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dollveis · 4 months ago

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☆ ┆ KISSING IN THE BATHROOM. ellie williams — “ are you ready to cry? 'cause i'm no good. "

𔓘۫ ⊹ 𓈒 things get a little complicated and confusing after Ellie fucks you at that bathroom party, you can't stop thinking about her. MINI SERIES : FIRST PART. 8.8K WORDS.

featuring. tattoo artist!ellie x afab!reader content warning ! MDNI, smut, angst, fluff(?), reader is described using a dress and a skirt, ellie doesn't seem emotionally available, lack of communication, commitment and abandonment issues from ellie's end, she's actually pretty much an awkward loser with a cool appearance, average wlw situationship tbh, ellie pseudo flirts w a random girl, top!ellie, bottom!reader, reader is a bit of a brat, strap usage (r!receiving), tit play, degrading names (slut, it's used like twice tho), ellie refers to her strap like her dick/cock, petnames (baby, sweet girl, etc), breeding kink, mention of joel abandoning ellie and i think that's all??

❀ after two years i decided to write a second part for kissing in the bathroom 😭 i just randomly found inspo for it and idk, someone might still be interested and have fun reading it 'cause i sure did have fun writing it, either way i think this is a bit all over the place??? this is also kinda based in my experience with my gf before we started dating so this is pretty much based in real events i fear but enough yapping!

The bathroom air is thick with the scent of alcohol, weed and something more, something sweeter, maybe Ellie's cologne. The tile is cold against your back, a stark contrast to the heat still lingering between your bodies. Your breath still uneven, your mind spinning and even a little confused— not because of the drinks but because of her. Ellie Williams, the city's most sought tattoo artist, the same Ellie who barely spared you a glance when you approached her earlier, now she's standing in front of you, her hair messy and damp from the sweat, adjusting her belt with lazy fingers, her pupils blown wide.

Her gaze looks up from her belt, looking at you, her expression unreadable, “you good?” she asks, her voice rough from booze, weed and whatever else she's taken tonight.

You nod, though good isn't exactly the word to describe how you are feeling. Your heart is still hammering, you can still feel the imprint of her lips, her hands, the weight of her body pressing you against the bathroom's counter.

Ellie runs a hand through her messy hair in an attempt to fix it and she exhales sharply, like she's grounding herself. Then, just like that, she turns toward the door.

“That's it?” those words slip out of your mouth before you can stop them. God, you want to hit your skull against the wall, stupid, stupid.

The freckled girl freezes for half a second, then she laughs— not cruelly but not exactly nice either, more like she's amused that you'd even ask that, “yeah, that's it,” she glances back at you, raking over your figure, taking in your flushed cheeks, your swollen lips and your bruised neck, “unless you expected something else?”

You swallow hard. You didn't expect anything else, not really if you were honest, but there's still a sting at how easily she's slipping back into her detached, too-cool persona. You just shake your head, “no. Just making sure.”

Ellie gives a lopsided smirk and reaches for the doorknob. Before she leaves, she pauses, “if you ever want a tattoo,” her voice low, “you know where to find me.”

And then she's gone. You stay there for a moment, gripping the edge of the sink, trying to process what just happened because this isn't just some random girl at a party, this is Ellie Williams, you just can't believe it.

The party is still going strong when you finally step out of the bathroom, music thrums through the floor, the bass of the song vibrating through your chest but everything feels a little off now. The lights are too bright, the voices too loud, the crowd too suffocating or maybe it's just the fact that Ellie was nowhere to be seen. Now you're not really sure of what you expected, maybe for her to stick around, maybe for her to acknowledge you but she's disappeared like smoke and now you're standing here, feeling raw in a way that has nothing to do with the alcohol in your veins.

You don't stay much longer after that.

The morning after the party you wake up with a dull ache in your head and Ellie still lingering in your mind, the sharp lines of her jaw, the ink decorating her skin, the way her fingers pressed against you. It's ridiculous, really, you barely know her and yet she's stuck under your skin like ink sinking too deep to fade.

You spend half the day trying to shake it off— running errands, scrolling through your phone, convincing yourself that last night was just that: a night. But then your fingers are typing ‘Ink & Desire’, her business’ name into the search bar before you can stop them. It doesn't take long to find, the website is sleek, with a black and white theme, filled with pictures of Ellie's work and her two coworkers but it's easy to recognize hers, sharp and intricate designs, those are undeniably hers. Below that, a small section labeled Booking Information:

Appointments only. No walk-ins. Currently booked out for a week.

Of course, city's most popular artist wouldn't just be sitting around waiting for someone to wander in. Stil, before you can even try to talk yourself out of it, you're clicking the booking link, filling out the form with shaky hands.

‘Name’, you hesitate before typing it in. ‘Preferred artist’, Ellie Williams. ‘Design idea’, you pause again, the truth is you don't even know what you want, just that you want her to be the one to do it. After a moment, you type ‘Something small, fine line. Open to ideas’.

You hover over the Submit button. This is insane, you think to yourself, she probably won't even remember you and even if she does, last night was just a hookup— it wasn't an invitation for anything more. Still, you press send.

────────────────────────────────────

A week passes, and you try to not check your email every ten minutes. When a response finally comes in, your heart kicks up.

‘Hey. I've got an opening Friday at 6. That work for you? — E’

Short. Direct. No indication of whether she remembers you or you're just another client but you don't let yourself overthink that.

‘Yeah, that works. See you then’

And when Friday comes, you're standing outside Ink & Desire ten minutes early, heart hammering. You take a breath, push open the door and step inside. The shop is buzzing— tattoo machines humming, the scent of antiseptic and ink filling the air. A couple of other artists seem to be working on some clients, their stations cluttered with ink caps and paper towels stained with black and red.

Then, there's Ellie, she's at the front desk, flipping through her sketchbook. When she looks up and sees you something flickers across her face, recognition maybe, but it's gone just as fast, replaced by something unreadable.

“You're early,” she says, closing her sketchbook with her gaze still fixated on you.

You shrug, trying to seem casual despite the fact your stomach is twisting itself into knots, “didn't want to be late.”

She leans against the counter, arms crossed, “alright. You said fine line and small piece, got anything in mind or you're trusting me?”

You meet her gaze, pulse racing, “trusting you,” her lips twitch ever so slightly, something like amusement or approval. Then she nods towards the chair in her station.

Ellie's station is tucked near the back of the shop, dimly lit by a warm overhead lamp. Sketches and stencils are scattered across her workspace, some half finished, others crisp and ready to ink, something about the whole space was making you feel closer to her, like watching it was giving you a sight inside a part of her brain. You sit down in the chair, heart pounding just a little too fast.

She grabs a stool, rolling up beside you, “where do you want it?”

You blink, realizing you haven't even thought about a placement. You swallow and then extend your wrist, “here… maybe?”

The girl takes your hand without hesitation, tilting it slightly in her grasp. Her fingers are calloused but her touch is surprisingly gentle when she runs her thumb over the inside of your wrist as if she's mapping out the space.

“This works,” she mutters, more to herself than to you, then she pulls out her iPad and starts sketching.

You watch as she works, completely focused, the same way she was that night at the party except this time it's also different. This time her attention is completely on you, on your skin, on creating something meant last. After a few minutes, she turns the screen towards you, it's a delicate design— fine lines, a mix of floral and geometric elements, simple but pretty.

Your throat goes dry, “that's perfect.”

Ellie nods like she already knew it would be, “alright, let's stencil it on.”

She moves through the process with ease, cleaning your skin, pressing the stencil down, smoothing it with her fingers. When she peels it away, you glance down at the faint purple outline on your wrist.

“This is your last chance to back out,” she teases when she sees you looking, a slight smirk on her lips as she adjusts her machine. In response you just shake your head, her smirk lingers but she doesn't say anything else, just turns on the machine, the buzz filling the air. Then she starts.

The first few seconds are sharp, tiny needles pricking into your skin, not unbearable but definitely there. You exhale, trying to relax.

When she feels your action, she glances up, “not too bad, right?” she asks.

You huff, a bit out of breath, “i've had worse.”

Ellie chuckles under her breath, “yeah, i bet.”

She keeps going, her touch steady, her focus unwavering. The shop hums around you— the other artists chatting with their clients, music playing low from a speaker in the corner, but all you can focus on is her, the way she leans in close, the way her brows furrow slightly in concentration, the way she occasionally glances up, making sure you're okay. The whole thing takes maybe twenty minutes but it Feels both longer and shorter at the same time.

When she finally leans back, wiping down your skin with a paper towel, you glance down at the finished piece, it's stunning, crisp lines, delicate shading, every detail perfectly placed.

“Damn…” you murmur, unable to hide your smile.

Ellie arches an eyebrow, “yeah? you like it?”

“Like it? i love it.”

She grins a little, and for a second, it feels like that cold, untouchable version of her from the party isn't here right now. Just this version, the one with ink-stained fingers and a quiet kind of pride in her work.

She tapes a bandage over the tattoo and sits back, “alright, you're all set, I'll give you aftercare instructions at the front desk.”

You nod, but you don't move right away and neither does she, there's something in the air, unspoken, heavy.

Then Ellie clears her throat, breaking the moment, “come on.”

You follow her to the front, where she hands you a small aftercare sheet and rings you up, the price is steep but for Ellie Williams’ work it’s more thaspeakin

As you pull out your card, you hesitate for a second before speaking, “so, uh…” you glance at her, “are you always this professional or just when you're sober?”

Ellie stills for a second, then she exhales a quiet laugh, shaking her head, “you're really bringing that up right now?”

You shrug, looking away for a moment, “just curious.”

She hands you your receipt, her fingers brushing yours, “what happens at parties, stays at parties,” she says, voice low.

And you don't know why that stings, but it does. Still, you manage to force out a smirk, “got it,” you say as you grab the receipt, turning to leave but when you reach the door, Ellie's voice stops you.

“Hey,” you glance back, she's leaning against the counter with her arms crossed, “if you ever want another one,” she says, “i'll bump you up the waitlist.”

Your heart skips, you don't know what it means, if it means anything at all, but still you nod, a small smile tugging at your lips, “yeah,” you murmur, “i think i will.”

────────────────────────────────────

It takes about three days for you to cave and text her on instagram. Not about the tattoo, that's healing just fine, the lines perfect against your skin, it's her that's messing with your head, the way she looked at you when when she said she'd bump you up the waitlist, like maybe and just maybe, last Friday hadn't been just another appointment for her. But Ellie is not easy to read so you keep it simple and a bit casual.

‘hey, the tattoo's healing great. just thought u should know your work is still perfect :)”

To be honest, you don't expect a response, the first time you texted her a month ago she completely ignored you but barely a minute later, your phone vibrates.

‘yeah? you've been taking care of it?’

You huff a small laugh.

‘obviously, i don't wanna ruin ur art’

This time, Ellie doesn't answer right away and you're about to chalk it up as just a casual check-in when another message comes through.

‘you free tonight?’

Your stomach flips, you weren't expecting that.

‘depends, why?’

Another pause, then—

‘come by the shop when i close, 9pm’

She doesn't give any more details but you don't really need them, your body moves before your brain catches up, already heading to your closet thinking what the hell you're supposed to wear when Ellie Williams text you out of nowhere telling you to come over.

At 8:58PM you're outside Ink & Desire again, heart hammering in your chest, your hands fixing your sundress or gripping your purse. The Closed sign is flipped in the window but the front door is still unlocked. When you step inside, the shop is quiet, dimmed lights, Ellie is at her station, wiping down her equipment. When she looks up and sees you something flickers in her green eyes.

“You actually showed.”

You arch a brow, stepping further inside, “did you think i wouldn't?”

She smirks, setting down the cloth she was using to clean, “most people don't like late-night invitations with no explanation.

You shrug, chuckling, “guess i'm not most people.”

Ellie watches you for a beat, like she's trying to figure out what to do with you, then she nods towards the back, “come on.

The girl leads you through a doorway, past a break room, until you reach a small patio. It's quiet out there, the city noise softened by the high walls. There's an old couch pushed up against the brick, a few stray potted plants and a neon ‘Ink & Desire’ sign hanging above the door, casting a dim blue glow over everything.

Ellie sits down on the couch, stretching her legs out, looking completely at ease. She pulls a joint from her pocket, lighting it before glancing up at you, “smoke?”

You hesitate for a moment before sitting next to her, “yeah, sure.”

She passes it to you, watching as you take a slow drag, the silence between you isn't awkward— it's charged, thick.

“So,” you exhale, tilting your head at her, “you invite all your clients for late-night smoke sessions or just the ones you've fucked in a party bathroom?”

Ellie lets out a sharp laugh, shaking her head, “you don't let shit go, huh?”

You smirk, passing the joint back, “nope.”

She takes a slow drag, letting the smoke fill her lungs and then exhaling it towards the sky, “no, i don't do this with clients.”

Your pulse jumps at that. Ellie flicks ash onto the pavement, then glances at you, her voice lower now, “you been thinking about that night?”

Your eyes open slightly and you swallow hard before answering, “maybe.”

She hums, studying like she's been waiting for something. Then, slowly, she reaches out, her fingers brushing over your wrist, the one she tattooed, the touch is featherlight but it manages to send a shiver up your spine.

“Looks good on you,” she murmurs, tracing the edge of the design.

You breath catches, this is dangerous territory, you can feel it but you don't stop her, instead you shift slightly, closing a bit of the distance between you, “Ellie…”

Her emerald eyes meet your gaze and for a quick moment, it feels like she might close the distance completely but then, she exhales, leaning back.

“Fuck,” she mutters, dragging a hand through her hair, “this is probably a bad idea.”

Your stomach tightens at her words, “why?”

Ellie flicks her lighter open and shut, not meeting your eyes, “because i don't do… this. I don't do people.”

Your throat feels tight, almost as if a rope was around it but you force out a casual, “you did me.”

She snorts, shaking her head, “that's different.”

“How?”

She doesn't answer right away, just looks at you, something conflicted flickering in her green eyes and then— soft, almost too quiet— “because i haven't stopped thinking about it either.”

Your breath catches, the air between you is thick again, charged, electric, but this time Ellie doesn't pull away. This time she leans in and when she kisses you, slow and deep, you know you're in trouble.

Ellie kisses you like she's trying to find something out, slow at first, then deeper, more certain, like she's decided she doesn't want to fight it anymore. Her hands curl around your jaw, finger rough and calloused, grounding you in the moment.

Your head spins but not from the weed, it's her. The way she moves, the way she tastes like smoke and something undeniably Ellie.

She pulls back just enough to search your face, her breath warm against your lips, “you sure about this?”

You don't hesitate at all, “yeah.”

That's all she needs. Ellie tugs you onto her lap and you go willingly, hands threading into her hair as she kisses you again, harder and needier this time. Her fingers dig into your hips, pulling you closer like she can't get enough. Her hands start to roam, to grip, slipping beneath your dress, shamelessly touching your ass or inner thighs.

You don't know how long you stay like that, tangled in each other, the cool air doing nothing to dull the heat between you both but eventually Ellie exhales against your skin, resting her forehead against yours.

“This is a bad idea,” she mutters, but she doesn't sound like she really means it.

You smirk, fingers tracing the edge of her jaw, “then why'd you invite me here, huh?”

She huffs out a laugh, shaking her head softly, “because i'm fucking stupid apparently.”

You grin, but there's something behind her words, something hesitant, like she's waiting for the other shoe to drop so instead of pushing, you soften, “Ellie… I'm not expecting anything from you.”

She studies you, eyes searching, “you're not?”

You shrug, “i just like being around you.”

Ellie exhales again, her shoulders loosening just a little, “yeah,” she murmurs, “i kinda like having you around too.”

It's quiet for a second, then she nudges you, “you wanna stay for a bit? hang out?”

You smile, “yeah, i do.”

So you do, you sit there with her, passing the joint back and forth, talking about nothing and everything. The city hums around you, but in this little back patio, it's just the two of you.

You don't leave the shop until well past midnight, Ellie walks you to the door, hands shoved in her hoodie pocket, her expression enigmatic as she leans against the frame, “so,” she says glancing at you, “was this a one time thing or…?”

One of your brows arches, “you tell me.”

Ellie exhales a short laugh, “you're a pain in the ass, you know that?”

You just smirk, “and yet here we are.”

She looks at you for a second— really looks at you, then she huffs, running a hand through her auburn hair, “you wanna get food sometime?”

Your stomach flips but you keep your cool, crossing your arms over your chest and tilting your head with a cocky smile, “are you asking me on a date, Williams?”

Ellie scoffs as she rolls her eyes, “Jesus, you make everything difficult.”

You grin, “you're deflecting.”

She rolls her eyes once again but doesn't deny it, “you want food or not?”

You pretend to think for a second, just to mess with her, “i think my schedule is free… yeah, i want food.”

Ellie nods, satisfied, “good, i'll text you.”

────────────────────────────────────

And with that she steps back inside, letting the door swing shut behind her and you stand there for a quick moment, grinning to yourself before heading home.

The next few days pass in a weird, anticipatory haze, Ellie doesn't text back immediately but you're not surprised, something tells you she's not the type to jump into things quickly. Still, when her name finally pops up on your phone, your heart stutters.

‘theres a diner near the shop, come by tomorrow night’

Short. Straight to the point. Classic Ellie.

You reply without hesitation.

‘sounds like a date :)’

She doesn't text back, but when you show up the next night, she's already there, sitting in a booth by the window, picking at the label of her beer bottle.

She glances up when you slide into the seat across from her, “hey.”

“Hey,” you echo, shrugging off your jacket, “so, this is your usual spot?”

Ellie shrugs, “yeah. Open late. Decent food. They don't ask questions.”

You smirk, “that last part sounds suspicious.”

She rolls her eyes, “you ask too many questions.”

“You keep saying that and yet you keep inviting me to places.”

Ellie laughs and nods her head, “yeah, i guess i do.”

You order food and conversation flows easier than you expect. She tells you about how she got into tattooing, how she started sketching designs as a teenager, how an old friend convinced her to take it seriously. You just listen, fascinated, watching the way she gestures when she talks, the way her eyes light up just a little when she mentions her work.

At one point she catches you staring, “what?”

You shake your head, smiling, “nothing. Just… I like hearing you talk about this.”

Ellie scoffs, but there's a hint of pink at the tips of her ears, “yeah, well, it's the only thing i'm good at.”

You frown, “i doubt that.”

She meets your gaze, “yeah?”

“Yeah.”

She doesn't respond right away, just holds your stare for a second too long before glancing away, taking a slow sip of her beer and for the first time since meeting her, you get the feeling that Ellie Williams really doesn't quite know what to do with you.

After dinner she walks you back to your place. It's chilly and, at some point, she shrugs off her hoodie and hands it to you without a word. You pull it on, breathing in the faint scene of her cologne mixed with smoke.

When you reach your building, you hesitate on the doorstep, looking at her, “you wanna come up?”

Ellie hesitates too, “not tonight.”

You nod, trying to not let the disappointment show, “okay.”

She shifts on her feet, then reaches out, fingers brushing over your wrist, the same spot she tattooed, “text me when you're home,” she says, voice quiet.

You smile, “Ellie, I am home.”

She rolls her eyes, but there's something soft in the way she huffs out of breath, “you know what i mean.”

You do. So, you nod, stepping back, watching as she shoves her hands in her pockets and starts walking away.

And just before she rounds the corner, she glances back, smirks and calls out, “keep the hoodie.” Yeah. You're in trouble.

────────────────────────────────────

After that night you obviously don't receive an immediate text. You tell yourself you're not waiting for it, that it's not a big deal but that's a lie, you find yourself checking your phone more often than you should, catching the faint scent of her hoodie when you wear it around your apartment. It's ridiculous how much she's gotten under your skin in such a short time.

And when her name finally appears at the top of your screen, it's almost infuriating how casual and nonchalant she is about it.

‘u doing anything tonight?’

You bite your lip, staring at the message, willing yourself to be cool about it.

‘depends. u finally decided to see me again???’

Her reply comes pretty fast.

‘don't start, u coming or not?’

You grin to yourself, already reaching for your jacket.

‘where to’

Ellie quickly sends an address, a bar a few blocks away from the shop.

When you arrive the place is exactly what you expected from Ellie— dimly lit, a little grimy, but with a solid crowd and decent music. When you walk in she's already at the bar, a beer in hand, dressed in her usual hoodie and jeans combo.

She spots you with her eyes and smirks, “didn't think you'd actually come.”

You slide onto the stool next to her, slipping your jacket off your shoulders and putting it on your lap, “please, like i'd miss a chance to see you,” Ellie shakes her head but in her eyes there's something, amusement? maybe something else.

You order a drink and the conversation comes easy, she tells you about a client she had earlier, some guy who wanted a giant, badly drawn wolf across his chest. “I tried to talk him out of it,” she says, taking a sip of her beer, “but dude didn't care, just wanted it big.”

You laugh, “did you do it?”

Ellie groans, tilting her head back, “yeah, against my better judgement. I should've made him sign a waiver saying i wasn't responsible for ruining his life.”

You smirk, “bet it still looked good, because… you know, you're kind of a genius.”

She scoffs, rolling her eyes with a downturned smile, “you're so fucking annoying.”

“You love it.”

She doesn't respond immediately, just takes another sip of her drink, eyes flickering over you, “maybe,” your stomach flips.

For a while you just sit there, drinking, talking, existing in the same space. Ellie doesn't feel like she needs to fill the silence and neither do you, it's comfortable in a way that surprises you. At some point, she leans in slightly, her knee bumping against yours, “you wanna get out of here?”

Your breath catches, but you don't let it show, you just tilt your head, “where to?”

Ellie shrugs but there's something deliberate in the way she looks at you, “anywhere but here.”

And just like that you're following her outside, into the cool air of the night.

You end up at her apartment, a small place above the tattoo shop, it's cluttered but live-in, sketchbooks piled on the coffee table, an old guitar propped against the arm of the couch, some comics and dinosaur figures on her shelves.

Ellie kicks off her boots, looking at you, “you want a drink or something?”

You shake your head as an answer, stepping further inside, taking everything in. There's a sketch taped to the fridge, something floral, delicate, half finished, you recognize the style immediately, “you draw at home too?” you ask, glancing over at her.

Ellie shrugs, rubbing the back of her neck, “yeah, sometimes.”

You turn back to the sketch, “this one's beautiful.”

She watches you for a moment, then exhales, “i was thinking about making it a tattoo.”

“For a client?”

Ellie shakes her head, “for you,” your chest tightens, you meet her gaze, searching. She almost looks nervous, like she's debating she should've said that at all, “i mean— you don't have to, obviously, just thought… you might like it.”

You step closer, your voice almost a whisper, “i do like it.”

The girl in front of you swallows, her eyes locking with yours, “yeah?”

You nod, “yeah.”

Sometimes shifts in the air, the space between you feels smaller, tighter. Ellie reaches out, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear, her fingers lingering just a little too long but neither of you move.

Then, she breaks the silence, soft— uncertain, “can i kiss you?”

Your breath catches, “Ellie…”

She shakes her head, “just— tell me if this is too much, if you don't want this, i'll back off.”

You don't hesitate at all, “i want this,” Ellie exhales almost like if she was relieved, like she was bracing herself for another answer. Then, finally, finally, she closes the gap.

The kiss is slower this time, softer, less rushed, less fueled by alcohol and bad decisions. It's careful, deliberate, like she's memorizing the feel of you.

At some point you need to back away slightly, searching for air, Ellie's eyes are locked with yours, both of your breaths uneven. There's silence for a moment, no movement, just tension, then— she takes a step closer, your back hits the fridge before you even realize you're moving, the cool surface pressing against your overheated skin. Ellie's hands come up, caging you in, one palm braced against the fridge and the other curling loosely around your waist and without more thoughts, Ellie crashes her mouth against yours, her mouth hot and desperate, this second kiss is not that soft, not that slow, there's teeth and tongue and need. You gasp against her lips as she presses closer, her fingers digging into your hip.

Her hands are greedy, sliding under your shirt, feeling your breasts, her calloused fingers playing with both of your nipples, caressing, pinching, teasing them, the stimulation makes you gasp softly and tip your head back as her lips move down your jaw and throat.

“You drive me fucking crazy,” Ellie mutters against your skin, voice thick in desperation and need. She nips at your pulse point, then soothes the sting with her tongue.

Your fingers find the hem of her hoodie, tugging it up and Ellie takes the hint quickly, pulling back just enough to yank it over her head along with her shirt, she doesn't even give you a second to admire her before she's back on you, hands roaming, mouth finding yours again.

The way she touches you, like she's been starving for this, like she's been holding back— makes your stomach flip. Your own hands are just as frantic, feeling the hard lines of her naked back, the flex of her muscles with every subtle move she does. Ellie groans when you dig your nails in slightly, the thigh she has between yours and her hips pressing forward instinctively, the friction making you gasp and she takes advantage of it, slipping her tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss until you're both breathless.

Her hands slide lower, gripping at your bare thighs, and before you can react, she's lifting you effortlessly. Your legs wrap around her waist as she presses you harder against the fridge, her lips never leaving yours.

“Fuck. I—” you break off with a sharp inhale as her teeth graze your collarbone, biting just enough to leave a mark.

Ellie chuckles, the sound dark and velvety against your skin, “that's the plan, sweet girl.”

She carries you to the couch, laying you down with a look in her eyes that promises you're not gonna forget this night. Ellie hovers over you, a smirk tugging at her lips as she takes in the way you're sprawled out beneath her, already looking like a mess even if nothing happened yet. Her hands are firm on your hips, her body pressing down just enough to keep you pinned.

“Look at you,” she murmurs, her voice dripping with amusement as her hands start to roam between your thighs, pulling your skirt up just enough to show her your laced, and already wet, panties, the sight delightful for her, “didn't take much to get you like this, huh?”

Heat flares in your stomach when you feel her fingers tracing up and down your slit over your panties, teasing you painfully, you glare up at her, “shut up.”

Ellie chuckles, shaking her head as she keeps going with her ministrations, “nah, i don't think i will,” she dips down, brushing her lips over the shell of your ear, “you're too fun to mess with.”

Her fingers tug at the hem of your shirt, helping you take it off, she looks at you for a moment, how perfectly your tits sit there, like they are waiting for her. She starts dragging slow, lazy circles around your nipples but not directly touching them, just teasing you to watch you squirm.

You huff, shifting against her, looking for some friction, relief, “Ellie—”

“Ellie what?” she interrupts, smirking, “use your words, baby, c'mon, i know you can do that for me,” she says sweetly.

You bite back a groan, your voice breathless, “please fuck me, just—” and she does not even wait, she quickly gets up, almost pacing to, what you assume, her bedroom. It doesn't take long for her to return, this time a strap peeking out of her unzipped jeans.

She's quick to be all over you again, your head tilting back against the couch as she kisses down your neck, taking her sweet time. Her teeth graze your skin again, and this time, she doesn't stop at just two mark— she leaves another, and another.

“Gotta make sure everyone knows what a mess you turn into for me,” she whispers against your throat, her voice laced with satisfaction, “wouldn't want anyone getting any ideas.”

With one of her hands she manages to properly pull out her strap out of her jeans and ssomeho to completely take off her pants without getting away from your body. You feel the tip of it grazing your cunt over your blue panties, that subtle touch arousing you even more.

She easily, without even needing to look, she pulls your underwear aside, the air hitting your wet pussy, you're able to feel how she positions the strap to your aching whole, the thought of her having inside you making you clench around nothing.

She doesn't rush it, doesn't force it, she lets your cunt accommodate to the girth and length of her dick, slowly putting it deeper and deeper inside you, every inch making you gasp, a small ‘oh my god’ escaping your mouth. But it's not even really hard for you to be able to take it completely, your pussy already so wet making it easier to slide inside and she smirks when she notices it.

When she starts thrusting, her hips hitting the plush of your inner thighs, you grip at her arms, trying to keep yourself grounded somehow but Ellie just laughs, her breath warm against your skin, “what happened to all that attitude, huh?” she teases, nipping at your jaw, “you've been so mouthy all this time. Now you're just gonna lay here and take my cock like a slut?” every thrust she makes feeling like it hit deeper each time.

You glare at her, your eyes a bit glassy from the pleasure, “maybe— oh— i don't wanna feed your ego,” you somehow manage to pronounce.

Ellie grins, enjoying your reactions and quiet whimpers, feeling pity at your attempt to bite back, “baby please— like it's not already massive.”

Her hands tighten on your hips before she pounds her own against you, rough and hard, the friction sends a sharp wave of pleasure through you, your breath stuck at your throat, a pathetic whine coming out and she smirks confidently.

“Yeah, that's what i thought.”

You don't even have a chance to retort before she pounds into you, hitting that spongy spot inside you, as she devours your lips again, passionate and absolutely cocky about it, like she knows she won.

She pulls back after a minute, just enough to look at you, her smirk downright smug. She brushes her thumb over you swollen bottom lip, tilting her head like she's examining her work.

“God, you're cute when you're flustered and fucked,” she murmurs, almost to herself, “didn't think you'd be type to get all shy and sub on me,” she says, her thrusts slower now and her head lowering down to your breasts, her warm tongue circling around your right nipple.

“I'm not,” you grumble, though your voice betrays you, breathless and uneven, the words almost coming whiny.

Ellie chuckles, low and rough, “oh yeah?” she presses slowly and deep against you, hitting exactly where you needed, watching the way your body reacts, how you squirm slightly, “then why you're gripping me like i'm gonna disappear?”

You blink, realizing your fingers are digging into her arms, almost bruising her forearms, holding onto her like she's the only thing keeping you grounded.

A knowing grin, “busted.”

You whimper, a sound mixed with annoyance and ecstasy, turning your head away but she doesn't let you escape, she lets go of your tit and chases your lips, kissing the corner of your mouth, then lower, drawing her tongue along until she meets your chest once again, this time she directly sucks, swapping between both of your tits, your breasts sensitive from the previous foreplay. You shudder and bite your own lip, trying to contain your filthy sounds.

“Don't get all quiet on me now,” she hums against your warm skin, “i like hearing you, babe, oh— god,” she glances down for a moment, watching how good your pussy is taking her strap, almost like devouring it, her eyes going wide fill with lust and desire,” the thought of how your cunt is clenching around her cock making her wetter, she needs to feel your walls milking her cock.

Oh, how she wishes she has a real dick to fill your pretty pussy full of cum.

She mutters, more like talking to herself than you, “i want to make you fill you up so bad—”

Your breath stutters at her pornographic words, your hands reaching to tangle in her auburn hair as you moan softly.

Ellie looks at you for a moment, she tsks and shakes her head, her voice dropping to a whisper and her lips brushing over your ear, sometimes nipping at the shell, “you wanna act all tough? but we both know you like when i get you all worked up, you're just a dirty pretty girl, aren't you?”

And you don't even have the strength to fight back, to continue being a brat, her dick is hitting your g-spot with every thrust, her hands are massaging, pinching your nipples and her mouth is leaving wet kisses everywhere, or at least you feel it everywhere. She's everywhere.

God, how you wish you could wipe that cocky grin off her face but you start to feel dizzy, your bud puffy. You're over the edge and she knows, of course she does.

“Don't you even dare to cum yet,” she says as she manhandles you like it's nothing, this time she's laying on the couch and you're sitting on top of her, her dick still buried inside you, “move, c'mon, don't you wanna cum so bad?”

Fucking mean.

────────────────────────────────────

It starts to feel real after that night.

Ellie doesn't say much when you wake up tangled in her sheets the next morning (and you don't really remember at which point you both ended up in her bed last night), sunlight creeping through her curtains. She grumbles something about it being too early, rolls over and drapes an arm over your waist like she forgot she wasn't supposed to be this comfortable with you.

And for a little, everything's easy. You start seeing her more, sometimes at the shop, sometimes at her place or even yours, sometimes in the late hours of the night when she texts with a simple ‘u up?’ like she already doesn't know the answer. She never calls it anything and neither do you, but there's an unspoken rhythm to it now.

At least you think there is.

The first crack in the illusion happens a few weeks later. It's Friday evening and you're out with Dina and some other friends when you decide, impulsively, to stop by Ink & Desire. You haven't heard from Ellie all day— not that she owes you an update on her life, but still. Something in you itches to see her.

When you push open the door, the place is buzzing. Clients waiting in the lobby, machines humming in the back, Ellie is at her station, leaning over some guy's arm, focused as she works on a new piece. You watch for a second, admiring the way she moves, the way her hands are so steady, so sure.

“Ellie,” you call, stepping closer.

She glances up, her face immediately hardening, not with anger but guarded.

“Hey,” she says, straightening slightly, “what are you doing here?”

The question shouldn't make your stomach twist, but it does, “i was just in the area,” you say, keeping your voice light, “thought i'd stop by.”

Ellie nods slowly, then flicks her gaze towards the guy in the chair, “i'm kinda busy.”

You force a small smile, “yeah, i can see that. I don't wanna interrupt, i just—”

“I'll text you later, okay?”

She says it in a way that makes it clear this conversation is over, like she's already shutting the door on it before it can even be anything more.

Something tightens in your chest, you nod, “yeah. Sure.”

Then you turn and walk out before she can see whatever's written all over your face.

She never texts you that night.

Or the next.

You tell yourself not to be that person, the one who overthinks, who waits by their phone, who gets caught up in something that was never clearly defined.

But when Ellie does finally reaches out –three days later– it's just hey.

That's it.

Like nothing happened.

Like she didn't ice out and disappear.

You stare at the message for a long time before replying.

‘that's all i get?’

A few minutes pass.

‘what do u mean?’

You exhale sharply, fingers tightening in frustration around your phone.

‘you ignored me for 3 days, ellie’

This time, it takes longer for her to reply, around two hours, and when she does it, it's frustratingly short.

‘i got busy’

A bitter laugh bubbles up before you can contain it. Of course. She got busy.

‘right.’

You don't send anything else. Neither does.

Another few days pass and things feel off.

Ellie doesn't completely disappear but she's distant. Less responsive, less present. She still texts you, sometimes –little things, casual things– but it's different.

She's pulling away. And maybe the worst part is that you don't even know if you have the right to be upset about it, because what are you to her? She's never called you her girlfriend, never even hinted anything serious.

So why does it hurt like hell when she starts slipping through your fingers?

────────────────────────────────────

The breaking point comes in a night you don't expect.

You're at a bar with some friends when you see her— Ellie, standing at the pool table, laughing at something a girl beside her says. You freeze, you know you don't own her, you know she doesn't owe you anything but does it sting.

The girl leans in, whispering something in Ellie's ear, Ellie smirks and tilts her head slightly.

And that's it, that's all it takes for something inside you to snap. You turn on your heel, heading straight for the exit, but before you can step outside, a hand catches your wrist.

“Hey—”

Ellie's voice.

You spin around, yanking your arm away, “what?”

Her brows furrow, “what's your problem?”

You laugh, but there's no humor in it, “seriously? that's what you're gonna say to me?”

Ellie sighs, rubbing a hand over her face, “look, i didn't even know you were here.”

“Yeah, no shit,” you snap, “you've barely talked to me all week.”

Her body tenses, “i told you— I've been busy.”

“You always have an excuse, Ellie,” your voice is quieter now, rawer, “you shut me out, you disappear and then i see you here, flirting with someone else like— like none of it mattered to you.”

Ellie's jaw tightens, “you're making a big deal out of it.”

You stare at her, you don't even have the energy to cry, your stare just empty, something in your chest twisting, “is it nothing to you?”

She doesn't answer.

And that silence is the loudest thing she's ever said.

Your throat burns, you take a step back shaking your head, “got it.”

You turn to leave and this time, Ellie doesn't stop you

You don't hear anything from Ellie after that night. At first you think she might reach out, maybe not right away but eventually. Maybe she'd text, or show up at your place, or even just try to explain herself.

But days pass, then a week. Then another.

Nothing.

You tell yourself you don't care, that it's for the best, that you should've seen this coming, but late at night, when you're lying in bed wearing that stupid hoodie she gave you, all you can think about is her. The way she kissed you like she meant it, the way she traced over your skin after fucking you stupid, like she was memorizing you. The way she looked at you like you were something more.

And then the way she threw it all away. You should hate her for it.

Maybe a part of you does.

And you try— really try to move on. You throw yourself into work, into friends, into anything that might pull you out of the gravitational pull of her. But it doesn't matter how many nights you spend out, how many times you convince yourself that she was never really yours to lose because at the end of the day, when you're alone in the quiet of your apartment, it still hurts.

Because Ellie Williams did mean something to you.

And she fucking knows it.

────────────────────────────────────

It happens on a Tuesday night. You're walking home from work when you hear someone calling your name, at first you think you're imagining it.

“Hey— wait.”

You stop. Turn.

Ellie.

She's standing on the sidewalk, hands shoved in the pockets of her jacket, looking… rough, like she hasn't been sleeping much, like maybe she's been carrying around the same weight you have.

Your chest tightens, “what do you want, Ellie?”

She exhales, shifting on her feet, “i just… wanted to talk.”

You huff an ironic laugh, rolling your eyes, “you're about two weeks too late for that.”

Ellie flinches, but she doesn't leave. Instead, she steps closer, eyes flickering over your face if like she is searching for something.

Then, quietly, “i'm sorry.”

The words catch you off guard, you fold your arms, trying to steady yourself, “for what, exactly?”

She sighs, rubbing the bridge of her nose, “for fucking it up, for shutting you out, for not knowing how to—” she stops, exhales, “for being me, basically.”

You shake your head, “Ellie, this isn't about you not knowing how to do things, it's about you choosing not to. It's about you deciding I wasn't worth the risk.”

Ellie looks at you like you just knocked the wind out of her.

You swallow hard, ignoring the lump in your throat, “and worst part is i was willing to try. I wanted to try, but you never gave me the chance.”

Her jaw tightens, “it's not that simple.”

You scoff, “isn't it?”

She looks away, and maybe that's your answer right there.

Silence stretches between you but finally, Ellie mutters, “i wanted to need you less.”

The confession hits you straight in the chest.

Ellie runs a hand through her hair, looking almost… defeated, “you don't get it,” she mutters, “every time i let someone in, it just hurts. It always ends the same, and i thought if i kept my distance, if i didn't let it get too real, then maybe i could avoid all of that. Maybe i wouldn't lose you.”

Your breath catches, “Ellie,” you whisper, “you did lose me.”

She swallows, doesn't say anything.

You shake your head, voice quieter now, “you can't just show up after weeks of shutting me out and expect me to—,” you stop, “i don't know what you even want from me.”

Ellie finally meets your gaze, and for the first time in weeks, she looks honest.

“I want you,” your stomach flips, “but i don't know how to be good at this. I don't know how to keep you,” she admits.

You inhale, gripping your arms to keep you grounded.

There it is, the truth. And maybe that should be enough but you're not sure it is, so, you shake your head, blinking away the burn behind your eyes, “then maybe you should figure that out before you come looking for me again.”

Ellie flinches, like she wants to argue but she doesn't, she just nods and looks at the ground.

When you turn to walk away, she lets you go again.

────────────────────────────────────

A month after, you don't plan to go to Ink & Desire.

You don't plan to see Ellie at all.

But it's been eating you alive, gnawing at the edges of your mind— the way she looked at you that night, the things she didn't say. And maybe you just need to end it. Maybe you need to say something final, something that lets you walk away this time.

So when you push open the door to the shop, your heart pounding in your chest, you tell yourself this is for closure. Nothing else.

The place is empty, the chairs cleaned and the machines put away, the Closed sign flipped at the door, but you know Ellie. She's always here when it's late. You find her in the back, sketchbook in her lap, a half-empty beer on the counter beside her.

She looks up at the sound of your footsteps, “it's closed—” and when she sees you, something flickers in her face, looking almost relieved, but she shuts it down fast, “what are you doing here?” her voice is guarded, careful.

You fold your arms, “i could ask you the same thing.”

Ellie leans back in her chair, exhaling, “i work here.”

You scoff, “you also avoid people here.”

Ellie's jaw tenses, “what do you want?”

And that—the way she says it like you’re some inconvenience, like you weren’t just in her arms a few weeks ago—sets you off, burning with frustration. Your chest tightens, heat flaring in your stomach, “are you serious?” you shake your head, “that’s all you have to say?”

Ellie rubs a hand over her face, sighing, “i don’t know what you want from me.”

You let out a sharp laugh, “of course you don’t because you never fucking ask, Ellie. You just assume.”

Her eyes snap up, defensive, “what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you decided that I’d leave. That I’d hurt you so you didn’t even try,” your voice wavers, but you don’t stop, “you shut me out before I ever had the chance to prove you wrong.”

Ellie exhales harshly, standing abruptly, the sketchbook in her lap falling to the ground, “yeah? and what if i was right? what if you got tired of me? what if this whole thing was just gonna fall apart, like it always does?”

Your throat closes, “then that would’ve been my choice to make. Not yours.”

Ellie looks away.

You inhale sharply, trying to steady yourself, “but you didn’t trust me enough to even give me that choice.”

Silence.

Ellie’s hands curl into fists at her sides. Her breathing is uneven, like she’s fighting something back.

“I don’t do relationships,” she mutters.

You stare at her, something bitter twisting in your chest, “yeah, I got that part already.”

Ellie shakes her head, jaw clenched, “no, you don’t.”

Her voice is low, rough, and when she looks at you again, there’s something vulnerable in her face, something raw and exhausted and real.

“I don’t do relationships because they never fucking last, any of that lasts,” she exhales sharply, pacing now, “my dad left before i could even know him. My mom died. And Joel—” She stops like the name physically hurts to say, “he was the closest thing i ever had to a real family, and then he was gone. Just like that. No warning. No time to prepare. And I had to fucking live with that.”

Your breath catches.

Ellie lets out a sharp, bitter laugh, “so yeah. I don’t do people. I don’t do feelings. Because every time i have, they’ve either left or something’s ripped them away from me," she turns to you, eyes dark and serious, “and you—” her voice falters, “you were the first person in a long time that i actually wanted to stay, and that scared the shit out of me.”

The words hit you like a punch to the chest. The anger, the frustration—it all dulls under the weight of her honesty.

You swallow hard, “Ellie…”

Her hands flex at her sides, “i don’t know how to do this,” she mutters, “i don’t know how to be what you need.”

You exhale, stepping closer, “then we figure it out. Together.”

Ellie looks at you, hesitant, unsure, “and if I fuck up again?”

You shake your head, “then we talk about it, we don’t just run, we don’t shut each other out.”

Ellie studies you and she lets out a breath, a real, shaky breath.

“Okay,” she murmurs.

Your chest tightens, “okay?”

She nods, “yeah. I wanna try. For real this time.”

You don’t realize how much you needed to hear that until the weight in your chest finally eases. Slowly, you reach for her hand, and this time, she lets you.

Lets you hold on.

Lets herself hold on back.

#𔓘 vi's works. ꒱#ellie williams x female reader #ellie wiliams #ellie williams tlou #ellie x reader #ellie the last of us #ellie x you #ellie tlou #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams imagine #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x you #ellie x fem reader #ellie williams #tlou fanfiction #the last of us part 2 #tlou x reader #tlou smut

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champagneher · 10 months ago

Text

DRABBLE

BASED ON | YOUR BOYFRIEND KEEPS ASKING STRANGE EXISTENTIAL -OR WAY TOO DEEP FOR 1AM- QUESTIONS AND YOU JUST WANT TO SLEEP.

PAIRING | NAMJOON X F!READER

WARNINGS | NSFW - +1k words

The dim light of your shared bedroom cast a soft glow over the space, a warm and familiar heaven that usually lured you to sleep with ease. Tonight, however, sleep was elusive, chased away by the gentle but persistent voice of your boyfriend, Namjoon, who lay beside you, his head propped up on one hand as he gazed thoughtfully at the ceiling.

"Do you think the universe is infinite?" he asked suddenly, his voice breaking the comfortable silence that had settled over the room. "And if it is, does that mean there are infinite versions of us, living out every possible scenario?"

You blinked sleepily, rolling over to face him, half-buried in the warmth of your comforter. "Nam," you mumbled, your voice thick with exhaustion, "it's 1 AM. Can we save the existential questions for the morning?"

He chuckled softly, his eyes still fixed on the ceiling. "I can't help it," he said, his tone apologetic but laced with curiosity. "Sometimes I just get caught up thinking about these things."

You sighed, a fond smile tugging at the corners of your lips despite your fatigue. This was a familiar routine—Namjoon’s mind was always active, always questioning, even in the late hours of the night when all you wanted was to drift off to sleep in his arms.

"Okay," you murmured, shifting closer to him, your body pressing against his side. "Let's say the universe is infinite. That would mean there are versions of us where you don't ask deep questions at 1 AM, and I actually get to sleep."

Namjoon laughed, a low, rumbling sound that made your heart flutter. He turned his head to look at you, his dark eyes twinkling with amusement. "But where's the fun in that?" He teased, brushing a strand of hair away from your face.

You couldn’t help but smile, your irritation melting away in the warmth of his gaze. Namjoon had a way of making even the most frustrating moments feel like something special. It was one of the many reasons you loved him.

Still, your body craved rest, and you couldn't resist a playful groan as you buried your face in his chest. "You're lucky I love you," you grumbled, your words muffled against his skin.

"I know," he replied softly, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your back. "And I love you too, even when you're sleepy and grumpy."

You sighed contentedly, letting the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lull you into a state of drowsy comfort. For a moment, it seemed like you might actually get some rest, but then Namjoon spoke again, his voice a hushed whisper in the quiet room.

"Do you ever wonder if we were meant to find each other?" He asked, his tone contemplative. "Like, out of all the people in the world, how did it end up being us?"

You lifted your head, peering up at him through half-lidded eyes. His expression was serious, his brow slightly furrowed as he stared at you, waiting for an answer. It was hard not to get caught up in the intensity of his gaze, the sincerity in his question.

"Maybe we were," you said softly, your hand reaching up to cup his cheek. "Or maybe it was just luck or coincidence. But either way, I'm glad we found each other."

He smiled, his eyes softening as he leaned down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. "Me too," he murmured, his lips lingering against your skin. "I don't think I could ever imagine my life without you in it."

A warm flush spread through your chest at his words, a mix of affection and desire that stirred something deep within you. You tilted your head up, your lips seeking his in a slow, tender kiss that quickly deepened as Namjoon responded, his hand slipping to the small of your back to pull you closer.

The kiss was unhurried, a slow exploration of familiar territory that left you both breathless. When you finally pulled back, your forehead rested against his, your breaths mingling in the small space between you.

"You're such a sap," you teased, your voice barely above a whisper, though the affection in your tone was unmistakable.

He chuckled, his thumb brushing over your lower lip. "You love it," he said, his voice low and husky, sending a shiver down your spine.

"I do," you admitted, your eyes locking with his, the air between you charged with an electric tension that made your skin tingle.

For a moment, neither of you moved, simply soaking in the closeness, the warmth of each other’s bodies. But then Namjoon shifted, rolling you onto your back as he hovered over you, his gaze darkening with desire.

"And I love you," he whispered, his lips ghosting over yours, the promise of more lingering in the air.

Your breath hitched, your hands finding their way to his shoulders as you pulled him down into another kiss, this one more urgent, more insistent. Namjoon responded in kind, his mouth moving against yours with a fervor that left you dizzy.

He kissed you like he couldn’t get enough, his hands wandering over your body, mapping out every curve and dip with a reverence that made your heart race. You arched into his touch, your fingers tangling in his hair as he trailed kisses down your neck, his lips leaving a blazing trail of heat in their wake.

"Namjoon," you breathed, your voice laced with need, your body aching for more of him, more of his touch, his warmth.

He hummed against your skin, the sound vibrating through you as his hands slipped under your shirt, his fingers skimming over your bare skin, sending jolts of pleasure through your body. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, as he slowly inched your shirt up, his lips following the path his hands had taken.

You could feel the weight of his gaze as he looked down at you, his eyes dark with desire, but there was something else there too—something tender, something that made your chest tighten with emotion.

"You're beautiful," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, as if the words were too heavy to speak aloud.

You felt a blush rise to your cheeks, your heart swelling with affection for the man above you. "So are you," you murmured, your hand reaching up to brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead.

He smiled, a soft, genuine smile that made your heart skip a beat, and then he was kissing you again, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was both passionate and tender, a perfect blend of love and desire.

The world around you seemed to fade away as you lost yourself in him, in the feel of his skin against yours, the warmth of his breath on your neck, the way he whispered your name like a prayer.

Your clothes were discarded in a flurry of movement, your bodies pressing together in a way that felt so right, so perfect, that it took your breath away. Namjoon’s hands were everywhere, exploring every inch of your body with a familiarity that only deepened the connection between you.

He moved slowly, deliberately, as if savouring every moment, every touch, every kiss. There was no rush, no urgency—just the two of you, lost in each other, in the warmth and comfort of your love.

When he finally entered you, it was with a tenderness that made tears prick at the corners of your eyes. He moved with a slow, steady rhythm, his lips never straying far from yours, his hands cradling your face as if you were something precious, something to be cherished.

You felt the world tilt on its axis, your senses overwhelmed by the feel of him, the sound of his breath in your ear, the way his body moved against yours with a grace and fluidity that left you gasping for air.

His eyes never leaving yours, his breath caressing your nose and mouth. His right hand caressed your body moving down to your ass, taking a large part of it to keep you even closer.

Your legs closed around his hips, wanting to keep it that way forever. He smiled feeling the pleasure run through his body. Letting out a shaky sigh he brought his hand to your clit where he agreed to take you with him to the end.

And when you finally reached the peak together, it was like nothing you had ever experienced before—a rush of warmth and light that seemed to flood every corner of your being, leaving you both trembling, breathless, and completely spent.

Namjoon collapsed beside you, pulling you into his arms as you both lay there, your bodies still entwined, your breaths slowly returning to normal. The room was quiet now, the only sound the gentle hum of the night outside, the warmth of his body seeping into yours as you nestled against him.

"Do you still think about the universe?" You asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper, as you traced lazy circles on his chest.

Namjoon chuckled, the sound of a soft rumble in his chest. "Not right now," he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "Right now, all I can think about is how much I love you."

You smiled, your heart swelling with affection for the man beside you, the man who always seemed to have a question, always seemed to be searching for answers, even in the quietest moments.

"I love you too," you whispered, your eyes drifting closed as the exhaustion finally caught up with you.

And as you drifted off to sleep in Namjoon’s arms, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, the universe had a way of bringing the right people together at the right time, in the right place.

Maybe, you thought with a smile, you were meant to find each other after all.

#bts imagine #bts #bts writing #bts fic #min yoongi x reader #bts scenarios #namjoon fluff #namjoon smut #kim namjoon #namjoon fanfic #bts namjoon #kim namjoon x reader #namjoon fic #namjoon x reader #namjoon x you #namjoon x y/n #namjoon x oc #writing #champagneher

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imaginespazzi · 11 months ago

Text

Part 3: Miss Me, Miss Me Not

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14 - Part 15

And it hits me when the lights go on (shit, maybe I miss you)

(In which a lazy writer somehow still manages to make her deadlines, much to her own shock)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Angst, Pining and a teensy bit of Fluff

Words: 5.8K

TW: Swearing (once again I think that's it?)

A/N: Hello my lovelies <3 I'm not gonna lie til about an hour ago, I very much did not think I was gonna give y'all a Monday update but here we are! A couple of housekeeping things, I went back and added months to the years so hopefully that's more helpful. I lowkey dislike this part but I felt like the fic needed it and I'm excited to write the next part. Ngl, the editing on this is pretty nonexistent because trying to read this back lowkey killed me so please feel free to point out mistakes so I can fix them. As always, let me know what you liked, and disliked and anything you wanna see going forward. I really appreciate all of y'alls feedback and the long reviews make my day! Have a good rest of your week lovies <3

September 2017

Azzi: just got home :)

It’s a simple text and it should be easy for Paige to conjure up an equally simple reply. Instead she finds herself typing and deleting, over and over, because nothing sounds quite right. There’s this hollow feeling thrumming in her chest, that has only gotten stronger every passing minute since she’d said goodbye to Azzi at the airport. If she tries hard enough, she can still feel the remnants of their last hug lingering against every inch of her skin. She wants to memorize that feeling and create a blanket out of its threads to numb the ice cold shiver that’s been repeatedly running through her veins from the second Azzi had gotten on that plane. But even that might not be enough. Not when she’s learnt just how warm Azzi’s presence can be and how everything else pales in comparison.

Paige lies to herself that it’s an accidental slip of her fingers, that she’d meant to press send not call, that she had every intention of hanging up the facetime on the first ring itself.

But then Azzi picks up on the second one.

And really it would be rude to hang up.

“Hey what’s up?” Azzi’s face fills the screen, tired eyes staring intently at Paige through the screen.

“Oh um-” Paige fumbles for words, awkwardly shuffling her feet that are dangling off the side of her bed, “I just wanted to ask how your flight was?”

Azzi raises an eyebrow, “you couldn’t have texted me that?”

“Too tired to text,” Paige lies and the words i just wanted to hear your voice stay stuck, burning hot, in her throat, “gotta save these money-making fingers for more important things.”

“Yeah I’m hanging up-”

“NO-” it comes out far more forceful than it should and if possible, Azzi’s eyebrow shoots up even farther, as Paige clears her throat, “I mean- uh- you didn’t tell me how your flight was.”

Paige is too busy cringing at herself to notice the light blush that tinges Azzi’s cheeks. She’s too busy wondering why this girl brings out this nervous bumbling side of hers to notice the fond smile that almost cracks through Azzi’s lips.

“The flight was okay. I actually got to sleep this time,” Azzi says pointedly and Paige laughs.

“So what you’re saying is it was boring as hell.”

“I’m saying it was really peaceful not having someone yapping in my ear while I was trying to sleep.”

“So you didn’t miss me?” Paige presses, trying to keep her voice teasing despite how desperately she wants the admission.

Azzi hesitates, as if she’s debating with herself, before, “I didn’t say that.”

It’s a little ridiculous how large Paige’s grin is but it’s okay, because Azzi’s smiling back, soft and shy. They’d look foolish to anyone else, the way they’re so intently gazing at each other through a screen as if there’s no barrier between them at all.

“It’s gonna be weird going to the gym without you tomorrow morning,” Paige confesses after a second, moving to lay down on her stomach.

“I bet. You’re gonna get absolutely nothing done without me,” Azzi teases dramatically before her eyes soften, “it’s weird that I’m not gonna see you at all tomorrow.”

There’s something gut-wrenching about that admission and yet, there’s something in it that heals a part of Paige’s heart that she hadn’t even known needed to be fixed. It means something to her that Azzi must feel it too. Because if she’s honest with herself, Paige had been just a little afraid that maybe the connection was just in her head, that maybe Azzi was simply tolerating her presence out of kindness.

“You should just move to Minnesota,” Paige replies finally, “much nicer than Virgina or whatever.”

“Have you ever even been to Virginia?” Azzi asks, eyebrows raised as she flips herself to lie on her back, holding her phone above her in a way that lets Paige see entirely too much and yet not nearly enough.

“No but it sounds boring as fuck.”

“Not with me,” Azzi says, biting her bottom lip sheepishly as soon as the words are out.

Paige smirks, suddenly filled with a brand new confidence, “yeah? You’d make Virgina interesting for me Fudd? What would we do?”

Azzi licks her lips and Paige feels her mouth go dry.

“We’d be together,” the younger girl says finally, averting her gaze as the depth of her words begin to make Paige feel like she’s being flooded by an ocean of emotions she’s not quite ready to feel yet, “anything can be interesting if we’re together.”

It would be so easy to come up with a sarcastic quip or tease Azzi for being a sap and yet there’s a certain sincerity in this moment that feels too fragile for Paige to feign nonchalance.

“Is Virginia nice in the winter?” she asks finally, hands fidgeting with the hair ties secured around her wrist, “Minny’s a little too cold sometimes.”

Azzi’s eyes shine and Paige wants to try and read them, find the little clues hidden in her irises and solve the mystery lingering behind the crimson flush of her cheeks. But the truth is that Paige is a little scared of what she’d find, a little scared that discovering Azzi might mean discovering herself too.

“You should come find out some time,” the brunette says, casual tone filled with intricacies of something far deeper. It’s the closest they’ve gotten to saying anything of actual substance and they tip-toe around saying what they both want, daring the other to ask first.

“I dunno,” Paige says, determined to win the game, “I’m not in the habit of showing up to places without a proper invite.”

Azzi scoffs, “a proper invite? Are you expecting someone to send you a carrier pigeon with a gold letter addressed to her royal highness or something?”

“That would be nice,” Paige surmises and Azzi rolls her eyes.

“Does your back ever hurt from carrying that ego?”

“Only hurts from carrying my team.”

“Oh my god you’re so full of it.”

“Full of talent? Yessirrrr.”

Azzi huffs, “Paige.”

“Azzi,” Paige hums.

“Do you wanna come visit me in Virginia during winter break?” Azzi says finally, a small smile playing on her lips like she’s okay with losing this game as long as it’s to Paige.

“If I must,” Paige says dramatically, shrugging her shoulders and everything as Azzi lets out an offended squeak. But inside, her heart flutters at the offer, at the idea of seeing Azzi again, even if it feels like a lifetime away. Because as long as it’s Azzi on the other side, Paige and her impatient self can wait however long it takes.

“Actually you know what nevermind, you don’t gotta come,” Azzi concedes bitterly, scrunching her face (and Paige would never tell her this but she thinks Azzi looks just a little too cute when she’s mad and so maybe she riles her up on purpose)

“No takesies backsies Az,” Paige sing-songs before her lips uptick from a smirk into something more sincere, “hey Az,” she whispers, giggling to herself when Azzi pretends to ignore her, “I’d really like to come see you in Virginia during winter break.”

And as a brilliant grin dazzles across Azzi’s face, Paige realizes that her favorite thing about Azzi’s smile isn’t when her dimples show or when her eyes twinkle, it’s when it’s there because of Paige, when it’s there just for Paige.

“Good,” Azzi whispers as they fall into a comfortable silence.

There’s this serene sense of calm that laces itself around Paige’s nerves. Her normally fidgeting body is content to be perfectly still, an anomaly to her usual demeanor. The truth is that Paige isn’t the kind of person who’s okay with just existing; she likes to spend every second in motion, living out the high. There’s a part of her that’s scared of missing moments, scared that the people around her will leave her behind if she doesn’t chase them. But it’s different with Azzi. The younger girl makes Paige feel like it’s okay if she takes a moment to just breathe. Because Azzi will wait. Because Azzi won’t leave Paige behind.

“Wait,” it’s a little while before Azzi pipes up, shaking Paige out of her thoughts, “what time is it?”

Paige’s eyes flicker to the time on her phone, confused by the line of questioning, “it’s almost 9 why?”

“Don’t you have a team party or something to go to tonight?” Azzi asks, face scrunching, “I swear you told me you had something tonight.”

“Oh-yeah- Amaya’s back to school thing,” Paige sheepishly scratches her neck, suddenly feeling itchy in her flannel shirt. She’d forgotten she was wearing that instead of her daily clothes. Hell, she’d forgotten she was supposed to be going somewhere in the first place, too occupied with other thoughts.

“Bro get up,” Azzi orders, “you’re already late.”

“Nah it’s fine. I don’t think I’m gonna go,” Paige says and she thinks she should probably feel a little more guilty about it.

“What do you mean you’re not gonna go?” Azzi asks in disbelief, “dude you’re the star of the team. You have to go.”

“Amaya will understand besides-” Paige drags in a deep breath, feeling vulnerable as the next words fall out in a quiet whisper, “I don’t wanna hang up yet.”

“Paige c’mon we can talk tomorrow,” Azzi tries to protest but it’s half-hearted at best.

“I wanna talk right now,” Paige argues, “you don’t wanna talk to me?”

For a second Paige thinks Azzi might just say no, might just chip away a little bit of heart with a well-intentioned rejection, but she doesn’t, “always wanna talk to you P.”

“Then don’t hang up. Talk to me.”

And Azzi does. All night.

Two weeks laters there’s a letter, in an envelope with a picture of a carrier pigeon, that arrives in the Bueckers’ mail box.

To her royal highness,

Unfortunately I couldn’t find an actual carrier pigeon (I swear I tried) so this envelope and the mailman will have to do.

~ You are formally invited this winter break to the Fudd family residence in Virginia. ~

(And you better show up Bueckers)

Yours,

Azzi

February 2033

“I can’t believe you’re leaving me,” Ice whines petulantly as she makes herself comfortable on the couch across from where Paige is getting her makeup done, “this is parental neglect.”

Paige laughs, eyes closed, her makeup artist does her mascara, “you’ll survive.”

“You don’t know that” Ice argues, plucking a grape from the fruit basket before segueing into a rant about how boring Arlington, Texas is.

Paige is grateful for the distraction her younger friend is providing. Her nerves had been on edge since the moment she’d woken up this morning, anxious to get the impending farewell press conference over with. She’d already started accepting that the Wings weren’t the right place for her but that feeling had only been heightened by her trip to the Valkyries. And ever since she’s come back, Paige feels a little bit like she’s sleepwalking through her final moments in Dallas. If she’s honest, she’s probably rushing things a little bit. There’s still plenty of time before she really has to move to Oakland but it had been her choice to move there as soon as possible. Paige had always been good at conjuring excuses and she had plenty as to why she needed to be in California so soon. But at the end of the day it isn’t about training or team bonding or any of the other hundred justifications she’s given anyone who’s asked. It’s about a little girl who’s eyes had been brimming with tears when saying goodbye, a little girl who had made Paige pinky swear that she’d be back as soon as possible.

Really, Paige thinks she should be applauded for her restraint, because truth be told, the second Stephie’s lower lip had trembled, Paige had been prepared to ask Ice to just ship her stuff to Oakland so that she’d never have to let go of the little girl’s hand.

And here’s the thing, Paige is willing to admit she wants to go back to the Bay Area for Stephie. It’s that pesky little part of her that’s desperate to go back for Stephie’s mother, to go back for one more hesitant yet lingering touch, that she won’t ever share with anyone else.

“I never thought I’d live to see you and Azzi willingly playing together again,” Ice says as soon as Paige’s makeup artist leaves the room, “KK and I didn’t even try betting on it, we were that sure it wouldn’t happen. Shit I should have. I totally would have won.”

“Don’t y’all get tired of betting on my life?” Paige asks, rolling her eyes, trying to ignore the first part of what Ice said.

“Betting on your life has made me hundreds of dollars bro,” Ice says, before a more earnest look crosses her face, “but genuinely P, are you sure about this? There’s a lot of history there.”

Paige sighs, “it’s not about our history. It’s a basketball decision. And we’re both mature adults who know that. I’m just tryna win. Nothing else.”

“It’s never nothing when it comes to you two.”

“It is this time,” Paige argues adamantly and Ice raises her hands in surrender.

“I just don’t want another set of teammates to have to deal with y’alls bullshit,” the younger girl teases, but it’s laced with a hint of seriousness that sends a flare of guilt shooting through Paige’s body.

“Ice-” she begins.

But Ice is quick to change to a lighter subject, “can’t believe Jana’s the one that gets mom and dad back together. I always knew she was the favorite.”

“We didn’t have favorites,” Paige plays along, thankful for Ice and her ability to always keep the tension to a bare minimum.

“Oh don’t lie. We all know you did,” Ice scoffs and then lets out a chuckle, “and now Azzi’s actually a mom. That’s kinda insane. And you met the kid right?”

“Yeah. Yeah I did,” Paige says and she can’t help the way her entire face breaks into a gleaming smile as her thoughts turn into memories of Stephie. She doesn’t even realize she’s gotten lost in a different world until Ice coughs, an amused grin playing on her lips.

“You’re so royally fucked Paige,” Ice shakes her head, “the only person I’ve seen you smile that big for before is Azzi.”

“She’s a cute, smart, adorable kid, that’s why I’m smiling,” Paige tries to defend herself.

“She’s Azzi’s cute, smart, adorable kid,” Ice counters.

“That has nothing to do with it,” Paige protests again but it rings hollow to her own ears.

“Oh my god I needa call KK and get this bet started. It’s only a matter of time for real,” Ice says, more to herself than to Paige, as she whips out her phone, probably texting KK.

“A matter of time till what?”

“You’ll find out Paigey,” Ice says gravely with a mocking smile, patting Paige’s head, “all in due time.”

***

The Dallas Wings media room is buzzing, reporters desperate to ask Paige questions and the blonde tries to maintain a smile despite the fact that her heart is lurching in her throat right now. Her opening speech had been short and sweet, parroting basically the same thing that had gone out on her social media the night before; she’d been desperate to just get it out. Generally, Paige is pretty good with the media, having been immersed in the spotlight since basically forever. The attention and how to maneuver it has always come naturally to her so she’s not sure why she feels so unnerved by it all today. From the back of the media room, Ice sends her a thumbs up and a reassuring grin and Paige lets out a breath, glad to have at least that comforting presence with her.

“Aidrian Ginsburger with Bleacher Report, Paige, you’ve obviously spent all of your career so far with the Wings, can you tell us a little bit about the impact this organization has had on you?”

Paige smiles at the question, letting her brain skim through pages and pages of fond memories she has of time spent with this team. It might be time to move on but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have plenty of cherished moments.

“Yeah um- this place has really shaped who I am as a person. Since day one, the front office, obviously it’s a different one to the one I came in with, they did a lot to make sure that I was comfortable. My teammates through the years have been incredible and I wouldn’t be the player I am today without them. And of course the fans you know, they always showed out for the team, for me. Always supported me in anyways and I hope that I was able to give back the love to them that they always gave to me,” she says, suddenly nostalgic for the team that had started it all.

The next questions are similar in nature and Paige’s answer varies only in words but not substance. She feels herself start to settle into it, now fielding the expected questions about the Wings and Valkyries with an air of confidence. There are a couple questions about Azzi that make her heart thump, but that was to be expected. It’s a pretty brilliant story in the making, two MVPs who used to play on the same college team coming together. Talia had warned Paige in advance that there was no avoiding it. But for the most part the questions have an easy answer about how Azzi’s a brilliant player and she’s excited to play with her old friend again. That is until a familiar hand shoots up and all the tension that had previously dissipated, comes roaring back with a vengeance.

“Olivia Reynolds with the Dallas Morning News, Paige, as others have said today, you and Azzi Fudd played together at UConn and you were best friends.” Olivia’s eyes glint viciously, “I mean it’s pretty well documented how hard you tried to recruit her to UConn. But despite being best friends, the two of you have been never seen hanging out, outside of games and formal events, unlike your other teammates that is-”

“Is there a point to this?” Paige asks, hands fisting in her lap as she tries to keep herself calm.

Olivia smiles, sugary sweet, “I was just wondering if maybe there was some tension and how that would affect your on-court chemistry at the Valkyries?”

“There’s no tension,” Paige lies through gritted teeth, “we didn’t hang out because we live far apart. There isn’t much else to it. And even if there was, Azzi and I are professionals. We wouldn’t let anything off the court affect our goal to win.”

“You lived far apart before UConn too, but that didn’t seem to stop you guys. What changed?” Olivia presses.

“Time did. Our lives did. There’s nothing sensational here. It’s just a case of two people drifting apart,” Paige says and the fabrication feels heavy on her tongue. If only it really had been that simple.

“But clearly not that much,” Olivia says, and Paige glances at the moderator, desperate for an intervention, “there were plenty of fan pictures of the two of you out getting ice cream with Azzi’s daughter. It seems like you’re already fitting into that Bay Area life-”

“I’m not hearing a question at the end of your sentence,” Paige hisses and she can practically already hear the scolding she’s going to get from Talia once her agent gets wind of how this press conference had gone. The entire media cohort is watching the exchange with wide eyes, no doubt questioning whether they were embarrassed or impressed by their colleague. Ice is mouthing something to Paige, probably something along the lines of please keep your shit together, but Paige is steaming. Really, she should have expected this.

“Well if you’d let me finish,” Olivia snarls, the façade of innocence dropping, “even if the two of you have drifted, as you put it, clearly there’s still a relationship there. How big of a role did Azzi Fudd play in your choice to move to the Valkyries?”

Paige sucks in a deep breath, nails digging into her palm at the question, “Azzi is the best shooting guard in the country. That was her role in my decision to move to the Valkyries. I don’t know what else you’re trying to imply, but I want to play with her because we play well together. That’s it,” she stands up and there’s pin drop silence, “thank you all for coming but we’re done with this press conference.

***

Paige is seething as she exits the media room, Ice hot on her heels trying to calm her down. The sane part of her knows she should head back to the makeup room or even to her car, instead she finds her feet carrying her in the direction of where she knows Olivia Reynolds will be, reviewing her press conference notes by the coffee machine like she always is.

“What the actual fuck was that?” Paige spits as she comes to a halt in front of the reporter.

“I know you think playing basketball is the only job in the world Paige, but that was a reporter doing her job,” Olivia says, her calm and composed voice only furthering Paige’s irritation.

“Bull-fucking-shit.” Paige sneers, “that wasn’t a reporter out there, that was my ex-wife grilling me like we were back in fucking divorce court.”

Olivia cocks her head, “oh so you do remember who I am to you then?”

“Oliv-”

“Because if you did remember, I’d like to think you’d have the courtesy to at least personally tell me that you were moving to your,” she drops her voice, “ex-girlfriend’s team instead of letting me find out with the rest of the world. You don’t think you owed me that?”

“That’s what this is about?” Paige sighs, “Olivia we’ve been divorced for almost three years now, I don’t owe you-”

“You didn’t owe Azzi anything either,” Olivia whisper-yells, the calm in her voice replaced by the same anger that had tainted the last year of their marriage, “but when we first started dating, you kept us a secret for months. You wouldn’t even tell your fucking teammates cause you were so scared she’d find out,” her eyes drift towards Ice who looks like she wishes she’d made a different decision rather than following Paige out here, “you said she deserved to hear it from you but apparently I don’t-’

“I didn’t mean it like that Olivia. Look, I meant what I said up there. There’s nothing between- ”

“Spare me,” Olivia says, as she stuffs her notepad into her bag, “you can lie to all those other reporters out there about how all of this is a basketball decision. You can even lie to yourself if you want. But you can’t lie to me, not when I spent four years fighting to keep our relationship from getting crushed under whatever it is that Azzi is to you.”

***

It doesn’t matter how far Paige burrows her head into her pillows, she can’t seem to stop herself from hearing Olivia’s words reverberating through her ears. The two of them had done well at co-existing in their social circles after the divorce had been finalized. While no one could quite call them friends, they’d done a good job at being friendly, being able to converse and share an occasional drink when in their combined friend group. And if Paige is honest, she knows she’s fucked up, knows she probably did owe Olivia a call. But calling Olivia would have meant calling someone who would inevitably make Paige face the truth, just like she had today. The truth that, even with the deal Talia had concocted with the Liberty hanging in the background like a dark presence, the move to the Valkyries was about a lot more than just basketball for Paige.

She’s so entrenched in her thought that she doesn’t bother checking who it is when the facetime rings, irritation seeping into her voice as she answers it, face still buried in her pillows, “WHAT?”

“Miss Buecks?” a tiny voice comes through the phone and for a second, Paige thinks she must be dreaming, until she finally lifts her head to look at her phone, and Stephie’s small face lights up the whole screen. And it’s like she can feel little hands on her shoulders, slowly unknotting her tightened muscles.

“Stephie,” she breathes out, a sudden sense of serene calm washing over her previously tense body.

“Hi Miss Buecks,” Stephie says happily before she squints at the screen, “you sleep weird.”

Paige laughs, “and why’s that?”

“You’re not wearing pajamas and it’s only seven. ‘Dults don’t sleep at seven,” Stephie says matter-of-factly.

“It’s actually nine here,” Paige says, a little surprised by the time; she hadn’t realized she'd been moping in her bed for that long. Ice had forced her to get lunch together, not wanting to leave Paige alone after the encounter with Olivia. Once she’d finally gotten back to her apartment, Paige had flopped on her bed, taking out her frustrations on her poor pillow.

“That’s not poss-ble,” Stephie scrunches her face, “Mama’s phone says it’s seven.”

“It’s seven in California, it’s nine in Texas,” Paige tries to explain though by the way Stephie’s looking at her, she thinks she’s probably just confusing the girl more, “how’d you figure out how to call me babe?”

Stephie gives her an exasperated look, “Miss Buecks I’m five. I know how to use facetime.”

“And does your Mama know you're facetiming me?” Paige asks, eyebrows raised.

“She’s in the shower,” Stephie whispers, grinning sheepishly.

As if on cue, Azzi appears on the corner of the screen and Paige feels her mouth run dry. The darker skinned woman is clad in a light pink fluffy bathrobe that ends right above her knees, giving Paige the perfect view of her long, toned legs that seem to shimmer despite the shitty quality of the facetime. Rivulets of water cling to her neck, delicately cascading down the valley of her breasts before disappearing from sight. And Paige must be dehydrated because never has she wanted to taste a drop of liquid more than she does right now.

“Stephie,” Azzi groans, as she walks towards the phone and Paige gulps, heart beating faster with every step the other woman takes, everything about her becoming clearer and clearer, “what did I say about using my phone.”

“Only in em-a-gencies,” Stephie recites, “but Mama I had an em-a-gency.”

Azzi tilts her head, eyebrows raised as she gives her daughter a knowing look, “and what was your emergency?”

“I really, really, really, this much” Stephie stretches out her hands as far as they’ll go, really, really, really, miss Miss Buecks.”

Paige feels her heart flutter. Stephie’s words feel like a hand carefully pulling her out from under the pile of stress she’d been buried under the whole day. It’s like the little girl is pushing away the rubble pressing against her lungs, turning the rocks into dust with a light touch and Paige feels like she can finally breathe.

“Sounds like a pretty big emergency to me,” she says, relishing the way Stephie’s face lights up at the admission, “cause I really, really, really miss you too Steph.”

“See Mama,” Stephie says, placing the phone against a wall so can place her hands on her hips and look up at Azzi with a pleased smirk.

Azzi rolls her eyes before glaring at Paige, “you’re a bad influence on her.”

“I’m the best influence on her,” Paige argues, sending Stephie a conspiratorial wink, “just you wait Az, I’mma teach her all the good things.”

Something unreadable flashes across Azzi’s face before she’s back to looking at Paige with an unimpressed arched eyebrow, “I am not letting you corrupt my daughter Paige Bueckers.”

“We’ll see,” Paige says slowly and Azzi shakes her head before turning to Stephie.

“Alright Stephie bean time to go brush your teeth. It’s almost bedtime babes,” she says with a stern look

“But Mama-”

“No arguing, you have school tomorrow missy,” Azzi reminds the little girl and Paige can’t help but marvel at the mother that Azzi’s become. And it makes her heart ache for the fantasies she’d dreamed of when she was in her early twenties. She’d always known Azzi would be a great mother; Paige had just naively thought she’d be there alongside her too.

“Can Miss Buecks stay on the phone till I fall asleep?” Stephie asks, peering up at Azzi with big doe eyes, “please Mama pleeeease.”

“I’m sure Miss Buecks has other things-”

“I don’t,” Paige cuts in far too enthusiastically, clearing her throat to get back some semblance of restraint as both mother and daughter turn to look at each other, “I don’t have anything to do tonight so I can stay till you fall asleep Stephie.”

“YAYY,” Stephie cheers enthusiastically while Azzi studies her with a weary look, “I’m gonna go brush my teeth and then you can read me, my story Mama.”

With that, the little girl runs in the direction of what Paige can only assume is the bathroom, skipping with childlike joy as she sing-songs about something Paige can’t quite make out.

“You know you don’t have to say yes to everything she asks right?” Azzi says slowly as she grabs her phone and sits on the couch.

Paige shrugs, “I have time to stay.”

“Do you?” Azzi asks skeptically, “because from what I heard the Wings are having a little farewell party tonight, for you.”

Paige narrows her eyes, “and how exactly did you hear that?”

“I have connections.”

“You talked to Ice.”

“I talked to Ice,” Azzi concedes, “and I’m pretty sure you’re already an hour or so late for it.”

“Exactly. I’m already an hour late so why bother,” Paige says, sitting up so she can rest head against her headboard, “why were you talking to Ice?”

“I can’t talk to my friend?” Azzi asks slowly.

“Of course you can but why specifically today?” Paige presses

Azzi bites her lip, “I um- I watched your press conference today. You uh-” she averts her gaze, “you seemed really stressed at the end and I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

A soft grin upturns Paige’s lips before she can stop it, “were you worried for me Fudd?”

“That’s not-” Azzi groans, “shut up.”

Paige smirks, “you were worried for me.”

“I was concerned for my future teammate," Azzi huffs, “besides,” her face hardens, “she was way out of line.”

Paige sighs at the implied mention of Olivia, “maybe but maybe I deserved it.”

“No you didn’t,” Azzi protests and that oh so familiar protective tone in her voice carves itself into every crevice of Paige’s heart, “no one deserves to be put on the spot like that. She was being unethical trying to dig into your personal life like that.”

“This is nice,” Paige says softly, unable to help herself.

“What is?”

“Seeing you get all defensive over me. It's nice to see you still care. I didn’t know if you still did.”

Azzi’s quiet for a second, gnawing at her bottom lip as she looks at Paige, “I’ve always cared Paige. And-” she hesitates as the tightrope beneath them wavers, “I’m always gonna care.”

There’s years worth of unsaid words lingering in the silence between them as they breach some unspoken rule they’d both inadvertently agreed to. And they both know that they shouldn’t be saying things like this to each other, that they’re teetering on the edge of falling into an abyss that has nothing but destruction at the bottom. But Azzi’s words feel like sunshine, like heat waves across her skin and Paige is so tired of feeling cold.

Before either of them can say another word, Stephie comes back into the room, crawling into Azzi’s lap.

“I’m back,” she beams, completely unaware of the way the two adults are scrambling to act normal around her.

“Here baby,” Azzi hands the phone to Stephie, “take Miss Buecks to your room. Mama’s gonna go change and then she’ll come read to you okay?”

“‘Kay Mama,” Stephie complies, pressing a soft kiss to Azzi’s cheek before running towards her room. For a second Paige’s screen is blurred in motion until Stephie fixes her again and Paige catches a glimpse of Stephie’s room, specifically the walls that are painted the perfect shade of Valkyrie purple.

“I love your walls Stephie,” she compliments.

“They’re pu-ple,” Stephie exclaims, “that’s my favorite color.”

“First the ice-cream, now the color, you’re stealing all of my favorites kid,” Paige teases but she’s secretly pleased by this revelation. It’s dangerous how fast Stephie’s starting to whittle down Paige’s walls and build herself a permanent shelf in Paige’s cabinet of my people.

“Can I tell you a secret Miss Buecks,” Stephie whispers, bringing her lips closer to the phone.

Paige smiles, “of course you can.”

“I think Mama misses you too,” Stephie says softly and Paige feels her heart catch in her throat, “I heard her tell Nanna on the phone.”

“Can I tell you a secret Stephie?” Paige lowers her voice, leaning into her phone.

“‘Course you can Miss Buecks.”

Paige swallows as the admission falls from her lips, “I really miss your Mama too.”

I miss her always and I think I’ll miss her forever.

“What are you the two of you whispering about,” Azzi’s voice cuts in as she tucks herself next to Stephie, a children’s book in her hand.

“Nothing Mama,” Stephie says immediately, winking at Paige through the phone.

“Yeah,” Paige echoes, ignoring her erratic heartbeat, “nothing Azzi.”

Azzi looks between the both of them, clearly aware she’s being left out of something, but doesn’t push further. Instead she flips open the book, pulls Stephie closer into her arms and starts reading. If anyone were to ask Paige later, she wouldn’t have the faintest idea about a single word in that damn book. Because as Azzi’s soothing voice begins to lull Stephie to sleep, and the younger girl, despite her yawns, holds the phone up so the blonde can be included in every second of it, Paige feels herself being pulled into a dream she has no right to dream. She dreams of being in Stephie’s purple bedroom. She dreams of her and Azzi lying against Stephie’s lilac bedspread, their hands entwined in the middle over Stephie’s little body. She dreams of a forever that she’d long forsaken.

#pazzi #paige bueckers #azzi fudd #wcbb

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5ueckers · 1 year ago

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but i'm a cheerleader

pairing : paige bueckers x cheerleader!reader

warnings : smut. semi–public sex.

notes : this is highkey unrealistic af so don't think too hard abt it! also i got kinda lazy while proofreading and editing, so there may be some errors/might feel a bit clunky at times, sorry in advance 🫠

words : 2148

xl center erupts with screams and applause as the final buzzer rings out— the university of connecticut’s women’s basketball team, for the tenth game in a row, has come out victorious, winning with a whopping forty–seven points over their competitors.

you jump up from where you’ve been sitting cross–legged at the baseline of the court and shake your bright red pom–poms, yelling out one of your cheers. the rest of the girls follow suit after you, their captain, perfectly in sync as the pep band begins to play the uconn husky fight song.

you’re never not tired as hell at the end of a game— the exhaustion from your halftime performance starting to set in and your head dully aching from your tight half–up–half–down hairstyle— but none of that ever deters you. you’re captain for a reason, bringing sharp precision, clean lines, and high energy to every performance, whether its on a court, field, or stage.

but of course, even the best of best have their weaknesses.

yours has actually landed you in trouble before, just once— you missed a whole count because you were distracted by a pair of icy blue eyes watching you intently from uconn’s bench, her intrigued expression being replaced by a smirk once she realized she’d caused your mishap. coach really chewed you out next practice, but you got got the blue–eyed girl’s number after that game, so it was honestly kind of worth it.

your post–game cheer earns its own round of applause from the remaining fans in the stands, and you bow, shaking your poms the whole way back to the baseline, where your coach awaits you. she offers a few nice jobs and back pats, as well as a fair share of critiques, before finally telling you all you’re free to go.

while the rest of your team head for the cheer locker room, you start toward the opposite direction. “y/n?!” one of your teammates calls out after you, confused.

“go on, i’ll meet you guys later!” you reply, before running to meet paige at the other side of the court, by the stands.

there’s still a large crowd of fans waiting to take pictures and have their jerseys signed by your girlfriend, but once she notices you approaching, she yells out, “alright, y’all, that’s it for tonight! thanks for coming!”

her voice softens when she turns to you and smiles, “hey.”

“hey, you,” you say gingerly, hyper–aware of the cameras fixed on paige, and so also you, by extension.

she nods her head in the direction of the arena’s large exit doors, silently instructing you to follow her.

you keep a safe distance while you’re still in the presence of the fans and cameras and the media, but as soon as you’re both in the tunnel, so dark that no one can see you, paige is all over you. her hands fly to your waist if they’re under the control of a magnetic pull as her lips press to yours, gasping into your mouth. you shudder as you melt into the kiss, into her, throwing your arms around her neck. you part your lips, allowing her to lick into your mouth— you want her to eat you alive.

“you were so good out there,” you tell her once you part, voice breathy.

paige grins cockily, already knowing that she played well, and you can see that your red lipstick has transferred onto her mouth, making you laugh. “what? what’s funny?” she questions, confused but chuckling a bit herself.

you shake your head. “nothing, just—” you point at your own lips, which you’re sure have also gotten smudged. “you’ve got something.”

“ah,” she rolls her eyes, genuinely sounding irked, which only makes you laugh harder. “well, you’ve got something—”

she cuts herself off by simply kissing you again, a light peck, taking your hand into hers soon after she separates your bodies.

high on the rush of the win and each other, you two walk hand–in–hand to the women’s locker room— only to be met with aubrey, crouched at her locker as she finishes packing up her things. if not your lipstick literally being smeared all over paige’s lips, then the flush on both of your faces and the way you freeze and suddenly drop each other’s hands, even though both of your teams are aware of your relationship and you have nothing to hide, certainly tells the older girl everything she needs to know.

she simply stuffs a few more of her things into her bag before heading out, lightly punching paige on the shoulder and laughing as she passes by, “see y’all!”

one you hear the door close, you and paige just look at each other before bursting into giggles at the interaction. “she’s never gonna let me live that down.” the blonde groans, wrapping her arms around your waist again.

you just laugh, falling quiet as you find yourself lost in her eyes for the nth time since you first met her. those eyes will be the death of you, you’re sure of it. she gets kind of sheepish whenever you look at her for too long, avoiding your gaze and blushing— you’re not sure why, she’s the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen. “i love you.” you say, very seriously.

“i love you, too, y/n,” she responds, just as earnest, and leans in to kiss you, only to be stopped.

“wait,” you say, reaching up and finally taking that godforsaken ponytail down, feeling all the tension in your head release as soon as you do. you drop the hair tie and bow to the ground, haphazardly brushing your hair out of your face with your fingers as it falls out of the style.

“god, you’re so fucking pretty,” the blonde marvels aloud, before finally kissing you again.

your lips move together languidly as her hands move down until they’re cupping your ass, kneading the soft flesh in her palms. “paige,” you whine into her mouth, allowing your head to roll back as her lips trail wet, open–mouthed kisses from your jawline all the way down your exposed collarbones.

“yeah, baby?” she replies and then sucks harshly at a particularly sensitive spot, making you whimper.

“want you,”

“here?” she pulls back slightly to scan the locker room— everyone else’s belongings are gone, it’s just her bag and shoes left in front of her storage space. still, someone may have forgotten something and could easily walk in on you while trying to find it. “someone could see—”

you don’t care. you pull paige back in, connecting your lips again, pushing your tongue into her mouth and kissing her with the kind of fervor that makes it impossible for her to deny you. she guides you backwards until your back is pressed to the one navy blue wall that isn’t lined with lockers, her hands feeling you all over.

her fingertips find their way to the hem of your tiny skirt, pulling up until the fabric is bunched up high on your hips, revealing the even smaller red safety shorts you’re required to wear under your uniform. she steps back briefly to give you some space so you can push them and your panties down your legs, kicking them aside, before she slots her thigh between your legs. already knowing exactly what to do from experience, you grind down against her thigh, and it feels so good when you clit drags against her bare skin, you whimper and repeat the motion again and again.

paige uses one hand to hold you steady with a strong grip on your waist, while the other works at pushing up the top piece to your uniform and bra, exposing your breasts to the cool air of the locker room. she immediately leans down to suck and lick at one of your firm nipples while rolling over the other with her free thumb. the sounds are obscene— your moans, paige’s slurping, and the squelch of your wet pussy rubbing against her thigh all coming together to fill the room.

“fuck, p,” you moan, eyes squeezing shut. “so good.”

paige releases your nipple from her mouth with low groan, briefly licks at the other, before standing upright. she leans in, dangerously close and she whispers into your ear, “i can feel it, y’know. you really want my fingers that bad?”

you blush, flustered by her referring to the way your pussy keeps clenching against her thigh, showing how needy you are, but still nod. “need it, paige, please,” you whimper, hoping she’ll give in quicker if you beg for it.

you’re proven correct, because your girlfriend plants a quick kiss on your cheek, murmuring, “anything for my girl,” before removing her thigh from between your legs, dropping down to her knees and crouching in front of you. ever the tease, she starts by kissing at your thighs, whispering sweet nothings into your skin— beautiful, so pretty, good girl, all mine.

and then two of of her long, slender fingers are prodding at your entrance, easing in nice and slowly. your pussy clenches around the digits, welcoming her inside like an old friend, your walls slick and velvety.

you allow your head to tip back against the wall, eyes closing again, “oh my god.” paige knows your body so well, knows just how to angle her fingers and jab at that sweet spot inside you, the one that makes you cry every time. she adds her mouth to the mix, kitten–licking at your clit before sucking it into her mouth, sending shivers up your spine.

“i’m close,” you cry out, and paige hums against you encouragingly, sending vibrations all throughout your core.

what really has you tipping over the edge is the look in her eyes when you finally will yours open, staring up at you with such adoration as she gets you off. you always said those eyes would be the death of you; your kryptonite. you nearly fold over as your orgasm hits you, legs shaking as the pleasure ebbs throughout your whole body, sobbing out your girlfriend’s name.

“you good?” paige chuckles, amused by your struggling. her lips, covered in your cum and arousal, plus your lipstick from earlier, are glistening in the fluorescent lighting of the locker room— the sight is so hot, you almost feel ready to orgasm again. almost.

“y–yeah, i just—” you swallow thickly, heaving. “need a minute.”

paige’s hands grip your hips, holding you steady until she feels you’re able to stand on your own. only when she’s certain you won’t topple over does she let go of you, sweetly kissing you on your forehead when she stands up. “i’ll be right back, wait here,” she tells you, disappearing momentarily.

“dude! i look fucking insane!” you hear her yell out, making you laugh weakly. you figure she’s found a mirror.

she returns with a wet hand towel, having washed off her mouth, hands, and thigh. she’s gentle as she cleans you up, knowing you’re still sensitive. then, she grabs your panties and shorts from off the carpeted floor, bending over and holding them at your ankles to help you re–dress.

“wait, but i wanted to do you, too,” you whine, a genuine pout setting in on your face as you step back into the panties.

paige shakes her head. “when we get home,” she offers. “i don’t wanna… defile this place any more than we already have.”

you laugh, again, at her choice of words. paige helps you get back into your shorts, as well, and you pull your skirt, bra, and top back down to their regular positions, smoothing over your uniform with the palms of your hands, trying to look at least a little bit presentable for when you walk out of here. paige wanders off toward her locker, changing out of her uniform.

finally feeling stable enough to walk, you find your hair tie and bow on the ground, rolling the former onto your wrist. “wait, c’mere,” you wave paige over, just as she’s pulling a fresh t–shirt over her head.

“hm?” she hums as she approaches, but you just motion for her to lean down a bit. she complies, and you place your bright red bow in her hair, right at the top of her ponytail.

“awww,” you gush at the sight. paige just looks at you, trying her best to appear unimpressed, but you can see the smile playing at her lips. “so pretty! cheer captain!”

she spends all of thirty seconds pretending like she’s not enjoying this, before breaking out into a dance, very poorly imitating your cheer routine from earlier. you encourage her, nonetheless, clapping and cheering, “go paige! go paige!”

she finishes with a ridiculously complex move that you’re pretty sure belongs to some tiktok dance learned recently with kk, grinning, “how was that?”

“10/10, hands down!”

#fic : but i'm a cheerleader.#paige bueckers x reader #uconn wbb #wlw #pb.

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kozachenko · 2 months ago

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And now we are finally getting to the most recent stuff I've worked on, starting off with my 2025 Marisa redraw! This time I'll actually have some more stuff to say since I can remember my thought process while drawing this yipeeee- (click image for better quality)

Artist's Notes;

So ever since doing these redraws, I've always kinda mourned the loss of the second redraw's dramatic lighting, so I decided to finally bring it back for this one! This one is kind of the melding of a bunch of my favourite aspects of the precious redraws, plus some of the newer stuff I've learned ever sine making them. I also tried out a new style of rendering hair for this piece and I'm really happy with how it looks! Also if you guys are wondering, yes that it s the same lantern from the previous Marisa drawing I did, I copy and pasted it because I was lazy and I just needed it to look consistent, work smarter not harder folks.

So I've been returning to my old favourite brush, the Clip Studio Paint Default Oil Paint brush for this one, and I did a bunch of the rendering for this piece with minimal blending. For the clothing, I wanted to incorperate a technique I did a few years ago, where I added some subsurface scattering to make the lighting feel more dynamic, and I love the effect it gave the white parts of the clothes. For the hair rendering, I did one base layer of shadows on top of my base colour for the hair, then a sort of mid-tone underneath it to add some variety in colour, and then did my highlights underneath all of that. I focused less on rendering every single strand of hair and moreso focused on getting the general shapes down, since I got inspired by some art I saw on Pinterest with a similar rendering style.

Once I finished with the base rendering, I used a multiply layer to create some more prominent shadows and also to give the lighting more direction. I did this with another piece as well and I think it gives me some pretty good results. It helps make the shadows a lot clearer and also gives me some better lighting while also allowing me to do some rendering to flesh it out even further, it's the best of both worlds and I have a lot of fun doing it. Also, what helped me a lot in the compositional stage was making a shitty little stick figure version of the character in the pose that I wanted and then painting in the base pose like a mannequin. I find that just painting in the figure immediately instead of forcing myself to stick to a rigid sketch has helped me out a lot, and here's an example of how the process went below. Later on in the drawing I did flip my canvas and after fixing it, realized that I liked it better flipped so that's why the orientation is slightly different. It also helps to just to some quick linework distinguishing the body parts to it's easier for me to draw the clothes. I do often keep major features of the silhouette in tact during this phase though so I don't forget to include them.

The background was actually pretty fun since it's just a nice outdoors scene. I didn't want there to be too much detail since I am all for creating the illusion of detail than rendering everything in immaculate detail, though I do think I could do just a little bit better, but hey that's why I've mainly been drawing backgrounds nowadays lol.

Overall, I'm really proud of this piece and I had a lot of fun making it. I want to continue experimenting with backgrounds and how to incorporate characters into them, so after my hibernation period you guys can expect to see some more of that.

#touhou project #art #fanart #touhou fanart #marisa kirisame #redraw

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bearyzdiary · 1 year ago

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Lazy morning

Francis x reader

This diary entry contains…Fluff|established relationship|Baker x milkman is now my favorite thing to write for this man| Mentions of the doppleganger incident going on|Reader and francis are honestly the happiest couple in that damn complex.|

The quiet start to your morning was ruined by Francis's loud alarm clock. You groaned as you turned over and placed a pillow over your ear to block out the sound. The bakery was closed for the day due to some construction that needed to be done. You could hear Francis mumble a small apology to you as he turned off the clock.

The feeling of some weight being lifted off the bed made you take the pillow off your ear and place in back in its proper spot. Unlike you, Francis still needed to do his rounds for the day before he could come back home and spend the rest of it with you." If it makes you feel better, we can start the day together" You yawned out as you sat up. Francis nodded as he lazily looked through the closet for his work uniform.

"I wished I could take the day off but I'm aiming for perfect attendance for this week" he said as he pulled out the familiar set of white clothes. You got out a bed before stretching." I think you're doing a good job so far" you said as you fixed up your spot of the bed and slid your feet into the cupcake slippers Francis had bought you as a gift.

You followed Francis to the bathroom where you flipped the light out and turned to sink on." I hope I don't have to do many deliveries today. Half the people I deliver milk too don't even use it I bet" He mumbled out as he grabbed his toothbrush and wetted it. You grab the toothpaste before applying a good amount onto Francis's before putting some on yours.

"Milk isn't a favorite of lots of people. I don't even know why you bother to still bring it to them" you say before popping the toothbrush into your mouth. Francis shrugged as he brushed his teeth for a good 2 minutes before spitting the toothpaste into the sink.

"People claim to want to start to drink milk more but we know that never works out for long" He says as he grabbed his washcloth and began to start his skincare routine.

You nodded as you fill a cup with water and took a sip before swishing it around your mouth and spitting it back out into the sink, Rinsing the sink out in the process.

Once the two of you were done in the bathroom, you made your way to the kitchen where you didn't feel like cooking, so you decided to make two bowls of cereal." Did you want frosted flakes or are you feeling like cheerios?" You asked as grabbed the spoons and put them into the bowl.

"Cheerios" Francis said as he went to go put his shoes on by the front door. You grabbed the box before pouring some in a milk themed bowl you bought Francis one day when you went to the store.

You picked whatever cereal you liked and poured into a cake themed bowl that you bought yourself. You poured milk into both before setting them onto the table and taking a seat.

Francis joined you as he poked at his cereal a little before taking a couple of bites of it. "I'm a little worried., About the whole doppelganger thing" you say while taking a spoonful of cereal and eating it. Francis looked at you before giving you a weak smile.

"I know, it's pretty scary to think about. But hopefully that new doorman can do their job right and figure out who is actually a real person." Francis said as he finished off his cereal. You took your last bite before handing Francis your bowl as he gladly took it and placed them in the sink.

"I trust them. They seem to be very good at their job so!" you said, trying your best to think positive as you looked over Francis. His facial features were so easy to remember as you had seen it a bunch of times so you would know right away if it was a doppelganger.

"Now, I sadly must leave you here all alone so I can go give people their milk" he said as he began to walk to the front door. You followed after him like a lost puppy as you gave him a smile.

"Don't take too long! and take breaks also please dear" you say as Francis nods as he put on his hat before grabbing his keys as he turns to look at you. "I promise I'll take breaks" he says as you squint your eyes before holding out your pinky to him.

"Are you really about to make me pinky promise on this?" He chuckles before interlocking his pinky with you. "Yes, and you better not break it" you say before placing a small kiss onto his cheek.

"I think I deserve one on my lips" he said as he grabbed your waist and placed a quick kiss on your lips. You giggled as you tipped his hat a little." Be safe please, I wouldn't be able to handle the thought of one of those monsters getting you" you say as you fixed his hat back as he removed his hands from your waist.

"I can just throw a bottle of milk at them if they even thought about bothering me" he said as he unlocked the door and opened it. "I'll be back soon" he said as he stepped out, closing the door behind him.

You locked the door back up before sighing as you shuffled back to the living room and plopped onto the couch as turned the TV, At least you could watch your favorite show without Francis commenting on it every five seconds.

#character x you #video game x reader #x reader #x y/n #fluff #not my neighbor x you #not my neighbor x reader #not my neighbor #francis mosses x you #francis mosses x reader

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estellan0vella · 15 days ago

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The Science of Falling Softly: S.C Seo Changbin x fem!reader (college!au)

WC: 13.1K

CWs: past sexual harassment/sexual assault (non-consensual sexual act (masturbation) occurring on a bus), PTSD, Fear of buses / public transport, facing fears

General Masterlist SKZ Masterlist

The hallway of the Alpha Phi frat house creaks under Seungmin's socked feet as he pads along the upstairs corridor, hands stuffed deep into the pocket of his oversized hoodie, eyes squinting against the too-bright glare of the hallway lights. Behind him, the door to his room is cracked open, and the unmistakable giggle of his boyfriend echoes out. Seungmin doesn't even bother to look back. He knows exactly what Jisung's doing, hogging his bed again, blankets everywhere, laptop perched on his stomach, probably watching another trashy mystery docuseries. Never mind the fact that Jisung has his own damn room literally two doors down.

He mutters under his breath, something sharp and vaguely affectionate about freeloading boyfriends, as he stops in front of Changbin's door.

"Oh Chaaaangbin," Seungmin singsongs in a tone designed to be as irritating as possible, stretching the last syllable just enough to make it feel like fingernails dragging over a chalkboard.

Changbin doesn't look up immediately. He's hunched over at his desk, back curved in a way that would make any chiropractor cry. There's a diagram spread in front of him, some anatomy chart of muscle groups, and a messy scrawl of highlighter trailing all over it in neon orange and blue. A pencil is tucked behind his ear, and another one is clenched between his teeth, a telltale sign he's been deep in concentration for a while.

"What do you want?" he grumbles, voice gravelly like he hasn't spoken in hours.

Seungmin walks in without being invited and flops face-first onto the bed like he owns it. He's sprawled out like a lazy cat, arms and legs spread, already making himself comfortable.

"You know how my car is-" he starts.

"Fucked?" Changbin interrupts immediately, deadpan. "Not road-safe? A fucking death trap that probably violates seven traffic laws just by existing?"

Seungmin lifts his head just enough to roll his eyes. "Yes, that. And you have a really nice car?"

Changbin turns in his chair. "Yeah, what about it?"

"So," Seungmin says slowly, like he's testing the waters, "I have a friend. Y/N. She's a nice girl, brilliant too. Biomedical Engineering major, Molecular Biology minor, absolute fucking genius. She lives like twenty minutes off campus, and for personal reasons I can't really disclose, she doesn't take the bus."

Changbin's eyebrow lifts. "Okay..."

"I usually drive her to and from campus every day, right?" Seungmin continues. "But now my car's out of commission for the foreseeable future until I can scrape enough won together to get the radiator fixed, and the axle, and the engine, and literally everything else because that piece of shit is practically being held together with prayer and duct tape."

"You mean it's been held together with duct tape," Changbin mutters, turning back to his notes but not actually looking at them.

"Semantics," Seungmin waves off. "Anyway, point is, until it's sorted, I need someone to drive her. And you, my friend, have a functioning, sexy-ass vehicle and a generally tolerable personality, so will you be okay being her chauffeur?"

"You're actually asking me to be some girl's personal Uber?"

Seungmin huffs. "I'm asking you to help a friend who can't get to class otherwise. It's not like she's gonna ask you to carry her bag or anything. Just a lift to and from campus. That's it."

"You said she doesn't take the bus for 'personal reasons,'" Changbin says, making air quotes. "The fuck does that mean? Is she snobby or...?"

Seungmin sits up properly this time and glares. "No. If she was some stuck-up bitch who thought buses were 'beneath her,' I wouldn't be friends with her, would I? It's a legit reason, alright? But I'm not telling you what it is because it's personal and she doesn't like people knowing. But it's not shallow, and she's not difficult. Trust me."

Changbin stares at him for a few more seconds, clearly trying to suss out if Seungmin's being serious. Eventually, he shifts in his seat again and shrugs, stretching his arms above his head. "Why not ask one of the others?"

"Chan's too busy," Seungmin says without hesitation. "He's got like twelve classes, the football team to babysit, and two internships. You think he's gonna have time to pick someone up at seven in the morning?"

"Okay," Changbin concedes. "What about Minho?"

"Minho would either hit on her or offend her. Possibly both at the same time. You know how he is. He has no fucking filter."

"Fair," Changbin mutters. "Hyunjin?"

"Worse," Seungmin says. "He'd probably show up with sunglasses and a flower crown and ask her if she wanted to skip class and do a photo shoot. I'm trying to get her to graduate, not run away with a drama queen."

"Jeongin?"

"Would forget. Not maliciously, but he would one hundred percent forget. He'd be on his way to pick her up and get distracted by a sale on scarves or some shit. He's sweet, but he's not dependable."

"Okay, Jisung?"

Seungmin lets out a laugh, shaking his head. "Can't drive. Failed his theory three times and gave up. He says it's a sign from the universe."

"That's actually a good call," Changbin says, snorting. "I don't want him behind the wheel of anything bigger than a tricycle."

"Felix doesn't have a licence either," Seungmin adds. "And even if he did, he'd probably drive with a seatbelt around his neck like a choker and play K-pop girl groups at max volume."

Changbin rubs a hand over his face and exhales slowly, realising where this is going. "So basically, I'm the best of a bad bunch."

"Exactly," Seungmin grins. "You're reliable. You're punctual. You're not likely to crash into a tree while changing the music or forget what day it is. You don't flirt with strangers in the middle of serious conversations. And you don't let people down."

There's a pause where Changbin pretends to think, but the corners of his mouth twitch just slightly. "Was she in a bus crash or something?"

"I told you, I'm not fucking telling you," Seungmin snaps, smacking Changbin's leg with a pillow off the bed.

Changbin raises both hands in mock surrender, laughing. "Alright, alright. Jesus. No need to get violent."

"Just take her," Seungmin says, almost pleading now. "She's sweet. You'll like her. She's quiet at first, but once she warms up to you, she's fucking hilarious. Dry humour, brutal honesty, same vibe as Jisung, which should tell you everything. And she's not gonna talk your ear off unless you want her to. She's respectful as hell."

Changbin raises an eyebrow again, leaning back in his chair. "Speaking of Jisung. What does he think? Your boyfriend has a sixth sense for shitty people."

"Jisung fucking adores her," Seungmin says immediately. "He's always dragging her into our nonsense. She helped him put together his midterm presentation last semester and refused to take any credit for it. He said she's one of the few people who don't treat him like a joke."

Changbin whistles low under his breath. "Alright, damn. That's high praise."

"So, you'll do it?"

There's a beat. Then Changbin shrugs like it's not a big deal. "Fine. I'll do it."

"Thank fuck," Seungmin says, relaxing fully against the pillows. "You're a fucking lifesaver."

"She gonna comment on my driving?" Changbin asks, turning back to his notes and picking up his pencil again.

"Nope," Seungmin replies. "She's not a backseat driver. She'll sit quietly, probably listen to whatever shitty music you're playing, and thank you when she gets out. She's polite. She won't annoy you."

Changbin hums, pencil scratching against the paper again. "Cool. I'll pick her up tomorrow morning, then. You gonna text me the address?"

"I'll send it now," Seungmin says, already pulling out his phone. "She's usually ready by 7:10, latest. She'll be waiting outside. She doesn't like people waiting on her."

"Fucking hell," Changbin mutters. "You owe me coffee for this."

"Don't act like you sleep."

"I still want the coffee,"

Seungmin groans but nods. "Fine. You'll get your shitty overpriced americano."

"Make it an iced vanilla latte."

"I'm not buying you a fucking milked down coffee."

"You're asking me to wake up at ass-o'clock and chauffeur someone I've never met, you can suck it up and buy me my latte."

Seungmin mutters something vulgar under his breath, but he's already typing out the message with your address and your name. He sends it with a little flourish and leans back, satisfied.

"There. Sent. You better be nice to her."

"I'm always nice," Changbin says, lips twitching again. "Unless people piss me off. Or if they chew with their mouth open. Or if they take forever ordering food."

"She doesn't do any of those things," Seungmin promises. "And if she does, I give you full permission to abandon her at the side of the road."

Changbin laughs again, shaking his head. "Noted."

Changbin taps the side of his steering wheel as he waits in front of the apartment building that Seungmin texted him last night. He double-checks the GPS pinned to the top of his dashboard, comparing it to the painted numbers on the curb and the side of the small, modest brick building. It's a quiet residential street, tucked away from the louder traffic-heavy roads of central Seoul, and the early morning haze gives everything a pale, sleepy glow. His phone buzzes with a notification from Jeongin in the frat group chat, but he ignores it, eyes flicking up to the front door.

The engine hums softly beneath him, low and steady, his playlist thudding faintly through the speakers. He adjusts the collar of his glossy black jacket, tugging it down over the deep red tank top beneath, and shifts in his seat. The black cargo pants he's wearing are slightly stiff at the thighs from how long he's been sitting, metal zippers cool against his skin. His red-and-black sneakers tap against the brake pedal, restless. He's not nervous. Just curious.

Then the front door opens, and you step out.

Changbin's fingers freeze mid-tap. You don't look up right away. You're adjusting your black tote bag on your shoulder, the movement precise and graceful, as though you've done it a thousand times. The fitted black long-sleeve mock neck hugs your frame without being tight, structured but soft-looking, and the wide-leg grey trousers you're wearing flow elegantly around your white sneakers with each step. They sit high on your waist, cinched with a clean waistband, not a wrinkle in sight.

And your hair. Holy shit. The base is a rich, deep black that gleams when the light hits it, but it's the vivid magenta and purple streaks that make his eyes widen slightly. They wind through the messy updo like a halo, framing your face and flaring out at the sides in a way that's both chaotic and beautiful. It's the kind of look that demands attention without begging for it.

You reach the passenger side of his car and gently knock on the window with two knuckles, soft and hesitant.

Changbin blinks, pulled back to reality, and immediately winds the window down. You lean forward slightly, hair catching the breeze, and say in a quiet voice, "Hi. Are you Changbin?"

He blinks at you for a second longer than is probably socially acceptable. "That depends. Are you Y/N?"

You give a small smile and nod, your fingers curling slightly around the strap of your tote.

"You got ID?" he deadpans, one eyebrow lifting like he's dead serious.

Without missing a beat, you open your bag and start reaching inside, your expression calm as you pull out your student ID and offer it through the open window. Changbin lets out a snort, then shakes his head and hits the lock on the door with a loud click.

"I'm fucking with you. Get in."

You blink once, clearly thrown, then smile a little wider, tucking your ID back into your bag before opening the door and sliding in.

"Seat adjuster's manual," he says, nodding at the lever by your knee.

You quietly adjust the seat, clicking it back slightly, and set your bag down at your feet. "Thank you for this," you say after a moment, glancing over at him as you clip your seatbelt in place. "I don't know how much Seungmin-"

"I don't need to know," Changbin cuts in, shifting the gear into drive and easing away from the curb. "If Seungmin of all people is willing to go out of his way to defend you and keep your story private, I don't need the details. Don't force yourself to tell me anything."

You look at him, really look at him, and your smile, small and genuine, pulls at the corner of your mouth. "Thank you," you say softly.

The car hums quietly as he turns onto the main road, the early traffic light but steady. You sit neatly in your seat, back straight, hands folded in your lap. You're not fidgeting, not talking just to fill the silence, and somehow that makes Changbin like you more. He's been around enough noise, especially at the frat house with Felix blasting music at all hours and Jisung yelling about murder documentaries while Hyunjin and Minho argue over everything like it's a war. You, in contrast, are peaceful.

He glances at you sideways, then back at the road. "What time are you finished today?"

You take a second to think, then reply, "I usually stay back a bit to go to the library. I time it with football practice, like I did when Seungmin drove me. So about half five?"

Changbin nods. "That's great, actually. I've got training until six, but I usually get off the field around five thirty. I can swing by on my way out."

You glance at him again, eyes bright but cautious. "I can wait a bit if you need longer. I usually bring notes to revise in the meantime."

"Nah, don't worry about it. Half five's fine," he replies, merging smoothly into a busier road, the city starting to wake up properly now. "Seungmin said you're never late."

You nod once. "I don't like wasting people's time."

He scoffs under his breath, but not unkindly. "You're already miles ahead of the rest of my house."

You smile again, silent for a few seconds. Then, almost shyly, "He said you were reliable."

"Did he now?" Changbin says with a crooked grin. "I'm flattered."

You don't say anything to that, but your smile lingers.

He's used to people talking too much on car rides. People who think silence is awkward. But you don't seem to mind it at all. You just look out the window, shoulders relaxed, like you're completely content to be exactly where you are without needing to perform for it. It's oddly refreshing.

"You nervous about being driven by a stranger?" he asks after a minute, more curious than anything.

You turn your head slowly. "No. Seungmin trusts you."

Changbin's grin twitches at the corners. "He shouldn't. I'm a terrible influence."

You glance at the dash, then back at him. "Your car's clean. That says more than you think."

He lets out a bark of laughter. "Clean car equals decent morals?"

"Or at least someone who doesn't live in chaos," you reply gently.

He hums, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel again, this time to the rhythm of the beat thudding through the speakers. "You're observant."

"I study people. And patterns."

He shoots you a quick glance. "You sure you're not a psych major?"

You shake your head once. "Biomedical engineering. Molecular biology minor."

"Fuck," he mutters, impressed. "That's brutal."

"I like it."

He whistles low. "Alright, hardcore."

You tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, one of the streaks catching the morning light again. He tries not to stare.

The two of you drive in comfortable silence for another few minutes. The roads get more familiar as you near the college, Changbin takes the back route past the coffee shop he knows Seungmin likes. He glances over again, noting how you lean slightly against the door, watching the buildings pass by with quiet interest.

"You always this chill in the mornings?" he asks, not able to help himself.

You smile slightly. "I've been up since five."

"Jesus Christ, why?"

"Habit."

"That's insane."

"It's efficient."

He laughs again, and it's genuine. "You and Seungmin are fucking freaks."

"Thank you," you say, soft and amused.

He pulls into the university parking lot and finds a spot near the main building. As he shifts into park, he glances over again.

"So I'll see you at half five?"

You nod and reach for your bag. "Yes. Thank you for the ride."

"Don't mention it."

You pause with your hand on the door handle. "And thank you for not asking."

"Hey," he says, voice serious for the first time since you got in. "If you ever want to talk, I won't pry. But I'll listen. No pressure."

You look at him again, and there's a flicker of something in your expression. "I appreciate that."

He nods once. "Go study something too advanced for my dumb ass."

You smile. "Good luck at practice."

You slip out and close the door gently behind you. He watches as you cross the lot, quiet and graceful, that flash of magenta and purple catching the light again.

He exhales through his nose and mutters to himself, "Fuck."

You're going to be a problem.

Changbin drops you off a little past six. The sky's already bruising with the colours of twilight, lavender bleeding into the greys and dusky blues of the horizon. He watches as you step out of his car, the hem of your wide-leg trousers skimming across the pavement like soft smoke. You pause before closing the door, thank him again with that small smile of yours, and lift a hand in a brief wave that's somehow both elegant and shy.

He sits there for a second after you disappear inside the apartment building, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. He should leave, he's got a stack of notes to write up and at least three pages of a report due tomorrow, but his brain is moving at half-speed, rewinding the last twenty minutes like a goddamn highlight reel.

The memory that won't stop looping, though, is the drive-through incident.

It was simple, really. He'd asked if you were hungry on the way back, more out of habit than anything, because usually when he offers, people jump at the chance to stuff themselves on junk. You'd hesitated, said you didn't want to be a burden, but when he told you to shut up and pick something, you'd laughed under your breath and asked if they had mango bubble tea. That laugh had been soft. Almost hidden. But it made his fucking chest warm.

So you pulled up to the window together, him reaching for his phone before you, quick as a flash, snatched it right out of his hand and shoved your card at the cashier before he could react.

"I said I'd cover it," he muttered, trying not to sound grumpy as the total appeared on the screen.

"I know," you said, slipping his phone into the space between the seats before he could reach for it. "But I wanted to. It's the least I could do."

You didn't say anything else, just took the drinks from the window, his iced americano and your mango bubble tea, and handed them over with both hands, delicate and careful, like the gesture meant something. Like it wasn't just tea and coffee. And when he thanked you, you just smiled that small smile again and said, "You're welcome, Changbin."

He can still hear the way you said his name.

Now, hours later, Changbin sits at his desk in his room, trying to focus on his coursework. There's a muscle fibre diagram open on his laptop and a half-written paragraph about quadriceps femoris contractions in front of him, but all he's thinking about is the way the magenta and purple streaks in your hair glowed under the streetlights when you turned your head. The way your voice curled softly when you spoke. How the hell had he not met you before?

He sighs and drops his head forward with a dull thunk against the desk, mumbling a low, exhausted, "Fuck me."

Right on cue, the door creaks open.

He doesn't lift his head. "Unless you're a miracle who brought coffee, get out."

"You met Y/N, huh?" Jisung's voice cuts through the quiet, smug and singsong.

Changbin hums in response, his forehead still pressed to the desk.

"Too pretty for your gym-bro brain?"

Another hum. Louder this time. Maybe a growl. Jisung takes it as permission to enter, the floorboards creaking under his socks as he shuffles in.

"Aw, look at you," Jisung coos, stepping up beside him and reaching out to gently pat his head like he's a tragic little puppy. "There, there. Oh, mini munchkin man. You'll live."

Changbin finally lifts his head, glaring half-heartedly. "Don't call me that."

Jisung just grins wider. "You're so down bad, it's hilarious."

Changbin groans again, rubbing his hands over his face. "Why the fuck didn't you and Seungmin tell us she existed? You've been gatekeeping her like she's the last good person in Seoul."

Jisung shrugs, flopping down on the edge of Changbin's bed like he owns the place. "Because she is the last good person in Seoul. And you lot are fucking animals."

"Okay, rude."

"Tell me I'm wrong."

Changbin opens his mouth, then closes it again.

"Exactly."

He sighs, leaning back in his chair, staring at the ceiling like it's going to give him divine answers. "Seriously though. She's... quiet. Really fucking gentle. You don't meet a lot of people like that. Most people are loud as hell just to be heard."

Jisung nods, less joking now. "She doesn't feel the need to be loud. That's what makes her rare."

There's a stretch of silence between them, then Jisung says, a little softer, "You have to be careful with her, you know?"

Changbin peeks at him through his fingers. "I know. I figured. She's got that look."

"What look?"

"That look like... like she's had to hold herself together for longer than she should've. Like she's still stitching the pieces."

Jisung nods slowly. "Yeah. She's been through some stuff. Just... don't fuck around, okay? If you decide to go for her, be the gentleman of the frat you're known to be. Don't be a fucking manwhore like Hyunjin and Minho."

"I'm not-" Changbin starts, then pauses. "Okay, yeah, I've had moments. But I'm not like them. I'm not that dumb."

"I didn't say dumb. I said whore."

Changbin snorts, but there's an edge of real seriousness there now. "I wouldn't mess her around."

"Good." Jisung shifts so he's lying back on the bed, arms crossed behind his head. "She deserves someone who actually gives a shit."

"Her hair," Changbin mutters, frowning at nothing. "It reminds me of someone, but I can't figure out who."

Jisung smirks again. "Raven Queen. From Ever After High."

Changbin's eyes widen. "Holy shit. That's it. Raven Queen."

"I helped her dye it."

"Of course you did," Changbin mutters, then groans. "Fuck, I used to watch that show with my older sister when we were kids. Jaehee was obsessed with it. She was older than me, so she always took over the TV. I never got a say. But Raven Queen was my favourite. Had a massive crush on her."

Jisung snorts. "Full circle, then."

Changbin leans back and lets his head fall against the chair with a dull thud. "She does look like her. Same vibe. All quiet and powerful and kind of mysterious and shit."

"She loves that show, you know," Jisung adds, glancing over at him. "Still watches it when she's stressed. You should talk to her about it. There's a conversation in for you."

Changbin raises his eyebrows. "Really?"

Jisung nods. "Dead serious. She made me rewatch like four episodes the last time I was over there helping her move furniture."

Changbin grins. "Okay, good to know. I'll use it."

"Use it wisely," Jisung says, mock-solemn. "You only get one shot to nerd out about magical animated teenagers before it gets weird."

Changbin snorts. "You know what's fucking weird? The fact that I've known you and Seungmin for years, and you've been hiding her like she's a secret weapon."

"She kind of is," Jisung says with a smirk. "In the best way. But hey, now you've met her."

"Yeah," Changbin murmurs, almost to himself. "Now I've met her."

And he knows, deep in his bones, that something's just changed. Something quiet and irreversible.

The second Changbin turns the corner onto your street, he sees you. You're already outside, like you've been standing there for a few minutes waiting for him, but you don't look impatient. Instead, you look serene, like the early morning chill doesn't touch you at all.

You're holding two travel coffee mugs and a small plastic tub cradled in your arm. His eyes catch on your boots first, knee-high black leather with stilettos that click faintly against the pavement as you shift your weight, like you're posing without meaning to. The tight high-waisted black shorts are ruched in a way that makes them hug your curves perfectly, and your sheer black tights glisten faintly under the streetlamps. The cropped black leather jacket gleams under the light, and beneath it, the fitted black turtleneck clings to your torso, tucked in neatly and smoothing your silhouette into something sleek and effortless.

And your hair is swept up into a tousled high bun, messily elegant, with strands falling gently around your face. They frame your cheekbones and draw attention to your eyes, which glint with soft amusement when you see him pull up. You give him a little nod, smile quiet and polite, and he thinks that he might actually die if he ever gets to kiss you.

He throws the gear into park and hops out immediately, jogging over to you.

"Hey, hey, Jesus, what are you doing holding all that?" he says as he reaches you, eyes flicking between the mugs and the tub. "Give me something before you drop it "

You hold out one of the mugs and the tub without argument, adjusting your tote bag on your shoulder with your now-free hand. He notices the mug first, it's got a sparkly letter C on it, the kind of glitter that shifts colours in the light, and around the base are small stickers of anatomical muscle diagrams, weight plates, protein shakers, and tiny cartoon dumbbells. It's so detailed that he stops for a second and stares.

"You bought me a mug?" he says, eyebrows lifting as he takes it from you.

"Technically, it's a travel mug," you say softly. "But yes."

He turns it slowly in his hands, grinning wider the longer he looks. "Wait... are these stickers covered in resin?"

You nod. "So I can wash it without them peeling."

He's beaming now. "Holy fuck. That's actually so cool. You made this?"

"Yes, so I can make coffee in the morning."

"Shit. That's... fucking adorable."

You glance away, smiling slightly, and gesture toward the car with a small tilt of your head. He opens the passenger door for you without being asked, nudging the tub into the cupholder while you settle in. He closes it gently behind you, then jogs around to the driver's side and climbs in, placing both mugs between the seats.

As you buckle your seatbelt, you say, "An americano for you. I asked Seungmin last night how you liked your coffee. I thought I should at least caffeinate you and feed you breakfast if you're going to get up every morning to pick me up."

He laughs, glancing sideways at you with open affection. "You're gonna make me cry. I've been picking people up for years and no one's ever fed me."

"I find that tragic,"

He chuckles again, starting the engine. "What's in the tub?"

You flip it open without ceremony and the smell hits him immediately, sweet, rich, nutty. His eyes go wide.

"Is that hotteok?"

You nod. "Walnut and brown sugar."

He gapes. "For me?"

"For both of us," you reply simply, peeling one from the pile and offering it to him on a napkin you've produced from your bag.

"Holy fuck," he groans around a bite, chewing like it's the best thing he's tasted in weeks. "You're spoiling me."

"I enjoy cooking," you say, taking a bite of your own. "And it keeps well if you don't finish it all."

He glances at you with mock sternness. "If Seungmin's car gets fixed, I'm still picking you up. No way in hell I'm giving up this breakfast service."

You smile, sipping from your travel mug. He watches you from the corner of his eye as he drives, both of you quietly munching on the hotteok and sipping your drinks. The car feels warmer than usual. Not in temperature, just in vibe. Like it's wrapped in some kind of gentle cocoon.

"What's in your cup?" he asks, gesturing toward your mug as he licks brown sugar off his thumb.

"Raspberry leaf tea with honey."

"Can I try?"

You don't hesitate. You hold your mug out and wait for him to take it. He lifts it carefully, takes a sip, and blinks. "Ooh, I like that," he says, licking his lips. "Sweet, but not sickly. Real smooth."

You take the mug back and cradle it in your hands. "It's calming."

"Yeah, but not as cool as my special mug." He holds it up again, admiring it like it's a trophy. "I'm genuinely obsessed. This is my personality now."

"I give them to all my friends," you say, still quiet, but there's something pleased in your tone.

"Well, I'm honoured," he says. "Like, seriously. That's the nicest thing anyone's done for me since Felix bought me protein powder for Christmas."

You both lapse into silence again, but this time it's expectant, charged with something bright. He's finishing his second hotteok when he glances sideways at you, then laughs suddenly.

"Took me a fucking minute, but I finally remembered where I recognised your hair from."

You glance over, curious. "Oh?"

"Raven Queen," he says, grinning. "From Ever After High."

You gasp, eyes going wide, nearly spilling your tea in the process. "You've watched Ever After High?!"

He nods, proud. "My older sister was the dictator of the TV when we were kids. She was obsessed. I wasn't allowed to change the channel unless I wanted to get a plastic tiara thrown at my head. So yeah, I know all the lore."

You press your hand over your heart dramatically. "Be still my heart."

He snorts. "You're such a nerd."

"Says the man who recognised Raven Queen."

"Hey, she was hot."

"She is hot," you correct.

"True."

You lean against the window slightly, still smiling. "I loved Raven and Dexter's little romance arc."

"Same," he says, nodding. "Dexter was underrated as fuck."

"Everyone wanted Daring, and I was like, why? He's a literal narcissist."

"Dexter was awkward but genuine," Changbin agrees. "Had the better hair, too."

"Objectively better."

You both fall into laughter, warm and easy, the car full of sugary smells and caffeine and shared nostalgia. He's never had a morning like this. Not even close.

"It's obvious who my favourite character is," you say, gesturing to your hair.

"Yeah, you're basically her incarnate."

"And who was yours?"

He thinks for a moment. "It's gotta be Briar Beauty or Ashlynn Ella. I liked the Royals who didn't want to follow their destinies. That shit hit."

You hum in approval. "Good picks. I always liked the ones who were trying to make their own path."

"Guess that says something about us, huh?"

"Probably."

You both smile again, this time slower, lingering. The campus looms ahead, and neither of you are really ready for the day to start. Not yet. But at least, for these quiet, strange, sweet mornings, you're not starting alone.

It's Friday night, and your apartment smells faintly of coconut and cherry blossom, the scent rising gently from the colour-protect mask soaking into the streaks of vivid magenta and purple in your hair. You're sitting cross-legged on the couch in your favourite oversized pyjamas, black with tiny constellations patterned across the fabric in silver thread, soft from a hundred washes. Jisung's beside you, slouched into the cushions like his bones have given up entirely, wearing ridiculous red flannel bottoms patterned with cartoon strawberries and an ancient band tee that's so threadbare it's basically mesh now. He's halfway through his second glass of cheap wine, legs kicked over your lap, and the TV glows gently across the room with Ever After High's familiar pastel world.

Ashlynn Ella and Hunter Huntsman are on screen, sitting together beneath a tree in one of the sappy side plots, and you're both sipping your wine in peaceful, tipsy silence when you sigh into your glass and mumble, "He's so hot and thoughtful."

Jisung glances at the screen, then back at you, blinking. "Who, Hunter Huntsman?"

You frown slightly, glancing at him like he's missed the entire point of the conversation. "What? No! Changbin."

Jisung straightens up slightly, eyebrows raising high. "Ohhh," he says, dragging the word out like a kid who's just discovered a secret. "You're liking compact muscle man, huh?"

You shrug, noncommittal. But your mouth twitches at the corners, like you can't quite keep the smile in. Jisung, of course, picks up on it immediately and gasps dramatically, hand to his chest like he's in a soap opera.

"Ooooooh," he sings, grinning like a little shit. He wiggles his eyebrows and takes a long, theatrical sip of wine, eyes never leaving yours. "Someone's got a crush."

You snort and roll your eyes, gently nudging his knee with your elbow. "He's hot, muscular, and nice. What more could I want?"

He raises his glass in salute. "Exactly! So make a move already!"

"I barely know him," you protest, setting your wine down on the coffee table as you lean back into the cushions. "It's been, what, two weeks? Ish? I can't just throw myself at him."

Jisung scoffs. "So? Romeo and Juliet knew each other, like, three days, and that was still iconic."

"They both died."

"...Wait, what?"

You blink slowly. "That's how the story ends."

"WHAT?! No. NO. What?! I thought it was a fucking romance!"

You can't help it. You burst into giggles, trying to hold it back but failing miserably as he stares at you like you just told him Santa Claus is real and he's been cheating on Mrs Claus with the Easter Bunny.

"Oh my God, Ji," you wheeze through your laughter, "how the hell do you not know this?"

"I never fucking read it!" he cries, gesturing wildly. "I thought it was, like... dramatic but romantic. I didn't know it ended in a goddamn bloodbath!"

"Okay, okay, she fakes her death, he poisons himself thinking she's dead, she wakes up, sees him dead, tries to kiss the poison off his lips, it doesn't work, so she stabs herself. End of story."

Jisung gapes at you, stunned into silence. Then he slowly brings his wine glass to his mouth and drains it in one long gulp. "What the actual fuck."

You're still giggling as you lean over to pour him another glass, shaking your head. "Honestly, I feel like half the population doesn't realise it's a tragedy. They just remember the balcony scene."

"I thought they fucking ran away together and had, like, magic babies or some shit," he mutters, accepting the refill with a dazed look. "Fuck's sake."

You laugh again, tucking your knees under you as the next episode starts playing. The hair mask has begun to stiffen slightly where it's been sitting, and you reach up absently to make sure your bun is still holding. Jisung watches you for a beat, then nudges your thigh with his toes.

"We got off topic."

You raise an eyebrow, sipping your wine. "We did?"

"You could still date Changbin."

You stare at the screen, watching as Raven Queen walks into a sparkly corridor full of levitating books, her cloak swishing dramatically behind her. "I'm literally scared of the bus, Ji."

He softens, setting his glass down and turning more fully toward you. "For a very valid reason," he says gently.

You sigh, eyes flicking away. You wrap your arms around yourself, not because you're cold, but because you feel suddenly too small for the room.

"I know," you whisper. "But it's a lot to explain. And I don't want to dump that on someone I've known less than a month."

Jisung opens his arms without a word. You scoot toward him and collapse into the hug, resting your head on his chest. He smells like strawberry body lotion and red wine, and the comfort he brings is immediate and complete.

"You don't have to tell him yet," he murmurs, one hand rubbing slow, lazy circles into your back. "He'll wait."

You hum, closing your eyes for a moment. "You really think so?"

"I know so," he says. "Changbin's a bit of a dumbass, but he's a good one. And he's fucking sweet on you already."

That makes you smile against his shirt. "He likes his mug."

"He's been showing it off like it's a fucking Olympic medal at practice," Jisung mutters. "Jeongin tried to take a sip out of it and Bin almost ripped his throat out."

You laugh again, soft and real. "That's dramatic."

"He is dramatic."

You both settle back into the couch again, his arm still around your shoulders, your head tucked under his chin as the TV flickers through another episode. Raven Queen's voice carries across the room, low and strong and defiant, and it echoes something inside you, something about rewriting destiny, about quiet strength and choosing your own path no matter what others expect.

"I think he's the first person in a long time I don't feel scared around," you say quietly, almost to yourself.

Jisung squeezes your shoulder. "Then don't rush it. Just let it be what it is. And if it becomes something more... you'll know."

You don't respond with words. Just a quiet nod, the kind that says everything you're not ready to say aloud. And together, you sit in the soft glow of the screen, safe and warm, while Raven Queen continues her fight against fate.

Changbin pulls into the familiar spot outside your apartment building, the tyres crunching gently over the gravel as he eases the car to a smooth stop. His fingers tap against the steering wheel in rhythm with the low beat coming from the car's speakers, but his eyes are already drifting to the front doors of the building.

You step out right on cue, shoulders tucked against the lingering morning chill, your breath misting faintly in the cold. The emerald green of your fitted turtleneck catches his attention first, rich and deep like forest moss, layered beneath your cropped black leather jacket that nips perfectly at your waist. The cut of your high-waisted black slacks emphasises your silhouette, cinched clean and tailored to your frame, and the black stiletto ankle boots clack softly on the pavement as you approach the car.

You're carrying both of your travel mugs, one in each hand, and a small plastic container tucked under your arm. Changbin's already pushing the door open when he sees you juggling it all.

"Why the fuck are you always trying to do this on your own?" he calls out as he climbs out of the car, quickly jogging around to meet you.

You smile as he reaches you, handing over the tub and the black travel mug with his sparkly "C" sticker and resin-coated muscle decals. "Good morning."

"Morning," he mutters, accepting the items with a grin. "Is this..." He sniffs the air around the tub. "No way. Is that tteokbokki?"

"Spicy, with cheese," you reply softly. "I used mozzarella and a little bit of cheddar this time. Thought we'd change it up."

"You're fucking spoiling me," he says, shaking his head, voice warm with a laugh.

You just smile again, a little shy, and step around him to slide into the passenger seat while he returns to the driver's side. As you get settled, you hand him his coffee, then cradle your own tea mug between your palms, letting the warmth bleed into your skin. The car's already warm inside, and it feels cosy now with both of you tucked in, the food balanced between you.

As you both sip and dig into the tteokbokki, the car is filled with the faint sounds of the low radio and soft breathing. It's been over two months of this now, mornings together, meals shared in the car, late afternoon pick-ups and lingering conversations. Seungmin's car has been fixed for weeks, but neither of you has brought up ending the rides. And honestly, neither of you wants to.

Between bites, Changbin glances over at you. "Hey, I've noticed something."

You hum around a bite of rice cake, glancing at him.

"You never wear jeans," he says, not accusatory, just curious. "Like, at all."

You pause. The food sits heavy in your mouth, suddenly less appetising. You chew slowly, swallow, then set your fork down gently on the napkin in your lap.

"Yeah, uh..." you start, clearing your throat. "It's the same reason I don't get the bus."

Changbin stiffens a little, eyes flicking from you to the dashboard before he leans forward and mutes the radio entirely. He shifts in his seat to face you more fully, elbow resting against the steering wheel, gaze steady and careful.

"Shit. Sorry. I didn't mean to dig."

You shake your head, eyes on your tea. "No, it's... it's okay. You didn't know."

The silence settles between you again, thick but not hostile. Changbin doesn't say anything, doesn't try to fill the space with jokes or change the subject. He just waits.

You draw in a breath and start slowly. "I used to get the bus every day. Like, religiously. I'd catch the same one every morning, 7:10 sharp, same driver, same seats, same stops. I'd bring my headphones, my notes, sit quietly, get to campus early."

He nods slightly, giving you the space to continue.

"Then, last semester... I got on one morning, and it was packed. Like, shoulder-to-shoulder, nowhere to sit. So I stood, grabbed one of the overhead handles. There was this guy next to me, maybe late thirties, not old but older. I smiled at him, just out of habit, you know, basic politeness, and he smiled back."

Your fingers tighten slightly on the travel mug.

"At first, I thought he was just making weird faces. Twitchy, like maybe he was nervous or unwell or something. Then he started moving closer. Subtle at first. Then not. I didn't want to cause a scene, so I shifted away. But the bus was too full. I couldn't go anywhere."

Changbin's jaw clenches, eyes darkening.

"I realised..." Your voice falters, but you push through. "He was touching himself. Not like in his pocket, not subtle. Like out. And I couldn't move. He got something on my jeans, the pair I wore all the time. My favourite."

"By-" Changbin starts, voice low and horrified.

"Yeah," you say quietly, eyes still on your tea. "Yeah. I got off at the next stop and called Seungmin. He and Jisung showed up within twenty minutes. Jisung gave me his spare sweatpants, and they brought a plastic bag. Seungmin bagged the jeans like it was a crime scene."

"Because it fucking was a crime scene," Changbin says tightly, voice sharp.

You nod. "We took them to the police. Filed a report. But the CCTV on the bus wasn't working that day. Of course it wasn't. No footage, no clear witness statements, nothing. They logged the jeans into evidence, but they told me, basically, that nothing would come of it unless the guy gets caught and DNA tested for something else and it matches."

Changbin is dead silent, his hands clenched into fists on his thighs.

"So now my jeans are in an evidence room somewhere," you say, trying to make your voice light. "And I can't get on the bus. I tried, once. Got halfway up the steps and nearly passed out. Couldn't breathe. I started shaking so hard I had to sit down on the curb for twenty minutes. So I just... I walked. It took me almost an hour to get to campus every day. And Seungmin saw me one day, walking home in the rain, and the next morning he just showed up with his car and told me to get in."

Changbin takes a slow breath through his nose. "I'm sorry."

You glance up. "It's not your fault."

"I'm still sorry," he says, voice low. "That you went through that. That no one helped. That the police did fuck-all. That that bastard's walking around free."

You nod once, blinking hard. "I just want to get on the bus again. Like... it's just a stupid bus. A metal tin on four wheels. That's all I want. To not be scared of it anymore."

He doesn't answer right away. He just leans forward and rests a hand over yours, warm and steady. "I'll drive you every day," he says. "Even if you get comfortable again. Even if Seungmin's free. Even if we graduate. I'll drive you anywhere you want to go."

You swallow, looking down at your intertwined hands. "You'd do that?"

"Fucking hell, of course I would," he says. "You don't owe anyone your story, but you told me anyway. I'm not gonna take that for granted."

You blink again, this time because your eyes are starting to sting. You nod once, then turn your hand over to squeeze his.

The morning air is brisk but pleasant as you step outside your apartment building, one hand wrapped around your travel mug, warm from the raspberry leaf tea with honey that steams gently through the lid. In your other hand is Changbin's travel mug, his usual americano, the one you brewed just right. You glance around the parking lot out of habit, expecting to see Changbin's car in its usual spot, engine already purring and music barely audible through the rolled-up windows.

But there's no car.

Instead, standing under the soft morning light near the kerb, you spot a small crowd. Your pace slows slightly, brow furrowing, but your steps don't falter. As you get closer, you see Changbin standing front and centre, dressed in a camo-print mesh top that clings to his frame like it was made for him. The olive green fabric stretches across his chest and shoulders, making every line of muscle painfully obvious, tucked neatly into black cargo pants cinched with a studded black belt. Silver chains layer around his throat, and his combat boots are planted firmly like he's daring the world to move him.

Beside him stand Jisung and Seungmin, but also five others you've never properly met before. The tallest among them has blonde hair, cheekbones sharp enough to draw blood. Another has chocolate brown strands flopping over his brow and a feline sort of smirk. One grins with bright eyes and soft freckles. Then there's the youngest-looking one, boyish but tall, black-haired and stylish in a bomber jacket, and beside him, someone with soft pink lips and wide shoulders who's dressed like he walked out of a K-drama.

Your feet pause just a few paces away as Changbin spots you, his face breaking into a grin so warm you forget, for a second, what your legs are supposed to do. You blink and offer him his travel mug, which he takes carefully with one hand, his fingers brushing yours in a way that makes your pulse stutter. You keep a firm grip on your own tea.

"Y/N," he says, voice lighter than usual. "These guys-" He gestures casually toward the group, "-are Minho, Chan, Hyunjin, Jeongin, and Felix."

Jisung lifts his hand and wiggles his fingers at you. "Obviously you know and love me and Seungmin."

You smile, small but real, nodding toward Jisung and Seungmin before shifting your gaze to the others. "Hi."

They all give you polite, casual smiles, some nodding, some waving, but no one pushes, no one questions.

Seungmin steps forward, hands in the pockets of his oversized hoodie. "We all figured," he says with a glance at Jisung, "that we'd take the bus today."

Your stomach drops. The mug in your hand suddenly feels too heavy, and your fingers tense around it. You look at Changbin, your eyes finding his before you even realise it. He's already watching you, already prepared.

He tilts his head slightly, voice low but strong. "It's just a stupid bus, right?"

Your throat tightens. You blink once, twice, and then nod, slowly, the motion feeling surreal even as you make it.

"Yeah," you say quietly. "It's just a stupid bus."

Changbin grins and extends his hand. You stare at it for half a second before placing your own in his. He takes his mug in the other hand, lifting it briefly to his lips as he begins walking. You follow beside him, sipping your tea, the warmth grounding you.

The others fall into step naturally. No one says anything about the shift in energy, the silent seriousness of the walk. Felix starts humming something under his breath. Jeongin jokes about his boots squeaking. Minho shoves Chan lightly with his elbow for some reason you don't catch. And the nine of you walk, together, to the bus stop at the end of the street.

Your dress rustles faintly with each step, sleek black fabric hugging you and shifting beneath your oversized beige blazer, the sleeves casually rolled up to your forearms. Your boots click steadily against the concrete. You wonder briefly if they're watching, if they're judging, but no one's looking at you like that. Not even a little.

When the bus turns the corner and starts to slow, you feel your legs freeze. Your body stills so completely, it's like someone pressed pause. The hiss of the brakes might as well be thunder.

Changbin's voice cuts through the swell of panic. "I'll be right by your side, okay?"

You nod, unable to speak. And then, with his hand holding yours, warm and steady, he gently leads you forward. You follow his pace, your grip tight, your tea mug rattling faintly in your other hand.

The doors hiss open, and you step on.

The others follow, filling in behind you like a tide. They crowd into the standing area around you and Changbin without a second thought, Jeongin to your right, Minho and Chan behind you, Felix and Hyunjin to your left, Jisung and Seungmin near the doors. They move as a wall, a barrier. A protection.

No one touches you. No one gets close. No one looks at you sideways. You're surrounded by warmth, by noise, by familiarity, and in a moment that might've triggered fear, you feel safe.

Hyunjin immediately starts fussing about the morning chill, muttering about how he should've brought his long coat. Felix pipes up loudly, eyes lighting up as he turns to you.

"Y/N, you know you've made the Raven Queen aesthetic hotter, right?" he says, gesturing to your hair. "Like, I'm genuinely questioning everything I thought I knew about cartoon crushes."

You smile despite yourself, just a little. "You watched it?"

"Of course," Felix beams. "Raven Queen was iconic. You're like her, but in real life. And with better boots."

Jeongin leans in. "Did you do the colour yourself?"

"She did," Jisung says proudly. "I helped with the placement and layering. I'm the unofficial glam squad."

Chan leans slightly to peek at the streaks. "It's fucking cool," he says with genuine appreciation. "Like, striking without being over the top."

Hyunjin gives a theatrical sigh. "I'd kill to have the bone structure to pull off those colours."

You feel the tension in your shoulders start to ease, just a bit. The voices are comforting, distracting. Warm. Minho leans over and starts poking at Felix for being too loud, and Felix responds by dramatically shielding himself behind you. Seungmin deadpans that if someone spills tea on him, there will be blood.

Through it all, you keep sipping your drink. And you don't let go of Changbin's hand.

By the time the bus pulls up outside Miroh College, the panic that had been clawing at your throat has dulled to a manageable hum. The doors open and the nine of you file off, laughter and chatter trailing behind.

As the others start drifting forward toward campus, Changbin lingers beside you. He's still holding your hand, now warm from your grip, and the light catches on one of the silver chains at his throat. His eyes are soft, not pushy, not demanding, just open.

He rubs his thumb gently over the back of your hand. "How would you feel about a date?" he asks, voice quiet enough to be just for you.

The words hit you like a burst of sun through clouds.

You look at him, really look at him, this man who's carried your fear without ever asking for it, who's shown up for you every single day, who waited until you were ready, who never once made you feel like a burden. You smile.

"That sounds great."

His entire face lights up. It's not the smug grin he usually wears when he wins a game or successfully roasts someone. It's pure joy, unfiltered and genuine and impossibly bright.

Behind him, all seven of the others are trying, terribly, to pretend they're not listening. Hyunjin's mid-sip of his smoothie, pretending to check the time. Felix's eyes are wide like he's watching a romance drama in real-time. Jeongin is nodding to himself. Chan's hand is suspiciously frozen just above his phone camera, like he was going to sneak a photo. Minho's smirking. Seungmin's biting his knuckle. Jisung looks like he's trying not to cry.

You snort softly and lean into Changbin's side, sipping your tea again. For the first time in what feels like forever, you're not scared of the road ahead. You're looking forward to it.

The sun has only just begun to dip low in the sky, casting a soft amber glow over the street, as you stand near the curb outside your apartment building, fingers curled around your travel mug. The tea inside is still hot, the honey soothing and familiar. Your outfit is carefully chosen but not overly fussy, a black-and-white houndstooth set, the cropped blazer trimmed with delicate gold detailing that catches the light, and a matching high-waisted mini skirt that hugs your hips perfectly. Beneath it all, you've layered a sleek black top, sheer tights hugging your legs in a glossy sheen that makes your platform Mary Janes pop. Your necklace sits just at your collarbone, a single strand of faux pearls that rests neatly above the lapel of your blazer.

Your hair is styled into a polished half-up, half-down look, parted cleanly at the crown and pulled into a high half-pony. The curled lengths tumble down your shoulders, voluminous and soft, with a few pieces left out to frame your face. The vivid magenta and purple streaks thread through the deep black like electric ink, shimmering under the streetlights as the breeze picks up. You feel both confident and strangely nervous, your free hand tugging lightly at the sleeve of your blazer every so often.

Then you hear the engine. It's low, smooth and distinct. And your heart stutters just a little.

Changbin's car pulls up beside the pavement with perfect timing, and the driver's window lowers just enough for you to see his grin. He's fully in date-mode, not even pretending to play it cool. His sleeveless open-knit top is cobalt blue, thin enough to show glimpses of the sculpted skin underneath but loose enough to look effortless. The weave of it draws attention to his broad shoulders and the dip of his collarbones, and the chunky silver chains layered around his neck glint every time he moves. His black cargo pants are slightly loose but cinched at the waist with a studded black belt, and his wrists are stacked with silver bracelets that jingle faintly when he waves at you.

You open the passenger door and slide in smoothly, the warmth of the car meeting you instantly. As you settle into the seat, you hand over his travel mug.

"Your americano," you say softly.

Changbin beams, taking it like it's the greatest gift he's ever received. "My favourite girl, my favourite drink. Starting strong."

You hide your smile behind your mug as you take a sip of your tea. Raspberry and honey, as always.

Changbin takes a long swig from his coffee and exhales like it's saving his life. "You ready?"

You turn your head toward him, eyes narrowed in mock suspicion. "Where are we going?"

He grins, smug. "An escape room."

You brighten instantly, eyes widening. "That sounds fun!"

"Right? I figured we should do something interactive," he says, tapping his mug against yours in a gentle cheers motion. "Dinner's great and all, but I thought, let's go get stuck in a fictional crisis together. See how we handle near-death scenarios. Team bonding."

You laugh under your breath, sipping again. "Honestly, sounds better than awkward small talk over overpriced pasta."

He pulls out onto the main road, merging smoothly with traffic as you both fall into a comfortable silence. Music plays low from the speakers, something instrumental and chilled, a contrast to how loud your thoughts are getting.

"It's about thirty minutes from here," he says after a minute, eyes flicking to you briefly before focusing back on the road.

You nod, relaxing into your seat. "Okay. But you should know I'm academically smart, sure, but I can't do puzzles to save my life. Like, actually. I've rage-quit Sudoku before."

He laughs, short and loud. "Oh, oh no. That's a problem."

You lift your mug and grin at him over the rim. "You're good at puzzles, right?"

He looks at you, grimacing. "No. I'm fucking terrible. I once did an escape room with the guys and Felix figured out more shit than I did. Felix."

You gasp. "Isn't Felix scared of coat hangers?"

"Yes! And yet, he was a goddamn genius that day. Meanwhile, I was trying to solve clues that weren't clues."

You laugh again, more freely this time. "This might be a very long date."

Changbin takes a turn, his free hand drumming against the wheel. "It gets worse. I picked a place with no time limit."

Your eyes go wide. "Oh no."

"We might spend the whole fucking afternoon in there."

"Changbin."

"What?"

"We're going to die in that room."

"It'll be romantic."

You burst out laughing, loud and unrestrained, the tension of the day bleeding away like it was never there. Your hair shifts as you tilt your head back, curls brushing the shoulder of your blazer, and Changbin glances over with that fond look that makes your stomach flutter.

The door clicks shut behind you with a heavy finality, followed by the mechanical sound of locks engaging, and a distant voice over the intercom that announces, a little too cheerfully, that your escape room experience has officially begun. The lights overhead dim to a moody amber glow, and a dramatic musical chord plays through hidden speakers, meant to set the tone. Instead, you and Changbin exchange blank looks.

"So... do we just... start?" you ask, glancing around at the elaborate room designed to look like some kind of haunted study. A faux fireplace flickers in the corner, fake books line the shelves, and there's a dusty old desk with a cracked lamp on it that probably doesn't even work.

"I guess?" Changbin mutters, stepping forward and peering at the shelves like the clues might leap out at him if he squints hard enough. "I feel like I'm supposed to be solving some Indiana Jones shit, but I've got the IQ of a wet sponge right now."

You wander over to a side table and start picking up random objects, an old quill pen, a tarnished silver goblet, a rolled parchment scroll that ends up being completely blank. "This is giving absolutely nothing," you say quietly, scanning the surface for anything that might resemble a clue.

Changbin walks over to a section of the wall with framed portraits and stares at one suspiciously. "Why is this guy looking at me like he knows I can't do long division?"

You grin to yourself and pick up one of the books off the shelf. The cover is fake leather, embossed with some ominous title: Dark Secrets of Black Hollow. You flip it open, skimming a few pages. The grammar is awful, commas in the wrong place, sentences that just stop halfway, words capitalised for no reason.

"This book's written weird," you say, frowning at the jumbled paragraph. "Like, the grammar is terrible. Random punctuation and weird spacing. It reads like a drunk ghost wrote it."

Changbin glances over his shoulder, still squinting at the wall. "Probably just a misprint. Half the shit in here looks like it was pulled from a skip."

Neither of you realises that the book is clearly filled with clues, coded messages disguised as grammatical errors, misspelt words meant to be deciphered. You close it and set it back on the shelf, already moving on.

You both poke around for another fifteen minutes, opening drawers, tugging on candle sconces, checking under rugs, hoping for secret levers or at least something obvious. But nothing happens. The door remains firmly locked, the timer, while technically nonexistent, ticking away somewhere in your mind.

After a while, Changbin groans and flops dramatically into the leather armchair in the corner, legs spread, arms hanging off the sides like a tragic king. "We're gonna fucking die in here."

You sit down on the dusty edge of the desk and nod solemnly, holding a small magnifying glass in one hand and the cursed book in the other. "This is it. This is where it ends. They'll find us dehydrated next to the fake fireplace, surrounded by terrible plot twists and unsolved riddles."

He chuckles, then looks at you with a grin that slowly turns mischievous. "Okay, hear me out. Since we're gonna be here a while... how about we make out? Respectfully."

"Respectfully?"

"Always."

You eye him for a second longer before setting the magnifying glass down and slipping off the desk. You walk over slowly, lips curling into a soft grin. "Fine. Respectfully."

He barely waits a second before pulling you into his lap, strong arms wrapping around your waist with ease. You straddle him, arms curling around his neck, fingers brushing against the soft ends of his hair. The moment your lips meet his, it's like something ignites. He kisses you like he means it, like this is the part of the date he's been waiting for, like nothing else in the world could possibly matter more.

His hands tighten around your waist as he lifts you slightly, shifting you higher in his lap, mouths moving together in sync like you've done this a hundred times. Your lip gloss is ruined within minutes, smudged across both your mouths, sticky and sweet. You're not even sure what time it is anymore. You kiss until your thighs ache from sitting on him, until your hands have wandered down the line of his jaw and over the silver chain resting against his collarbone.

Eventually, after what might be an hour, though neither of you is tracking time with any accuracy, Changbin's breath is a little heavy, and your hair's slightly mussed, one of the curls from your half ponytail hanging over your shoulder in a way that screams dishevelled. You're curled into his lap still, his hand resting possessively on your thigh, your lipstick smeared and your travel mug long abandoned on the floor next to the desk.

Changbin sighs dramatically, leaning his head back against the chair. "Okay. As much as I would love to keep making out with you until the end of the universe... I think we might actually need to get out of this room."

You nod, breathless but amused. "We're really bad at this."

He pulls out his phone and squints at the screen, then taps a contact. "Only one man can save us now."

When the FaceTime call connects, Chan's face fills the screen, squinting slightly like he's just woken up from a nap. "What? What is it? What did you break?"

"Hyung," Changbin says with a tragic expression. "Help. We're trapped."

Chan rubs his face. "You're not in actual danger, right?"

"No," Changbin admits. "Just emotionally."

You lean into the frame slightly, still tucked into Changbin's lap, and wave. "Hi Chan."

Chan brightens immediately. "Hi Y/N. Is Binnie being a good date?"

You smile and nod. "He's very sweet. We just... haven't figured out anything in this escape room, and now we're calling you because you have common sense and actual working brain cells. Sorry you're third-wheeling."

Chan sighs with the kind of patience that only comes from years of dealing with people like you two. "It's fine. Let me help you escape before the poor worker monitoring the CCTV decides to gouge their eyes out watching you two kiss again."

Changbin chokes. "Wait, what?"

Chan raises an eyebrow. "You do know there are cameras in every corner of those rooms, right? It's literally a requirement."

Your hand flies to your mouth. "Oh my god."

Chan deadpans, "Both of your lips are swollen, Y/N's lip gloss is smeared, and Changbin has glitter all over his mouth. The entire staff knows what you two have been doing."

Changbin groans, slumping back in the chair. "I didn't realise I was on camera during the best moment of my life."

Chan rolls his eyes but starts asking questions about the room layout. You and Changbin hold the phone between you as you walk him through the setup, pointing the camera toward the shelves, the portraits, the stupid book with the broken grammar.

Chan stares at the book. "That's it. That's the fucking clue. Open that again."

You blink. "What? It's written like shit."

Chan laughs. "Exactly. The capital letters spell a code, and the punctuation marks a number sequence. It's not a misprint, it's the puzzle."

You stare down at the book and realise he's absolutely right. With Chan's help, you start piecing it together, finding a hidden compartment in the wall behind one of the portraits. Inside is a brass key, which unlocks a drawer in the desk, which leads to a secret switch behind the fake fireplace.

Fifteen minutes later, the room clicks open.

You both stand in stunned silence for a second before Changbin raises his phone again. "Hyung, I love you."

Chan smiles, smug. "Now go. And for the love of everything holy, make out in Binnie's car like normal horny people. Let the poor employee have peace."

You laugh and wave. "Thanks, Chan."

As the call ends, you and Changbin walk hand-in-hand out of the room, both a little rumpled, a little high on adrenaline, and very much more into each other than either of you had planned for.

The sky's already deepening into soft hues of twilight when you and Changbin finally emerge from the escape room, slightly dishevelled, cheeks warm, and hearts pounding for reasons that have little to do with puzzles. The air outside is crisp, the kind that kisses your skin and lingers on your breath. Neither of you says anything right away. You just share a long look, the kind of look that feels like a secret you're both keeping together.

Changbin's hand slips easily into yours as you walk toward the car, the silence between you companionable. You glance over and smile as he pulls out his keys, that crooked grin of his lighting up his face when he catches you staring. There's a gentle buzz between your ribs that hasn't gone away since the first kiss in that ridiculous, dusty escape room.

By the time you've both buckled into the car and pulled out of the lot, the sky is a canvas of dark indigo, stars just beginning to emerge above the glowing skyline of Seoul. Changbin turns the music up a notch, something low and rhythmic playing through the speakers. His fingers tap against the steering wheel in time with the beat, and you rest your chin in your hand as you glance at him, stealing little moments in between traffic lights.

"Okay," he says, glancing at you. "Food. What do you want? You get to choose, but if you say salad, I'm leaving you on the side of the road."

You laugh. "How do you feel about japchae and kimchi jjigae?"

He lets out a noise of approval, smacking the steering wheel. "You really are the full package. Fuck yes."

A quick takeout run later, complete with a hefty bag of steaming noodles, broth, and a side of mandu you couldn't resist, you're winding up the quiet hills of Naksan Park. The road curves gently, lined with trees and scattered with streetlights, and when you reach the peak, he pulls the car into a quiet lookout spot overlooking the glowing sprawl of Seoul. The view is breathtaking, with the city glittering beneath you like a blanket of stars mirrored on earth.

Changbin kills the engine but leaves the radio on, the music continuing in the background. He climbs out and circles to the back door, opening it with a theatrical bow. You giggle and slide in, setting the food between you both on the seat as he joins.

The backseat is surprisingly spacious, and you both settle in easily, facing each other as you unwrap the food. Changbin takes a huge bite of mandu and groans with satisfaction.

"Holy shit," he says, around a mouthful. "Why does food taste better after kissing for an hour in public surveillance hell?"

You're laughing again, quietly, as you pick up your chopsticks. "Might be all the adrenaline."

You eat slowly, sharing bites and stories in between, legs crossed under you as you balance the container on your lap. Changbin keeps stealing bites from your portion and then insisting you try his. He drops a piece of japchae on the seat and swears like he's just been stabbed.

As the food disappears, the atmosphere shifts again. The music softens, one of those sultry R&B tracks that seems to slide under your skin without permission, and the shadows in the car deepen. You're licking a bit of broth off your lip when you glance up and see him watching you.

He leans in slowly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, the silver rings on his fingers cool against your cheek.

"This okay?" he murmurs, voice low and rough.

You nod once, barely breathing.

He kisses you before you can even finish the nod. This time it's slow, lazy, even. Like you've got all the time in the world. His hand cradles the back of your head as he deepens the kiss, your own fingers curling into the mesh fabric of his top, feeling the warm press of his skin beneath. Your knee knocks against his, and he shifts closer, pulling you into his lap again like it's the most natural thing in the world.

The city glows behind you, but all you can focus on is the heat of his mouth, the taste of coffee and spice, the way he sighs against your lips like he's been holding his breath all day. His hands explore gently, never crossing a line, but making it very clear that he knows exactly what he's doing.

Your hands are in his hair, your thighs locked around his hips, and the backseat fogs up fast with your shared heat and heavy breathing. You can feel your lip gloss smearing again, but you don't care. He's kissing you like you're something holy, and you're kissing him like he's the only solid thing left in the universe.

You don't know how long it goes on, time's stopped meaning anything since you got in the car, but eventually, your phone starts buzzing insistently from somewhere on the floor.

You groan into his mouth, reaching blindly for it. He's still trailing kisses down your jaw when you finally look at the screen.

"It's Jisung," you mumble, dazed.

Changbin groans, forehead dropping against your shoulder. "Fuck's sake. Ignore him."

You hit decline. It rings again.

"Persistent little shit," Changbin mutters, kissing your neck once more before you push him back gently, giggling.

"I should answer before he sends a search party."

You pick up, putting the call on speaker. "Ji?"

"WHERE IS MY BEST FRIEND, SEO CHANGBIN?" Jisung's voice shouts immediately through the speaker. "WHERE IS SHE? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH HER, YOU HEATHEN?"

Changbin snorts, grabbing your waist tighter as you laugh. "I'm right here."

"Return her immediately," Jisung demands. "I've been patient. I've given you HOURS. But Seungmin and I need DETAILS."

Seungmin's voice cuts in faintly from the background. "Ask if she kissed him."

"I KNOW SHE DID, THEY'VE BEEN GONE FOR FIVE HOURS," Jisung shouts again. "BINNIE, STOP BEING GREEDY, SHARE."

Changbin grins, lifting his head. "We're enjoying our evening. You guys can wait."

"NO, WE CAN'T," Jisung wails. "BRING HER BACK."

You press your face into Changbin's neck to muffle your laugh, then finally say, "Okay, okay. We'll head back soon."

"You better," Seungmin says. "We've already bought snacks."

"Of course you have," Changbin mutters.

"AND IF YOU DON'T RETURN HER IN FIFTEEN MINUTES I'M TEXTING EVERYONE A PICTURE OF BABY BINNIE IN HIS DUCK ONESIE."

"You have that?"

"You'd better believe it."

The call ends with an ominous click.

You look at Changbin. "Duck onesie?"

"I swear to God, if he sends that picture, I'm deleting his entire sad boy hours playlist."

You kiss him one last time before slipping back into the front seat, laughter still bubbling out of you. The car pulls away from the overlook, the city slowly drawing closer again, but your heart still feels weightless, tucked safely into the space where his hand still rests on your thigh.

It's late afternoon when Changbin finally makes it to your apartment building, the winter air biting at the tips of his ears and the wind cutting under the hem of his distressed black knit sweater. The dramatic holes in the fabric expose slivers of his warm-toned skin, just enough to tease, and the raw texture of the knit hangs perfectly off his frame. Thick silver-toned chain necklaces drape over his chest, catching the dull light in glints as he moves. His black utility-style cargo pants hang loose around his thighs, pockets and dangling straps clinking softly against his thighs with each step, and the thick soles of his platform combat boots crunch lightly on the cracked pavement.

He stands outside your door with a matte black gift bag clutched in one hand, his thumb nervously brushing over the smooth fabric handles. The tissue paper inside peeks out in a gentle pop of royal purple. His heart thuds, not the way it usually does when he's mid-lift or scoring on the field, but in a way that feels way too soft for how hard he's trying to look today. His palms are sweating. He's sure he looks like the picture of cool, ripped-up sweater, silver jewellery, combat boots, but on the inside, he's a shaking fucking mess.

He lifts a hand and knocks twice, sharp and rhythmic, then drops it quickly before he starts overthinking the force behind it. There's a moment of muffled movement, the rustle of fabric, and then the door swings open.

You're there.

Your hair's piled into a messy bun, strands curling loose around your cheeks and neck. It always frames your face so perfectly, like it knows it's got a job to do. You're wearing a lilac lace bralette with scalloped trim, delicate and soft, paired with loose, high-waisted plaid pyjama pants in a palette of purple, white, and magenta. Over the bralette is an oversized, cream-coloured knit cardigan that slips slightly off one shoulder. You're barefoot, warm and glowing and soft, and he's not sure he remembers how to breathe for a second.

You blink at him, then grin like he's the last piece in your favourite puzzle.

"Hey," you say, voice still coated in that soft, end-of-day sweetness.

"Hey," he echoes, stepping forward. "I, uh... I got you a gift. Kind of. Sort of."

Your brow lifts slightly as you step aside and let him in, the heat of your apartment wrapping around him instantly as he kicks his boots off by the door. You tilt your head curiously, eyeing the bag in his hands.

"I went to my family home in Yongin last weekend," he says, stepping in and offering the bag to you. "Spent hours up in the attic going through old boxes. Thought I might find something cool. Ended up finding something fucking amazing."

You reach out and take the bag gently, handling it like it might be precious. Your fingers brush his as you do, and it sends a ripple down his spine. You pull out the neatly tucked purple tissue paper, folding it aside, and then you gasp.

"No way," you breathe, eyes wide.

Your fingers curl around the edge of the clear plastic box, pulling it out slowly, reverently. And there she is.

A pristine, boxed 2013 original Raven Queen doll. The one you used to beg your parents for when you were younger, the one they stopped making, the one you always talked about when the two of you got into your cartoon nostalgia rants. Her dark plum dress, high collar, feathered accents, and signature purple and black hair behind the clear front of the box, untouched, perfectly preserved in time.

You stare at it like it's the Holy Grail. "Bin. No way. This is the original release."

He grins, proud as hell, like he just won a damn award. "Yep. First edition. My sister was obsessed. She had doubles of a few. I remembered you talking about it and figured I'd check, just in case."

You blink hard and then glance up at him, overwhelmed. "You actually went through attic boxes for this?"

"Couple spiders. One rat skeleton. Totally worth it."

You laugh, bright and breathless, then look down at the box again, clutching it like it might vanish. "I can't believe you did this."

He shrugs, stepping closer, suddenly a little nervous again. "Well, the gift kinda comes with a question."

You look up at him again.

He clears his throat. "Will you be my girlfriend?"

You don't hesitate, not for a single second. "Yes. Of course."

He barely has time to react before you turn around, muttering, "Hold on, I'll kiss you in a second, I need to place her properly."

He laughs, loud and warm and uncontainable, watching as you carefully carry the boxed doll over to your bookshelf. You crouch slightly and shift around your already existing shrine, figures from Winx Club, Monster High, more Ever After High, a few sparkly resin art pieces and glittering enamel pins. You take your time, adjusting the angles, clearing a spot that's perfectly central, placing the Raven Queen box like she's royalty. When she's settled, you step back with a satisfied hum.

You turn around and beam. "Okay. Now I can kiss you."

He opens his arms like an invitation, and you walk straight into them, wrapping your own around his neck as his hands settle firmly on your hips. He doesn't wait. He pulls you up against him and kisses you hard, deep, his lips capturing yours with the same intention he's carried since the first time he laid eyes on you. Your fingers twist into the fabric of his sweater, your nails catching on the rough holes, and his chains clink softly between you as he lifts you slightly off the floor.

You hum into his mouth as your feet leave the ground, his arms wrapped tightly around you, strong and sure. His grip is possessive without being overwhelming, like he's been waiting to hold you like this properly for months. The kind of hold that says I have you, and I'm never letting go.

You kiss him again, slower this time, your lips fitting perfectly over his, tasting like raspberry tea and vanilla chapstick. His chest rises and falls against yours, the knit of his sweater rough against your skin in contrast to the softness of your cardigan.

When he finally pulls back, just enough to rest his forehead against yours, he whispers, "You have no idea how long I've wanted to ask."

You smile, brushing your thumb over his cheek. "You could've asked me back in the fucking escape room."

He chuckles, low and rough. "Didn't want to do it while covered in your lip gloss and being watched on CCTV."

You grin, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth again. "Well, you did good."

He grins right back, that familiar dimple showing up, his hands still resting on your waist like it's his favourite place in the world. "You're mine now."

And in that moment, barefoot in your tiny apartment, wrapped in each other and soft cardigan warmth and the quiet glow of something real, the world outside could’ve stopped spinning, and neither of you would’ve noticed.

18/06 - 5PM GMT - 18+ Patreon Post for The Science Of Falling Softly

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- Access to unique works unavailable on tumblr

- Sneak Peeks Will Be Posted On Patreon to Members

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General Taglist: @nightmarenyxx @velvetmoonlght @annafee_bou @mlink64 @intoanothermind @furfoxsake22 @daaaph-lol @tirena1 @yu-winchester @cristy-101 @strayk1ds143 @skzlover24 @bussdownflockiana @wickedbutlovely @bbokarismeow @Matchacha65

Proofread by the fabulous @hwangjoanna <3

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nezz-cringe-crib · 3 months ago

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art request if you have the desire, energy, and resources. scene kid lawlight. bye.

HI I AM IN LOVE WITH YOU FOR THIS IVE WANTED TO DO THIS FOR SO LONG

okayokay dude. i've spent so long thinking about this. i've had my scene kid playlist on repeat throughout this whole thing. in fact here's a whole bullet point list of headcanons. i hope you enjoy because i sure as hell do:

LIGHT: - Light thinks he looks so professional with his clothes. He puts hours into making them perfect. A perfect mix of slightly sophisticated and just enough 2000s swagger. He thinks he looks SO much better than everyone else. - He also takes heavy pride in his color coordination. - Light pretends his hair is naturally this straight but he straightens it out to make it stick up just exactly the way he likes it. L knows. Light hates him. - Light's part of that group of guys who wear the singular cross earring. Again, he thinks he's so cool. - Also has the skinniest jeans known to man. Those thighs are suffocating. - I like to think he has those shitty dyes that he has to spend hours fixing. - Yes he is wearing the butterfly belt. - He won't admit it but he just loves showing off skin.

L: - L thrifts/steals/makes his own scene stuff. Or maybe Watari makes them for him. I feel like he'd be a little too lazy to sincerely DIY everything but he's the kinda guy who preaches about how everything should be authentic. (which i also personally think most punk/emo culture things shouldn't be put on fast fashion stuff bc that takes away the whole point of what the culture is built on but this guy like. preaches it. he is the scene pastor.) He can also totally tell that Light buys a lot of his stuff from bigger brands and he is constantly going "I know you bought that from Shein, Kira." or sumn. - L wears the shittiest shirts known to man. He has the alpha wolf shirts and he rocks them. It makes Light want to gag. - Unlike Light, L's hair actually is natural, and it pisses Light off. - This mf has the WORST heelbite. - I feel like he'd have a shit ton of kandi because. Haha, candy. and. yeah. - He chews on all the kandi btw. All of those cuffs have unholy amounts of spit on them. - Eyeliner god.

BOTH: - all I have for this is that they def have a converse vs. vans rivalry going on. that detail is veryvery important to me.

okay. i'm done now. thank you.

#nezz artz #lawlight #l lawliet #light yagami #scene kid #2000s scene #emo #asks #death note

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bonny-kookoo · 2 years ago

Text

Jungkook

𝐒𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐧𝐱𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐲 | Part 1

Something's not quite right anymore.

Tags/Warnings: Game Designer!Jungkook, Non Idol AU, established relationship, Angst [Tags will be different for every part!]

Length: 1k Words

There is no taglist for this fic.

Collab with @euphoricfilter ! 💜

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

"I'm gonna heat up some leftovers, do you want some, kook?" You call out- but there's no answer, causing you to sigh as your shoulders slump down.

It's been going like this for a good while now- your boyfriend and young gaming enthusiast too invested in everything but you at this point, a total contrast to how he used to be. People would tease him for constantly bringing you up in every conversation left and right, but these days, both directions of his are filled with other things he seemingly deems more important than you. And it's not like you're asking for much- but he by now even forgets to say goodnight, instead focused on whatever he's doing on his laptop and pc or phone.

You're not sure what happened. It's like you've gone back to being just roommates and nothing more than that.

You still plate up a portion of the leftovers for him, despite no reaction coming from the game designer in the other room- just like you always do. It's like you're just a maid, cleaning after him and feeding him every day, and it's frustrating. It reminds you of what you swore yourself you'd never be- you don't want to be tied down to a guy like that, who's just gonna become lazy and won't appreciate you being there for him. That's not the life you want to live.

And yet, you also love him, and you know he's not usually like this. So what changed?

You walk into his room where his equipment is all set up, knocking on the doorway to try and get his attention. He hums a reply, leans over a bit- but he doesn't ever move his eyes away from the screen, blue-light filtering glasses on the bridge of his nose reflecting what he sees. "...warmed up some food." You mumble, as you set the plate and cutlery down on his table- exchanging it for the dirty dishes from this morning. He's working from home these days, and that hurts- because you've been taking time off for once to spend it with him, just to end up taking on another job it feels like.

Full time maid. Huh.

"Thanks." He mumbles, and you just take the other dishes with a sigh, moving to leave- when he whines, and leans over, one of his hands leaving the keyboard to tap his cheek- and you can't help yourself but lean in to kiss it, thinking it might be a sign that he's coming out of his odd hibernation. But he just smiles for a moment before he grows focused again, shutting you out once more as you leave the room to go back into the kitchen to wash the dishes in the sink.

Moments like these are the worst.

It's like he keeps luring you back in with the tiniest of things to keep you hooked, keep you hoping that things might just be getting better- and then they won't, but you've got your fix so you feel at least somewhat satiated. And another part that's been severely lacking, is intimacy.

If he ever actually graces you with any kind of attention in bed, it's usually when you're both about to go to sleep. It's sloppy, tired, exhaustion clear in him even though some might argue that he's just sitting in front of a screen all day. But you know he's not- he's working hard, and it's his dream job, too, so of course he's putting in extra effort to make it count and make sure his work can't ever be replaced. And if it was just that- determination towards his own career- you wouldn't be this upset. But he's got time.

Clearly. He goes out with his friends here and there, but he never has time for you. Like he chooses to ignore you.

It's also odd that he suddenly has such a huge workload on himself, when before, he's not even been working this hard if he had to crunch towards a deadline. No, these days it appears as if he's working all the time- and it's caused even a moment that left him more than embarrassed, body so worn out and under the pressure of whatever stress he's going through, that he just.. couldn't get it up.

Maybe that's it?

No, it really can't be. You're made sure he knew that you didn't mind it, that you understood and that you'd probably even forget it soon anyways. And that night, he still slept close to you, didn't seem too upset about it anymore as he held you like always, snoring away until the alarm clock woke both of you back up at five AM sharp.

This is stupid. What's really going on?

It's late when he finally emerges from his office, entering the bedroom where you're already under the covers, and from the way he's still dressed, it's clear that he isn't coming to bed any time soon. "Kook, no.." You whine, reaching out for him as he opens the dresser to take a fresh shirt out. "You've been working all day!" You complain, but he just sighs, as he changes shirts, turning around after he's finished throwing the black fabric over his upper body. He crawls onto the bed close to you, pecks your lips- and you hate it.

Because the way you does it feels like an apology for what's to come.

"I know, but I already told the boys I'd be out.." He hums against your lips, and you're really trying hard to keep him, hands on his cheek moving to snake around his neck. "I won't be back too late." He promises, but you just pout at him, making him attempt to kiss it away. And for a moment, you feel like you might have a chance-

But then he chuckles and parts from you, leaning back.

"Now go to bed baby." He smiles, getting up to walk towards the bedroom door. "I'll be quiet when I come back, yeah?" He asks, and you just turn around to hide under the covers, huffing a somewhat answer out.

Unaware that deep down, it really pains him to treat you this way. But it'll be worth it.

He'll make sure of it.

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook imagine #bts jungkook imagine #jungkook x reader #bts jungkook fanfic #bts jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook imagines #jungkook imagines #jeon jungkook fanfic #bts jeon jungkook imagine

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downbadumu · 5 months ago

Text

it's not like your head is an erogenous zone but more like it's cuz caleb's touching your head :)

༄𓏸ଳ˚࿔⋆ content summary: mature themes, set in a vague au during a vague time because i can’t decide if this is canon compliant or an au, unhinged behaviour, caleb is his own warning (so be warned), something weird about having your hair washed (i swear im not weird), sexual tension (i hope), nothing happens though hehe, psuedocest, caleb’s definition of a gege/meimei dynamic, author hasn’t written in a while so bear with me but like I had to get this out my nogging, not beta read + lowercase because im too lazy

༄𓏸ଳ˚࿔⋆ word count: 1446

༄𓏸ଳ˚࿔⋆ shanna's notes: i'm now, once again, asking the lurkers of tumblr to hit up my askbox for requests so that i may be creative for the sake of my sanity

caleb’s never been a believer of the whole love language spiel; sure, he loves receiving gifts from you, hell, he has kept receipts you’ve unconsciously passed to him countless of times. yeah, hearing a simple praise from your mouth could send him into a spiral and have him cumming in his pants. but he’s so smitten with you anyways, there’s nothing you do or don’t do that he can’t love. and there’s nothing he won’t do for you.

so that’s why he’s standing right next to you as the lady from the salon is washing your hair despite being told that the wash area is restricted to customers getting the service only. it’s stupid because what do they think was going to happen? let you be by your lonesome at the back of a very public salon? absolutely not. it wasn’t anything a very charming smile couldn’t fix, however.

he knows you know that he’s watching you like a hawk despite his nonchalant stance and casual conversation. you’re talking about that new donut place that opened up last week a street away from the salon and how you’d like to visit it sometime soon so he offers to take you there once you’re done here. he chews on the inside of his cheek as he feels his blood wanting to rush down to his cock when you smile at his suggestion. god, you are just everything to him.

you’re probably trying to think of something else to say to fill the silence, but you’re starting to really relax into the scalp massage the hairdresser is giving you. his eyes expertly take in every miniscule movement of yours, from how you readjust yourself for the sake of your hairdresser’s ease (you really are a saint) to the tiny twitches, shudders and deep breaths you probably aren’t even aware of as she scratches your hairline that’s probably making your spine tingle. jealousy shoots through caleb like lighting and suddenly his laid-back smile wasn’t as easy to keep anymore. still, he scrutinises every movement of yours and the hairdresser’s, committing this too to his memory so that he can be the one that washes your hair next time.

he doesn’t make you wait long for it, though, he has your favourite haircare products ready to do the next time when your hair was due for a wash. your little squeal was worth the huge ulcer he bit into his cheek.

“i think the donuts weren’t that great,” you said.

“you like the ones from that shop by the train station don’t you?” he answered with a hum, eyes trailing your figure wrapped in nothing but a stupid towel. “they’re fresher.”

“yeah! they’re not actual donuts though,” you were sat in front of him on a small stool, hands fiddling with the conditioner bottle caleb put next to you when he sat down on his own stool. “bombolone.”

he hummed in acknowledgment while putting shampoo in your hair. “i could swing by and get them before coming back home tomorrow.”

you giggled coyly. “you’re the best, gege.”

“only for the you,” he countered.

caleb’s smiles grew as he watched you form a jab in your head but was quickly replaced by a pleasurable tingle that crawled up to your upper spine when he gently traced his fingers on your hairline. experimentally, he tapped his fingers lightly along it before scratching lightly at your scalp before transitioning back into a massage. he could practically feel the wheels in your head turning under his fingertips.

“i’ll get the mini ones, i heard they were doing a sale on a half a dozen,” he said cooly.

“mm,” you replied weakly, almost sounding like a moan, and caleb thought about biting another ulcer into his cheek.

he mimicked that hairdresser’s movements perfectly; it wasn’t hard to see what made your skin crawl with goosebumps and how your breathing hitches at this distance. of course, he was better than her, he knew your better than yourself, everything he does is tailored specifically to you.

“caleb,” you started as he ran his fingers from the top of your head to the back of your neck. he hummed, waiting for all the cogs to turn so you could form a coherent sentence.

he waited too long though, there was a chit in your voice when you said, “since when were you an expert at washing hair, huh? have you been washing someone else’s hair?”

he chuckled, fingers moving in quicker and harder succession to sparsely scratch at your scalp. something you seem to enjoy as another shudder runs through your body. “you doing good, meimei? you’re shivering a lot, is it getting cold?” he asked in fake sympathy.

“i’m fine,” you answered curtly, lips jutting out in a pout that he desperately has been wanting to bite away.

he doesn’t say anything else, because he’s too busy fighting his own shiver crawling up his spine. he’s happy when you’re happy, hurting when you’re sad, and livid when you’re upset. it’s natural that he takes pleasure in your pleasure. caleb’s fingers work expertly, alternating between light tapping, medium pressure circular motions, hard and too fast scratches that has you chewing your lips and balling your hands into fists. he relishes in the fact that your body relaxes at the familiar movements but you trying so hard to fight back your sighs.

really, he can’t help but get into it. besides, he has read something about scalp massages being good for your hair growth and stress relief and all sorts of good things he can’t conjure up now; every fibre of his being hyper fixated on you. it’s absolutely not his fault when he so gently tugs at the strands at the back of your neck to get your shivering body closer to his almost too warm one.

“fuck,” he almost doesn’t hear your curse. you’re getting a little too good at hiding things from him, he’ll have to fix that soon. not now though, he’s busy keeping a mental record of everything you’re trying to suppress as he glides his hands slippery from the suds down your thin beautiful neck for a massage. too busy to even think about the tightness in his pants.

lightly, slowly, delicately, his hands went back up from your shoulders, to the base of your neck, up the back of your head. one hand taps his way to the front of your head along your jaw while the other traced its way back up to the top of your head with light massages. too gentle, too fleeting, something he knew you’d hate, now that you would curse at him in your head for. he tilted your head back firmly, the sudden change in pressure made your suck in a breath. he was eager to drink in the look in your eyes but you had them screw shut. the thought of patting your cheek hard enough for you to glare up at him crossed his mind but it’s ok, next time.

caleb then picks up the showerhead that was filling up the tub. subtly, he tested the temperature before rinsing out the shampoo with deliberately slow movements. he needed you to feel every trickle of warm water. this time you couldn’t hold back your sigh.

“warm?” he asked, voice as parched as he was.

“yeah.”

“good,” he cooed, gently repositioning you so you’re leaning against one his thigh like a makeshift shampoo bowl. “you’re doing your hair mask today, no? i left the barley on the stove, so after this you’re on your own.”

your eyes snapped open, the spell breaking along with it. “what?! you can’t do things halfway, gege!”

with practise ease, he smiled down at your pleading eyes and flushed face. “you’ll be fine,” he crooned. “besides, you’ll be out in no time, you can have barley while you wait for the mask to do its thing.”

you pout again and he takes the opportunity to look while he reaches over you to grab your hair mask. “close your eyes,” he said, and you do. caleb doesn’t bother biting back his grin as he applied the mask on your hair.

he watched you try not to get used to his touches again, knowing he’s about to leave to your own devices. your eyebrows furrowed; hands balled into fists again but for a different reason. when he was done, he let you lay on his leg sulking as he washed off his hands, then he gently guided you back up into a sitting position, warm lips brushing against the tip of your cold ear.

“i’ll go heat up the barley for you.”

#caleb x reader #shanna writes #frey if u see me frey no u don't #i thought my fanfic days were behind me but yo caleb #lads caleb #lads caleb x reader #caleb x you #love and deepspace caleb x reader #will i write more?? who knows #but chime in in my inbox if you'd like to see more #maybe i'll accept your requests #maybe i'll do a syl.s x rea.er x cal.b fic huh

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moonstruckme · 1 year ago

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https://www.tumblr.com/moonstruckme/742320236814041088/dude-we-know-that-peter-makes-his-own-suit-right?source=share

Well, gender neutral is fine by me. Actually, I just like to read your fic, so I have no problem with the gender part. As long it's you who write it. I'm 100% sure you'll rock it

Thank you sweetheart! Hope you like it :)

tasm!Peter Parker x gn!reader ♡ 733 words

Morning light is pouring in through the cracks in Peter’s blinds, laying itself out in slats over the floor and reaching for the opposite wall, when you stumble out of the bathroom. It’s a signifier of your ill fate.

“Fuck, shit,” you mumble to yourself, putting a piece of bread in the toaster and grabbing your lunch from the fridge. You know you’ve half-assed fixing your hair and you’ve still got crust around your eyes, but appearances are no longer the priority.

When Peter pads out of the bedroom, stretching his arms over his head with his plaid pajama bottoms just grazing the floor, you’ve got one shoe on and your toast clenched between your teeth like a bit. You think you probably look sleep-addled and half rabid, but his brown hair looks adorably mussed and the buttery morning light kisses his skin like it likes him best. He smiles at you, soft and lazy.

“Late start again?”

Your response is muffled by the toast in your mouth. Peter carefully pinches it between two fingers and removes it so you can speak.

“One more time?”

“I said,” you huff, not at him but at your adrenaline-cursed fingers as they fumble your shoelaces, “that not all of us have cushy jobs with flexible hours.”

“Sorry.” He sounds like he half means it, crouching down beside you to thumb at your chin with his free hand. “Hold on, you’ve got toothpaste.”

You don’t know if it’s a ruse and you don’t really care, the soft warmth of his lips connecting with yours is plenty good enough for you. You tug the knot on your shoe tight as you pull away, taking your toast back from him.

“You got your lunch?” Peter asks you, rising and going for the coffee machine.

“Mhm,” you say through a bite.

“Water?”

You swallow, shouldering your bag. “Yup.”

“Good, good.” He leans against the counter as the coffee machine rumbles to life, regarding you with still-sleepy eyes. “Actually, c’mere. I need another.”

“I really have to go,” you laugh, but oblige him, darting over for another quick peck.

Peter does his best to draw it out, palming your face and kissing your bottom lip softly, but you drag yourself away. You try not to think too hard about the light scratch of his stubble against your chin as you grab your keys from by the door.

“One more,” he begs.

“You can have it later.”

“Wait—hold on just a sec.”

“No, I actually have to go.”

You go for the door handle, but webbing attaches itself to your wrist, forcing your hand away. You look at your boyfriend, incredulous.

“Pete! I’m seriously gonna be late.”

“No, I know, I know.” He hustles toward you, taking your arm in his hand. “But your shirt’s messed up, baby.”

“What?” You look down, and your sleeve is torn from your wrist to halfway up your forearm. “Shit.”

“It’s all good,” Peter reassures you, peeling the sticky webbing off you before backing away towards your bedroom. “Just take it off.”

You do, clumsy fingers nearly ripping out the buttons as you go. “I totally forgot, I snagged this on a door handle last week.” You’ve already taken your arm out of one sleeve when you freeze. “Peter? I don’t have any other work tops.”

“Easy, I gotcha.” He comes back in with one of your other tops, the one you’d burnt a hole in the back of last week. “You can wear this, I just finished with it.”

“Yes!” You grab it, pecking him on the lips euphorically. “Thank you!”

“No sweat.” Your boyfriend sounds smug, but given the circumstances you think you can allow it. He picks up the other shirt from where you’ve dumped it on the floor. “I’ll fix this one while you’re at work today so you can have it for tomorrow, cool?”

“That would be so cool,” you agree, hastily buttoning up the replacement top before shouldering your bag again. “Thanks, Pete. Are you sure you have time for that?”

He shrugs, chucking the torn shirt onto the couch. “One of the perks of having a cushy job with flexible hours,” he says.

You groan, and Peter laughs, catching your chin one more time before you get out the door. This time, you indulge him in a longer kiss. You’ll definitely be late, but you figure he’s earned it.

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shark-lover26 · 10 days ago

Text

Concept sketch of ignihyde(twisted wonderland) ocs that I'm currently making

My lighting is really sh!tty, and the only sketch that turned out decent was the bottom one, Trent (ik their eyes look out of place aswell as everything else but I'm too lazy to erase and fix it)

They're all supposed to be male ocs, btw

Also, don't mind my hand writing i was rushing

They are based on the fates from Hercules

Here's the fates for reference

Also, I have their unique magic written out somewhere. i actually have really good ideas for their magic, so I'll post that another day, and I'll post a digital drawing of them aswell

I also have a ramshackle oc and pomefiore oc, which I'll post sooner or later

#ignihyde #twst oc #twisted wonderland fanart #artists on tumblr #drawing #twisted wonderland #twst fanart #digital art #twisted wonderland oc

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forsaken-headcanons · 2 months ago

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Rainsaken/Forsaken world (Rainworld x Forsaken stuff)

I'm wanna cook this idea for awhile,but idk where to start until now (this is more of an AU than attempting to implement Rainworld take into it,since i put of idea for that one)

(this is probably quite Rainworld sided cuz I'm hyperfixatin now lol,but also I'm kinda out of idea so I'm lifting a lot ;-;)

[RAINWORLD GAMEPLAY AND POSSIBLE LORE SPOILER AHEAD]

This is basically like Forsaken and Rainworld gameplay mechanic + lore fusion

Both games have similarities,trying survive from things that kill you,and you never truly die cuz you come back after death,and you just keep living in a cycle (except in Rainworld,we are just part of the ecosystem,while Forsaken were we being forced into an eternal death game)

This one will basically be like an semi-open world survival game with cycle and karma systems like Rainworld

But they're still stuck... they're basically in a world that spectre built just to watch them survive like wild animal. in Rainworld,ending is basically letting go of life and break free from the cycle. It could fit better with the context of Forsaken, considering it is actually better off dead forever at that point if that's the only way

Back to the point, basically, survivor's objective is to survive(ofc). Doing generators is not the only objective now, you also have to try to get enough food and reach shelter before cycle end like Rainworld.

There is killer,their objective is killing(ofc) as much survivor as possible before the end of cycle.

Survivors don't have as much limitations in there,plus you get some improvement movement set,fight however stylish you want!

Killer vary,some are nerfed cuz they're way too overpowered. But they all are technically killable,so go ahead...as long as you don't make fatal mistakes

There's other creatures too...animal? Yes. Monster? Yes. Entity? Yes. But no other robloxian, the survivors are the only robloxian.

In rainword,end of cycle will have downpour so huge it will crush and kill everything,in this one idk. (Maybe digital realm instability and then whoever didn't make it to safety die)

There's two types of shelter,main shelter(works like a lobby) and emergency shelter(the small one scattered around the place),both have water supply at least

Main lobby is very big,has multiple entrance,has entertainment devices & furniture, separate room for each survivor to rest in and light & electricity (there's one in each region)

While emergency shelter,is a small room,only for simple resting till the next cycle

A cycle last like 11 hours,cycle ending lasts another 13 hours before the new cycle starts.

Now about the region,it's basically like maps but way bigger and more complex. It is huge extension of currently existing map + some other idk. The Spectre spawn resources in there at a fixed or unfixed spot sometimes. (Fun fact:I have imagined Rainworld region ver of SFOTH,cuz it actually can work with some adjustments,only if I can make mod ;-;)

Generators are at the fixed location,it was fixed by survivors to supply electricity for them.

There are some shattered materials to make weapons or just shatter weapon itself. Sentinel has weapon by default,if they lost it in previous cycle,it will spawn back to them next cycle.

Surviving each cycle means increasing karma,while dying loses it,karma is needed for accessing some region (it probably is called smth else instead of karma,but I'm too lazy)

Survivor and killer can tame creatures,cuz why not.

That's all I have to offer,ig

(I'm sorry this is so uncreative,I actually hate it cuz of that,I will remake this in future but have this for now ig,I need to found more inspiration)

(tbh,this sounds like what if forsaken is heavily inspired by rainworld or what if the Spectre likes to watch nature documentary(me fr)

-randomized anon

Rain World and Forsaken? It feels like such an odd combination, not in a bad way but in a way where it's so interesting. Considering the environment of Rainworld and where it sets in, there are A LOT of places to go to and explore. In which maybe the survivors could be split up into groups to find resources before a cycle ends. And some regions have climbing and parkour to do! I feel like it would be entertaining to see how they would get across those :~] ((that is IF the maps were to be almost the same as the regions/environmental aspect of the game))

So there's three objectives, right? Find food and resources, do generators, and go back to the shelter before the cycle ends. But in addition, there's still a killer on the loose? Whayyytt!!! It feels like the difficulty of the au just increased by tons!

I know there were also some weapons and other garments you could find just scattered around. It would be awesome if each survivor had some sort of scrapped weapon they could use to defend themselves... from the killer and the entities that usually reside in Rain World. The monsters are always either cool looking or just blatantly horrifying.

And I would just LOVE to see each survivor have slugcats of their own!! Those fellas are really cute,, and each entity/monsters for the killers, too!

#forsaken headcanons #forsaken #forsaken roblox #roblox forsaken #rain world #randomized anon #mod ferland🌱🦌

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runningincircl3s · 3 months ago

Text

Sinematic

Vinny Mauro x Reader

Chapter 5

chapter warnings: just vinny being a menace lmao

happy monday!!! i had such a long day today so i can't wait to post this and work on editing the next chapter hehe :) also i had so much fun writing this and i think you can tell lmao

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

“VIN!!! THERE’S SOMEONE ASLEEP ON YOUR COUCH!”

The sudden, panicked voice jolted you awake. You sat up too fast, blinking blearily against the morning light streaming through the windows.

Your heart pounded as you tried to make sense of what was happening, where you were and-

Who the hell was the guy standing over you, looking half-concerned and half-amused.

Before you could say anything, Vinny walked into the room, chuckling to himself.

“Yeah, I know. I asked her to stay.”

"Oh..." he nodded, a smirk creeping up on his lips, "Another one of your groupies-"

“Shut the fuck up.”

The guy looked between the two of you, brow furrowed. Still groggy, you rubbed your eyes and frowned up at him.

“Who the hell are you?” You asked.

He scoffed.

“Who the hell am I? Who the hell are you?!”

Before you could respond, Vinny sighed and shook his head.

“Y/n, this is Emil, one of my best friends and my old roommate. Emil, y/n. And yes, before you ask, she’s that y/n.”

Something shifted in Emil’s expression. He nodded, and then realisation dawned on his face, his eyes widening.

“Oh. Oh.”

You didn’t miss the way his gaze flickered over to Vinny, like he was trying to gauge his reaction. He crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes slightly.

“So, what, you guys are back together now?”

“No.” You and Vinny said at the same time.

“We’re friends.” Vin explained.

But Emil didn’t look convinced.

“Uh-huh. Sure.”

Vinny rolled his eyes with a sigh.

“It was late, she crashed here last night, that’s it.”

Emil made a dramatic show of nodding.

“Right, right. And she's just wearing your shirt because...? He smirked.

You sighed, shaking your head.

“Look, it was late, I didn't want to get an uber home at three in the morning, so when Vin offered I couldn't say no! I had no other clothes with me so I borrowed his shirt- and it's not like I slept in his bed, I'm on the fucking couch!”

Emil narrowed his eyes again.

“Didn’t think I’d see the day you let her crash here, Vin. Not after everything.” Vinny shot him a warning glance, but Emil only grinned, moving past you to grab a box from the corner of the room labelled 'Emil's: DO NOT TOUCH!!!'. “Hey, relax I'm just messing with you guys. I’m just here to pick up some stuff I left behind. Didn’t realise I’d be interrupting anything.”

Vinny ignored him, turning his attention back to you.

“You want breakfast?”

You stretched, still shaking off sleep, and nodded.

“Yeah. That actually sounds great.”

“Cool. I’ll make something after he leaves.” He said, crossing his arms as his eyes stayed fixed on Emil.

Emil tossed something else into his box before giving you a quick once-over.

“Well, it was nice to meet you, y/n. I’m sure we’ll see each other again.” He smirked.

“See you, Emil.” Vinny muttered.

Emil gave a lazy salute before heading for the door.

“See you around, dude”

Once the house was quiet again, Vinny turned to you with a sigh, before raising an eyebrow.

“So, breakfast?”

You grinned.

“Yeah. What were you thinking?”

“Uh… I can make pancakes?”

“Do you know how to make pancakes?” You gave him a skeptical look.

“Of course, everyone does!” Vinny scoffed, crossing his arms.

“Uh-huh.” You smirked. “When was the last time you successfully made pancakes?”

He hesitated.

“…Define ‘successfully.’”

You chuckled, shaking your head as you got up from the couch.

“You know what? I’m willing to risk it.” You smiled, following him out to the kitchen.

“Prepare to be wowed!”

You chuckled to yourself, leaning with your back against the counter.

“Is it weird living here by yourself now?” You asked, noticing how big the house felt for just one guy.

“A little,” he confessed, raiding his cupboards for ingredients, “I don’t really notice it though. When I would be home Emil would usually be on tour with other bands, and when he was home I was usually touring.”

You nodded your head, although you were listening to him, you were paying more attention to what ingredients he was getting, and what he wasn’t. As he approached the fridge, getting the milk out, he noticed the look in your eyes.

“What am I doing wrong?” He asked, trying to hide the smile creeping up on his lips.

“Where are the eggs?”

“Well,” Vin quickly reached back into the fridge, “I was just getting them!”

You smirked as Vinny held up the carton of eggs like he’d meant to grab them all along.

“Uh-huh,” you teased. “And what about the flour?”

“Flour…”

You bit your lip to keep from laughing.

“Yeah, you know, kind of an important ingredient for pancakes., Vin”

Vinny turned back to the cupboards, muttering something under his breath as he rummaged through them.

“I have flour… somewhere.”

You crossed your arms, watching him struggle.

“Are you sure about that?”

“Okay, maybe I don’t,” he admitted, spinning around to face you. “But in my defence, I haven’t made pancakes since…” He paused, squinting as he tried to remember. “…Maybe ever?”

You let out a dramatic sigh, walking past him, taking over the ingredients hunt. Sure enough, tucked in the back of the cupboard behind stacks of pop tarts, was a bag of flour.

“Found it!” You held it up triumphantly.

Vinny scoffed, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed.

“Alright, so what do we do now?"

You pointed at the mixing bowl.

“Crack two eggs in there, and please don’t get shells in it.”

Vinny cracked the first egg easily, but the second one cracked awkwardly, sending a tiny piece of shell into the bowl.

“Vin-"

“…That didn't happen!"

You rolled your eyes, fishing the shell out before instructing him to measure the milk.

Vinny grabbed the measuring cup and poured with intense concentration. But the moment he looked away to say something to you, a little more milk splashed over the edge.

“Vinny!”

“It’s fine!” He defended.

You wiped the spill with a sigh.

“You’re a menace.”

He beamed.

“Thank you.”

As you mixed the batter, Vinny dipped a finger in and tasted it. His face scrunched up immediately.

“Ugh. This tastes terrible.”

You swatted at his hand.

“That’s because it’s not cooked, you idiot.”

“I thought pancakes are supposed to be sweet, though. Should we add sugar?”

...You had forgotten about sugar.

“Not a bad idea, actually.”

“See? I do know what I'm doing.” Vinny grinned.

“You got eggshell in it, and added too much milk.”

He shrugged.

“Hey, Chef Gordon has probably done the same!”

"Maybe, but Gordon Ramsey wouldn't have eaten the raw batter."

Shaking your head with a laugh, you handed him a whisk.

“Alright, mix it properly while I find the pan.”

As you turned on the stove, Vinny stirred the batter- exaggerating his movements as he aggressively mixed the ingredients together.

Once it was ready, you poured the first pancake into the pan, smiling contently as you watched the batter spread into a perfect circle. Vinny leaned in, inspecting it.

“How do we know when to flip it?”

“The little bubbles will form on top.”

Vinny nodded seriously, watching intently. The moment the first few bubbles appeared, he grabbed the spatula from your hand.

“Wait-”

Before you could stop him, he launched the pancake into the air.

“VIN!”

The pancake smacked against the ceiling and clung there for a second before flopping onto the floor with a sad little splat.

You both stared at it.

“…I meant to do that, actually.” He said.

You burst out laughing.

“No, you did not.”

Vinny tried to fight his own laughter.

“I thought that was how everyone flips pancakes!”

“Nobody is launching pancakes into orbit, Vin!”

"Who made you the pancake expert?" He grinned, only to be met by a stern look as you crossed your arms. “Okay, okay, maybe I should leave the flipping to you.”

You sighed, handing him a paper towel.

“Clean that up, please.”

“Yes ma’am.”

By the time you got through the rest of the batter, you managed to salvage a small stack of decent-looking pancakes, though Vinny had insisted on naming the floor pancake “Gordon” before giving it a proper trashcan burial.

As you both sat in the kitchen at the island, plates stacked with pancakes and syrup, Vinny grinned at you.

“You have to admit,” he said, cutting into his pancake, “That was pretty fun.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling.

“Sure, I’ll give you that.”

He pointed his fork at you.

“See? We work great as a team.”

You shook your head, taking a bite of your pancake. It was actually pretty good. The chaos was worth it.

It made you think how maybe, just maybe, things really could be simple between you again.

Maybe you could just be friends.

After eating, Vin stacked the dishes up by the sink. You followed him, leaning against the counter.

“Maybe I should leave soon,” you say, “I need to brush my teeth.”

“I have spare toothbrushes,” Vin said, before realising what he had just said, and the meaning behind it. He didn't want you to leave just yet, he wanted you to stay, “But… Yeah you’re right. I can drive you back if you want?”

“I’d like that.” You smiled, “I’ll go and get my things.”

As you headed back toward the living room, Vinny trailed behind you, hands stuffed into his pockets. There was a certain shift in the air now, it was quieter, even a little heavier. Everything that happened this morning, the laughter, the way it had all felt so normal, so easy… It made leaving harder than either of you wanted to admit.

You slipped your shoes on, adjusting your bag over your shoulder.

“Thanks for breakfast.” You smiled, trying to keep your tone light.

Vinny gave you a small smile back.

“Yeah, of course, thanks for helping. Next time, I’ll even flip the pancakes correctly.”

Next time?

You laughed, shaking your head.

“I won’t hold my breath.”

As you both approached the door, there was a pause, and it stretched just a little too long. The both of you felt like you had more to say, but no words were coming out.

You felt like you should move, step outside, end this moment before it became something harder to walk away from. But neither of you moved.

Then, before you could overthink it, you reached out and lightly tugged at the sleeve of his hoodie. Just for a second. Just enough to say something without saying it.

Vinny looked down at where your fingers had been, then back at you. His expression softened, but there was now something almost guarded in his eyes. Like he was fighting against something, something he wasn’t ready to let slip.

He took a small step back, grabbing his keys from the side.

“Alright, c'mon, let’s get you home.”

And just like that, the moment passed.

You swallowed the strange, bittersweet feeling creeping into your chest and nodded, following him out to the car.

Maybe leaving felt a little harder than it should. Maybe part of you wished he had just handed you a spare toothbrush and told you to stay. But this was enough for now.

Given your last few encounters, you'd say this morning couldn’t have gone any better.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Vinny kept one hand on the wheel, the other drumming absentmindedly. You noticed how he tapped out a rhythm, probably some song that probably lived rent-free in his head, but you didn’t ask which one.

“So…” Vin finally spoke, glancing at you. “Did you sleep okay? Aside from, y’know, Emil waking you up.”

You laughed softly.

“Yeah. Your couch is surprisingly comfortable.”

“Good to know, it should be for the price of it.” He smirked, eyes back on the road.

Another pause. You shifted slightly in your seat, watching the buildings blur past outside.

Vinny sighed, tilting his head slightly toward you.

“Hey… I actually had a lot of fun this morning.”

You turned to look at him, surprised by the softness in his voice.

“I mean, it was nice,” he added quickly, like he didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. “Just… y’know. Hanging out. Like before... I've missed this.”

Your stomach flipped.

“Yeah, I agree.” You smiled softly, "I've missed this too."

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he reached forward and turned up the volume on the radio. A familiar song hummed through the speakers, one you both knew, and Vinny gave you a smirk before singing along like he had done many times before.

“I drove for miles and miles and wound up at your door

I've had you so many times but somehow, I want more”

Your heart clenched at the lyrics, it was a song you had sung together before, why did it feel different now? More meaningful?

“I don’t mind spending everyday

Out on your corner in the pouring rain”

“I love this song,” Vin said, “The whole album is just… Amazing.”

“I know,” you chuckled, “You’ve told me that about a million times.”

Vin ignored your comment, continuing to sing along.

“And she will be loved

And she will be loved”

The rest of the drive was quieter, other than Vin’s occasional burst into song, but the silence felt different this time. It felt comfortable.

When he pulled up outside your apartment building, he put the car in park but didn’t unlock the doors right away. His hands stayed on the wheel, fingers flexing like he wanted to say something else.

You hesitated too, wanting to reach for the door handle but something was stopping you.

The air insid the car felt heavier now, like you both had something to say, but the words just weren't coming. You could feel his eyes on you, even though you kept yours fixed on the dashboard.

Vin exhaled, turning slowly to face you before finally breaking the silence.

“Y/n… Are we really just friends?”

Your breath caught.

You swallowed, turning your head slightly to meet his gaze. There was something unreadable in his expression, something hesitant, like he wasn’t sure he even wanted to hear your answer.

You wanted to say yes. Wanted to say it was easy, simple, that you could both move forward without looking back. But was that really the truth if the words wouldn’t come.

So instead, you let out a quiet, shaky laugh.

“That is what we agreed on, right?”

His jaw tensed. He glanced away, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel.

“Yeah. You're right.”

Neither of you moved.

The silence stretched between you, filled with the hum of the engine and the faint hum of a song playing on the radio. You recognised it instantly.

It was another one of those songs you used to sing all the time together, back when things were simpler.

Back when he looked at you like he still believed in you.

Back when you didn’t have to question if you’d already lost him.

You opened your mouth, thinking, or hoping he’d stop you. Say something. Do something.

But he just let out another breath, forcing a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I’ll see you around, yeah?”

And just like that, the moment was gone.

Your fingers tightened around the door handle before you nodded.

“Yeah… When do you get back from the tour?”

“Well we leave on Tuesday, I’ll be gone for about a week.” He smiled softly. He hesitated for a moment, before continuing, “I was wondering, if it’s not too much to ask, could you come over and check on the house whilst I’m gone?”

“Of course.” You nodded, “Isn’t Emil around?”

“No, he’s coming with us. Thanks, I’ll uh… text you when I get back.”

“Okay… Thanks again, Vin.”

This time, you actually got out. You heard him shift gears, but he didn’t drive off right away. Not until you were inside.

And even then, you stood by the door, watching him disappear down the street.

It was just breakfast. Just a ride home. Just a normal morning.

So why did it feel like so much more?

He didn’t want more though, or so you thought. Even if you were just to stay as this, as friends, that would be enough for you.

------------------------@collapsedglasshouses @miss570 @dominuslunae @sunshine-lvrr @death-ofpeace-ofmind @blade-dressed-in-red @amelia-acero @kait16xo @oobleoob @pipidoll @justdamnpeachy

#vinny mauro x reader #vinny mauro fanfic #vinny mauro #vinny mauro imagine #motionless in white fanfic #sinematic <3 #vinny mauro fanfiction

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