#no hate to the guy i'm kidding ok | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yukkiji · 5 days ago

Text

it was never casual

assigned as nagi’s personal assistant for the national team, you thought keeping up with japan’s laziest genius would be easy—until he starts asking for more of your time, your attention… and maybe even your heart.

starring. nagi seishiro x fem!reader

genre. romance, smut.

wc. 15.8k

cw. smut, size kink, riding, oral (m & f receiving), fingering, multiple rounds, creampie, overstimulation, soft sex, praise kink, soft dom!nagi.

author's note: nagi is up and if u guys noticed i added new players and their previews hehe and i'm planning in writing most of the u-20 players that's why this going to a very long adventure!

You stared at your phone for the past few minutes now.

[nagi]: come here. already cleared with the jfa and directress. pulled some strings.

Of course he did.

Of course Nagi Seishiro somehow made the Japan Football Association and the directress of a top-tier national facility bend to his whims. You should’ve expected it—should’ve blocked his number when the break started. But here you were, still staring at that same message like it owed you an apology.

He’s been at the Red Zone for a few weeks now, training with the national team. It was a closed-off facility, newly built just for the country’s elite. Exclusive. Remote. Off-limits unless you had clearance or a jersey with your name stitched above the rising sun.

Before he left, he told you to take the full twelve weeks off. Rest, he said. Do whatever you want, he said. So you did. You slept in. Went outside like a normal person. Watched the news instead of five back-to-back press briefings. Even read the reports about the Red Zone online and laughed at how sterile and intense it all sounded.

But now—

[nagi]: kinda messy here

[nagi]: dunno where my stuff is

[nagi]: just come already

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you muttered under your breath, tossing your phone onto the couch.

You’d been his personal assistant for years—since his first pro contract. You handled everything: travel, endorsements, licensing deals, match schedules, club negotiations, even social media when he couldn't be bothered. Nagi as a client wasn’t the worst. He wasn’t rude. He wasn’t demanding. Just…

Lazy.

So lazy it drove you insane sometimes. He rarely remembered meetings unless you were there to drag him by the hoodie. He slept through interviews. Responded to emails with a single “ok.” You practically ran his life—and maybe that was the problem.

Because now, after just six weeks without you, he was acting like the whole world was falling apart.

You picked your phone back up.

[you]: it’s only been six weeks

[nagi]: yeah that’s long

[nagi]: directress already gave clearance

[nagi]: ur room’s ready

[nagi]: pls

You stared at the last word.

Pls.

The bare minimum of politeness—short, clipped, barely there—but coming from him? You could practically hear the reluctant tone in his voice, like typing it out physically pained him.

You hated that it worked.

You sighed and typed again.

[you]: i thought i was on a break seishiro

[you]: you said i needed this.

[nagi]: i'll give you an all expense trip to bali, pattaya, or boracay

[nagi]: and well i miss u lol

You stared at the screen, lips parting slightly. The glow of your phone lit up the dim room, your untouched coffee going cold on the table beside you.

A trip to Bali? Pattaya? Boracay? Bribery wasn’t new with Nagi Seishiro. He’d offer the world if it meant getting you where he wanted—and usually, it wasn’t even intentional manipulation. He just... didn’t like inconvenience. If you weren’t around, everything became a chore. You were the walking, talking solution to every minor hiccup in his perfectly lazy world.

But that second line?

You scrolled back up, rereading it slowly.

“and well i miss u lol”

There it was. Casual. Unassuming. Sent like it was nothing. Like it didn’t carry the weight of something softer. Something more.

That stupid lol did nothing to water it down.

Your heart clenched, and you hated it. Hated that even after all this time—years of scheduling, managing, babysitting—you still had this weak spot for him. You chalked it up to the familiarity. The routine. The dependency. That had to be it.

Your phone buzzed again.

[nagi]: come on

[nagi]: i need to focus on football

You scoffed and leaned back into the couch, thumbs moving before you could stop yourself.

[you]: seishiro you're literally there to train only for football

Silence. Then:

[nagi]: but still i want to see you again

You stared.

The screen didn’t blur. The words didn’t rearrange. You read them exactly as they were. Plain. Honest. Undecorated.

No punctuation. No emoji. No joke.

Just—i want to see you again.

Your pulse jumped a little, just enough to irritate you.

What the fuck was that supposed to mean.

You gripped your phone tighter, knuckles pressing white against the edges. Why did he always do this? Tossing heavy words around like they were napkins—soft, careless, but somehow still hitting you in the face.

You exhaled slowly and sank further into the couch, thumb brushing the edge of the screen.

Just what the fuck, Nagi Seishiro.

You stared at your phone like it personally offended you. He really had the audacity. No shame, no hesitation—just a lazy “yes because i said so” like he was a king and you were some overpaid errand girl. Which, to be fair, wasn't that far off.

[you]: ugh fine

[you]: do i need to stay there for the whole remaining weeks?

The reply came so fast it almost pissed you off more.

[nagi]: yes because i said so

You scoffed, dragging a hand down your face. Classic Nagi. That was the most effort he’s probably put into anything this week—besides texting you ten times in a row to come back.

You sank into your couch, letting your phone rest on your chest as you stared blankly at the ceiling.

Well, there goes your remaining six weeks of rest.

No more sleeping in. No more binging trash TV in your pajamas. No more quiet nights without hearing your name called twenty times a day because Nagi couldn’t be bothered to find his own hoodie or plug in his charger or remember what day it was.

And yet, your fingers moved anyway.

[you]: send me the address

[you]: i’ll be there tomorrow morning

You told yourself you were being responsible. That it was just your job. That this had nothing to do with the weird pull you always felt when he said things like “i miss u” or “i want to see you again.”

Buzz.

[nagi]: why not today?

Your eyes narrowed.

[you]: i literally have to pack

[you]: and do laundry

[you]: and rearrange my entire mindset back into work mode

[you]: you’re lucky i’m even saying yes

A pause.

[nagi]: ur the one who left me

[nagi]: feels like forever

You exhaled through your nose, biting back the twitch in your lip.

Of course he’d say something like that. Like you abandoned him. Like you didn’t deserve the first break you’ve taken in years. Never mind the fact that he insisted you take it in the first place. Typical Nagi—dramatic in the most deadpan, lazy way possible.

You rolled your eyes and started typing.

[you]: may i remind you

[you]: you told me weeks ago that i have twelve weeks off

There was a beat of silence, just long enough for you to think maybe he realized how ridiculous he was being. Maybe he’d apologize. Maybe he’d say you’re right, my bad.

But then—your phone buzzed again.

[nagi]: but i didn’t think it would feel that long

And there it was again—that quiet little punch to your chest, wrapped in lazy lowercase and no punctuation. Something simple and stupid and somehow still managing to hit you where it hurt.

You stared at the message for a second too long, your fingers frozen above the keyboard.

God, you hated how easily he got to you.

And worse—you were already packing.

Muttering curse words with every step you took, you pulled open drawers with the kind of force that said, I hate everything about this, even though your actions contradicted your words entirely. Your suitcase was still on the floor from your last trip—a three-week Europe tour with you-know-who—barely unpacked because you’d told yourself you deserved to rest, that for once you’d live like a person who didn’t work twenty-four-seven for a soccer prodigy with the emotional range of a house cat.

And yet here you were. Shoving shirts back into the same damn suitcase you had only half-emptied two weeks ago. Half of your wardrobe hadn’t even made it back to your closet yet, just hanging limply over chairs, scattered across the bedpost, or tucked into a laundry basket you never got around to folding.

“I literally just unpacked this,” you grumbled, chucking a rolled-up tee into your suitcase with dramatic flair. “This is so fucking stupid. I should’ve resigned last year. Or the year before that. Or when he made me Google how to get dragon fruit stains out of hotel sheets in Belgium at 2 a.m.”

The truth was—you couldn’t quit. You were overpaid for what you did. It wasn’t just being Nagi Seishiro’s personal assistant. No, that would’ve been too simple. You were his everything-assistant. Manager, babysitter, stylist, nutritionist, therapist, and—sometimes—human alarm clock. All wrapped in one very tired, emotionally compromised package that he insisted be present in almost every part of his life.

And for what? The money? The perks?

Yes.

The money was stupid good. The benefits even better. All-expense-paid trips to every international match and appearance, luxury hotel rooms you never had to share, and enough mileage points to fly yourself to the moon and back. Not to mention the daily stipends that covered everything from overpriced coffees to impulse shopping in Milan. It was ridiculous. Insulting, even.

But what made it worse—so much worse—was the fact that he never asked you to leave.

Not when you were clearly burnt out. Not when you snapped at him. Not even when you threatened to throw your work phone into the Seine. Instead, he just looked at you with those sleepy eyes, passed you the bag of your favorite chips, and said, "You’ll be fine tomorrow."

And, damn him, he was always right.

You tossed in a few leggings and socks, then paused at the soft, oversized hoodie draped over the corner of your chair. White. Slightly worn at the cuffs. It had that faint clean-laundry scent mixed with a hint of his cologne—something subtle and expensive and uniquely him.

You tried to return it to him at least four times now. Somehow, it always came back to you. Sometimes folded on your couch after he spent the night, other times mysteriously appearing in your laundry pile like it had walked back on its own.

With a sigh, you picked it up, stared at it for a moment longer than necessary, then gently folded it and placed it into the suitcase like it belonged there.

“Whatever,” you muttered to yourself, brushing your hair out of your face.

Next came your toiletry pouch—your emergency travel kit that had become more permanent than your actual bathroom setup. Your toothbrush, skincare bottles, a travel-sized perfume he once complimented you on and now you couldn’t stop wearing. You tucked it beside your clothes, then moved on to the real essentials: snacks.

Your kitchen counter looked like a vending machine exploded on it. You’d gotten into the habit of keeping duplicates of everything—your favorites and his. It was a survival tactic at this point. So without thinking, you grabbed a couple packs of your go-to chocolate, some chips, and a stash of the sour candies Nagi liked to suck on during flights or gaming marathons.

You added them in like muscle memory, barely noticing how normal it had become to pack for two.

Finally, you sat down on the edge of the bed, breathing heavily as you zipped the suitcase shut. You stared at it, half-expecting it to mock you. It didn’t.

“Twelve weeks off,” you said under your breath. “I had twelve fucking weeks off.”

And yet, here you were—bag packed, hoodie reclaimed, snacks secured—on your way to chase down the same boy who always forgot his phone charger but never forgot to ask you to stay close.

The following morning came quickly—far too quickly for your liking—and here you were again, standing in front of your door, keys in hand, locking up your apartment like you were clocking out of a life you never really got to live. You barely stayed here as it was. This had been the longest stretch in months where you actually got to sleep in your own bed, eat on your own couch, shower without hearing Nagi whining about running out of his favorite shampoo.

And yet, here you were—locking it up again.

The key clicked into place with a dull finality. You stood there for a moment, staring at the handle, your duffel bag heavy over your shoulder, suitcase behind you like a shadow. The hallway was quiet, save for the distant hum of the elevator. You let out a sigh, one of those deep ones that curled from the pit of your stomach, tired and resigned.

Your hoodie—well, his hoodie—swallowed you whole in comfort as the early morning breeze kissed your skin. You’d packed light but efficient: a few shirts, some sleepwear, and that damned hoodie that always found its way back into your closet no matter how many times you tried to give it back. Nagi probably left it on purpose, like some twisted, lazy breadcrumb trail that always led back to him.

Toiletries? Check. Snacks? Double check. Your own favorites took up one pouch, but you couldn’t help stuffing a few of his favorites into the side pocket of your luggage too. You always had to bring them—it was second nature by now. The last time you didn’t, he whined until you walked to the nearest corner store in a foreign country just to shut him up.

You adjusted the strap of your bag and glanced back at your locked door once more. “Six more weeks,” you muttered under your breath. “Six more weeks of being bossed around by a sleepy man-child with perfect hair.”

But even as you rolled your suitcase down the hallway toward the elevator, you knew—deep down—you didn’t really hate it.

Not one bit.

The facility was only an hour away from your apartment, which made the whole situation feel even more ridiculous. You could’ve argued your way out of it. You should’ve fought harder. But instead, you found yourself slumped in the back of a taxi, forehead against the cool glass of the window, watching the city blur by as the driver hummed to an old tune on the radio.

Your phone vibrated for the third time in ten minutes.

[nagi]: did u leave yet

You rolled your eyes and typed back with one hand:

[you]: i’m literally in the taxi right now

Another buzz.

[nagi]: ok hurry up

God, he was so annoying when he wanted something. And right now, what he wanted was you—back at that training facility like you hadn’t just spent the last few weeks trying to reclaim your sanity.

You sighed and tossed your phone onto your lap. He’d been texting you since morning, asking if you were awake, if you had breakfast, if you packed enough clothes—like he hadn’t ripped you from your barely-started break just because he got bored and lonely.

Another text buzzed in.

[nagi]: bring the snacks

You didn’t even reply to that one. He’d find out soon enough that you already packed his favorites because apparently, some part of you was still hopelessly soft for the idiot.

Arriving at the facility for the first time, you were greeted by the receptionist seated behind a sleek security counter. Without much fuss, she handed you a staff keycard and a printed map highlighting your designated areas: the sleeping quarters, the dormitory wing, cafeteria, and other restricted staff-only zones within the complex.

The place was massive.

More like a research base than a training center—polished floors, biometric scanners, LED screens displaying real-time data feeds, and corridors so long and spotless they looked like something out of a sci-fi film. Even the air felt filtered to perfection.

Apparently, the directress behind all this was ridiculously persuasive. Or at least that’s what Nagi told you. According to him, she managed to charm a jaw-dropping budget out of the JFA without breaking a sweat.

“That’s why he easily got me here—because of his connections,” you muttered under your breath, squinting up at a glass wall overlooking what seemed to be an AI-assisted analytics room. “Stupid Nagi… should’ve just let me use up my remaining six weeks of off.”

Your assigned room in the sleeping quarters was a shared one, though thankfully the vibe was warm from the start. Your roommate—a staff member from the PR team—was easy to get along with. Friendly, chatty, and clearly used to the strange chaos that came with working in a facility full of high-strung athletes and even higher-stakes expectations.

It was overwhelming, sure. But the pulse of this place? Fast, sharp, alive.

And now, you were officially part of it. Welcome to the Red Zone.

Once you’d finally unpacked your things—which, frankly, you should’ve done weeks ago—you headed toward the dormitory wing, dragging your feet more out of annoyance than exhaustion.

When you arrived, the sight that greeted you caught you off guard.

You had fully expected the hallway to reek of sweat, gym socks, and whatever fast food these soccer-obsessed maniacs managed to sneak in. But instead, it was… surprisingly clean. Spotless floors, minimal clutter, and even a faint scent of citrus cleaner lingering in the air. The doors were sleek and numbered, the lighting soft but efficient. You had to admit—it exceeded expectations.

Still, your mood hadn’t improved.

Nagi had already given you his room number a few days ago—before even asking if you were actually willing to come. Scratch that—he didn’t ask. He told you. More like whined you into submission and dropped enough emotional bait to make you cave.

“Stupid Nagi,” you muttered under your breath, stopping in front of the familiar number. “Could’ve let me rot peacefully in my twelve-week break. But no. Had to be here.”

You raised your hand and knocked—sharply, and with full intent to unleash a verbal storm. Because cutting your hard-earned time off short for his convenience?

Oh, he was definitely going to hear about it.

By the time you reached the door at the far end of the dormitory hallway, your hands were already clenched into fists.

You didn’t hesitate. You raised your fist and slammed it against the wood, the sharp knock ricocheting down the quiet corridor like gunfire.

“Open this fucking door, Seishiro!”

Another knock—harder this time, fueled by a week's worth of seething fury that had finally reached its boiling point. You barely registered the thudding of your own heartbeat in your ears. Your voice came out sharp, livid, practically vibrating the hinges.

“Don’t tell me you’re too lazy to open it!”

A few doors down, someone cracked their door open with a slow creak. Another followed. More heads poked out like curious prairie dogs sensing incoming chaos.

“Twelve weeks, Seishiro. Twelve fucking weeks I’ve waited for my well-deserved break, and you—you absolute waste of height and talent—had the audacity to steal the six I had left!”

There was a pause—a long, painful, infuriating silence—and then a familiar low whistle from somewhere behind you. You didn’t even need to turn around to know what was happening. Players were now leaning against their doorframes, arms crossed, faces lit with amusement. Sleepy heads blinked with interest, some still in training hoodies or with towels slung around their necks.

They all knew you. Or at least they thought they did.

You weren’t officially part of the team, but you were a permanent fixture in their lives. The assistant-slash-manager who stuck to Nagi Seishiro like a shadow with a clipboard. You were the one whisper-yelling behind the scenes, dragging his half-dead weight from benches, fixing his jersey before sponsor shoots, bribing him with vending machine snacks just to get him to meetings.

They’d all met you before—at league events, during training camps, press tours. But this? This was new.

This was personal.

The door finally creaked open, painfully slow, as if the person behind it had only just decided it was worth responding to the verbal assault on the other side.

Nagi Seishiro stood there in nothing but an oversized shirt and boxers, his white hair a chaotic mess that looked like it had been brushed by a tornado—or not brushed at all. He blinked at you with heavy-lidded eyes, squinting like the hallway lights were the enemy.

“What time is it…?” he mumbled, one hand lazily rubbing his eye while the other scratched at his stomach.

You bristled.

“It’s time to get your ass beat.”

Nagi tilted his head, visibly confused by your energy, though unsurprisingly unbothered. “You’re being loud…”

“Loud?” you echoed, voice rising again. “You haven’t seen loud yet. I was supposed to be on a damn beach today. Do you know what it feels like to file leave for the first time in almost a year, only to be told I need to come back because you somehow forgot the match schedule and left your travel documents in the laundry?”

Nagi blinked. Slowly.

“Wasn’t that like… months ago?” he asked, scratching at a knot in his hair.

You stared at him, your breathing heavy, hands twitching at your sides as every muscle in your body screamed to throttle him just a little. Just enough to shake some sense into him.

“You are not helping your case, Seishiro.”

By now, nearly half the dorm had caught on. Bachira was leaned half-out of his doorway, grinning ear to ear like he’d paid front-row tickets to this drama. Reo, standing a few doors down, had a smirk playing on his lips as he crossed his arms, clearly enjoying the show. Isagi looked mildly horrified but intrigued, caught between wanting to stay and fleeing before your wrath turned toward bystanders. Even Barou had poked his head out at some point, only to mutter “tch” under his breath and slam his door shut again.

And Nagi?

Nagi leaned against the doorframe like he wasn’t the villain in this scenario, like he hadn’t just stolen your peace and trampled all over your PTO. He stared down at you with heavy eyes, taking in your expression, your stance, the fury practically rolling off your shoulders in waves.

Then—he had the audacity to murmur, “You look cute when you’re mad.”

Your mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again. You were a breath away from physically launching your shoe at his head.

“You have three seconds to apologize before I shove this keycard down your throat.”

Nagi only hummed, stretching slightly as he ran one hand through his hair again, fingers tangled in a stubborn tuft.

“Let me fix my bedhead first,” he said, tone completely detached from the chaos unraveling in front of him. “Then you can yell at me more.”

And then, with a small, sleepy grin, “Kinda missed it.”

You stood there, momentarily frozen. The hallway behind you had gone quiet, a beat of silence following that bold little comment.

Then—

Clap. Clap. Clap.

Someone actually started clapping. A few muffled laughs followed. A whispered, “He’s so dead,” echoed somewhere from the back.

And you? You just stared at him—this six-foot-two walking menace of a prodigy who had ruined your vacation, cost you hours of sleep, and still had the nerve to flirt with you in boxers with bed hair.

God, you were going to murder him.

But maybe… maybe you’d let him finish fixing his hair first.

You pushed the door open mid-rant, ready to hurl another curse at him for dragging you back six weeks early from your hard-earned break—only to stop dead in your tracks.

“…What the hell?”

Because Nagi Seishiro’s room—usually a warzone of crumpled snack wrappers, tangled wires, and scattered hoodies—was clean. Immaculate, even.

The bed was made, desk cleared, controller aligned like it was part of a shrine. There wasn’t a single sock on the floor, which was terrifying. For a second, you genuinely thought you walked into the wrong room.

“Okay, either I’m hallucinating from stress,” you muttered, stepping cautiously inside like the floor might vanish beneath you, “or you’ve been kidnapped and replaced with a functioning human being.”

Nagi didn’t even look up from the mirror. He was smoothing down a stubborn strand of hair with a level of concentration you didn’t think he possessed. “Reo said you’d be mad if I didn’t clean.”

“…You listened to Reo?”

“Sometimes.”

“I thought your ears only worked when you’re losing in Valorant."

“They do,” he said, still not looking at you. “But I don’t like it when you scream at me. It’s loud.”

You gawked at him. “I scream because you pull stunts like summoning me back to this hellhole mid-vacation. And for what? So you could tidy your room and pretend you're a functioning adult?”

He finally turned toward you, hair now mostly fixed, expression lazy but smug. “Nah. I missed you.”

You squinted. “…Be honest.”

He shrugged. “Got bored.”

“There it is.”

And just when you were about to launch back into your rant about boundaries and how twelve weeks of rest meant twelve, not six, he blinked at you with that same half-lidded look and asked:

“Where are the snacks?”

You paused. Blinked.

Your eye twitched violently.

“…What?”

“The snacks,” he repeated slowly, like you were the dumb one. “You always bring them. Sour gummies. Pocky. Those cheese crackers I like.”

You stared at him in disbelief. “I came back early. From my break. Six. Weeks. Early. And the first thing you ask me is—where are the snacks?”

Nagi tilted his head. “Yeah.”

“Are you fucking serious right now, Seishiro?”

“Deadly.”

“I will throw something.”

“Please not the controller this time.”

Your hands flew up, exasperated. “Why would you even expect me to bring snacks—?!”

“But did you?” he interrupted, wide-eyed.

You clenched your jaw, visibly twitching again. “Yes. It’s in the bottom drawer of the cabinet in my quarters.”

“Nice.” He nodded, satisfied. “I’ll grab ‘em later.”

You inhaled through your nose, turned around, and immediately stopped—because there, just outside the open door, were three of Japan’s top national players poking their heads out like curious raccoons.

Kunigami looked mildly concerned. Bachira was definitely holding in a laugh. And Barou—Barou looked like he was going to file a noise complaint.

“Oh my god,” you hissed under your breath. “Do you mind?”

Bachira grinned and leaned in more. “We were just making sure you weren’t killing him for real.”

“He deserves it,” you shot back.

Barou rolled his eyes. “Tch. Knew it was you. Only one loud enough to wake up the entire dorm floor.”

“Shut up, Pompadour,” you snapped.

“Try me, brat.”

Kunigami blinked. “Wait, there’s actually snacks in her quarters?”

You slammed the door shut.

Hard.

Nagi stared at the door, then at you. “That was rude.”

“You’re rude,” you muttered, rubbing your temples. “I swear to god, Seishiro, one day you’re gonna find yourself snack-less and alone.”

“Not if you’re here,” he replied innocently, lying back down on his clean bed like he hadn’t just pushed every single one of your buttons with precision-level expertise.

You stood there, seething.

He yawned, dragging a hand through his white hair, eyes half-lidded with sleep.

God, you really were going to kill him.

Nagi moved with that slow, catlike grace of his—muscles loose, too comfortable in his skin. He peeled off his shirt and tossed it lazily into the laundry basket by the corner, the fabric landing with a soft thud. The way his toned back flexed, the faint red lines still visible from your nails last night, made your face heat despite yourself.

“I’ll go get the snacks,” you said, already walking toward the door with a mission in mind. Anything to cool down from the heat still crawling across your skin from the mess he made of you last night.

“I’ll go with you.”

You turned halfway, giving him a look. “You’ve got gym session by nine. It’s already past eight. You need to get ready.”

He pouted, stretching like a lazy cat, arms overhead, abs on full display. “You just got here, and you already know my schedule?”

You rolled your eyes, hand on the doorknob. “Of course. But don’t forget—you still owe me that six weeks of vacation.”

That made him pause. His brows furrowed slightly, lips tugging into something between a smirk and something vaguely guilty. But before you could twist the handle, you heard his footsteps behind you, then—

His body pressed up against your back, broad chest warm against your spine. His arms wrapped around your waist, and then his lips were at your neck, kissing lazily.

“Mmh,” Nagi hummed lowly, nuzzling the sensitive skin behind your ear. “I really missed you, y’know… Missed your touch.” He dipped lower, teeth grazing the curve of your shoulder. “Missed your thighs around my head. It’s been six weeks… That’s basically cruel.”

Your breath hitched, fingers tightening on the doorknob. “Sei,” you warned gently. “Not now.”

“Why not?” he murmured against your neck, voice muffled and dripping with suggestion. “Room’s soundproof. You just got here. I could eat you out right here, standing up—have you coming before I even brush my teeth.”

Your head thudded lightly against the doorframe, half from exasperation, half from the way your knees threatened to give out. He always knew exactly what to say—and how to say it.

His laugh was quiet, warm against your skin, lips brushing the slope of your neck.

“Well, you weren’t gentle either the last time we went to Europe together,” he mumbled against your pulse, voice low and drowsy like he was half-sleepwalking into temptation. “Pretty sure the walls in that Paris hotel still remember your moans.”

You rolled your eyes, jaw tightening, but your body betrayed you—leaning back into his warmth just for a second too long.

“Seishiro.” You exhaled a warning, reaching behind to gently push him off. “Get in the shower. Now.”

He hummed. “Together?”

Your hand froze on the doorknob.

“No,” you said, deadpan. “And you're not getting a blowjob, Seishiro.”

He grinned like you’d just promised him heaven anyway.

“Fine,” he said, finally peeling off of you. “But if I make it to the gym on time, I want a reward tonight.”

You looked over your shoulder, smirking. “If you’re late, I’m telling the coach you have a sore dick from jerking off too much.”

He laughed, shirtless and already heading to the bathroom, voice echoing from down the hall.

“Worth it if I’m thinking of you while doing it."

You rolled your eyes again, lips twitching.

God help you.

But this—whatever it was—worked. Hidden behind closed doors, timed between sessions and meetings, no labels, no strings. Just your body, his hands, and the silence of something unnamed but electrifying. A benefit neither of you dared confess to wanting more of.

You closed his doors and headed back to your sleeping quarters.

Your footsteps echoed softly against the tiled floors of the facility, but your mind was anything but quiet. Thoughts spun like a reel behind your eyes, looping over the same memory you’ve tried to compartmentalize for a year now.

This setup with Nagi… it started just over a year ago. But you'd already been working with him for three, maybe four years—long enough to know his routines, his moods, the specific snacks he liked after training, and how to word things so he’d actually listen. It had always been professional—until that one night.

You were both overseas for an international match. The game went well, and the celebratory party afterward was inevitable. Loud music, flowing drinks, sports talk… one thing led to another.

And the next thing you knew—you woke up in his hotel room. Naked. Sore. Still foggy from the alcohol, but painfully aware of what had happened. Nagi was too.

You told him it was a one-time thing. That it shouldn't happen again.

But it did. Again and again.

Every international game. His penthouse. Your apartment. The back of his team bus one time when no one else was around.

It was supposed to be no-strings-attached. That was the rule. Your rule. You kept it in place like armor, trying to convince yourself you could keep your heart out of it.

Which is exactly why, when Nagi told you he’d be attending a national team training camp for twelve weeks, you jumped at the chance to take your own break. You requested time off—vacation, you said. A breather.

But six weeks in, not even halfway through the break, he texted you. Told you to come meet him at the Red Zone facility. Not a request. Just that familiar, lazy command only he could make sound gentle.

And you went.

Because despite all your best efforts to detach, the strings had already tangled around your ribs.

You never felt used with Nagi. Not even once. If anything, that’s what made it harder—because when he touched you, it never felt like just fucking. It felt like... love. And that scared the hell out of you.

Every time he moved inside you, every time he whispered your name against your lips, every time he held you like he didn’t want to let go—it made it harder to pretend you didn’t want more. That you weren’t already halfway gone.

You finally reached your shared staff quarters and stepped inside. The only other person you shared the space with—another staff member—looked up from her phone and gave you a grin.

“Back already from the dorms?” she asked. “Thought you'd be back later this afternoon to help Nagi.”

You tossed your bag onto the small couch and sighed, running a hand through your hair.

“Well, I needed to get his fucking snacks,” you muttered, rolling your eyes.

She laughed. “Of course. The prince demands tribute.”

You managed a tired smile, but inside, your heart thudded a little too hard.

Because no matter how much you tried to tell yourself it was physical, no matter how much you tried to pull away…

You always came back.

And the scariest part?

So did he.

You grabbed his snacks—some from the drawer you always kept stocked for him, and a few extras from the crinkled paper bag in your suitcase. It was a familiar mix: sweet, salty, mostly junk he claimed helped him “stay motivated.” You didn’t argue. You just kept refilling it like clockwork.

“I’ll be leaving again,” you said as you slipped on your shoes.

Your roommate looked up from her laptop, a teasing smile on her face. “Good luck,” she said, chuckling to herself. She was editing something again—probably a behind-the-scenes clip for the national team’s social page. Her screen was filled with jump cuts and color grading tools. You didn’t ask. You never needed to. You both knew exactly who you were going back to.

The halls were quieter now. Morning sun filtered in through the long corridor windows, casting golden slants of light across the tiles. It was just past 8 a.m., early enough that most of the athletes were still working through their morning routines.

You reached the dormitory wing and typed in the code he messaged earlier—short, lazy digits only he would choose. No greeting, no explanation. Just a number and the unspoken expectation that you'd come.

The door clicked open.

Inside, you were met with the soft sound of running water and steam slowly curling out of the bathroom. His towel from earlier was still crumpled on the floor, evidence of his usual habit of leaving things wherever they fell.

You placed the snacks on his nightstand, then sat at the edge of his bed—familiar, quiet, and too aware.

He didn’t make you wait long.

The shower shut off. A few seconds passed. Then the bathroom door creaked open.

Nagi stepped out, damp and drowsy, with nothing but a towel slung low around his hips. Droplets of water clung to his collarbones, trailing slowly down his chest. His white hair was flattened against his forehead, still dripping.

His eyes met yours through the haze of morning sunlight and leftover steam—calm, unreadable, but lingering a bit too long.

“‘Sup,” he muttered, voice still thick with sleep.

You didn’t answer right away.

You weren’t sure if you were supposed to.

“I bought you snacks,” you said casually, nodding toward the nightstand where the bag sat.

Nagi didn’t even glance at it.

Instead, with damp hair still dripping from his shower and a towel hanging low around his hips, he walked straight to you—like a magnet pulled by something stronger than reason or hunger.

He dropped to his knees.

Your breath caught. “What the fuck, Seishiro?”

His large hands wrapped gently around your thighs as he looked up at you like you hung the sun. “Can I eat you out?” he asked, voice low and rough. “Please. I missed you… so much. Six weeks was too long.”

You blinked at him. “You have gym in, like, twenty minutes.”

“I only need ten,” he said. “Fifteen, tops. I just—fuck—I need you. I’ve been dreaming about your taste every damn night.”

Your lips parted slightly at his honesty. This was new. Nagi was always laid-back, always controlled when you two fucked—letting you feel everything while barely breaking a sweat.

But now?

His fingers clutched you tighter like he was afraid you'd disappear again.

“…Ugh. Fine,” you muttered, trying to sound annoyed, but you were already throbbing at the way he was staring at you like salvation.

The towel around his waist barely held on as he leaned forward and kissed your lower belly through your shirt, his hands sliding around to your waistband.

Nagi didn’t waste a second. He peeled your pants and underwear down in one slow motion, the cool air brushing your skin as he exposed you. He mouthed along your thighs—hot, open-mouthed kisses that sent your nerves alight.

“You smell so fucking good,” he groaned, nuzzling against the crease of your inner thigh. “You have no idea what that flight back did to me. I jerked off twice just thinking about this.”

You let out a shaky breath as he pushed your legs further apart, his broad shoulders locking them open around his head.

Then his tongue was on you.

“Fuck—” you gasped, hands flying to the sheets as your hips bucked slightly.

He hummed against you, wet and slow. Starved. He licked you with the kind of precision that could only come from knowing your body inside out—and missing it more than words could say.

“Sei—Seishiro—shit,” you whimpered.

You instinctively tried to clench your thighs, but he was already gripping them open, tongue plunging between your folds like a man deprived of water. His nose bumped your clit, just the way you liked, and then his lips sealed over it and sucked.

You nearly sobbed.

“Don't hold back,” he mumbled into you, mouth still busy. “The walls are soundproof. You can be as loud as you want.”

He pulled your hips closer, burying his face deeper. Your head hit the pillow with a quiet moan as one of his fingers slid inside you, thick and slow. He worked you open like he had all the time in the world—even though you both knew he didn’t.

But God, it felt like forever in the best way.

“Been thinking about this the whole camp,” he groaned. “I’d close my eyes after drills and pretend I was here—my mouth on your pussy, your thighs shaking around my head, your voice screaming my name.”

You tugged his hair. “You’re such a little shit.”

“And you taste so fucking good,” he said before diving back in, his tongue flicking your clit while his fingers moved faster, curling just right.

You couldn’t even respond—only pant and cry out as that familiar heat spread low and fast, winding tightly in your stomach.

He looked up at you briefly, lips slick, eyes glazed over with raw need. “Cum in my mouth, baby. Give it to me.”

That was all it took.

Your body arched with the force of your climax, his name tearing from your throat in a desperate cry as you came, hot and wet, into his waiting mouth. He didn’t stop—didn’t flinch—just moaned like he’d been given his favorite meal and licked up every last drop.

“God, Seishiro—” you whimpered, trembling.

He finally pulled back, his chin soaked, eyes half-lidded and dazed. “Fuck,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “Missed that. Missed you.”

Your legs were still twitching.

Nagi crawled up to kiss your inner thigh again, lazy and soft this time. “Still got five minutes to cuddle before I gotta go.”

“…You’re insane.”

“Insanely pussy-deprived,” he muttered, nuzzling into your stomach like a cat. “But I’m good now. For today, at least.”

And somehow, seeing Seishiro Nagi—the usually aloof, barely-interested genius—this needy and overwhelmed for you… that was better than any orgasm.

Nagi rose from between your legs, licking his lips like he’d just tasted the best damn meal of his life. His flushed face hovered over yours for a moment, strands of silver hair falling into his eyes. Then—without a word—he leaned in and kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed or teasing. It was slow, deep, and tender—like he was pouring six weeks of bottled-up yearning into every brush of his lips. His tongue moved with lazy precision, savoring the taste of you like he couldn’t get enough.

“I missed you,” he breathed against your mouth, voice low and frayed at the edges. “So much. Everything was so dull without you.”

Your hand slid into his hair, nails grazing lightly against his scalp as you held him close.

“Six weeks,” he whispered again, dragging his nose along your cheek. “It sucked. Waking up without you. Sleeping without you. Training without hearing your voice. Even scrolling through your messages didn’t help.”

You let out a soft laugh, heart twisting as he peppered kisses along your jaw, your neck, your collarbone—anywhere he could reach.

“I hated it,” he muttered. “All of it. Being away from you is a fucking hassle.”

You tilted your head back, lips curving into a breathless smile. “You’re so dramatic.”

He looked up at you, almost pouty. “You don’t get it. Nothing hits the same when you’re not around. Not the food, not the bed… not even winning.”

You were seconds away from pulling him down for another kiss when your eyes flicked to the digital clock.

“Shit—Seishiro. You’ve got gym drills in two minutes.”

He whined, literally whined, and dropped his forehead to your shoulder like you just told him the world was ending.

“Why’d you have to ruin it,” he mumbled.

You snorted, gently pushing at his chest. “Because if you’re late again, your coach is gonna kill you. Probably make you run suicides till you’re begging for mercy.”

He let out a dramatic groan. “Ugh. That old guy’s such a pain.”

“Then move your ass,” you said, but your voice was still soft, still warm.

He didn’t budge, just looked at you with those sleepy, pleading eyes. “Come with me?”

“To the gym?”

He nodded. “Just sit on the bench. Pretend you’re doing stats or something. Just… be there.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were already reaching for your jacket. “Obviously. I came here to see you—and I still need to monitor your pace times, remember?”

That made him smile, all slow and smug like your answer was exactly what he wanted.

He leaned in one last time, pressing a kiss to your cheek before muttering, “Such a hassle…”

But when he finally peeled himself off you and started tugging on his training shirt, you caught the quiet thing he said under his breath—

“…but you’re worth every second of it.”

You stared at Nagi from across the gym as he lifted weights with Reo.

Your mind wouldn’t stop replaying what he told you earlier—“You’re worth every second.” Like it was nothing. Like he hadn’t made your chest twist with something painfully warm and annoyingly tender.

You hated how he always made you soft. Always.

Especially when you were supposed to be mad at him—for texting you last night with the nerve to sound like he was summoning you instead of asking. Like your time and sleep didn’t matter. Like he knew you’d come anyway.

And you did.

The second you shut his dorm room door, he’d wrapped himself around you, nuzzling into your neck like a damn cat, murmuring things you pretended not to hear. Then when you came back out this morning to drag his lazy ass to the gym, he was already kneeling, hair damp from a fresh shower, hands on your thighs, eating you out like it was breakfast, lunch, and dinner combined.

And now he was acting like none of it happened—calm and quiet, as usual, like he didn’t completely wreck your ability to think straight barely an hour ago.

You tapped your pen against your clipboard, trying not to stare too long at the flex of his biceps or the way his shirt clung to his back.

He looked over his shoulder briefly, like he felt your stare. You didn’t look away fast enough. His lips twitched, just barely.

You clicked your tongue and turned, muttering to yourself.

"If he’s late again, one of the coaches is definitely going to kill him."

And you weren’t about to save him this time.

You already warned him. Twice.

But Nagi Seishiro, being Nagi Seishiro, chose to do two of the ten required lunges and leaned against the nearest wall while Reo glared daggers at him mid-set.

So when the coach’s voice cracked across the room—sharp and pissed—and everyone turned in sync, you didn’t bother looking up from your clipboard.

He did it to himself.

You slipped away as Loki began scolding them, tapping your ID badge against the dormitory wing scanner. Your excuse? Getting snacks from the supply room. Your real reason? Picking up Nagi’s favorite post-workout protein bar so he wouldn’t pout the whole way to cool-down.

You grabbed a couple of candies too—one for yourself and one for Reo. He’d earned it.

Just like that, the rest of your weeks at the facility followed the same rhythm. Predictable. Unspoken.

You spent your days trailing after Nagi, his shadow in track pants and sneakers. Waking him up when he passed out face-first on his tray after lunch. Recording his numbers during drills because he “didn’t wanna hold the damn clipboard.” Carrying snacks in your tote bag like a personal vending machine. Babysitter. Handler. Assistant.

He called you all three—sometimes in the same sentence.

And then the sun would set.

And he’d drag you into his dorm room by the wrist, kiss you like he needed you to breathe, and make you scream his name until you couldn’t remember if you were supposed to wake him up or ride him again.

The most recent night? You never made it past the door.

He’d tugged you in, closed it with his heel, and kissed you hard—tongue and teeth, hands already up your shirt. The ache in his muscles didn’t stop him from pawing at you, groaning your name against your lips like he hadn’t seen you just an hour ago.

“Too sore,” he murmured, lips trailing down your neck, “but I still wanna fuck you…”

That was your cue.

You peeled off his hoodie and climbed into his lap, your knees on either side of his thighs as he leaned back against the headboard, eyes half-lidded, cock already hard from just the idea of you.

“Do the work, yeah?” he whispered, fingers gripping your hips.

You reached between you, guided him inside slowly, your wet heat enveloping him inch by inch until he moaned—head tipping back as he let you bottom out.

“F-Fuck… that’s it…”

You rolled your hips first, slow and deep, grinding down so his cock hit your sweet spot each time. Nagi’s hands flexed against your waist, not guiding, just feeling. Watching.

He always watched.

Especially when your tits bounced with each grind. His eyes would trail up from where you took him deep, to where your flushed chest heaved for breath. You swore he could come just from the sight alone.

“I love this,” he rasped. “When you ride me like this.”

Your thighs burned, but you didn’t stop. You rocked harder, faster, as his praises slipped from his lips like a prayer.

“Feels so fucking good… look at you… fuck…”

One hand left your hip to grab your breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers until you gasped, clenching around him.

He loved seeing you like this—unraveled, needy, desperate on top of him.

When you finally came, thighs shaking and moaning his name against his neck, he held you close and let out a hoarse, “Shit, baby… gonna come—inside, yeah? Gonna fill you up…”

And he did. Deep. Warm. With a low groan and a quiet “fuck, I love this cunt” whispered into your shoulder.

You stayed there for a while. Slumped against his chest. His arms around your waist. His cum leaking slowly down your thighs.

It was your favorite place to be.

But of course, that meant you were rarely in your assigned room.

The next morning, as you trudged back to the staff quarters for a fresh set of clothes, Nagi’s hoodie hanging low on your shoulders and his sweatpants threatening to fall off your hips, your roommate looked up from tying her shoelaces and gave you a shit-eating grin.

“Well, well, well,” she drawled. “Back so soon? What kept you? His sheets… or his dick?”

You sputtered. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” she smirked. “It’s not my business. Besides—truth be told, I’ve been fucking around too.”

You blinked, brain buffering.

She stood, straightened her jacket, and added with a small shrug, “What? He’s a starter. Midfield. Killer stamina. And he’s a model. Can you really blame me?”

And suddenly it clicked.

The sharp jawline she complimented once. The way she always smelled faintly like cedarwood cologne after team dinner. The way her lips were always redder after Thursday night gym duty.

Your eyes widened slightly, but she only laughed. “Yeah. Got the hint now, huh?”

You tried to form a sentence, but she cut in again, almost cheerfully.

“Honestly, you’re not the only one risking their job. A lot of people are sneaking around. I’m just not in the place to say who’s who.”

That made your stomach turn a little. You weren’t the only one? It wasn’t just Nagi?

“And since you’re gone most nights,” she continued breezily, tossing her towel into her locker, “he sometimes comes by our room to talk. Sometimes more than that. Not that I’d ever say where you were. But I think we both know he already has a pretty good idea.”

Her grin turned wicked. “Especially when you walk in wearing his hoodie, tits out, and limping a little.”

You gaped. “I’m not—!”

She cackled. “I saw you crawling out of his room one morning. You thought no one noticed?”

Heat shot to your cheeks. “It’s not like that.”

“Sure,” she winked. “And I totally don’t get dicked down by someone who’s featured in Vogue.”

You groaned and buried your face in your hands. “Kill me.”

But all she did was pat your back with a chuckle and say, “Go shower, loverboy’s probably gonna want a repeat before lunch.”

And dammit… she wasn’t wrong.

But truth be told, Nagi wasn’t your loverboy.

You weren’t dating. You weren’t exclusive. You didn’t hold hands walking down the facility halls or introduce each other like you belonged to one another. There was no official talk, no DTR moment, no dramatic confessions. What you and Nagi had was simple—physical. No strings. No rules. Just a mutual, private understanding:

Late nights. Your body. His mouth. Your hips grinding down onto him while his head tilted back in a low, lazy moan. His release spilling into you as you clenched around him with a gasp. That was the deal.

Fuck buddies. That’s all you were.

...Except you stayed the night more often than not. Except his bed had started to feel more like yours than the one assigned to you. Except he always wrapped an arm around you once the post-sex haze settled and pulled you against his chest like he slept better with you there.

Except he texted you good morning even when the first thing you did that day was hand him his jersey in the locker room and take down his schedule for warm-up drills.

Except he said “missed you” when you’d been gone for two hours tops—when the last time you saw him was literally earlier in the conference room during tactical meeting.

You didn’t ask for any of it. He just… gave it. Naturally. Easily.

And it didn’t stop there.

He kissed you like he meant it. Like every lazy, deep pull of your bottom lip between his teeth had something else buried beneath it. Something too risky to name. Too heavy to sit between you.

So yeah, maybe you weren’t his girlfriend. Maybe you weren’t in love.

But his kisses said otherwise. The way he touched you said otherwise. And some part of you—buried under all the reasons why it shouldn't be more—started to think… maybe it already was.

But his kisses said otherwise.

The way he touched you—gentle, slow, like he had all the time in the world—said otherwise.

The way he looked at you in the quiet moments, like he was searching for something he couldn’t put into words.

The way his fingers curled around yours when he thought you were already asleep.

It all said otherwise.

And some part of you—buried under all the reasons why this shouldn’t be more—started to think… maybe it already was.

But that was the problem, wasn’t it?

There were no promises. No labels. No late-night confessions that said this is real. Just stolen moments in the dark and the illusion of something more.

That quiet ache in your chest—the one that started to throb whenever he smiled at you like you were more than just a warm body—was the reason you needed to step back.

So you did.

You didn’t sleep at Nagi’s dorm room for the next few days. Not because he asked you to. Not because there was a fight. But because you needed distance before your heart made a fool out of you.

You still did your job. Professional, collected, unreadable. Sat in the conference room with your usual calm expression even when Nagi stared at you across the table like a kicked puppy.

You passed him his performance sheets, helped with his drills, answered his lazy “what’s next?” with clipped directions, and acted like nothing had changed.

But you stopped staying late.

You stopped lingering in his doorway when he asked, “Wanna chill for a bit?”

You stopped giving in to the pull of his lips, the weight of his body pressing you down like he never wanted to let go.

And you avoided sex like it was poison.

Because you knew that if you let him touch you again—if you let yourself feel again—you wouldn’t be able to pretend anymore.

And the truth was… you weren’t sure if he could love you back the way you were starting to love him.

Nagi, meanwhile, on the other hand, was not an idiot to realize that you were avoiding him.

You still did your job—flawlessly, if he might add. You were always there when he needed his schedule adjusted, always with an extra towel on hand when the facility's air turned sticky, always prepared with his favorite protein snacks even before he asked. But the moment practice ended, you’d vanish.

No more lazy walks back to the dormitory wing with your hands brushing. No more stealing his hoodie and slipping into his sheets like it was the most natural thing in the world. No more sitting on his bed with his head in your lap, scrolling through match footage while your fingers tangled in his hair.

Just—nothing. Nothing but work. And even if you smiled and nodded and answered his texts with the same sparkly little emojis you always used, it felt different.

So yeah, he noticed.

Nagi wasn’t dumb—he just hated putting effort into things that didn’t require it. But this? You? You were starting to feel like effort that mattered.

At first, he thought maybe he’d said something. Maybe he was too blunt one night, or maybe he’d dozed off mid-cuddle again and made you feel stupid. Maybe he’d missed some invisible line you drew that he never meant to cross.

But then the days went on. You never brought it up. Never slipped into his dorm like you always did. He’d come back from drills sore and sweaty, shoulders aching, looking around instinctively expecting to see you perched on the edge of his bed like always—but it was just him. Silence. No scent of your shampoo on his pillow. No lazy morning groans when he tried to roll over you to get to the bathroom.

And every time he passed you in the hallway or caught sight of you across the cafeteria, a weird knot twisted in his chest. You’d smile. You always smiled. But it didn’t reach your eyes.

You weren’t cold. Just… distant. Like someone who realized something they didn’t want to say out loud.

And he hated how it made him restless.

There were nights he scrolled through his camera roll, staring at the stupid candid shots he secretly took of you. You asleep in his sheets. You eating chips and glaring at his screen because he skipped a cutscene. You laughing—really laughing—mouth wide open with your hair falling all over your face as you told him about some stupid joke you overheard in the staff hall.

He wanted that back.

But he didn’t know how to ask without making it weird.

Because fuck—weren’t you two just having fun? You said it yourself. No strings. No pressure. And yet here he was, lying on his bed like a sulky teenage boy, wondering what the hell he was supposed to do to fix something that didn’t even have a name.

Still, he figured he had to start somewhere.

So when he saw you alone one afternoon, hunched over a tablet in the meeting lounge while most of the players were still in cooldown stretches, he dropped his gym bag by the door and padded over without thinking.

“Hey,” he said simply, voice low and a little rough from training.

You looked up, blinking at him like you hadn’t expected him to speak first.

“Hey,” you returned, tone neutral, guarded. Like you were bracing for… something.

That look? Yeah—it made something in his chest ache.

“You mad at me or somethin’?” he asked, voice too honest for either of your comfort.

Your lips parted, stunned, but you didn’t speak right away.

And maybe that pause was louder than any yes or no.

Before you could answer, Nagi stepped forward and locked the lounge door, the soft click echoing in the silence. He reached over and closed the hallway blinds without a word, shutting out the rest of the facility and cocooning the two of you inside the dim, muted room.

You blinked at him, heart skipping as your chest tightened. “…What the heck, Sei? What’s the problem?”

His expression was unreadable—lips set in a thin line, eyes shadowed under his fringe. “That’s what I should be asking you,” he said quietly, voice flat but not cold. “Why are you avoiding me?”

You looked away, arms folding over your chest like a shield. “I’m not—”

“You are,” he cut in softly. “You still do everything for me. Still prepare my food, still organize my schedule, still remind me of my drills. But you don’t come with me anymore. You don’t stay. You won’t even look at me properly unless I force you to.”

Silence pressed down between you. You stared at the carpet, blinking rapidly, throat burning.

“…Because it doesn’t feel right anymore,” you finally said, barely above a whisper. “Because I thought I could handle it. But I was wrong.”

You took a shaky breath, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “I told you no strings attached, remember? That was supposed to make everything simple. But I messed up. Somewhere along the way, I started… feeling more.”

He didn’t move, didn’t speak. But something in his eyes shifted.

“I didn’t want to risk everything we had,” you said, voice cracking. “Not just the physical stuff—God, not that—but you. Us. You’re important to me, Sei. Way more than I ever planned for.”

You swallowed thickly. “That’s why I was actually glad when you told me I could take those twelve weeks off while you were here with the team. I thought… maybe I could use that time to sort myself out. Put distance between us. I really tried to forget about you. About everything.”

You let out a quiet, humorless laugh. “But then you called me. Six weeks in. Said you wanted me here. And I couldn’t say no. Because hearing your voice just made all those feelings come crashing back again. Harder than before.”

Nagi’s brows furrowed slightly, lips parting as if to say something—but he didn’t. His fingers flexed at his sides.

“I thought maybe if I kept some space now, I’d at least be able to protect what little friendship we still had. That I wouldn’t lose you completely,” you whispered. “But being around you every day and pretending like I’m not in love with you is killing me.”

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the low hum of the facility’s air system. Then—

“…You said no strings.”

Your heart twisted. “I did.”

“I thought that’s what you really wanted.”

You nodded. “It was. At first. I didn’t expect you to care.”

Nagi took a step toward you, slow and careful like he was approaching something fragile. “I didn’t know what I was feeling either. I just knew I liked having you around. Not just for the fun stuff,” he added, voice a little softer now, “but everything. Like… when you fall asleep during my cooldowns. Or when you keep snacks in your bag even though I never ask. Or when you yell at me for skipping warm-ups but still hand me my energy drink after.”

He scratched the back of his head, visibly flustered. “I thought it was just comfort. You’re easy to be with. But when you stopped staying… when you started pulling away… it was annoying.”

You blinked. “Annoying?”

“Yeah.” He looked at you then, really looked at you. “Like, I couldn’t sleep right. Didn’t want to go back to the dorm if you weren’t there. Missed your dumb morning playlist.”

Your laugh was watery. “You always said my music sucked.”

“It does,” he said, stepping closer. “But it’s your music.”

You stared at him, heart pounding, tears clinging to your lashes.

“I think I’ve been feeling something for you for a while,” he admitted, voice barely above a murmur now. “But I didn’t let myself think too hard about it. Because you said it was nothing. That it didn’t mean anything. So I didn’t want to mess that up.”

He reached for your hand, gently lacing his fingers through yours.

“But I don’t want you to avoid me,” he said quietly. “Not if you feel the same way. And if it doesn’t feel right anymore the way it was before… then maybe we can do something about that.”

You let out a shaky breath. “You mean…”

“I don’t want something half-assed anymore,” he said. “If you’re in, I’m in.”

You didn’t mean to cry—but the tears spilled anyway as you gripped his hand tighter and fell into his chest, letting yourself fall completely for the first time, knowing he was right there to catch you.

And he did.

Without hesitation, Nagi wrapped his arms around you like he’d been waiting for this—like your weight belonged against him. His chin rested atop your head, fingers threading through your hair, holding you as you trembled in his chest.

Then slowly, he pulled back just enough to look at you. His thumb wiped at a stray tear that clung to your cheek, and he stared for a long second. His breath hitched.

“You’re really here,” he murmured, as if saying it made it real.

You gave a small nod. “I’m sorry for avoiding you.”

He didn’t answer with words this time.

Instead, he leaned in—slowly, gently—and kissed you.

Soft at first. Testing. Reverent.

Your lips met his with the same hesitation that had once kept you apart. But it melted quickly. The way his mouth moved against yours—hungry, unsure, needing more—set fire to every inch of your skin. You kissed him deeper, your hand rising to cup his jaw, feeling the way his heart thundered beneath your touch.

He groaned when you tugged him closer.

Before you knew it, he had you pinned lightly against the nearest wall, his hands braced on either side of you, mouth trailing kisses from your lips to your jaw to the base of your throat. Your fingers gripped the hem of his shirt, knuckles brushing the skin beneath.

“Fuck,” he whispered against your skin. “Been wanting this… didn’t even realize how much.”

You gasped softly, hips arching into his instinctively.

His hand slid up your waist. His body pressed flush. You felt everything—the weight of repressed feelings, of late nights thinking of each other and pretending it was casual. You moaned into his mouth, legs trembling slightly as his tongue brushed yours.

It was everything. Too much. Not enough.

But just when his hand began slipping beneath your shirt—your name tumbling from his lips like a prayer—you blinked, grounding yourself.

“Wait,” you whispered breathlessly, placing a hand on his chest.

Nagi froze, lips swollen, eyes dark with heat and confusion. “What?”

“You have training,” you panted. “Outside field. With Chris Prince. You can’t skip again.”

He groaned and dropped his forehead onto your shoulder dramatically. “Can’t I just skip this once?”

You snorted, breathless and warm, fingers still tangled in the fabric of his shirt. “Unless you want Chris to personally drag your ass back to the pitch and give you an earful? Be my guest.”

“Ugh. Hassle,” he muttered, nuzzling into your neck like a sulking cat. “Why’d you have to remind me?”

“Because you told me not to let you slack anymore,” you teased, brushing your lips along the edge of his ear.

He groaned again, but this time it was half whine, half reluctant acceptance.

“Fine,” he grumbled. “But I’m cashing this in.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Cashing what in?”

“That promise you made,” he mumbled, lifting his head to meet your gaze again. “You’ll be in my room later, yeah?”

You smiled, soft and certain, brushing a kiss against the corner of his mouth. “Count on it.”

He looked at you like you were the only thing in the world he wanted to come home to.

And with one last lingering kiss, he reluctantly peeled himself away, dragging his feet like a boy forced to leave recess early. “Hurry up and miss me.”

“You’re impossible,” you called after him.

He only tossed you a lazy smirk over his shoulder, hands stuffed in his pockets, silver hair bouncing with every step. “You like it.”

You did.

And you kept your promise, too.

By the time night fell and the post-training fatigue had settled over the facility, you were already curled up inside Nagi’s room in the dormitory wing. You’d eaten dinner, showered, and changed into something soft and comfortable—his oversized shirt draped over your frame like it belonged there.

Because it did.

His room smelled faintly of body spray and laundry detergent, and the dim yellow light from his desk lamp gave the space a warm, sleepy glow. You were stretched out on his bed with your legs tucked beneath you, flipping absentmindedly through your phone, waiting.

And then the door creaked open.

Nagi stepped in with his usual slouch, towel slung over his shoulders, hair damp from the shower. His eyes landed on you, and for a second, he just stared—like he was making sure you were real again.

You peeked up at him with a knowing smile. “You’re late.”

“I got scolded for zoning out during drills,” he mumbled, shutting the door with a click and walking over. “Chris made me run extra laps.”

You tried not to laugh. “Told you.”

“Yeah, yeah…” he grumbled, climbing onto the bed beside you and flopping face-first into the mattress with a low groan. “You better reward me.”

You leaned down, pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

He turned his head lazily to look at you, eyes half-lidded, voice thick with drowsy need. “Not enough. Want you closer.”

You leaned in with a soft smile. “How close?”

“This close,” he murmured.

And before you could process, Nagi shifted underneath you, flipping the both of you with surprising ease until you were straddling his lap. His large hands rested on your hips, thumbs stroking slow, lazy circles into your skin like he was mapping you out by touch alone.

You blinked down at him, flushed, your breath catching at the sight of him below you—hair messy against the pillow, lips parted, eyes drinking you in like you were something worth worshipping.

Then he murmured, voice even lower this time, “Still not close enough.”

His hand curled behind your neck as he tugged you down into a kiss.

Soft at first. Deep. Languid. The kind of kiss that left no room to think. Just to feel. His tongue slid against yours with a practiced laziness that only made your thighs tighten around his hips. He kissed you like you had all the time in the world.

Fingers fumbled with fabric—his hands slipping under your shirt, yours tugging at his. You broke the kiss just long enough to pull your top over your head, then helped him do the same, bare skin meeting bare skin as your chests brushed.

Nagi hummed low in his throat as his palms slid over your back, down your sides, slow and warm. “You feel good,” he mumbled, eyes half-closed. “Wanna stay like this forever.”

“You’re not even inside me yet,” you breathed, amused.

“Exactly.”

You both laughed quietly, forehead against forehead, and then his hands dipped lower, tugging your shorts down just enough for you to shimmy out of them. His boxers followed, slow and unhurried, until you were both bare, the only thing between you now was heat and want.

You rocked your hips against his lazily, slick against the hard length of him, and Nagi groaned deep in his chest, eyes fluttering shut.

You leaned down, brushing a kiss to his jaw. “I promised to make it up to you, right?”

“Mm,” he answered, barely a word, but the look he gave you was all permission.

You kissed your way down his body—slow, teasing, soft kisses along his collarbone, his chest, the line of his stomach, until you settled between his thighs. His cock was already hard, resting heavy against his lower abdomen, tip flushed and glistening with pre.

Nagi propped himself on one elbow to watch, eyes hazy and lidded, lips parted.

You started with a slow lick along the underside, flattening your tongue from base to tip. He let out a breathy moan, one hand resting lightly on your head, not pushing—just needing to touch.

Your lips wrapped around him, taking him in inch by inch, tongue swirling as you slowly bobbed your head. You kept it unhurried, savoring every reaction—how his breath caught, how his hips twitched up ever so slightly, how his fingers tightened in your hair when you hollowed your cheeks and sucked a little harder.

“Fuck,” he whispered, voice rough and quiet. “You’re unreal.”

You pulled back slightly, letting your hand take over the strokes as you looked up at him with a smirk. “Just making it up to you like I said.”

His jaw clenched as he swallowed hard, chest rising and falling a bit faster now, the usually unbothered Nagi completely wrecked by the sight of you kneeling between his legs. The corners of his mouth twitched upward in a lazy, satisfied grin.

“Baby,” he murmured, voice husky, “you’re so pretty with my cock in your mouth.”

You flushed under the praise, but your tongue dragged slowly along the underside of his length in response. Nagi was big—thick and long, almost too much to fit all at once. Even when you tried, your throat could only handle so much before you gagged, the stretch making your eyes water. But you knew he loved that.

That fucked-out look in his eyes? The way his fingers twitched against your scalp like he wanted to push deeper but didn’t? That was his size kink talking. He got off on the way your lips barely fit around him, how your hands had to help because your mouth alone couldn’t handle it.

“Look at that,” he rasped, watching you through heavy lids. “Can’t even take all of it. S’okay though—still doin’ so good for me…”

You moaned around him, letting the vibrations travel through his shaft. His thighs tensed slightly, and you felt him twitch on your tongue. You bobbed your head in slow, messy strokes, letting saliva drip down as your hand pumped what your lips couldn’t reach, eyes fluttering shut as you focused on his breathy groans.

“Fuck,” he hissed, voice a little shaky. “Keep going—gonna cum, baby…”

Your pace didn’t falter. If anything, you swallowed around him harder, your hand squeezing near the base as your lips worked over his flushed, sensitive tip. That was all it took.

With a low groan and a helpless thrust of his hips, Nagi came in your mouth—hot, thick spurts filling your throat as he gritted his teeth and moaned your name under his breath. You didn’t pull away. You took all of it, swallowing slowly, lips still wrapped around the head as he rode it out.

When you finally let go with a soft pop, he stared at you, fucked out and panting, his cheeks tinged with pink.

“Shit… you really know how to ruin me,” he mumbled, voice wrecked but fond, eyes tracing the wetness still glistening on your lips.

You leaned up, resting your chin on his thigh as you gave him a slow smile. “Just doing what I promised.”

Nagi let out a lazy laugh, fingers slipping into your hair again. “Gonna have to find a way to return the favor later... but for now, come up here and kiss me.”

You climbed back on top of him, mouths still tasting one another, his hands already drifting down to grab at your waist like he was starving for your heat. Straddling his hips again, your bare pussy met the familiar weight of his cock—already hard, already waiting for you.

You rocked your hips slowly, lazily, dragging your slick folds along the thick length of him. Every wet grind made his cock twitch beneath you, your arousal making a sticky mess between your bodies.

“Fuck…” he breathed out, jaw tightening, fingers digging into your hips. “You tryna drive me crazy or something?”

You smirked, rolling your hips again and again, coating him completely. “Just getting you nice and wet,” you whispered, licking your lips as your hand wrapped around his shaft to guide him to your entrance. “Don’t wanna waste a single drop.”

The moment the thick head of his cock pushed past your folds, you gasped—head falling forward, eyes fluttering shut.

“God, Sei…” you moaned. “So big—I already feel so full…”

His hand moved to cup the back of your neck, pulling you down until your lips hovered over his.

“That’s just the tip, baby,” he said, voice husky and smug, breath hot against your lips. “You’re so fucking tight—still—after I’ve fucked you how many times now?”

Your walls fluttered around him at his words, clenching helplessly at just the first few inches inside.

“You always say that,” you murmured, breathless, sinking lower with a shaky moan. “But it’s true. You always feel like too much.”

He hissed through his teeth, head falling back into the pillows, watching you try to take more of him with dazed, heavy-lidded eyes. “Yeah? That greedy pussy of yours just sucks me right in.”

You whimpered, barely halfway down and already shaking.

“You gonna take all of me?” he murmured, cock twitching inside you. “I want you to feel everything, pretty girl. Want you to remember this tomorrow when your legs won’t work.”

He dragged his hands slowly up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts as he helped you sink down further.

“Let me ruin you all over again.”

His voice was calm, lazy—but underneath it was a possessive growl, a promise that sent another shiver rippling down your spine.

Once you finally sank down on him fully, your walls fluttered around his cock and your mouth fell open in a shaky moan. He was deep. Too deep. It was always like this with Nagi—he never fit easy, never went in without a stretch, and always left you ruined for days after.

But you loved it.

Your thighs trembled slightly as you adjusted to the girth stretching you from the inside, your pussy dripping around him as you tried to steady your breathing. He was already hard again, thick and heavy inside your cunt, like he hadn’t just fucked you silly a few rounds ago.

You tried to move, grinding your hips slowly in small circles, easing yourself into the pace—but his hands were already on you.

Nagi leaned back slightly, his sleepy gaze locked onto your chest like it was the only thing in the world worth looking at. His large hands came up to cup your tits, thumbs brushing over your nipples lazily as he groaned at the way they bounced with every subtle movement.

“Fuck, look at them,” he muttered, squeezing them greedily. “Love when they move like that when you ride me. They’re so fuckin’ soft.”

He pinched a nipple between his fingers, and you gasped, arching into his touch.

“Keep goin’, baby,” he said, tone low and husky. “Show me how good this tiny pussy takes my cock.”

You whimpered, grinding down harder, letting the stretch of him burn into your core with every slow rise and fall. It was so filthy, so loud—the wet slap of your bodies meeting, your moans, his deep groans echoing against the walls of the room.

“Shit,” Nagi breathed, watching the slick sheen of your juices coat his length with every bounce. “You’re fuckin’ tight. Still.”

His hands gripped your waist now, helping you ride him harder, filthier. You gasped at the new angle, his cock hitting even deeper, and his head tilted back with a guttural moan.

“You always this small inside?” he drawled. “Shit... feels like your pussy’s tryna force me out.”

You whined, nails raking down his chest as you kept bouncing, thighs burning from the pace.

“But you want all of it, huh?” he grinned lazily, one hand sneaking down to rub your clit in slow, cruel circles. “Wanna be stretched out. Wanna be ruined by this cock, yeah?”

“Yes—fuck, yes—” you cried out, the stimulation too much and yet not enough.

“Can barely fuckin’ move,” he grunted, fucking up into you now, his slow thrusts hitting you from below with thick, punishing pressure. “Your pussy’s so greedy. You keep suckin’ me in like you don’t want me to leave.”

His other hand slipped back to your tits, watching with lust-glazed eyes as they bounced harder now with every shift of your hips. His tongue swiped across his bottom lip before he leaned up and sucked one nipple into his mouth, groaning deep in his throat at the taste of your skin.

You moaned his name, grinding harder, your pace turning erratic.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he whispered against your chest. “Get sloppy for me. Look at you—makin’ a mess on my cock like a good girl.”

You felt your orgasm creeping in again, that hot tight coil winding in your gut as he fucked up into you slow but hard, his cock dragging perfectly against your inner walls.

“Gonna cum?” he asked, breathless now, smirking as his fingers kept playing with your clit. “Go on. Cum all over this cock. Let me feel how much you love being stretched out by something way too big for you.”

You came with a strangled sob, hips stuttering as your pussy clenched around him, milking his cock like it was trying to keep him buried forever.

Nagi groaned, fucking you through your orgasm with steady thrusts. “Fuck… gonna fill you up again, yeah? Want it deep?”

You could only nod, babbling something incoherent as he pulled you tight against his chest and thrust up into you hard, burying himself deep—and cumming with a grunt, cock twitching as he pumped his load into your already ruined pussy.

He kept you like that, impaled on him, his cum leaking out around his cock as you trembled in his arms.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he murmured, nuzzling against your neck. “You were made for this.”

His hand ran up and down your back in slow, soothing strokes, the warmth of his palm grounding you as your breath stuttered against his skin. Your body trembled slightly from the aftershocks, still pulsing around him even though you weren’t moving anymore. He was still deep inside you—filling you, stretching you, keeping you so full it almost hurt in the best way.

“You take me so damn well,” he whispered against your ear, voice thick with satisfaction, “even when I just came in your mouth earlier. And look at me now…” He gave a lazy roll of his hips, making you gasp as you clenched involuntarily around him. “Still hard for you, baby.”

His fingers traced the dip of your spine before coming up to your shoulder blades, then settling on your hips. He kneaded them gently, possessively, like he was savoring the feel of your body molded against his.

“You’re so tight,” he groaned, tilting his head back slightly to look at your face—flushed, sweaty, dazed. “Still squeezing me like it’s your first time. You know how small you are down there, right? It’s like your pussy was made to wrap around my cock.”

You let out a shaky moan, and Nagi's hand slid to your chest. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, making you arch into his touch. “And these,” he muttered with a low smirk, “fuck—I love how they bounce when you ride me.”

He sat up slightly, his abs tightening as he lifted his upper body just enough to wrap his lips around one of your nipples, sucking softly before letting it go with a wet pop.

“You gonna move again for me?” he rasped, staring up at you through those half-lidded eyes. “Or do I have to fuck up into you myself?”

Nagi flipped you over effortlessly, his body settling between your thighs as he caged you beneath him. His damp hair clung to his forehead, silver strands catching the low light as he looked down at you—like he was about to devour you all over again.

You barely had time to catch your breath before his large hands slid behind your knees, pushing your legs up—folding them tight against your chest. The change in angle made your hips lift off the bed, your soaked, swollen cunt now fully on display for him.

“Stay like this for me,” he muttered, more to himself than you, gaze fixed on the way you twitched around nothing. “Fuck, you look good like this.”

He adjusted his grip, one hand pressed behind your thigh while the other guided his cock back to your entrance. You whined, hips twitching, overly sensitive but still aching for more.

“Already stretched out… and still so warm,” he murmured, breath fanning across your collarbone as he slid in—slow and deliberate. Your back arched instantly, thighs trembling in his grip. The angle made him feel impossibly deeper, like he was nudging against your very core.

Your fingers clawed at the sheets. “S—Sei…”

“Yeah, I know,” he panted, burying himself all the way in. “Too much, huh? But your body’s takin’ it anyway. Always does.”

He started to move, dragging his cock out in a slow, obscene pull before snapping his hips forward again. Your legs shifted in his hold, your moans turning into gasps with each thrust that punched the air out of your lungs.

Nagi leaned closer, folding your thighs tighter to your chest as he pressed his weight into you. The bed creaked beneath the force of it, and the lewd, wet sounds of your bodies colliding filled the space around you.

Your head fell back against the pillow, eyes rolling. “You’re gonna make me cum again…”

“Good,” he groaned, watching the way your face twisted in pleasure. “You’ve got more in you, don’t pretend you don’t. You’re fuckin’ dripping—like your cunt’s trying to pull me in deeper.”

His pace grew relentless, his thrusts sharp and grinding, dragging every sound from your throat. His thumb slid between your bodies, pressing against your swollen clit in messy circles. You nearly screamed.

“Shit—Nagi, I—!”

He cut off your words with a deep kiss, swallowing your moan as you fell apart beneath him, your body trembling as your climax surged through you, overwhelming and all-consuming.

Even as you clenched down hard, pulsing around him, Nagi didn’t stop. His grip on your thighs tightened, his pace rough and hungry now. “You’re squeezing the life outta me… Gonna fuckin’ cum—inside again, yeah? Gonna fill you up like you want.”

You barely had time to nod before he let go with a strained groan, hips stuttering as he emptied himself deep inside you. You felt it, hot and thick, spilling into your fluttering walls, leaking out around the base of his cock even while he stayed buried to the hilt.

He didn’t pull out. Just collapsed on top of you with a satisfied sigh, shifting just enough to not crush you, but still keeping you folded against him, his cock still twitching inside your overstimulated cunt.

“You're gonna be sore tomorrow,” he mumbled against your skin, completely spent.

“Tomorrow?” you panted, eyes fluttering shut, your thighs still trembling. “You’re not done?”

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Nah, baby… Just letting you breathe.”

He pressed a soft kiss to your cheek, then your jaw, then down to your neck again as his hands slowly started stroking your thighs—gentle now, reverent, like he was grounding himself in you.

And even though your body was spent and your mind was a haze, you knew him too well.

He was just getting started.

You barely had time to catch your breath when Nagi leaned down and kissed the corner of your mouth—gentle, like he wasn’t just rearranging your insides a moment ago.

Then he slid back in.

Your lips parted in a soft gasp as he bottomed out slowly, hips pressing flush against yours like he was trying to mold your bodies together. His hands cradled your thighs, folding them up again, his chest now flush with yours. This time he wasn’t rough. He moved slow. Deep. Like he wanted you to feel every single inch of him.

“Still with me?” he murmured against your lips, breath warm as he kissed you again. “Feels good like this, yeah?”

You nodded, too full to speak. Your nails dug lightly into his biceps as he began to roll his hips into you—grinding, rocking, instead of thrusting. You could feel how soaked you were, the obscene slick sound of him moving inside you making you clench even tighter around him.

Nagi moaned softly. “Shit… baby, you’re still so wet…”

He leaned down and kissed you again. Then your cheek. Your jaw. The shell of your ear.

Each stroke was unhurried, dragging along your walls with maddening control. His hands cupped your face as he rocked into you, and his mouth didn’t leave your skin—peppering you with kisses as your breath hitched from every slow grind.

“You make the prettiest sounds,” he whispered, licking a stripe down your neck. “I could do this all night…”

And he did. Over and over. Lovemaking that blurred into a dazed rhythm of soft moans, flushed skin, and whispered praise. He changed angles, changed positions—your legs over his shoulders, then wrapped around his waist, then you on top as he guided you gently with warm hands on your hips.

He let you come undone again, murmuring your name between kisses as you shattered in his arms.

He stayed buried inside you long after both your moans had faded, after the sharp edges of your climax dissolved into the warmth of your tangled bodies. His chest was flushed against yours, lips brushing the curve of your jaw, breaths still catching like he couldn’t quite let go of the moment. You felt his heart—usually so still, so lazy—still thudding against your ribs.

And then, slowly, he pulled back.

A soft groan rumbled in his throat as he slid out of you, cock twitching from oversensitivity, thick and spent. A slick warmth followed—his cum spilling out, messy and unmistakable, sliding down the curve of your ass and onto the sheets below.

His half-lidded gaze dipped between your legs, and the corner of his mouth twitched up in something dark and satisfied.

“Shit,” he breathed. “Look at that…”

His fingers ghosted down your inner thigh, spreading the sticky mess just slightly, like he couldn’t help himself. “Leaking already, huh?”

But instead of lewd teasing, what came next was uncharacteristically gentle. He pressed a lingering kiss just above your mound, then moved to your hipbone. Then your stomach. Little kisses, warm and slow, trailed along your skin like he was still claiming you, even after everything.

You lay there, skin damp, hair clinging to your temple, dazed and aching in the best way. But you still blinked up as he quietly rose from the bed, padding over the room shirtless and unhurried.

He returned with a warm towel and a fresh water bottle, crouching beside the bed as if he’d done this a hundred times before.

“You don’t have to—” you began softly.

But Nagi cut you off with a lazy grunt. “Shh. Lemme take care of you.”

He carefully cleaned you up, wiping gently between your legs, whispering a low apology when you flinched from the sensitivity. His fingers moved slow, reverent, more deliberate than you’d ever seen him be. As if this part—the after—mattered just as much.

Once satisfied, he tossed the towel and slid into bed beside you again, this time curling you close to his chest, your legs tangling like you were made to fit there.

Your cheek rested on his collarbone. His arm hooked around your waist.

And for a long moment, silence settled between you.

It wasn’t awkward. It was comforting—full of the kind of quiet that only came after something real.

His hand stroked your back slowly, tracing lazy circles across your spine.

“You tired?” he murmured eventually, his voice quieter now. Softer. Less of the drawl, more of the man beneath it.

You hummed. “Just sore. And… full.”

That earned a smirk, low and proud. “Good.”

Then, after a pause, “You look pretty like this.”

You shifted slightly to look up at him. “Like what?”

He met your gaze. “Wrecked. Happy.”

Your heart tripped in your chest. But before you could respond, he continued—slower this time, more unsure.

“I wasn’t lying earlier,” he said, voice low. “About what I want.”

Your breath caught. “What do you mean?”

He tilted his head, staring at the ceiling like the words would come easier if he didn’t have to see you react.

“I know we started this as… whatever,” he said. “No labels. No pressure. Just late nights. Quick fucks. You patching me up after practice. Me pulling you into bed after meetings.”

He paused.

“But then I started thinking about you when you weren’t there. Missing you. Looking for excuses to talk to you. Not just for sex. Just… to hear your voice.”

Your throat tightened.

He finally looked at you again, eyes unreadable but honest. “I care about you,” he said. “As my personal assistant, yeah. You’re smart. You get me. You make everything easier.”

Then softer: “But I also care about you… just as you. Who you are. The way you always have snacks. The way you yell at me when I half-ass stretches. The way you stay up late to revise my schedule just ‘cause you know I won’t do it.”

You didn’t realize you were crying until his thumb brushed your cheek.

“I’m glad you came here,” he whispered. “To the facility. To me. I know we didn’t define this. But… I’m glad you didn’t forget what we had. Even if it was messy.”

Your voice shook. “I never stopped thinking about you. I was scared it was just one-sided. That I’d come here and find you moved on. Or worse—indifferent.”

“Couldn’t be indifferent if I tried,” he murmured.

You laughed, wet and quiet. “That’s… shockingly sweet coming from you.”

He rolled his eyes but kissed your forehead, his voice low against your skin. “Don’t get used to it.”

You nuzzled into his chest anyway, smiling as his arms tightened around you.

“So what now?” you asked. “What are we?”

He was silent for a beat. Then, “Mine.”

That single word made your heart stutter.

His hand cupped your jaw gently, tilting your head so you could see how serious he was.

“Whatever label we put on it—just know I want you. Not just here tonight. I want you in my life.”

You nodded, a little breathless. “Okay. I’m yours.”

Nagi sighed, like something inside him finally relaxed. He tugged the blanket higher, wrapping you both in warmth.

“Good,” he mumbled. “Now shut up and sleep. You’ve got meetings in the morning.”

You smiled, pressing a kiss to his chest.

“I like you like this,” you whispered.

“Yeah, well,” he muttered sleepily, “I only let you see it.”

And with that, he closed his eyes, holding you like he never wanted to let go.

Your heart was full.

Because you both finally knew—this wasn’t casual anymore.

And it never had been.

taglist: @cyberheartrebel @risagichi @matchaveins @cowboywhore (just lmk if you want to be tagged also!)

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hanniebaeee · 6 months ago

Text

Clueless: Just friends?

Lee Know x fem!reader

Warnings: language, suggestive content MDNI

Genre: friends with benefits to lovers, fluff

Summary: You and Minho used to be friends with benefits. Until you caught feelings, and you both called it off. But Minho obviously misses you and is miserable even though he doesn't want to admit it. And his brothers have had enough of his moping.

Clueless Masterlist

The arrangement with Minho had been perfect - or at least it had started that way. Opposite apartments on the same floor of your nice apartment building. You’d text each other, and within minutes, someone was at the other’s door. No strings, no drama. Just a lot of heat that left you breathless and a little sore the next day.

Until, of course, you did the one thing you promised yourself you wouldn’t do - you caught feelings.

And naturally, Minho, emotionally stunted and a menace to society, panicked. He started pulling away, making excuses every time you asked if he wanted to come over. The warmth in his teasing dimmed into something guarded.

And it hurt. A lot. His rejection wasn't something you had expected, because no matter what anyone said, he was so soft and sweet to you. But he obviously didn't want a relationship, and you both decided to stop seeing each other.

You missed him. Not just his touch, but everything else too. The way he always brought food over (making excuses about how he had extra), held you tight when you had a hard day and how his cats lived with you more than they did with him. Oh you missed the cats. They were literally your kids - and this dirty divorce had given him full custody of them.

And Minho? He was a mess. Not that he’d admit it.

And Jisung had had about enough of his best friend and his brooding.

---

Jisung: OKAY EVERYONE STOP.

Chan: What's up?

Hyunjin: What did you do?

Jisung: NOTHING. THIS IS ABOUT MINHO.

Seungmin: What did he do?

Jisung: He’s been moping for WEEKS. And I'm sick of it.

Changbin: You sure? That’s just his face.

Jisung: LISTEN. IT’S ABOUT Y/N.

Hyunjin: Ohhhhhh.

Felix: I KNEW IT.

Minho: What the hell is going on?

Jisung: OH LOOK WHO DECIDED TO SHOW UP. Jisung: YOU, SIR, ARE A DRAMA QUEEN.

---

Minho sighed. This was the last thing he needed right now.

---

Minho: I’m not moping.

Felix: Sure. And I’m not Australian.

Hyunjin: Yeah, totally not glaring at your phone at all.

Minho: It’s not about her.

Jeongin: Are you sure you didn't accidentally click her name in your contacts 12 times yesterday?

Chan: What's going on, Min?

Minho: I don't even know what you guys are going on about!

Minho: We were friends. With benefits. Not lovers. She was nice in bed. That’s it.

---

There was complete silence in the chat for a minute before it exploded.

---

Chan: No, Minho. No. No. No.

Seungmin: Okay, first of all, what the actual fuck?

Hyunjin: Bro, you did not just say that.

Jisung: YOU ABSOLUTE FUCKING LOSER.

Changbin: 😡

Jeongin: Hyung, she's an angel, how could you?

Felix: We’re literally trying to save you from yourself.

Minho: Well don't.

---

Minho hated himself. He absolutely hated himself. But he couldn't dwell on the self hate because Jisung just sent a video of Minho pacing his living room like a caged animal, while ranting about you being gone.

---

Hyunjin: Wow. Ok.

Minho: 🙄

Minho: Stop. Just stop.

Chan: Look, you’re obviously miserable. Why not just talk to her?

Seungmin: Yeah, genius. It’s not like she doesn’t live 20 feet away.

Minho: What if she doesn’t feel the same?

Jeongin: I'm sorry, but you’re an idiot.

Hyunjin: Dude. She liked you enough to start this whole thing. You just have to get over your dumb commitment issues.

Changbin: Honestly, just confess. Worst-case scenario, you cry into Dori.

Minho: I hate you all.

Jisung: Hate is a strong word for someone who’s about to sob into his cat.

Minho: Fine. I’ll talk to her.

---

Minho sat on his couch, heart pounding as he stared at your number on his phone. He’d been backed into a corner by his idiot friends, and now there was no escape.

And knowing you, he had a feeling that this was going to be the single most difficult task ever.

With a frustrated groan, he stood and grabbed his hoodie. He was going to do this. Because he loved you so much, and he was miserable without you.

Across the hall, in your apartment, you were getting some work done, sipping on coffee. You heard the doorbell, and when you opened the door, you saw Minho - disheveled, nervous, and yet, as handsome as ever. And your traitorous heart did that stupid thing it always did around him.

“Hey,” he said softly, eyes meeting yours. “Can we talk?”

Minho hadn’t been this nervous in a long time. He stood at your doorstep, heart racing, and palms sweaty, his usual confidence nowhere to be seen.

And he confessed. Nothing dramatics. Just a straightforward, “I love you.”

You'd stared at him as if trying to figure out if he was high. Or had hit his head somewhere. Or if he was simply horny.

But no. Then came his little speech. I know I don't deserve you. I was an asshole (of course he was). I was afraid (as if you weren't). And more than anything - I hurt you. And I hate myself for it. Ok now that you could work with.

But as hard as you tried, sometimes you just couldn't contain that bratty side of you (one that he apparently loved).

You crossed your arms, glaring at him like he’d just run over your dog.

“You can’t just waltz over here, say ‘I love you,’ and expect me to fall into your arms,” you snapped, looking infuriatingly hot with your brows furrowed and your lips pursed in defiance. “You rejected me, Minho. Do you know much that hurt me?”

His stomach twisted.

“I… I wasn’t ready -” he stuttered, looking terrified.

“Yeah, well, now I’m not ready,” you said, taking a step back and slamming the door in his face for dramatic effect.

You leaned against the door, fuming and freaking out all together. Your hands shook so hard as you wrapped your head around the fact that Minho just confessed to you and you slammed the door on his face.

And Minho stood in the hallway, a mix of shock, frustration, and - God help him - arousal bubbling under the surface. You were bratty when you were mad, of course. It made him want to kiss you and throttle you all at once.

---

Minho: She hates me.

Hyunjin: No, she doesn't. She slammed the door on your face didn't she?

Minho: How the hell are you so accurately right?

Jeongin: It's his thing.

Felix: What happened?

Jisung: Wait. Did you confess?

Minho: YES.

Minho: AND SHE SLAMMED THE DOOR IN MY FACE.

Hyunjin: Obviously.

Chan: So she didn’t say no?

Jisung: LMFAO.

Jeongin: She’s mad at you? Yeah, no shit, Sherlock.

Minho: SHE SAID A SIMPLE “I LOVE YOU” WOULDN’T WORK ON HER. WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?!

Seungmin: It means she’s not an idiot.

Changbin: Exactly. You rejected her and took months to realize you’re in love. She deserves a little groveling.

Minho: GROVELING?

Felix: Oh, for sure.

---

He was not groveling. No way. Lee Minho didn't grovel. Hell no.

---

Jisung: Yeah, buddy. You gotta pull out all the stops now. Dinner, flowers, interpretive dance. The works.

Minho: STOP.

Hyunjin: Actually, the dance idea is kinda sexy. Imagine Minho doing a hip roll to apologize.

Felix: STOP IT. I’M WHEEZING.

Minho: CAN YOU ALL BE SERIOUS FOR TWO SECONDS?!

Chan: Look, the point is, you hurt her feelings. You need to show her that you’re serious.

Minho: How?! She's a damn brat. She enjoys torturing me.

Jisung: If she’s a brat, she’s gonna want to see you sweat.

Minho: She frustrates me.

Jisung: So you're sure you're just frustrated and not turned on right now?

---

Damn Jisung.

---

Jeongin: YAHHHH

Felix: You’re INTO IT???

Changbin: My man’s in love AND down bad.

Minho: Please.

Felix: Okay, focus. If groveling isn’t your style, do something you.

Hyunjin: Yeah. Seduce her with your weird cat boy energy or whatever.

Minho: You’re all useless.

Seungmin: Says the man who just admitted to being horny and clueless.

Chan: Minho, she clearly wants you to prove yourself. You’ve got to show her you’re willing to put in effort.

Hyunjin: Write her a song. Serenade her. Cry through it.

Minho: I don’t cry.

Jisung: LIES. I’ve seen you cry at those pet videos.

Minho: JISUNG YOU'RE DEAD.

Minho: What if she never forgives me?

Jeongin: She will. She’s just mad. Just play along.

Hyunjin: He’s right. Drama makes us hotter.

Minho: You're all insane 🙄

Chan: Insane but not wrong. Now, go apologize properly.

---

Minho paced his living room, his mind racing through ideas - romantic dinner? A heartfelt speech? Maybe just tossing himself at your feet and begging?

He needed a plan.

---

Minho: Fine. Give me ideas to make her forgive me.

Jisung: OHOHOHOHOHO.

Felix: Oh, this is gonna be good.

Hyunjin: Okay, everyone, let’s brainstorm.

Changbin: Classic dinner and flowers. Can’t go wrong.

Jisung: No, no. She’s mad. You need to go BIG. Like, dramatic big.

Minho: Like what? Fall to my knees in the rain?

Hyunjin: YES. Bonus points if you sob.

Minho: I’m not doing that.

Seungmin: You’re all useless. Look, Minho, she’s mad because you hurt her. You need to make her feel special. Do something that shows you actually care.

Jisung: STRIPTEASE.

Chan: Jisung.

Felix: WAIT. THAT’S ACTUALLY KIND OF FUNNY.

Hyunjin: Picture this. You show up at her door, music playing, and just start taking things off.

Minho: I want to win her back. Not make her think I'm horny.

Jisung: Coward.

---

Obviously he knew this would happen. He knew it.

---

Chan: Okay, let’s regroup. Minho, what does she like?

Minho: Being mad at me, apparently.

Jeongin: Sounds like she has taste.

Minho: She likes reading. And baking. And…dancing.

Felix: Aha! Bake her something!

Hyunjin: And while it’s baking, do a little dance. Shirtless.

Jisung: OOOH. Combine the ideas. Show up with baked goods and then do the striptease.

Minho: Oh my God.

Seungmin: You could apologize like a normal person, you know.

Felix: Where’s the fun in that?

Jisung: No, no. We need something iconic.

Felix: Okay, serious suggestion: Show her that you actually listened to her. Her favorite food? Or something thoughtful that shows you care about what she likes.

Minho: Like…?

Hyunjin: Cook her favorite meal.

Chan: Or bring her flowers that mean something.

Jisung: Or do the striptease.

Minho: STOP WITH THE STRIPTEASE.

Felix: It’s not a bad idea, you know. Women love confidence.

Minho: I’ll do the cooking idea. But if this backfires, I'm gonna hunt each one of you down and then see what happens.

Jisung: Lies. You’ll be back to cry about it.

---

Minho got to work. He spent hours perfecting your favorite meal, rehearsing his apology in front the mirror, and trying not to think about how much he wanted to kiss you. God, he just wanted to cuddle you and tell you how much his life sucked without you in it.

When he finally knocked on your door, you opened it to find him standing there, holding so many containers of food and looking uncharacteristically nervous.

“Hi,” he said, voice soft. “Can I come in?”

You crossed your arms, and sighed.

"Minho, I really don't have the time-"

"I made your favorite," he said, holding up the containers. "And I will grovel if that's what it takes."

You did love it when he cooked for you.

“This better be good.”

Minho stood in your living room, wringing his hands as you sat on the couch, glaring at him. He set the food on the coffee table and looked at you, his sharp tongue failing him for once.

“I was afraid,” he finally said, voice low.

“Afraid of what? Being happy?” You asked, arching an eyebrow.

Minho winced.

“Yes. No. I mean…God, I don’t know. You’re everything to me, okay? And I was scared I’d ruin it. And then I did ruin it, and now I’m standing here like an idiot, begging you to let me fix it.”

“You… you really mean that?” You asked, your voice softer now, your eyes obviously filling up with tears.

“I’ve been a mess without you. I love you and I’m sorry it took me so long to realize it, but I do. I love you, and I’ll spend as long as it takes proving it to you.” he whispered, and you sighed, standing up and stepping closer to him.

“You’re such a dumbass, you know that?”

“Yeah, I've been told.”

And then he cupped your cheeks with his hands and kissed you. Rough and messy, the tension melting away as your arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer.

“You better not mess this up.” you muttered against his lips.

“Not a chance.”

---

Minho: We’re trying the relationship thing.

Felix: OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG!!

Hyunjin: FINALLY.

Jisung: Thank you 🙏

Changbin: Congrats, lover boy.

Chan: Proud of you, Minho.

Felix: Did she like the food?

Minho: Um, it kinda went cold. She’s heating it up now.

Hyunjin: LMAO.

Jisung: What about the striptease? Did you do it?

Minho: 🙄🙄🙄

Jisung: ANSWER THE QUESTION, COWARD.

Minho: We did strip. So… hehe.

Felix: SIR.

Hyunjin: NOT THE “HEHE.”

Jisung: I CAN’T BREATHE.

Changbin: YOU DOG.

Chan: Minho, for the love of God.

Minho: You asked.

Jisung: My dude really said, “She forgave me, and then we got NAKED.” ICONIC.

Jeongin: Please. I just came here to see if Minho hyung was still single, and now I want to bleach my brain.

Chan: Can we not, for once, be so feral?

Hyunjin: You’re in the wrong chat for that, Christopher.

Jisung: Anyway, so… did you, like, destroy the house or… ?

Minho: I will never speak to any of you again.

Jisung: YOU CAN’T JUST DROP “WE STRIPPED” AND THEN LEAVE.

Felix: It’s called a cliffhanger, Ji. Let the man be mysterious.

Hyunjin: Yeah, mysterious about how whipped he is.

Felix: Totally

Divider: @saradika-graphics

Tags: @moonchild9350 @velvetmoonlght @eastjonowhere @pixie-felix @sailor--sun @chancloud8 @captainchrisstan @hansmic @emilyywhyy @hanadulsetaad

#skz #stray kids #lee know x reader #lee know x you #lee know x y/n #lee know fluff #lee know angst #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids fluff #skz fluff

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womanofwords · 4 months ago

Text

Frozen Heart (Part 1)

TW: hospitals, descriptions of injuries.

It wasn't easy being the child of Bruce Wayne. Admittedly, your living situation was better than most; Wayne Manor was nothing to sniff at. You had a problem many rich kids had: parents that gave you everything they physically could except themselves and their love.

School was pretty good, too. You were the pride of Gotham Prep: great grades and involved in many school-run extracurriculars. You were responsible for a fair amount of the accolades the school boasted in its many trophy cabinets.

And how were you repaid for your efforts? Your family ignored you (at best) and your classmates hated you.

"You think you're so great just because you're a Wayne, huh?" The leader, Karl, looked at you like you spat on their entire bloodline as he punched you in that alleyway. You would have dodged if it wasn't for two of his cronies holding your arms. "You're just laughing at all of us behind our backs, aren't you? Well, there's nothing funny now, suck-up!"

"Karl, I'm not-" Your words were cut off by a punch to the head, right in the eye. You didn't see anything after that; Karl's punch had luckily knocked you out cold. But that doesn't mean that your peer-decided punishment was over. You were kicked, punched, spat on, and stamped on while unconscious, a boot print staining the back of your school uniform. When they had their fill of violence, they left you in a cold, filthy Gotham alley in the middle of winter.

You weren't found until hours later, by a guy who'd only gone into the alleyway to take a leak. "Oh shit!" he said, hurriedly doing up his fly and rushing into the nearest bar. "There's a kid in the alleyway! Someone beat 'em up bad! Could someone call an ambulance before they freeze to death? They look like they've been there a while."

It took the ambulance an hour to get there, along with the police. "How did you come across them?" a cop asked your good Samaritan bystander.

"I was going to take a leak in the alley they were in and saw 'em on the floor," they said. "Are they going to be OK? They aren't dead, are they?"

"They're alive, but barely," the paramedic said. "You did the right thing by calling us."

Your battered body was loaded into the ambulance, which squealed off to Gotham Hospital. Hopefully, you'd make it through the night without incident.

Hopefully.

Taglist: @tinybrie, @bunniotomia.

#creative writing #my writing #writing inspiration #writers #writing #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity #platonic yandere #yandere #yandere batfam #batfam

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logansdoll · 1 year ago

Note

Heyyy. Ok really cheesy but I’d like to request a Logan x reader friends to lovers where it’s like an accidental confession. Maybe someone makes fun of the reader and Logan without thinking about it just starts yelling and defending why the reader is great and everything he loves about her? Ik it’s a little OOC but maybe he gets so mad (as Wolverine does) that he gets all mushy without realizing lol. Thanks ❤️❤️

lotus

while on library duty, Logan overhears two girls talking shit about you... and corrects it quickly.

CW: sorry i went in a little different direction, suggestive, profanity, takes place during the timeline of the og X-Men, these girls are bitches, etc.

"I just don't get what's the big deal about her," Maya scoffed, resting her cheek in her palm as she thoughtlessly flipped through her biology textbook.

Talia nodded, glancing up from her notes with an excitement that screamed nothing to do.

"No, seriously," she agreed. "Like we get it... you can grow shit. Big deal."

That piqued Logan's interest.

With Jean and Scott off on a date, the professor away, and you and Ororo teaching a joint class, he was slapped with library duty—watching the kids during their scheduled study period.

Now, originally, he planned on simply plopping himself down in a corner and puffing his cigar, hoping to fall asleep and just ride out his sentence.

And he was halfway there, too.

But just as he was about to catch some Zs, his hearing picked up on a conversation between two older girls who seemed to be trash talking his girlfriend.

"Word," Maya turned the next page, a grimace settling on her face when she noticed the image of a flower.

One you were very vocal about liking.

"She won't shut up about these stupid lotus flowers either... Hey! Did you guys know that the lotus is considered sacred in many Eastern cultures? And it often symbolizes purity, beauty, and rebirth!"

Talia let out an obnoxious snicker, the impression not nearly as funny as what she was making it to be.

But maybe she just hated you that much...

"You sound just like her," she commended, very much amused. "Only she's always smiling. Like I've never seen her frown before... it's almost creepy."

"Seriously creepy. But Peter can't get enough of it... you know he has a crush on her, right?"

"Seriously?!"

Logan let out a quiet chuckle, tickled by the news.

He'd caught the boy staring at you during a few Danger Room sessions, but didn't think much of it, assuming he'd just caught him while he happened to be looking in your direction.

Oh, how wrong he was...

He couldn't wait to tell you later tonight.

"Mhmm. Half the boys at school nearly fall over themselves to make sure they're not late to her class... It's almost funny."

"Funny, my ass. Why'd it have to be Peter?" Talia huffed, tossing her pencil at the textbook in frustration. "She's not even that pretty. I've had dogs that look better than her."

Maya attempted to muffle a snicker, but Logan heard it loud and clear, his brows furrowing at the horrible comment.

"I'm serious. She puts up this whole nice and innocent act, but I bet she's a raging bitch behind closed doors."

That was it.

All the stuff before was just normal, teenage jealousy; something he'd—albeit reluctantly—let slide.

But calling you out of your name?

Insulting your character?

Comparing you to a dog?

A line had to be drawn.

"Tali, you can't say that," Maya chuckled, glancing around to make sure no one was listening.

"Like I care," she scoffed, rolling her eyes. "I'd tell it to her face if I ever got the chance. Just walk right up to her and say—"

"Say what?"

The girls nearly jumped out their skin, whipping around, only to be met by Logan's arched brow, the man leaning up against a bookshelf as he puffed on his cigar.

They were at a loss for words, unable to say anything under his imposing presence.

"Don't get shy now," he goaded, crossing his arms over his chest. "Go on. Tell me what you're gonna say to Dr. (l/n)."

The two were practically frozen, frantically glancing at each other for assistance, Logan's eyes flicking between the two expectantly.

"Nothing?" he hummed. "That's funny... 'cause you both seemed to have plenty of shit to say earlier."

Both their faces fell almost instantly, the color practically draining from Talia.

"You heard that?" Maya squeaked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Every word," Logan nodded. "And what I managed to gather from it was that you both just can't stand her because she's kind, passionate, pretty, and beloved."

He listed each trait off on his fingers, glancing at the two for confirmation.

"How's that? Am I in the ballpark?"

They remained silent, hanging their heads in embarrassment as Logan's confrontation had garnered the attention of the whole library.

"Well, then, how's this..." he pulled the cigar out his mouth. "I'll let you both off this time with a warning... but if I catch either of you trash talkin' anybody again, teacher or student, you're grounded."

"'Til when?" Talia asked, nervously.

"'Til I tell you you're not."

The end of day bell punctuated his statement, a flourish of shutting books and closing pencil cases muffling the girls' sighs of relief.

"Now get outta here."

He had never seen two students pack up so fast.

They were gone in T-minus ten, and once the library was cleared out, Logan allowed himself to sit down, letting out his own sigh.

He could've tore into them infinitely worse—and he honestly wanted to for that dog comment—but he figured that was the right, and legal, amount for a teacher.

But even still...

'I dunno how a girl who can only float two inches off the ground is talkin' about (n/n) havin' a shitty power...'

#james howlett #james howlett x reader #logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #mcu #mcu x reader #wolverine x reader #x men #x men x reader #wolverine

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racew1nn3rs · 1 year ago

Text

─ 𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘦 𝘪𝘪. (𝘮𝘢𝘺𝘰𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦) 🍊

⤷ summary: saudi arabian and australian grands prix happen! y/n starts making vlogs for the races and it reveals more about her and a certain driver's feelings than she hoped, not that she notices. poor oscar's stuck in the middle of it all but he's trying his best!

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liked by f1, landonorris, and 55,007 others

tagged landonorris and oscarpiastri

mclaren saudi arabia, you were beautiful even if the results weren't! ready for what's to come

12,567 comments

user1 admin not using a single nice photo of the drivers 😭

user2 admin be honest is this your revenge era

mclaren well, yes!

user3 HELP MEEEE

user4 the way lando looks at her 😭

user5 this is a place of business

user6 oscar looks petrified 💀

mclaren dw guys we're still training him!

oscarpiastri wtf why would u say it like that, i'm not a dog

mclaren full-time team mascot, part time driver

user7 admin drop the insta your so pretty 😭😭

user8 no literally, content of her WHERE

mclaren ynusername 🤲🏼

user9 LETS FUCKING GO

user10 HER DISSING HER OWN TEAM 💀 THEY'RE GONNA FIRE YOU GIRL

mclaren they don't pay me to LIE

user11 CRAZYY

user12 LANDO IS NEVER GETTING A GOOD PIC EVER AGAIN 😭

mclaren what can i say, i am no mans peace 🥱

user13 icon

landonorris reporting you to hr

mclaren for what

landonorris idk harrassment or something

mclaren ok keyboard warrior, lets calm down 💀

user14 KEYBOARD WARRIOR HELEPSJSM

user15 i vote admin just takes over and we don't even get driver pictures

user16 real and true

user17 i fear we may have lost the plot

user18 thoughts on today's results

mclaren i'm trying to be positive in general but man

user19 LMAOOOOO

user20 ik the pr department is shaking in their boots after every post notif

mclaren probably! but unfortunately for everyone, i am going to keep doing whatever i want

user21 no more lando beef, mclaren admin?

mclaren i forget but i never forgive. i forgot why we were fighting but i stay hating bitches 🥱

landonorris literally WHAT DID I DO

mclaren IDK BUT IK U PISSED ME OFF 🫵

oscarpiastri diabolical photo choice

oscarpiastri i look like a little kid on picture day

mclaren so basically your everyday look

oscarpiastri yk what you are making this work environment very hostile

mclaren i can make it more hostile if you want 🤨

oscarpiastri nevermind!!!

maxfewtrell most flattering lando picture i've seen in years

mclaren that's saying something isn't it 🤩

user22 i went to haterville and they all knew you admin

mclaren they actually just elected me mayor there!!! 💪🏻

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liked by bsfusername, landonorris, and 17,800 others

ynusername if my admin duties don't kill me, i promise my caffeine addiction will! (:

3,422 comments

user23 be honest, how many coffees have you had today

ynusername 3!

user24 oh that's not that bad

ynusername +5

user24 JESUS CHRSUT

bsfusername at this point i think meth would be healthier

ynusername honestly yeah

ynusername thanks for the suggestion!!

user25 nooo admin don't do meth ur so sexy aha

ynusername that just made me want to do meth more

landonorris so what i'm hearing is buying you an espresso machine would get me in your good graces 😇

user26 oh brother here he goes

ynusername you must be deaf then

landonorris 😔 2 espresso machines?

ynusername i don't want ur dirty espresso machines 🙄

oscarpiastri now what car is that 🫵

ynusername SHHHHH

oscarpiastri TRAITOR

bsf2username when your not busy being super sexy on a race track, can we go thrifting and get sweetgreen and overpriced coffee 🙏🏼🙏🏼

ynusername this could've been an email, get this out of my comments 💀

ynusername but yeah obviously

user27 admin vlogs when 😔

ynusername SOON!!! very very soon

user28 mother feeding us once again

ynusername brb, adding single mom who works two jobs, loves her kids, and never stops to my resume

danielricciardo coffee recipe where?

ynusername in your dms now ‼️

danielricciardo is this flirting

ynusername no if i was flirting i would've told you to ask me in person, i'm just being charitable

landonorris can i get the coffee recipe too then 🤲🏼

ynusername wdy want next, my mugs? keep on walking charity case

user29 CHARITY CASE IS CRAZYDFHAJ

user30 she's so effortlessly funny and mean i love her

user31 i feel like this is so unprofessional /:

ynusername babe professional where, you are on??? my personal?? account???

user32 maybe she's born with it, maybe it's the fact that she's consumed enough caffeine to tranquelize a horse

user33 oh please the horse would be dead

ynusername call an ambulance, BUT NOT FOR ME ‼️💪🏻🗣️

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ynusername posted to story!

(caption: melbourne vlog out now on youtube, go watch!!)

15,221 replies

━━━━━━ ༻✩₊⋆☾⋆⁺✧༺ ━━━━━━

would you like to watch? yes or no

now loading...

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"This thing better be working," could be heard slightly muffled in between vague shuffling sounds. After a second or two of incoherent noise, the camera footage finally came on. Y/N smiled at herself in the camera as the recording light blinked to life, and raised her hand victoriously. She grabbed the smile microphone in front of her and laughed, "It looks like everything is working. Thank God, I wouldn't have known how to fix it otherwise."

"Alright everybody, welcome to the first race weekend vlog hosted by me! Your favorite McLaren admin and social manager. It took me forever to figure out how I wanted to go about this, but now I think I settled on a format that will work," She explained as she walked around the small, clean kitchen that was within frame of the camera. She pulled a glass jar out of her cabinets and left it on the counter before pulling a jug of cold brew and a cartridge of milk out of her fridge.

"It is currently 7:30 A.M on March 29th, and I have a flight to Melbourne in 3 hours. I'm already packed and ready for this weekend, but I wanted to get an introduction filmed and I wanted to take a shower before I left." Y/N paused for a moment as she poured the coffee into her mason jar until she seemed satisfied and began to add some milk. "I am totally exhausted so this is probably cup one of like," she laughed, "I don't know seven probably. And this is a pretty big jar I won't lie."

"The race weekend doesn't technically start until Friday, so I'll be getting there a bit early, but I wanted to film some content before the race weekend gets really hectic, so McLaren is sending me a little bit earlier. I'm excited though! I love the heat, even if I live in London the antithesis of Australian weather," she taste-tested her coffee and hummed in delight.

"God I really never miss with this stuff," she said contently. "Anyway, it's a bit of an early start today, but I'll have plenty of time to sleep on the fight. I mean can you believe that London to Melbourne is a nearly 22 hours," she scoffed. "I vote that we start making all of the races in one place so I don't have to feel jet lag more painful than the force of 1,000 suns every other weekend. Not that I'm complaining," she chuckled awkwardly, "I love my job McLaren please don't fire me."

Abruptly an orange tabby cat came into the frame of the camera, causing Y/N to abruptly grab her glass jar in the hopes of avoiding a mess. She gasped, but laughed as the cat scampered off as quickly as it had come. She shook her head fondly.

"That, ladies and gentleman, was Cali! My cat. She's literally my baby, and I love her more than anything else on this earth. However, she does have an affinity for hitting things off of counters and breaking them. She also hates men and nearly all other animals, so she's basically the world's biggest hazard to society. She's a good girl, I love her." Y/N explained between sips of coffee as she stared wistfully past the the frame of the camera, where it could be assumed Cali had gone.

Abruptly an alarm went off and Y/N threw her head back with a groan.

"That means I have to get in the shower and get ready so I can leave on time," she said, before taking a few more sips of coffee. "I'm going to go do that, and the next time you'll hear my beautiful voice will be at the Melbourne Airport! Cue the travel montage!"

An assortment of clips follow. Y/N is seen dragging her luggage through Heathrow Airport. Y/N is seen ordering another coffee at the airport, finishing the coffee, and ordering another before her flight. Y/N is seen responding to emails from her airplane seat, editing video footage, and responding to instragram and twitter comments. Footage is shown outside the plane window of a cloudy, blue sky and a time lapse is shown as the sky grows beautiful shades of pink and red before becoming a starry-night sky. Y/N is seen cozy in a throw blanket and a travel pillow, presumably asleep with headphones on. Y/N is shown pulling her luggage through the airport once again, with a brand new coffee cup in hand. She smiles, taking a sip before she is seen settled down in a seat in the bustling airport.

"Twenty-two or so hours later and I have finally landed in Melbourne. I'm waiting for my Uber to get here so I can finally be taken to my hotel to drop my stuff off. I have a meeting with the McLaren drivers in two hours, but luckily I slept really well on the plane. I don't know how else I would be able to deal with Lando Norris. I'm going to finish this coffee in order to maximize my tolerance for the next few hours, but I suspect I'll be getting a new coffee before I reach that meeting. My addiction truly knows no bounds," she laughs, trying to ignore the people vaguely shown within frame that are staring at her speaking to a camera.

The camera cuts abruptly and the waiting screen from SpongeBob flashes on the screen, including the narrator's voice reading "2 hours later."

Y/N is shown once again in new clothes, a new coffee cup in hand, and luggage replaced by a small canvas bag. Her comfortable plane clothes have been swapped out for jean shorts and a plain white tank-top. Her hair is clipped back out of her face, and she is adorned with simple gold jewelry and light makeup.

Y/N smiles at the camera as she walks, bustling and talking heard around her, before whispering into the small microphone, "I have arrived at the McLaren garage. It is now time to meet with Lord Lando and workplace mascot Oscar Piastri," the titles slip off her tongue sarcastically and she doesn't bother suppressing an eye-roll.

In the next clip, Oscar and Lando are seen seated on either side of her as they sit in what seems like a board-room. Lando leans over and whispers something that the camera doesn't pick up and Oscar laughs while Y/N grimaces and reaches forward to readjust the camera. When the camera comes back on, Lando and Oscar are seated together on the left of Y/N as she faces on angle toward both them and the camera.

"Don't just sit there and look pretty, say hello to the camera boys," Y/N says and Oscar cackles at the disgruntled look on Lando's face.

"Is that your way of calling me pretty Y/N," Lando chokes out between laughs, and Y/N scoffs with an eye-roll.

"I was actually talking about Oscar, but whatever floats your little papaya boat Norris," Y/N deadpans and Oscar doubles over from the force of his laughter at the pout on Lando's face.

"That's not nice at all, I hope you know that. I think I am sitting here very prettily, thank you very much," Lando says, leaning into the girl next to him to speak into her microphone.

Y/N draws the microphone back, swatting him away, "Yes, yes quite prettily," Y/N mocks in a British accent.

Oscar, still trying to recover, joins in, "Pretty little Lando Norris," and Y/N laughs jovially, reaching across Lando as if the boy weren't there to high-five the Austrialian driver.

"Bullies, the lot of you," Lando mumbles and Y/N brushes off his comment without response before finally facing the camera.

"Anyway, welcome to the first McLaren race weekend vlog. I'm Y/N L/N, the best media manager in the whole god damn world, and this is Lando Norris, the biggest pain in my ass, and Oscar Piastri, the second biggest pain in my ass. How are you feeling about Melbourne boys?" Y/N questions, transitioning smoothly much to the British driver's chagrin.

"Feeling proud to be the second biggest pain in the ass and not the first. Probably the only time i've been glad to get second actually," Oscar comments and Y/N laughs as Lando shakes his head in disappointment.

"But in all seriousness it is good to be home, this is easily my favorite race of the year seeing as it's my home race and i'm looking forward to, hopefully, good results from our team," Oscar supplies and Y/N nods along to his words.

"Yes, Australia, we are in you and we are happy about it," both boys choked out a laugh at the manager's sexual innuendo and Oscar quickly covered his mouth with his hand so as not to react too much. "What about you Lando what are you feeling," Y/N questioned, leaning the small microphone to the boy.

"Feeling like that was a stupid joke. And also like I am going to be getting P1 this weekend. I can feel it in my bones."

"Leave my jokes alone Lando, you're not being paid to be a critic," she scoffed, "and if I recall, you said the same thing in Saudi Arabia not that long ago. What's changed now?"

Lando rolled his eyes, "What's changed is that we're in Australia now and I'm feeling much more confident."

"Well thank god for that," Y/N supplied unhelpfully as Oscar laughed.

"Now, what we really came here for, it's time to film a video for this channel, it's going to be a fan Q and A, I picked the questions. By the time this vlog is up, the QnA should've already been posted. So feel free to stop watching this and to go watch that or whatever," Y/N commented. "After that we're going to film a TikTok challenge," both and Lando and Oscar grimaced, but Y/N ignored their dismay at the idea of fiming yet another TikTok, so cue the montage! Filming time!" Y/N exclaimed and the screen transitioned to a new series of clips.

In the first clip Oscar and Lando were sitting in two chairs while Y/N sat across from them with a set of notecards.

"Lando, this question from user "ln4mania" asks, "Are you and admin actually friends? Or is the online beef real? The people demand answers!" Y/N reads off with a laugh.

"Do you hear that, the people demand answers Lando! Don't keep them waiting!" Oscar and Y/N laugh as Lando shakes his head and tucks his face into his hands.

"There is no beef, guys. Me and admin, or rather me and Y/N are just fine. We hadn't even actually met when that happened," Lando supplied between laughs. Y/N looked at the camera and rolled her eyes with a shake of her head, faux-disagreeing with the boy.

She ignored the simmering pit of disappointment in her stomach. She did in fact have a problem with entitled little Lando Norris who still gave her side-eyed looks and judgmental stares whenever he saw her. If that wasn't humiliating enough, Oscar had clearly noticed it too, which just gave Y/N the feeling that she wasn't being taken seriously at all now that Oscar understood Lando's lack of respect for Y/N. However that didn't matter in the current moment. All that mattered was making this video.

The next clip showed Lando and Oscar sitting at a table with bowls of water in front of them and towels strewn across a chair just within frame of the camera. Y/N stood behind them, hands rested in their hair as she reacted to the prompts being read by someone, an unnamed media intern, off-camera.

"Who is harder to make videos with?" The intern asked and Y/N huffed out a laugh as she let her hands fully grasp Lando's curls and push him into the water quickly. He sputtered, trying to blink the water out of his eyes as Y/N laughed at the wet-puppy dog look he was sporting.

Y/N tried to shake the ridiculous desire to let her hands run through the soft curls underneath her finger tips. Curse Lando and whatever stupidly good, rich-person hair routine he used that made him smell good and look good, and... whatever.

Lando, blinking water out of his eyes, was now undoubtedly certain that being damn-near waterboarded was worth it if it meant that Y/N would laugh like that again. He knew Oscar would harass him again later for being "down-bad" or something along those lines- as he had done every time he caught the man staring-, but as he caught a glimpse of Y/N's bright smile and shaking shoulders, he found he didn't really care.

The next clip showed Oscar, Lando, Y/N, and a laughing media intern as they all dried off- somehow all having become wet through the course of filming. Y/N dried herself off quickly, taking a sip of her newly refilled coffee, not seeing the way that only the camera and Oscar saw Lando stared at her until the driver was nudged back into focus on drying himself off.

A title-card once again came on the screen with white words on a photo collage of Australian grand-prix candids that Y/N had taken, reading "Race montage? More likely than you'd think."

Footage was shown of the free practice sessions. Oscar and Lando getting in and out of their cars. Engineers along the pit wall going over data. The team speaking incoherently, going over the game plan for Sunday's race. Oscar and Lando greeting fans, signing merch, and posing for photos. Y/N smiling and waving at a cheering crowd of people before staring at the camera incredulously with a small caption reading: "Omg she's famous your honor". More clips showed Lando laughing as Oscar tossed grapes and Lando moved to catch them with his mouth. Lando nearly choking as Y/N cackled in the background. Multiple clips showing Y/N with a fresh coffee, and another... and another, as Oscar's face in the background grew with concern. Zak Brown explaining to Y/N the dangers of caffeine overdose, and the need for moderation. Y/N explaining to Zak Brown that without coffee she would simply collapse and die, which the camera showed did nothing to ease her concern. Y/N getting caps signed by the drivers for fans and walking away with intricate friendship bracelets decorating her wrists.

And finally footage of the race. The engineers in the garage. The pit-crew changing tires. The cars racing past as Y/N watched attentively. Footage of the crowd as they cheered when the cars whizzed past. Smiling faces of fans. Y/N's cheers as Oscar and Lando passed. The smiling faces of McLaren employees as Lando and Oscar crossed the checkered flag in P6 and P8 respectively.

Y/N accepting hugs from both drivers, ignoring the burning sensation in her stomach as Lando wrapped his arms around her with a smile and a laugh. Y/N calling Lando smelly and telling him to go wash off if he wants to hug her next time, and him rolling his eyes at her fondly before making a face at the camera. The podium celebration is shown and Y/N smiles as the anthem plays, even though it's not for her own team.

The final clip is shown of Y/N in her hotel room, comfortable in sweats as she sits on the unmade bed.

"Not bad results this week guys! P6 for Lando and P8 for Oscar, which are good points for the team. I'm happy on my end, I think we got some good content filmed, and I am now ready to go to sleep so I can get home to Cali and my own bed quicker. I hope you enjoyed this video, and if you didn't don't tell me because I don't care!" Y/N jokes with a smile.

"Hopefully I will see you all at the next race, if not the race after that! Bye papaya fans, and be sure to follow us on instagram and all of the other social platforms!" Y/N exclaimed, gesturing to the list of the social media handles that appeared on her right hand side.

And with that, the camera cut to black.

━━━━━━ ༻✩₊⋆☾⋆⁺✧༺ ━━━━━━

liked by oscarpiastri, maxverstappen1, and 29,145 others

ynusername afraid to report that i fought jetlag and lost 😔 i did sleep for 25 hours straight after melbourne and i had no clue where i was when i woke up! shout out cali for waking me up 🙏🏼 best friend frl

9,547 comments

bsfusername i'm going to try not to be offended by that caption (love you bb cali) but FUCK YOU CAUSE I BOUGHT YOUR ASS BREAKFAST

ynusername my bad! s/o to that bomb ass omlette 🤩

bsfusername never doing shit for you again

user34 that vlog was god tier, how long did that take

ynusername it took 7 hours of editing and years off my life, thanks so much for asking 🥳

maxverstappen1 thanks again for those podium photos! you have a gift for photography 💪🏻

ynusername don't mention it! 👍🏼

ynusername (no seriously, mclaren might behead me)

mclaren beheading is so last year. firing squad. 🗣️

user35 not y/n threatening herself 💀

oscarpiastri suprised your body didn't naturally wake up for coffee

ynusername it did! just 25 hours later

user36 your poor cat was literally starving for a whole day? youre a horrible owner

ynusername let me introduce you to god's greatest creation: the automatic feeder!!! i'm sure they can mail one to whatever fucking rock you live under!

user37 PERIODDDD

user38 me personally? i'd never log on again

user39 she needs a personal channel 🙏🏼🙏🏼 i'd subscribe

user40 her cat is so cute 😭😭😭 gimme that

ynusername 🫵 STAY BACK HEATHEN, NO ONE TOUCHES CALI AND LIVES

user40 my bad fam 🧍🏻‍♀️

user41 i want someone to love me as much as she loves that mean ass cat

landonorris don't you have a job to be doing 💀💀 she slept through a full work day

user42 lando always on her ass and for whattttt

user43 obsessed obsessed obsessed

ynusername i had the day off! but not the guy who was streaming video games coming for me 🥱 talking bout get a job

user44 lando and y/n beefing on insta again? we're so back

user45 at this point instagram comment beef isn't enough, they need to duel or some shit

user46 the caffeine addiction almost got her guys

ynusername i wish it would, then i wouldn't have to work with lando's annoying ass

landonorris I CAN SEE YOUR COMMENTS???

ynusername THAT'S THE POINT

user47 honestly just give her a gun atp, these men test her too damn much

━━━━━━ ༻✩₊⋆☾⋆⁺✧༺ ━━━━━━

user48 NURSE 🫵 SHE'S RIGHT HERE

user49 no fr, like let's get back to bed grandma

user50 OP, are you concussed?

user51 no actually cause didn't y/n just say she wanted to khs working with him 💀💀

pastryboy81 that sign can't stop me, because i can't read!

user53 OK I ACTUALLY SEE THE VISION

user54 ARE YOUR EYES CLOSED???!1!1

user55 i fear i totally get it 😔

user56 it's giving enemies to lovers, secret relationship type vibe lowkkkk

user57 no deadass like he hugged her reallll tight

user58 she also hugged oscar 😭😭?? and he has a whole gf

user59 the way she shoved him off and told him he reeked not 5 seconds after 💀 delusion is a disease yall

user60 someone call the f1 gossip pages cause 😗

user61 more like someone call the ward cause somethings real off with yall 🤨

━━━━━━ ༻✩₊⋆☾⋆⁺✧༺ ━━━━━━

sorry that this update took forever, i had surgery and recovery has been rougher than i expected! hope you enjoy!!

please leave your thoughts in the comments and feel free to drop a request for your fav in my asks <3

𝙩𝙖𝙜 𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

@lemon-lav @slutforpopculture @m4rt10ne @urfavsgf @sadsierra2 @96jnie @sltwins @poppyflower-22 @alliumiae @livelovesports @liberty-barnes @the-holy-trinity-l @iliwyss @awritingtree @redpool @elliotts1one @velentine @chaoticmessneutralplease @5sospenguinqueen @charizznorizz @2pagenumb @mxdi0 @cwiphswmwasohmm @tremendousstarlighttragedy @lnspipedrm @itseightbeats @tinycoffeeroom @woozarts @personwhoisther @a-beaverhausen @love-simon @annabellelee @ravisinghs-wife @chezmardybum @greantii @weekendlusting @monserelates @sapphiccloud @halleest @deamus-liv @gigigreens @morenofilm @laneyspaulding19 @lanireadss @dear-fifi @moldyshorts1997 @oliviarodrigostan13 @eugene-emt-roe @ilivbullyingjeongin @im-a-ghost666

#f1 x female reader #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #formula 1 #f1 #f1 smut #f1 x you #formula one #f1 imagine #f1 smau #lando norris smau #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n #lando norris fanfic #lando norris x reader #lando norris #lando norris imagine #racew1nn3rs #racew1nn3rs: fake it till you make it

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slutforguns · 6 months ago

Note

the club spying on jerry and the girl (reader) hes hanging out with cuz i feel like jerry is the only one who could have a slightly normal relationship with a girl and the club would hate it

I wanna thank you for giving me an excuse to write for my favorite character 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

Also yeah, your right. They'd fucking HATE it lol

Teen Jerry x fem!reader || Sneaking around

Josh let out an annoyed grunt as Pete was pushed against him in the tiny bush, while Bill stayed quiet, keeping his binoculars up and pointed at Jerry's window.

"Can you tell me why we're here, Bill?" Josh complained with a slightly bitter tone.

"Shut it, fatty. We're making sure Jerry doesn't die." Bill responded, sounding a little annoyed by the, in his eyes, pointless question.

"Die? To that chick?" Pete piped up, a little confused. "Ya kidding? She seems harmless."

But Bill just rolled his eyes.

Meanwhile, Jerry sat awkwardly on his couch, the movie he put on playing in the background as he tried to subtly glance over at you.

"S-So... You into Lord of The Rings?"

"Hm?" You hummed with confusion before realizing. "O-Oh! The movie? Yeah, it's good." You said awkwardly, looking away with a slightly embarrassed expression.

"Y-Yeah, I think so too..." He said with a nervous chuckle.

His knee bounced anxiously as he looked at the TV, his palms growing sweatier and sweatier by the minute.

A few minutes of awkward and tense silence passed over the two of you, before Jerry cleared his throat to get your attention.

"D-Do you want any snacks? I have popcorn?"

You nodded quietly, still not looking at him.

Bill scowled a little. "Jesus, what is he doing?" He asked himself under his breath.

"I dunno, can I go home now?" Pete asked with a bit so pleased tone as he played.

"No, Pete, we can't! If we do, we're gonna lose Jerry to some random pair of boobs!"

Pete just rolled his eyes. "God, fine.. fuck man." He mumbled under his breath as he sunk back down into the bushes.

Jerry came back with the popcorn, and awkwardly placed the bowl between the both of you.

You looked over at the bowl, then at Jerry, then at the TV screen.

As you reached for the bowl, Jerry did as well. (Ok it's cliche, but shut up.)

Jerry jumped a little at the contact and quickly pulled away.

You frowned a little at that. You let out a small sigh and stood up from the couch.

"Y'know, this was really sweet, but I-I should get going." You said sheepishly as you rubbed your forearm with your hand, shifting awkwardly where you stood.

Jerry frowned and reached out to grab your arm. "W-Wait! I-I just-..." He trailed off, not really sure what to say.

"Oh my God, what is he doing?" Bill mumbled under his breath as he continued stalking watching the two of you from a far.

Jerry looked up at you nervously. "You... You don't have to leave, I just-... Y'know, you, uh..." Crap. He has no idea what to say.

He let out a soft sigh and rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "L-Look, I know I'm not.. the best option, but I-I really like you. And I wanna prove it besides watching some stupid movie with you." He said, looking away so he wouldn't die of embarrassment. He can't believe he just called The Lord of The Rings stupid!

You looked down at him, and smiled just a bit. You reached out and cupped his face, before pressing your lips gently against his.

Bill's jaw dropped. "NO FUCKING WAY!" He shouted with rage and annoyance.

Josh looked over at Bill, and Pete woke up from the nap he was taking and shot up.

"What, Bill? What'd you see?" Josh asked eagerly, trying to grab the binoculars to see what was going on.

When Josh finally got the binoculars, he pointed them at Jerry's window, and his jaw dropped. "No way..."

Pete rolled his eyes. "Oh c'mon," he said as he snatched the binoculars, "you guys are being- holy shit Jerry's kissing her!" Pete exclaimed with a bit of surprise.

Jerry sat there frozen, before you pulled away. He was already missing the feeling of your lips on his.

You looked down at him, and smiled. "There's and ice cream shop a few blocks away. You, uh... Wanna go there instead?" You asked with a slightly nervous chuckle.

Jerry nodded. "Be-de-be-de-be-de... I-I mean yeah! I think I have twenty bucks if you're up for it!"

"I'd love that, Jer."

#welcome to eltingville #jerry stokes #the eltingville club x reader #eltingville club #jerry stokes x reader #eltingville #the eltingville club #eltingville jerry

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evilkitten3 · 2 years ago

Text

YES

i'll be honest, i doubt sakura was ever written with any sort of abnormally problematic home life in mind. mainly bc sakura was barely written with much of anything in mind outside of "there's a girl there. just in case people start thinking it's getting a bit faggy. if there's a love triangle with a girl then everything is automatically straight forever. also walking first aid kit! hooray less time in the hospital for the characters that matter"

having said that, by our standards, every parent completely fine with their kid training as a child soldier should be considered abusive, whether their intentions are good or not.

i'm tired and need to go to bed so this isn't going to be too well put-together, but i find it somewhat frustrating that people will bend over backwards to explain the hell out of any single detail for a character... so long as they fit a certain criteria (so not most of the girls, not most of the unattractive men, not a good chunk of the kumo nin... idk what it could be. sure sakura, danzou, and killer bee are all major characters who the story simply could not exist without, but i guess spending extra time analyzing them is just unappealing. for some incredibly bizarre eternally unknowable reason. guess it'll be a mystery forever what a shame)

but concerning sakura, a lot of people bring up how she's extremely callous towards naruto and sasuke's parental situations - which is true! but like, no one wants to think about that even a little bit? really? i'm autistic and bad at social cues, and i was worse at 12, and even then i knew it's kinda shitty to talk smack about an orphan for having no parents to another orphan. but sakura doesn't. that seemingly obvious no-no doesn't register with her. and if we're counting the movies (i usually don't but rtn was at least kinda funny at times so. eh) then she does something similar as a teenager when she complains about how annoying her parents are to a currently-sad-about-his-dead-parents naruto.

and it's strange bc sakura is generally portrayed as a fairly intelligent, observant character. but of the three members of the og team seven, she seems to have the least amount of emotional intelligence (she stops being emotionally deadlast once sai joins the team bc. well it's hard to beat good ol' danzou trauma) but it's baffling to me how neither the series nor a good chunk of the fanbase are remotely interested in that there's something clearly Not Quite Normal about her (aside from the sasuke fixation)

sakura, from the get-go, is the team's liar. sasuke's ability to give a shit about what other people think of him died with his family, and naruto was raised by discarded bowls of ramen, so it makes sense that of the three of them sakura is the best at hiding herself. but her awareness of that seems to fluctuate over the course of the series (it was much more prominent back before inner sakura got eaten by a space whale offscreen or whatever it was that happened to her). sakura routinely tries to shove herself into a mold that she very obviously (to the audience) doesn't fit, and we're never really shown why. she's desperate to escape ino's shadow initially, which makes sense, but even after becoming her rival sakura's sense of self is still very clearly,,,, Off. she can't decide who she is - or, rather, she can't decide how she wants the world to see her, nor fully restrain herself from pulling away from whichever role she's trying to push herself into.

the chuunin exams established that sakura's character arc was meant to be "blossoming" into herself, something that was never allowed to happen bc unfortunately the manga she's in is naruto. imo, her decision to go after and kill sasuke should have been the tipping point for her character - whether she got there early enough to hear danzou confirm what "madara" had said about itachi's true motives, or she healed karin on the spot and kakashi didn't get the chance to send her away from the exposition scene. or something else.

but regardless of what specifically it was, that should have been the moment where sakura (and sai, if he got away from the gas; i think he should have tbh) was faced with the truth about the uchiha massacre - and that naruto, kakashi, and yamato had all agreed to keep it quiet. i think seeing sasuke's grief and rage (and yes, borderline insanity at that point - trying to kill off both of the only two people you know who can heal you when you're seriously injured is not a wise decision, but in his defense it had been quite a Day) and knowing that not only was she supporting the system that caused it, but that people she was personally attached to were either involved in the carrying out or the covering up of what happened.

iirc tsunade was still in a coma at that point, so sakura wouldn't've have been able to go to her and demand to know whether she'd known the truth or not - she'd have to figure it out on her own. whether sakura would have deserted konoha for good or not is hard to say, but i think if she realized kakashi was trying to keep her in the dark about the massacre, she would have at least decided to heal sasuke (and karin) and hear their side of things.

hell, even with what happened in canon, sakura was the one who brought karin back to konoha, right? she could have just. stopped, healed her enough to get some answers, and then figured things out from there. plus seeing two smart, manipulative little assholes with a thing for the same uninterested guy engage in psychological warfare could have been awesome. but nooooo can't let sakura know things she might remember when she had a role in the story outside of boo-boo fixer......

Hm so as I’ve seen many people lump Sakura in with Naruto and Kakashi as ‘bootlickers who ignore all the state’s atrocities in favor of keeping that status quo’, so as both a radical and a Sakura fan I’d like to share why and how I think Sakura could be turned into a radical character.

This isn’t gonna go very deeply into her fighting abilities or any of that, it’s more an analysis of her personality and narrative role than anything.

Keep reading

#naruto #naruto shippuden #meta #long post #haruno sakura #i don't even really disagree with a lot of the criticism aimed at her i just think people go out of their way to be awful to her especially #''oh she's so useless she's so annoying the author hates her'' ok well all of that is kishimoto's fault not sakura's #bc y'know. she's not real. and has no say over her role in the story #at least sakura gets to have a few lines now and then concerning the fucked up shit she goes through... even if it's mostly about the boys #unlike poor hinata #hyuuga ''i was kidnapped as a 3yo for my dna but this is actually my cousin's sad backstory and i never get to have an opinion on it''#actually i'm not even sure we ever get confirmation that she knows it happened... she was unconscious when it was brought up #.......guys does hinata know she was kidnapped as a kid. genuine question did anybody ever bother to tell her #oh wait it doesn't matter she's just there to pine for naruto until he notices her #my poor girls deserve better. they could have at least gotten to kiss each other

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getitoutofmymindwrites · 1 month ago

Text

Something constant. | joel miller x f!reader, 9.1k

Summary: You are Tommy’s best friend, Joel’s constant complication- the one woman he can’t touch without breaking. But when years of tension finally snap, Joel has no choice but to face what he’s been running from: the fact that you’ve always been his, whether he deserves you or not.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, ANGST (like- I'm putting them through it like my life depends on it)(it does.), SMUT, reader is 5 yrs younger than Tommy, so that leaves a 10 yrs age gap with our man, emotional and physical abuse, toxic dynamics: mentions of abusive family but nothing descriptive or graphic, mentions of abusive boyfriends and unhealthy relationships in general but nothing descriptive or graphic, substance use: mentions of gambling and intense sexual content: grinding, nipple play, fingering, cum eating, unprotected PIV, dom!Joel. Please be aware and read responsibly.

A/N: Well, well, well- what do we have here? It’s been almost a year since I last posted anything of mine. This is not some breakthrough, or something you haven’t read before. For some reason, I decided to forgo dividers and use titles instead. Where did that come from? Lord knows. The writing and rhythm feel a bit different, especially in the beginning- don’t ask me to explain, I’m not a trained professional. I also think I used dashes more than I ever have before, maybe I'm addicted, who knows. (They made sense, ok?) Anyway, I don’t know why I’m rambling; I don’t even know if you still remember me, but hey-(oh look, another dash!) I'm still here and I’ve missed you guys!

P.S.: Oh- oh and please don’t forget, as always, I hate summaries!

Dividers by @cafekitsune

They say you only get what you think you deserve in this life.

They must be gravely wrong then, because you don’t think you deserve Joel Miller. Not for one second. And yet, somehow.. here you are.

But let’s take things from the beginning.

The past.

You and Tommy met when you were young. Well, he was young. You were young..er. Which, by default, made Joel the old..er brother.

You and Tommy became fast, inseparable friends. You were both drawn to mischief and that made you almost instantly thick as thieves. He’s always been like a brother to you. You spent summers at the Millers’, crashed there during rough times.

You didn’t have a stable home life. You learned from a young age to adapt.

Actually, you learned a handful of helpful things: how to read faces, microexpressions, words unsaid and gestures unmade. When to activate your sympathetic or parasympathetic systems. When to freeze. When to hide. When to run. Especially where to run.

The destination was always the same, the Millers’ house. Tommy and by extension Joel, became your lifeline.

The one person you could never read to save your life though, was Joel Miller.

Joel, always wiser, quieter, intense. You called him “sir” jokingly. He called you “kid.” Typical.

He wasn’t warm, but he was reliable. Always picking Tommy up from trouble. Always fixing things. Always there.

You admired him before you even understood why. He never faltered. Never drifted.

As you grew up, that admiration turned into something deeper. But beyond that, all you could ever figure out was that he didn’t like you all that much. You guessed you were used to that. You’d had your whole life training for it.

The hidden love.

You never said anything. Joel treated you like a kid.

Even as you matured, he stayed distant, protective, but formal.

You kept it to yourself, how you felt about him and tried to date others. No one ever measured up. Of course they didn’t. They didn’t even give you the bare minimum.

But even when they did -rarely- your heart was singing only for Joel.

What a stupid fixation, you thought.

To crave the safe. To long for the normal. To love the constant.

But he provided. So you did.

Truth be told, you’ve never shared much with Joel. He was always orbiting your friendship with Tommy, anyway. He was the big brother. He was always around, mostly to keep an eye on Tommy, if you had to guess. So, inevitably, he ended up getting to know parts of your life, of you.

Like right now, when you wish more than anything that he never knew you at all.

You see, you’re in a bad relationship. You don’t tell Joel as much. You never would.

But Tommy knows.

And if Tommy knows, Joel does too.

Because Joel is observant. He always watches. He always has.

Like you said, to keep Tommy straight. Wasn’t his fault if you were always around. So it wasn’t that hard to figure you out. To notice things.

Like you, clinging to people who give crumbs of affection, because you grew up without real support.

Like you, staying with your boyfriend after he apologizes, crying, believing it meant change.

The sleepover.

Tommy lets you crash at Joel’s place. You don't even need to ask; it’s practically a given. He thinks it’s casual, just like always.

You feel safe there, even with Joel being standoffish. He never kicked you out, though. His door was always open when you needed it and that meant something. It had to, right?

But when you settle into the familiar room and mattress, you have a confession to make. You admit to Tommy that you forgave your boyfriend because “he cried and I thought maybe he deserved another chance.”

“Jesus..” Tommy sighs, his brows pinched in frustration. Not at you but at the lucky bastard who’s havin’ it easy.

He doesn’t know what else to say to make you see; you are enough. Enough to stand on your own. You don’t need anyone else to feel whole. Complete. Relevant. Seen.

But who is he to talk? He’s always carryin’ his own demons, makin’ his own same mistakes; always havin’ Joel anchor him to reality, like you’re havin’ him.

Tommy sits on the bed next to you, searching your eyes. “What are you not tellin’ me?”, his voice soft and caring like a knuckle brushing against a cheek.

Goddamn Miller brothers and their ability to read you like an open book.

You avoid his gaze, looking anywhere but him.

He calls your name now, sternly. Serious. Patience was never really his strong suit, but then again, you already knew that. “Done playin’ games, darlin’.”

Tommy pinches your chin, forces your eyes on his. “Spit it out.” He speaks like he’s scolding you, but his thumb brushes gently over your knuckles.

You start stammering, the words to admit your level of failure elude you, like smoke curling in the air. You pick at a loose thread on the blanket. Your knee bounces once, then twice. You suck in a breath like it’ll help you speak. It doesn’t.

“I- I-” you exhale loudly. You rehearse the sentence in your head but it comes out wrong every time. Too much. Too small. Too pathetic. You hate that it’s even real. “I think he spent all of my savings on gambling.”

Silence.

It hangs there, thick and heavy, filling the room like smoke. You don’t dare look at him. You regret saying it already. It feels too real now, like speaking it out loud makes it official.

Tommy doesn’t respond right away.

You half-expect him to curse, maybe yell. You’ve seen that version of him. Loud, angry, Miller.

But when he finally moves, it’s quiet. Gentle.

He rubs a hand down his face, exhales slowly, the kind of breath that says I don’t know how to fix this, but I want to.

Then, softer than you were ready for- “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

Your eyes stay glued to the worn edge of the blanket you’re gripping. “I dunno.” Your voice is small. Pathetic. “Guess I didn’t wanna see it.”

He leans forward, elbows on knees, staring at the floor for a moment before glancing your way. “You gonna tell Joel?”

That makes your head snap up. “What? No- no. I don’t want him to know. He’ll just-”

You stop. You don’t even know what exactly you’re afraid of. Joel being disappointed? Joel being right? Joel looking at you like you’re one of those strays he has to keep out of the yard?

Tommy narrows his eyes just a bit. “He ain’t like that, you know.”

You shake your head. “You don’t know how he looks at me.”

Tommy gives a little snort. Amused. Tired. “Pretty sure you don’t know how he looks at you.”

Your breath catches. And now you have to look away.

He sees it. Of course he does. Goddamn Miller brothers.

Tommy doesn’t press. He just shifts closer on the mattress, hand resting lightly on your shoulder. No pressure. Just there.

“You’re not stayin’ with him anymore,” he says. “We’ll figure the rest out later.”

That “we” shouldn’t hit you in the chest the way it does.

But it does.

You nod once, quietly. You don’t say thank you. Not because you’re not grateful, but because you’ve learned that some kindnesses are too big for words.

Joel’s Judgment.

Sunlight’s starting to crawl into the kitchen. Joel’s already up, nursing his coffee, sleeves pushed up, working a stubborn hinge loose on the cabinet door.

Always fixing what breaks, never what’s breaking him.

He’s got that tired, focused look, the one he wears when there’s too much on his mind and nowhere to put it.

Tommy walks in after a while, hair still a mess, rubbing sleep from his eyes. You’re not around, maybe still in the spare room, maybe hiding from the weight of everything.

Joel doesn’t ask, not directly. He never does. But he eyes the hallway, then glances at Tommy.

“Everything alright with her?”, he asks almost indifferent while still working on the cabinet door.

Tommy runs a hand over his face. Hesitates. Then shrugs.

“She always ends up with assholes, doesn’t she?” Joel mutters under his breath.

Not angry. Not cold. Just.. detached. Like he’s trying to put you in a box he can label and keep at a safe distance.

Tommy’s halfway to the coffee pot when he freezes.

His voice comes out sharper than intended.

“Jesus, Joel.”

Joel looks up, brows raised. “What?”

Tommy slams the pot down harder than necessary. “She thought she could trust him. He cried, said he’d change, you know how that goes.”

Joel watches him now, more alert. “What’re you talkin’ about?”

Tommy exhales through his nose, pacing once. Shit. Then- too late to take it back- “..The bastard drained her savings. All of it. Gambling.”

Silence.

Joel blinks once. Sets the screwdriver down slow, deliberate. Like he actively accepts he’s capable of murder right at this moment.

“You serious?”

Tommy just nods, jaw tight.

Joel doesn’t say anything at first. His face hardens, not with judgment, but with something else. Something Tommy has seen too many times before. That cold, calculating kind of quiet. Like when a storm’s just out of sight but already coming.

He glances back toward the hallway.

And for the first time in a long time, Joel Miller looks like he might actually break something.

The confrontation.

“Is she really that stupid?”

Joel’s voice cuts through the air, low, gritted, sharp like broken glass.

You weren’t even trying to eavesdrop. Just happened to walk toward the kitchen, bare feet soft on old floorboards, the kind that creak at the worst moments.

But now you’re at the doorframe.

And you’ve heard it.

They both freeze when they see you.

Tommy’s mouth parts like he might say something -anything- but Joel gets there first. He takes a step forward, guilt blooming all over his face.

"Wait-", time fractures; each fraction of a second splitting into aching pieces, stretching into eternity, as he struggles to find the right words. "That’s not-"

You flinch back. Not from fear, from instinct. Like touching him would burn.

Your eyes are glassy, breath stuck somewhere between your chest and throat.

You tried so fucking hard. For years.

To believe he didn’t despise you. That it was just the way he was, guarded, quiet, rough around the edges. Maybe, just maybe, under all that brooding, he gave a damn. Not enough to love you, but enough to keep you torturing yourself. Hoping.

You clung to scraps. Glances. The open door. The silence that wasn’t quite rejection.

But now- now you have your answer.

He reaches out and you step further back, hand half-raised like a warning.

“Don’t.”

Your voice cracks.

“You’re cruel, Joel.” His name tastes foreign, like something you were never meant to say out loud. Not in this kind of sentence. Not aimed at you.

He flinches.

“You have no idea what it’s like to be alone and still try to believe people can be good. That they’ll change. That you matter enough for someone to try.”

You laugh bitterly. Short, sharp.

“I used to think that was my strength, it gave me hope, nurtured my heart.”

You shrug, mouth twisting.

“Now I just feel stupid.”

Joel opens his mouth and this time his voice is soft. A crack in the armor.

“Sweetheart-”

It halts you.

Like something forgotten and fragile just cracked open in your chest.

He’s never called you that. Never reached for softness when it came to you. You were always kid, background noise, someone tolerated.

But this- this name, heavy with something almost gentle- it lingers.

Uninvited warmth in the middle of a wound. A wrong word at the worst possible moment.

And just like that, you falter.

Your footing slips, like the floor forgot how to hold you. You hate that it gets to you. You hate that part of you still wants it to mean something.

You snap.

“No.”

You shake your head, fast, like you're trying to physically push the word away.

“No, Joel. You made what you think of me very clear.”

You take another step back, voice trembling but strong.

“You sorry you said it or just sorry I was there to hear it?”

He looks like he’s on the verge of breaking. But you don’t let him. A quiet kind of peace settles over you- cold, final. It’s all done now. Sealed. Clear. Maybe hope was never meant for you. Maybe it ruined more than it ever gave.

“I’m sorry. Sorry for having a heart. For seeing the good in people. For thinking maybe, just maybe, I could believe in something better.”

A beat. “For thinking you’d ever see me as something more than a burden.”

Then the final twist- “But hey- I guess if anyone knows what it’s like to be an asshole, it’s you.”

Silence.

You turn around.

And this time, when you walk away, you don’t look back.

The void.

The door doesn’t slam. He almost wishes it did, something loud, something final, something that could match the sting in his chest.

But no.

It’s the quiet that kills him.

He stays there, frozen. One foot half-forward like he still thinks maybe he can catch you.

Maybe call you back.

Maybe undo it.

Too late.

Tommy doesn’t speak. He’s seen this side of Joel before, the kind that hits hard and then stands in the wreckage, not knowing how to fix what’s left.

Joel drags a hand down his face, slow. Tired.

He feels like he just handed a loaded gun to someone he swore he’d protect and it went off in his own damn hands.

He sinks down onto the edge of the kitchen chair, his elbows digging his knees. Staring at nothing. Staring at the space you occupied moments ago.

“Didn’t mean it like that,” he mutters defeated. “Not like that.”

But there’s no one there to hear it.

The room stays still.

Tommy leans against the doorframe. Crosses his arms. Watches his brother fall apart without making a sound about it.

He wants to say I warned you.

Wants to say You crossed a line you can’t uncross.

But what good would it do now?

Joel doesn’t need a lecture.

He needs a time machine.

Tommy sighs, low, deep; rubs the back of his neck.

“You love her,” he says simply. Not a question. “You just don’t think you deserve her.”

Joel doesn’t look up. Doesn’t argue.

Tommy nods to himself, jaw tight.

“Then I hope to God you figure out what you do deserve, before she’s too far gone to look back.”

He pushes off the frame and walks out, boots heavy on the floorboards, leaving Joel alone with the quiet and what he’s done.

The conversation.

Tommy stepped out onto the back porch with two beers. Joel was already out there, sitting in silence, the lamp behind him casting long shadows across the wooden floorboards. He didn’t say anything when Tommy handed him one.

They sat for a while.

“She didn’t mean to hear it, y’know,” Tommy said eventually. “Was just.. bad timing.”

Joel didn’t react. Took a sip. His expression remained flat.

“Maybe it’s better she did,” he muttered, eyes fixed on his thumb as it peeled the label off the bottle- then drifting back up again, straight into nothingness.

Tommy bent forward slightly, fingers laced together. “Jesus, Joel. What the hell’s goin’ on with you?”

Joel’s eyes stayed lost in the dark. “She’s the kind of woman who believes in second chances. Believes people can be better. Damn, she forgives the unforgivable like it’s just another Tuesday.”

“Yeah,” Tommy said softly, almost in awe. “I know.”

“But me?” Joel’s fingers tightened slightly around the neck of the bottle. “I’ve run out of people to prove wrong. And if she ever looked at me the way I look at her.. God help me, I’d take it. I’d take it and I’d never let go. Which is exactly why I can’t.”

Tommy went quiet for a moment.

“You really think you’re that far gone?”

Joel gave a hard smile. “You see the man I am now. But she didn’t see who I had to be. Who I chose to be. I’ve done things, Tommy. Not the kind that sends you to jail- the kind you do when you look out for your own. I walked away from people who needed me. I picked you over them. And I’d do it again, but that don’t mean it didn’t mark me.”

“You did what you had to do,” Tommy said sharply. “For me. For us.”

“That don’t make it right.”

“Doesn’t make it wrong either.”

Joel’s voice softened, almost a whisper. “She thinks people can change. I know they don’t, not really. And I ain’t gonna be the one to prove her wrong.”

Tommy studied his brother for a long beat. “You ever think maybe she sees who you are now ‘cause that’s who you are?”

“She’s not like us, Tommy,” Joel said flatly. “She’s strong, but not cold. Got this light to her that-”, he stopped, sighed. “I ain’t got no business even standin’ near.”

“Bullshit.” Tommy said. “You love her.”

“And that’s the goddamn problem,” Joel snapped. “I need her. And if I let myself need somethin’ that good and I lose it..”, his face shifted, darkening into something grim and unyielding, “-Lord have mercy on anyone standin’ in my way.. I don’t think I’d come back from that.”

Tommy leaned back in his chair, head tilted up toward the sky.

“She’s not gonna break you, Joel. She’s already holdin’ your pieces together. You just too scared to admit it.”

Joel took another sip as silence settled over them once again. There was something fragile in his voice now.

“I have a brother, you know,” he said with a dry quip. “He trusts me with everythin’. Even her. I can’t give him a reason not to.”

Tommy laughed bitterly. “I think he’d be more pissed if you kept hurtin’ her just to protect him.”

Joel stared off into the night, beer forgotten in his hand. Another beat of quiet. His resolve was cracking slightly. Not entirely. Not enough. Not yet.

Then, barely above a whisper-

“A man like me don’t get to want things like her.”

The explotion.

It’s been weeks.

No word from Joel.

Tommy checks in from time to time, but he doesn’t say his brother’s name. Not once.

And you don’t ask.

You tell yourself you don’t care. That the silence doesn’t ache.

Then one afternoon, Tommy texts you:

"Swing by Joel’s place. Left some stuff for you in the garage. I’ll be back in 10."

You don’t think twice. You go. You assume Joel’s at work. He always is.

But when you step inside, the air is too quiet. Tommy’s truck is gone. And then you hear a key turning in the front door.

Joel walks in.

You both stop in your tracks. He blinks, like he’s not sure if you’re real. Your heartbeat drums in your ears. You mumble something about Tommy. He nods; says nothing at first. Just sets his keys down on the table.

He glances at you. There’s a hesitation, like something’s been living in his throat for too long and he’s finally decided to let it out.

"Tommy said you.. broke things off."

You nod stiffly, eyes dropping to your feet, like they could carry you away from him. Like they ever would.

He shifts his weight, almost uncomfortable. His voice is low, a little rough, when he dares-

"That guy ever lay a hand on you?"

Your jaw tightens.

Not this again. Not from him. Not when he’s the one who shattered you last.

"Not everyone’s lucky enough to have Joel Miller in their corner." you bite out before you can stop yourself.

His brows twitch and you don’t wait for him to respond. The words keep spilling now, bitter, broken, sharp.

"I don’t let people touch me or talk to me like that. Not anymore."

Your eyes flash, not with anger, with hurt.

"But you? I made an exception for you. God knows why."

He flinches. Not dramatically. Just a subtle shift in his jaw, his breath caught wrong.

Like it’s only now hitting him that being let in -truly in- came with weight. That he held something fragile in his hands and dropped it anyway.

And you?

You hate that your voice breaks on the next part.

"You were the only one I thought I didn’t have to protect myself from."

He takes a step forward. Slow. Careful. Like he’s approaching something wounded and wild.

You don’t move- not back, not forward. Just watching him, tight-lipped and trembling like you’re holding yourself together with spit and thread.

"Don’t," you say, low and hollow.

He stops. Hands hovering like he might reach for you and thinks better of it. Again.

"Kid-"

You flinch at the nickname. Just slightly, but enough. He notices. Of course he does.

That damn observant look of his. It used to make you feel seen. Now it just makes you feel exposed. Like he sees the ache he put there and doesn’t know how to address it.

He doesn’t know what to fix first.

The way he spoke to you?

The way he looked at you after?

The way he didn’t come after you when you left?

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Tries again.

"That day, I didn’t mean-"

You cut him off, voice like stone, "You never mean to. That’s the whole problem."

The silence after is raw.

He doesn’t step closer. He doesn’t step back. He just stays there, suspended in regret.

Like, he finally understands the difference between being in someone’s corner and being someone they can truly rely on.

The tension is suffocating. It coils in your lungs like smoke, thick and hot and inescapable.

Joel says nothing. Quiet again. Resigned. His eyes fix somewhere over your shoulder, or maybe nowhere at all. You can’t tell.

He won’t even look at you. You were always a ghost to him, weightless. Unseen.

A haunting he never asked for.

A slight inconvenience, someone he tolerated for Tommy's sake. Never close enough to matter. Never far enough to ignore.

And that tells you everything.

You’re not getting an explanation. Not now. Not ever.

Whatever that moment was, the truth he nearly let slip, the rawness behind his voice, it’s already retreating back into the dark.

You feel it, the distance returning, sharp and cold, like the final click of a door locking from the inside.

Of course. Of course he’d leave you standing there with nothing. Of course he’d choose silence again.

Because that’s what he does. That’s what he’s always done.

And suddenly your chest feels too tight, your throat dry, like your body’s trying to brace for impact but the crash never comes.

So you nod. Once. Slow.

You turn to leave and he doesn’t stop you.

But as you move past him, something inside you screams enough. And before you can stop yourself-

“Why do you hate me so much?” you ask, your voice cracking before you mean it to. You weren’t even going to say anything, but the way he always looks at you, jaw clenched, arms crossed, that permanent scowl — it’s been eating at you for years.

Joel’s response is a gruff, confused, “What?”

“Every time I’m around, you act like I’ve done something wrong. Like you can’t stand the sight of me. I just- what did I ever do to you, Joel?”

His face shifts. Something flickers in his eyes- not anger. Something else. But it’s gone before you can name it.

“You didn’t do nothin’.” he says quietly.

“Then why? Why are you always so angry with me?”

He won’t look at you. Something between a huff and a laugh escapes his mouth, like he’s mocking you. Silence stretches. But you keep going, your voice sharper now, almost shaking.

“Is it because I’m not your business? Because I was always just Tommy’s dumb little friend hanging around? Or is it just fun for you; pushing me away over and over until I finally take the hint?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth.” he snaps, his voice cold and defensive, eyes glittering with barely-contained rage.

“Then say it!” you bite out, bitter and breathless. “Whatever it is you’ve been holding back for years; say it. Tell me what the hell I ever did to make you look at me like I’m something you need to keep your distance from.”

You’re flushed now. Heart pounding. He still won’t look at you. So you take a step forward.

“Is it because I’m too young? Because I’m soft? Because I forgive people who don’t deserve it?”

Now, finally, Joel looks at you. Maybe he thinks this is meant for him. Maybe he knows he’s one of those who don’t deserve it- forgiveness. Your forgiveness. And something inside him snaps.

“It’s because I can’t afford to look at you the way I want to.” he says low, furious.

You blink. Whatever you were expecting, it wasn’t that.

“It’s because every time you walk into a goddamn room, I feel like I can breathe for the first time in days. And that shouldn’t be your burden.”

“Joel..” you whisper, barely audible.

He goes on, more raw now.

“You think I’m angry with you? I’m angry with myself. For wantin’ something I got no right to want. For feelin’ like maybe -maybe- there’s a version of me that could be good enough for you. But there ain’t.”

He laughs once, bitter, shaking his head.

“I push you away because if I didn’t, I’d never stop reachin’ for you. And you deserve better than a man who can’t let himself want good things without breakin’ ‘em.”

Silence. His jaw tightens. His fists clench at his sides.

“I would’ve given you everything, Joel.” you say, voice trembling. “You didn’t even have to ask.”

He looks at you like you’ve lost your mind. Like you just said something cruel. His face twists- not in anger, but disbelief. Something almost panicked beneath the surface.

“You don’t mean that,” he says, quiet, almost pleading.

“What?” you ask, startled.

“You think you do, but you don’t. You’ve always looked at me like I’m some fixed thing. Like I’m solid. Steady. That ain’t love, sweetheart. That’s just safety.”

You blink, like he’s slapped you. And he keeps going, like he has to kill the feeling before it grows roots.

“You don’t want me. You want the idea of me. What I was to Tommy. What I never was to you.”

“If I ever let you close enough to see what’s really here,” Joel gestures vaguely- to his chest, his heart, whatever broken thing still beats inside him, “you’d realize you don’t love me. You just mistook the feelin’. And I can’t be the reason you lose that part of yourself.”

But you’re steady now. Hurt, but unwavering.

“Don’t you dare tell me what I feel.”

Joel stiffens. But you don’t stop.

“You think I saw you as safe? You? With that goddamn storm behind your eyes? With the way you look at the world like it already failed you?”

You step closer. You don’t shout; you just slice.

“I’ve spent years trying to figure out why the worst parts of you still felt like home. Why every time you pushed me away, I wanted to stay. Why I kept waiting for one -just one- moment of softness from you like it might be enough to last me a lifetime.”

You laugh, bitterly, like he did earlier.

“You think I made you into something better than you are? No, Joel. I saw all of it. Every wall. Every silence. Every time you looked right through me like it would be easier if I just disappeared.”

You swallow hard. Your voice cracks, just once.

“And I loved you anyway.”

Silence. He stares at you- stunned. Maybe horrified. Maybe something else. You’d say he almost looks scared of you; if you didn’t know any better.

You continue, quieter. “You don’t get to tell me I mistook the feeling. You just didn’t want to believe anyone could see the truth and stay.”

And then you push again, sharp, your voice shaking with rage and pain as you step forward.

“So, I ask you again, Joel, because you’ve failed to answer me, how dare you tell me what I feel?”

He exhales, tired, low. “I’m tryin’ to protect you-”

“No,” you cut him off. “You’re protecting yourself. Because it’s easier to believe I’m just confused than to admit someone could really love you for who you are. Even with all the shit you carry.”

He flinches. You see it. And it only hurts more.

“I do love you.” you tell him. “I love the man who sits in silence and makes sure everyone else eats first. The man who takes the blame even when it isn’t his. The man who looks at me like he’s drowning but won’t reach out.”

You’re toe to toe now. Your voice drops.

“You think that’s not real? You think I don’t know the difference between comfort and love after everything I’ve survived?”

Your next words come softer, almost breaking.

“You’re not some ghost I projected things onto, Joel. I see you. And I still want you.”

You’re standing so close you can feel the heat of him, the weight of his breath on your face and for a second, you think maybe- maybe this is the moment he’ll finally stop holding back. You reach out, slow, your fingertips brushing the side of his jaw, tentative, trembling with everything you can’t say.

“Joel..” you whisper.

But the second your hand touches him, he flinches- just slightly. Like a breath he wasn’t ready for. Like instinct. But it’s enough. You freeze, your hand falling, your face crumbling. The air goes out of you all at once.

“Right. I- got it,” you say, pulling back, your voice thin and wrecked.

You turn quickly. You don’t want him to see your face, the way it crumples, the way your shoulders shake.

He doesn’t move at first- he’s frozen, like the breath has been punched out of him. But then-

“Wait. Wait- no. No, don’t- don’t do that,” Joel blurts out, panicked.

You keep walking. He follows.

“Don’t you dare think that was about you,” he says, more urgent now.

You stop at the door but don’t turn around. His voice is shaking. You’ve never heard him like this.

“You think I flinched ‘cause I didn’t want you to touch me?”

Your fists clench at your sides. Your heart pounds on your chest; you’re sure he can hear it.

“I don’t know what to think anymore,” you admit quietly, trying to hide your broken voice.

Joel crosses the distance between you before you can move again. His hand catches your wrist- gentle but firm, turning you to look at him. His voice is low, rough, but soft in a way you’ve never heard before.

“I flinched because it felt like everything I’ve been tryin’ not to feel for years just broke wide open.”

You finally look at him. His eyes are dark, wet, desperate.

“Because the second you touched me, I wanted to fall into it. Into you. And I’ve spent so long convincing myself I don’t get to have that.”

His hand slides to your cheek- slowly, like he’s asking for permission with every inch.

This time, he touches you. His thumb brushes your jaw, reverent. Like he’s memorizing the shape of you in case he loses the right to ever do this again.

“You scare the hell outta me,” Joel breathes, “because you look at me like I’m someone worth lettin’ in. And I ain’t. I know I ain’t. But-”, he leans in, his forehead resting against yours, his voice shaking, “-just this once. Let me pretend I am.”

You don’t move. You don’t speak. You just breathe -ragged, shallow- afraid that if you say anything, the spell will break and he’ll pull away again.

But part of you still doesn’t trust it.

Not fully. Not yet.

“Joel..” your voice comes soft, almost broken. “Please don’t do this if you’re gonna disappear tomorrow.”

He doesn’t answer, and you can see the war raging inside him; you can almost taste it. The doubt. And that silence? It kills you.

So you turn. Ready to leave, to protect what’s left of you.

But he moves, fast.

He doesn’t grab you, just steps into your path, like it’s instinct. For a moment, he considers pressing his palm to the door to stop you. But after everything you’ve been through, he knows better. Even now, even here, he remembers.

“Don’t go,” Joel says, low and aching. One hand half-raised like he’s scared of touching you, scared of what it’ll mean if you let him.

“Why?�� you ask, sharp, trembling. “So you can push me away all over again tomorrow?”

He flinches, but he doesn’t look away. He looks at you like he’s falling apart, eyes dark and wide, as if just saying this next part might break him completely.

And then-

“Because if you walk out that door thinkin’ I don’t love you, I won’t survive it.”

The realization.

Your breath catches.

His words settle like thunder under your skin. You look at him -really look- and for the first time, there’s no mask. No guarded distance. Just raw, shattered truth.

He takes a slow step closer, like he’s giving you time to run.

"You still wanna walk away?" Joel’s voice is hoarse.

You don’t answer. You can’t.

Joel’s thumb brushes your cheek, his hand warm and steady now, no longer holding back. His forehead rests against yours, and when he speaks, it’s like a promise that’s already been broken.

"Tell me to stop. If you do, I swear I will."

But you don’t. You can’t. Not when he’s looking at you like this. Like you’re something he needs to survive.

"Don’t," you breathe.

That’s all it takes. The dam breaks. He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for years and then his mouth is on yours, hungry, devastated, like he’s sorry and aching and starved all at once.

His lips are rough but his hands are gentle, like he’s trying to memorize the feel of you. The kiss starts slow, reverent and builds, deepens. His hands cradle your face, your waist, pulling you closer like he can’t get enough. Your fingers knot in his shirt, dragging him down, pressing into him.

You gasp into his mouth, and he groans like it’s a sound he didn’t mean to let out. He presses you back against the wall, not rough, not aggressive, but desperate.

"Been wantin’ this for so long.." he murmurs into your mouth.

Your hips shift and he feels it- the press of you against him. His hands fall to your waist, dragging you tighter against him, grinding into you like he needs the friction, needs proof this is real.

You arch into him, needy, breathless. He presses into you, the thick line of his thigh between yours, the heat of his body unbearable. Every little grind is slow, controlled, but filled with hunger.

"You don’t even know what you’re doin’ to me…" Joel’s voice is hoarse, dark and full of disbelief.

You whimper at the sound of it. He rests his forehead against your neck, breathing hard, hips rolling into yours.

"Then show me," you whisper, soft and ruined.

He kisses you again, deeper this time; his tongue slipping past your lips, tangling with yours in a slow, deliberate rhythm. You think you’d float away, lost in a dream, if the coarse scruff of his beard wasn’t there, grounding you, prickling the skin around your lips.

His hand slides under your shirt, just skin and warmth and a shiver down your spine. But then he pulls back, just a little, breathing hard.

"If we keep goin’, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop."

"Then don’t."

Your lips part from his, breaths mingling in the heavy air. Joel’s hands don’t rush; they trace the lines of your body through your clothes, deliberate and sure, like he’s committing every inch of you to memory.

His fingers slip under the hem of your shirt, ghosting over your ribs, fingertips grazing your skin lightly before returning to the fabric. One hand cups your waist, pulling you flush against his hard thigh- the heat there like a magnet.

You shift your hips slowly, grinding against him, feeling the solid muscle beneath the fabric, the tension building with every tiny movement.

"So needy already.. what happens when I really touch you?" His voice is low and rough.

You whimper, pressing closer, needing more contact.

"Feels good, baby? Keep grindin’ just like that."

His hands slide to the front of your shirt, palms cradling your soft breasts, thumbs sweeping lightly over your nipples through the thin fabric. He feels them stiffen instantly beneath his palms, the reaction so visceral it sends a jolt through him, something raw, almost primal, uncoiling in his chest. His fingers pinch and roll them with just enough pressure to make your back arch, to draw a broken gasp from your lips.

He watches you writhe, mesmerized by the way you react to every twist of his fingers, the way you shiver and press into his hands like you need more- need him.

Your hands find his wrists, holding him close, desperate for more.

His thumbs drag slowly again over the sensitive peaks, his mouth watering at the thought of that taut skin against his tongue and he swears under his breath, voice thick.

"Joel- please.." you breathe.

He chuckles darkly, his lips brushing against your jaw. His brain is deep in a haze of desire and need; he's not in control anymore. Maybe he never was- maybe he was always waiting for you to undo him.

His thigh tightens beneath you, holding you steady as you grind harder, matching his rhythm without words. His fingers tease, flick, and pinch lightly, coaxing every sigh and tremble from you.

"You feel that? That’s mine. You're gonna come for me, right here, just like this. Show me you’re mine."

You arch into him, breath hitching, heart pounding as the friction and his teasing combine into a storm inside you. His hands roam with growing confidence, undeterred by your soft moans and shudders. You can feel the heat pooling low in your belly, spreading fast and he’s right there- steady and sure beneath you, grounding you even as your senses spiral.

The world narrows to the feel of him, the sound of your ragged breaths and the tight coil of pleasure winding up inside you.

Your breaths come faster, your chest rising and falling as Joel’s fingers trace tight circles over your nipples, every pass sending sparks of heat through you, even though he still hasn’t touched you directly. Your hips grind harder, trembling as the tension coils tighter and tighter.

You cry out softly against his pouty lips, your body shuddering against his thigh. The warmth pools low and spreads, waves crashing through you and he swallows every little whimper and moan like a man parched. Your fingers clutch his shirt, digging in as the pleasure ripples and crashes, leaving you breathless and undone.

"God.." Joel whispers, voice almost breaking.

He watches you fall apart- skin flushed, eyes half-lidded, lips parted and something inside him twists.

The love scene.

His hands freeze for a moment, not wanting to disturb you but desperate to hold onto you. He leans closer, forehead resting against yours, breath warm and steady. Joel watches -intense, silent- his gaze fixed on how your body unravels under his touch, how every shiver and sigh seems to pull at something deep inside him.

His hand stills, hovering just above your skin, afraid to break the fragile spell but desperate to hold onto this moment. His jaw tightens, eyes dark with a storm of emotions he won’t speak aloud- need, protectiveness, and something rawer he’s terrified to admit.

He wants to say something, anything, to stop the rush of feelings, to keep things safe and simple. But the words catch in his throat.

Instead, he simply presses his forehead against yours, breath warm and uneven, trying to steady himself. His body tenses beneath you, a silent war raging inside him; he’s drawn to you like never before, but his mind is screaming that this could burn everything to ashes.

Your breath stays uneven, chest pressed to his, foreheads touching like you’re both holding on to something that would vanish the moment you let go.

"Joel, look at me."

He hesitates. You can feel it- the tremble in his hands, the slight shift in his stance, like his whole body’s braced for you to disappear.

"I’m lookin’."

"I’m still here."

And you are -flushed, shaking, pupils blown wide- but still tethered to him, anchored in this fragile space between fear and want. You watch the fight flicker in his eyes. The way his jaw clenches. The way his hands, warm and steady a moment ago, are now flexing like he’s trying not to grab hold too tight.

"You shouldn’t be."

"Don’t."

He closes his eyes, just for a second. Like that word, like your voice, cuts deeper than it should.

"I don’t know how to do this without hurtin’ you."

"I’m already hurt, Joel. But not by what we just did. By you thinking I can’t decide for myself what I want."

That hits him. You see it. The flinch. The ache. The guilt sinking its claws in.

But you don’t stop. You can’t.

"You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to be safe. I just need you to be real."

He looks at you like he’s drowning again. Like you’re offering him something he’s too afraid to take. But his hand rises anyway -slow, hesitant- and brushes your cheek again, thumb catching a tear you didn’t know had slipped down.

"I don’t wanna lose this. Lose you. But I don’t know if I can be the kind of man you hold onto."

"Then let me decide that."

You take his hand. Place it against your chest. Let him feel the way your heart hammers beneath your ribs.

"I already am. Can't you feel it?"

One breath. Then another. Joel exhales slowly, like something inside him just gave up the fight. And what’s left is raw and exposed and his.

He kisses you again, slower this time. Less desperation, more reverence. Like a man memorizing his last breath. And this time, he doesn't pull away.

The kiss deepens again, but there’s no trembling now. No flinching. Just heat. Just his hands moving with purpose, sliding beneath your clothes, skin on skin, rough palms and calloused fingers learning you like he’s starved for the taste.

You gasp as he lifts your shirt, tugging it over your head and tossing it aside. His eyes drag down your body like a slow burn, reverent, almost disbelieving.

"Jesus Christ.."

He cups your breasts, thumbs brushing around your nipples, already raw and swollen from his earlier attention, watching the way your back arches into him like instinct. His mouth follows next, hot and open against your tender skin, teeth grazing your stiffened peaks with aching slowness.

Your cunt is pulsing painfully in anticipation, your panties soaked and surely ruining the thick denim of his jeans. All you seem to be able to do is beg for him one more time.

"Joel- please.. I can't-"

He growls -actually growls- the sound scraping low from his chest, like he’s been waiting years to hear that. His hands roam lower, finding the button of your shorts, undoing them slowly, deliberately, giving you just enough time to stop him, but you won’t. You can’t.

Your hands are just as greedy, tugging at his shirt, desperate to feel him, to know him the way he’s never let anyone close enough to know. When you finally get it off him, it’s almost too much. All of him -broad and solid and burning under your palms.

"Tell me if you want me to stop."

"I want you to fuck me, Joel."

A pause. A beat. Like the words steal the air from his lungs.

Then he moves.

Your back hits the wall again -gently, but firm- and his body follows, pressing against yours, one hand slipping into your panties, fingers sliding through slick heat with an almost broken sound.

"You’re so fuckin’ wet.." he breathes against that sensitive spot right beneath your ear and you can feel his hard cock grinding for relief against your hip.

You cry out as two thick fingers slide into you, curling just right, slow and deep. Your soft walls flutter around his digits, welcoming the intrusion. His other hand grabs your thigh, hitching it up around his waist. He’s grinding into you now, rutting slow, the thick line of his cock still trapped behind denim- but you can feel it. Every inch of it, hard and pulsing through his jeans.

The slick, obscene squelch of his fingers pumping in and out of your soaked cunt only makes you ache more, arousal spilling down his wrist. You’re so fucking close to snapping, to breaking apart if he doesn’t fuck you right now.

“God, Joel- need you inside me-”

"I know, baby. I know. I got you."

He pulls his hand back, wet with you and brings it to his mouth, sucking his fingers clean with a groan that makes your knees buckle. Then he tugs your shorts down, sliding them off you and undoes his jeans, shoving them low enough to free himself and—

Fuck.

He’s thick. Long. Heavy in his hand as he strokes himself once, twice, eyes fixed on you like you’re the only thing keeping him standing.

Heat spreads across your skin and you’re acutely aware of how vulnerable you are and how completely ready your body is for him. You lean forward, gently brushing his hand away and replacing it with your own. He hisses at the contact. The head of his shaft pulses against your palm, and your fingers curl around him, unable to stop yourself from feeling how rock-hard he is.

"I’ll go slow. Just.. hold onto me.", his voice is low and thick with need. Your heart lurches at the raw sincerity in his tone and you press your body closer, arms instinctively wrapping tightly around his neck.

He lifts you effortlessly, one leg hooking around his hip and pulling you flush against him. With one impatient tug, his fingers sweep your panties to the side, and cool air skims over your heated skin.

The slick tip of him nudges at your entrance, and a sharp gasp escapes you as you feel him teasing you through your wetness.

He sinks into you with one slow, steady thrust and you arch back, teeth gritting to keep the first cry from escaping. A fierce burn flares deep inside as the first inch slides in, and you instinctively dig your nails into his shoulders.

He groans, bending to press his lips against your ear, and exhales your name as he pauses. Inch by inch, he pushes deeper, every fraction of an inch driving wild pleasure through you. Warmth and fullness bloom between your bodies and a long, trembling sigh escapes as your muscles flutter around him, completely filled, leaving you both panting and still.

"That’s it. That’s it, sweetheart, takin’ me so good.."

He stays there, buried deep inside you, forehead resting on your shoulder, both of you trembling, both of you lost.

Then he starts to move.

Slow. Deep. Unrelenting.

The song of your bodies meeting- skin against skin, the slick, filthy rhythm of it- fills the room. Your moans spill into his mouth as he kisses you again, tongue tangled with yours, every thrust more desperate, more real than anything either of you has ever known.

"Wanted this.. fuck, wanted you for so long-" he mumbles and you don't know if he's talking to you or to himself.

"Don’t stop. Please- don’t stop-"

He doesn’t. He can’t.

He’s fucking you like he means it, like this is the first and last time he’ll ever get to love someone like this- with everything in him, without apology, without restraint. His hips snap into you with purpose, rhythm deep and relentless, like he’s trying to bury himself in you, like he’s trying to leave part of himself behind.

You can feel the tremble in his arms where they hold you steady, the sweat slicking between your bodies, the way his breath stutters every time you clench around him.

Your name spills from his lips like prayer- wrecked, reverent, desperate. He dips his head into the crook of your neck, mouth open against your skin, teeth dragging over your pulse point like he needs to anchor himself before he loses it completely.

"You feel so fuckin’ good," he groans, voice raw. "Shit- don’t know how I ever lived without this."

Your nails dig into his back, trying to pull him closer, trying to keep him right there- inside you, on you, with you. You meet every thrust with your own, chasing that edge together, breathing each other in like oxygen.

Your drooling cunt chokes his dick with every pulse, soaking him all the way down to the base, slick spilling down his balls and ruining his jeans. The sounds of skin slapping skin make you both feral with lust. Your breasts bounce with every hard thrust, your nipples dragging against the coarse hairs on his toned chest, slick and flushed from the effort.

His hand snakes from the small of your back to the base of your neck, wrapping firm- grounding, claiming. You feel your walls flutter instantly under his grip.

“Not yet,” he breathes- simple, sharp, possessive- against your pleasure-parted lips. Like he knows your body better than you do. Like he knows you'll obey.

“Not till I say. You hear me?” His breath is hot against your lips. “You come when I take it from you.”

Everything in you screams to hold on, to never let go of this feeling- this heat, this fucking need. It’s too much and still not enough. Your vision swims with unshed tears, pleasure cresting into pain, into surrender.

His other hand grabs your thigh, spreads you wider and he drives in deeper, his cock hitting so deep it knocks the breath from your lungs.

“I need to hear it.” he snarls, forehead pressing to yours, eyes wild. “Say it. Say you’re mine.”

Your jaw falls open on a gasp, but no sound comes. You can’t. You can barely breathe. He fucks into you harder, his grip tightening.

“Say it, baby. Say it or I stop. Say who this pussy belongs to.”

Your eyes fill with tears- overstimulated, overwhelmed but your voice still breaks through.

“You- Joel, fuck- you- I’m yours- please- don’t stop-”

He groans, deep and guttural, like that was all he needed to unravel.

“That’s right. You’ve always been. Even when I couldn’t have you. Even when I told myself I shouldn’t touch you.”

He drags his mouth over your jaw, your neck, breathing you in like a man starved.

“I’m gonna ruin you for anyone else. I want you so fucked out and full’a me, no one else ever stands a fuckin’ chance.”

It’s too much- the pressure, the stretch, the heat, him. You try to hold back, to obey, but your walls flutter dangerously around him and he feels it.

“Now.” he growls, voice tearing through the air like a command from God. “Come for me.”

And when you finally fall apart around him- walls pulsing, thighs trembling, stars bursting behind your eyes- you gasp his name like it’s the only word you know, clinging to him like you’ll never let go.

“Mine. Fuckin’ mine.” he growls before he follows you with a broken moan, hips stuttering, his whole body seizing as he spills into you, holding you so tight it’s almost bruising. His face is buried in your neck, breath ragged, heartbeat thundering against your chest like it’s trying to match yours.

Like maybe, for a moment, they’re the same.

The aftermath.

He doesn’t move for a long time. Still buried inside you, still trembling- not from release, but from everything after.

His arms are locked around you, your chests pressed together, heartbeats still thundering in unison. You feel the sweat cooling on his back, his breath uneven against your neck. But it’s not the aftermath of sex that makes him shake.

It’s you.

The fact that he finally has you and the sick, gut-deep fear that he might still lose you.

His hand slides up your spine slowly, until it cups the back of your head. He kisses your hair. Your temple. The curve of your jaw.

“You okay?”

His voice is hoarse- too soft for a man like him and yet it holds the weight of a warning. Like he’s asking if you regret it. If he should start bracing for impact.

You nod, whispering his name into his chest.

His jaw tightens, and you feel it- the wildness under the surface, the animal in him that’s never known gentleness without loss. He kisses you- slow at first, then harder, like he needs to claim the truth on your lips.

“You’re mine now,” he mutters, almost to himself. His hand slides down to your thigh, gripping it, pressing you closer, even though you’re already one body.

“You got no idea what that means, do you?” he murmurs against your mouth. “No fuckin’ clue what I’d do for you.”

You look at him -really look- and suddenly you do.

Because this isn’t about sex. It’s about Joel and how, for once in his life, he wants something enough to stay. To fight. To keep.

He brushes his nose against yours. A soft, strange thing from such a hard man.

“You’re not just mine,” he says, barely audible. “I’m yours too, if you still want me.”

He knows he’s done for. He can’t go back- not after this.

The choice is yours now.

It always was. It always will be.

You lift your head, eyes glassy, lips trembling.

“I always did.”

“Then I got you. I swear to God, I got you.”

And for the first time, you believe it.

357 notes · View notes

pboogerswbb · 8 months ago

Text

TOO LOST IN YOU - part VI

Paige Bueckers x bartender!oc

Warnings: toxic!p, language, SMUT!

Wordcount: 7.3k (oops)

A/N: PALERIE IS BACK - i know you guys have been waiting to find out what happens after part 5, well guess what - you're gonna have to wait till part 7 :) i wanted to have you on the edge of your seats a lil longer, so this part will be a flashback to how paige and valerie met and how all that unfolded! don't hate me too much lmao. anyway again, you guys have shown so much love and appreciation and i'm so incredibly grateful!! ily all please enjoy and send me live reactions and feedback!!! i'm begging (@paigesbabygirl your wait is over)

September 2024

“Valerie, can you bring more tall glasses we’re about to run out!”

“Uh ok,” I yell over the crowd, wiping the sweat and the hairs sticking to my forehead with the back of my hand as I hurry to the back. Dread takes over me when the rack is empty, not a single glass in sight. We never should’ve hired that freshman Johnny to clean tables. I groan running back to the front, the bar lining up with rows of customers for what felt like hours now. It felt like all of Storrs had made their way to Ted’s tonight.

I was warned about the last weekend before classes start, that all the students pack into Ted’s and get shitfaced. Somehow it was still just me, Natalie and Thomas working - and this new guy called Johnny who I had a feeling was about to be fired. How were we out of glasses?

“No glasses, use pints!” I shout, the chatter of the students overwhelmingly loud.

“What?” Natalie yells and I just point to the pints towering next to her, knowing it was no use to talk in all this noise.

Natalie looks at me, her wide eyes showing slight panic, her hands mixing drinks expertly. She evidently had some years on me when it came to bartending. “Where the fuck is Johnny?”

“Not doing his job I guess,” I groan, carrying a rack of pints over to the bar. “I’ll go clean tables then, get us some more glasses.”

The red haired girl waves me off as I rush into the crowd, squeezing through and grabbing every empty glass in sight, adding them one by one to the tower I was balancing against my side, bringing them to the back to be washed. Once I return into the crowd of swarming students, I’m crushed between two groups of guys, elbowing their sides to make my way through. I could feel the sweat dripping down my back, the air felt heavy and humid, early September still as hot as July had been.

“Ah fuck!”

Suddenly I feel a splash of something seep into my tank top, the white thin fabric turning red and seethrough.

“What the fuck!” I yell looking down, the shirt sticking to my skin as more people pushed into my back, nearly making me stumble.

“Shit bro I’m so sorry,” A hoarse voice mumbles and I lift my eyes upwards to the tall blonde girl standing in front of me, a sheepish smile on her face as she scratches the back of her neck. “Someone pushed me.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I snap, too overwhelmed and overworked to deal with this right now. Someone behind me trips, forcing me to stumble forward, the girl catching me and steadying me. “Whoa there,” she says.

“You good?” The blonde asks and I roll my eyes, what a stupid question to ask.

“You just spilled a drink on me, what do you think?”

“I’m so sorry, deadass. Lemme buy you a drink please.”

“I work here, I’m working.”

“Oh, shit.”

I look down at my top, completely ruined and unwearable - if not for the red stain then for the fact that the fabric had turned completely transparent, my lavender bra completely visible.

The blonde girl in front of me blushes, eyeing the way my nipples poked through the drenched top now. Noticing me watching her, she quickly looks up to the low ceiling of the bar, pretending she wasn’t ogling over my chest.

“You can totally see through it right?” I ask frustrated and the blonde only nods, clearly trying not to grin which only annoys me more.

“I’m so sorry, hold up.”

She seems apologetic as she covers my front from the view of other people, big hands confidently guiding me into the much quieter hallway where only a few people were lining up for the bathrooms. It’s only then I look up and really study the face of the tall girl in front of me, quickly realising who it was that spilled her Shirley all over my white top.

Paige Bueckers is only hotter in person, her jaw that much more refined, long neck and broad shoulders and the way she towered over you making her seem bigger than she was. Her blue eyes are flickering everywhere but my chest as she drags me into the desolate end of the hallway. I’m sure I would’ve felt starstruck if the situation had been different, but the stress from work and the fabric smelling like grenadine and sticking to my body was only irritating me further, the blonde in front of me to blame.

Suddenly Paige starts pulling the back of her white hoodie to undress, the white t-shirt underneath rising enough to reveal the tan skin on her abdomen, her shorts low waisted enough to show the tiniest bit of a tan line.

“What are you doing?” I ask confused as Paige pulls the hoodie over her head, fixing the shirt underneath it, silver chains dangling from her neck.

She hands the white hoodie at me, her blue eyes studying me. “What’s it look like, take it.”

I glance at the hoodie scrunched in her hands, being offered to me. The back of the hoodie is decorated with a large number 5, Paige’s last name written in big bold letters above it.

Publicly Paige might have been loved, considered kind and grounded, but on campus people knew more. Sure, the girl was adored. But it hadn’t taken longer than staying at Storrs for a few days for the rumours to reach me, about her endless roster of girls who she never let sleep over, who she seduced into bed and then never called or texted. It had become a joke amongst the students that everyone knew - when you saw a girl wearing a shirt with Paige’s name on it, she was either fucked by her or wanted others to think so.

I shake my head at the hoodie, not wanting to be marked as one of them. I didn’t wanna be part of some sick fantasy Paige had about claiming girls.

“Nah I ain’t wearing that,” I chuckle bitterly, pushing the hoodie back, a jolt going through my body when my fingertips brush hers.

Confused, Paige’s brows furrow as she grabs the hoodie back. “Please, I really don’t mind. I feel really bad, just take it. You don’t even have to give it back.”

I scoff, crossing my arms over my chest. “I’m not playing into some weird little fantasy and wearing a hoodie with your name and number on it.” Paige is quickly taken aback, brows only furrowing further.

“You.. I… Huh?!” She asks bewildered.

“Please, everyone knows what those hoodies and shirts mean.”

“I got no clue what you’re talking about,” Paige chuckles, finding amusement in my defiance. “But I know you ain’t gonna work in that top for the rest of the night.”

She’s right. Why do I hate that she’s right? Thankfully the solution is right under my nose.

“I’ll take the t-shirt,” I say, my tone assertive. With a snort Paige’s brows rise as high as they can - I can’t tell whether she’s amused or shocked at my audacity. Perhaps a little bit of both.

With a chuckle she holds the hoodie over her forearm, piercing blue eyes landing on me. “Yo I don’t remember offering it.” There’s a spark in her eye, something that makes me bolder and certain that she’s enjoying this. So I play along.

“You don’t have to, I know you’ll give it to me.”

We stare at each other, both of us waiting for each other to fold. Finally Paige opens the bathroom door next to her, nodding her head for me to get in. She follows behind me, closing the door and locking us into the tight space. My back presses against the wall as she turns to me - I'll never forget the look she had on her face, the way her eyelids grow heavy and head tilts the tiniest bit upwards, making her neck that much longer. It’s in that moment, in the bright, fluorescent lights of the bathroom that I realise how blue her eyes are, how intense her gaze was.

An involuntary blush grows on my cheeks, for a moment forgetting why we were here in the first place. Paige had seemed to forget as well, her tongue darting over her lips to wet them, the tight and enclosed space forcing us both to notice a tension. I clear my throat, my eyes snapping to the ground.

“Sooo the shirt?”

“Oh right,” Paige murmurs, finally breaking the intense stare.

I watch the way her hand grabs the back of her shirt, pulling it over her head. I feel something stir in my stomach when I notice the rings decorating her long fingers, the muscles in her shoulders flexing as her arms lifted. She’s wearing a grey sports bra underneath, and I’m surprised by how broad she looks shirtless like this, how refined but somehow soft her stomach looked.

When I realise that I’m staring it’s already too late, Paige is grinning down at me and momentarily it makes my legs feel weak. Okay, I see what the fuss is about now.

“You good?” Paige smirks handing me her shirt and my eyes quickly flicker to the ceiling, back turning to her as I start pulling the damp top over my head. I can feel the blue eyes drilling into my skin, making me feel hot all over. Quickly I put on the white tee over my head, a whiff of deodorant and cologne making my head spin as I fix the much too large shirt. I tuck part of it into my bra, turning around and seeing the blonde pulling her hoodie back on, feeling a pang of disappointment when she hides the broad shoulders and the abs I had taken a liking to.

“Oh I’m Paige by the way,” she murmurs, pulling her head through the hoodie, hands sleeking her long hair back.

I snort, raising my brows. “Very humble of you to assume I don’t know who you are.”

Sheepishly the blonde scratches the back of her head, shrugging. “Nah, I knew,” she smiles. “I just wanted to find out your name ma.”

The nickname brings an immediate heat to my core but I do my best to keep my cool. I doubt the blonde needed any ego boosts from me.

Trying to remain chill, I casually chuckle. “I’m Valerie.”

“Valerie,” Paige repeats. I never loved my name but hearing her say it was making me seriously reconsider. “I’ve seen you around campus, you know.”

“Oh?”

Valerie. The name feels smooth slipping from my lips, I wanted to say it again and again. It hadn’t been my intention to spill my Shirley all over her, but I’d be lying if I wasn’t happy about the situation it had got me in.

I must admit I had seen the brunette before, in fact I remember the very first time I saw her. It was her voice that drew me in, impossible to miss as I was walking back to the dorms with KK, Ice and Azzi.

“HOW did you not know you need to add water to boil pasta?? What did you think boiling is?!”

There was something about the lilt in her voice, the way it echoed around campus, and the pure astonishment in her voice that got me to laugh before I had ever even met, yet alone seen her. I couldn’t help but turn my head, only to find that the owner of that beautiful voice was fittingly the most beautiful girl I had ever seen.

It was her hair that caught my eye first, it wasn’t just brown but the tones of gold made it sparkle in the late August sun, her golden jewellery only adding to the twinkle. Her eyes were big, getting even wider the more shocked her voice got on the phone. The gloss on her lips and the way her shirt showed just a little bit of cleavage caused very inappropriate thoughts one should not be having about a person they didn’t know at all.

Her legs were shorter yet somehow she took such hurried steps she passed me and the girls without a single look in my direction despite my obvious ogling. It was that moment I knew I had to have her.

So it must have been God’s plan all along for me to spill that Shirley all over her shirt. Because now I had her in a bathroom, pulling her shirt off, unable to look away from her lacy lavender bralette, trying to get the way her nipples peeked through her soaked top out of my head. To my pleasant surprise, I catch her dark eyes leering at me before I pull the hoodie back on.

“You could’ve just come talk to me, there was no need to spill that drink on me,” Valerie chuckles, the annoyance in her tone making a heat pool between my legs. I should probably bring that up with a therapist.

Lifting my hands up in defiance I scoff. “Ma I swear it was an accident.”

“Sure.”

As she looks up at me I suddenly felt a desperate need for her approval, for her praise. Usually girls were quick to fold once I turned the rizz on. Valerie didn’t seem even a little bit affected - somehow it irked me and turned me on more simultaneously. For a moment I consider just pulling out the old trusty rizz hands but before I can process Valerie’s hand is on the door handle, stepping past me into the hallway, a whiff of coconut making my heart beat faster. I was usually smoother than this.

“Well thanks for the shirt Paige Bueckers,” Valerie smiles and walks out before I can say a word, leaving me speechless in the bathroom.

“Did you see the way he looked at me tho? Geno’s gon’ bench me for the whole season forreal.”

KK’s voice is faint in my ears as we sit at our usual table, leaning back on my chair to get a better view of her. Valerie’s pouring drinks to a couple guys, her nose scrunching a little as she giggles. Even in the dingy bar everything about her lit the place up.

I had come here three nights in a row now, sipping my Shirleys and trying to find courage to approach her with more than “A dirty Shirley thanks.” Normally approaching a girl and getting them naked into my bed was easy, nearly boring at this point - the five girls blowing up my phone on the daily proof of that. But something about Valerie was different, challenging. While it was intriguing it was also scary.

“Earth to P boogers?” KK pokes my side, snapping me out of my thoughts. I turn my head to her, raising my brows expectantly.

With a roll of her eyes, KK nods towards the bar where Valerie was alone now, humming to herself and playing with the ends of her hair. “Go talk to her.”

“Nah.”

“Bro.”

“What would I even say?”

“Rizz her up girl! Isn’t that your whole thing?”

I throw my head back and groan dramatically, throwing my arm over my eyes. She’s just a girl, if she didn’t want me the campus was full of other girls dying to fuck me. Why was I tripping over a girl like this - mind you, a girl I barely knew.

In truth I hadn’t stopped replaying every moment of that night I spilled my drink on her over and over. Thinking about the way Valerie’s top clung to her skin, the way her tits looked in that bra had made me drag my hand down my stomach, between my legs. But it was the memory of the way she stared me down that had brought me over the edge.

“Bro, you can’t come back tomorrow without talking to her, that shit is called stalking.”

KK was right. A fourth night in a row of just ogling over her would be nothing short of creepy. Finishing my drink, I finally get up and walk to the bar, butterflies growing with each step I take. Shit, shit, shit, shit.

“Hey,” Valerie says, her eyes twinkling as she looks at me and I immediately wanna go back to the table and just forget about all of this. How was I supposed to form comprehensible sentences when she looked at me like that? When her hair was pulled up messily in a clip, loose curls framing her face, white t-shirt hugging her curves.

Before I have the chance to respond the brunette is already opening her mouth, a tiny grin on her face. “This is your third night in a row here.”

She’s noticed - no, she’s kept count. My confidence soars quickly as I look at the ground, my mouth twisting into a smile. “Oh you been counting huh?”

“Nah was just wondering if the student athlete was turning into an alcoholic,” Valerie rolls her eyes, leaning forward on her elbows against the bar, her breasts perking menacingly between her arms. I only let myself look for a second before using all my constraint to move my gaze elsewhere.

“Oh you worry about me?” My tongue slides over my lower lip, watching as she rolls her eyes once more. God I could get used to that sight. Her eyes rolling back because of me in a multitude of ways.

“Unfortunately it’s part of my job description.”

“To take care of me?”

Another eyeroll. “To not serve alcoholics.”

I chuckle softly, mirroring the brunette by leaning forward against my elbows. The faint scent of coconut makes its way into my nostrils again. “Damn, that’s a shame. They gon’ miss out on those Shirleys you make.”

Even in the dim lighting of the bar I can recognise the hint of a blush that rises to Valerie’s cheeks, her eyelids fluttering as she quickly looks away from me. The moment of silence is causing a stir in my abdomen, electricity palpable just for a moment. I got her, she’d be in my bed in no time. Maybe by tonight.

“Your shirt’s still in my dorm,” she says nonchalantly, breaking the tension of the moment by pushing herself off the bar and beginning to clear the glasses on the bar. I watch amused.

“You wanna keep it?” I grin, letting my eyes land on the curve of her ass as she bends over to pick up a beer cap off the floor. Goddamn, I better have that in my bed tonight. Rubbing my jaw I swiftly bring my eyes to look at the walls of the bar as the girl turns around, even more curls falling out of her clip now.

Valerie scoffs loudly like it’s the most ridiculous thing she’s ever heard. “No.”

I kiss my teeth and raise my brows. “I could also come pick it up,” I grin, my blue eyes staring into the girl. “You know, after your shift ma?”

The look on Valerie’s face is priceless, a mixture of surprise and something I can’t quite recognise. Yeah I got her, she’d be between my legs in no time - those big brown eyes staring back at me as I pull on her hair, her perfect ass in the air.

To my bemusement, instead of blushing or getting flustered Valerie’s hand flies to her mouth as she bursts into a bright laugh, her eyes squeezing shut as she does. The grin on my face quickly wipes off as I shift on my feet, my arms crossing over my chest. Seems like I might have to wait a little longer than I’d like to for this one.

Taking a deep breath to calm herself, Valerie shakes her head. “If it’s one thing you got Bueckers, it's audacity.”

Her indifference to my flirting irks me. At this point I usually gave up, looked for another girl - not that I had to nearly ever. I don’t think I’d worked this hard for a girl since coming to Uconn. But there was something about the brunette in front of me, something I couldn’t quite place, that made it impossible just to give up. Maybe it was time to move on to a more challenging territory. The pussy would be worth it, I knew it.

“You want a drink?” Valerie asks, finally recovered from her laughing fit. Without even thinking I shrug.

“Shirley.”

“Which way?”

A small smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth as I wiggle my brows. “Dirty.”

With another eyeroll the brunette gets to work. Part of me wanted to keep saying stupid things just so she’d roll her eyes at me one more time.

I watch her work for a moment, noticing the golden bracelet with a small charm dangling on it decorating her wrist as I thought of any other way to get her naked as soon as possible.

“You ever been to a game?” I ask, convincing myself that seeing me on the court would have the effect it usually had on girls.

“No, this is my first year here so,” she mumbles absentmindedly, mixing the bright red drink for me.

“You should come watch me sometime.”

A smile. Valerie’s mouth turns into a smile. I’ll take that as a win. Feeling the tiniest bit proud I smile too.

“Yeah? You any good?” The brunette asks seriously, but there’s a hint of something in her voice that tells me she’s teasing me. Just that is enough to get me going. I rarely found the chase to be this fun, but with her? I was fucked.

I shrug and bring my arm up, flexing the bicep that had grown exponentially over the summer. “Best player in the country, they say,” I grin.

Her eyes land on my flexed arm, softening for a moment before she returns to stirring the drink. “Now who’s they?”

“Just come see for yourself ma.”

As she places the drink on the bar I reach for my wallet, pulling out 30 bucks and leaving it on the counter.

“Hold on Bueckers, your change,” Valerie stops me as I’m about to head back but I shake my head at her, walking backwards.

“Keep it. Come see me play sometime.”

“Pick up… pick up… pick up…” I mumble under my breath, phone against my ear as the steady slow beeps keep taunting me, reminding me no one had answered to any of the tens of calls I had made. Groaning, I put the phone on the table, looking through the back door of Ted’s, over the liquor shipment sitting in the bright evening sun. It wasn’t meant to come till tomorrow, when the boys could carry all of it inside. Now it was just me, my pathetically small muscles and boxes full of liquor bottles and beers.

“Fuck,” I groan when the phone finally rings. Picking it up urgently, Natalie’s voice comes through.

“Riri you called me like five times, are you good?”

“The shipment came early,” I panic into the speaker.

“What?!”

“Mhm.”

“Have you tried-”

“Tried calling literally everyone. No one’s picking up,” sighing I push my hair back from my face, trying not to panic. “What do I do?”

“I’m out of town too,” Natalie murmurs as I’m leaning against the doorframe, digging my brain for any solution. A moment of silence falls between me and Natalie when I finally got it. Saying bye to the girl on the line I walk to the front - the bar is empty in the early Wednesday evening. But like clockwork at 9 pm the tall blonde opens the door and comes in for the 6th night in a row - this time alone.

Of course she looks great, wearing basketball shorts and a team USA hoodie she had grown too big for, evidently a little too small on her arms and shoulders, her hair in a ponytail. Her mouth twists into a smile as she sees me, long legs quickly reaching the bar.

“Well he-”

“Paige, I need your help.”

Paige stares at the shipment through the door frame as I shift on my feet, hating how I had to ask for help, especially from her. I, like everyone else, found Paige incredibly attractive, exceptionally charming. But the ego on her irked me. The way she looked at me like she could read my mind, the things she said to make me blush and that grin like she knew that it was just a matter of time before I’d join the long list of girls she took to bed and left high and dry. I refused to be one of those girls - but it was hard to ignore the flutters in my stomach that arrived routinely at 9 pm when the blonde made her way through the door and to the bar each night.

“How’d they leave a lil thing like you to deal with this?” Paige chuckles, elbowing me gently.

I rub my hand over my face, smiling too. “It came a day too early.”

Paige nods for a moment and shrugs. “Well let’s get to work ma.”

With that she pulls the hoodie off, left in black basketball shorts and a black matching sports bra. I let myself look just for a second. Eyes roaming over her broad shoulders, the muscles in her stomach, the silver chain with a cross on it. It didn’t hurt to look now and then - as long as I didn’t ogle.

One by one Paige and I carry heavy boxes full of bottles inside Ted’s, though I’m slightly distracted by the way the blonde’s back muscles flex when she picks a box up, the way her jaw flexes when it’s a little too heavy for her. A bead of sweat trickles from her neck downwards along her spine as my gaze follows it, a heat pooling between my legs as I watch her.

Out of breath and slightly sweaty, I push my hair back trying to catch my breath. Paige takes note of this, blonde hairs sticking to her forehead as she walks over to me. This September heat was no joke.

Her blue eyes roam my face as both her hands grab a hold of my hips. A jolt of electricity runs through my body, her touch igniting a fire I hadn’t felt in a while. Our gazes meet, Paige licking her lips as her hand pushes my thick brown hair off my face. I find my heart beating so hard I swear it’s trying to make its way out of my chest. For a moment I think she’s about to kiss me.

“Why won’t you go get us something to drink?” Paige murmurs, her voice deep and gravelly in a way I had never heard before.

My cheeks slightly pink I nod towards the boxes, my voice quiet as I speak. “But what about…?”

“I got it ma,” she assures me, never breaking eye contact. It’s almost dizzying, the tension between us. Reminding myself of what I knew about Paige’s roster, I finally look away, slightly disappointed when her hands drop off my waist.

Walking to the front I find the bar still empty of customers. I grab a bottle of water, chugging it in an attempt to bring myself to my senses. Don’t be stupid Valerie, everyone knows how this could end up if I make the wrong choices here.

Filling two glasses to the brink with ice and coke, I return to the back, eyes landing on Paige and her arms that flex as she lifts up another box, making my mouth go dry. I quickly sip the coke, ignoring the way my legs had been growing weaker the more sweaty Paige got. As the last box hits the floor and all the work is done, Paige closes the door finally locking the scorching heat out and grabs the glass from my hand. We both feel the same goosebumps down our spines as our fingertips graze, forcing our eyes to meet.

“Thanks for the help,” I murmur, my voice weaker than I’d like. Paige’s chest is heaving, whether from the physical strain or the tension of the moment I don’t know. “I owe you.”

Paige shakes her head, blue piercing eyes still locked in mine. “Nah, always down to help a pretty girl out.”

I hate that I blush, but I can’t help it. I hand the blonde the glass of coke and watch the way her throat bobs as she drinks, my lips itching to kiss there. I was falling for her tricks quicker than I’d like.

“I uh, how about you don’t have to pay for your Shirleys?” I offer, voice slightly shaky,

Paige grins and places her glass on a side table, leaning against the closed backdoor. “I don’t need anything free, trust,” she grins, heavy lidded eyes looking down at me. “Besides, how will I tip you then?”

“You tip way too much,” I giggle, brushing my fingertips through my long brown locks.

Paige shrugs. “I tip just enough,” she murmurs hoarsely, licking her lips as her fingers come up to toy with the ends of my hair. I swallow hard, my panties growing damp between my thighs. The blonde breathes out heavily through her nostrils, still watching me. “Just come see a game and we’re even.”

My eyelids flutter shut when Paige’s hand carefully moves from my hair to the side of my jaw and I can’t help but nod.

“Okay,” I murmur breathlessly, head spinning with need.

Licking her lips, Paige’s eyes land on mine. “Valerie?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m gonna kiss you now.”

“O-okay.”

With all my restraint, all my plans to stay strong forgotten, I do the exact opposite of what I planned. Paige leans down and her lips crash into mine, an involuntary moan leaving my mouth. My stomach flutters as I lean into her, my hands wrapping around her neck as I get on my tiptoes to reach her better. The blonde’s hands land on my waist, pulling my body closer to her, breathing heavily through her nose.

It’s dizzying, the way she kisses me, the way her touch feels against my skin leaving a trail of fire in its wake. I feel completely overwhelmed yet dying for more, all the patience leaving my body at once. Like reading my mind, Paige’s hands fall from my waist to my ass, gripping harshly as she groans against my lips. My core is already throbbing, the sounds coming out of the girl kissing me only making it worse.

There’s a sense of urgency when Paige backs me into the side table, sitting me on it. My legs quickly wrap around her waist as her tongue slides over my bottom lip before biting on it gently. I let out a whimper that makes the blonde grin.

“Been dying to fuck you. Will you let me?” She pants against my mouth and I have no other choice but to nod, my body aching for her.

“Please,” the plea spills from my lips as Paige sloppily kisses along my jaw, all the way to my neck. She gently nibbles, eliciting a hiss from me when she reaches the spot under my ear that was most sensitive. She sucks on it harder, her hands gripping my denim covered thighs firmly.

“How wet are you?” The blonde murmurs, her breath hot in my ear sending tingles down my spin all the way to my cunt that was dripping.

“So wet Paige,” I whimper, feeling Paige’s hands travel up my thighs and squeeze again, other hand pulling off my white t-shirt, leaving me in a black lace bra and jeans. Paige pulls back and watches my chest, licking her lips.

“Goddamn look at those tits,” she mumbles, more to herself than me before her lips attack my chest, kissing all over, teeth grazing over my bra where my hard nipple is poking through.

The lack of contact between my legs felt excruciating, like some sort of torture. With a whine I roll my hips into Paige, pulling her closer with my legs. Her blue eyes look up at me from my chest menacingly, hand coming to toy with the button of my jeans.

“Tell me what you want, baby.”

Panting, I collect myself enough to speak. “Touch me, P.”

“I am touching you,” she teases, kissing along my neck again.

“You know what I mean.”

“Need to hear you say it ma.”

Frustrated, I tilt my head back, the need between my legs becoming overwhelming. Her hand was unzipping my pants now, torturing me.

“Fuck okay just touch my pussy Paige, now please,” I whine eliciting a smirk from Paige as her fingertips slip underneath my lace panties.

“You want my mouth or fingers?”

“Whatever you want just now please!”

“Oh you’re gonna regret saying that.”

With that Paige’s fingers make their way into my folds, gasping with me as she feels how wet I had grown in this past hour watching her work. With a practiced ease her fingertips press against my clit, starting to rub against it in tight circles.

“Oh fuck,” I whine, my head tilting back. Paige’s other hand quickly covers my mouth and suddenly I’m reminded that any customer coming in could hear us from the front of the bar.

“Gotta keep quiet for me, yeah?” The blonde reminds me and I nod, my eyes meeting hers. My moans are muffled by her hand as she continues the movement of her fingers.

“Fuck, gotta take these off,” she murmurs, her voice low and hoarse as she pulls my jeans down, moaning at the sight of my black, lacy panties. “Gotta see this pussy.”

Her hands pry my legs open, fingertips digging into my thighs as she slides my panties to the side, my glistening cunt proof of how bad I needed her.

Paige hisses, unable to look away as her fingers swirl in my folds, gathering wetness before returning to my clit, rubbing back and forth so fast I let out a loud gasp. The blonde’s free hand returns to my mouth, eyes warning me. “Quiet, remember?”

“Mhmm,” I mumble against her hand, my eyes fluttering shut as she speeds up even more, my pussy already throbbing, aching to be filled. Paige’s hand on my mouth pushes me backwards, my back hitting the cold wood of the table.

“Attagirl.”

My fingertips tease her entrance, circling around it menacingly. She looked incredible like this, even better than in all my fantasies, back arching and head thrown back, mouth covered by my big hand making her look even smaller for me. The sounds she was making were driving me insane, causing my own cunt to throb and soak all the way through my boxers.

Her hips buck, clearly not a fan of my teasing as she whines against my hand. God, I could listen to these sounds forever,

“You want my fingers?” I ask, panting just from my own need. She nods, her big brown eyes pleading, nearly making me come merely from the way she was looking at me.

“Two’s good yeah?” I ask, two of my fingers so close to dipping in. It takes all my restraint now to pound them into her when she nods. Instead I slowly push them in, my eyelids fluttering shut at how wet and warm and tight she felt around me, how I could quite literally feel her pussy throbbing around my fingers.

She gasps, her eyes rolling back at the stretch caused by me, and I can’t help myself when I lower myself onto her knee, grinding my cunt against the bones there making me groan breathily.

I start slowly pumping my fingers in and out of Valerie, unable to take my eyes away from her cunt, the way it’s swallowing me up, sucking me back in each time I try and pull away.

Hoping the brunette remembers to stay quiet, I pull my hand back from her mouth, kneading her left breast as I grind my own hips against her knee.

“More,” she whimpers, pretty eyes squeezed shut and back arching.

“Whatever you want baby,” I whisper, my own mind so drunk off her I couldn’t keep up with the composure I’d had in the beginning.

I push a third finger inside her, curling them just right to press against the spongy part inside her making her gush around my fingers. I could barely think straight, doing everything not to come all over her knee before she finished.

The sounds coming from her body are downright sinful, the wet sounds of my fingers curling inside her cunt making my legs shake. I don’t know how I’d ever get enough.

When I start pumping those three fingers in and out of her with more force, Valerie turns into a mess, her thighs trembling, body writhing on the wooden table and eyes squeezed shut, hands trying to grip onto anything they could - the table, her own breasts, even me. In a haze I offer her my free hand, letting her fingers grip my hand as I pump my fingers faster, palm hitting against her clit.

“Paige, I’m close,” she cries out, urging me on as her knee presses against my swollen clit in my boxers, forcing me to bite down on my lip hard to not moan.

“Fuck ma, so fucking sexy,” I groan, watching the way her head tilts back as her cunt tightens around my fingers.

“Yes, don’t stop, don’t stop.”

“I got you Val,” I moan, rocking my hips back and forth on her knee, my juices gushing out of me as I fight my eyes from rolling back.

“Paige, shit, I’m-”

Suddenly she’s covering her own mouth with her hand, her back arching off the table as her cunt clenches around my fingers, but I don’t ease up, I keep up with my movements. The way her face is scrunching up is enough to get my own orgasm to take over me, my movements on her knee turning sloppy and desperate as I come all over her while my fingers pump in and out of her. I’m unable to look away.

A guttural groan leaves my body as Valerie’s muffled moans fill the room, waves of pleasure taking over us simultaneously. There’s something addicting about it, the way we’re both riding out our orgasms at the same time.

“Goddamn,” I sigh, eyes watering as my movements slow down, enjoying the way she’s throbbing around my fingers. Valerie’s eyes flutter open and I swear she’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. We’re both panting, the moment over far too quickly to my liking. I could never be done that fast with a girl like this.

Pulling my fingers out, I kneel between the brunette’s legs, pulling the panties off her completely. Face to face with her glistening cunt I decide this is the most perfect pussy I have ever seen in my life - and there have been quite a few.

“Wh-what are you doing?” She asks me, her voice still shaky from her climax as she sits back up.

“Need to taste this pussy,” I murmur, my eyes locked onto her cunt, hands spreading it open, making my mouth water.

“Paige I have to get back to work,” she whines, looking down at me as I begin to kiss her inner thighs, pulling her legs over my shoulders. “There could be customers.”

“There aren’t,” I say matter of factly. Truthfully there was no way for me to know, but I needed to have my mouth on this pussy right fucking now.

“How do you- oh fuck.”

My eyes flutter shut at the taste of her, my tongue dipping inside her and slowly circling. I wrap my arms around her thighs, pulling her closer as I drag my tongue upwards through her folds to her red, swollen clit, lapping at it. I can already tell this isn’t gonna be a one time thing. There was no universe in which I didn’t get to have my face buried in this pussy at least once a week.

“Wait wait wait, too much-” she hisses but then I press my tongue flat against her and shake my head, making her gasp and throw her head back. I hum against her pussy, taking turns lapping her up sloppily and shaking my head against her, drinking all of her up.

“Valerie,” I moan into her cunt. I usually didn’t like saying the names of the girls I fucked during sex but something about the softness of the letters, the way the name felt in my mouth made me wanna repeat it over and over like some sort of oath, like a prayer.

“Taste so fucking good,” groaning I suck on her clit, listening to her hiss. “Could eat this pussy forever ma.”

The shake in her legs tells me I’m getting her there again, and her hands finally find my hair, making me moan as they pull on it suddenly. When my tongue precisely licks over the right side of her clit she lets out a guttural moan, my own need pooling in my boxers once more.

“Right there?” I ask, repeating the movement of my tongue, taking it as confirmation when she cries out and her back arches. Copying the movement of my tongue over and over again I keep working her, my face getting covered in her, my own spit dripping down her pussy making an even bigger mess. The thick thighs around my head are beginning to shake, pressing to the sides of my face. I pry them further open, with enough force to bruise her. The brunette doesn’t seem to mind though, her whimpers turning high pitched and desperate.

“Shit shit shit shit,” she repeats quietly, her whole body trembling.

“Gonna cum for me again?”

“Mhmm,” she mewls, nails digging into my scalp.

My fingers spread her pussy further apart, my tongue moving even faster on her clit now as her hips squirm, my lips following her.

“Paige fuck right there,” she gasps and I keep going, the strain in my jaw merely an afterthought, only thing on my mind getting the brunette in front of me to come all over my face.

“You got it baby, c’mon,” I praise against her, copying the movements from before as her grip in my hair tightens.

“I, Fuck-” she gasps and she’s coming again, pulling my face closer as she squirms all over the table, my tongue not easing up as the pleasure takes over her. I swear I feel just as euphoric, watching her like this.

When her whines turn high pitched I ease up my movements, wiping my mouth on her thigh before getting up from the floor. Valerie’s out of breath and her eyes are heavy, mascara smudged underneath her eyes and lips plump from the rough kissing. I don’t know what does it, but something I can’t control makes me lean down and kiss her. I never kiss girls after sex.

Just as I’m about to speak, the bell on the door jingles, returning both of us back to the backroom of Ted’s, the fluorescent lights suddenly harsh and overwhelmingly bright.

“Shit,” Valerie gasps and starts getting dressed in record time. I watch her, my brain still mush from what we just did. She quickly brushes her hands through her long hair and rushes to the front, leaving me alone.

“Hi, what can I get ya?” I hear her faint voice a little too perky compared to how she normally sounded.

Wiping my lips I stare at the calendar on the wall marking everyone’s shifts, but all I see is Valerie. Blinking stupidly I wipe my mouth, my mouth twisting into a small smile. The heat in my cheeks and the butterflies in my stomach made themselves known - informing me that this girl would have me utterly, completely fucked from now on.

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#too lost in you #lilas writing #paige bueckers #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers x oc #paige bueckers x female oc #paige bueckers fanfiction #paige bueckers fic

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dreamersparacosm · 2 months ago

Text

jeon jungkook - if we were us (part two)

warnings ; none!

prompt ; in which life gives you and Jungkook one more chance to hold on.

note ; nothing like a month long hiatus to really set the mood!! right? hehe. r-right? right.. guys? OK FIRST OFF — apologies for my absence on this fic. i did not forget about her i swear. i just wanted more time to sit with her (and like i am so glad i did. she needed to marinate in my notion templates and google docs even more). writing a fic like this is heavy and heartbreaking, and i think i was struggling a bit on direction. as we all know i'm THEE™️ romcom writer and it sometimes hurts me to write angst if its too psychologically tolling on my oc's but i have found my happy little middle ground and we are sticking to it!! writers block be damned!!! all that to say, next chapter will be jungkook's pov (ooooohhh it's juicy.) but this chapter... well, this chapter is the beginning of their story. sit back, relax, get some ice cream, and don't scream in my inbox please (or you can. i'll allow it just this once)

playlist here

series masterlist here

wc ; 5.4k

[YOUR POV]

There’s a book in a pink box under your bed titled ‘The Dream Book.’

Next to the dust bunnies, next to Namjoon’s old socks that mysteriously keep disappearing under there, next to the candles you keep forgetting to light.

It’s flimsy now, pages showing their years. Full of magazine cutouts of picturesque kitchens and winding staircases.

In that book, you knew exactly what you wanted. You had it down to a science; everything from the career to the loving husband to the cat to the house with a picket fence.

It was always the same house in every sketch, every torn-out photo you’d taped inside. White exterior, blue shutters, close enough to the ocean that you could taste salt in the rain.

It’s all there, in bad gel pen handwriting and glittery highlighter.

You used to love that book.

Then you broke up with Jeon Jungkook.

Now, when you turn the pages, when they glare back at you at 3 AM as you turn through them on your bathroom floor with a flashlight on, you hate it. You hate how foolish you were to think that anything in that book could come true.

You hate how naive you were at 18. You hate how in your teenage years, all you knew how to do was dream, because life hadn’t taught you otherwise yet. You hate it all.

Because here’s the thing about any 18 year old who still knows how to dream: they think the universe owes them something. They still think dreams are plans.

And if you were still 18, still that girl who believed in pink gel pens and destiny, you probably would have ended up with Jeon Jungkook at 32.

Jeon Jungkook is nothing like you imagined he would be at this age. You don’t know what you thought he would be like — you never let yourself imagine it.

So as you look at Jeon Jungkook now, the white house materializes behind your eyelids. Kids’ laughter echoes from a swing in a yard.

You see what you were supposed to have.

Brown waves curl on the nape of his neck — shorter than you remembered — along with his big brown eyes with undereye bags threatening to form. A navy-blue sweater adorns his body, broad shoulders filling up every seam. He looks older in the way people do when they've lived a whole life you weren’t a part of.

How is it possible that he looks this beautiful at 8 in the morning? Some cosmic joke, probably.

The Jeon Jungkook you loved in college would rather have died than be awake before 10 AM. His arms would pull you back under the covers of his college apartment that smelled like his detergent and your perfume.

“Ten more minutes, baby,” he’d mumble into your shoulder, voice thick with sleep. “I want ten more with you.”

Then he’d complain that you snored — you did not snore, you barely breathed when you slept next to him — and you would retaliate with a pillow to his face, both of you dissolving into a fit of giggles.

The memory hits like a slap to the face. Blood whooshes through your ears and the coffee shop begins to sway.

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about—

It’s too late. You’re 22 again, standing in his apartment in his t-shirt, tears collecting on your shirt like raindrops, begging him to go. Begging him to take the job offer, to chase the dream he’d been talking about since you were freshmen. His dream had stopped being maybes; they were tangible things living in the depths of his email inbox. Yours were still living in a book.

“Go,” you’d said, the word scraping your throat raw. “Just go, Jungkook. Please.”

He’d looked back at you like you were asking him to cut out his own heart.

His coffee cup trembles in his right hand like he’s remembering the same day. His other hand is jammed deep into his pocket, probably clenched into a fist as he normally did when he was trying to hold himself together.

You wonder if he remembers the last real morning, when you'd pretended to be asleep as he packed. Wonder if he knows you heard him crying in the bathroom, or that you waited until his taxi pulled away before you let yourself completely break.

Some people say that if you love someone, you let them go. They don't tell you that letting go feels like dying. They don't mention that you'll spend the next decade wondering if loving someone means destroying yourself in the process, or if you destroyed the best thing you ever had by being too afraid to fight for it.

“Jungkook?”

You do your best to hide any state of panic, but you can’t seem to relax your shoulders or soothe your pounding heart as you take in the man in front of you.

He seems to have the same reaction as you.

“[Y/N]?”

“It’s good to see you.” The lie flows out of your mouth. You’ve gotten good at saying things that sound right instead of true. ‘When.. when did you get back?”

“Last week.” He shifts his weight onto his other foot, fingers clamping the coffee cup with a death grip. “I just bought a place in Gangnam.”

“Bought?”

Buying means permanent. Buying means he’s not just visiting. Buying means Jeon Jungkook is staying in the same country as you. Your heart does this awful swooping thing, like it's free-falling and taking the rest of you with it.

“U-uh yeah.” He’s fidgeting now. He runs a hand through his hair, tousles it a little. You notice the tattoos on his knuckles. They don’t look new. “Yeah, I'm moving back to Korea.”

“Oh.” Your brain short-circuits. He'd made it crystal clear — it was America or nothing. Come with me or lose me forever. You'd chosen to let him go, chosen to be the martyr, the one who loved him enough to set him free.

And he'd let you. He'd taken that plane ticket and your broken heart and built himself a whole new life on the other side of the world. Now he’s buying property in Korea like that was part of the options he presented to you.

The coffee shop walls swallow you whole, pressing in. Your chest tightens as if a brick just slammed down on it.

You need to ask. Need to understand what could possibly bring him back, if not you.“Why?”

“Work. I’m here for work.”

It’s always work with him. Success was his security blanket in college, and apparently life moves on but some things don’t. You nod like a bobblehead, like this makes perfect sense.

It does make sense. You just don’t want it to.

“That’s good.” Another lie. You’re racking them up this morning.

“And how are you?” he asks. His body leans into you, shoes pointing in your direction. He looks genuinely interested in what you might have to say. Like he’s been praying those pages in the dream book have manifested to reality.

“Very good.” You straighten your shoulders, slip into the voice you use with difficult parents during conferences. “I, um, I teach.”

His face softens. “No way. You got a teaching job?”

He looks proud of you. You remember spending nights recapping your education classes, how you’d light up talking about lesson plans and classroom decorations. How he’d listen, with his chin cupped in his palm, brown eyes twinkling up at you.

You’re about to drop your coffee cup on the floor and ask Jiwoo to just send you the bill to your home.

“Yup. Kindergarten.” You force a smile that feels like it might crack your face. “The school’s actually pretty close to here.”

He nods slowly, almost shaking his head as if he can’t believe it. As if he’s trying to envision you in front of that classroom, writing on a chalkboard or handing out addition exercises. “God, that’s… that’s amazing, [Y/N]. Kindergarten. That’s perfect for you.”

He still knows you well enough to see the puzzle pieces where they fit.

“Yeah, it’s pretty neat. The kids are great.”

You’re doing it again — downplaying, minimizing, making yourself smaller.

Pretty neat is the understatement of the century.

Like teaching isn’t the only thing that gets you up in the morning, like you don’t spend your own salary on classroom supplies and stay late to make sure Min-jun’s reading comprehension improves.

Admitting how much you love it, though, feels too vulnerable, like you’re handing him a piece of your heart when you’ve worked so hard to keep all the pieces to yourself.

“Do you.. do you wanna sit for a minute?” He asks, eyes gesturing towards the black chairs messily arranged around tables.

You really shouldn’t. It’s 8:40 and you’re supposed to be at the school at 9. You have 23 tiny five-year-olds depending on you to have your shit together, and sitting in your favorite coffee shop with Jeon Jungkook feels like the opposite of having your shit together.

But that’s not what your mouth says. Your mouth goes: “absolutely.”

He leads you to a table by the window, where the rain is still collecting on the sill, droplets catching on the pane vigorously. One of Jin’s paintings hangs nearby. You had sold it to Jiwoo for half the price as a thank you for all that extra sugar she tosses in your coffee.

Jungkook pulls out your own chair, and then settles himself across.

“So, what else is new?”

Where do you even start? The decade of learning how to exist without him? How, for the first year he was gone, you unconsciously saved funny stories to tell him before you remembered he wasn’t there to hear them?

“Not much, really.” Lie number three. Third time’s the charm. You’re starting to believe them.

“Well, where do you live?” His eyes eagerly meet yours as he takes a sip out of his coffee cup.

“Apartment, it’s not far from here. Downtown Seoul.” You fidget with your own cup, wrapping your hands around it for something to do. The cold seeps through the plastic.

His eyebrows scrunch together. “I thought you hated Seoul? Said it was where dreams go to die.”

You vaguely remember saying that. 22 year old you, slumped over his couch, declaring that Seoul was a soul-sucking corporate wasteland where creativity went to suffocate. You’d been so sure that anywhere but here held the key to happiness.

But then you got the offer letter for your job a few months later, and you learned pretty quickly happiness isn’t really about geography.

“Oh, do not be fooled.” You manage out a laugh that’s meant to be genuine. “My dreams die every time I realize I’m here.”

Some days you do feel like you’re sleepwalking through a life that looks nothing like you planned. Though lately, when you're reading Where the Wild Things Are to a circle of wide-eyed kids, or when Soo-jin finally writes her name without help, the life you're living doesn't feel so bad.

“Do you live with a roommate?”

His fingers tighten around his cup. He’s bracing himself for an answer he might not want to hear, you think.

You realize what he’s really asking. What he can’t bring himself to ask directly.

Kim Namjoon, your boyfriend. That is who you live with. Ten words that draw a clear line in the sand, that would protect you both.

Namjoon, who’s steady and smart and doesn’t hop on flights to the United States.

His name sits lodged in your throat, buried under about a hundred other words you want to say.

Just say it, you tell yourself. Say Namjoon’s name and end this before it starts.

“Uh, yeah. Yes. One roommate.”

God, you must be an idiot. A monumental idiot who deduces her relationship to roommate because her ex is sitting across from her. Yes, because Kim Namjoon is just some dude who splits the electric bill with you, not the man whose toothbrush sits next to yours in the bathroom.

He nods, “That’s economical of you.”

Your eyes get a better look at him. For the first time, you take note of the silver chain hiding underneath his sweater. The navy-blue top that mixes so well with his golden skin. Brings out the sparkle in his eye that hasn’t left since you said the word roommate.

“Us teachers gotta lay low. Underpaid and overworked.” You lean back against your chair, taking a sip out of your straw. The sweetness slides down your throat, melting away those words that had been building up in there.

“You guys deserve better, I swear. Shaping the minds of the youth and what not.” The earnestness in his tone catches you a little off guard.

“Kinda.” You shrug. “I’m doing a bug project right now with my kids, so I don’t know if I’m really shaping the youth.”

“Bug project?” His eyebrows lift with curiosity.

When was the last time someone asked about your actual work instead of just nodding politely when you mentioned teaching?

“Ants, caterpillars, the whole shebang. It’s absolutely fucking disgusting.” The curse slips out before you can stop it, and you feel heat creep up your neck sheepishly.

His laugh booms throughout the shop. You want to bottle it up and hide it under your bed. “I’ll have to come and see that.”

Your heart flutters. He wants to see your classroom. He wants to see your kids covered in finger paint and learning about metamorphosis.

Your brain is screaming Namjoon, Namjoon, Namjoon, red sirens blaring in your frontal lobe.

Clearing your throat, you deflect. You don’t know what else to do with the way he’s looking at you. His chin has found a home in his palm. “So what about you, Mister Home in Gangnam? Very fancy.”

“What about me?” He tilts his head in your direction.

You don’t even know what you want to ask. You guess, if you’re being completely honest, you want to know if he has a roommate as well. You want to know if there's someone in that fancy Gangnam home who knows how he takes his coffee, who's learned that he gets grumpy when he's hungry and soft when he's sleepy.

“Roommates?” you ask, and you can’t keep the hesitation out of your voice.

“Uh, yeah. You could say that.”

You have no energy to decode what that could possibly mean. Your chest is so full of this feeling you only get when you’re with him, one that hasn’t sprouted in over a decade and is poking through the dirt trepidly.

You settle on switching gears.

“How was… New York?"

“It was good. Really different from Korea.” His right fingers trace absentminded patterns on the table. He used to do that when he was thinking, working through problems in his head. “My eomma almost had a heart attack the first time she visited.”

You can picture it vividly — Mrs. Jeon, tiny but fierce, clutching her purse in Times Square. When the image flashes through your mind, something lurches in your chest, because you should have been there for that visit.

“Different in a good way?” You ask, though you're not sure you want the answer.

What if he says yes? What if he confirms that leaving was the best thing that ever happened to him?

“Well, 7/11 didn’t have any ramyeon so you tell me.” The corner of his mouth twitches upward.

“That’s horrible. I’m so sorry.” Pressing a hand over your heart, your jaw falls slack in mock sympathy.

“And finding samgyeopsal is even worse. I had to travel 30 minutes on the train.” He shakes his head in despair, and you’re both smiling now.

“Oh god.” Your lips are betraying you before you can tell them to shut up. “Do you remember that time we drove 40 minutes in Busan because that new shop that opened up allegedly had the best samgyeopsal in the town?”

“Yeah and then we got food poisoning? Fucking nightmare.” The memory is so clear you can almost taste the regret and ginger ale, can feel his hand cool against your forehead as you’d curled up on his floor. You two were so young then, back when you thought even food poisoning was an adventure as long as you were suffering through it together.

He’s really laughing now, the sound filling empty spaces in your ribs you’d forgotten were there. Behind him, the line grows longer in the shop, and you glance over at Jiwoo quickly to see that her hair is now in a haphazard bun.

“I hope Gangnam has better samgyeopsal.” You smile at him.

“Hmm. I tested this out already. It’s not bad.” His eyes trail down to his cup shyly. You almost think maybe he came back to Korea looking for tastes that would remind him of home.

“How is your eomma doing, by the way?”

Mrs. Jeon had always been kind to you. She would press extra banchan into your hands when you visited and ask about your classes. A second mother figure to you.

“She’s good. I still don’t think she likes New York. Plus my brother’s getting married.” His features light up. “She’s been throwing herself into wedding planning. You would think the wedding was for her.”

“Oh my god??” Your voice raises about ten octaves. “Junghyun is getting married? Don’t tell me it’s to Ri-won.”

Ri-won was Junghyun’s college girlfriend who used to show up to family dinners with homemade desserts and flowers for the entire family, even you. Seamlessly, she had fit into the family like she’d been born into it.

“It is, actually.” Jungkook grins fondly. “She pretty much tied him to a chair and begged him to marry her.”

“Can’t tell if that’s cute or terrifying.” You laugh as you picture small Ri-won wrestling Junghyun into submission. The image is so ridiculous that the knot in your chest loosens slightly,

“They’re disgustingly in love, so cute.” He shakes his head, hair falling over his forehead. “Like I’m happy for them, but I don’t need to see hyung feeding her strawberries at the kitchen table.”

The domesticity of the image hits you sideways. Junghyun and Ri-won in their home, probably arguing over wedding venues and seating charts, feeding each other fruit like teenagers desperately in love.

“What about you? How’s your eomma and sister?” He wonders innocently.

You don’t have the heart to tell him that your sister picked up the shattered pieces of you he left behind. That she despises him with every fiber of her being despite none of this being his fault.

“Jia’s good. She’s married now. Eomma’s been pestering her for kids.”

It’s still weird to say out loud. Your older sister, married. When did everyone grow up and start making permanent decisions?

“Think it’ll happen soon?”

“God, no. You know her. She thinks kids are gross snot bubbles.”

You realize too late what you’ve said.

You know her. As if he’s still flipping through baby photo albums with your mother on the old couch in your living room.

But he does know her. He probably remembers better than you how Jia used to make elaborate excuses to avoid babysitting the neighbors’ kids, or when she would dramatically gag if someone’s toddler had a runny nose.

Jia used to babysit for some of Jungkook’s cousins, and his aunt might possibly still laugh reminiscing on the time she almost got forced to change a diaper.

“Yup, sounds exactly like Jia. Does she still watch those cartoons?”

Yes, Jia absolutely does that. She has a masters degree and a marriage certificate but manages to text you theories about animated movie plots at 2 AM.

“Some things never change,” you sigh, lightly chucking under your breath.

Some things never really do. Mostly because you’re right where he left you, in a coffee shop on a rainy morning.

“Eomma still own that flower shop?”

Your mother owns this beautiful flower shop at the end of a dead road in Busan. You would spend countless afternoons doing homework in high school behind the counter, where the smell of peonies and roses became synonymous with home.

“Of course. Business is booming, she says.” You can’t help but smile. “I swear sometimes she tells me that so I don’t worry.”

“She’s smart, though. Best flowers in town.” He tugs the sleeve of his sweater down his left hand. She adored Jungkook — addressed him in family terms — and loved the person who made her daughter the happiest.

You’ve never been certain she loves Namjoon the same.

“You would know, wouldn’t you?” It's not meant to be a dig. In your chest, your heart speeds up, kicks into overdrive.

He blinks a few times. He’d spent ample time in that shop, charming your mother into giving him employee discounts and teaching him the difference between plants.

“Do you know how long it took me to find those flowers for our anniversary? She nearly kicked me out of the shop if I stayed another minute.” He trails off a little at the end of the sentence, like the memory has reached up and choked him.

21-year-old Jungkook was stressing — he drove your mother crazy as he agonized over flower combinations. He claimed they needed to be ‘perfect like you.’

Then he had the nerve to drive over to your dorm at 1 AM with the most elaborate bouquet known to mankind. The security guard barely agreed to let him in when he saw the size of that monstrosity. It was white peonies and pink roses, wrapped in the brown paper your mother never let you play with as a kid.

“They were perfect, Jungkook.” Absolutely perfect.

He looks down at his simmered-down coffee, and you catch something that might be regret flickering across his face.

“Have you been… writing?” You ask, partly to change the subject, partly because you want to know.

Jeon Jungkook — for all that he is handsome, put-together, and goofy at times — reminds you of a young Shakespeare.

In college, he carried notebooks everywhere he went, scribbling down fragments of stories and character sketches like he was collecting pieces of the world to reassemble later.

“No. I wish I was.” His shoulders sag. In this light, he looks more like the boy who read you his terrible first drafts before going to bed. “Haven’t had much time when I’m stuck in meetings all day.”

He sounds defeated. His eyes would light up when he would talk about the novel he was going to write, when he would map out plots on napkins and refuse to fall asleep anywhere beside his laptop in case inspiration struck. The light has dimmed a tad.

“You should get back to that.”

“You’d still read my books to your kindergarten kids if I publish?” He anxiously chews at his bottom lip as he looks up at you, expectantly.

“Even if I hadn’t seen you today, of course.”

And you mean that. Even though the thought of explaining to a bunch of kids why Miss [Y/L/N] is crying over a picture book would be its own special kind of torture.

“Guess I gotta scrap that murder novel then.” He smiles.

“Probably for the best,” you exhale out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “I can barely handle watching them dissect butterflies.”

He hums, then says while looking out the window, “It’s your favorite kind of morning, I see.”

His big eyes snap back to yours.

It’s cloudy and gray outside as the forecast promised. You usually set alerts on your phone for when it rains. The predictability of all soothes you. And when you know it’s going to rain, when the excitement settles in your bones at the familiarity of it, you let all your troubles wash away too.

This — this moment with Jungkook you hadn’t predicted — you don’t want to wash it away just yet. Not one bit.

It feels fragile and impossible, like trying to hold water in your cupped palms.

“Hm. Definitely.”

The bell above the door jingles, signaling the entrance of more coffee shop-goers. Reality starts to creep in like cold air through a cracked window.

“Drive into the city was ass though.” He hardly cranes his neck to check the door.

“You’ll manage.” You roll your eyes jokingly. “You survived New York traffic, remember? Seoul’s got nothing on that.”

But even as you say it, you're already standing, already reaching for your work bag, already nipping this entire thing right in the bud. Staying any longer feels dangerous.

You’re also not sure what time it is, and you know that if you check the clock, you’ll panic. Principal Park is going to have your head on a stick before recess.

He stands too, and for a moment, you both just look at each other across the frail table that wobbles.

“I really should—” you start.

“Yeah, of course. Your kids,” He steps backwards, hands sliding back into his pocket, coffee cup abandoned. “Don’t want to keep the future leaders of Korea waiting.”

You realize now you don’t know how to say goodbye to someone who used to know all your secrets. It’s like trying to explain color to someone who’s blind.

You wonder if you have time to Google ‘how to condense ten years of absence into a goodbye.’

He pauses. Mouth opens and closes like he’s testing words out in his brain to see how they fit. His jaw works silently in concentrated frustration.

“I don't know if this is stupid, but I'd love to get your—”

“Daddy!”

The American word cuts through the coffee shop, a stark contrast to the native tongue being spoken.

Your blood turns to ice water. A small voice calls out, high and excited and unmistakably directed at the man standing right in front of you.

The coffee shop, the morning light peeking from the rainclouds, the conversation you’ve been sharing — it all shatters into pieces that don’t fit together anymore.

Jungkook whips around so fast you think he might get whiplash, and that’s when you see them — two small figures barreling toward him.

A girl and a boy, about five years of age. Her pigtails bounce as she runs, and the boy is struggling to keep up, clutching a toy dinosaur to his chest.

They are children.

His children.

Air gets stolen from your lungs, leaving you gasping in the wreckage. Your vision tunnels, edges going dark.

He is a father. Jeon Jungkook — the boy who burned your ramyeon once and couldn’t even keep a goldfish alive — is someone’s daddy.

The girl crashes into his leg first like a small hurricane, and he catches her instinctively. The boy is cautious, hanging behind his leg, but adoration is written in his face as he looks up at Jungkook.

“We finished breakfast! Mommy said we could find you!” Her voice is breathless, bouncing on her toes even as Jungkook’s hands reach down and encircle her.

Mommy.

There’s a mother. There’s a whole family. There’s an entire life Jungkook built while you were doing arts and crafts, teaching kindergartners about clouds, playing tag on the playground.

His earlier response about his own imaginary roommates crashes back into your consciousness like a freight train.

“You could say that.”

You’d been so focused on your own deflection, calling Namjoon your roommate, that you’d missed it completely.

You're a moron. A grade-A, certified, absolutely spectacular moron.

You’re staring. You know you’re staring, but you can’t seem to stop, can’t seem to do anything but watch this unfold. Watch Jungkook transform from the man who was just struggling to ask you for something to someone who belongs to other people, someone who has promises and responsibilities that have nothing to do with you.

Your hands are shaking. You hope it’s not too visible.

“Did you have a good breakfast, Hari?” Jungkook’s voice is soft as he picks the girl up and perches her on his hip.

“So yummy, Daddy. I want more later.” Hari looks like pure sunshine. Her pink dress rides up a little, but he adjusts it thoughtfully. She wraps her small arms around his neck, and something cracks open in your chest.

He looks back over at you. There’s… panic floating behind his eyes. He probably realizes how impossible it is to explain why he’s still standing here with you when he has a family waiting for him.

You just stand there awkwardly, wait for some stupid introduction. Dumb, dumb, dumb, you repeat to yourself.

“This is Hari… and Jungwon. These are my kids.” He confirms it.

Jungwon, the boy with the dinosaur, immediately ducks behind his leg. But you’re good with kids — it’s literally your job, the one thing you know how to do even when the world implodes around you. You speak this language.

You crouch down to Jungwon’s eye level, making yourself smaller. “Hi there,” you start softly. You only use this voice during the first week of school, while everyone’s trying to figure out if you’re safe. “That’s a really cool dinosaur. Is it a t-rex?”

Jungwon peeks out from behind Jungkook’s leg, curiosity winning over shyness. He nods, holding the toy a little tighter. He has soft round cheeks, hair just as dark as his father’s. There’s a dinosaur bandage on his knee.

This little boy is half of the man you once loved, walking around in miniature with sticky fingers and a toy dinosaur.

“I love dinosaurs. My favorite is a pterodactyl.” You keep your voice gentle.

His eyes light up, stepping out more confidently. "I like them too.”

“He normally doesn’t talk to strangers,” Jungkook rushes to say, and there’s a bit of wonder in his tone as he watches you work your teacher magic.

“It’s okay, there's no rush.” Years of training kicks in even as your brain struggles to process it all. You're having a professional conversation about child development with your ex-boyfriend while his son — his fucking son — clutches a plastic dinosaur and looks at you with eyes that used to promise you forever.

You stand back up, knees protesting slightly, and turn your attention to Hari.

“Who’s that, daddy?” she asks. For her young age, you can tell she notices everything.

And that’s when you finally see it. Wrapped around her little leg is his left hand. The one he’s been keeping jammed in his pocket this whole time.

There’s a thin gold band on his left ring finger.

The world tilts sideways again, and you have to grip the table to keep from toppling over.

He’s not just a father, he’s a husband too.

There is a woman in this world who gets to wake up next to him every morning.

You ponder if she knows about his tendency to hum off-key in the shower, or his terrible sleeping habits, or that his guilty pleasure book is the Harry Potter series.

You look over at him, desperate for any guidance. How exactly does one answer an innocent question like that when the truth is too complicated for you to understand?

Well, sweetheart, Daddy and I used to love each other very much, but then he got on a big plane in the sky that transported him thousands of miles away, and now I play with bugs and he works a big boy job that lets him buy homes in Gangnam.

“An old friend, baby,” Jungkook relieves you of the answer. You want to both thank him and absolutely lose your mind.

As if you’re someone he knew in passing, not someone who knows that he twitches in his sleep when he’s having a really vivid dream.

Hari processes this information, studying your face. Then she suddenly gets bashful, ducks her head into Jungkook’s shoulder, and giggles before going, “You’re really pretty.”

Kids have this way of cutting through adult problems with safety scissors.

You and Jungkook both laugh. When you catch his eye, he’s looking at you like he agrees with her.

“So are you, Miss Hari.” You grin.

She really is beautiful. She has a confidence that speaks to how deeply loved she must be.

You take another long look at his kids.

They have his big brown eyes, staring back up at you like you hung the moon and stars.

Sometimes, and you’ll never admit this outloud, when you fight with Namjoon and head to bed angry, you have dreams where your children have the same ones.

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