnwbb @lilpaigeyherbo

Before now, Cam isn’t so sure that she’s ever thought much about retirement.

She’s 26. She easily has another ten years left in her, but she’s always dreamed of having a long career that could rival Taurasi’s. She knows for sure that she’s not turning in her resignation papers without a league MVP, a championship ring, and an Olympic medal. Whether she retired as a Dallas Wing or whether she signed elsewhere was another story entirely. Maybe she’d spend her final season in the league as a Golden State Valkyrie, giving her last year to the city that had raised her.

Either way, the end wasn’t ever something that was a topic of thought for her. Cam liked to stay focused on the present – on her workouts, her training. The seasons always passed by so quickly that dedicating your energy to anywhere but the present was wasting the already limited time you had.

But now, as Cam stares at a very naked Paige Bueckers, whose face is wrought with a sudden shock and a damning realization, whose hair is mussed and whose neck is littered with enough marks that Cam has half a mind to call the cops and report herself for assault and battery, she sees her entire career flash by her eyes.

She recalls her draft night vividly. She still has the white, floral dress she wore to it hung up in her closet. She remembers her first rookie press conference and the reporter who backhandedly called her a “decent player, given the options the Wings had in the draft.” She remembers her debut, her lackluster thirteen points and five rebounds, how the media considered her a bust only five games into the season. Cam remembers how she fought to show up every day despite the fact that all she wanted to do was curl up in her bed and cease to exist.

Cam remembers how she made a name for herself in spite of it all. She remembers their winning season, and how it all came crashing down in 2024 when they only won nine games. She remembers the embarrassment of not being selected for the 2024 Olympics and how quiet the dinner table was after Coley only brought home a silver. Romans display their gold, her father had said, hardly sparing a glance at his youngest. Anything else is as good as a coaster.

They always say that, when you die, your fondest memories replay for you in one final surge of happiness. Cam is sure that’s what she’s feeling now because clearly her career is over.

She’ll have to request a trade. The Wings organization is already being held together by a thin piece of twine and the hope that Curt Miller, Chris Koclanes, and Paige Bueckers can be the one to pull them from the depths of hell and turn them into something that the rest of the league wouldn’t laugh at. Cam doesn’t know how anyone would be able to recover if word got out that she slept with Paige Bueckers – number one draft pick, Wings rookie (Cam’s rookie), future of the franchise, in case you’d forgotten – on the very same night that she lifted her jersey.

Okay. Maybe it wasn’t the same night, considering they didn’t make it back to the hotel room until well after midnight, and Cam was sure that the clock on the wall read something like 2:49 by the time the last of their energy was depleted and Paige spooned her from behind like they’d been in a position a time or two.

Obviously, that’s not the point – not if Camille’s ensuing panic attack has anything to say about it.

The point is this entire situation is a major conflict of interest. Morally, technically, probably legally. Cam was supposed to be the responsible one, the veteran. Granted, she and Paige aren’t so far apart in age, but she’s going on her fifth year in the league. She knows better. And everything is so fragile right now. She might have just risked the health of the locker room in exchange for one night that, admittedly, was nice.

The most terrifying part of this entire situation was that Cam was supposed to take care of Paige. Not in a coddling manner – Paige could handle herself. She was grown. But adjusting to the league, to the pace, to the expectations…that wasn’t something you should do alone. She was supposed to help Paige find her footing, support her, advocate for her. She was supposed to do what any good veteran would do for their rook, but somewhere in between all of that anxiety bubbling in her gut, she feels that ever present feeling of failure creeping in.

She hadn’t even made it back to Dallas before she fucked it all up. And this feeling – this fear, the dread, the overwhelming sense that she just did something she can’t take back, it feels worse than anything she’s ever felt before. It’s worse than getting blown out in front of a home crowd that gets quieter and quieter with every turnover, every missed shot, every collapse on defense that leads to an uncontested three.

Welcome to the league, Paige Bueckers. Bet you wished it really was an Alyssa Thomas screen, huh?

“Okay,” Paige says after a while, her voice surprisingly calm given the gravity of the moment. “It’s not that bad.”

Cam throws her hands into the air, overwhelmed and exasperated. “Not that bad?” she exclaims, her heart hammering against her chest. “Paige, we just slept together.”

The blonde swallows, her eyes flickering down, and it seems like it takes a genuine effort to lift them back to Cam’s face. “Trust me,” she says, her voice cracking a little. “I ain’t forget.”

Cam glances down, taking in just how fucking naked she is, too, and with a growl that borders on equal parts panic and humiliation, she rips the comforter off the second bed in the room and wraps it around her body. It keeps Paige’s gaze off of her chest, but Cam isn’t sure what’s worse – having Paige see all of her or the fact that, despite the early morning, Paige’s eyes are impossibly blue, alert, and trained on her face. Somehow, it makes her feel more vulnerable than having stood in front of her naked.

“Are you…okay?” Paige asks tentatively.

That makes Cam’s shoulders sag, a huff of air escaping her lips. It’s hard to tell if it’s a scoff or something more like amusement, and she takes a seat at the foot of the bed as she digs through the pile of clothes on the floor for her underwear. “Yes,” she says, the word sounding stale. Paige makes a soft noise behind her that sounds like disbelief. Cam sighs. “No. I don’t know, Paige.”

“Are you hurt?”

That makes Cam pause, drawing her lip between her teeth in contemplation as she slides her bottoms over her legs. “Sore,” she admits after a while.

“Yeah?” Paige goads, and it fills Cam with the urge to turn around and smack her head. She rolls her lips so as to not smile and doesn’t give Paige the satisfaction of getting a reaction. “I’d apologize, but…you seemed pretty okay with it.”

“Paige,” Cam stresses. The reminder of last night makes her walls raise again. “Be serious.”

“Sorry,” she says for real, and it sounds genuinely apologetic. “Do you, uh, regret it? I didn’t like – force you, or anything?”

Cam sighs again, reaching for her bra, dropping the comforter to slide it over her torso. She feels Paige’s gaze leave her. The respect is touching. “I was drunk,” she admits, listening for the hitch in Paige’s breath. “We were drunk. Not helpless. Or out of control. You didn’t force me to do anything I didn’t…want. Or consent to.”

Paige exhales a relieved breath. She’s silent for a few moments, her eyes tracing Cam’s figure as she slides into her baggy cargos, then her crop top. “Then why are you freaking out? You’re okay. Mostly.” She adds the last part as an afterthought, and it makes the ghost of a smile spread across Cam’s lips. “You’re not hurt. You don’t regret it. Please tell me what’s wrong, Cam. I’ll fix it.”

Cam takes a deep breath, twisting around in bed and leaning against the headboard. Paige adjusts too, keeping the comforter pressed close to her chest, the chain around her neck glimmering. “We’re teammates,” Cam states. “Like, you know that was the whole point of the draft last night?”

Paige nods seriously, trying not to smirk at Cam’s sarcasm. “Trust me. I ain’t forget that either.” Cam rolls her eyes, the humor helping to make her relax. “Plus, we’re not technically anything until I sign that contract. And, you know…teammates sleeping together isn’t a new thing. Look at Dee and Penny. DB and AT.”

“Are you also aware that those individuals are married?” Cam emphasizes, exasperated again.

“You don’t have to be married to sleep with someone,” Paige retorts, and it makes Cam bury her head in her hands. Paige sighs. “Hey – I’m sorry, okay? I’m tryna be reassuring. Emotions were all over the place last night. You found out you really liked Shirley Temples. And…I guess we have really good chemistry.”

Cam can’t hide her smirk this time. “Hopefully that chemistry translates to the court, or we’re screwed for this season.”

“Cam,” Paige whines, pressing her face into the pillow. That draws a real laugh out of Cam now. Their eyes meet again, both gazes softening. “Look, I’m just saying that it’s okay. It happened. Can’t change it. I don’t regret it, you don’t regret it, and we can be mature adults about it. Yeah, we’re gonna be teammates. This won’t affect the locker room, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Cam exhales sharply, trying to find the right words. It’s not just the locker room. It’s everything. Cam has no idea who was at that afterparty, if anyone has any clips of her and Paige dancing on each other or leaving the party together. It’s the fact that she feels like she has so many eyes on her, even though there’s nobody but her and Paige in this room right now. Between the realization that this entire situation is a moral landmine and how guilty she feels because she let herself be free and indulge in one night, all Cam feels is overwhelmed. That emotion doesn’t mix well with the residual exhaustion. “It’s just–”

Her alarm rings again, causing both her and Paige to flinch, and she silences it quickly with a ragged sigh. She closes her eyes tightly in an attempt to regulate her breathing and her emotions.

“Hey,” Paige says softly, her hand extending to brush across Cam’s back. “You’re good. We’re good. We’ll figure this out, okay?”

Cam nods, not quite trusting herself to speak, and she sucks in a breath. She doesn’t meet Paige’s gaze when she says, “I have to catch a flight back to Dallas. When are you flying in for the rookie press conference?”

Paige sighs. “Fuck. I’on know.” She swallows thickly, nodding to the ground. “Can you…uh, grab my phone for me?”

“Yeah,” Cam says quickly, if not a little awkward, and she leans over to fumble with Paige’s clothes on the floor until she finds the blonde’s phone tucked into the pocket of her pants. She hands it over wordlessly and Paige breathes a sigh of relief when she finds that it still has some charge.

Paige scrolls through her phone for a few seconds before she clears her throat. “I’ll fly in on the morning of the 23rd.”

“That’s fine,” Cam agrees quietly. “We’ll talk after.”

Paige lifts her head ever so slightly as she watches Cam shuffle around the room, searching for wherever her shoes had ended up. She’s unlacing one just as Paige says, “What hotel are you staying at?”

“Hilton,” Cam answers. “Why?”

Paige hums, her attention back on her phone. “Getting you an Uber back.”

“Paige,” Cam sighs, standing up straight. When Paige glances back up, an amused smile is on her face – probably because Cam has only one shoe on, her clothes are rumpled, and her once neatly styled hair is out of place. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Least I could do,” she says, her tone a little softer. “I got you stressin’ for no reason on a Tuesday morning. What kind of rookie does that?”

Cam huffs out a laugh at that – a real one. She finds her other shoe and starts working on getting it on her foot. “A really annoying, yet really thoughtful one.” Paige pats her chest proudly as if to say that’s me. When Cam is finally dressed, she palms her pockets for her phone, keys, and wallet, exhaling in relief when she has them. “Hey.” Paige looks up, and Cam bounces on her heels, a sheepish expression on her face. “Sorry for freaking out on you. I just–”

“I know,” Paige interrupts gently. Cam’s shoulders sag, appreciating Paige’s understanding more than she probably knows. “You didn’t do anything wrong, you know that? It takes two to tango. It’s not like I was an unwilling partner.” Her cheeks are flushed when she admits, “Maybe a little too eager, though. That’s the last time I chase a shot with a Shirley.” Cam can’t help her laughter, shaking her head in amusement. “If there’s a blame, then we’ll share it. Or I’ll take it for you. Rookie duties or whatever. Just don’t freak out, okay? We’re good. We will be. I swear.”

“...Thanks, Paige,” Cam whispers, and Paige’s reassuring smile makes everything feel like it’ll be okay again. “See you next week?”

The reassurance falls victim to mischief, because something sparkles in Paige’s eyes when she says, “Don’t miss me too much, Cam.”

Cam rolls her eyes, pursing her lips to stifle a smile, and she and Paige exchange one last goodbye before Cam steps out. The door clicks shut behind her with a resounding noise and it takes everything in Cam to not pause and press her forehead to it dramatically. Instead, she sighs, and reminds herself of the Uber waiting for her, the flight she has to catch, and makes her way out of Paige’s hotel.

Maybe she overreacted a little. Truth be told, she still feels a little unmoored, like she’s not quite sure of her role anymore. She, the veteran, was the one freaking out in Paige’s, a rookie’s, hotel room as she reassured her and told her they didn’t fuck anything up. Cam can’t help but feel like that should have been her job.

It’s hard to understand why she’s fumbling so badly now. She didn’t have this issue last year with Jacy Sheldon – granted, Cam didn’t sleep with her, but Cam was confidently the veteran to Sheldon’s rookie. There wasn’t a single misstep. She coached the young guard, helped develop her, and did everything a veteran was supposed to do.

But Paige is something else entirely. An enigma. A challenge. Something Cam was prepared to be unprepared for because she knew that Paige was always a caliber above the rest. In her game, her mentality, her ambition.

As Cam slides into the backseat of her Uber, smiling politely at the driver, she realizes that she has to run a tighter ship. She has to be poised, professional, the exact things she was supposed to be anyways before she let Paige Bueckers unravel her.

She’s here to play ball, and as far as she’s concerned, making her relationship with Paige more complicated than it already is will be the reason why everything crashes and burns.

Cam lands back in Dallas around 10am. She takes an Uber to her apartment, where Bobby, her characteristic orange cat, and Gatsby, a very particular tuxedo, greet her at the door. She’d managed to squeeze a few hours of rest in on the plane but she feels ready to collapse as soon as she’s back in. Before anything else, she scoops up both Bobby and Gatsby and plants a long, dramatic kiss to their foreheads and diligently portions out some wet food for them.

She makes her way into the bathroom to get ready for her presentation at UTA, then she’s back out of the house as quickly as she’d made it there in the first place. The presentation is a breeze, holding enough of her attention that she doesn’t get lost in thought about the blonde rookie who she’d left in bed at 5am, and the subsequent workout with her trainer after lunch drains her to the point that she doesn’t think about anything that’s not how sore she is the entire way back home.

Cam doesn’t even make it to bed. She curls up on the couch, curls damp from the shower she’d taken at the facility, hoodie sticking to her skin, and promptly falls asleep with Gatsby stretched out across her stomach.

That’s how the rest of her week goes. She tries – and more often than not, fails, to keep her mind on task. She throws herself into workouts, into running mindless drills, but part of her still can’t help feeling anxious. Paige had said they were fine, but Cam wonders how much of that was true, or if it was just the easiest thing Paige could think of to stop Cam from crashing out in her hotel room completely.

Or – and this is the million dollar answer right here – maybe Paige was genuine, and meant it, and Cam had no reason to be freaking out like she was childish and ten years younger.

The return to routine had helped a little. She had no reason to catastrophize, anyhow. Paige was right. They weren’t really teammates – yet – and the whole teammates having sex thing was pretty accurate, too. As long as they were able to keep it professional, cordial, and responsible on the court, Cam didn’t think the front office would particularly care, unless they were at risk of being a PR nightmare. Although…considering Paige’s celebrity, they probably are bordering on PR nightmare territory.

Either way, both of them were adults. It was consensual, Paige was incredibly chill about it, which meant Cam could probably be chill about it, which meant she didn’t ruin the locker room chemistry before it had the chance to grow.

At risk of fucking up their own chemistry, Cam knew that night wasn’t something they were going to repeat. Like, ever. If anyone asks, Cam has developed a sudden allergy for alcohol and is getting too old to be up past 9pm. If locking herself in her room like a tower-trapped damsel is what it takes to keep her relationships clean, orderly, and distraction free, then she’d gladly do it. She was committed to being responsible. She and Paige would just have to be friends. Very platonic friends who, sure, slept together one time when they were celebrating the biggest night of Paige’s life and they were both drunk on Dirty Shirleys, but that doesn’t have to define the course of their friendship.

Cam’s fine. Everything is fine. She got scared, overreacted, and maybe took it out on a poor rookie who’d only had two hours of sleep and a hangover. They could move past this and work together on the court without blurring the lines. Just friends. Just a rookie and a vet. Nothing more.

When the day of the rookie press conference arrives, Cam feels as though she has a better grasp on reality. She’s up early, goes on a morning run, showers, and is out of the door by 9am, only stopping for a chai latte before she makes her way to the facility. The first part of the morning was set aside to introduce the rookies and Cam was planning on taking advantage of the empty courts to run some drills and clear her mind.

The court smells like wood and fresh wax, a scent that makes Cam relax immediately. She’s probably spent more time between the hoops than she has anywhere else. She can see the three point line when she closes her eyes, imagine the height of the basket in her sleep. If the world had no room for her, then the one place she can confidently say she belongs is on the court.

She started playing basketball at a young age. Story of any player’s life, she’s sure, but it’s been one of the constants in her life for as long as she could remember. Despite that, it took her a long time to find genuine love in it. Basketball was an expectation. Greatness was, too. Lacing up her sneakers and working with private trainers had become routine, a way to earn pride and affection. Her mother always told her – and Coley, too – that she and her father were proud of them regardless of whatever sport they played or what they didn’t play.

People have different aspirations, Valerie told her when she was seven, in the throes of a tantrum because she’d been invited to a weekend sleepover that she would have to miss because her father had signed her up for a basketball clinic in Brooklyn. Different dreams. But you’re allowed to make space for what you love to do and what you live to do. You’re allowed to be a kid.

But Cam was sure that her father only smiled when she had a ball in her hand. She just wanted to make him proud – she looked up to him in so many different ways and wanted to boast gold medals just like he did. She wanted a career and a life to be proud of. So she’d sucked it up and went to the clinic, even if she spent every water break thinking about what her friends were up to.

It took a few years. She struggled to differentiate whether or not she played for the love of the game or for the need for approval. If she played because she saw the court not as polished wood and painted lines, but as the X’s and the O’s and as rotations and cuts, or if she played because she just wanted to be seen by the one person she always looked for.

On her own terms, she found herself falling in love with basketball in a way that was hers completely. She lived for teamwork, for the fact that playing good basketball meant knowing your teammates completely. The box score shows an assist, but doesn’t reflect how years of practice, study, and playing together prepares you to anticipate how your teammates move. She lived for the sisterhood of it all, the trust built between people who had the same goal and the same dedication to achieving it. She lived for the stillness on the court when she was at the line and the only thing between her and the hoop was fifteen feet of surety.

But Cam blinks back the memory, exhaling calmly as she laces up her sneakers on the bench. She ties them the same way every time – tight, double knotted, the ends tucked into the mouth. She doesn’t like practicing with music because it throws off her focus. There’s a rhythm to basketball that you only become privy to after years of breathing the game. The rubber echo of the ball against the court, the squeak of her sneakers, her own heartbeat – it grounds her, keeps her locked in.

When she’s satisfied with her shoes, she stretches out her legs, not doing anything too insane since she stretched before her morning run and was still feeling loose from it. It’s more to settle the residual noise in her brain.

After she picks up the ball, palming it between her hands, everything fades to a distant hum. It’s just Cam, the ball, the swish of the net. She runs a few drills just to get reacclimated with the feel of the ball in her hands, the way it bounces between her legs as she dribbles.

She moves onto shooting drills about ten minutes later, starting with a classic five spot drill. She doesn’t move on to the next spot until she makes ten in a row, but when she finds herself at the top of the key, three makes into her routine, the sound of the door pushing open causes her shot to clang off the rim.

She sighs, having found a rhythm, but steps off to pick up the rebound. Cam is only partially surprised to find Paige standing at half-court with a sheepish expression on her face and a pair of basketball shoes clutched between her fingers. The blonde has her hair up in a sleek ponytail, donning a black and white striped Nike sweatshirt (looking something like the Hamburglar, if Cam has to be honest), and a pair of matching black pants.

“Already trying to escape from the media?” Cam asks teasingly, holding the ball to her hip.

Paige shrugs, a little smile on her face. “I was tryna be good and mind my business, but I heard you dribbling. It was calling to me.”

Cam laughs. “Oh, I’m sure,” she says. “You sure you didn’t peek in, see it was me, and decide that annoying me was more worthwhile than getting to the press conference on time?”

“I still got thirty minutes,” Paige argues smugly. “I’m punctual and shit. Plenty of time to make you reconsider which rookie you actually wanted first dibs on.”

Cam hums, noting how comfortable she truly feels with Paige. She was expecting their first time seeing each other again to be a little more awkward considering how they left things, but their casual banter and teasing makes Cam feel like nothing had truly happened at all. Maybe she didn’t actually have too much to worry about. They would be fine, and she’s sure that the conversation they’ll have later would truly round it all out.

Then, she smiles, the curve of her lip indicating a challenge. She checks the ball over to Paige, who grabs it reflexively, her eyes wide in question. “How about some HORSE, then? Prove to me that you’re worthy of being the Camille Roman’s rookie.”

Paige scoffs, but she grins, setting her shoes down on the polished wood as she dribbles the ball. “What, was the natty not enough for you?” she teases. “Or going number one? Or buyin’ all your drinks?”

“I seem to remember those drinks of yours getting us into a lot of trouble,” Cam retorts, but the reminder doesn’t fill her with as much anxiety as it used to.

“You call it trouble. I call it vet and rookie bonding.”

Cam raises a brow. “Yeah? You gonna bond with Arike, too?”

Paige flushes, losing the handle on the ball as it bounces off her shoe, and Cam grabs it instinctively as she laughs. Paige, to her credit, recovers quickly, and she’s smirking when she says, “Nah. My vet says I’m off limits. I’m a one woman kind of girl.”

“Good answer,” Cam says. She checks the ball back with a loose, carefree smile. “First shot’s yours, rook. Make it count.”

Paige dribbles it once, twice, the smile never leaving her face as she inches closer to the three point line. She sets her feet shoulder width apart, crouching slightly, and she throws the ball underhanded towards the net. It sinks in gracefully, and Cam shakes her head in amusement at her over the top celebration as she tracks down the rebound.

“Don’t miss,” Paige says unhelpfully as she and Cam swap places. Cam rolls her eyes, not bothering with a response, and she steadies herself for her shot. Just before she gets it off, Paige adds, “You gonna repay me for all the concealer I had to buy last week?”

Her words startle Cam, but the shot is still money – it bounces off of the rim into the net, and the blonde sighs when her distraction effort fails. “You are such a cheater,” Cam gripes.

“What?” Paige cries, feigning innocence. “It was just a question.”

“Yeah, right,” she mutters under her breath, but her cheeks hurt from grinning. She scoops up the ball and shoves Paige out of the way with her hip. Paige huffs, moving, and Cam sits flat on the ground. Cam can feel Paige’s gaze on her as she lines up her shot and sinks the ball in with ease. “Two for two.”

Paige extends a hand to help Cam up, shaking her hand, and Paige grabs the loose ball and takes her spot on the court. The blonde readies herself to shoot, but just before she flicks her wrist, Cam steps up next to her, her calf barely brushing Paige’s shoulder.

The ball sails off course, clanging harmlessly off the rim, and Paige looks at her with a betrayed expression. “You’re cheating for real!” she declares, gazing forlornly at the hoop, and Cam laughs as she helps her up.

“That’s H,” Cam states simply, a mischievous smile on her face. Paige doesn’t respond as she tracks down the basketball and studies the court to look for her next shot. “I don’t know, P. I think Aziaha would have made that one for sure.”

“Nah, don’t piss me off,” Paige grumbles, which makes Cam giggle. She steps up behind the hoop, squares her shoulders, and Cam is peacefully silent as Paige shoots the ball over the backboard. It circles around the rim once before falling in and she exhales a breath of relief.

Cam raises an impressed brow despite herself, grabbing the ball as it bounces back towards her, and Paige pats her on the hip with a smug look when she passes. “Make this next shot if I’m your favorite rookie,” she declares.

“How old are you?” Cam asks as she lines up her shot. “Twelve?” Paige grins in a way that makes Cam regret asking, having spent enough time at youth camps to know that Paige’s retort would sound a whole lot like twelve inches deep in your mom. “Don’t answer that.” She exhales to calm her mind. Paige, thankfully, watches in silence, but it’s for naught as the ball bounces off the rim, anyways.

“How’s that H taste?” Paige is beaming as she checks the ball back to Cam, who rolls her eyes in amusement.

“Like you’re not my favorite rookie,” Cam chirps sweetly.

Paige squawks in indignation, which elicits a round of laughter from Cam. They go back and forth like that for a few more rounds, trading buckets, misses, and banter that gradually decreases the distance between them. Before a shot, Paige would pretend to massage Cam’s shoulders like she’s a fighter in a boxing ring. Cam would nudge her elbow before she shoots, attempting to throw her off her game, but she pats her hip when she makes it regardless.

Cam didn’t think it could be this nice. She thought that night at the hotel would have ruined her and Paige’s friendship and chemistry – both on and off the court – but she’s finding that, in a way, it’s brought them closer. She would never call it a mistake. She would be the first to admit that she wanted it – in the moment. Paige is good company, keeps her on her toes, and is obviously attractive, although there are some things you can’t have twice.

She’s closer to making her peace with that night. The conversation that she and Paige plan to have later would hopefully give her some more clarity and comfort in it, but she knows without a doubt that they can’t have a repeat of it. They can’t let the lines blur or push the boundaries more than they already have. That’s enough for her.

Both her and Paige have accumulated HORS twenty minutes later, and the both of them know they have to wrap it up soon so Paige can freshen up before she actually has to head out for media. The thing about Cam is that she’s not going to bend over and let Paige win just because she won’t concede the game. She and Paige both nailed the half court shot, which meant that game point relied on whether or not they could make it from full court.

“I don’t even think I have the arm strength for this,” Cam admits, standing as close as she can to the back wall so she has plenty of room to run forward. “The fact that you’re a point guard gives you an unfair advantage.”

“You tappin’ out?” Paige goads, grinning, and Cam has to bite her tongue. If there was anything Paige was good at besides basketball, it was baiting Cam.

“Rookies first,” Cam states.

“You don’t want the smoke,” Paige responds. Cam has to fight the urge to shove her, but she’s sure that would only motivate the blonde more.

Paige glances up at the hoop, nearly one hundred feet away, and she readies her shot. With a running start, she plants her feet at the baseline and grunts as she lobs the ball across the court. Cam’s eyes track its movement, the clean arc, and her jaw drops in complete and utter disbelief when it hits the backboard and swishes in without further fanfare.

“You’re fucking kidding me,” she groans, not really enjoying the taste of defeat on her tongue, but she can’t really be mad for long as Paige grabs her by the shoulders and shakes in excitement. She rolls her lips to stifle her smile.

“Just go ahead and take that E,” Paige says, passing over the second ball they brought to the baseline. Cam takes it with an eyeroll. “You don’t gotta embarrass yourself in front of me.”

Cam doesn’t dignify that with a response. She palms the ball in her hands, pushing herself closer to the wall, and takes a deep breath like she’s about to sink a free throw instead of launching a ball almost one hundred feet across the court. With a running start, she plants at the baseline and lets her right hand do most of the heavy lifting, and the ball sails out of her grip.

Both her and Paige watch with a bated breath as it arcs in the air. It flies closer, and closer, and closer, until it circles around the rim once, then twice, and falls out unceremoniously.

As Paige celebrates for the second time that afternoon, all Cam can really think about is how badly she wants to fucking retire. Paige jostles her as Cam stares at the hoop, deadpan and unblinking.

Premonition might be a curse. She just had to tell Rickea that the 2025 class was all about energy and how they’d be welcoming vets to the league. Cam just can’t believe she got welcomed by Paige during a game of HORSE that started as a joke more than anything else.

Cam just sighs, extending her hand, and Paige daps her up with unadulterated glee on her face. “Say the thing,” she requests sweetly.

Cam’s tone is flat as she states begrudgingly, “You’re my rookie.”

Paige pumps her fist in the air, looking nothing like the nonchalant final boss she claimed she was. Then, if only to add salt to the wound, Paige nudges her with her elbow and says, “Welcome to the league, Cam Roman.”

Cam can’t find it in herself to be upset. She supposes Paige did earn it, and hypothetically if she does get tagged in a few press conference clips later about Paige claiming she welcomed Cam to the league, she only reposts the clip out of integrity on her Instagram story.

When Cam told Paige that they’d talk after the press conference, she wasn��t really expecting it to be over takeout at Paige’s barren apartment, but she figures it’s a good venue as any.

Paige welcomes her in with a sheepish expression and the smell of Chinese in the air. “I’m embracing the minimalist lifestyle,” she declares, gesturing minutely to the cardboard boxes sprawled around the room. There’s one in front of her couch, overflowing with a few trinkets like lego sets and framed photographs of Paige and her family and friends. Cam winces a little, briefly wondering who supervised Paige and her diabolical packing, but Paige’s apartment door clicks shut behind her and draws her attention back to the present.

Despite being lived in for only a few hours at most, Paige’s apartment is cozy and open. She has floor to ceiling windows in the kitchen overlooking the skyline, a cornucopia of takeout boxes littering the counter, and a few candles burning in the living room. They’re both dressed in casual clothes – Cam’s opted for a pair of comfortable, white gym shorts and a Wings t-shirt, while Paige has a loose pair of grey sweatpants hung low enough to reveal the band of her boxers and an old UConn tee.

“You’re doing better than I did when I first moved out here,” Cam admits, toeing off her slides and following Paige towards the kitchen. Paige throws a smile over her shoulder to let Cam know she’s listening as she sorts through the boxes. “I think I had takeout for a week straight because I didn’t have time to go buy pots and pans.”

“Shit,” Paige says instantly. “I knew I was forgetting something.”

Cam snorts. Paige passes a container to Cam, a simple order of lo mein and orange chicken, while she keeps the white rice and sweet and sour chicken for herself. There’s a bag of crab rangoons and eggrolls to share.

Almost absentmindedly, Paige pulls out the barstool at the counter for Cam before settling into the one next to it. Cam raises her brow but doesn’t say anything, taking a seat in the chair next to Paige, who passes a packet of plastic silverware and chopsticks like they’ve been in this position a hundred times before.

“You settling in okay?”

Paige shrugs a tired shoulder, shoveling a forkful of rice into her mouth. “Getting there,” she confesses. “Got a lot of shit to unpack, but…didn’t want it easy, right?”

Cam smiles knowingly at her. “I meant challenging as in getting your shot blocked by BG a couple of times. Not getting your ass kicked by cardboard boxes and IKEA instruction manuals.”

“I happen to be very handy,” Paige sniffs. “Don’t need no instruction manual. Or all those extra screws they pack in there.”

Cam stares at her unblinkingly. Paige stares back, something like mischief in her eyes as she spears a piece of chicken with her fork. The corner of her lips twitch ever so slightly. “Please tell me I’m not sitting on a chair that’s gonna collapse.”

“If you fell, I’d make sure you were okay before I laughed at you,” Paige offers unhelpfully.

Cam huffs. “Thanks. Just what any girl wants to hear.”

Paige smiles, and the two of them settle into a comfortable rhythm as they eat their dinner. Paige shares a couple of stories from media, telling Cam all about the embroidered cowboy hat she got and how done she is with random reporter questions about the Dallas heat and TexMex. That makes Cam laugh – it’s fitting to see that the reporters hadn’t gotten any better questions to ask besides food and the weather.

The peace lasts for a few moments until Paige’s fork hits the bottom of her takeout container and the last of her chicken is done. She clears her throat, taking a sip from her water bottle. “Elephant in the room?” she asks hesitantly.

Cam nods, pushing her leftovers away, and pauses for a moment. Finally, she settles on her words. “I think I might have overreacted a little,” she admits.

Paige offers a gentle smile. “I think it was a pretty valid crash out,” she states. “You were concerned about the locker room and making things awkward. I also get that the entire world would probably explode if word got out.”

“Yeah,” Cam agrees. She rests her chin in her palm. “I mean, I’m also…your vet,” she says carefully. The blue of Paige’s gaze is intense, but Cam forces herself to meet her eyes. “That night was out of character for me. I’m not usually so…”

“Carefree?”

“Reckless,” Cam supplies, and Paige nods, understanding. “I don’t regret it. You don’t either. That’s something we’ve got to stand on. I just wasn’t really thinking about…you know, the consequences of sleeping with my rookie.” Her words are dry, which makes Paige chuckle. “I don’t wanna deal with red tape from the front office. Definitely not the media. And I definitely didn’t want to make things weird with us.”

Paige’s smile turns a little crooked. “We’re good. I told you. We’re responsible adults.”

“Friends, if you will,” Cam adds.

Paige sounds all too smug when she pipes in with, “Best friends.”

Cam scoffs, rolling her eyes in amusement, feeling the final bits of tension leave her shoulders completely. They were good. No more issues. “Don’t push it, rook.” Paige raises her hands in surrender, a coy smile on her face as she slides out of the bar stool to start grabbing their trash. She waves off Cam when she tries to help, her expression far too adamant, so she bites her tongue and stays seated while Paige cleans up. “Paige?” she asks hesitantly.

“What’s up?” She glances at Cam briefly over her shoulder, the diamond studs in her ears glinting in the light as she turns, and Cam’s fingers drum lightly over the granite of Paige’s countertops.

Her voice is small when she says, “We can’t let it happen again.” It gives Paige pause, and she turns fully, leaning against the countertop. Her gaze is imploring – not offensive, just as though she’s trying to understand. “We’re friends. I’m your vet, you’re my rook. Nothing more. No need to make a good thing complicated, yeah?”

Paige raises a teasing brow. “You sure you can handle that, Cam?”

She narrows her eyes, which draws a laugh from Paige. “Can you?” she retorts. “You’re obsessed with me. It’s sickening.”

“I’m keeping you young,” she emphasizes. “Big difference.” Cam exhales, the noise sounding more like a breathless laugh. Paige clears her throat, fiddling with the towel in her hands. “I hear you,” she says, just so it’s absolutely clear, and the expression on her face eases when Cam meets her eyes. “I care about you and the team. We’ll keep it clean. But don’t think for one moment I’m gonna make your job any easier. You chose me on draft night – you’re stuck with me.”

Clean. Cam could work with that. There wasn’t any reason to change who they were or how they bantered, and if Cam was being honest, she didn’t want to. She liked this relationship she had with Paige, the slight push and pull and how they challenge each other. The mutualistic getting on each other’s nerves.

“Easy’s boring, right?” Cam reminds her, and a grin grows on Paige’s face, matching the sly one on Cam’s. Paige returns to the dishes, throwing jokes over her shoulder that Cam can’t help but laugh at. They’d keep it clean. Orderly. No chaos.

But entropy has to increase or remain constant. There was no circumventing that – it was a law of the universe. Ease wasn’t, though. Ease wasn’t just boring, and for Paige and Cam, they’d realize that it would be downright impossible.

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers x oc #paige bueckers x reader #dallas wings #wnba #wnba x reader #paige bueckers fic

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piastriprincess · 5 hours ago

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sometimes all i think about is you ⸻ oscar piastri x reader .

featuring oscar piastri , roommate!au , friends to lovers , smut , use of fahrenheit (im american sorry deal w it) , unsafe sex (wrap it before you tap it bbys !) word count 4.2k author’s note 18+ MDNI !!! once again (and probably every time i write smut) i will say i have no excuse for this one . if oscar piastri doesn’t want me to write smut about him then maybe he should stop posting slutty little photos where he’s all tan and sweaty !! like really … what was i meant to do with that . anyway let me know what you think , i hope you all enjoy <3 title is from heat waves by glass animals !

You’re halfway through your research when you notice the silence.

It’s not the comfortable, productive kind of quiet that tends to fall over the apartment while you work. This feels different. Ominous, even. Like there’s something you’ve gotten used to that’s suddenly gone missing.

You sit up straighter in your chair, frowning down at your laptop as you blink sweat out of your eyes. The cursor blinks back at you like it knows something you don’t. The air feels off — heavier, a little more stagnant, pressing down on your skin. Something about it makes your stomach twist nervously.

You push back from your desk and open your bedroom door. Your roommate is exactly where you expected him to be: sprawled on the couch, laptop balanced on his thighs as he types relentlessly away at the coding project he’s been “almost done with” for the past two weeks.

“Hey, Osc?”

He pulls out one AirPod, brushing his hair out of his eyes as he turns to look at you. You can hear his music even from your doorway, the house beats bumping through the tiny speaker. “What’s up?”

“Do you…” you pause, stepping fully into the living room. “Does it feel kinda hot in here to you?”

He presses up on his elbows, tilting his head slightly like he’s registering the temperature for the first time. “Yeah, actually. Weird.” He tosses his laptop on the coffee table, exchanges it for the air conditioner remote. When he points it at the unit and presses a button, nothing happens.

Your eyes flick to the AC unit. There’s no air moving above it. No breeze blowing through the leaves of the plants you’ve stacked across the windowsill.

Oscar tries again, pressing the buttons more frantically as you’ve ever seen him (which is to say, slightly harder than he did before). “It’s not working.”

“Shit,” you say, dread rising in your stomach. “You’re kidding.”

He raises an eyebrow at you, deadpan. “Do I look like I’m kidding?”

He doesn’t. He looks mildly concerned at best, cheeks flushed and sweat starting to dampen the hair at his temples, brow furrowing in that calm, clinical way of his. You can tell he’s already cycling through possible fixes in his mind; to him, this situation is just another puzzle to be solved, an amusing diversion to take up his afternoon.

You, on the other hand, are spiraling.

“Oscar,” you say, words dripping off your tongue, “it’s nearly a hundred degrees outside. There’s been an extreme heat warning this entire week. I saw someone on TikTok this morning fry an egg on the sidewalk. And you’re telling me our AC is out?”

He points the clicker at the unit one more time for good measure. Nothing. Your chest tightens, as you glance down at your phone. 98º, the weather preview reads, next to a bright little sunshine icon. 98 degrees, and it’s barely 9 AM.

“Oh god,” you whine, pressing the heel of your hand to your forehead. It comes away damp. “Oh god, we’re gonna get heatstroke and die in this tiny shitty apartment.”

“Whoa. Okay. Don’t panic,” Oscar says softly, eyes wide, like he’s not quite sure what to do with the freaked-out version of you. He walks past you into the kitchen, filling a glass with water and handing it to you. “Drink this. I’m gonna check the breakers, yeah?”

He disappears down the hall to the fuse box, and you collapse onto the couch where he’d been laying. It’s still warm from his body heat, which somehow makes everything worse. You can already feel your hair sticking sweatily to the back of your neck. The water is lukewarm, but it helps a little.

Oscar’s back a few minutes later. “Did it work?” you ask hopefully, but he’s already shaking his head, holding his phone out to you. You can read the giant, size 128 font your super always uses in his emails from across the room: Building-wide HVAC outage. No ETA for repair.

“Okay,” you say slowly as you sit up, trying to channel some of his calmness. “Okay, we can figure this out. Ice packs. Cold showers. We can handle this. It’s gonna be fine.”

He nods uncertainly. There’s sweat starting to bead at his hairline. “I think there’s a fan in the closet that the people who lived here before us left. I’ll grab it.”

When he returns, he’s carrying the fan under one arm, biceps flexed around the frame. It’s an old thing — white plastic going yellow at the edges, wide square cage locked around three dusty blades, power cable frayed from use.

“That thing looks like it’s going to electrocute you,” you say, eyebrows raised.

He grins, plugging the cord into the wall. “C’mon, it adds character. Ready for sweet, sweet circulation?”

You scramble to the floor, sitting cross-legged directly in front of the fan. “Hit me, Piastri,” you say decidedly, and he flips the switch.

The fan wheezes to life, sort of. The blades creak into motion like they’ve woken up from a decade-long nap, and it only takes a moment before the first gust of air hits your waiting face.

Hot air.

“No,” you moan, and Oscar crouches next to you, hand in the corner of the frame like he’s trying to run his fingers through the breeze. “I thought this was gonna help. It feels like sitting in front of a fucking hair dryer.”

“Maybe it just needs a second to warm up?” he tries, but you’re already shaking your head.

“It is warm. That’s the problem.”

He sighs and sits on the floor next to you, knee brushing against yours. The fan keeps pushing the stifling air at your faces, like it’s mocking you. “Verdict: the fan is shit.”

“The fan is worse than shit,” you groan, letting your head loll against his shoulder. You can feel his skin even through his shirt, warm beneath your cheek. “The fan is actively taunting us. The fan is betraying us.”

“Okay, drama queen,” he says fondly, pulling the cord out of the wall. The fan stutters to a stop and silence falls again, the air feeling even swampier than before.

“We’ve got other ways to beat the heat,” he says, like he’s trying to convince himself and you. “It’ll be fine.”

It’s absolutely, completely, one hundred percent not fine.

“This is hell,” you moan, fanning yourself with an old takeout menu. “Actual hell.”

Oscar swipes lazily at the menu, pulling it out of your hand. “Give me that.” He fans it at himself a few times, before letting it drop out of his hand with a groan.

For a while, it had kind of felt like an adventure. The two of you had dragged your stuff into the living room, worked side by side with bags of frozen peas pressed to your heads, cold beers sweating on the coffee table. The day dragged on, temperature climbing higher, and you’d been forced to get creative. On one trip to the kitchen, you’d figured out it was the shadiest place in the entire apartment, and promptly moved to lay out on the floor, tiles cool beneath your skin. The two of you took turns sticking your head in the freezer, too hot to be self-conscious about how stupid you looked. At least you’d gotten an ancient, frostbitten box of Bomb Pops out of it, long forgotten behind your ice tray. You’d spotted it, pulled it out and split the entire box between the two of you, rationing them like wartime supplies.

But now the popsicles are gone, the last of the beers going lukewarm, and you’re both pleasantly tipsy and running out of ways to keep yourself entertained. Judging from the way the sun is slanting golden through the window, you’re guessing it’s late afternoon, but you don’t dare get up and check your phone. That would mean expending energy and leaving the cold tiles behind, two things you are very much not prepared to do.

“This is such an undignified way to die,” you mumble instead, cheek flat against the cool floor. Your bottle is dripping with condensation, pressed into the skin of your neck.

“We’re not going to die,” Oscar says automatically, sliding down the cabinets until he’s on his back next to you. His hair is plastered to his forehead, cheeks flushed.

You roll your head to the side to look at him. “I’m pretty sure this is how we go out. I’m wilting. I can feel my brain literally melting. Dripping out my ears.”

“Nah, I think that’s just sweat,” he grins, eyes sparkling.

“Ew, Osc.” You wrinkle your nose. “Gross. And also not helping.”

He lets out a laugh, lazy and breathless, forearm thrown over his eyes. “At least we’re going out together.”

“Yeah, put that on the tombstone,” you snort. “‘Here lies two idiots who died because they were too cheap to rent in a building with a competent super.’”

“We’re not cheap,” he protests weakly. “We’re… financially responsible.”

“Yeah, ‘cause it’s so financially responsible to just die of heatstroke.”

Oscar sighs, taking a long swig and then setting his beer down. The glass clinks against the tiles. “Okay. Well, we’re definitely not gonna survive if we keep wearing this much.”

You blink, propping yourself up on your elbows. “What?”

But he’s already shimmying his shorts down his legs, kicking them across the floor to the corner of the kitchen. “It’s basic heat management. Less layers means our skin’ll cool off faster.” He pulls his shirt over his head next, one clean, graceful movement.

And — okay. Okay. You weren’t prepared for Oscar to be shirtless.

You’ve lived together for almost two years. You’ve seen him before, on laundry day in a ratty muscle tank, on the way into the gym, even one particularly embarrassing moment when you walked into the bathroom before he’d gotten dressed, towel slung dangerously low on his hips. But you’d filed the moments away in your head as normal roommate occurrences, nothing to think twice about.

Clearly, you hadn’t been paying enough attention. Because now you don’t know what to do when he’s sitting on the kitchen floor in a pair of grey Calvins, skin flushed golden and peppered with moles, covered in a sheen of sweat. There’s a drop trailing down his chest, catching in the grooves of what look like very defined abs.

You know you’re staring. It’s shameless. You feel a little bit insane, actually. Oscar is… hot?

“You okay?” your roommate says, a little too casually.

“I —” you stammer, forcing your eyes up to his face. “What the hell, Osc. You have muscles.”

“Humans tend to have those,” he replies dryly.

“No, but like, I thought you had programmer muscles. Slouch over a computer all day and code muscles,” you try to explain. “But you look like you could be in like, a sexy sunscreen ad or something. When did you get so jacked?”

He laughs, a little breathless, rubbing the back of his neck. His ears look a little pinker than they were before. You’re not sure if it’s the heat or something else entirely. “I’ve always been like this. You just never noticed.”

You shake your head. “No way. I would have noticed that.”

“Apparently not,” he says, voice a little rough in a way that makes your stomach twist. “Your turn.”

“My turn for what?”

He gestures at your sweat-soaked tank top. “Heat management, remember?”

“Right, yeah. Makes sense. Equal opportunity stripping,” you breathe, trying very hard to sound casual even though your pulse is racing under your skin. You take a breath, averting your eyes to the floor, and tug your tank top over your head.

The air hits your skin first, surprisingly cool. And then, unmistakably, Oscar’s eyes next, trailing down your body, heavy and lingering.

“You’re staring,” you note, and his gaze snaps back to your face.

He swallows hard, rakes a hand through his hair. “Yeah, sorry, I —” His eyes flick back to your chest, like he can’t help himself, then quickly back up to your face. “Jesus.”

You raise an eyebrow, tiny smile on your face. “Humans tend to have those,” you echo him, gesturing vaguely at your bralette, and Oscar makes a strangled noise like he’s choked on his own tongue.

He rolls toward you on the floor slightly, one arm falling lazily over his waist as he looks up at you with those big brown eyes. “You can’t just do that.”

“Hey. You were the one who told me to take my shirt off,” you say, suddenly defensive.

He sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Well, I didn’t think you’d do it and look like that.”

“Like what?”

“Hot,” he says lowly, and now it’s your turn to sputter around your own breath.

“I mean — it is the middle of a heatwave,” you say, voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes find yours. Hold them with an intensity that makes you shiver even in the heat. “You know that’s not the type of hot I meant.”

The air doesn’t feel stagnant anymore. It feels alive between you, some kind of simmering tension that’s using the heat as an excuse to finally, finally boil over.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you say, voice pitching high and unsteady.

His brows knit together. “What do you mean?”

“You’re looking at me like you want to kiss me or something,” you say, breathless.

A beat. Oscar’s lip catches in between his teeth as he looks at you, and you can feel your traitorous eyes drop to his mouth. His grin spreads slowly across his face, like he’s won something he didn’t know was up for grabs.

“I do want to kiss you,” he says. And then he leans in, slow, like he’s giving you the chance to stop all of it in its tracks, until there’s no space left between you.

When his mouth finally finds yours, it’s careful. He tastes like cherry popsicle, lips sticky with the leftover sugar and a salty twinge of sweat. One hand cups your cheek, the other resting tentatively on your waist, thumb skimming at the hem of your bralette like he’s still trying to figure out how far he’s allowed to go.

You don’t want him to be careful anymore.

You swing a leg over his lap, straddling him, knees knocking against the tile. His breath hitches as you settle against him, muscles tense beneath you. “You’re allowed to touch me, you know,” you murmur against his mouth.

He pulls back, chest rising and falling unevenly as he looks up at you. “Just — trying to be respectful,” he says roughly, fingers digging into the skin at your waist.

You smirk, rolling your hips against the obvious bulge in his briefs, hard and thick and throbbing. The groan he lets out is nothing short of filthy. “Osc, I’m literally half-naked on top of you. I think we’re way past the point of respectful.”

It’s like the permission flips a switch inside him. His mouth attaches to your neck, sucking little bruises into the soft skin, and suddenly, his hands are all over you. One sliding down your back, splaying over your hip and rocking you against him, cock rutting against your wet heat through your shorts. The other palming at your chest through your bra, the thin fabric doing nothing to hide the way your nipples pearl under his touch.

“So fucking hot,” he breathes into your skin, pausing between words to suck another mark at the swell of your breast. “Driving me insane, you know that? All fucking day with those shorts and that little tank top.”

You don’t respond. Just reach behind you, fingers nimbly unhooking your bralette, clasp damp against your back. The fabric falls away easily, straps slipping down your arms until you’re bare on top of him.

For a second, you think Oscar might have stopped breathing, hands frozen on your hips, eyes fixed on your tits.

“Oscar?” you say, breathless, rutting your hips against his in a shameless attempt to bring him back down from whatever planet he’s on. He blinks hard, shakes his head slightly like his brain is an Etch-a-Sketch he’s trying to reset. His pupils are blown, eyes wide as he stares up at you.

“Sorry, yeah, I —” he mumbles, and then his head is ducking down, mouth closing around your nipple, warm and wet. His tongue flicks sharp over the nub of it, his other hand coming up to palm at your other breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers.

It feels like he’s everywhere, all hands and lips and tongue, and you gasp, arch your back like you’re trying to get more of your tits into his mouth. He groans around you, teeth grazing against the sensitive area gently. The vibrations go straight to your core. “Osc — fuck — ”

“Good?” he mutters against you, and you nod frantically. His free hand wraps under you, fingers splaying against the curve of your ass, and he picks you up and presses you into the kitchen tile without taking his mouth off you. The move is so absurdly, unfairly hot that the only thought in your mind is why you didn’t let him do it sooner.

He pulls back, and you’re about to whine at the loss of contact until you feel his mouth against you again, pressing messy open-mouthed kisses in a trail down your stomach, tongue dragging against your skin like he needs to taste you. Your fingers weave easily into his hair, tugging loosely at the roots, and he whines.

“Can I —” he breathes when he gets to the waistband of your shorts, looking up at you through his lashes, and you’re lifting your hips in reply before he can even really get the question out of his mouth.

“Please,” you gasp, like he needs any extra confirmation. Like he’s not already hooking his fingers into the elastic and tugging your shorts and panties down your legs.

“Fuck,” he rasps once you’re laid bare in front of him, hand sliding slick up your thigh to your center. “You’re unreal.”

He kisses the inside of your thigh gently, then again. Higher and higher he goes, mouth dragging just shy of where you need him most. “Taste so fucking good already f’me,” he mumbles to himself, almost reverent. “Can’t believe I get to do this.”

Your hips kick involuntarily at the vibration from his words, his breath teasing at your cunt. “Then do it, Osc,” you whimper, fingers tightening in his hair. “Please.”

Apparently your begging does the trick. He plants one hand on your thigh, uses it to pull you towards him, spreading your thighs wide enough to keep them apart with his shoulders, and then presses the flat of his tongue to you, licking a long, hot stripe up your center.

He eats you out like he’s been dying to do it, like he’s trying to figure out exactly what makes you tick, what will make you fall apart the fastest under him. It’s a little sloppy, hot and wet and reckless, but it works — tongue circling around your clit in a way that makes you moan high and breathless. The sound only seems to spur him on, fingers slipping into you a second after that.

Your back arches off the tile at the feeling of his fingers, fucking you open slowly. Not that it’s doing a thing to cool you down anymore. With his mouth and his hands on you, you feel like you’re burning up from the inside out.

When he sucks your clit into his mouth, crooking his fingers inside you, the sensation is nearly too much to bear. “Osc, don’t stop — I’m gonna —” you pant brokenly, hips rocking against his face, his hand.

“Let go. Come on, baby, let me taste it,” he murmurs directly into your core, and your orgasm rips through you, thighs shaking around Oscar’s shoulders. He works you through it, tongue lapping at you like he wants to devour you as you writhe beneath him.

When you finally come back down to earth, you tug him back up your body until you’re face to face. “You good?” he asks breathlessly, looking down at you. He’s so pretty like this — wild-eyed, flushed and panting, hair mussed, mouth shining.

“Yeah. Yes,” you nod, dazed. “So fucking good.” He grins down at you, obviously pleased, if the way his hips twitch into yours is anything to go by.

You reach up for him instinctively, suddenly desperate to taste yourself on his tongue. The resulting kiss is hot and sticky and perfect, even better when you let your hand slip between the two of you to palm at his cock through his briefs. He hisses, jerks his hips forward as you work your fingers beneath the waistband, pulling them down just enough for his length to spring free, hard against his stomach.

He breaks the kiss just enough to shove the briefs down, past his ankles, kicking them to the rapidly growing pile of clothes in the corner of the kitchen. When your hand wraps around him, thumbing across the tip and spreading the wetness gathering there down his length with one experimental pump, he gasps, hips canting against your hand.

“Fuck, you can’t — I’m not gonna last if you do that,” he admits, eyes closed and breathing uneven.

Maybe it’s the heat that makes you bold, or maybe it’s his honesty, saying straight out how badly you affect him. But something makes you grin up at him and say it: “Maybe you should hurry up and get inside me, then.”

His eyes snap open, and he makes a wrecked little noise at that, something between a whimper and a growl. “Fuck. Okay. Condom. In my room, I think —”

You laugh, breathless, hooking one leg around his waist and pulling him down to press his forehead against yours. “I’m on the pill. And I trust you, Osc.”

His eyes flutter shut like that might legitimately be his undoing, cockhead pushing at your slick folds, barely holding himself back. “Jesus fucking Christ. Okay.”

He lines himself up, sinks into you so slowly that it’s torture. The feeling is overwhelming, the stretch, the heat of it. He’s thick, perfect, pressed so deep into you when he finally bottoms out that it nearly steals the breath from your lungs.

“Shit,” Oscar chokes out, helpless. “You feel — fuck, you feel insane.”

You dig your heels into his back, nails dragging over his shoulders. “Probably feel better if you move,” you breathe, and his eyes go dark, pulling out just to slam back into you with a long moan.

He finds a rhythm fast. Messy, desperate thrusts that echo filthily against the tile every time his hips snap into yours, skin sliding against skin. He’s bracing one hand beside your head, the other gripping under your thigh to keep you spread open, flushed and panting beneath him.

“You’re so —” he starts, voice breaking into a moan as you rock your hips to meet him with each thrust, your cunt gripping him warm and tight and ready. “Fuck. Wanted this so bad.”

“You thought about this?” you manage between gasps, and he nods.

“All the fucking time. Jesus, you feel so good,” he groans, voice rough and hot against your ear. “So fucking tight, baby — m’not gonna last.”

You’re a mess beneath him already, gasping and clawing at his back as he fucks into you. “Don’t have to,” you whine as he hikes your leg up his waist, opening you up even more for him. The angle has your vision blurring, seeing stars every time his length scrapes that one spot inside you. “Want you to come, Osc, please, need to feel you.” You clench around him on instinct, and he shudders, hips stuttering.

“Fuckfuckfuck, don’t do that, I’m so close,” he grits out, hand sliding between your bodies to your clit, rubbing tight little circles against you. “Need to make you come first.”

You let out a moan, almost incoherent. You can already feel it building, coiling low and tight in your stomach, sparked by the heat and his voice and the frantic way he’s moving inside you. “Osc, I’m gonna —”

“Yeah?” he breathes, eyes fluttering shut as you pulse around him, so close to falling over the edge. “Do it then. Want to feel it on my cock.”

You come with a yelp, back arching and cunt fluttering around him. A moment later, Oscar’s rhythm falters inside you, and then he’s gasping your name, spilling into you with a groan that vibrates against your skin.

He stays like that for a moment, shivering in the aftermath, pressed fully against you, skin slick and sticky, chest rising and falling in uneven bursts.

“...So,” he breathes, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “That definitely didn’t help us cool down.”

You laugh, breathless. Fucked out. “Not even a little bit.”

“Cold shower together next?” he grins, dazed, cheeks flushed as he waggles an eyebrow at you. You smack him on the arm lazily in response, no real heat behind it.

But you don’t say no. And when he scoops you up off the floor into his arms and carries you to the bathroom, you get a distinct, giddy sort of feeling that no matter how long the heat wave lasts, whatever is happening between the two of you isn’t cooling off anytime soon.

#f1 #f1 x reader #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri smut #oscar piastri fluff #oscar piastri angst #f1 imagine #oscar piastri #f1 driver x reader #f1 driver x you #oscar piastri x you #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 fanfic #❀ my work .

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jellymochii · 3 days ago

Text

Stray Kids as the Seven Deadly Sins (kinky edition)

⛓️pairings: ot8 skz x fem!reader

⛓️genre: pure smut

⛓️cw: smut, bdsm, degradation, cunnulingus, p in v, unprotected s3x (please don’t), and lots of other things hehe

⛓️wc: 3k

⛓️authors note: hi im alive! pls read my previous post as to explain why I wasn’t active for such a long time. if you have a request currently pending I WILL GET TO IT before the end of my summer, im just doing this as a little hobby to keep myself busy hehe. Anyways, hope you enjoy!

**THIS IS PURELY A WORK OF FICTION AS DOES NOT REFLECT THE TRUE NATURE OF THE INDIVIDUALS MENTIONED.**

Bang Chan - Wrath

He swore the day he met you that he’d never let his rage control him and hurt you, and he still keeps his promise to this day—with its exceptions.

Once you told him that you actually loved rough sex on some occasions—biting, spanking, hair pulling and all—he still hesitated to even stoop to that level, since you were so delicate and fragile to him, but you insisted that you didn’t mind if he initiated any sort of dominance over you sexually.

His breaking point was the night he came home after work where all hell had broken loose. He had gotten into an argument with his boss over deadlines after spending hours slaving away at his laptop trying to recover his lost files, resulting in him working overtime which wasn’t too abnormal.

However, you felt a certain chill up your spine watching his car pull up—like something was wrong, and your worries seemed to come true the moment he walked into the house already fuming, only to stub his toe against the door. He let out the most frustrated and enraged scream of his life before throwing his backpack full force at the wall and storming into the bedroom, causing both you and the dog to flinch.

You crept into the bedroom and observed Chan with his hands in his hands as his fingers desperately combed through his hair to try and self regulate—until his eyes laid upon you, like a bull staring right at a red flag.

In what felt like a split second, he had you cornered against the wall as his lips crashed into yours as his grip on your hair grew tighter with each growing second. After letting out a frustrated growl, he shoved you into your knees and trembled as he undid his belt—unsheathing his veiny cock with dribbles of precum already seeping out. You’d be lying if you said that this wasn’t a heavenly sight you’d dreamed of for so many nights.

“Open. Now.” He commanded, and you obeyed as you gently wrapped your lips around his red and swollen tip—only for Chan to grab a fistful of your hair and fuck your throat as tears poured from your eyes for what felt like an eternity. When he felt as though he was close, he pulled out and watched the string of saliva connecting his dick to your mouth slowly disconnect.

“Color?”

“G-green.” You mumbled out, prompting Chan to scoop you up and carry you over to the bed and slam you down, clawing your panties away and wasting no time slamming his cock straight into your cervix. Your cries of a mixture of pleasure and pain seemed to only fueled him more as his pace quickened, his face contorting in pleasure as ungodly moans left his lips.

Maybe his wrath wasn’t so bad after all.

Lee Minho - Pride

Minho’s always had that damn stupid smirk since childhood, you swore you’d find a way to somehow wipe it off his face—but you never have.

Since the day he first took you to bed he used his fingers with such unmatched skill that you swore he must have been doing this all his life (he hasn’t, but he did a LOT of research.) You swear you’ve never cum so hard in your life, and amidst your post-climax daze you can still make out a cocky smirk on his face.

The truth is that he knows how badly you hate his attitude and lives for the feeling of pushing you straight into submission after each nasty remark you shoot his way. He gets such a kick out of you trying to hold in your moans and whimpers out of protest—only to be screaming his name in ecstasy five minutes later, begging him to let you cum.

It’s days like these where Minho is pistoning his cock into you after a bicker that you really wish he would stop laughing in your ear and mocking you for melting under his touch. Unfortunately, he prides himself too much on his ability to make you cum no matter how much you choke on your own words and sobs—so your resistance was only met with Minho abusing your sweet spot into overstimulation.

“Say it. Tell me how I’m the only one who can make you whine and slobber like a bitch, and no other man will ever fuck you as good as I do.” He whispered, his grip around your throat tightening. You protested, biting your tongue and trying your hardest to not make a sound and give him the satisfaction.

Your body though, had other plans—as you felt your gummy walls spasm on his cock as your body began to tremble.

I guess it seems in the end, he’s earned the right to be prideful.

Seo Changbin - Pride

Changbin developed incredible discipline over the years of working out ritually, and it paid off with his newly incredible physique.

It was so easy for him to boast about all his achievements in the gym to his juniors now that he was no longer the wimpy kid he thought himself to be—and now that he had you, the most gorgeous girl in the eyes of many, he was unstoppable.

Truthfully, you’d often find yourself drooling over his big strong arms and dreaming of all the ways he could suffocate you to death, and he could see it all in your eyes. Your lust towards him only boosted his ego even more, and he was more than willing to show you just how great he was for you.

Here you were, tits smashed against the window pane as Changbin pinned you like prey—gazing down at the busy traffic of your urban city. Anyone could look up and see you so vulnerable like this.

“Binnieeee….what if someone sees us?” You choked, your throat still ensnared by the deadly grip Changbin had on it.

“Awww, let them baby. Let them see how well I fuck you.” He giggled, swiftly picking your legs up and positioning his cock juuuust right.

Oh, and how the angle was indeed just right. His display of sheer strength as he pistoned his thick cock into you, making you feel so full and yet so empty and hungry for more at the same time.

“Binnie, please! I’m gonna cum if you keep this up~!” You moaned, breath fogging up the glass.

“Hehe, of course you will jagi~. No one else can fuck you like I can, right? Say it.”

You’ll be saying it all night, I promise. No amount of praise will ever be too much for his pride.

Hwang Hyunjin - Lust

Every little detail about you seems to send Hyunjin into a daze.

He can’t describe the pure lust that boils in him from just the little things about you—the way your thighs look so soft and supple from just sitting on the couch, or how your back arches ever so slightly when reaching for things. His obsession and desire for you seems to grow stronger every day.

Making love to you is his favorite form of art—an addiction he can’t bear to be without. The little squeals of pleasure you make when his fingers are buried in your cunt are music to his ears, only fueling him to make you cum over and over again.

When you came home exhausted from work just wanting to escape from it all, you were greeted by the loving arms of your boyfriend while placing gentle kisses on your temple. You can smell the warm scent of vanilla candles scattered across the room, it feels like heaven. You truly feel so safe and loved in his presence, but you always know what comes next once your hormones kick in. Seriously, it’s like he knows when you’re ovulating.

Ten minutes later you’re in a drunken state of absolute euphoria, surrounded by the smell of sex and the sounds of your lips smacking against each other. Hyunjin takes his time with you at first, but as his primal need for more takes over he quickly transitions into a rapid and feral pace of pounding in your cunt. He swears he has no idea what comes over him—he’s possessed. The only thing he needs right now is to be holding you close while buried deep in your sopping wet pussy.

“Ghh-too fast!” You cry out.

“Shhhh I know baby, but you can take it. You’ll take it all in f-for me, promise”

You’ve always put your trust in each other and you know he would never harm you, but sometimes the look in his eyes is that of a possessed man looking over you and soaking all of you in like a monster hunting its prey.

And when his orgasm finally hits him, it’s like all the lust that was building inside of him finally surrounds him in a single perfect moment—with the harmony of your combined moans making him the happiest man alive.

Truthfully, he doesn’t care that he lusts after you all the time—it’s what he thrives on.

Han Jisung - Gluttony

His friends like to tease Jisung about how obsessed he seems to be over you—how the time spent away from you seems to deflate him into a shell of his former self. Like he’s starving for something more than the hot pot wasting away on his plate.

Almost like he needs to be buried in your pussy 24/7.

The first time the two of you ever agreed to try anything sexual, he seemed somehow tempted to try eating you out. He watched countless videos on how to perfectly pleasure you to the fullest with both his cock and his mouth—so when the time finally came, he would be well prepared.

What he didn’t prepare for though, was how badly he’d crave you more after just tasting the first drop of you.

What once was a challenge to be a better man to you turned into a spiraling obsession of devouring you like a starved man every chance he could get, sometimes cumming without even the slightest touch from you because of how intoxicating the smell is. Every part of his life when he’s not slaving away at work is devoted to your pussy—and how well your greedy hole sucks him in so much that his dick becomes a prisoner inside of you. It drives him to the edge so so fast.

Just like today, when he’s barely even thrusting into you and doesn’t seem to be pulling out at all, he's just humping you desperately with his cock sitting inside while he whines.

“God, this pussy’s gone be the f-fucking end of me, babe.” He groaned, pounding your cervix rougher with each thrust. “I’m gonna cum so fucki—SHIT~!” He cries out as you begin to push back against him, creating a whole new rhythm of pure ecstasy—only amplified by the unholy and sloppy sounds of your juices squelching against him.

And when the waves of pleasure finally crash against your shaking body, who else but Han to clean up the creamy mess you two created.

It’s filthy, raw, and pure gluttony at its finest.

Lee Felix - Envy

You’d think with all the lights flashing just for Felix and all of his glory and fame, there’d be nothing for him to be jealous about, but there’s a teeensy little problem he has that he just can’t shake.

Well you, duh.

He thought you were the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen—soft and delicate hands, a smile that could light up the room, and God, your perfect body. He wishes he could have all of it—and yet, it all goes to that stupid son of a bitch of a boyfriend you have.

Tall, muscular, perfect posture, and a jawline so sharp that could slice through anything. Although Felix had the muscles, he wasn’t nearly as tall as he would’ve liked to be and his posture was like that of a shrimp with all the back pain he’d been suffering. His natural feminine beauty was enough to have millions of fan girls desperate for him, but why not you? Why couldn’t you see through that dumb hunk of meat and look at him instead?

He spent months playing the part perfectly of an innocent male friend, even faking having a girlfriend who mysteriously also dumped him when your boyfriend had dumped you. He stayed by your side and pretended to be heartbroken with you while engulfing unholy amounts of ice cream straight from the bucket—and yet—he overheard you on the phone begging your ex to come back.

He’d had enough.

Slithering up from behind your disheveled figure and wrapping you up in a warm hug and whispering in your ear. “Don’t you think it’s about time to forget about him, baby?”

You froze, not knowing how to respond to that pet name.

“W-Well how? All I think about is him, y’know.” You muttered, feeling less like you were being hugged by a teddy bear and more like being suffocated by a snake.

“I can help you. I’ll make you forgot alllll about that stupid piece of shit—if you’ll let me.” He groaned, hands wandering down to rub circles on your clothes clit earning a whimper from you.

You’d never expected your best friend to be the living embodiment of the green eyed monster himself.

Kim Seungmin - Sloth

Truthfully Seungmin isn’t lazy in the slightest, the way he’s manipulated you to please him in every way and give you an orgasm almost on command takes effort. And yet, now it seems after all that training he can’t seem to be bothered to help you out at all when you just look so cute and desperate when you’re begging for it.

He seems to always tell when you’re ovulating because of how increasingly horny and clingy you become to him—begging him for just his fingers to help you out—but it’s more fun for him to watch you try and get yourself off without his help (and failing.)

Today may just have been the worst of it. You’d been itching for a release all week to destress from work, but your fingers weren’t cutting it. It seemed like every time you asked Seungmin to touch you—even offering to be his fuckdoll for the night—he still just looked down at you with that stupid smirk on his face and replied “Hmmmm….nah. Maybe after dinner, but you’ll be fine.”

Fine? Are you kidding me? He’s been taunting and denying you all week and insists somehow you’ll just be able to tolerate it? You couldn’t decide at this point if you wanted to rip his face off or ride it into oblivion.

You tried to settle yourself down in the bed and get into a zone while he jumped in the shower, hoping that maybe the memories of being pounded into like a dumb doll would be enough to get you off until he came back.

It wasn’t, and when Seungmin stepped out to see your frustrated scrunched up face and your fingers pumping brutally into your cunt—he’d felt like the king of the earth.

“Awww, look how disgustingly desperate my little slut is.” He sneered.

“Minnie…please, I’ll do anything—just please let me cum!” You whimpered out, feeling utterly defeated at this point.

He heaved a sigh in response to taunt you. “Ffffine, I guess since I’m the only one who can make you cum, I’ll help you out a little.”

You seemed relieved at his response, but little did you know you were in for an entire night of orgasm denial to turn you further into his perfect obedient dolly.

It’s not as lazy as you’d think.

Yang Jeongin - Greed

Jeongin was used to not being someone’s first pick. Whether it was being called a monster for the way he looked, being shoved aside by his friends—or being rejected for giving his heart to someone.

And yet, you saw right through all of that and gave him the love he never had.

He’s obsessed with you, truly. The way your hair sways when you walk, your toothy grin, and your caring heart—it’s enough to make any man kneel. And that’s the problem.

You’re used to being catcalled and it seems to not bother you as much anymore, but it’s hard to distinguish whether someone is truly being friendly or trying to get into your pants. It doesn’t matter to Jeongin either way though, he’ll see red every time. Anger consumes him whenever he sees another man compliment your outfit or ask you where you’re from—after all, he’s a man too, therefore he knows what those perverts are thinking.

And thus his rage turned into greed, he was going to make it a point to both you and everyone else that you were his and only his. He didn’t care how inconsiderate or embarrassing he was in public, no one was allowed to have what was his.

Like today, the two of you were just grocery shopping when the clerk at the checkout was just too nice to you in Jeongins opinion. Who the hell did he think he was calling you pretty? Why is he smiling so much? Why won’t he just shut up and put the tomatoes in the bag?

The more the thoughts swirled in him the more he realized he had to claim you as his possession, what was rightfully his.

And so that’s how you ended up pinned against the wall, being pounded into at a torturously slow yet sharp pace while your oh so loving boyfriend whispered filth into your ear.

“Do you really think that stupid pervert could ever fuck you like this, huh? Could he hit your pretty little sweet spot—just. like. this?” He sneered, thrusting harshly into you with each word he spoke.

The hardest lesson you had to learn today was to always watch carefully what greed and sin can do to a man, and how it can fuck you oh so deliciously.

220 notes · View notes

theseh00perscanh00p · 1 day ago

Text

10 Moments That Led Me Back to You: Part 4

paige x azzi

a/n: If there's typos I'm sorry lol hope you enjoy

word count: 4.5k

The Championship Game

Song: “Let Me Go” – Daniel Caesar

Four Years Post Break-Up

The confetti was falling too quickly.

Like the ceiling had split and everything Paige was meant to feel had poured out: happiness and relief and pride — all in one. Her arms were slick with champagne. Her vision clouded by camera flashes. And somewhere behind her the crowd erupted in that way that always made her feel alive.

But tonight, it simply made her feel… off.

She had won. The trophy was real. The scoreboard’s numbers still glowed: 78–74. The kind of victory people remember. The type they would replay on SportsCenter, cutting to slo-mo and adding some dramatic background music. Her name would have lit up the highlight reels. Analysts would describe it as a career-defining performance.

And yet.

Her eyes looked out of instinct… not at the crowd, not at her teammates, and not at the scoreboard.

The tunnel.

There.

Azzi stood just at edge barely visible in the shadows. Hands loose at her sides. Shoulders high, chin steady. Watching.

And when Paige’s eyes settled on her — Azzi smiled.

Not a pity smile. Not a polite one, either.

It was real. Soft. Even a little proud.

And somehow, that was worse.

Did she just… Paige thought to herself. Even if Azzi had looked wounded, or hurt, or jealous, or just passive.. Paige could stomach the ache in her chest.

But this… this graceful complicity in her victory, in who Paige had become, it cracked something open.

Because deep down, Paige wasn’t at all certain she’d ever actually smiled like that at Azzi’s wins. Which made her feel like she didn’t deserve the smile she’d just received even more.

“Yo!” KK’s voice suddenly rang out, interrupting the moment. “Get up here and take this damn picture of me before I start happy crying and forget!”

Laughter. Champagne. Lights flashing. Paige blinked her way back to it, pulling her focus from the tunnel.

When she turned around — Azzi was no longer there.

And when she stepped off the court, Paige allowed herself to exhale.

But that did nothing to make things easier.

Putting an arm around teammates and posing like a celebrity, she hoisted the trophy above her head, surrounded by teammates and cameras. All that cheering, as if they’d just scaled a mountain.

But all she could think about was the girl who stood at the bottom of it and still smiled like she had built it.

Her voice echoed in her mind, “I wanted to be there for it: the chaos, the late nights, the big wins. I wanted all of it with you.”

In this moment Paige began to feel the weight of what that really meant.

Flashback: Four Years Prior to The Championship Game

They had just won a national title together for the first time since the two began playing together it was their senior year in college.

The buzzer sounded and everyone rushed the arena floor.

A roar erupted through the arena like a wave crashing over them. White and blue confetti exploded from the rafters in slow-motion bursts. Somewhere in the chaos of it all, Azzi dropped her water bottle mid-celebration, bolted across the court, and jumped straight into Paige’s arms.

Paige caught her with ease, instinctively. Azzi’s arms locked around her neck. Legs around her waist. Neither of them could stop smiling.

Paige’s heart thudded like she was still mid-game, adrenaline still roaring through her blood. She could feel Azzi’s laugh in her chest more than she heard it.

“We did it,” Azzi breathed into her ear. “We freaking did it.”

Paige squeezed her tighter, spinning them once just for the hell of it. “Hell yeah we did.”

Cameras caught the moment. So did half of Twitter. But neither of them cared. Not in that moment.

Their teammates surged toward them — bodies colliding in one giant tangle of limbs and tears and wooohoos — and Paige finally set Azzi down. They were swarmed, jerseys pulled, cheeks kissed, champagne bottle passed between hands too young to care about rules.

Someone — maybe KK — hoisted the trophy over her head. Jana and Nika grabbed Azzi and danced like maniacs while Ice tried to organize a team photo that never quite happened.

But even surrounded by noise and flashbulbs, Paige couldn’t stop looking at her.

Azzi. the girl who always had her full attention no matter the occasion.

She looked back and caught Paige watching.

“What?” Azzi mouthed with a half-laugh, still breathless.

Paige shook her head. “Nothing. Just…”

Azzi walked over, grabbed her hand, laced their fingers together.

They had won a national title.

But this? This was the part Paige would remember.

Eventually, they were herded into the locker room for press and cool-down, but no one was really calming down. Coaches cried. Trainers high-fived. Reporters stuck mics in their faces like they were ready to turn joy into headlines.

Paige gave her best “locked in” answers. Talked about leadership, composure, tempo. But her eyes kept drifting sideways.

Azzi, sitting next to her, legs bouncing, still wearing her Champions hat. Their shoulders brushed every time someone walked behind them. Paige tried not to reach for her.

Once the chaos thinned and the reporters trickled out, Paige stood up and nodded toward the showers. Azzi gave a smallest nod back and followed.

Except they didn’t go to the showers. Not right away.

They snuck down the tunnel to the auxiliary locker room — the one nobody used anymore. It was half-lit, kind of dusty, and smelled faintly like sports tape and sweat.

Azzi tugged Paige inside and shut the door.

They didn’t speak for a while.

Just stood there, letting the quiet fill the cracks. Letting adrenaline wear off. Letting their hands find each other again.

Azzi sat on the bench first, tugging Paige gently to sit between her legs. Paige leaned back against her chest and exhaled for the first time all night.

“Is it weird that I feel sad?” Azzi whispered into her shoulder.

Paige turned to look at her.

“Not at all.”

Azzi rested her chin on Paige’s shoulder. “We’re never going to be this version of us again.”

The words sank like stones in water.

It wasn’t that they didn’t have plans. They talked about the league. About getting drafted. About ending up in the same city somehow. But nothing was promised. Not anymore.

Paige twisted slightly to look at her. “We’ll play together again. I’ll make sure of it.”

Azzi’s smile was soft. Disbelieving, maybe. “You don’t get to promise me that.”

“I know,” Paige said. “But I’m going to anyway.”

They kissed. Quiet, tired, smiling into each other like the world hadn’t started moving again yet.

Later that night, long after the trophy was locked away and the arena swept clean they snuck back into the gym. Paige turned on just one court light, the amber glow casting long shadows across the hardwood.

They laid flat on their backs, center court, just staring at the ceiling that showered them in celebration just hours ago.

“This doesn’t feel real,” Azzi said, staring up at the rafters.

Paige reached for her hand. “That’s how you know it is.”

They didn’t sleep. Not really. Just rested there. Dreaming with their eyes open.

Because back then?

Back then, forever still felt possible.

Azzi was still tracing the edge of her piece of the net she cut with one fingertip, legs crossed at the ankles. Paige laid next to her with the full net around her neck and her hand resting — just barely — beside Azzi’s.

“Do you think we’ll remember this the same way?” Azzi asked.

Paige stared up at the ceiling. “What do you mean?”

Azzi shifted, propping herself up on one elbow. “I mean… ten years from now. When this all feels like a different life. Do you think I’ll remember your face the same way? The confetti? This gym? Or will I just… I don’t know….”

Paige turned to face her fully. “You’ll remember.”

Azzi gave a small, private smile. “You sound sure.”

“I am.” Paige tucked a strand of hair behind Azzi’s ear. “Because I’m gonna remind you.”

They stayed in that echoey gym a few minutes longer stealing one last breath of that version of their lives. One last second before drafts and deadlines and distance. Before everything turned real.

And when they finally did rise, Paige looked back once more.

Azzi caught her doing it. “What?”

“Nothing,” Paige said. “Just making sure I don’t forget.”

Flash Forward: The Championship Game

The arena had settled down at last.

The confetti cannons had gone empty. The crowd had funneled out.

But Paige was still there.

She emerged back out onto the hardwood.

She walked to center court.

Paused.

And then sat down, cross-legged, hands on the floor as if in need of grounding.

This was supposed to be the everything.

A title. A legacy. Her name in the news again.

And it did feel like everything. But it also didn’t.

She gazed at empty rows of seats where, hours before, the crowd had cheered her name. Where she’d embraced teammates, coaches, even that one assistant G.M. she had thought always hated her.

But it wasn’t until now — in this quiet — that the weight of it all landed.

“I said we wouldn’t forget this,” she murmured under her breath, the words mumbled but certain, as if they had been curled in the back of her mouth for years. “I told you I’d remind you.”

She threw her head back toward the scoreboard. The similar spot she’d fixated on after the Natty. The similar spot they’d laughed under, kissed under, dreamed of futures under.

“And I meant it.”

Her voice broke, but she pressed on.

“This is not how it was meant to be,” she whispered. “Not without you by my side.”

She could still see it — Azzi observing from that tunnel, caught in a frame Paige couldn’t erase from her memory. The way she’d smiled, not polite or pitying, but real. Pride and heartbreak in the same impossible look of yours.

It did more harm than any loss Paige had ever suffered, that smile.

Because it meant Azzi still looked towards her.

And she didn’t know where to go with that.

She didn’t bother turning on the lights upon arriving back in her room.

The celebratory noise of the evening still felt present in her body — every photo taken, every hand she’d shaken, every teammate she’d clung to as if somehow they could transfer the moment to themselves and make it permanent.

Her phone held 7% charge and was buried at the bottom of her duffel bag. She left it there. The texts would wait, didn’t matter whoever they were from — reporters, agents, the group chats that were blowing up with “🏆” emojis.

Paige lowered herself at the edge of her hotel bed and stared at her hands as if they belonged to someone else.

The hands that gripped the trophy.

The same hands that gripped around Azzi’s waist in post-game scrimmages. That used to line her spine during half-asleep mornings in college apartments.

She let out a breath — sharp, quick, and not entirely steady.

“I won,” she mumbled to the empty room.

Then again, a little louder. “I fucking won.”

She reached for the mini fridge, snatched an outrageously overpriced hotel water bottle, cracked it open and took a sip as though it were tequila. Burned just the same.

And then she laughed.

For this was the moment, wasn’t it?

The kind every player fantasized about. The championship. The glory. The spotlight.

But all she could think of was Azzi’s face in the tunnel. That half-smile. That soft nod. That look that said I’m proud of you but we used to share this.

Paige threw herself on the bed, arm covering her eyes, and held the pain in for a second.

What does it mean to win everything and yet feel like you still lost?

Eventually, the silence got too loud.

Paige sat up slowly, dragged herself off the bed like her limbs weighed double, and reached for her phone out of her duffel. It had just enough battery left to flicker back on, screen flooding with texts and missed calls.

KK: YOOOOOOOO 🏆🏆🏆

Jana: You’re a damn legend. Just cried watching it.

Nika: ok but did anyone else catch how Azzi was LOOKING at her in the tunnel 👀👀

She closed the thread before she could spiral again. Tapped over to YouTube. Typed in: WNBA Finals Press Conference.

The video was already up.

She skipped the intros, the coach’s speech, the stat breakdowns. Then paused — frame frozen on Azzi, sitting in front of a microphone in her jersey, hair pulled back, expression unreadable but composed.

She pressed play.

“I’m proud of our team,” Azzi began, her voice steady, if a little softer than normal. “We fought. We made it a game. That’s all you can ask for.”

“Was it weird watching Paige celebrating on the other side of the court?” a reporter off camera asked.

Azzi paused.

Just a second too long.

Then: “No,” she said. “She earned that moment. Every bit of it.”

Another pause. Then she smiled. Just barely. “We’ve been dreaming this for a long time together. And whether I was the one standing next to her tonight… I’m still proud it came true.”

For a beat she looked downward, then upward at the cameras, adding, more softly now:

“I’ve been her number one fan from the start. That part hasn’t changed.”

The room grew silent.

Paige blinked hard. She put her phone down facedown on the bed as if it had just wronged her.

Azzi’s tone was casual, there was no sneer in his voice. No sarcasm. Precisely the soft sincerity that made it worse.

And that was the thing about Azzi she never said anything just to say it.

If she said she was proud … she was proud.

And if she meant it…

Paige did not know how one was meant to sleep.

Not after she had heard that voice one more time.

Not with that half-smile that was permanently etched in her brain like a photograph she didn’t know how to stop staring at.

The hotel room was quiet now. Too quiet. After the game the buzz had fallen to the only kind of silence that came after the adrenaline wore off and reality crept back in.

Paige, legs aching, sat on the edge of the bed. Her phone was in her hand. The clip of the press conference still resonated in her mind.

I’ve been her number one fan.... That part hasn’t changed.

She knew she shouldn’t. Knew she should have resisted the urge to let her fingers linger over Azzi’s name like that. But there it was — Azzi, pinned at the top of her messages, untouched for months.

She opened the thread. Nothing but air between them. Paige looked at the flashing line, the blank space waiting.

She typed something.

Saw the press conference.... You didn’t have to say that, but I’m glad you did. I

She backspaced. All of it.

Then tried again.

I know it wasn’t your night, but I just … I’m proud of you too. I hope you know that.

She stared at it.

Too soft? Too late? Too obvious?

So she typed one more time plain and simply stating: I saw the interview.

It was 4:07 a.m. at that point — the hour that made everything feel more fragile than it actually was.

And she sighed, let the screen dim in her hand, thumb hovering over Send but not pushing it. She fell asleep like that — phone pressed against her chest, message glowing in the dark.

The next morning when she blinked awake. She narrowed her eyes, and dazed, felt her phone vibrate against her stomach. She fumbled for it, and then—

Delivered.

Paige shot up, wide-eyed. “No, no, no—”

Her glasses were nowhere to be found. She clicked into the thread, desperate for a miracle. But it was already there:

Azzi: I’m glad you saw it. And I meant every word. Congratulations, Paige. You were magic out there.

Her hands didn’t move. Her heart did.

The message blinked at her like it was staring into her soul.

She read it again.

I’m glad you saw it.

And I meant every word.

Paige stared.

Congratulations, Paige. You were magic out there.

Paige watched the screen as if it might disappear if she blinked too hard.

Magic. And that, always, is what she had wanted to be. Not just good, not just successful — unforgettable. The type of player who left ghosts of herself out on the court long after the final buzzer. And Azzi had stated it as a fact. As if she hadn’t just played against her, hadn’t just lost to her. Like she actually saw her, the way she used to, the way she did before everything had gotten so complicated.

Her chest constricted — the ache that only came after every mention of Azzi.

This isn’t the way it was supposed to be. Not after a win like this. Not after that kind of night.

She dropped the phone onto her stomach, staring at the ceiling. The hotel room was as foreign as ever. Sterile. A little too cold. A little too quiet.

Outside the city was beginning to stir. Except Paige wasn’t prepared to enter it quite yet.

But she remained there — cocooned in too many blankets, and wrapped in the sort of emotion that made her feel both exceedingly heavy and hollow all at once. Her heart was doing that thing. The stupid thing. The one where it hoped. Just a little. Just enough to make it worse.

She thought about replying.

She tried to think of something real to say but nothing felt like it would land right...

Instead, she turned off her phone and set it aside.

No more rewrites. Not yet.

Flashback: The Morning After The National Championship

Paige started to rise first – not because of the morning light, but because Azzi, beside her, shifted, arms tightening in that sleepy-half-possessive way she always got when she felt Paige moving.

Paige stilled.

She didn’t want to shatter it — this moment, this silence, this impossibly fragile peace.

Azzi’s curls were a soft cloud resting against her shoulder, her breath warm against Paige’s collarbone. A leg draped lazily across her hips. Their fingers were still entangled from the previous evening.

It had been a blur — the win, the champagne, the screaming teammates waving the trophy high above their heads as confetti rained all around them. A national title. A dream fulfilled.

And yet this — this was what Paige already knew she would remember.

The aftermath. The stillness. The way Azzi had led her home by the hand as if it was a reflex.

Azzi muttered something into her skin, his voice hoarse and sleepy. “Mmm… what time is it?”

Paige grinned, not even bothering to open her eyes. An emoji for “too early for anything but you.”

Azzi laughed softly, “Gross. That’s such a line.”

Paige nudged her with her knee. “Don’t pretend you don't love it.”

Azzi raised her head, eyes barely open. “I do. Which is annoying.”

Paige kissed her forehead. “You’re welcome.”

Paige wrapped an arm more tightly around Azzi’s waist. She felt… safe. Full. As if she had won something larger than a title.

Azzi turned onto her side and, supporting herself on one elbow, looked up. “You know that was our last college game, right?”

Paige looked at her then. Really looked. “I know.”

They stared at each other in of silence. Not heavy — just… aware.

“You think we’ll play on the same team again?” Azzi inquired, half teasing.

“Yes.” Paige didn’t hesitate at all. “Yeah. We will. We’ll find our way back.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “You promise?”

Paige blinked. It seemed that the room had grown smaller. More fragile.

“It’s a deal,” she said, and she meant it in that moment.

Azzi studied her. Smiled. “Okay then.”

She tucked a strand of hair behind Paige’s ear, and her fingers lingered. “You seemed really happy out there.”

“I was,” Paige said. “But I’m happier here.”

And she meant that too.

But what she didn’t know — not yet — was just how quickly happiness can be buried under pressure.

In the coming weeks, everything would change.

The noise of draft buzz would become louder. The lights would become brighter. Folks would start throwing around “legacy” and “generational talent.” And in the times when she wasn’t doing interviews and making appearances and taking meetings with agents, Paige would start to think about whether there was even space for both love and greatness — or whether one must be given up for the other.

And that’s when the fear would spring back in.

Not of losing Azzi.

But of not being enough for her and the life that was being put in front of Paige.

For what should she do, but the only thing that she thought she could control.

She’d start pulling away from.

One unread message at a time.

One missed dinner.

One silent night.

Until the girl whom she held in her arms now — the one to whom she promised she’d find her way back — was that same girl she let walk away without a word.

And somehow, that would be the most regretful thing of them all.

Flash Forward: The Morning After The Championship Game

When Paige regained consciousness, she had a headache and the name Azzi wouldn't disappear from her memory easily.

Her phone remained in her grip, the screen black, the battery barely clinging to life. Still in her sweats. Makeup barely washed off. Eyes gritty from the sleep, or maybe the crying, she had done between scrolling through highlights and the trying not to text her again.

Paige read it again. And again.

She hated how much she still was affected by words sent from the curly headed girl — how they cracked something in her chest that had long stopped aching. How they brought her straight back to the last time she won something big … and didn’t wake up alone that time.

The weight of memory pulled her down, like an anchor.

That morning, 4 years ago, she’d woken up to Azzi’s breath on her skin, arms knotted, legs warm beneath college blankets that smelled like detergent and comfort and everything she’d believed would last forever.

The future, back then, was shared trophies and shared apartments and arguing about on who got the better pregame playlist.

She’d promised Azzi back then that there would be more. More wins. More shared seasons. More them.

Now?

Now she was waking up with a phone shoved into her cheek and a text she didn’t earn flashing across her screen. A silent offering from someone she had wounded, someone she still could not manage to stop needing — no matter how many seasons came between them.

Paige turned over on her side, snuggling the blankets closer.

She wanted to say something. To ultimately say it out loud — to say that she was wrong about it. That she chose wrong. That it wasn’t merely about the game, or the pressure, or the timing.

That it was fear.

Pure, blinding terror of being unsure she could hold it all, all of it at the same time — the love, the ambition, the promise of everything that she’d assumed she needed to become.

But the words would not come out of her mouth. Still too big. Still too late.

So she murmured the only thing she was capable of in the silence.

“I miss you.”

To the ceiling. To the silence. To no one.

To her phone screen, which was dark, Azzi’s name just barely still glowing.

It didn’t respond.

And neither did she.

Now — Seven Years After the Break-Up

Here I am watching the WNBA Finals.

We didn’t make it this year...

But you did.

And God, you looked good out there.

It’s like seeing who I always knew you were supposed to be. Sharp. Confident. Unshakable.

They all see it now, the entire arena, but I saw it first.

And perhaps that’s why it hurts so much.

Because there you are out chasing the dream — the one I convinced myself I left you for…

I’m here.

Staring at this blank note.

Thinking of every single thing I should have done differently that day racing back to the front of my brain.

I’d been telling myself for years that I couldn’t have it all.

And maybe that was true.

But what I know now is this:

If I could go back…

Maybe if I could do one thing differently…

It would’ve been actually saying all the things I wish I would’ve said to you. So I’m typing it out now.

3. The Championship Game

I had imagined winning would feel different.

It wasn't worse, just… quieter.

Last time, there was yelling. Champagne. Confetti in my hair, your arms around me, a promise that we’d find our way back to that court together.

And I believed it.

My chest still hurts to think of how sure I was.

We were kids. Stupid, and filled with adrenaline, and the idea of forever.

I told you we’d be back for this.

I would have promised you anything that night.

And then I did. But then I broke all of those promises one by one in the weeks following navigating life with fear rather than intention.

Now here I am.

Same trophy on my shelf. Other hands helped me lift it up.

But there you were — this time not on the court, but in the tunnel. Still watching. Still showing up. Still beaming at me as if I didn’t break that version of you that used to leap into my arms and kiss me like the whole world had finally come into focus.

You could’ve looked away.

Could’ve given me nothing.

But you didn’t.

And somehow… that hurt worse.

Because secretly, in some small, unwound place in me, I still wanted you to be angry. Still wanted it to not be so easy for you to stand there, clapping and saying nice things into a mic like I didn’t gut us from the inside out. I wanted you to let me go.

But of course you were kind. You always are.

Your press conference made my stomach turn — not because of what you said, but everything I didn’t deserve to hear.

“...her number one fan...”

How do you keep showing up for someone who keeps choosing everything else first?

I was lying there in my hotel bed, trying to type something, anything in reply — something worthy — and all I could come up with was “I saw the interview.”

Real poetic, right?

I didn’t even hit send.

Until, I practically slipped into a dream, and my thumb twitched in my sleep, and destiny took care of it for me.

And you? You responded as if you had been waiting.

Like I never kept you waiting.

I didn’t know what to do with that then.

I still don’t know what to do with you now.

So instead I will write it down.

Because I need to write it even if I don’t know how to say it out loud yet.

You were my favorite win.

And my worst loss.

And no matter how many trophies get put in my hands, there will always be a part of me, a part buried deep within me, that wished I would’ve just held your hand instead.

#pazzi fics #pazzi #paige x azzi #paige bueckers #azzi fudd

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bewitched-hours · 2 days ago

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Forsaken | Mafioso & (His)Child!Reader (Part 2)

See part 1 here @lopfuuinhareanon @albinoxp Hope you enjoy o(≧▽≦)o

Reader gets She/Her again~

"And you're sure?" Chance asked you with a perplexed look.

"I saw them! They hesitated!" You protested, struggling against the gambler's grip with tears running over your cheeks.

Nothing you remembered in your past could've prepared you for watching your father actually kill someone. You knew he did it without question, you knew he'd sometimes come home with blood on him and need a bath before you could shower him in affection and stories from what you did with whichever goon stayed behind to watch you.

But you've never seen him actively kill someone...

And when you were the one he got, it felt even worse... Like you've done something to deserve this.

But sometimes... Even he seemed to hesitate when you pleaded with him, telling him you still believed in him even as he killed you.

Somehow... You knew he could hear you... Or at least your fear...

You figured if you just refused to give up, he would remember and win over the Spectre's hold...

"I saw dad too! He had that look again!" You tried to stomp your feet in the air until Chance hid in a building and let you down finally.

You knew he meant well, seeing as you were a bit slower with your shorter legs. Even your bunny speed can't get you so far...

You looked out carefully, watching the goons scramble to find you with an odd look to them... Like they felt guilty...

It honestly broke your heart. Even though they've killed you several times, you still saw them as family and knew you'd forgive them in a heartbeat. It wasn't their fault the Spectre made them turn against you...

You couldn't help but let out soft squeaks. Nothing like the ones you'd show when you let any of the survivors pet you but more with a sad undertone to it. Chance could only pray to his lady luck that the goons wouldn't hear it as you watched them split to look for the gambler and you.

"Kid, I know you can't control your squeaks but is there a way to muffle them at least?" He whispered nervously, trying not to sound upset.

He knew you just wanted your life back. Everyone did.

But they to focus on the present, as did you.

"Sorry..." You muttered, your squeaks quieting down until they were barely heard. You knew Chance felt bad about it though as he proceeded to lead you to a generator and help you with the puzzle so the generator would be done quicker.

By the time you've finished the round and won with Chance as the last two standing, you felt homesick again.

This time though, the survivors tried to trust you a bit more and went to make the table, simply handing you paper and crayons again so you went off to draw like usual until dinner was ready.

You learned the routine by now. Each 'day' has about 6 to 7 rounds before you were all allowed a longer break to have dinner and sleep.

You would get 10 hours to sleep and clean before it all repeated... It exhausted you mentally- wait...

There was a sudden song outside... A whistling you recognized anyday.

You looked to the other survivors and made sure they were distracted with dinner while you quietly snuck out.

"Sorry..." You whispered whilst slipping through the door to find the source of the whistling. A pit practically formed in your stomach and tears prodded through your eyelids as a lump formed in your throat.

It couldn't be a coincidence... It had to be them...

It was the exact melody they would whistle to help you sleep after a nightmare...

Hmm, should the child join the killers, I wonder~?

Anything you'd like to request/ask? Check out my pinned post first and I'll be happy to write up whatever you want!

#forsaken roblox #forsaken #roblox forsaken #forsaken x reader #forsaken x y/n #platonic forsaken x reader #platonic forsaken x child reader #mafioso forsaken #forsaken mafioso #some angst #angst with a happy ending #some fluff #comfort

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em1989ts · 2 days ago

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𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐭. 3

five hargreeves x fem! reader smut

part one. part two. masterlist

word count: 3.5k

summary: it would be unsafe of you and five to have unprotected sex in the apocalypse, but luckily you find a condom while scavenging, giving you both just the excuse you need

contents: smut, characters are 18+, protected sex, grinding, enemies to ??

author's note: i've been adding like 20 words a day to this fic for months but now i finally sat down and finished it up so yippee hope you enjoy, also i know condoms expire, let's just pretend they don't, also i didn't proofread before posting cause i just want to get it out there but hopefully it matches it with the first two lol

That night was simply instinct. You weren’t thinking right. Because if you were, you wouldn’t have done anything remotely close to being intimate with the likes of Five.

Maybe it was because you were desperate, that him being the only man left in the world ruined your standards, but you couldn’t get the thought of his touch out of your deprived mind.

The two of you woke up that morning with limbs completely entangled, yet without a word you separated and proceeded your day as normal, like nothing out of the ordinary had occurred the night before.

He immediately began his attempts at fixing the ripped tarp, to prepare for the windy night ahead, ruffling through the stashes of supplies to find whatever could mend it together efficiently.

His face was concentrated, seemingly completely focussed on the task at hand. You didn’t happen to notice the moments his hands would pause due to being so lost in thought he couldn’t resume motion.

Occasionally he would sneak a quick look over at you, currently fixing together whatever you could find in your rations to create a suitable breakfast for the two of you. Before, he would only look to make sure you weren’t mixing anything inedible into his portion (something he wished he’d done before he almost swallowed a rusted screw you had put in his oatmeal), but now, he was only looking at you.

He’d never wanted to look at you in any way other than disgust, your behavior had always overshadowed your appearance, but his bias couldn’t overcome the fact that he was incredibly attracted to you.

His father had given him and his siblings “the talk”, in an elaborate lesson on sexual education, so he was very aware of the consequences of unprotected sex. It was too dangerous to attempt it in the apocalypse, and he doubted any form of protection had survived the end of the world. He would have to live out the rest of his life here in this dreaded wasteland with his fist as his only form of satisfaction.

While you made breakfast, you too stole glances at Five, waiting for him to possibly say anything at all about last night.

You thought after using each other t̶o̶ g̶e̶t̶ o̶f̶f̶ for warmth that maybe things would open up between the two of you, at least a bit. Once you had actually thought about it, that might’ve been the only time the two of you had actually touched each other without trying to cause harm. You blame your human instincts on your need to feel him again. You didn’t realize how badly you missed physical touch until you were wrapped in his arms, feeling him all over.

Now, you craved him, you needed him.

Maybe you couldn’t have him inside you, but you’d find a way.

Breakfast was quiet that morning. There was no back and forth bickering, snide remarks that the other couldn’t help but start an argument about, just utter silence.

Five inspected his food, there were no nails or rocks mixed in with the old porridge packets you’ve rationed, and it didn’t smell metallic or chemical, so he ate it as slowly as a starving man could.

Rations were running low, having not left the base much due to the freezing cold, but the weather had cleared up, and the sun was shining bright. The snow had already begun to melt from the burning rays, clearing up the streets slightly, so the two of you would just be able to drag your wagon through to scavenge nearby.

Five meticulously set up this current base in a spot where there were several convenience stores and gas stations within a couple miles in every direction, you couldn’t help but give him credit for his well-thought planning.

Today, the plan was to head south for at most five miles and bring whatever the two of you can fit in the wagon back to the base. The most important items you two had to search for were food, water, and anything you keep you both warm.

You took your bowl along with Five’s and tossed it with your other dishes, while he got up to grab his coat and the wagon which the two of you had been using as storage in its dormancy.

“This isn’t a beauty pageant,” Five commented rudely, waiting by the base’s opening for you to put on your coat when he noticed you fixing up your hair, “It’s not like you would win, anyway.”

He expected you to glare at him, slap him, and tell him how you’d win against him any day of the week, but you didn’t.

You tied off your hair, brushed a few fly-aways out of your face, and walked right past him and out the base.

He didn’t expect that, and he definitely didn’t like it.

Once he figured you weren’t going to wait for him, he quickly grabbed the handle to the wagon and followed your path.

He watched as you walked in between the smashed up vehicles, eyeing the compass from time to time, paying zero attention to him.

What was your problem? You’re too good to fight with him now? Was that it? Too good to pay any mind to whatever he had to say?

It wasn’t like you could ignore him forever, he was the only other living being on Earth after all. He would get you to talk eventually, he would get you to refer to him in a way that wasn’t just a matter of survival.

The sun was bearing down on you harshly, yet the wind was ten times worse. The bandana over your face protected you from the sharp bite of the cold, but your eyes burned from their exposure. A new, unventured gas station was just up ahead, yet with the conditions you were walking through it might as well have been a planet away.

As you were walking up the driveway, Five following suit with the empty wagon, you gazed inside the dark store. “Shit,” you grumbled, noticing the rather significant burn marks along the walls, the peeling advertisements on the glass windows, “This place burned pretty bad.”

Five couldn’t tell if you were talking to yourself or if you meant to direct your complaints at him. Either way it was progress.

“Let’s just see if there’s anything salvageable,” he responded, motioning his arm to insist that you head inside first, only for you to let the door slam shut in his face.

You started examining the state of the store, walking past the register to see the wooden countertop charred, yet intact. He entered, pulling the wagon behind him and immediately heading the opposite direction, towards the wall of drinks. The glass doors of the refrigerators were cracked and blackened, yet they seemed to have done a good job in protecting the drinks, which were in perfect condition. He immediately dropped the handle of the wagon and drank from one of the waters on the shelf, refreshing his dry, aching throat.

Meanwhile, you had begun making your way through the aisles, noticing he was busy precisely placing as many bottles of water in perfect rows in the bed of the wagon. Unfortunately, many of the snack options had been burnt to crisps. You walked in between the first couple aisles, filled with nothing but ash and remnants of cardboard, picking out anything edible and carrying it in your arms, not wanting to make a trip to the wagon.

Once you got to the middle aisle, you noticed that it must have avoided the worst of the flames, because there were several items still perfectly intact hanging from the pegs. Luckily, there were several packages of ibuprofen and antacids, as well as a large supply of first aid materials like bandages and ointment. While you crouched to the ground and filled your pockets with the useful materials, you scanned the aisle for other items that could be deemed useful. There were lip balms of a variety of flavors, razors which Five could never have enough of, eye drops and cough drops, and one more thing that stopped you. Your hand paused right before it wrapped around the items in the box. As your brain had caught up with your motions, you registered what it was — condoms.

You allowed your hand to move again to inspect the small, square package. It was pristine, with not a scratch on the box. It felt almost awkward to hold, embarrassing to inspect, as your face flushed a few shades brighter. You knew what it was, of course, but a part of you assumed that every last condom on Earth had been destroyed, crushing the possibility of you ever having safe sex in this unsafe world. Now that you held one in your hand, that small hope that Five could give you what you wanted, and so desperately needed, was reignited. However, you would rather be all alone in this apocalypse again than face Five, holding up the form of protection as if it were your savior, and ask him to fuck you. You would rather die than face that embarrassment.

“Find anything?”

His voice appeared out of the blue. Or maybe it didn’t.

Maybe you were just too lost in your own head to notice how he’d peered his head into the aisle to see you so deeply in thought, holding something you had found in your hand.

Maybe he had gently dropped the handle of the wagon to the floor, and made his walking quietly to stand behind you, as your peripheral vision seemed to be long gone as well.

Maybe when he noticed what you had in your hand, it all clicked for him. Your problem wasn’t that you were too good for him, it was that you were too horny for him. You were so bummed out about the fact he couldn’t risk being inside you while you were dry humping each other into oblivion that you were ignoring him entirely. He looked down over you, barely believing the fact that you were so out of it at the possibility of being able to fuck him.

He couldn’t blame you. He himself was ecstatic, with only a smirk and slightly larger bulge to show for it.

When he finally spoke, it shattered your thoughts, abruptly pulling you from your inner turmoil.

You jumped, dropping the condom and almost dispersing your collection of items across the tile floor. Instead, you quickly stood up, tossing your items into the wagon, and walking off without a word.

~~~

The walk back to the base was agonizing. The sun had gradually set, cooling the Earth once more, leaving the two of you to freeze. The tips of your nose and ears were red and numb, even your hat and bandana couldn’t protect you from the harsh winds.

You hadn’t spoken a word to Five, although he hadn’t tried to make conversation either. He found it hilarious that he could see your scowl, specifically through your furrowed brows above your bandana, yet you couldn’t see the grin under his.

Once you finally made it back to the base, you immediately took the wagon from his grasp and pulled it over to your rations, where you began going through everything you’d scavenged. After a few minutes of concentrated sorting, you looked over your shoulder to see Five standing there watching you work.

“Did you need an invitation to help or..?” you sarcastically said, his silence aggravating you.

He lowered his bandana and began removing his gloves, “Oh, so now you want to talk.”

You scoffed, resuming your work, “I’m sorry you missed my voice so much, I didn’t realize how much you crave my attention.”

He walked over to the collection of clothing the two of you keep close to the rations and tossed his jacket, hat, and gloves on top of the pile.

You were worried. Usually when the two of you fought he looked violent, angry, like he hated exchanging insults with you. Now, he looked far too amused, raising your suspicions.

He laughed under his breath, ignoring your previous claim as he leaned against the concrete wall and stared at you.

You had completely lost concentration on what you were doing, turning your focus to Five. “What’s funny?” you asked, clearly not getting what was so amusing to him.

“How much of a brat you are when you don’t get your way.”

That one sentence lit a fire of pure anger in your eyes, a flame that he’d missed more that he’d like to admit.

He stalked toward you as you stood up, already gearing up to smack the shit out of him.

“I’m not-”

“You are,” he interrupted, stepping closer while continuing to taunt you, adding fuel to the fire.

“I am not-”

“You are. You’re mad you don’t get fucked so you decide to shut down and-”

Before he can finish his sentence, your hands are already on him, shoving him till he stumbles backward in an attempt to regain his balance. In an immediate response, he pushes you back in retaliation, only for you to shove him over with all your might.

He falls backward and lands on the very edge of the makeshift bed. Your gaze is filled with rage, face flushing with anger, until you see what fell from his pocket as he hit the bed.

A condom.

The small box that you had dropped when he confronted you in the aisle, he had picked up and hid in his pocket, bringing it back to the base with him.

Your shoulders dropped, breathing fast as you looked up at him.

He was now leaning back on his elbows on the rough blankets, smiling up at you with that smug smile he always wore when he was right about something. In any other case, you would have wanted nothing more than to smack him black and blue, wiping that smirk off his face. However in this scenario, you found a more efficient way to occupy his lips.

Immediately, you rushed forward and crashed your lips onto his. He pulled you between his legs, wrapping his arms tight around your torso, and leaned backward fully until you were both horizontal against the bed.

This wasn’t like the last time you kissed.

Last time, kissing was a last resort. It was that little bit of sensual connection you both needed to push you both over that very edge of pleasure.

Now, it was only the beginning. It was messy, desperate, and greedy as the two of you swapped spit and swirled tongues. Your hands held the sides of his neck as you pulled his face against yours, while his gripped your waist like he was afraid you’d disappear if he ever let go.

He moved one hand from your waist to push up off the bed, sitting up and pulling your legs around his waist. He dipped you slightly, holding you firmly against his chest with one arm to lean down and pick up the condom, all while keeping his mouth firmly against yours. He placed it down next to him, bringing his hand back to your body, unzipping your coat and tossing it aside.

The long sleeve shirt came off next, as you unwillingly separated yourself from Five’s lips, lifting yourself up to sit on top of him, hands pressing down on his chest, pinning him down to the bed.

In the heat of the moment, after stripping each other completely bare, feeling the chill of the breeze that crept through the cracks of the base brush your skin, you had completely forgotten you had ever been upset with this man. Any rage you’d previously felt when you looked at him, completely vanished. Your hatred towards him was gone.

Now, you were straddling the waist of an angel. A beautiful, masculine angel laying underneath you like he was a gift from God, sent to save you from this hell on Earth.

His hair was played out around his head like a halo, grown shaggy, yet there was barely any stubble decorating his face. His skin was flush and fair, eyes perfectly dilated as they looked up to you, bare above him.

His hands moved from your waist to your breasts, toying with you as he listened for your soft gasps, hips jolting against his at every spark of pleasure. The only items of clothing separating the two of you now were your underwear and his boxers. You laid back slightly, leanly against his bent knees for support, and grinded your core against him, feeling your warm slick soaking through the fabrics between you.

His groans were heavenly, his head leaned back, enjoying the pressure from your hips, mindlessly twisting and pulling at your nipples, eliciting whines from you.

He began to lift his hips to meet yours, increasing the friction and stimulation to your core. His eyes met your face, eyes lost in a daze, your face blushed and concentrated on reaching your high.

Just before you could reach that high, about to topple over the very edge, he pulled you back down against him and flipped you both over.

That was when you remembered he’s still the same man you’ve been stuck here with. A man who is a completely selfish asshole that the only physical contact you want to initiate with him is a smack right across his smug face.

“Are you fucking kiddin-” He cut you off with a strong kiss, which he didn’t break as he removed the condom from its boxed and peeled open the wrapper. He pulled away and sat on his knees, bringing his sexual education lessons back from his memory and placed the condom on correctly, before lining himself up with your entrance and leaning back over you, lining his face up with yours.

“You don’t have to do this,” he assured you.

This might have been the only time you witnessed him acting like an actual, decent human being. And while you appreciated the gesture of consent, you couldn’t wait any longer.

“Five,” you breathed out, eyes pleading, “I need it.”

And with that, he slid himself between your folds a few times before carefully pushing in. You thought his fingers were big last night, but now with his cock barely halfway inside you, the sensation was mind numbing. Your arms wrapped around his back as he filled you up entirely, barely audible gasps filling his ear. He stilled once he was all the way in, concentrating heavily on not immediately spilling into the condom, ruining this entire moment, but the way your cunt squeezed around him, not wanting to let him, made it very hard not to break.

After a moment he slowly began to move, pulling out slowly, before pushing right back in, somehow feeling even deeper as he hit a spot deep within you that sent a wave of pleasure over your entire body.

He buried his face into your neck, sucking and biting in the sensitive skin, as your hands moved up to thread through his hair, tugging gently.

Once the both of you got used to the feeling, he began moving faster, getting rougher. With each thrust into you, he groaned out into your ear as you met his movements with the same force. It was animalistic, greedy, intimate, you felt so close to him that you were practically melting into each other.

When the thrusts became erratic and the whines and groans grew higher in pitch, it was clear neither of you could last much longer. He met his lips with your, barely touching, just enough to let his moans mix with yours, just as they had last night. His hands reached to grip your hips, pinned them down, allowing him to piston into you, chasing you to the edge as you let go around him.

Your eyes squeezed shut, head leaning back, giving him access to continue marking your neck. The sensation from you cumming around him undid him, as he finally groaned into your neck and spurted into the condom, his hips finally spurting to a slow stop.

He collapsed on top of you, his weight grounding you back to reality as you realized what just happened. After a moment, he slowly pulled out, removing the condom before immediately laying on you once more. With his cheek pressed flat against your collarbone, his breathing steadied, quickly falling asleep with a strangely unfamiliar look of peace expressed on his unconscious face.

This time around, you weren’t sure what this changed between the two of you, but you decided it could wait.

You two had all the time in the world after all.

~~~

tags: @lveegsoi @aureliariddlehargreeves @groovydazephantom @lovingyeet @venture-venus @greek-girl-dreams

#five hargreeves #the umbrella academy #five hargreeves imagine #five hargreeves x reader #number five #tua fandom #five hargreaves x reader #tua five #five smut #five hargreeves enemy #five hargreeves angst #five hargreeves imagines #five hargreeves smut #five hargreeves x fem!reader #five hargreeves x reader platonic #five hargreaves x you #five tua

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borathae · 2 days ago

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Boyfriends? | JJK x MYG

“Yoongi doesn’t do labels, while Jungkook loves labels. So one night, he asks Yoongi ‘what are we?’, hoping that the last four years together weren’t just casual for him.”

Pairing: Vampire!Yoongi x Vampire!Jungkook

Genre: established relationship!AU, Fluff, Slice of Life, slight suggestive themes

Warnings: just some anxious thoughts, this is a post sex cuddles scene, Koo being a little brat, Yoongi being a fond brat tamer, he tickles him hehe, snuggles & kisses, also! mention of blood drinking as part of his training to become a good vampire <3

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction based on an alternative fictional universe and does not correlate with any real life people. I do not support the shipping of the actual members.

Wordcount: 1.7k

a/n: i love sanguis!yoonkook so much :( omfg this hurt me because i just love them so much and my heart exploded :( istfg this break was so good for me, i have so many new ideas already heheh i can't wait to bring a very lore-y multi chaptered fic very soon hoohoh <3 but for now enjoy this lil yoonkoo fluff <3 also! whenever i write something for them just know that i am channeling hyyh!yoonkook 💔

Yoongi doesn’t define his sexuality. Neither his romantic attraction. He thinks that it is a rather stupid thing to do. He never truly understood the appeal of it nor felt it necessary to do.

“Why should I put a label on myself just so other people are satisfied?”

Because that is what it is for him. Satisfaction of other people. He should put himself into a box just so they can sleep better at night. Well, fuck them. Yoongi is way too old to live for strangers. He knows what he likes and other people can get fucked. They’ll find out who he likes when he allows it.

Jungkook defines his sexuality. And his romantic attraction. For most of his life, he felt like he didn’t belong. Into society, into groups, into life. So learning control and finally being able to be part of something again, Jungkook also feels it important to define who he is.

“I can finally be part of a group. I’m so happy.”

Because that’s what he is these days. Happy. A very happy bisexual man who doesn’t care about the gender of his lovers and who falls for personality.

And so it happens that “I hate labels”-Yoongi and “I love my label”-Jungkook are dating. At least Jungkook thinks that they are. They never really defined it – put a label on it so to speak.

But it must be that they are dating. After all, they are sharing a blanket as they are relaxing in front of the fireplace. They each only wear boxers and a tanktop which in itself is such an intimate look to share. The rug under their bodies is soft and heaps of pillows surround them.

Yoongi is using a few of them to keep himself propped up as he writes anecdotes in the book he is reading. Jungkook is lying on his tummy, watching the flames dance. Music is playing. Lofi hip-hop. Sometimes, he feels Yoongi’s fingertips dance down his back. It makes him shiver every time it happens. Jungkook feels exhausted, but he can’t fall asleep.

He flips his head to the other side, looking up at Yoongi.

The latter notices and gives him a glance. He runs his fingers through Jungkook’s hair, making him shudder in a good way.

“How is your head doing?” he asks.

“Heavy.”

“But no pain?”

He shakes it, “no, just so heavy. Hyung, it’s so heavy a-and I’m so tired.”

“Relax, bub. That’s normal.”

Yoongi is Jungkook’s mentor. Before Yoongi, Jungkook was unable to exist within the human world because he would have ripped through anything that breathed. With Yoongi’s help, he learned how to be normal again and because the road to perfection wasn’t finished yet, they used tonight to train.

“You are ready for the next step in mastering your urges”, Yoongi told him and then monitored Jungkook as he drank from a blood bag filled with human blood.

Up until this point, they merely trained with animal blood. At first Jungkook was very confused, “but I thought that I shouldn’t drink human blood? At all. Never.”

To which Yoongi assured him, “completely staying away from it, will only do the opposite. You need to learn how to handle it, so that if you accidentally drink it, you don’t become violent.”

With Yoongi’s reassurance, Jungkook choked down the blood deliciously and if it wasn’t for the older vampire, he would have lost control.

But he didn’t. Yoongi took his mind off of it in the typical, amazing way Yoongi often takes Jungkook’s mind off the bloodlust. And Jungkook wanted it. It felt so good. Quite frankly, he didn’t want it to stop.

Yoongi pulls his hand back and continues to scribble in his book. Jungkook is thinking. Yoongi calls him bub and bun and Kookie, but does it mean anything? Yoongi allows him to cuddle into him, but does he want the same? Yoongi fucks him, but does the sex even mean anything to him?

It has been two years since the world became peaceful and four years since they met and not once has this relationship been defined. Yoongi doesn’t call Jungkook his boyfriend. He calls him “my boy” or “my Kookie.” But never my boyfriend. What is he is just a good friend to him? What if Yoongi doesn’t want to put a label on them?

“Yoongi?”

“Yes, bub?”

“Are we dating?”

Yoongi lowers the book, “what do you mean?”

“Am I your boyfriend?”

Yoongi widens his eyes, blinking them in confusion.

“Why are you asking that all of a sudden?”

“Just feeling anxious.”

“Jungkookie, hey”, Yoongi softens his voice, “just relax. You’re okay, everything will be okay.”

“Please don’t avoid my question”, Jungkook insists anxiously. Is this it? Four years of intimacy, of building trust and bonding and it never meant the same to Yoongi?

“Of course you’re my boyfriend.”

Jungkook’s chest instantly stops tightening. His body tingles.

“You silly boy, do you seriously think I’m like this with someone I’m not dating?”

“You’re a really kind person.”

Yoongi chuckles, eyes soft in adoration. He pinches Jungkook’s cheek.

“You little bun, that’s not the same.”

“We never made it official.”

“I didn’t think it necessary. I thought it was pretty clear that we are dating once this”, he gestures between them, “became regular.”

“I guess, but I was thinking. About labels and how you hate them and yeah. I got scared that we aren’t official for you.”

“We are.” Yoongi pushes the pillows aside and lies down to face Jungkook. He tugs a strand of hair behind his ear. “If I’m not showing it enough for you, you have to tell me. I’m not good with reading signs or getting hidden messages. You gotta tell me directly what you want.”

“I know.”

“So? Do you want me to show it more?”

“No, you’re showing me that you love me. I think I just needed to hear it tonight.”

“I understand. You can tell me if you need that. You know me, I’m not gonna recite love poems to you on my own.”

Jungkook chuckles, “I know you, hyung. I think it’s cute.”

Yoongi grimaces. “If you say so.”

“I do. You are so cute.”

Yoongi chuckles, “you’re aware that I rearranged your insides just moments prior?”

“I know.” Jungkook closes his eyes and settles into the pillow. “Only cute people can do that.”

Yoongi laughs, “okay, okay you’re being an idiot. I get it”, he says, leaning in to kiss the shell of Jungkook’s ear.

Jungkook relaxes his muscles, enjoying the soft tingles rising all over his skin as Yoongi kisses every inch of his upper back. His face next. Jungkook rolls to his back so Yoongi can reach it better. Their eyes meet. Yoongi cups his cheek and kisses him. Jungkook seriously thinks that it feels so much better now that he knows it’s official. Every second, every moment, every touch exists to strengthen their relationship as boyfriends. Seriously, if Jungkook’s heart was still beating, it would race like crazy.

He giggles. Yoongi smiles.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. I’m happy.”

Yoongi kisses him with a smile before he begins littering his face with kisses.

“I’m happy too, bub.”

“Oh, Yoongi”, Jungkook lets out and unable to control the surge of happiness, he shoots up to take Yoongi into the tightest hug human- and vampirekind has ever seen.

“Okay. This is happening”, Yoongi chuckles, letting it happen without hugging him back. It’s not because he doesn’t want to, but simply because Jungkook is squeezing his arms against his sides.

“I love you so much”, Jungkook giggles, shaking Yoongi from left and right.

“I love you too, but please stop that”, Yoongi laughs, head thrown back and bouncing around.

“No. You’re my stim toy”, Jungkook says and squeezes him tighter, making a cute sound for it.

“Whatever that is”, Yoongi laughs, taking the squeezing until it starts hurting. Then he begins to fight back. Softly of course, finally using his strength to shove Jungkook’s arms open.

“How are you doing that?” Jungkook gasps, trying with all his might to bear hug Yoongi again, but it is useless.

“I’m the strongest, remember?”

Jungkook’s back hits the rug, his wrists get pinned by one hand. Yoongi looks at him as if he wanted to take him to euphoria and back. Just for a second because then pure mischief burns in his eyes. Jungkook feels said mischief very soon as Yoongi begins tickling his sensitive side.

“No! Stop! Hyung please stop”, Jungkook squeals, laughing so loudly it bounces off the walls. He tries to fight his wrists free, kicking his feet helplessly. But it is useless. Yoongi is stronger and he is hellbent on getting Jungkook back for always being a little brat.

“Hyung I’m sorry”, Jungkook laughs, crying tears.

“Not enough”, Yoongi coos, changing sides.

“Ah! Please I’m gonna pee myself, stop! Please”, Jungkook squeals, laughing oh so much that his mouth truly cannot open any further.

“Mhm, alright”, Yoongi rasps and stops. He lets go of his wrists, sliding his hands to the smallest part of his waist to hold him. Somehow in their tickle match, Yoongi slid between Jungkook’s legs. They are thrown over his lap, resting their weight on him.

Jungkook recovers with little gasps and gulps. The first thing he does is wipe the tears from his blushy cheeks then he pouts at Yoongi.

“This was totally not necessary and very mean.”

Yoongi chuckles, “for all the bratting you did this week? It’s a mild punishment.”

Jungkook pouts harder, “I can’t help it. Besides, you’re too sensitive. I’m not even bratting.”

“Careful”, Yoongi squeezes Jungkook’s waist. The latter squeals and writhes.

“Sorry.”

“Better.” Yoongi smiles, bending down. His hands run along Jungkook’s torso until he has to rest them on each side of his head. “You’re so fucking pliable.”

“Hyung…” Jungkook sighs, melting into a puddle.

Like this. Underneath Yoongi and with his head foggy in feel good emotions, Jungkook gets kissed. He wraps his limbs around Yoongi and deepens the kiss. This might be one of the best nights of his life. He is his boyfriend. And now he is making out with him. This is the best night ever.

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slattlicker · 3 days ago

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╭﹐✦˚₊· 𖤐 * F O R G I V E M E N O T ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ╮ a jschlatt x reader exes-to-lovers fic · chapter T W O ✦ if it makes you smile ✦ ↳ 3.4k words · slow build · college/uni au ╰﹒♡₊˚๑ *✧﹒✦ ࣪ ˖ ┊

✦ written with a female!reader in mind ✦ (but everyone’s welcome to suffer—i mean enjoy ♡)

you didn’t ask for this. but you didn’t stop it, either. now he’s giving you gifts like it’s a normal thing. and yeah. he brought two forks.

✧ ⊹ · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ⊹ ✧

╭˚₊‧͙⁺˚₊‧͙✧　❛ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ❜　✧‧͙˚₊⁺‧͙˚₊╮ ✧ mentions of past emotional neglect ✧ anxiety around reconnection ✧ implied depressive behavior ✧ college setting / casual profanity ✧ unresolved relationship dynamics ╰˚₊‧͙⁺˚₊‧͙✧　❛ 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐄 ❜　✧‧͙˚₊⁺‧͙˚₊╯

✧ ⊹ · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ⊹ ✧

✦ Y/N’S POV ✦

you wake up feeling weird.

not tired, not rested—just… off. like your brain’s still buffering from the night before.

you reach for your phone out of habit.

and there it is.

SCHLATT: morning. don’t forget to eat something. you got class at 10, right?

you just stare at it for a second. blank screen, black text. no “good girl.” no “sweetheart.” no voice memo at 2 a.m. slurring his regrets. just a quiet little check-in.

you didn’t block him. thought about it, a few times. even hovered over the button once.

but you didn’t.

you don’t text back.

not because you're mad. just because you don't know what to do with a text from your ex after months of not hearing anything from him.

✧

the sky is gray by the time you head out. that wet, chilly kind of morning where your hoodie sleeves feel damp no matter what. the quad’s half-empty. you take the path behind the music building to avoid the frat guys setting up some kind of table out front.

your first class is in a big lecture hall—intro to psych. easy credit, annoying professor, always freezing cold. you sit on the left side, third row from the front, second seat in. you always sit there.

which is why you freeze when you spot something already sitting on your desk.

a drink.

your drink.

exact flavors and toppings. still cold, no condensation yet. it was just dropped off.

your name is scrawled on the lid in sharpie in familiar handwriitng—but not just that. tucked underneath the drink, just barely peeking out, is a crumpled post-it note.

you glance around, like maybe you’re being watched. then slide into your seat and peel it out. it says:

figured this was better than showing up to give it to you. - j

your stomach turns a little. not in a bad way. just… a way. you’re still staring at the note when maya slides in beside you.

she takes one look at the drink, the post-it, your face—and gasps.

“oh my god. that’s from your ex, isn’t it.”

you don’t answer. but the color on your face certainly does. she grabs the cup and spins it in her hands like it might have a secret message written on the bottom.

“okay. no, actually, what the hell is this? when did you guys even start talking again? did he venmo you? is this, like, some kind of ‘drink truce’?”

you sigh, snatch the cup back, and take a sip.

it’s perfect. you hate that it’s perfect. you hate that he remembered.

you sort of wish your taste had changed, just so that you could have thrown or given this cup away. but it's been a miserable morning, and this class isn't going to make it any better...so you bring the cup to your lips again, and try not to think too much about where it came from.

✦ SCHLATT’S POV ✦

she didn’t text back.

which—fine. he wasn’t expecting her to, not really.

but that doesn’t stop him from checking his phone every five minutes like an idiot on a leash.

he even rereads the text once, just to make sure it didn’t sound too eager.

morning. don’t forget to eat something. you got class at 10, right?

yeah. no hearts. no weird overcompensating jokes. just enough. hopefully.

he adjusts the strap of his backpack and crosses the quad, head down. it’s cold, but not unbearable. cloudy. the kind of morning where campus smells like mud and energy drinks.

the drink in his hand is starting to sweat, so he wipes it on his sleeve. writes her name on the lid with the sharpie he borrowed from charlie. then he grabs a post-it from his notebook—crumpled from being in his pocket all morning—and writes:

figured this was better than showing up. - j

he doesn’t linger. just drops it off on the desk he knows she always sits in and ghosts out before anyone sees him.

by the time he gets to his own class, he’s wound tight.

he keeps his phone face-down. doesn’t want to see the nothing that’s still waiting there.

✦ Y/N’S POV ✦

by the time you get to the dining hall, your group already has the usual table: long bench, chipped edges, always kind of sticky. you see maya before anyone else—waving you over like she’s on a game show.

you’re halfway there when you notice something different. there’s a tupperware container sitting on your tray spot. not one of the sad, sweat-covered plastic trays from the line. a real, packed meal.

you pause.

maya grins like she’s about to explode.

“ohhhhhh,” she says, “you’re gonna love this.”

you sit slowly. look down at the container. it’s packed tight: rice, perfectly sliced chicken, sauce you actually like, and a cookie that looks bakery-grade.

everything’s still hot. nothing’s touching. wow.

you look at her. “what is this?”

she’s already pulling out her phone. “your boy dropped it off like five minutes ago. walked right up to us like he wasn’t about to commit an act of emotional terrorism.”

jordan leans in. “he said, and i quote, ‘figured she wouldn’t want to eat whatever crap they're serving today.’ and then disappeared. like. he didn’t even break stride. whoosh, whoosh...a true man on a mission.”

“he sprinted, ” courtney says. “his giant ass shoes squeaking. poor guy was so fucking nervous that we were gonna attack him or some shit.”

you blink at the tupperware like it might explode. you haven’t even opened it yet and you’re already spiraling.

and then you do. and yeah—it’s real. and it smells amazing.

“okay,” maya says, nudging your elbow. “say what you want, but if he ever wants to drop me a lunch like this, i’m available.”

you roll your eyes, but your face is warm and red again.

you take a bite.

it’s perfect. first a perfect drink, then...a perfectly hot, dorm-cooked meal?

you can't help but smile at the taste of the hot rice and fluster at the thought of: what could be next?

✦ SCHLATT’S POV ✦

the classroom is dim. one of the ceiling lights is flickering. the projector screen is stuck on a slide about supply chain logistics—week 4, apparently—and the professor sounds like he’s trying to set a world record for how many times someone can say “optimization” in a sentence.

schlatt is not listening.

he’s sitting near the back, hood up, thumb hovering over his phone. there’s a notebook open in front of him, but he hasn’t written anything down in the last twenty minutes except a small, increasingly dark patch of scribbles in the corner.

he told himself he wouldn’t check again until the class ended.

he’s checked four times in the last six minutes. still nothing.

maybe she hated it. maybe maya made a joke and she got embarrassed and dumped the whole thing in the trash. maybe the cookie got soggy. did he pack it weird? should he have separated the sauce?

the container felt warm when he handed it off. that was a good sign, right?

god, he should’ve left a note. no—wait. no more notes. that's probably why she didn't respond after the drink delivery this morning. he's probably acting too clingy. right?

he’s spiraling. he knows he’s spiraling. but the damage is already done.

he flips his phone over again, just to check the time—

and her name lights up the screen.

Y/N ♥︎ you can’t bribe me into being your girlfriend again.

he reads it once. then again. and a third time, just to make sure it’s not a hallucination brought on by cafeteria fumes and emotional instability.

his lips twitch—almost a smile, but not quite. he sits up straighter, like that’ll stop his heart from doing the thing it’s doing.

he types back immediately.

✦ Y/N’S POV ✦

you’re halfway through lunch when your phone buzzes.

SCHLATT: i know wasn’t trying to just wanted to start off your week strong and maybe make you smile then, immediately after: schlatt: not like make you just like if it happened that’d be cool not saying you owe me a smile

a beat later:

SCHLATT: god i’m making this worse huh

you stare at the texts, thumb hovering, brain blank.

across the table, maya sees the look on your face and goes, “oh no. what did he say now.”

you ignore her. she'll make a huge deal about you even entertaining him after all that word vomit. you type slowly.

Y/N: you’re definitely overthinking this

SCHLATT: yeah i do that sometimes this is me being normal btw this is my normal mode

Y/N: terrifying

there’s a pause. then:

SCHLATT: you smiled tho right

you bite your lip. don’t answer right away.

Y/N: yeah whatever …thanks j

✦ SCHLATT’S POV ✦

class ends with zero fanfare. the lights flicker once, the professor mumbles something about next week’s reading, and people start packing up like rats off a sinking ship.

schlatt barely heard any of it.

he’s been on autopilot since her text.

yeah whatever…thanks j

four words. that’s it. and yet somehow it’s enough to knock him on his ass. he can hear her voice, her little chuckle as she said it...

she could’ve left him on read. could’ve said nothing. but she didn’t. she responded. she joked. she used his initial.

he’s been replaying it all afternoon like a dumbass with a crush.

which—okay, yeah. that’s exactly what he is.

a crush on his ex-girlfriend that he's trying his damnedest to win back.

but still.

the second he’s out of class, he heads to the library. he actually wants to get shit done. maybe burn off some of the jittery energy in his chest. maybe just feel like a person with a functioning attention span again.

he takes the stairs up to the third floor, where it’s quiet and nobody breathes too loud. picks a table by the windows. pulls out his laptop and opens his notes.

he’s halfway through rewatching a lecture when he feels someone’s eyes on him.

looks up.

and there she is.

✦ Y/N’S POV ✦

he looks up before you’re ready.

not in a startled way. just… like he knew you’d be there. like part of him was waiting for you here...even if he knows that you almost never come up to the third floor.

but when he sees you, he smiles. it’s not a big smile. barely noticeable, really. but it’s real. no teasing behind it. no smugness. just soft.

safe.

you freeze for half a second. consider walking right past him, pretending you didn’t see.

but you don’t.

your feet move before your brain can stop them, and the next thing you know, you’re standing at the edge of his table. you don’t say anything. he doesn’t either.

you hesitate.

not because you don’t know where to sit—there’s a chair directly across from him. and it’s a big table. too big, honestly.

you hesitate because he looks up and smiles and now your brain is suddenly way too loud with old memories full of mutual laughter.

you clear your throat, shift your weight, point at the chair across from him in the universal student body language of: “is this seat taken?”

he tilts his head, a little confused.

and then your hand kind of flutters. awkward. dumb. you gesture again, smaller this time, like you know what, never mind.

why are you even asking? this is the guy who disappeared on you for months. the guy who left when things got serious. who took your feelings, shoved them in a drawer, and slammed it shut because he didn’t know how to deal.

and now you’re asking for permission to sit with him? seriously?

you almost pivot away—almost leave it there.

but then he shifts in his seat, leans back a little, legs spread wide, and gestures toward the chair with a quiet:

“yeah. of course.”

no hesitation. no edge.

like it never even crossed his mind that he’d say no.

your stomach twists as you sit down.

✦ SCHLATT’S POV ✦

you sit across from him, and for the first time in weeks, he actually gets through a full page of notes.

not because you’re talking to him. you’re not.

you’re doing the opposite—quiet, efficient, head down, just the gentle sound of typing and paper rustling from your side of the table. and somehow, that helps.

your focus is contagious. he picks up on the rhythm of it—syncs to the pace of your writing, the way you pause to re-read something, the exact second you reach for your water bottle.

it’s grounding. but also?

it’s killing him.

because he keeps catching himself watching you.

not for long—just little flickers. a glance at your hands. the corner of your mouth when you frown at your screen. the way you still bounce your foot when you’re stuck on something.

things he didn’t even know he remembered.

it’s like his brain is taking inventory, stockpiling little reminders of what it was like to have you in his orbit.

and it’s messing him up.

he gets halfway through typing a sentence—then backspaces the whole thing.

focus. he’s supposed to be focusing.

but every few minutes, that thought slips in: she’s here. she’s here. she’s actually here. she asked to sit with me.

and god, he’s trying not to mess it up.

so after a solid block of quiet, after he’s made it through two pages of notes and only spaced out once or twice—he pushes his laptop closed.

just softly. intentionally.

then he tilts his head toward the hallway. raises a brow.

“break?” no words.

just the offer.

and when you nod—he thinks maybe this is the first time all day he’s let himself exhale.

✦ Y/N’S POV ✦

the walk to the café is short. it always is. but somehow, with schlatt next to you—not touching, not even close enough to brush shoulders—it feels longer. or slower. or maybe that’s just your brain buffering. the two of you step inside. it’s quieter than usual. the late afternoon lull.

he holds the door. you say nothing.

you both drift to the bakery case. you stare at the drink menu. he tilts his head, studying the pastries like they’ve personally wronged him.

“get whatever,” he says, eyes still on the glass. “it’s on me.”

you roll your eyes. “didn’t you already pay a bit of your debt with that five-star michelin lunch?”

he smirks. “that was just an appetizer.”

you almost smile. you order something caffeinated. he orders something that sounds 100% artificially flavored. and then he points at one of the desserts behind the glass and says, “that too.”

the girl at the counter raises a brow. “want a fork?”

he doesn’t hesitate. “make it two.”

you blink. say nothing.

you end up at a small table near the window. sunlight spills across the surface in those weird golden strips that make everything feel older than it is.

he sets everything down. drinks. napkins. the sad little dessert. and quietly, without looking at you, he places one fork in front of your side. that’s it. no grand gesture. no comment.

like it’s just… assumed.

and somehow, that’s worse.

you sit. pick up the fork.

he digs in. keeps his eyes on the window. “it’s mid,” he says around a bite. “we chose wrong.”

you roll your eyes and stab a corner.

“we? you ordered it,” you say after a bite, dry. “don’t act like it betrayed you.”

schlatt snorts. “looked better in the glass. that’s not my fault.”

“you pointed at it with conviction. then forced me to be in on it too.”

he shrugs. “i have a history of bad decisions.”

you arch an eyebrow.

he catches it. sighs. “yeah, yeah. walked into that one.”

the silence that follows isn’t stiff. it’s tired, but not tense. comfortable, somehow.

✦ SCHLATT’S POV ✦

you keep eating.

he watches the people passing by the café window. pretends not to check your expression when you’re looking down. tells himself not to read into the little things—how you haven’t moved your seat farther away, how you haven’t called this a mistake.

then you speak.

quiet. barely over the hum of the coffee machines.

“thanks. for today.”

he glances over.

you don’t meet his eyes, but your fork pauses halfway to your mouth. like you're not sure if you should’ve said it. like maybe he’ll make it weird.

“yeah,” he says. “anytime.”

he means it.

he didn’t know how today was going to go. hell, he didn’t even know if you’d respond to the first text. he thought he knew you better than anyone, before things blew up. but when it ended, when he left, it was like someone flipped a switch and made him a stranger in his own memories.

that’s what scared him the most. and now?

you’re here. sitting across from him. splitting a dumb little pastry and still catching him off guard with the tiniest thank you.

it’s not everything. but it’s something.

and for once, he’s not spiraling about what this means next. not planning the whole rest of your relationship in his head. not worrying (too much) about your parents hating him or whether he makes enough money or if he’s the guy who can actually give you what you deserve.

he’ll still worry about all that. later. but right now?

one day at a time feels pretty damn good.

✧

they leave the café without saying much.

it’s not awkward.

just… full.

like the air between them is carrying everything they haven’t figured out how to say yet.

he keeps pace with her down the sidewalk, hands stuffed into his hoodie pocket, shoulder just a little too close to hers.

every so often, their arms bump. then, when their hands brush, she doesn’t pull away.

and when he shifts his fingers—just barely—she threads hers through his like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

he doesn’t breathe for a second. just holds on.

the walk is slow. campus fades into a blur of yellow lamps and sleepy foot traffic. everything’s quieter now. softer. the kind of evening that makes you think maybe life doesn’t have to be so loud all the time.

he doesn’t say anything. doesn’t want to break whatever this is. whatever they’ve found today.

you squeeze his hand once.

and for a moment, it’s everything.

✦ Y/N’S POV ✦

his hand is warm in yours.

you let him hold it.

because you don’t know the next time you’ll get to.

because today was… good.

and that’s what hurts the most.

it started with a text—simple, easy, like he hadn’t left months of silence between the two of you. then the drink, waiting at your desk like it was never a question. the packed lunch. the smiley texts. and then there was the library. him focused. steady. glancing up at you like he couldn’t believe you were really there. like he didn’t deserve it. like he wanted to deserve it.

and when he tilted his head—silent invite to take a break with him? you went.

the café. the dessert. the two forks.

the way he didn’t push, didn’t demand anything, just… showed up. of course, you can't be won over by materialistic things, but...there was a thoughtfulness behind today that you couldn't shake.

and now here you are, walking back to your dorm, hand in his, in the same rhythm you used to move in before everything went sideways.

it feels like deja vu.

it feels like something you wished for months ago.

it feels like too little, too late.

he used to freeze up at the thought of doing anything like this. used to shut down when you asked for more. and now? now he’s doing it without being asked.

you’d spent months wishing for this version of him.

and now that he’s here…you want to believe this could work. you do.

but you also remember what it felt like to sit in silence, waiting for him to care again. you remember trying to hold things together by yourself, telling your friends everything was fine while checking your phone more times than you’ll admit. you remember how easy it was for him to disappear.

and now?

now he’s here. fully. or at least, showing that he can be.

but you can’t unlive the part where he wasn’t.

so you hold his hand.

a little tighter.

one last time.

and you try to memorize what it feels like.

✧ ⊹ · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ⊹ ✧

╭﹐✦˚₊· 𖤐 * E N D O F C H A P T E R T W O ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ╮ remember how he disappeared for months? yeah. well. hahahahaha ╰﹒♡₊˚๑ *✧﹒✦ ࣪ ˖ ┊

📌 taglist - @f4sh10n-m4v3n

#vuewrites #jschlatt #schlatt #jschlatt x reader #schlatt x reader #jschlatt headcanons #schlatt headcanons #jschlatt imagines #schlatt imagines #jschlatt x you #schlatt x you #forgive me not #forgive me not slattlicker

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