#Seventeen Quick Imagine | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

enwoso · 2 months ago

Text

blood, not bond | alessia russo x teen!reader

-> based on this request

grumpy masterlist | leah is in it but she kind of pops in and out of it - more focused on: harrison, alessia and lovie.

at seventeen, you had gotten used to the strange rhythm of your relationship with, your dad, harrison.

once every four or five weeks maybe longer if life got in the way, you'd meet up with him. lunch or a quick shop around town, maybe both if you were lucky.

he'd always ask you about school, about your football commenting on the fact that he managed to watch your match on a stream like it meant something to you, or if you were still writing in that journal you'd started in year nine.

it wasn't uncomfortable, wasn't bad either. it just wasn't what people imagined when they heard the word 'dad'.

because really you didn't have a 'dad'. you had an alessia and a leah. they were your parents. your constants.

harrison well, he was.. something else? a figure which floated in and out your life with well meaning eyes and clumsy attempts to connect.

this time you were spending a rare saturday with harrison. but it wasn't in a 'cherished' kind of way, more like it was an obligation.

you didn't hate seeing your dad, sometimes on the rare occasion you'd actually enjoy yourself but most of the time were just.. odd. scheduled. like fitting a phone call in with a stranger into a diary full of people who actually knew you.

this one had started like the others: brunch at the cafe that he liked, shopping afterward if he remembered that you needed new trainers or a jacket. a few attempts at small talk — 'is school going okay?', how's football? scored any crackers yet?', 'how's your mum?'

the day had been fine, until it wasn't.

"so," harrison started, halfway through his eggs benedict. "louis and lily would love to meet you one day."

you blinked, pausing mid-forkful of your pancakes, "who?"

he just smiled like it was a name you should recognise, "your younger brother and sister. i've told them about you, there always asking when they're going to meet you."

your fork hovered still in mid-air, your mouth going dry. "you.. you have kids?"

"yeah, i do" he said as if it was nothing and that it should have been common knowledge to you. "well, you knew about zoey—"

"i knew you had a girlfriend when i was like eleven, you posted her once and then never mentioned her again."

he frowned, "louis is five and lily is three. and the only reason i didn't tell you sooner is cause i didn't want to throw too much at you all at once, but they've been asking about you for a while — especially louis, he's a big football and arsenal fan"

you didn't respond, just looked down. you now suddenly hyper-aware of the clink of cutlery around the cafe, the swirl of the cream in your coffee cup. your appetite vanished.

the rest of the day passes in awkward silences and occasional comments which you couldn't force yourself to reply too. he asked if you liked a jacket, you shrugged. asked about football, you said 'great'

finally, when he pulled up outside your house, home, he put the car in park but didn't turn off the engine.

"i'm serious, y/n" he said, hand still on the steering wheel like he might need to grip it to keep the conversation from drifting. "think about it please, they'd love to meet you."

you nodded slowly, "we'll see." it came out small, flat. a placeholder for all the thing you didn't know how to say.

you slipped out the car muttering a 'thank you' but before he could say more, you were heading up the driveway with quick steps and slipping through your front door like a ghost.

the front door creaked with the same familiar cream it always did. leah was in the kitchen, stirring something in a pan which you knew she'd of been instructed to do by your mum. music drifting through the hallway, quiet but calm.

"hey, angel. you good?" leah called out, you nodded again, tossed your shoes by the door, alessia bundling down the stairs as she ruffled your hair a warm smile on her lips.

"lovie! how was your day?" she asked as she leant against the banister, you knowing she wouldn't drop it until you said something.

"fine" you said, dropping your bag by the stairs.

"did you go for food?" alessia asked, her eyebrows raising at your short answers and the way you were behaving.

"yeah." you hummed, one foot on the bottom step waiting for your exit to go straight to your room.

"you want tea?"

"i'm good." you didn't wait for more. just walked straight up to you room and closed the door with a quiet click.

leaving your mum at the bottom of the stairs, her being slightly confused at your quiet behaviour, usually you'd come home with a story or maybe at least complaining about your dad asking you a question about something you hadn't done since you were ten.

but today, nothing. silence. but alessia knew better than to push. you'd tell her eventually.

—

alessia waited. she didn't follow after you. didn't push. she never did. she left you in your room while her and leah ate tea together. a slight look of concern on leah's face when alessia told her to leave you when she asked if she should call you down for dinner.

but a few hours later, after you had spent most of the evening buried in your duvet with your headphones on, alessia knocked softly and poked her head in.

leah had taken the dog out. the house was still, humming only with the low buzz of the boiler and the occasional car passing outside.

"can i come in?" you shrugged glancing up at your mum as she poked her head through the door. you were sat cross-legged, staring blankly at your phone screen. alessia walked in, sat on the edge of the bed like she always had since you were small.

"so how was today? with your dad."

alessia looked at the way your face changed at then mention of it. she could tell something was off. not just because you were quiet, but the way you moved as if your skin didn't quite fit right. your shoulders were tight, tense.

"hey" alessia said gently. "you okay?"

your eyes stayed on your phone screen, you having been doom scrolling for the past few hours trying to get rid of your thoughts however it was probably making them worse.

your jaw clenched once. then again. then— "he told me he has another family."

alessia's heart thudded, a pout forming over her lips, "lovie.."

"i have siblings," you snapped, you voice sharp. "siblings, mum. five and three. and tells me like it's some lovely fun little surprise over brunch!"

alessia's face dropped, she knew about harrison moving on with zoey, in a way she was delighted it had meant he wouldn't keep sticking his nose in her relationship with leah and she knew about louis.

not because she found out from harrison himself first (no surprise there) but, from one of harrison's friends she bumped into while doing a late shop one afternoon. harrison then telling her a few days later, alessia urging him to tell you but he promised he would when the time was right.

"wow. i-i didn't know about the three-year-old. just louis but that was years ago."

"you knew!?" your voice hitched as you head snapped to look at your mum. hurt blooming behind your eyes.

"i knew about louis and yeah we both knew about zoey, but i didn't know they'd had another child." alessia explained, her voice calm, too calm for your liking. with the way your chest felt like it was about to explode.

"and what? you didn't think to tell me?" you snapped, your voice dripping with bitterness but also hurt.

alessia took a slow breath, "it wasn't my place to say anything. at the end of the day lovie, he is your dad. it should've come from him."

your eyes flashed. "oh, come on. that's such a cop-out."

"no, i didn't mean it like that."

"then how did you mean it?" your voice rose, frustration starting to build. "cause right now it sounds a lot like you just didn't want to deal with it. just like he didn't either."

alessia flinched but she didn't move her eyes hardening. "hey, no, don't put me in the same category as him, lovie. i've been here. every day. for every meltdown, for every match, for every homework crisis."

you started pacing back and forth in your room. "yeah, you have. you've been here. and he's been off playing happy families with some other kids. buying them toys, tucking them into bed, going to their school plays, their out of school clubs—"

"you don't know that."

"i don't have to!" you nearly shouted. "cause i can guess. cause i know what it looks like when someone doesn't show up, and he's had plenty of practice."

alessia took a careful step forward wanting to try and help calm you down before you did something silly. "you're allowed to be upset. you're allowed to be angry."

"well, good. because i am." you said, voice cracking with each word. "he shows up once a month, if that, buys me lunch, asks me about school like he knows me, and then drops this on me like it's something i should be excited about."

you stop pacing and turned to your mum, eyes shining with unshed tears. "he said they want to meet me. that they know all about me. like i'm just some story that their dad tells sometimes at bedtime. like i'm not even a real person."

alessia's heart broke a little more with each word. "he should've told you a long time ago. but he also should have done a lot differently then he did when you were growing up."

your voice shook as you sniffled. "i spent years thinking i did something wrong. that i wasn't enough. that i was the problem. that if i'd been better—quieter, smarter, easier—maybe he'd have stayed, maybe he'd of made more of an effort to get to know me. and now i find out he did stay. just not for me."

"oh, lovie..."

"he just replaced me, mum. he left you, and then he replaced me. like i didn't even mean anything."

and that was it—the dam broke. your legs gave way as you collapsed onto the side of your bed, and the tears came hard, your chest heaving with the weight of everything you'd been holding in for years.

alessia was beside you in an instant, pulling you close, her arms wrapping tightly around you like a shield. alessia didn't speak right away. just held you. let you sob.

"i don't want to meet them," you whispered eventually, voice hoarse as tears still streamed down your face.

"you don't have to," your mum murmured against you. "you don't owe him anything. this isn't your responsibility."

"he said they'd love to meet me," you scoffed bitterly. "but they don't know me. i'm just a name. some girl he sees sometimes. i'm not part of his family. not really."

alessia pulled back just enough to look you in the eye. "then let's make something very clear—you do have a family. me. mama. this house. your many, many aunties. your friends. the people who show up. that's your family."

you nodded, barely. your hands clutched the hem of your mum's jumper.

"do you think it makes me a bad person for not wanting to see them?" you asked softly, slight hiccup coming from your lips.

"no," alessia said without a beat of hesitation. "it makes you honest. and human. and hurting. and that's perfectly okay."

your mum stood, slow and careful, like you might shatter if she moved too fast. "your allowed to be angry."

"i don't even know what i am." your hands were trembling now. "i'm not mad he has a family. i'm mad i'm not part of it. that i never was. that he never gave me the chance. that he never loved me, not properly."

flash— age four: harrison meeting you for the first time after walking away after alessia had told him she was pregnant. bringing a little teddy bear like it could fill four years of nothing. you didn't even remember it—but you remember your mum's face when the door had closed again.

flash— age nine: he missed your school plays. said he had work, but you saw the tagged picture later on. a dinner. smiling. a different world.

flash— age twelve: he missed your birthday. fourteen: he never messaged to say congratulations on your first start for the england youth team.

flash — age sixteen: he said he'd take you out for dinner after your exams, you sat waiting for hours - he didn't even bother to call and cancel.

instead it was just a pattern of promises that never really included you.

alessia took a slow step closer as she knelt down in front of you, you sat looking at your hands in your lap. "you don't have to figure this all out today, lovie."

"i don't want to meet them," you said, voice still hoarse but still sharp. "i don't want to play happy families with strangers. i don't want to pretend i've ever been more than a once-a-month reminder for him."

alessia arms wrapped around you like muscle memory, strong and warm and safe. "and that's okay, you don't have to do anything you don't want to. you have us. you always have and always will, that's never going to change."

you pressed your face into her mum's shoulder in front of you, letting the tears come again, now that you weren't pretending to be okay.

the front door opened. leah's voice floated in, as she called out, the sound of the dogs collar echoing as it shook itself in the hallway. "i'm backk!"

alessia looked over the top of your head, eyes soft as she whispered. "we'll get there. i've got you."

she stroked your hair gently as you curled into her side, exhausted and broken but safe. it wasn't fixed. not yet. and maybe wouldn't be for a while. but you had what mattered most. you had home.

461 notes · View notes

lupinqs · 2 months ago

Text

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN ━━ All-Consuming

❀ ━ pairing: paige bueckers x oc (jo jacobson)

❀ ━ word count: 8.8K

❀ ━ warnings: minor injury, smut (oral, fingering)

❀ ━ links: my masterlist, nobody gets me masterlist

❀ ━ author’s note: so sorry for the long ass wait i hope it’s worth it

PAIGE SITS at the edge of the bench, her elbows on her knees, chin in her hands, watching warmups like she always does. Except today, something feels… different. Heavier. Shittier. She’s got her legs tucked up close, arms wrapped tight around them like it might somehow make her smaller, invisible. Which, obviously, it won’t. Especially not here. Especially not in fucking Knoxville.

The arena is loud. Like, obnoxiously loud. Tennessee fans are built different with their petty signs and cowbells and perfectly orchestrated chants. They’ve got nothing but time and resentment for UConn. Paige usually feeds off that. Normally, she lives for it. The noise, the hate, the pressure. It lights her up. Brings out that twisted little competitive streak in her that wants to drop thirty just to silence them. But she’s not lighting anything up today. She’s just sitting here. On the bench. Like she has been for what feels like her whole damn life now.

She’s in her warmup gear. Got the game day braids in. The slick, tight ones that Jo helped her do this morning, even though they both knew Paige wasn’t playing. It’s stupid, really. But the braids make her feel like she might be. Like if she looks the part, maybe she’ll feel the part. She doesn’t.

She hasn’t played in a Tennessee game since her freshman year. She sprained her ankle that night. Her sophomore year—busted knee. Now, junior year—busted ACL. It’s like the basketball gods personally circle this date on the calendar every season and go, not you, girl. And maybe that shouldn’t bother her as much as it does, because the players don’t really care about this rivalry like they used to—none of them were around for the Pat vs Geno era. They’re just here to hoop, not carry the burden of the past. But it does bother her. Because there’s still something about this game that stings extra when she’s on the sideline instead of the floor.

She swallows hard. Tries to blink fast enough to chase away the burn in her eyes, but the tears push their way through anyway.

Her knee feels like it’s mocking her, even when it’s behaving. Her fingers twitch with phantom plays—passes she’ll never throw, shots she won’t take. Her teammates are out there running drills, laughing, locking in. And Paige is just… not. She’s on the outside of her own life, watching someone else live it. It fucking sucks.

She sniffs quietly, looking down at the floor like that’ll hide the way her eyes are glassy and red. She wipes at her cheek with the sleeve of her shooting shirt, hating how it comes away wet. She’s sure some ESPN camera’s trained on her right now, too. She can already imagine Holly Rose narrating it: “Paige Bueckers, emotional on the sideline today. The UConn star still working her way back from injury.”

She rubs at her eyes harder, hoping maybe if she scrubs hard enough, the ache will go away too. It doesn’t.

Then—quietly, gently—Jo drops down on the chair beside her.

She doesn’t say anything at first. Just leans in close, knee bumping Paige’s. It only makes Paige’s throat tighten even more. Because Jo’s supposed to be warming up. She’s playing today. She shouldn’t be over here. But she is.

Jo’s pinky finds Paige’s without making it obvious, just a light brush where no cameras can see. Paige doesn’t move. Doesn’t look up. She can’t yet. But her heart softens immediately. She squeezes Jo’s pinky lightly with her own, quick and small, like she’s sorry for making her come over. Jo doesn’t let go.

“You okay?” Jo murmurs, barely audible under the roar of the arena. Her voice is low and sweet and careful in that way she always uses when Paige is pretending everything is fine.

Paige nods, a pathetic little dip of her chin, and then—just to betray herself—another tear slips out. She catches it with the back of her hand and lets out the tiniest laugh, all self-deprecating and bitter. “I’m just bein’ dramatic,” she mutters.

Jo’s already shaking her head. “No, you’re not,” she says, like it’s fact, not up for debate.

“I’m crying on the bench, Jo.”

“You’re crying because you love the game,” Jo says simply. “That’s not dramatic. That’s just… being human.”

Paige finally looks at her then, eyes stinging, throat thick. And Jo’s not teasing or smirking or trying to make her laugh, not yet. She’s just looking back at her like she sees everything Paige is trying to hide and she’s not scared of it. Paige swallows again, and it catches in her throat. She hates how raw she feels right now. Hates how easy Jo makes it for her to fall apart.

Jo bumps her knee again, softer this time. “You know,” she says, glancing casually toward the court, “I heard this team has a really cute assistant coach. Blonde. Kind of annoying. Always got her hair braided in a way that might make her go bald one day.”

Paige snorts, even though the wetness still clings to her lashes. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Real menace. Probably got a wicked crossover if she’d ever show it.”

Paige swipes at her cheek again, this time with a ghost of a smile. “I’ll look out for her.”

Jo grins. “You better. She’s hot. I’m trying to impress.”

Paige laughs and it feels like something breaks loose in her chest. Something heavy, something sharp. She exhales long and slow, the way Jo’s presence always makes her do. Jo gives her pinky one last squeeze before she stands back up to rejoin warmups.

By the time the game begins, Paige’s chest doesn’t feel quite so hollow. It starts off hot, fast-paced, high-scoring, kind of chippy. She’s leaned forward on the bench now, elbows digging into her thighs. Her knee bounces involuntarily every few seconds—nerves, adrenaline, phantom muscle memory. She can’t stop tracking every movement on the court like she’s still part of it. Still running, still cutting, still calling plays. Her brain is sprinting at full speed even if her body isn’t allowed to.

Jo’s hooping. Like, really hooping. Which isn’t surprising, since she’s been doing that all season.

She’s shooting lights out from three, and every made basket has the Tennessee fans shutting up a little more. Which Paige finds deeply satisfying. Every time Jo hits, steals, assists, Paige lets herself cheer a little louder, lets herself grin a little wider, even if her chest still aches some from earlier. Jo’s got that look tonight—laser-focused, completely locked in. That stupid wrist flick of hers is crisp, and every time the ball leaves her hands, Paige already knows it’s money.

Aaliyah’s dominating the paint, as per usual. Lou’s curling off screens and hitting daggers. Nika’s orchestrating it all, finding every pocket, every backdoor cutter, every mismatch. It’s beautiful basketball. And it’s theirs.

And Paige wants to be out there so bad it physically hurts.

But she’s happy, at least, that they’re winning. They’ve been leading basically the whole time—not by a massive margin, but enough that the pressure hasn’t really shifted back in Tennessee’s favor. The game’s exciting, but not panic-inducing. The kind where if they just keep doing their jobs, they’ll be fine. It’s that rare sweet spot between competition and control.

It’s the beginning of the fourth, and UConn’s up by ten. Jo comes flying off a pin-down, catches the ball on the wing, rises up, and—bang. Fifth three of the night. Paige whistles through her teeth, claps hard, smacks the padded bench emphatically. She’s about to turn to Ice to say something cocky when—

She sees it.

It’s small. Barely anything, really. Jo comes down and her right foot hits kind of… funky. Paige can’t tell at first if it’s a slip or a twist or just one of those weird stutters. But Jo’s face—only for a second—tightens. She winces a little, and she kind of hops out of it awkwardly before jogging back on defense.

And Paige can see it. It’s not dramatic—Jo doesn’t limp or fall or cry out. She wouldn’t anyways. Jo’s built out of grit and stubbornness and whatever else makes people keep going when they probably shouldn’t. She’s still moving. She’s in position, she’s talking on defense, playing through it. But she’s also shaking out her foot every couple seconds. She’s flexing her ankle just slightly when the ball isn’t near her, just enough for someone who’s really watching to notice.

And Paige is watching.

She sits up straighter. “Yo,” she mutters to no one in particular, eyes still glued onto the brunette. “She landed weird.”

Ice glances over at her. “Huh?”

“Jo. That last three. Her foot twisted or sum. She’s not moving the same.”

Geno glances over at Paige, having heard her observation. He gives her a look and she just nods toward Jo on the court. His gaze shifts back to the game, and Paige watches him squint. The blonde watches Jo again. She can tell it’s nothing major. Not a full-blown injury, probably not even a bad sprain. But Paige knows this girl. She knows her tells. And she knows that if someone doesn’t make her come out, she’s gonna push it until it does get bad.

When Aaliyah picks up a foul on Rickea Jackson, sending her to the line, Geno turns to the bench and waves at Ines. Ines stands, heads to the table, checks in.

Jo comes out.

Paige tracks the girl as she jogs toward the bench, and it’s—yeah. It’s more than clear now. That little limp in her gait, the slight hitch with every step. It’s not dramatic or anything, not a collapse-to-the-floor situation, but it’s there. Definitely there. She wears a half-smile as she walks, slapping palms with the girls down the bench. When she high fives Paige, the blonde wants to grab her and stop her, asking what exactly’s wrong. But she doesn’t. She lets her go to the end of the bench, where she reaches Janelle.

Paige watches as Jo leans in, says something low that Paige can’t hear from this far down the bench. But she sees Jo’s face. The way she scrunches her nose, nods slightly, like she’s trying to downplay it but also knows it’s enough of a thing to need attention. Janelle nods, wrapping an arm lightly around Jo’s back, guiding her behind the bench and toward the tunnel.

Paige lets out a long sigh, biting at the inside of her cheek. It’s not that she didn’t think Jo was hurting. She knew that. But there’s something so much worse about seeing her go back there. It’s probably the trauma—because this has been the story the whole season. Like a sick little cycle of setbacks. Injury after injury. Some minor. Some not. Aubrey’s back. Azzi’s knee. Caroline’s head. Dorka’s thumb. Nika’s concussion. Ice’s knee. And then there’s Paige, the original disaster from the summer with the torn ACL. It’s like the basketball gods are allergic to this team being fully healthy.

A few minutes pass. Paige tries to watch the game, but she finds herself glancing back at the tunnel more often than not. Thankfully, it’s not long before Jo and Janelle are coming back out. The aforementioned is walking slower than usual, but she’s walking. Her step isn’t as light as normal, and there’s still that noticeable limp as she makes her way toward the bench. The ankle’s wrapped now, a large bag of ice securely fastened to it.

Jo approaches the seat next to Paige, where Ines was sitting before checking in. As soon as the freshman is sat, Paige is already leaning in. Not too much—she’s trying not to look all dramatic and clingy about it, especially not with Holly Rowe lurking somewhere behind them and probably reporting every breath she takes—but just enough that their knees touch, and Paige can catch her expression.

Jo isn’t wincing, doesn’t really look all that uncomfortable, and Paige stares at her profile for a second longer than necessary, trying to scan her for signs. Pain. Frustration. Panic. But Jo just looks… fine.

“Hey,” Paige says softly, nudging her shoulder. “You good?”

Jo turns her head and smiles a little, like she already knew Paige would ask that the second her ass hit the bench. There’s something about her smile—lazy and a bit crooked, like she’s tired but trying to reassure her anyway—that actually works. Paige breathes out without realizing she was holding it in.

“Yeah,” Jo replies. “She thinks it’s just a minor sprain.”

Paige nods slowly, eyes dropping to Jo’s ankle, the wrap snug around it, tight but not panic-inducing. That’s ironic, she thinks. She sprained her ankle here her freshman year, too. Tennessee’s cursed for her personally, and now maybe for Jo, too. This court just has bad vibes, Paige decides.

“Does it hurt?” she asks, a little quieter this time, like if she lowers her voice enough, the answer might change.

Jo shrugs, the ice rustling against its wrap. “I’m okay, P,” she says.

And Paige wants to believe her. She really does. The logical part of her brain—the part that’s spent more time in trainers’ rooms and rehab facilities than on the court the past two years—tells her that if it were worse, Jo wouldn’t be out here. Janelle wouldn’t let her. She wouldn’t be smiling, or sitting next to Paige looking more at ease than not.

Paige leans back a little, rests her forearms on her thighs, and watches the game continue in front of them. Lou’s still hot, draining another corner three like she’s trying to set the arena on fire. Aaliyah’s muscling her way through the paint like a freight train. The bench goes wild. The fans boo. Paige doesn’t flinch. She’s still half in the game, sure, but she’s half in her head now too, hyper-aware of Jo next to her, the way her foot bounces slightly even with the ice on it, the way her fingers keep tugging at the hem of her jersey like she’s trying to shake off leftover adrenaline.

Paige wants to teach over. Grab her hand. Touch her knee. Something. Anything. But the cameras are always around, and so are the coaches, and their teammates. They’re not supposed to know about anything between the two of them, so Paige has to pretend like her entire world doesn’t shift when Jo’s hurt or limping or even just vaguely not okay.

“You sure?” Paige whispers, not looking at her this time. “You’re not, like… bullshitting me?”

Jo snorts. “When do I ever bullshit you?”

“Literally every time you say you’re fine,” Paige shoots back, side-eyeing her.

Jo laughs again, a breathy little thing that makes Paige’s stomach ease just slightly. “It’s just sore,” she says. “Janelle said I probably tweaked it when I landed weird, but there’s no real swelling. I’ll be alright.”

Paige nods again. Jo sounds sincere right now. She looks it, too.

The buzzer blares for a timeout and the team on the court jogs to the bench. Jo sits forward a bit, yelling out something at Lou, clapping hard with her free hand. Paige watches her carefully, the way she grits her teeth when she claps too hard and how she subtly tucks her foot under the chair, out of view.

Paige wants to drag her back to the locker room and wrap her in bubble wrap and make her sit still. She wants to ask Janelle again herself. She wants to ask Geno. She wants to do something because she’s feeling kind of helpless, and she’s really tired of that particular feeling lately. Watching games. Watching her girl—Jo limp. Watching, always watching. Never doing.

But Jo’s here, and she’s beside her. And Paige doesn’t miss the way Jo leans into her a little now, their shoulders pressed together, their knees already touching.

So Paige doesn’t say anything else. Just lets herself sit here, heart still uneasy, but warmed slightly by Jo’s closeness. It’s not ideal. None of this ever is. But it’s enough for now.

“IT DOESNT EVEN HURT. Chill, please,” Jo says, chuckling lightly, trying to brush off the overprotectiveness in Paige’s eyes. She shifts her ankle a bit, feeling the wrapped bandage around it. Yes, it’s sore. But she’s dealt with much worse. It’s just a minor tweak, nothing that’s going to stop her from playing or hurt her in the long run.

Paige has been acting like she broke it, though. Since the moment they got to the hotel—where Paige immediately switched key cards with Dorka, Jo’s real roommate who’s unfazed at this point—her eyes have been wide, her hands hovering nervously, like she’s about to jump up at any moment to get more ice or do something else to “help” that she thinks might make a difference. It’s cute, and Jo finds it endearing. But it’s gotten to a point.

Paige’s face softens, the concern still there but less sharp now. She takes a slow breath and finally shifts, sitting down on the edge of the bed, and Jo can see the indecision in her eyes. Paige’s always been the type to jump into action, always thinking of ways to fix things, but sometimes, all Jo needs is space to just be for a second. So she waits.

Finally, though, Paige lets out a little sigh, the kind that says fine, whatever, and slowly lays down beside her. She curls up next to Jo, her head finding its way to Jo’s neck, nuzzling into her warmth. For a moment, it’s like everything in the room fades out. It’s just them, in this quiet little bubble that’s theirs, and Jo finally feels herself exhale fully.

“I am chill,” Paige mutters into Jo’s neck, her voice barely above a whisper but still so Paige—a little stubborn, a little sweet, like she’s trying to convince herself as much as Jo. Jo can’t help but smile at the sound of it.

“Uh-huh, sure,” she teases softly, the words slipping easily from her lips. Her fingers reach up to gently brush through Paige’s ponytail, not in a hurry, just slowly tracing the strands as they settle in. Paige huffs out a small laugh, her breath warm against Jo’s skin.

“Shut up,” the blonde murmurs, though there’s not an ounce of bite to it. She’s relaxed, melting into Jo’s side, and Jo feels contentment wash over her. This—this is what she’s been wanting. Not for Paige to keep hovering and fussing, but for them to just be close. To just be together, even in silence.

Jo lets out a slow breath, the weight of the day finally starting to lift. The game, the ankle, the worry over whether she’ll be able to play Villanova on Sunday—it all fades when Paige’s hand drapes over her stomach. That small, steady pressure from Paige’s fingertips is enough to remind Jo that everything’s fine. It’ll all be fine.

And then the older girl shifts again, her body rearranging itself to settle against Jo more comfortably. A second later, Paige’s chin is resting on Jo’s chest, and she looks up at her, their faces mere inches apart. Jo’s breath hitches a little, caught between amusement and something deeper, something softer. Paige’s eyes are playful now, and then she grins—stupidly, the kind that always makes Jo blush.

“You’re pretty,” Paige says, the words simple but wrapped in so much warmth.

The way she says it, with that lazy smile and the softness in her voice, it feels like everything Jo wants to hear but still never quite expects. Jo feels heat crawl up her neck, a flush that spreads quickly, like wildfire. She almost doesn’t know how to react, so she does what feels natural—she pushes Paige’s face away lightly, but the movement is gentle, like she’s holding onto something delicate. “Shut up,” Jo mumbles, the words more out of embarrassment than anything else.

Paige, of course, isn’t fazed. She just shakes her head, her hair brushing against Jo’s skin as she does.

“Uh-uh,” she replies softly, almost a challenge, like she’s determined to get Jo to give in to whatever it is she’s thinking, whatever little game she’s playing right now. Before Jo can say anything else, Paige reaches for her head, grabbing it gently but insistently. She brings it up to her lips, pressing a light kiss to Jo’s knuckles. The feeling and the way the blue of Paige’s eyes roam Jo’s face sends something through the younger girl’s chest, something that feels both familiar and new at the same time.

Jo’s mouth goes dry. It’s stupid how much Paige affects her, how easy it is for her to forget about everything else when the blonde looks at her like this.

And then Paige is leaning up, her lips finding Jo’s. Jo exhales softly into it, a slow sigh escaping her lungs like relief. Her hands slide around Paige’s neck almost instinctively, fingers curing in the fabric of her t-shirt like she needs something to hold onto—like if she lets go, it might all vanish.

Paige’s weight settles more fully on top of her, slow and careful. She’s still being cautious, keeping her right side angled away so she doesn’t press against Jo’s ankle. One of Paige’s hands lifts up to cradle Jo’s jaw, thumb brushing her cheekbone. She leans in further, nose nudging Jo’s, slipping her tongue between the brunette’s lips. Jo’s heart is loud in her ears, thumping like it’s trying to break through her chest, and her lungs are full of Paige’s breath and her mouth is close as it can possibly get, and Jo sorta forgets how to function.

Then Paige makes a soft sound—a little sigh, a little hum—and Jo feels her stomach flip. She tightens her grip around Paige’s neck, pulling her in closer. A shared breath of want curls hotter between their mouths. Jo’s fingers thread into Paige’s ponytail, the soft strands sliding between them like water. Paige’s hands slide down her sides, fingers slipping under the hem of her hoodie, thumbs brushing skin.

Jo gasps, barely audible, and Paige kisses her again like she’s chasing that sound.

And Jo doesn’t really know how it turns into this—messier, hotter, hungrier. When it stopped being soft and started being the kind of thing that makes her pulse trip in her neck and her stomach tighten. She doesn’t even care, honestly. Paige is on her, pressed flush against her like she’s trying to crawl into her skin, and Jo would let her. Would unzip her whole body and say here, take it if that’s what Paige wanted. Her brain is continuously short-circuiting and her mouth is the only thing truly working right now, still chasing Paige’s like she can’t get enough. Because she can’t. Not even close.

It’s sloppy. All teeth and tongue and misaligned breathing. Paige tastes like toothpaste and something sharp that might be need, might be want. Her hands are everywhere. Raking up under Jo’s sweatshirt, dragging across her stomach like she owns it, fingers digging into Jo’s ribs. The younger girl doesn’t even try to keep still. She tugs at Paige’s ponytail with one hand, not hard, just enough to make tilt her head the way she likes. Paige groans into her mouth and Jo swears she feels it in her spine.

The heat crawls up Jo’s neck, under her ears, blooming like wildfire in her chest. She wants. She wants. More than she ever has. It’s like something broke open in her, some seal that’s been holding back the rawness of it. It’s not like this is new. They kiss. They sleep in the same bed. They’ve been toeing every line for months now, orbiting each other like idiots, letting their bodies say what they won’t let their mouths admit.

But they’d had limits. Unspoken, invisible boundaries they don’t cross. Like, for example, sex—and anything that comes close it. Because they’re best friends. Or more than best friends. Or something tangled in the middle that’s never made sense when Jo’s really let herself think about it.

But right now? Jo doesn’t want those limits. She wants to shatter them. Burn them down and pretend they never existed. Because Paige’s fingers are curling against her ribs and her mouth is warm and perfect and Jo feels like she’s going to lose it.

It’s then that Paige’s hand reaches for her hoodie, tugging just slightly—not enough to remove it, but enough to ask. Enough to test. Jo stills for half a second, kiss faltering, breath catching in her throat. Her heart’s thudding so loud it’s embarrassing.

Jo pulls away from Paige’s mouth, lips swollen and chest heaving. Her voice is so wrecked it barely sounds like her own when she says, almost in a whimper, “Fuck, take it off.”

There’s a beat. Just one. Paige blinks, and Jo can see the way it hits her—how her eyes flash and her mouth parts like she wasn’t expecting to hear it, like maybe she thought Jo would stop her. But Jo doesn’t backpedal. She just looks at her, breathless, and waits.

Paige doesn’t hesitate again.

Her hands are on the hem of Jo’s sweatshirt immediately, slipping back underneath, palms warm and steady as she pushes the fabric up and over. Jo lifts her arms, and then it’s gone, tossed somewhere off the side of the bed, forgotten. Paige sits up a little, hovering above her, eyes scanning slowly—not with hunger exactly, but with something closer to awe. Like Jo’s some sort of painting she’s never been allowed to stare at this long.

Jo swallows. Her skin prickles. She’s not wearing a bra. She feels exposed.

“Joey,” Paige breathes, like she forgot how her lungs work.

Jo exhales a laugh. Shaky. Nervous around the edges. “Stop looking at me like that,” she mumbles, grabbing at Paige’s shirt now too, tugging it. Paige just grins, and then takes the liberty of lifting her own arms and taking the shirt off, leaving her in just her sports bra. Jo exhales another shaky breath.

Paige leans back down, slotting her lips against Jo’s again. Her skin is warmer than Jo’s and the brunette shivers a little.

Maybe she’s a little nervous. Not like scared-scared, not in a bad way. But there’s a fluttery sort of tightness low in her stomach, like something big’s about to happen and she doesn’t really know how to brace for it. Like her whole body is buzzing with something like readiness.

And, yeah, it’s kind of scary. Because she’s done this before. Not this. Not with a girl. And not with Paige. Jo’s had sex before, of course. With Asher, who was always so familiar and known. And Paige is familiar, too—in every way except this one. But, Jo supposes, it’s about time.

And Paige is everywhere now. Not all at once, but in that slow, agonizing way that seems almost like she’s memorizing every inch of her, one kiss at a time. Her mouth moves from Jo’s lips to her jaw, trailing heat as she goes. Jo tilts her head back automatically, a soft sigh slipping past her lips. Paige’s tongue flicks out, ghosting along the edge of her skin like she’s tasting, not just kissing.

She continues down Jo’s throat, just under her jaw, then lower, letting her lips drag. She’s so deliberate about it, so unhurried, like she’s not trying to get anywhere quite yet. Like this is the destination.

And Jo just… lets her. Arms loose around Paige’s shoulders, her ankle forgotten, her brain melted. For once, she’s not overthinking. The only thing her mind can conjure up is now. The warmth of Paige’s breath. The gentle scrape of her teeth. How safe Jo feels under her.

When Paige mouths at her collarbone, Jo has to bite her lip to keep from gasping. It’s not even that’s intense—just a kiss, just lips, just Paige—but it still makes her hips shift, her core tighten. Paige feels it. Of course she does. She hums against Jo’s skin like she’s proud of herself.

“Okay?” Paige murmurs, lips brushing against the top of Jo’s chest now, hand sliding up Jo’s torso.

Jo’s voice comes out breathy and more higher-pitched than normal. “Yeah. Yeah, ‘M good.”

And it’s true. She is. She’s good. She’s more than good.

Because Paige is cupping her tit now, her thumb brushing across the skin like she’s trying to soothe Jo’s heartbeat, not rile it up. But it’s not working—Jo’s heart is slamming. And then Paige kisses over it, warm and open-mouthed, and Jo’s done.

She makes this tiny sound—somewhere between a breath and a moan—and she feels Paige smirk against her chest, the smug little shit. But Jo can’t even bring herself to be embarrassed. She just cards her fingers back through Paige’s ponytail, breathing through her mouth now.

The blonde’s mouth closes around one of Jo’s nipples, her tongue swirling. She palms at the other one slowly, rolling the bud between her fingers. Jo lets her eyes flutter shut, just feeling.

Paige keeps going, and Jo’s getting dizzy in that warm, liquidy way, like she’s not even in her body anymore, like her bones are soft and her skin is buzzing and her brain is just static and Paige. Paige, Paige, Paige.

Paige shifts a little. She kisses Jo’s sternum before ducking further. She trails her mouth down Jo’s ribs, across her stomach, slow, like she’s trying to dial everything down to just sweet and careful. And Jo knows it’s on purpose. She knows Paige is setting that pace for her. Because she gets like this sometimes—amped up, nervous, overthinking even when she’s dying to just feel something. And Paige knows that. She knows her. So, instead of rushing, she’s soft. She’s steady. She’s Paige.

Jo feels the bed shift under her as Paige scoots down, her hands dragging gently along Jo’s sides, not trying anything—yet—just touching, holding. Comforting. Her lips brush lower, ghosting the line of Jo’s hip, her breath warm and maddening right at the waistband of Jo’s pajama shorts.

Paige pauses. “D’you want—?” she starts, voice low and quiet and curious.

But Jo’s already nodding, already lifting her hips a little, like yes, God, yes, just do it. The words don’t come out, but she doesn’t have to say anything—Paige reads her face like it’s nothing. She lets out a soft laugh, not mocking, just amused, like okay, okay, I got you, and then she presses another kiss right above the shorts before hooking her fingers into the elastic.

Paige pulls them down slowly, like she’s unwrapping something delicate. Jo’s underwear comes with it, and—surprisingly—she doesn’t even really care about being fully naked. Not when it’s Paige. Not when Paige is being so fucking gentle about it, like every single part of Jo matters.

She tries to keep her breathing even, tries not to fidget or think too hard. Her ankle twinges a little when Paige moves the fabric past it, but Paige’s hands are immediately there, holding her calf, guiding her foot carefully out of the shirts. She doesn’t rush. Doesn’t forget. And once they’re off—tossed somewhere onto the floor—Paige leans down and presses the lightest kiss to Jo’s ankle.

Jo swallows hard. Her throat feels tight.

Paige continues kissing up her leg, slow again, lazy, like she’s got nowhere else to be—which, she doesn’t. Her lips are warm and soft and just a little wet. No feels them drag across her knee, specifically across the scar from her own ACL surgery, then the inside of her thigh, and her whole body shuddered. She bites her lip and grips the hotel sheets, just barely keeping herself grounded.

Paige’s mouth trails over the soft skin of Jo’s inner thigh, her hand resting on Jo’s other leg. The brunette can feel how careful she’s being—like she’s trying to make sure Jo never once feels unsafe or uncomfortable. And that matters—to Jo, it really, really does.

Jo breathes out, unsteady, one hand still tangled in the sheets, the other reaching down to run through Paige’s hair. She can feel the blonde’s breath on her aching and waiting pussy.

“P,” she whispers.

She doesn’t even know what she’s trying to say with it Just hi. You. Me I’m here. I want this. I want you. All of it, unspoken, right there in her voice.

Paige looks up at her, her eyes so soft and blue and perfect that it makes Jo’s stomach clench. “Still okay?” she asks, quiet. It’s different—she’s always so loud.

Jo nods. Too fast, probably. “Yeah,” she says quickly. “Yeah, I just—” She trails off, because she doesn’t really know what she’s trying to say. She’s not scared. She’s just… overwhelmed. In a good way. Like her body is still catching up to what her heart already decided forever ago: this is safe. This is right.

Paige just smiles. A little smug, but mostly sweet. She kisses the inside of Jo’s thigh again, before trailing her mouth once more—to the final destination. Paige leans in and blows very lightly on Jo’s clit. A shaky breath escapes Jo’s nose as she bites the inside of her cheek. And then finally—finally—Paige’s lips make contact.

The blonde presses a kiss there before her tongue peeks out, sliding along Jo’s slit, between her folds. Jo’s fingers dig into the mattress and her thighs try to shut involuntarily but Paige just holds them open, getting into her rhythm. She hums a little against Jo, as if satisfied, her tongue moving up and down slowly, swirling around her clit and then flicking.

And Jo thinks she’s maybe going to actually lose her mind. Like, fully. Brain melting, spine liquefying, soul leaving the building. All because of Paige.

Because Paige is there, and she’s not being even remotely shy about it, all confidence and experience and Jo’s never felt anything like this. Not even close.

Sure, she’s had it done before. By Asher. Who… tried. Sort of. On good days. But it never felt like this. It never made her toes curl or her vision blue or her body tense the way it is right now. There was always this weird pressure with Asher, like she was supposed to be reacting more than she was. Or that she was reacting wrong. She never told him that. Didn’t want to deal with the awkwardness, because things were always supposed to be so perfect between them. But there were plenty of times where she just stared at the ceiling while he ate her out or fingered her or even fucked her and she would just think about her math homework or the her latest in-game turnover.

But this?

This is not that.

This is Paige knowing—despite never having done it with Jo—exactly where to touch her. Exactly how much pressure to use. Exactly what pace to go. Exactly when she should lean down and slip her tongue inside and thrust a couple times before pulling it back out and sliding the juices along Jo’s clit. It’s unfair, honestly, how good Paige is at this. Jo wants to laugh about it, but she can’t even breathe properly, so instead she just digs her fingers deeper into the sheets and lets her head fall back into the pillow.

The way Paige is holding her thighs, steady and secure and strong, like she’s not going anywhere—that alone is doing something feral to Jo’s brain. But the way she’s using her mouth, her tongue, her lips? Like she’s actually wants to be here? Like Jo tastes good and Paige can’t get enough of her?

It sends a jolt through Jo’s chest. Because it’s not just the physical part—it’s the feeling of it. The way Paige hums softly like she’s content. Like this isn’t a favor or a performance or a box to check off. It’s Paige being Paige. Careful. Patient. Stupidly hot in that way that makes Jo want to scream into a pillow and then, like, marry her or something, God.

She closes her eyes and tries not to think too hard. Which is difficult because she always thinks too hard. About everything. Especially this. Especially now.

Because it’s not just that Paige is eating her out like she’s her last meal, making her feel fucking incredible—it’s that she’s letting her feel that way. Letting her fall apart and not feel stupid or self-conscious or like she needs to perform in return. And Jo can just lie here, all shaking limbs and flushed skin and half-whispered gasps, and Paige is content to be the one in control. To be the one taking care of her.

And Jo—Jo loves being taken care of. She never says it out loud, but she does. She really does.

Especially by her.

She risks a glance down, her vision a little blurry from how hard she’s breathing, and she sees Paige looking up at her, eyes half-lidded, mouth glistening with her slick, hands still steady on her hips.

Jo thinks she could cry. Or cum. Or both.

“Oh, my God,” she mumbles, barely able to get the words out. Her voice is so wrecked she almost laughs at herself. “You’re… mhm, stupid good at this.”

Paige doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even flinch. But she does smile a little, and Jo feels the smirk against her cunt. It’s dumb and cocky and the exact kind of Paige she always pretends to roll her eyes at but secretly adores.

When Paige takes Jo’s clit into her mouth and sucks hard, Jo’s hand flies up on instinct, finding Paige’s hair again and tugging. Not too hard, just enough to say don’t stop. Please don’t stop.

Paige definitely gets the message. Because she sucks harder and then, all of a sudden, two of her long fingers are sliding inside Jo, stretching her out. Jo hips jerk upwards in response—sharp and uncoordinated, her breath catching in her throat like it’s trying to make up its mind between a loan and a full-body sigh.

Paige’s fingers pump in and out of Jo’s cunt, her tongue still messily sliding through Jo’s folds. Jo lolls her head to the side, eyes squeezing shut, and lets herself feel. The tension curling low in her stomach. The heat building between her thighs. The way her fingers twitch like they’re searching for something to hold onto that isn’t Paige’s hair or the sheets or her own sanity.

Paige pulls her mouth away, still thrusting her fingers, leaning her cheek against Jo’s thigh to watch. Jo watches as the blonde’s eyes flit between the way Jo’s cunt sucks up her fingers and up to Jo’s face.

“Hey,” Paige murmurs, voice low, warm. “You’re good, ‘kay? I gotchu.”

Jo nods, or at least she thinks she does. Her head twitches anyway. She’s not sure her body is even hers anymore. Everything feels hot and electric and floaty, and the pressure in her gut when Paige curls her fingers inside before slowly pulling them out and then thrusting them back in hard has Jo choking out the blonde’s name. She’s never felt like this before. It’s so different and so much better and she doesn’t know how she ever went without it.

“That’s it,” Paige says gently, encouraging. She presses a sloppy kiss to Jo’s thigh, lips still sticky and leaving a residue behind. “Doin’ so good for me. So pretty. C’mon, baby.”

And that—the word, the tone, the way Paige has never said that before but it still slips out like it’s the most natural thing in the world—unlocks something.

Jo lets out another whimper, thighs clenching tighter, hips bucking before she can stop them. Her entire body jolts in time with the pace of Paige’s fingers, and she feels the rush come crashing in, fast and unstoppable.

“Shit—Paige—fuck—” she gasps out.

Paige keeps going, faster, harder. She keeps missing the inside of Jo’s thigh, whispering something that Jo can’t even make out over the roaring in her ears. Paige curls her fingers one last time—and then it all snaps.

When it’s over—when her body finally goes lax, her arms flopping back into the bed like she’s just run a marathon—Jo lies there in stunned silence. Staring up at the ceiling, her chest still rising and falling too fast, her thighs feeling sticky, her cunt throbbing, her mouth parted but empty of words.

Paige rests her chin gently on Jo’s hip and looks up at her, hair messy, cheeks flushed, lips shining, eyes so soft and full of something Jo’s learning not to be so scared of.

“You okay?” she asks, lips curling up.

And Jo, still panting, still trying to make sense of everything, doesn’t answer. She doesn’t have words yet. Doesn’t even really have thoughts yet, not anything coherent. So instead of answering, she just reaches down and grabs at Paige.

The blonde, of course, goes with it. No hesitation. She crawls up the bed until they’re face to face, her body draped over Jo’s. Their lips meet again, slow for a second, just a soft press. Jo can taste herself on Paige, and it’s weird and good and makes her heart pound even faster. There’s something about it that flips a switch in her, ignites this new kind of fire in her chest that she didn’t even know she had the energy for.

And then she’s moving—fast. One sharp inhale and she’s flipping Paige onto her back, catching the surprised squeak out of her mouth mid-kiss. Jo ends up on top, straddling her with still-shaky limbs and adrenaline pumping through her blood. When she pulls back to look down at her, Paige is grinning.

That fully, gummy smile—the one she only does when she’s really happy. The one Jo adores.

Paige is staring up at her like she’s the best surprise she’s ever gotten.

Jo looks down at her, breath catching again, but this time for a totally different reason. Her body’s still trembling a little, but not really from her orgasm anymore, just from want.

“Why the fuck was I ever dating a boy?” she asks, genuinely baffled, blinking down at Paige. The thought of Asher now, who she’d been so obsessed with her entire life, seems just incredulous now. So dim compared to Paige.

Paige snorts, eyes crinkling, shaking er head. “Beats me.”

Jo lets out a laugh—one that might be a little too giddy—but then she’s already leaning down again, kissing Paige. This time, it’s not slow. Not careful. It’s fast and messy and full of new urgency.

Paige responds immediately—gripping Jo’s waist, then lower, hands landing firmly on Jo’s ass, squeezing. Jo grins against the older girl’s mouth, biting at her lower lip. Her hands roam across Paige’s stomach, feeling the firmness of her abs, before reaching up.

The brunette pulls back just enough to tug at the hem of Paige’s sports bra. “God,” she mutters, “take this off—”

Her hands are there, fumbling a little because she’s still shaky and a little overwhelmed, but Paige doesn’t laugh or tease. She just sits up a bit, helps her out, eyes never leaving Jo’s.

And when the bra’s finally off and Jo sees her—really sees her—she stares. And then leans down to reattach their lips again, telling Paige, “You’re so pretty.”

That seems to do something to her, and she pulls Jo against her harder, so their bare chests are flush against each other. Her tongue tangles with Jo’s and the brunette moans a little into her mouth.

At this point, Jo isn’t even really thinking anymore. Not in the way that counts. Her brain’s gone nicely quiet, like someone hit mute on all the noise she usually lives with. Right now, there’s only this: Paige, flushed and beautiful and real beneath her. Paige, who just made her feel fucking perfect. And Jo wants to make her feel that, too.

She wants to return the favor. Not because she feels like she has to. Not because it’s expected. Just because she wants to.

So, she reaches down, her fingers brushing along Paige’s lower stomach. Paige doesn’t even say anything, just meets Jo’s eyes and lifts her hips. She helps Jo slide her sweatpants and boxers off in one smooth motion. She doesn’t make it a big thing, doesn’t look nervous or self-conscious—just kicks them off with that stupid confidence that she somehow always has.

Once they’re off, Jo leans back down and kisses Paige hard. Their mouths crash together, open and desperate, all lips and tongue and shaky exhalations. It’s sloppy.

They kiss until Jo feels dizzy again. Until Paige is clutching at her back like she doesn’t want her to go anywhere, ever. Until Jo’s lungs feel like they’re caving in from how badly she wants to be closer.

Jo’s hand moves again, slower this time. Down Paige’s side. Over her ribs. Across her stomach, which is warm and tense and fluttering under her palm. And down. Just enough.

She pauses against Paige’s lips, heart pounding in her throat, and asks in a whisper, “Can I?”

Paige breaths hard against Jo’s mouth. She nods once, then says, completely breathlessly, “Only if you want to.”

And Jo does. She really fucking does.

So, she kisses Paige again and slowly slips her fingers between her thighs.

And she kind of has no idea what she’s doing.

Okay, that’s not totally true—she sort of knows. In theory. Like, she’s not walking in completely blind here. She’s fingered herself before. But this is different. This is Paige. This is the first time she’s ever done this with a girl. All she really has to rely on is instincts and the wild, overwhelming need to make Paige feel as good as she made her feel.

Jo keeps her hand steady, even though her brain is no longer quiet, back to doing backflips. Her fingertips are already slick, and the heat radiating off Paige’s body is unreal, almost feverish. Every tiny sound Paige makes—the hitched breath, the muffed moan, the soft, whispered “fuck” when Jo does something right—sends a jolt down Jo’s spine.

“Right there,” Paige says, breath ragged, voice cracking, when Jo presses her fingers deeper, hitting that gummy spot inside. “Just—yeah, like that.”

Jo nods, kissing the side of Paige’s throat. She shifts her hand slightly, curling her fingers the way Paige guided her, and—

That gets a reaction. Paige arches, hips twitching, and her hands scramble for something to hold onto—Jo’s shoulder, the sheets, whatever. Her fingers dig in.

Jo almost forgets how to breathe. Her heart is hammering in her chest. Not just because Paige is clearly into it—which, thank God—but because of how natural it feels. Not easy, necessarily, because she’s still very much learning, still kind of terrified of doing it wrong—but right. Right in that deeply weird way where something you’ve never done before just clicks into place.

It’s strange. Not in a bad way. Just… strange, realizing how different this is from anything she’s done before. With Asher, everything always felt so scripted. Rushed. Weirdly, kind of detached, too. Like she was there but not really there, going through the motions, wondering if it was supposed to feel better, if she should have enjoyed getting him off more than she did.

But Paige? Here, right now?

It’s all-consuming.

Jo stares—watches the way her sharp jaw clenches, the way her bare chest rises and falls unevenly, the little crease between her brows when Jo hits the right spot again. Paige is so in it, so present. Jo isn’t used to how much Paige is giving her right now—how vulnerable she looks, and how safe Jo feels holding her like this.

“You’re doin’ good,” Paige mumbles, breathless, her arm sliding around Jo’s back again, pulling her closer. Her short nails dig into Jo’s spine. “So good.”

Jo’s stomach flips. It’s stupid how much that means. How warm it makes her feel. She pumps her fingers, a little faster.

“Yeah?” she asks. She leans down, kisses along Paige’s collarbone because she needs something to do with her mouth.

Paige nods, palm pressing harder against Jo, head tilting back. “Mhm. Like, real good.”

Jo grins against her skin, a little proud and a lot relieved. Her fingers keep thrusting, falling into a rhythm that matched the stutter of Paige’s breath. It’s a little bit trial and error, but she’s getting the hang of it. And Paige is being so patient, so kind. Still giving her those little instructions when she needs them—a whispered “softer” here, a breathy “deeper” there. Not demanding, not condescending, just guiding.

And she’s so pretty like this. Skin flushed, lips parted, ponytail all messed up. Jo leans down and kisses her again and Paige kisses her back like she needs it, like kissing Jo is the only thing keeping her here. Her cunt tightens around Jo’s fingers, and Jo feels a thrill shoot through her when Paige moans into her mouth.

She can feel Paige getting close—the way her hips jerk, how her pussy pulses, her breath getting shallower. And Jo wants to see it. She pulls back just enough to look down at her, to take it all in.

Paige’s eyes flutter open. She looks up at Jo with blown pupils and eyes full of need. “Joey—fuck, don’t stop,” she groans, almost begging.

Jo doesn’t. Of course not.

She keeps her pace steady, watches every second of it—the way Paige’s back arches, the way her cunt swallows Jo’s fingers, the way her mouth falls open and the soft, broken sounds she makes as she gushes against Jo’s hand. It’s by far the most attractive thing Jo’s seen in her entire life.

Paige goes still for a moment, then slumps back against the mattress, blinking like she’s trying to remember how breathing works.

Jo pulls her fingers out gently. She wipes them on the edge of the blanket, not bothering to care about the mess. She just wants to look at her. At Paige. At her best friend, who’s actually a lot more than that.

Paige finally turns her head to look at her. She’s still catching her breath, cheeks red, lips kiss-bitten. “Shit,” she says, voice hoarse.

Jo lets out a short, breathless laugh. “Yeah.”

Paige shakes her head before tightening her grip on Jo’s back, saying, “C’mere.”

Jo goes, meeting Paige halfway, kissing her. It’s slow, lazy, lips dragging against each other like neither of them is in a rush to come back to reality. Jo’s hand rests on Paige’s side, fingers moving without thought, tracing the soft, warm dip of her waist. Paige’s skin is damp and flushed beneath her.

Jo feels really good. Like her whole body’s buzzing from the inside out. Like something just cracked open inside her and let in fresh air for the first time in a long time.

Paige’s mouth is at her jaw now, a quick nip of teeth before she kisses her way back to Jo’s lips. Jo smiles against her, dazed and stupidly content. She doesn’t want to move. She doesn’t want anything to change.

But then Paige is suddenly pulling back, jerking upright like she just remembered something extremely important. Jo blinks, caught off guard.

“What?” she asks, propping herself up on her elbows.

Paige’s eyes go wide. “Your ankle, bro!”

Jo stares at her, confused for half a second before it hits her—right. Her ankle. Her sprained ankle.

She rolls it, and yeah, it definitely twinges in a way that reminds her maybe throwing herself around the bed wasn’t the smartest decision she’s ever made.

“Oh,” she mutters, pressing her lips together. “Ow.”

Paige is already moving, gently pushing at Jo’s shoulder so she’ll lie back flat. “Joey,” she says, and her voice has this exasperated fondness in it that makes Jo want to grin and roll her eyes at the same time.

“I forgot!” Jo says, both defensive and sheepish. “You were—we were—I forgot!”

Paige shakes her head, but she’s still smiling. She’s not mad. Not even really worried, just Paige-level concerned, which usually means she’s about to fuss over Jo like someone’s grandma. “You’re so stupid,” she says, laughing under her breath.

Jo hits lightly at her arm, but doesn’t actually argue.

Paige leans down, pressing her lips to Jo’s forehead with this stupidly gentle kiss that makes Jo’s heart go inside inside her chest.

“I’mma go get more ice,” the blonde says, already halfway off the bed.

But just as her feet hit the ground, she stops like she forgot something, turning back around. She crawls back over and kisses Jo again, quick and sweet. Like a reflex. Like she needed to. And Jo’s not expecting it, so her breath catches for the smallest second—and then Paige is already up, grabbing at her clothes so she can go out in the hall.

Jo lies there for a second, dazed and blinking at the ceiling. Her whole body feels warm and worn-out and achy in a good way. The bed still smells like both of them, sweat and perfume and arousal.

She exhales slowly.

Yeah, she’s in so deep.

#paige bueckers #uconn wbb #paige bueckers fic #uconn huskies #wbb #dallas wings #wnba #paige bueckers series #paige bueckers x oc #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers fluff #paige bueckers smut #wnba x reader #wlw smut #wlw #nobody gets me

429 notes · View notes

prettygirl-gabi · 2 months ago

Text

One-on-One

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader (Coach’s Daughter)

Fandom: WNBA: Dallas Wings

Summary: they say shooters shoot…

🏷️: @paigeshirleytemple , @cowboybueckers , @unknowgirlypop , @yailtsv , @nicebellee , @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld , @jadasogay , @paigeluvvr , @melpthatsme , @lessi-lover , @courtsidewithlani , @imnotkaizer , @italyyy , @lightsgore , @private-but-not-a-secret , @aubreygriffin ,@issilovesherself , @graceeeeeesblog

If you’d told seventeen-year-old me that someday Paige Bueckers would be standing across from me in a Dallas Wings practice jersey, spinning a ball on her finger, grinning at me like we shared some inside joke—I would’ve laughed.

And probably cried.

And then immediately passed out.

Yet here I am.

And it’s somehow worse than I imagined, because she’s real, she’s even more beautiful than a screen ever showed me, and she’s smiling like she knows exactly what she’s doing to me.

It had been a normal first day of practice—rookies meeting vets, drills, intro speeches—and I’d just been here to help my dad, Dallas Wings’ head coach Chris Koclanes, with welcoming the new players.

You know.

Like a normal, functioning adult who wasn’t crushing like a giddy teenager.

And maybe it would’ve stayed innocent if Arike hadn’t cornered me at the Gatorade table.

“You’ve got it bad,” she said in that sing-song voice that meant trouble.

I groaned. “Don’t.”

“She’s looking good in Dallas gear, huh?”

“I’m not answering that.”

“Well, either you make a move before practice ends or I will.”

I blinked. “You’re bluffing.”

She smirked. “You know I’m not.”

And that’s why I’m now standing at half-court, holding a basketball, heart pounding loud enough I’m convinced Paige can hear it.

“You sure about this?” Paige asks, tossing her towel onto a bench. There’s an amused twinkle in her eye, like she’s very much enjoying this.

“Scared?” I tease.

She snorts. “Of you? Never.”

I spin the ball once on my palm. “First to eleven. Ones and twos. Loser…” I pause, letting it hang dramatically, “…has to buy dinner.”

“And if you win, you’re buying dinner?”

“Nope. If I win,” I say, walking backward toward the three-point line, “you give me your number.”

She raises an eyebrow, but she’s smiling. “Confident.”

I shrug. “I’ve been waiting years for this moment.”

Her laugh is low, a little breathless. “Alright, coach’s kid. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Paige checks the ball and immediately fakes left, drives right, and lays it in.

“1-0,” she says, grinning, jogging backward.

“You’ve been here five minutes and you’re already trying to embarrass me,” I say, checking it back.

She shrugs, playful. “Gotta set the tone early.”

I fake a stepback, blow past her, and hit a quick floater off the glass.

“1-1,” I say, smug.

“Ooooh, we got a game,” Arike shouts from the sideline, recording it on her phone.

Over the next few minutes, it’s back and forth.

She calls out my lazy defense.

I chirp her about missing an open three.

We’re grinning the entire time, bumping shoulders, getting a little too close for it to just be casual competition.

At 7-6 her, she leans in during a dead ball and whispers, “You know, if you wanted my number this bad, you could’ve just asked.”

I nearly travel.

“You’re cocky,” I say, shaking my head as I check the ball.

“And you’re adorable,” she says easily, clapping her hands for the pass.

I nearly pass out.

We battle until it’s 10-10.

Game point. Winner takes all.

We’re both sweating, a little out of breath. She’s bouncing on her toes, her eyes locked on mine.

“You ready to lose in front of your dad?” she teases.

“You ready to explain to the whole team how you got cooked by a ‘retired’ player?” I shoot back.

Her grin is everything.

I jab step, fake right, crossover left—

and pull up for a jumper just inside the arc.

Swish.

I throw my arms up as the small group watching cheers.

“Let’s goooo!” Arike yells, jumping around like a fool.

I turn to Paige, who’s standing with her hands on her hips, smiling like she just lost on purpose.

“Hand it over, Bueckers,” I say, wiggling my fingers for her phone.

She pulls it from her waistband and tosses it to me.

As I type my number in, she leans in close enough for me to smell her vanilla body spray.

“You’re dangerous,” she murmurs.

“Only if you’re into that.”

Her laugh is soft. Secret. “Guess I’ll find out.”

Later, after the gym clears out, I stop by my dad’s office.

He’s behind his desk, tapping on a laptop.

“You heading out?” he asks.

I nod, trying to sound casual. “Yeah, gonna show Paige around. Deep Ellum, maybe Bishop Arts.”

He raises an eyebrow but says nothing for a second too long.

“What?” I ask suspiciously.

He shrugs. “You had that look on your face. The one from sophomore year, when you thought she liked one of your Instagram posts.”

“Oh my God.”

He laughs. “Just don’t break my rookie’s heart, alright?”

I pause, the humor fading slightly. “What if she breaks mine?”

He looks at me for a long moment. Serious. Dad-mode activated.

“Then I’ll bench her.”

We both laugh, the tension breaking.

“Go,” he says, waving me off. “But be home by midnight or I’m calling Arike to find you both.”

I salute him dramatically and jog out before I can combust from second-hand embarrassment.

We end up at a taco truck in Deep Ellum, sitting on the curb with greasy napkins and lime wedges everywhere. It’s casual and easy—until Paige turns to me, holding her drink.

“So… your dad kinda let something slip yesterday,” she says, tone light.

My stomach drops. “Slip, like what?”

She bites her straw to hide a smile. “At the rookie press conference. After he introduced us to the staff. He was talking about you, to me.”

I narrow my eyes. “Oh God. What did he say?”

“He said—” she pauses for dramatic effect, “—‘She’s been a fan of yours for a long time. Could practically write a dissertation on your highlight reel.’”

I groan and hide my face in my hands.

“Yup,” Paige says, laughing. “So I knew.”

“You knew—this whole time?!”

She nods, sipping casually. “And I still let you think you were being subtle.”

I groan again.

“But,” she says, nudging my knee with hers, “I thought it was cute.”

I peek out between my fingers. “You don’t think I’m, like… a weirdo?”

She shrugs. “Maybe a little. But in a good way. Honestly? I think it’s kinda hot that you risked public humiliation for my number.”

I blink. “You think I’m hot?”

She smirks. “Don’t push your luck, coach’s kid.”

I laugh, bumping my shoulder into hers.

We sit there for a while longer, just…talking. About Dallas. About her adjusting to the WNBA. About me adjusting to not being an athlete anymore.

It feels easy. Natural. Like it was always supposed to happen.

And when she walks me back to my car, she lingers for a second, eyes flickering to my mouth before she says, “Let’s do this again.”

I grin. “Wasn’t planning on stopping.”

She slides her hand into mine briefly—barely a brush of fingers—and it’s the best first almost-date of my life.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

-Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

690 notes · View notes

mylovesstuffs · 4 months ago

Text

OT13 reacting to their s/o stealing kisses randomly

Request: Celeste my love, I have a request. In January and February I feel sooooo lonely so lonely and being single this year doesn't help. Could you please do a svt reaction of significant other sneaking up and just walking past them or they’re busy doing something and she just leaves a quick kiss! I hope it made sense 😭 it's okay if you want to take time you don't have to post immediately. I can waitttt.

A/N: My love, I’m so sorry that this is coming out so late 😔 By the time it’s ready, it’ll probably be March (It is March 😭), I didn’t mean to keep you waiting and I truly wish I could give it to you sooner 💛 There were some other requests that came in first, so those had to be prioritized, and this one got pushed back on the schedule a bit. On top of that, Tumblr’s been a pain in the ass lately, not letting me edit my drafts, which has made things even harder. I also wanted to make sure I do your request justice because you deserve all the soft love and comfort in the world, especially during those lonely months. Thank you for being patient with me, and know that the second it’s done, I’m sending it your way 🥺✨ (pushed it in the front of the schedule, otherwise it would be out next week). Please know that you are never truly alone. You have me, and you have SEVENTEEN (even if just in our imaginations, they are HERE for you!!). Love you!

The Ones Who MELT Every. Single. Time.

Joshua: Immediately short-circuits. He just blinks at you in disbelief, then smiles so softly it hurts. “Again. Do it again.” He'll literally chase you around the house for more kisses.

Dokyeom: LOUD GIGGLES. Every time you surprise him, he gets all giggly and flustered like you just confessed for the first time. “Oh my gosh, you can’t just do that to me!!!” But he LOVES IT and might start returning the favor randomly too.

Mingyu: He gasps really dramatically (just like how kwan does sometimes in GoSe), then immediately grabs you for a longer kiss because one is not enough. He’s so whipped that he’ll start walking around with a dopey smile for the next hour 😭

Seungkwan: He’ll act offended at first. “Excuse me? You think you can just do that and walk away?” But the moment he sees you smiling, he’s done for. Will definitely complain cutely but secretly loves it.

Dino: Uri Dino turns so reddd, every time. Flustered baby. He tries to act cool and unbothered, but his ears give him away. “You’re so sneaky…” But if you keep doing it, he’ll start stealing kisses back.

The Ones Who Turn It Into a Game

Jeonghan: This man immediately starts plotting revenge. “Oh? You think you can steal kisses and get away with it?” Next thing you know, he’s stealing kisses at the most unexpected moments like, when you're mid-sentence, brushing your teeth, ANYTIME.

Hoshi: Immediately tries to steal a kiss back—but three times more aggressively. It turns into a full-blown kiss battle, and now neither of you can get anything done.

Minghao: He pretends not to react, acting all nonchalant, but you’ll notice the corners of his lips twitching. Then later, when you least expect it, he grabs your wrist and kisses you out of nowhere, whispering, “Got you back.” (DRXFCFFGFCFCFTF MINGHAO ALWAYS GETS ME!!!!)

Vernon: He smirks because he feels challenged and instantly steals a kiss back, but longer. Then he just walks away like nothing happened, leaving you standing there like ???

The Ones Who Pretend to Be Unbothered (But Are Internally Dying)

Seungcheol: He tries to act like he’s used to it (which he is atp), but the moment you walk away, he’s grinning like a fool. If you do it too many times, he’ll just pull you into his lap and trap you there, like “Okay, you wanna kiss? Sit here and don’t leave.” (DUDE, I CAN LITERALLY SEE HIM BEING LIKE THIS ACK)

Wonwoo: At first he doesn’t react much, just raises an eyebrow. But if you keep doing it, he grabs your face gently and gives you a REAL kiss. Then, he smirks and says, “If you’re going to do it, do it properly.” 😳

Woozi: Internally screaming. He’ll try to act like it’s nothing, but if you keep stealing kisses, he’ll get all flustered and mumble something like, “You’re ridiculous.” But he NEVER stops you. If anything, he leans in slightly the next time.

Jun: He acts unbothered at first, like “Hmmm, interesting.” But then he starts anticipating it. He’ll just casually lean closer as if inviting you to do it again, playing mind games with you. “Oh? Nothing today? That’s disappointing.”

532 notes · View notes

rmview · 6 months ago

Text

relationship dynamic with you, SVT.

featuring — seventeen rap line x gn!reader ( masterlist )

summary — an imagine of what the seventeen rap boys are like when they're in a relationship with you! ( vocalist ver. )

contents — fluff, no warnings.

min ♡ gyu

dating mingyu feels like being with your best friend and biggest cheerleader rolled into one. he thrives on making you laugh, whether it’s with his goofy antics or light-hearted teasing. mingyu loves showing affection, often initiating hugs and holding your hand wherever you go. he’s attentive, always noticing the little things — like when you’ve had a bad day or when you’re wearing something new. at home, he enjoys cooking for you, though the kitchen sometimes ends up a mess. despite his playful nature, mingyu is incredibly dependable. whenever you need support, he’s there, listening to you with genuine care.

“are you okay?” he asks one night as you sit on the couch, looking a little distant. “just tired,” you admit, leaning against him. without another word, he wraps an arm around you. “don’t worry, i’ll take care of everything tonight. you just relax, okay?”

won ♡ woo

wonwoo’s relationship dynamic is rooted in quiet understanding and subtle affection. he’s not one to be overly expressive, but his love is felt in the small, meaningful gestures — like buying your favorite snacks without being asked or remembering details you’ve casually mentioned. conversations with him are deep and fulfilling, often filled with insights that make you see things in a new light. while he’s more reserved, his words carry weight. wonwoo’s presence is calming, making you feel secure and appreciated. his love language might not always be verbal, but his actions speak louder than words.

“you always know what i need,” you say, looking at the book he surprised you with in awe. he smiles softly, his eyes glinting with affection. “i just pay attention. it’s not hard when it’s you.”

ho ♡ shi

dating hoshi means constant excitement and unpredictability. his energetic and bubbly personality keeps the relationship lively, as he loves planning fun dates or surprising you with impromptu adventures. hoshi’s passion extends to his love for you — he’s expressive, showering you with compliments and making sure you always feel adored. he loves sharing his world with you, often pulling you into his creative projects or introducing you to the things he’s passionate about. despite his playful demeanor, hoshi is deeply thoughtful and quick to notice when something is off.

“do you trust me?” he asks with a mischievous grin, holding out his hand for you to take. you raise an eyebrow, taking his hand anyway. “should i be worried?” he laughs, tugging you along. “never. i just have the best date planned, and you’ll love it — i promise!”

ver ♡ non

vernon’s relationship dynamic is laid-back and refreshing. he’s not one for grand romantic gestures but makes you feel loved through his easygoing nature and sincerity. vernon loves spending time with you, whether you’re binge-watching shows, going for walks, or just hanging out at a café. he appreciates your individuality and encourages you to embrace it, often reminding you how special you are in his eyes. while he’s more reserved with his feelings, his quiet thoughtfulness makes every moment meaningful.

“you make everything so simple,” you say while out on a peaceful walk with him at night. the streets were almost empty and he could roam with his mask off. he shrugs with a small smile. “i just think love shouldn’t be complicated. it’s about being happy together, right?”

s. ♡ coups

as a leader by nature, s. coups brings stability and strength to the relationship. he’s protective of you, always making sure you’re safe and cared for. while he can be a bit reserved at times, his actions are always thoughtful — he’s the type to check in with you multiple times a day just to make sure you’re doing okay. s. coups values communication and works hard to ensure any misunderstandings are resolved quickly. his grounded nature makes you feel secure, and his quiet confidence is incredibly reassuring.

“i worry about you sometimes,” he admits one evening, his tone serious as he noticed your growing dark circles. you smile, squeezing his hand. “it’s just work. i’m fine, love.” he shakes his head. “still, i’ll always be here if you need me. no matter what.”

di ♡ no

dino’s relationship dynamic is youthful and full of excitement, but it’s also surprisingly mature. as the youngest, he’s eager to prove that he can be a reliable and loving partner, whether or not you’re older than him. dino constantly goes out of his way to make you feel special, whether it’s through sweet surprises or simply being attentive to your needs. he loves sharing his passions with you, often inviting you to watch him practice or showing you new choreography. while he can be playful, dino is deeply reflective and values your opinions and feelings, always striving to grow alongside you.

“do you think i’m doing okay?” he asks after a quiet moment while you’re curled up against his chest before sleeping. “you’re just perfect,” you reply with a soft smile. he grins, a little shy. “i just want to make sure you’re happy. that’s the most important thing to me.”

notes: part two out soon <3

633 notes · View notes

studioeisa · 8 months ago

Text

lvr ♾️ minghao x reader.

“take me out, and take me home. you're my, my, my lover.” # day seven of (the)8 days of minghao.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ headcanons of minghao as your boyfriend.

❥ falling in love. minghao's feelings remind you of a flower blooming. it's a slow, gradual thing. he's not immune to physical attraction, but love for him is something much deeper. he knows better than to take things solely on the surface level. love would only be possible for him with time, with both the sunshine and the rain. when it comes, he's not surprised. he will know that his feelings for you have been blossoming, have been growing, and he is never one to deny himself of pure and simple truths.

❥ confessing. minghao has never been a man of overtly grand gestures. some might see this as a con, but there's also appeal in the way he makes sure things are always clear and uncomplicated. his confession may come in the form of an afternoon in a café, over the pastries he knows you like best— or an evening under the stars, while you two are seated side by side on a park bench. he tells you as it is. i like you. no i think, no maybe. "you don't have to respond or even reciprocate," he will tell you, and he means it. "i just wanted to let you know."

❥ pet names. a part of minghao withers at the like of 'babe' and 'baby'. he's more comfortable with 'darling', if any, because there's a dozen ways he can say it. when he's trying to coax you out of bed. "darling, your five minutes are up." when he's exasperated and you're squabbling. "that's not what i said, darling." when he's struck by the way you look. "look at you, darling; you're the prettiest thing i've seen." (on occasion, minghao will use 'petal' or 'angel'. all soft, reverent names.)

❥ dating (1). dates with minghao are like you'd imagine. he's big on museums, especially the contemporary/modern ones. he enjoys walking around with you aimlessly, reading the descriptions out loud to you, and asking what you think about certain pieces. he's also a fan of nature; you can expect visits to botanical gardens, treks through sun-soaked trails.

❥ dating (2). there's also a part of minghao that revels in shopping dates. it's his not-so guilty pleasure, having the chance to visit strip malls or boutiques with you. he has a keen eye for articles of clothing that suit you the best. it's a little harder for you to help dress him, so you're likely to be on the receiving end of his slight side-eye whenever you pick out something rather questionable. he'll indulge you all the same, but he draws pretty clear lines on what matches his style. "we are not getting that," he half-begs as you insist on what he considers the world's most atrocious jacket. "i love you, but please!"

❥ apology language. fights with minghao may be few and far between, but they still happen. he can be sarcastic and sharp-tongued, after all; honest, but not sentimental. when apologizing to you, he's the type to accept responsibility and make restitution. "i was wrong," he'll start. "what can i do to make things right?" he's able to take ownership of when he screwed up, and he believes in implementing change in making amends. he expects the same energy from you, though, because minghao is not about to be in a relationship where there's no growth.

❥ the little things, a.k.a minghao is... gossip excitedly shared the moment he gets home ("you said i shouldn't tell anyone, but that doesn't count my partner"). outings with his parents, where he glows with pride at the thought of it being a 'double date'. voice messages sent whenever he's away; groggy recordings of "just got to my hotel room. i'll text once i've gotten some sleep. good night… or is it morning there?… ugh, whatever."

❥ love language to receive. despite being a man who received compliments on the daily, minghao will be the first to admit that affirmation hits different when it comes from you. he may not actively seek your validation, but you can see it in a dozen little ways. how he turns to you first when he's trying on a new outfit. how he looks for you in the crowd whenever he's performing. there's a certain tension that eases from his shoulders when you acknowledge him. he will try not to look too pleased about it; you'll find it in the twinkle in his eye, the shine of his smile.

❥ love language to give. minghao is a man who lives and breathes acts of service. you need to do your groceries? he's more than happy to tag along. you can't pick up your laundry? he'll get it for you. minghao makes sure that you always have gas in your tank, that he has pocket versions of your vanity kit in every bag of his. a line from hafiz's it happens all the time in heaven best describes minghao's credo when it comes to loving you: "my dear, how can i be more loving to you? / how can i be more kind?"

#minghao x reader #the8 x reader #xu minghao x reader #minghao fluff #the8 fluff #minghao imagines #the8 imagines #svt fluff #seventeen fluff #ylangelegy the8 days of minghao #( suuuuper quick one ahead of tomorrow's monster of a fic !! hehehe )#(💎) page: svt #(🥡) notebook

179 notes · View notes

seungkwanniee · 9 months ago

Text

pairing : boyfriend!seventeen x gn!reader

genre : fluffff !!!

warnings : mention of food

synopsis : how they show love around people

an : felt so ispired today that I writed sm 😭

〔masterlist〕

S.COUPS 』

I think he would be always clingy even around the boys

he is not ashamed to show love at all, just a little bit laied back

and, we know seventeen, they would tease their leader so much about his

he would pout, while wrapping your waist with his arms and leaning his chin into the crack of your neck

never speaking to the boys until they stop with their teasing

eventually, he would scold them still with pouting lips

he clinges beside you when it's crowdy, always staying on the front so he can lead you and you are safe

JEONGHAN 』

this man is SHAMELESS (loved this serie btw)

don't even think he will hide his actions, he will most probably display them

maybe he would even do it on propuse, just to see you all frustrated

the boys don't even try to tease him, Jeonghan would roast them ×13 so

the type to kiss you on the lips, your forehead or play with your hair

eventually he has his arm wrapped around your shoulder, leaning closer to you so he can smell your scent

JOSHUA 』

a true gentleman, so he wouldn't do nothing if you are not the type of skinship in public

but, if you are he is still so gentle about it

when you two accidentally do eyes contact, he would smile and pinch your cheeks because you are too cute for him

but he is much cuter

he is feeding you for sure, but he is so casual about it that it makes you a hundred times more confortable

observe you from afar doing nothing, he just likes to admire you

JUN 』

he is shyyy

he likes to move your hair on the side so your neck and cheek is exposed to him

he is looking at you like he want to shower you with love but he is blocked for some reasons

you look at him with a smirk when you feel his eyes on you

you'll do nothing, you want him to be bolder

when he finally find the courage he would place a quick and warm kiss on your jaw

he is blushing after this tho

HOSHI 』

soo clingy

he just looks at you and it's over, you're too cute in his eyes

scares you by suddently hugging you from the side and shaking you in his arms

or he would lower at your height squeezing your cheeks togheter

pecking your lips is a must

he would laugh a little embarassed after, especially if someone point it out

but he can't help it, he needs to do it

WONWOO 』

reserved about it but not that much

he would fix you hair even if they are pefect just to have a claim

he need to touch you but at the same time not dispaying it, leave him alone

holding your hand or squeezing your thigh under the table every single time

if you wear glasses, he is cleaning it for you

this is his love lenguage

WOOZI 』

he is really reserved about his relationship

pda isn't really a thing for him in private, so imagine in public

maybe he is putting his hand on your lower back

mostly for letting you walk, but if he is in the mood the would just do it because he wants to feel him

whispering things in your ear and thats when he slightly touches your shoulder or you arm

DOKYEOM 』

man is WHIPPED fo you, so don't even try to ask him to not touch you in public

he phiscally cannot touch you when you are near him

calling you pet names is a must

his voice goes so sweet and honey when he talks to you

his eyes and big smile tells everything that needs to be said

when he feels extra clingy, he goes so far as to kiss you on the lips

BLUSHING SO HARD AFTER that he hides his face on your neck

MINGYU 』

man is so goofy

even himself is confused about what he is doing

when he thinks he is going to hug you, he change his mind mid way and now he want to coup your face

thats only make him hit your face with his elbow

he laughs at your face holding the place where he hitted you

for excusing he kiss your forehead or near your eye

feel like he is the type to lay his head on your shoulder and listen silently your conversation

MINGHAO 』

it may seems the contrary but he is reserved about his relationship

he search for your hand, just for intertwine your pinkys

yk, they are smaller, they get less attention lol

he checks on you COSTANTLY

he almost look like a mother for how he worries for you

words are deffo his way to show love and get unnoticed at the same time

he adjustes your dress or lace your shoes or even the heels

SEUNGKWAN 』

he is stressed because he would shower you with love every second but at the same time he is awkward

he makes sure that everyone is listening when youre talking

and if someone interrupts, he is giving them a big side eye

becomes almost like the evil when someone disrespect you and would stand for you like his life depends on it

small touches are the cherry on top

maybe when youre talking he move your hair out of your face

or hold your purse for you

VERNON 』

vernon is weird (in a good way)

he doesn't even realize he should do something to show love lol

the love is inside of him and he tells you when there are just the two of you

unconsciously orders food for you because he knows you too well

or buy things for you at the vending machines even if you didn't ask because when he thinks about whay you like frist

feel like he would intertwine his arm with yours even if it's unexpected.

or take the Seunkwan habit and touch your ears every now and then

DINO 』

not shy to admit his love in public

he have 12 hyungs that will probably make fun of him? yes. He cares? absolutely not

he touches you every chance he get

if he passes you something, It is MANDATORY to let your hands touch

he gets so into you that he literally gets stuck, he can't leave his eyes from you

gets so involved in your side profile, an hand supporting his head and love escaping from his eyes

someone always gotta call him back to the real world

664 notes · View notes

goonforgeto · 15 days ago

Text

・☄︎ CRUSH

chapter 03

SYNOPSIS — The last thing ten-year-old you ever imagined was falling in love at fourteen, getting your heart broken at seventeen, and spending your early twenties hunting down Jujutsu Society’s most wanted — your (ex?) boyfriend. But the last thing your twenty-something-year-old self expected? Falling for his best friend... just before your ex comes crashing back into your life after over a decade of silence.

WC — (5.6k)

CONTENT — post-Suguru defection, guest appearance, grief, unresolved trauma, discussion of loss/abandonment, complicated feelings, emotional tension, references to past relationship, mild language, soft comfort, angst, mentions of smoking/drinking

a/n: big fat chapter! the next one goes back in time so be prepared. if anyone gets confused with all the time jumps just let me know and i'd be hsppy to make a post explaining!

series m.list | m. list | << prev | next >>

May, 2013

The mattress is cool against your bare back as you lie unclothed on the bed, staring up at the ceiling like it might offer you a reason to move. The last graduation you went to was your own, and even then, the day felt hollow, shadowed by the absence of someone who was supposed to be there.

You never thought you’d go through anything without Suguru after you met him. Back then, your future felt like a shared thing, one long stretch of time you assumed you’d walk together.

But now, you’ve lived more years without him than with him. And somehow, that realization hurts worse than the silence he left behind.

You’ve hardly thought of that day since it happened. It’s the kind of memory you packed away quietly, like an old photo slipped into a drawer.

But now that Shoko’s finished med school, you can’t stop thinking about it. About your graduation. About the day you stood in front of a crowd with a forced smile and an empty seat in the row you refused to acknowledge.

You thought it would feel like a beginning. Instead, it felt like a breaking point.

Your dress is laid out beside you, half-ironed and untouched. You glance at it, willing yourself to get up.

You glance at the clock on your bedside table — the same one from all those years ago in your childhood home, its glow dim but familiar. It ticks steadily on, indifferent to the ache in your chest.

Your ride will be here in less than half an hour.

The realization settles over you like a second skin, heavy and unwelcome. You haven’t even put on your dress. Haven’t done your hair. Haven’t decided which version of yourself to show today — the composed adult who pretends she’s long since moved on, or the girl who still feels seventeen sometimes, still scanning every crowd for a face she knows won’t be there.

The half-ironed dress stares back at you like it knows.

You exhale, slow and shaky, and finally sit up.

The dress feels as cold as the mattress did, the heat from the iron long gone. You drape it over your skin anyway.

It zips up easily. That part hasn’t changed.

You catch your reflection in the mirror as you pass it, a half-glimpse of someone you’re still not sure how to be. Your hair’s a mess, your face bare. There’s a softness to your eyes you haven’t seen in a while — not vulnerability, exactly. Just… fatigue. Worn in the way grief tends to settle in the skin, not as bruises, but as memory.

You run a comb through your hair, quick, just to feel like you're doing something. The clock ticks on. Less than twenty minutes now.

It’s Shoko’s day. You remind yourself of that. You owe her this.

And even if you can’t promise joy, you can promise presence.

You slip on your shoes, reach for your coat, and step out the door and into the light.

Satoru’s car is already parked out front, unmistakable even from a distance — sleek, obnoxiously clean, windows down like it’s a summer afternoon instead of a foggy May morning. He’s leaning against the driver’s side door, arms crossed, sunglasses perched low on his nose in place of his usual bandages.

You’re not even sure why he drives when he can just teleport everywhere.

As you approach, he straightens a little, eyes skimming over you like he’s taking inventory.

“You look awful,” he says casually.

You huff, brushing past him to the passenger side. “Good morning to you too.”

He grins, rounding the hood of the car. “I mean it affectionately.”

“You say that like there’s any other way to mean it.”

“I’m just saying,” he says, sliding into the driver’s seat, “if we’re showing up late, we should at least look hot doing it. And right now, you’re giving… haunted tax auditor.”

“Very funny,” you say, deadpan, adjusting your coat as you settle into the seat.

“Look,” he says, glancing over as he shifts into gear, “I know how hard graduations are for you. I’m just saying, if you look good, you might feel good.”

You glance at him, brows lifting slightly. “That sounds dangerously close to empathy.”

“Don’t get used to it,” he mutters, flicking on the turn signal even though there’s no one else on the road. “I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”

The tires hum against the pavement as the car rolls forward, city buildings slowly peeling past.

“But seriously… I’m proud of you for coming.”

You look out the window, jaw tight, blinking hard at nothing in particular.

“Yeah,” you say. “Me too.”

There’s a pause before he speaks again.

“Look,” he says, “if you want — and only if you want — I have a makeup bag in the back for you.”

You turn your head slowly, squinting at him. “We’re not even the same shade, Satoru. Your makeup wouldn’t work on me.”

He smirks. “No, I mean it’s for you.”

You blink. “What?”

“It’s yours,” he says, tapping a knuckle on the steering wheel. “Like, your stuff. Your brands. Your shades.”

Your brows lift. “How do you even know what I use?”

He shrugs, like it’s nothing. “Remember that time last year? That mission in Osaka — the one with the acid curse that exploded all over your face?”

You wince. “Unfortunately.”

“Yeah. You were pissed because all your makeup got wrecked and the shops were closed when we got back.”

“I was pissed because I had girls’ night.”

“Same thing,” he says with a grin. “Anyway. Next time I came over, I raided your bathroom and took pictures of everything you had. Restocked it all.”

You stare at him.

“You’re welcome,” he adds, like he didn’t just casually admit to one of the most thoughtful things anyone’s ever done for you.

“God, you’re such a weirdo.”

“A hot weirdo.”

You huff a laugh, leaning back into the seat. “Yeah. Fine. I’ll use the damn makeup.”

“Atta girl.”

The rest of the drive is quiet, save for the hum of the tires and the occasional click of Satoru flipping the turn signal out of habit. You apply your makeup quickly in the passenger-side mirror, steady hands betraying the nerves stirring underneath.

When you pull up to the venue, there’s already a crowd. Laughter. Flashing cameras. The sound of names being called over a tiny speaker.

Satoru pulls into a spot that probably isn’t legal and throws the car in park.

You sit there for a second longer than necessary, staring out at the groups of people huddled together in celebration — parents, friends, siblings. All of them accounted for. All of them smiling.

Satoru turns the engine off and leans back in his seat. “Want me to go in first?”

You let out a dry laugh. “What, and let you take all the attention?”

He lifts both hands. “I live to serve.”

You finally open the door. The air outside is warmer than expected, sunlight cutting through the clouds just enough to make the pavement glow.

You both start walking toward the entrance, shoulder to shoulder. His sunglasses are back on, but his voice is softer when he says, “You doing okay?”

You nod.

Inside, the crowd parts instinctively for Satoru (as they always do), and he makes a game of acting like a celebrity on a red carpet. You roll your eyes, but let him have his moment.

You spot Shoko near the front, her white coat pristine, her smile lazy and warm as ever. When she sees you, her expression shifts, just slightly. A flicker of relief.

You raise your hand in a small wave. She nods back, like she’s been waiting all day for that.

“We should find a seat,” you say, scanning the rows of folding chairs already half-filled with families and faculty.

Satoru nods, slipping his hands into the pockets of his coat. “Somewhere in the back, right? So we can sneak out if the speeches are bad.”

You give him a look. “We’re here for Shoko.”

“Exactly,” he grins. “She’d be the first one to leave if she wasn’t graduating.”

You roll your eyes but let him lead the way. You follow him down an aisle toward a quieter row near the back, the chatter of the crowd a dull roar around you. He holds the chair beside him for you like he’s done it a hundred times before, like it’s habit.

You sit.

The ceremony is long and boring, and you spend most of it dozing off on Satoru’s shoulder. He doesn’t complain, just shifts a little so your head can settle more comfortably, one arm draped loosely across the back of your chair like he’s trying to pretend he’s not holding space for you.

You stir occasionally — when the crowd claps too loud, or when the dean makes a painfully awkward joke — but mostly you stay half-asleep, drifting in and out of memories.

Except when Shoko’s name is called. That jolts you fully upright.

“Dr. Shoko Ieiri,” the speaker announces, and your hands are already clapping before your brain catches up. Satoru stands halfway out of his seat, two fingers in his mouth as he whistles — loud, proud, and utterly shameless.

You laugh, clapping harder. You’re pretty sure the two of you are the loudest in the room.

Shoko walks across the stage with that same lazy, unimpressed expression she’s worn since you met her. But you swear there’s the ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth when she hears you.

You lean toward Satoru, still clapping. “We raised her well.”

He grins. “Proud parents of a doctor-slash-professional chain smoker.”

You nod, cheeks aching from how wide you're smiling. “She turned out alright.”

When you and Satoru finally make your way through the crowd after the ceremony, you find Shoko off to the side of the reception area, white coat slung casually over one arm, cigarette already tucked behind her ear like she’s counting down the seconds till she can light it.

She’s talking to someone — a tall, broad-shouldered guy in a pressed button-down and slacks — someone who looks so polished, so put-together you almost don’t recognize him.

And then you do.

“Is that... Nanami?” you murmur, blinking.

Satoru hums. “Huh. Didn’t know he had a neck under all that hair.”

It is Kento. Or at least some grown-up version of him. Gone is the black hoodie, the perpetual slouch, the mess of hair that half-covered his face back in high school. The last time you saw him — what, three years ago? — he was still deep in whatever post-Haibara spiral he’d been in, all sharp edges and shadowed eyes.

Now he looks… good. Better. Still serious as hell, but like he’s figured out how to breathe again.

You elbow Satoru lightly. “Be nice.”

“I am nice.”

You roll your eyes and call out before Satoru can cause trouble. “Shoko!”

She turns, spots you both, and smirks. “Took you long enough.”

Nanami glances over, polite as ever. “It’s been a while.”

Satoru grins wide. “Nanamin! You clean up well. Didn’t know you were capable of looking like a grown up.”

Nanami sighs. “Gojo.”

Even with everything hanging in the air, it feels like old friends, almost whole again.

“It’s good to see you,” you say, and you mean it.

Nanami nods, a little softer now. “Likewise.”

Shoko’s already fishing for her lighter when Satoru plucks the cigarette from behind her ear and tucks it into his pocket with a smug grin. “Not today, Doc. You’re supposed to be the picture of health and success.”

She sighs. “It’s graduation, Gojo.”

“You can have two tomorrow.”

Nanami watches the exchange with faint amusement. “Some things never change.”

You smile faintly. “Yeah… some do, though.”

Nanami’s gaze flicks to you — sharp, but not unkind. He’s always been good at reading a room, at hearing what wasn’t being said. You can tell he knows there’s something heavier sitting underneath today’s smiles, but he doesn’t press.

Instead, Satoru stretches, clapping Nanami on the shoulder a little harder than necessary. “So. Big-time salaryman now, huh?”

Nanami exhales through his nose. “Have been. For a while.”

“That’s good,” Shoko says, her voice a little warmer.

“Actually…” You glance at Satoru, then back at Nanami. “We were going to swing by Jujutsu High after this. Could use your input on a few things. If you’re free.”

Nanami considers for half a second. “Of course.”

Satoru grins. “Knew you couldn’t resist the allure of cursed paperwork.”

Nanami sighs, dry. “It’s the company I tolerate.”

Shoko smirks. “You’re a terrible liar.”

Nanami adjusts his glasses. “And yet, here I am.”

You can’t help it — a small laugh escapes before you can stop it.

Half an hour later, you find yourself in the backseat of Satoru’s car beside Nanami, the city sliding past in a blur of late afternoon light. Shoko had begged off at the last minute, muttering something about post-grad drinking obligations — which Satoru, of course, had encouraged.

You glance sideways at Nanami, taking in the crisp button-down, the tailored slacks — and the distinct shape of muscle under the fabric.

“Since when have you been working out?” you ask, eyebrow raised, poking lightly at his arm.

He barely glances at you. “Since I started sitting at a desk ten hours a day.”

You grin. “Gotta offset all those corporate lunches, huh?”

He exhales a short breath, which is his version of a laugh. “Something like that.”

Truthfully, he looks a lot different than the skinny, sharp-edged kid you knew in high school.

Satoru glances at you both in the rearview mirror. “Told you, didn’t I? Nanamin’s got a whole double life going. Salaryman by day, gym rat by night.”

Nanami sighs. “Hardly.”

You lean back in your seat, smiling faintly. “Well. Suits you.”

When you arrive at the school, you let Satoru lead the way — past the familiar old corridors, through doors that still creak in the same spots — until you’re standing in front of what used to be a classroom, now repurposed into something closer to a detective’s office.

The sign on the door is new, but the space behind it isn’t.

Inside, the desks have been pushed aside and replaced with battered filing cabinets, stacks of mission reports, and corkboards littered with photos of curses and various sorcerers. The windows are cracked open just enough to let in the late spring air, stirring the corners of loose papers.

Satoru kicks the door open with the side of his foot. “Home sweet home,” he says wryly.

Nanami steps inside after him, gaze sweeping the room with that practiced efficiency of his. “Looks about as organized as I expected.”

“Hey,” Satoru says. “I cleaned last month.”

You follow them in, fingertips brushing along the edge of an old chalkboard — faded, the ghost of old lessons still barely visible beneath layers of dust.

It feels strange, being back here.

Stranger still with everything hanging unspoken between the three of you.

You exhale slowly. “Alright. Let’s get started.”

You slide one of the chalkboards aside — the old kind, stacked so one rolls over the other on metal tracks — revealing what’s been hidden behind it.

A wall of connected threads.

Photos, mission reports, sightings. Old newspaper clippings. Surveillance stills. Faded personal snapshots from before everything fractured. And between it all — lengths of thin red string criss-crossing from one pinned corner to another, tying the pieces together in a web of almost-connections.

At the center of it all: Suguru.

A grainy photo from a year ago — the most recent lead that didn’t dead-end — pinned dead center beneath the tangled mess of red.

Nanami stops beside you, gaze sharpening. You see the flicker of recognition in his expression, quickly masked behind that steady professionalism of his.

Satoru drops lazily into the nearest chair, spinning it half around so he can lean his arms across the back. “Welcome to the obsession,” he says.

You cross your arms, eyes still on the board. “It’s not an obsession.”

“It’s definitely an obsession,” Nanami says, voice low but even.

“It’s my job,” you correct, though it sounds thin even to your own ears.

Nanami doesn’t comment. He just studies the board, taking it all in — the threads, the gaps, the unanswered questions.

Satoru lets the chair rock back a little, arms folded over the top rail. “Yeah. Well. Sometimes the job eats you alive.”

You don’t respond to that. You just step closer to the board, fingertips brushing over the nearest pinned photo — an old surveillance shot, Suguru half-turned, features obscured by shadow. He looks different. And exactly the same.

Nanami’s voice cuts through the quiet. “What do you want from me?”

You glance over your shoulder. “Input. Perspective.”

“And honesty,” Satoru adds lazily. “She’s too close to this. I am too. Yaga thinks fresh eyes might help.”

Nanami exhales slowly, crossing his arms. “Fine. Show me everything.”

You nod once, reaching for the stack of folders beside the board. “Let’s start from the beginning.”

Nanami steps in beside you, hands sliding into his pockets as you open the first file, old mission reports from the first confirmed sightings after Suguru disappeared. Places, dates, vague descriptions.

You speak as you work, laying out the chain of what’s known — the near-misses, the shadows left behind, the cursed energy signatures just faint enough to stay out of range. You don’t look up to check if Nanami’s listening. You know he is.

Satoru stays quiet now, no jokes. Just watches from his chair, spinning a pen between his fingers.

You reach the middle of the stack — the first real photograph. Suguru, half-turned in a train station, hood pulled low but not low enough to fool you. The cursed energy in the air around him thick enough to make the camera lens stutter.

You pause, fingertips pressed lightly to the edge of the photo. “That was Sendai. March.”

Nanami leans in. “The sighting Gojo mentioned.”

You nod once.

He studies the threads, the photos, the marked points on the board. “He’s moving in patterns.”

“That’s what we think,” Satoru says. “But they don’t track like normal movements. No logic we can follow.”

“Not random either,” you add. “There’s intent.”

Nanami tilts his head, considering. “Then what’s he waiting for?”

You don’t answer right away. The question coils in your chest, cold and heavy — because you’ve turned it over in your mind more times than you can count.

“We don’t really know,” you say finally, voice even. “His last killing was that small village at the end of last year. And since then—nothing. No cursed outbreaks linked to him. Every time he wipes out an area, he scrubs it clean — no cursed energy left behind, no tracks. He’s always been precise like that.”

You glance at the board, at the pin marked Sendai.

“So why start now,” you murmur, half to yourself, “especially since there wasn’t any criminal activity that day. No disappearances. No attacks. No known sorcerer targets.”

Satoru leans back in his chair, fingers steepled. “Only thing going on was the curse I was dealing with.”

Nanami follows your gaze. “So either it’s coincidence… or it’s message.”

“Yeah.” You exhale slowly. “That’s what we can’t figure out.”

And what you won’t say — not yet — is the thought gnawing at you since that day:

Maybe it wasn’t a message for the Jujutsu Society. Maybe it was a message for you.

“Can I ask you something?” Nanami says.

You nod, fingers lightly tracing the edge of the folder in front of you.

He watches you for a moment, steady. “That day, back when you all spoke to him. What happened between you two?”

You go still.

“I mean,” Nanami continues, voice even, “Shoko and Satoru told us how their conversations went. But you… you’ve never said anything. Even now.”

The quiet stretches. Satoru shifts slightly in his chair, but says nothing.

You keep your gaze on the files, refusing to meet either of their eyes. The words are there — sharp, tangled — but you don’t let them out.

Instead, you draw in a slow breath. Let it out just as slow.

“I didn’t get anything useful,” you say, voice flat. “It doesn’t matter.”

Nanami studies you a second longer, but he doesn’t press. He’s not the type. He just nods once. “Alright.”

Satoru’s gaze flicks toward you, unreadable behind his sunglasses.

You lower yourself onto the floor, back against the base of the board. The files are spread around you now — pieces of a puzzle that refuses to fit.

Satoru rolls his chair lazily toward you, knees bracketing your shoulders as you settle between his legs. One of his hands rests loosely on the back of your head, fingers brushing through your hair in slow, absent motions — thoughtless comfort. Familiar.

You lean your head back slightly, closing your eyes for a breath.

“What if,” Nanami says, voice cutting through the quiet, “and just hear me out on this—”

You open your eyes again. His gaze is steady on you, the weight of it making your chest feel tight.

“We all know Suguru wouldn’t get Shoko involved in any of this,” he continues. “He knows she’s not here right now. And Satoru—” a glance toward him, “—he burned those bridges long ago.”

Satoru doesn’t argue.

“So,” Nanami says, slow, deliberate, “what if he’s trying to get your attention.”

The words hit harder than they should. You feel it — the way Satoru’s fingers still for half a beat before moving again.

You swallow. Your mouth is dry.

“I don’t—” you start, but the words falter.

Nanami’s expression doesn’t shift. He’s not accusing, just stating the obvious.

“Why would he do that?” you ask, forcing your voice steady. “We haven’t spoken in six years. He’s probably moved on.”

It sounds reasonable. It sounds logical. It also sounds like a lie — and from the glance Nanami gives you, he knows it too.

Satoru says nothing, but his hand keeps moving through your hair, slower now. You can feel the shift in him — the tension creeping in beneath the easy facade.

Nanami holds your gaze for a long moment. “You don’t believe that.”

You don’t answer. Because he’s right, you don’t.

“Look,” Nanami says, tone even. “I’ve given you something to think about.”

He hesitates for half a second, then adds: “And… I might know something. But I’m not sure if it’s connected to Geto.”

Your head lifts. “What is it?”

“One of my coworkers,” he clarifies, “has a daughter. A few weeks ago, she started showing classic symptoms of a curse. Strong one. But obviously, they didn’t know that, no one in that world would.”

You nod, following.

Nanami continues: “Apparently, a few days after the symptoms appeared, she suddenly got better. Out of nowhere. Now the family’s saying some ‘god’ removed it. And the girl’s been going to this new… temple. Except it’s not affiliated with any known sect or shrine.”

You frown. “A god that knows how to exorcise curses.”

“Exactly,” Nanami says. “And from the way my coworker described it… it sounded off. Too specific. Like someone who knew exactly what they were doing.”

Your stomach turns.

Because there aren’t many people who’d know how to do something like that.

And only one who might do it under the guise of something else.

“Don’t follow up on that yet,” Nanami says firmly. “It could mean nothing.”

You glance at him. “You really think that?”

He exhales, gaze steady. “I think… if it is connected to Geto, it won’t be the only lead. And if it’s not, stirring it up could make things worse.”

You nod slowly, fingers curling slightly against your leg. “Alright. I’ll hold.”

Satoru leans back in his chair, arms folded. “For now.”

Nanami gives him a look, but doesn’t argue.

“I’ll see what I can find out for you,” Nanami says, straightening a bit. “But it could take a while.”

You nod. “That’s fine. Just… let me know if anything changes.”

“Of course.”

He glances at the board one last time, taking it in — the photos, the strings, the weight of all of it — before stepping back.

He grabs his coat from the back of a chair, shrugging it on with practiced ease.

“Look,” he says, voice level but firm. “I’m always glad to help out a friend. But I left this all behind for a reason. And I’d appreciate it if you left me out of this mess in the future.”

You open your mouth — to apologize, maybe, or to argue — but he’s already turning toward the door.

“It’s not personal,” Nanami adds, glancing back at you. “I just… know how this ends.”

You nod, the words sticking in your throat. You reach back, grabbing onto Satoru’s thighs to help yourself up. He lets you, hands steadying your shoulders as you stand.

Without thinking, you cross the room after Nanami — catching him just before he reaches the door.

He blinks as you step in, arms going around him in a quick, tight hug. You feel the tension in his shoulders, the way he exhales softly after a beat.

He doesn’t return it fully, but he doesn’t pull away either.

“Thank you,” you murmur.

“Yeah, no problem,” he says. Then, with a small tilt of his head, eyes flicking between you and Satoru across the room, he adds, “Also… you better be careful.”

You blink up at him.

“When you do find Geto,” Nanami says, tone even but edged, “he won’t be too happy about that.” He motions — a small, pointed gesture — to you and Satoru.

Your breath catches, but you say nothing.

Nanami nods once, as if to himself. “Good luck.”

Speechless and red in the face, you manage to mutter a quick, “Don’t be a stranger,” before shooing him out of the room, hand on his shoulder as you push him toward the hallway.

Nanami only gives the faintest sigh, but he lets you. “I never am,” he says simply, before striding off down the corridor to find his own way out.

You stand there for a second, cheeks still burning, the door swinging softly closed behind him.

Behind you, you hear the slow creak of Satoru’s chair.

“Well…” he drawls, voice light but amused. “That was interesting.”

You don’t turn around. Just cross your arms, still facing the door. “Don’t.”

He hums, wheels of the chair squeaking faintly as he rolls closer. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re thinking about it.”

There’s a pause. You can feel him right behind you now, warmth at your back.

“Okay,” he says softly. “But for the record… he’s not wrong.”

You exhale, finally turning to face him — cheeks still warm, heart still a little too high in your chest. “Satoru.”

He holds up both hands, surrendering, though there’s that little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Alright, alright. No more teasing. For now.”

He leans back in the chair, watching you with that lazy, knowing look of his.

“…You okay?” he asks after a beat, quieter now. No teasing this time. Just him.

“Yeah,” you say, letting out a slow breath. “I’m just… confused by what he meant.”

Satoru tilts his head, watching you. “You’re not that confused.”

You frown. “I mean—he’s assuming things.”

“Is he?” There’s no teasing in his voice now — just that maddening, calm certainty he gets when he’s seeing straight through you.

You look away, arms crossing a little tighter. “I don’t know.”

He’s quiet for a second, then his chair rolls a little closer, knees bumping yours as he leans forward.

“Look,” he says, voice soft, “Nanami says what everyone else is thinking, yeah. But what matters is what you want. Not him. Not anyone else.”

Your heart skips. You meet his eyes — and for a second, you can’t look away.

The air between you shifts.. Like a line you’ve both been careful not to cross for a long time is suddenly a little too close.

Satoru doesn’t move. Just watches you, eyes unreadable behind the slight tilt of his sunglasses. The light catches them, making it impossible to tell what, exactly, he’s thinking.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asks again, lower this time, almost careful. “Because if you’re confused… about this—”

He gestures vaguely between the two of you — a small, loose movement, but you feel it like a spark along your skin.

Your mouth goes dry and you shift your weight, crossing your arms tighter. “We’re just friends.”

A beat.

“You keep saying that,” he says quietly. “I’m starting to wonder if you actually believe it.”

That lands harder than you expect — your breath catching, the back of your neck prickling hot.

You look away, pulse high in your throat.

“I mean,” you say, words tumbling a little faster than you mean them to, “it makes sense that we’re so close. Haibara died, Suguru…” you swallow, “…turned evil. Shoko went to med school. Nanami left. I mean—it’s just been us two. So we’re just… close friends.”

You hear how thin it sounds. How rehearsed.

Because the truth is — you’ve never really thought of it. Not seriously. Not until now, not until Nanami’s offhand comment cracked something open you’d spent years keeping shut.

You’d only ever seen Suguru that way. Thought of him that way. The only person who could be your person — your soulmate.

There hadn’t been room to imagine anyone else.

Not even Satoru. Especially not Satoru. And now that the thought is in your head — it won’t leave.

You can feel him watching you.

He shifts in the chair again, the soft creak of the wheels loud in the quiet room. One of his knees bumps yours — not by accident.

“You keep saying it like you’re trying to convince yourself,” he says, voice low.

You swallow hard, still staring at some distant point on the floor. “I’m not.”

“Mm.” You can hear the doubt in the sound he makes — soft, almost amused, but there’s something beneath it too. Something heavier.

You finally risk a glance down at him.

And that’s a mistake.

Because he’s looking at you like he knows. Like he’s always known. And now you’re the only one pretending not to see it.

Your chest tightens.

Satoru’s gaze doesn’t waver. “You really never thought about it?”

Until an hour ago, you hadn’t. Not really.

Your mouth opens and stays there, useless.

Because until now, you hadn’t thought about it. Not the way Nanami said. Not the way Satoru’s looking at you now. Not the way your pulse won’t settle.

And every reason you might give — we’ve been through too much, it’s not like that, Suguru was— None of it feels solid anymore.

You force out a breath, voice quieter this time. “I didn’t… used to.”

That lands heavier than you expect. In the space between you, something shifts.

Satoru’s gaze flickers. “But now?”

You press your lips together. Shoulders tense. “Nanami shouldn’t have said anything.”

“That’s not an answer,” Satoru murmurs.

You shake your head, a weak laugh slipping out — humorless. “I can’t—” You stop yourself.

Suguru’s face still lives behind your eyes. He still owns too much of your heart.

You feel the warmth of his hand before you see it — fingers curling light around your wrist, grounding.

“I’m not asking for an answer,” he says, voice low, steady. “Not now.”

You swallow, throat tight.

“But don’t lie to me,” he adds, softer now. “You don’t have to protect me. I’m the strongest for a reason.”

Your heart stumbles. Because it was never about protecting him.

You finally look, your eyes meeting his.

Satoru watches you for a long moment, gaze open, unflinching. His thumb brushes slowly over the inside of your wrist.

“I’m here,” he says simply. “Whatever you decide.”

And somehow, that’s worse than if he’d pushed.

“I can’t, Satoru,” you whisper, voice cracking at the edges. “We never even broke up. He just… left. And I don’t have any closure. It’s not fair.”

You swallow hard, pulse thudding painfully high in your chest. The words keep coming before you can stop them.

“You’re my only friend. The only one who didn’t leave me. And I’m not ready to ruin that.”

For a long second, he doesn’t move and doesn’t say anything. His grip on your wrist is light, but steady.

“You can’t ruin what’s already yours,” Satoru says softly.

The words land deep, a raw ache twisting under your ribs.

You turn your face away, eyes burning, voice thin. “It’s not that simple.”

“I know,” he says. “But I meant it anyway.”

He finally stands, towering over you — just half a foot between you now — before his arms wrap around your shoulders and pull you into him.

The breath catches in your chest, but you don’t fight it. You just sink in, forehead resting against the soft press of his shirt.

“You’re my only friend too,” he says quietly, voice low against your ear. “And I’d rather have that than nothing.”

You close your eyes, the ache in your chest easing — not gone, but quieter.

Then you feel it — the light press of his lips against your forehead.

“C’mon,” Satoru murmurs, voice a little lighter now. “Let’s get out of here. It’s our day off anyway.”

You let out a shaky breath, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. The smile he gives you is easy — real.

You nod. “Okay.”

And just like that, the knot in your chest loosens.

taglist: @twilightsumu @mik4kn0x @bubblegumcat229 @poopooindamouf @se-phi-roth @twinkling-moonlillie @11thlife02 @perqbeth @love-me-satoru @pillkits @not-a-glad-gladiator @xarnesss @irwinchester @myabae @linaaeatsfamilies @nanamisbbygirl @timedisappears @sukunasbigtiddiewifey @chewiebee @por0u @ppejmurde @ssetsuka

taglist is still open, comment on series masterlist to be added

148 notes · View notes

mustyrosewater · 18 days ago

Text

𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐒𝐊𝐘 - 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖗𝖊𝖊

𝐫𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐭 𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐭 𝐱 𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐛!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 6,068

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: returning to the small wyoming town you were raised after a sharp fall from grace, your music career having turned into mindless pop you were forced to churn out by your manager and now ex, a return to home is just what you need, the perfect place to take a break from the life of a pop star, and also to meet some old faces.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: rhett is jealous again, tense eye contact, niki being a walking green flag, swearing and slight arguing.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: the niki fangirls are gonna love this one, the niki haters maybe not so much, sorry not sorry. the reposts and comments are so greatly appreciated my loves, your feedback means the world and keeps me motivated! please enjoy chapter three!

Aside from the slight talking to from your father when he had come home about an hour later, with a soft reminder to just let him know next time, the night trailed off to be particularly uneventful after the video call with Amanda had ended.

The next morning, you’d hopped into the shower first thing, suddenly feeling all the more grateful for the list of shower supplies you had no doubt Amanda had gone to the trouble of ordering and sending out to you, as they’d been waiting for you ready to go in the shower caddy on the first day.

Soaps that smelled like honey and facial exfloiator had seemed to be exactly what was needed to make you feel recharged and invigorated, washing away the sour emotions of last night.

Reminding yourself of the meditation tracks your therapist had sent to your phone as you stepped back out of the shower, you took the extra time to blow dry your wet hair, putting it up into a claw clip before changing into a comfortable set of grey lounge wear.

Today was a day that was whole heartedly for you, you knew your father was out today, so the entire house was solely your own for a few sweet hours.

Having initially began the day with a coffee and a quick fifteen minute guided meditation out on the porch, just as was recommended, a womans soft breathy voice guiding you through breathing exercises and wellness techniques that you were only half paying attention to.

Your reflex was to grab your phone and post your regularly scheduled promotions for whatever sponsor you were set up with for the day, but here you were, no pressure to post anything, no schedule to follow.

In short, you felt like you had too much free time to do anything with.

Standing on the porch looking out into the driveway in the distance, you could only huff and walk back inside, looking for something that you could fill your day with.

There was only so much old coffee to wash off of the mugs on the sink, polishing them to perfection was enough to waste away a whopping seventeen minutes, you’re only other option to sit on the plush couch and flick on the tv on the wall.

Sitting cross legged, you flicked through a few channels, nothing but older sitcoms played out on the tv stations out this way, maybe a local ad here and there.

As you flicked once more to another channel, the sound of the halfway point of a song began, realising you’d flicked onto the MTV of all things, surprised they even aired it out this far.

Within seconds, you recognised the song to be one of your own, the music video playing along with it, the skintight outfit you were wearing glistening while you danced, two other backup dancers imitating the movements behind you.

You could remember filming this one so clearly, the green screen you’d been made to dance in front of a clear memory, now superimposing you against a backdrop of what you guessed was meant to be the top of a building.

Inbetween the shots of you dancing and singing, they were followed by snippets of you splayed out onto a silk sheet on a bed, the little black nightie they’d put you in leaving little to the imagination as you made bedroom eyes into the camera, just as you were directed to.

It was hard not to cringe, you didn’t even hate the song entirely, the lyrics were just empty against what could have been a half decent hook.

Words of desire towards nobody in particular, singing about how much you loved some imaginary person and how badly you needed them.

The next shot seemed to be you in some sort of leather leotard with gold details, walking through a crowd of people in just as odd outfits dancing along to the song you were lip syncing against.

Unable to watch anymore, you flicked over to the next channel not even caring much for what was on there anymore, even if it was just so that you could have some background noise.

The feeling of your phone vibrating next to you was a welcome distraction, even if it was just a notification from the weather app.

Oh. This was much better than the weather.

A text message, from an unknown number, that didn’t remain unknown for long as you actually opened the message, reading keenly as you found yourself sitting up straighter.

‘hey, its niki. i hope you dont mind, your dad gave me your number before he left last night.’

Even thought you ached to check whether or not he’d actually asked for your number, or if your dad had simply offered it, which did actually sound like something he’d do to be polite to one of your old highschool friends, you resisted, some part of you trying her hardest to remain composed and play it cool.

Is it weird if you respond back too quickly? Would he know you’ve done nothing all day except stare at your phone and cringe at old music videos.

Tapping the back of your phone against your hand impatiently, you allowed at least a minute or two before you even looked at the message again, feeling the slightest bit giddy.

Finally allowing yourself the privilege of typing back a message, you’re teeth sunk into your bottom lip just a little bit as your nails tapped lightly against the screen.

‘oh hey! that’s ok, we probably should have exchanged numbers anyway, considering, haha.’

Unable to help yourself, you screenshotted the message, along with your response, sending it straight to Amanda, already knowing that she would want to be the first of all people to know.

Watching the text you had sent her turn green, as well as the small ‘read’ icon coming up from the bottom almost immediately, it shouldn’t have been a surprise that the facetime request all ready popped up onto your screen, the photo you took of Amanda when you were out to dinner spanning across the screen.

Opening the call with a soft hum sound, Amanda’s face came into view, a grin on her face rivalling that of the cheshire cat.

From what you could see, she was in her gym clothes, her hair in a low bun and a fresh sheen of sweat on her face as she walked to the locker room.

“What did i tell you.” she spoke as soon as she was alone in the locker room, shaking her head at you in the way she always did when she was proven right.

“Ok but like, this doesn’t mean anything solid yet.”

Your response only made her smirk more, her head turning as she opened up the locker containing her bag.

“Clearly he wants to give you something solid.”

Letting out a cackle, your head flying back slightly as you stood yourself, walking to the kitchen and placing the phone on the window sill so that you could make another coffee as you talked.

Before you could continue, you heard your phone vibrate, looking straight at the screen and squinting as you read the message that popped up.

Hearing the vibration through the face time call, Amanda’s wide eyed looked only made you grin more, putting a hand over your mouth to laugh as she placed her airpod in her ear to get ready to exit the gym.

“What’d he say!” she begged, waiting impatiently as you opened the message and read it silently. “I want you, baby, come round to my house so I can bend you over my kitchen table.” Amanda’s poor impression of some kind of latin accent and her comically deepened voice only made you roll your eyes.

“Shut up, thats not what it says.”

Finally reading the message, you couldn’t help but hop in place a tiny bit and let out a small little giggle.

“He’s asking if i’m gonna be at the rodeo on Wednesday, his dad and him are gonna be running his food truck there.”

As Amanda let out a sound of glee, she held a finger to signal to you to wait a second as she opened her car door and got inside, positioning the phone up on her dashboard as she gripped the steering wheel of the parked car.

“So, first of all, you’re going” she began, already taking charge as if she was planning every little detail out in her head to the upmost significance. “And second of all, you will be calling me the night of to pick a pair of jeans that makes your ass look irresistable.”

Rolling your eyes, you pulled up a mocking salute, unable to say no to any of Amanda’s orders; To be completely fair, she knew better thank you about most of these things, having always been the one you came to for advice.

She felt untouchable to you sometimes, like she just had everything figured out, even if you knew in your heart of hearts it wasn’t true.

There had been more than enough times where she’d been vulnerable to you in the same way you had to her, the time’s she’d taken care of her niece when her sister had to go through some treatment at the hospital, the flowers you’d helped her pick out.

It was so often that she was looking after you, so coming around to her place to help her with some dinner and a helping hand with the fussy little seven year old girl had been something she’d barely even had to ask.

“Ok girl, i love you, but i have to get ready to head back home, i’m having Kaycey over again.”

Nodding understandably, you gave her a smile as picked up the phone, using your free hand to run your fingers across your scalp, a small yawn coming out of your mouth.

“Tell her i said hi.”

Kaycey was adorable, but full of stubbornness, the pair of you slowly worked out what made her tick, how she preferred to watch old Bratz movies you’d watched when you were younger, as opposed to Bluey. As the facetime finally ended, the small chirp from your phone signalling the disconnect, you finally spared a look out the window, noticing the beginnings of rain falling from a now darkened sky, the first time it’s rained since the first time you arrived back in Wyoming.

Leaning against the wall as you held your phone back up, you continued typing out your response to Niki, assuring him you wouldn’t miss it, that you’d come up and say hi, even requesting the promise of some free food as a lighthearted joke.

Putting your phone down on the counter, you allowed yourself a moment to step outside, the pittering of rain already starting to sound out against the tin patio roof;

Just as you’d used to do all the time as a child, you took a deep inhale into your lungs, the unplaceable smell of the rain making your mind come flooding with nostalgia.

You’d had no idea just how good the smell of Wyoming rain smelled until it had been so long since you’d even been around it, finding yourself at a weird sense of peace that you hadn’t experienced for a long while.

When the night before the rodeo finally came, there’d been a steady stream of messaging occurring with Niki, messages exchanged reminiscing over highschool memories, asking about how his mother was doing and him gushing about how happy she was about the photo.

Graduating from texting to snapchat should have definitely been the first sign, or at least Amanda thought it was.

Soon enough you were receiving stupid little selfies of him grinning while stood behind the bar, captioned with things such as ‘it’s so dead here, don’t how know many more glasses i can polish’.

It was hard to pretend like you weren’t kicking your legs like a little girl whenever you received one of his absolutely adorable selfies, sometimes at home, sometimes at work.

It was on the off chance that when he’d asked how you were doing, you had a photo of a towel on the door, mentioning needing to take a shower in a bit.

The following snap you’d received from him only about a minute or two later had you with your jaw slack.

A cheeky grin on his face, obviously aware of the nature of the photo, there he stood in all his glory, his arm reached above his head to rest his hand on the doorway above him, his shirt riding up just enough so that you could see the beginning of a line going along his pelvis, a sneaky little hint of olive skin poking out.

For a moment you felt like you’d died and gone to heaven, the way you had to put a hand over your mouth to hide the small laugh of disbelief at his sudden boldness.

The caption didn’t help by any means, only agreeing that he himself also had to shower, the mirror in the bathroom providing just enough of a shadow so that he was slightly less in view.

At first, it was hard not to feel at least a little bit of panic, debating what exactly you could send back, whether or not you wanted to match his energy, return the bone he had thrown your way.

Brief consultation with Amanda has proved more than helpful, advising that an innocent enough little selfie in your pajamas laying on the bed was more than enough of a response, while still hinting at something more.

By no means were you about to jump into sending a nude to your old science partner, but there was certainly some little kick out of being subtly flirty, you definitely missed the feeling of being desired, to be chased, it was invigorating.

It was in all honesty refreshing.

As you placed your phone back face down on the side table, there was a level on anticipation to be found, even if it was late; knowing you were gonna see him tomorrow and that you’d had a pair of jeans hanging on your door along with the stetson your father had just let you keep.

Everything coming together made it hard to sleep at all.

With your father’s agreeance to drop you off at the rodeo, even if he wasn’t attending himself this time, he’d seemed please you were taking the initiative to go somewhere by yourself, musing about how he’d been invited to a poker night with some friends anyway.

Assuring that he’d have his phone on the entire time if you needed anything, he’d waved goodbye to you from the window of his truck, a pleased smile on his face.

The task of actually weaving through the crowds was daunting at first, but slowly you became used to the feeling of turning your body from side to side as you progressed forward, allowing yourself to move in the same rhythm as everyone around you.

There was definitely so much to see that had changed since when you used to go to the rodeo as a kid, more games for the kids set up, so many more different food options available, it was a weird, but not unwelcome change in the slightest.

Watching a group of kids throwing darts at the balloons set up on the wall in front of them, it was hard not to smile, your arms crossing over your chest and watching one of the smallest ones lining up their shot, concentration clearly ethched on his chubby little face, before he threw, a pop sounding out as he cheered with his friends.

Well that was just a little bit adorable huh.

Pulling your purse tighter to your shoulder, you’d hoped your choice of outfit was plain enough so as to not stand out hugely, the denim flare’s on your legs paired with a slightly cropped tee, simple enough, you’d hoped.

The smell of all the fried food only became more tempting the closer you got, being reminded of one of the reasons you’d even come out to the rodeo by yourself in the first place.

You kept your eyes peeled, trying to remember Niki’s description of the food truck that he’d shared over text, as well as a rough idea of where it’d be parked.

It was the bright yellow that initially caught your eye, followed by the small line following to the window lit up by fluorescent white light, only to finally land on Niki, there, in all his glory, a short sleeved grey shirt and apron around his neck.

He seemed so swept up by orders, handing food out of the window and yelling out orders with each docket printing out seemingly at an unforgiving pace.

You recognised his father, along with one other stranger, likely just another cook that worked at the restaurant, grilling away, working at a pace that made you nervous on their behalf.

Smiling to yourself, you approached patiently, waiting for the line to go down until you eventually got to the front, the anticipation killing you each time you’d step forward.

Just as professional as always, you heard Niki yell out a quick “Just one second!” as he hadn’t turned his head to look at you yet, punching an order into an ipad with the concentration of a nuerosurgeon.

When he’d finally looked down at you, you’re smile greeting him, it was quickly reciprocated, his eyes widening as he leaned forward slightly out of the window.

“Hey you! You made it!” he started, turning to look at the dockets printed and hanging above the grill, seemingly checking to see how it was all travelling before he turned back to you.

“If you give me like, five minutes, ill come out and hang, just gotta wait for the rush to finish.”

He was so sweet about it, seeming apologetic as if you weren’t the one he was preparing to halt his work for. Nodding, you gave him a thumbs up, going to turn before you heard his voice once more.

“Pendeja!” he yelled with a laugh, shaking his head when you turned back around “what do you want?” he enquired, gesturing to the chalk board on the side of the truck “on the house.”

“Niki, no, i can’t-”

Your protest was interrupted by a wave of his hand.

“Shut up and tell me what you want.”

God his smile was so gorgeous, even when he was telling you to shut up.

Letting out a sigh as you tilted your head, it was hard to concentrate on anything written on the chalkboard next to his head.

“Just surprise me.”

Finding a spot to the side was easy enough, settling yourself down on one of the many tables that had been set up as a place to eat, you could only wait in silence, finding yourself unable to do much else aside from checking your phone occasionally, pretending to be interested in the time.

Just as promised, after about five or so minutes, you could Niki arriving from the distance, two plastic plates in his hands, apron now discarded you didn’t know where.

Your arm extended out to wave at him, smiling brightly as he came to sit across from you, sliding the plate of food in front of you.

Only now that he was across from you did you realise that he was also holding two glass bottles under his arm, grabbing them and setting them on the table between the two of you, a satisfied sigh leaving his throat as he gestured to what you now realised was a corona.

“For you.” he spoke, nodding to himself, seemingly not noticing the way your face fell only slightly, still trying your hardest to maintain a smile.

You had absolutely no clue how to actually explain everything, the reason you couldn’t touch anything even slightly alcoholing, on top of how you might explain it to him without making him feel petrified at having offered you a beer of all things.

Opening your mouth to speak, you could only let out a small sound, seemingly having no clue as to how you would phrase it.

Noticing the look on your face, his eyebrows rose, concern seeming to cross over his features as he looked down at the spread he’d brought for you.

It felt rude to decline the drink he’d brought for you, no doubt from the fridge of the food truck himself, even worse if he’d actually bought it for you.

“Everything ok? Is it the food? I didn’t make it if thats what you’re wondering.”

His attempt at brushing it off with humour made you feel better in all honestly, a soft exhale of laughter leaving your lips as you leaned forward and hung your head slightly.

Looking back up, you gave him an apologetic look.

“No, the food looks amazing, it’s just..” part of you felt petrified to even touch the bottle, images of you drunk in the street in heels and a sparkly outfit while paparazzi hounded you coming to mind.

Keeping your voice low, you kept it to a simple “I don’t drink.”

Niki’s eye’s widened, his arm immediately coming out to grip the bottle, pulling it to his end.

“Shit, im so sorry.”

The fact he felt bad for something he didn’t even realise killed you a little, yet he seemed to shift the mood back over pretty quickly, sending you that same grin he’d sported in the bathroom photo.

“More for me.”

As you sat and ate, your discussion seemed to range from an array of different topics, old school memories that you were able to laugh about all the way to him explaining all the different times he’d had to kick people out of the bar.

All good things must come to an end evidently, your stomach sinking a little bit as the topic of yourself was brought back into discussion.

“So how long do you think you’re gonna be back in town for?”

The question was obviously innocent, but it only made that ever present anxiety in the back of your mind grow ten fold. The long answer was that you had no idea, would you just hide out here till you had no career to come back to?

Live off of the royalties of your songs for the rest of your life? Not likely.

As much as you wanted to pretend the rest of the world didn’t exist past this small town, you knew there was still record studio executives waiting on you, of course the timeline of your recovery was in your hands, the scandal could still keep your name in headlines for at least a little while longer.

But eventually you knew in your soul they were going to start pulling out when you started dropping off the charts, fading into obscurity.

In the god’s honest truth you hadn’t even thought about it that deeply yourself.

“Absolutely no clue.” you laughed out, holding your hands up and shrugging your shoulders; you didn’t want to go into the details with Niki, you didn’t really wanna burden anyone with the details really.

“I guess this could be a good place for some inspiration, maybe write some new music while im here.”

You didn’t even know yourself if that was true, the inspiration in you had been long sucked dry, when your team started bringing on ghost writers and producers, assuring you that the money was worth the creative integrity.

Deciding that this conversation was doing probably more harm than good to your inner dialogue, you rose from your seat, gathering up the plastic plates and swinging your purse over your shoulder.

“I think i’m gonna go watch the bull riding.”

It definitely was a little bit rude, but the food had been long finished and you knew that there was only so long Niki’s father was going to tolerate him being away from the truck for so long.

“And you.” pointing a finger at him as he stood, placing his hands in his pockets

“Need to get back and keep helping your father out.”

Holding his hands up in a surrendering manner, he only nodded in agreeance with you, the smirk on his face carrying just as much mischief as it always seemed to.

“Okay, okay. I’ll do what i’m told, but only this time.”

Niki returned the gesture of a finger pointed at you as he began to walk backwards, shaking his head as he looked at you.

“I’ll see you round, Pendeja.”

Watching him turn to jog back around the corner to where the food truck was, you could only let out a small huff.

There was definitely an inner turmoil at play within you, that was for certain.

Niki was such a sweetheart, and clearly there was a mutual attraction shared between the two of you, but the petrifying fear of intimacy within you, much less whatever it was exactly that eas starting to bubble between the two of you, seemed to be taking precedence each time a little bit of progress was made.

Even now as you continued your walk towards the bull riding stands, finding a place to sit inbetween all of the other people that lined up to see some cowboys get flung, you were unable to stop the slight frown from cementing itself on your face.

The idea that you could get in the way of yourself that badly was infuriating, but then the idea of jumping straight into another man’s arms so soon after such a messy breakup was just the same.

Hell, the wound was only about four months healed, you still occasionally saw your ex’s face coming up on old mutual friend’s social media, it was nowhere near enough time to just brush something like that aside, right?

When do you know when it’s because you actually want something like that, and not just yourself desperately seeking out the comfort of trading one man out for another?

As the event began, that same familiar rock music blaring out of the speakers just the same as last time, you occupied yourself with watching men getting flung off of thrashing bull’s backs.

Even then, it’s hard to be distracted by self pity when you’ve got something so absolutely entertaining in front of you.

The stupid rodeo clown was even enough to have a laugh leaving your throat.

As fun as it all was to watch, the universe decided that it was particularly enjoying fucking with you tonight, considering that you’d forgotten one big fundamental detail at the bull riding that was currently on.

That detail, that important little smidgen you’d conveniently forgotten?

Rhett Abbott was coming on next.

It was the first time you’d even heard his name since the restaurant, much less seen him in person, having been so distracted by the prospect of meeting up with Niki, you’d completely forgotten about his existence all together. You tried to force yourself not be invested, truly, wanted to continue the air of not caring if he lived or died, considering that was obviously how he felt about you.

Yet when the horn rang out and you immediately heard the sharp clanging of hooves on metal as the gate was swung open, for some reason you just could not look away.

The bull was relentless, seeming to thrash itself in a change of direction as much as possible, determined to get what i considered to be nothing but an annoying flea off of its rump.

As much as you cursed the ground he walked on, hated the way he looked at you with an air of superiority. God, as much as you hated him for starting the nickname tweety bird in highschool.

It would be a lie to say he wasn’t doing a damn good job. You didn’t have to like him or even particularly enjoy his company to see that.

You could literally hear the cheers of the crowd growing wilder the longer he stayed on the bull for, that anticipation of waiting to see whether or not he’d get flung off before his eight seconds were up.

In some weird way, time seemed to be moving in slow motion, yet ultra fast all at the same time, with every millisecond that you didn’t hear the buzzer making your heart rate increase.

As soon as it rang out, like a choir of angels sent from heaven itself, you let out a breath you didn’t even realise you were holding, letting go of your purse handle which was now sporting little moon shaped indents from how hard you were gripping it.

The roar of the crowd around you was palpable, your silence pertaining more to your absolute shock, your mouth hanging open slightly.

As he finally allowed the bull to shake him off, being helped to his feet hastily by a handler as the rest worked at getting the bull back through the gate, you could see his chest rising and falling even from the distance you were at.

Adrenaline was a powerful thing, you knew that better than anybody, as you watched Rhett Abbott begin to bang on his chest like some sort of primal warrior, it was palpable.

His eye’s scanning the crowd hadn’t initially had you off guard, obviously he was enjoying the resounding response to his victory, continuing to bash his fist against his chest.

Even when his eyes landed on you.

As if set off, seeing you in the crowd, knowing you’d witnessed what just occurred, you weren’t sure if it was ego or something else entirely.

But you could have sworn he was smirking.

With a final bang to his chest, your vision might have been tricking you, but had he just nodded at you, a single, sturt nod before he’d turned to jog back to the gate, jumping it as if it was nothing.

You’re head tilted, eyes widening and brows furrowing.

Exactly what the fuck did he mean by that one?

Whether you were meant to be insulted by that, you had absolutely zero clue, the only thing you were certain of is that whatever it was, it was most certainly meant for you.

Left thoroughly confused by whatever it was that had just been shared between the two of you, you dispersed with the rest of the crowd when the rodeo was swiftly coming to an end.

Now noting the lights from games that were no longer on, as well as the now dwindling number of people around, the show grounds were suddenly seeming a lot quieter.

You were definitely tired, no doubt about that, hell, it was nearing almost midnight.

As much fun as it had been to go out by yourself for the first time in ages, the task you were now faced with of getting home was already proving itself to be a daunting one.

Exiting into the now nearly empty parking lot, you stood by the entrance and pulled out your phone, tapping the name ‘dad’ in your contact list and putting the phone to your ear.

Soft ringing was all that you could hear, feeling your heart drop a little bit as it continued, all the way up until his voice mail began to play.

Sucking in a sharp and nervous breath, you hung up and dialed his number again, waiting with a nervous breath, reassuring yourself that he’d probably just put his phone down somewhere and that any minute now he’d pick up.

Yet as his voicemail continued once more, you already felt a lump in your throat as panic began to set in.

Trying two more times evidently wasn’t a big help, doing absolutely nothing to remedy yourself.

Pacing back and fourth by the entrance was doing little for you, running your free hand along the seamline of your jeans not helping in the slightest as your heart beat hammered in your own head. As your own thoughts began to get to you more and more, you subsided in your attempts to call your father, nothing the fifteen percent battery life left on your phone, if he tried to call you back, a flat phone would do absolutely no good.

Yet as about ten more minutes passed, no buzzing from your phone, you were now cursing softly to yourself, feeling tears prick in the corner of your eyes as you rummaged around in your purse for some sort of miracle, anything to feel like you were doing something other than just standing there about to cry.

“What the hell are you still doin’ here?”

Initially, you jumped at the sound of a voice behind you, turning to see who it was however, only made you want to sink further and further into your little pity party.

“Fuck off, Rhett. I really don’t need this right now.”

Any attempt to hide the way your voice wobbled was futile, turning your head up to the sky to try and blink your tears out of existence as you let out a shaky exhale.

“Hey, fuck you. I was just checkin’ to see if you were okay. Christ, don’t worry about it.”

His response only made your lip wobble more, your head hanging as you heard him walk past you, the gravel crunching under his boots, growing softer as he walked towards his truck.

Desperation was a powerful thing, top it off with you on the verge of a panic attack wondering how the hell you’re going to get home that doesn’t involve walking and becoming coyote food.

“Rhett, i’m sorry.” you wobbled out, the sound seeming to stop the cowboy in his tracks, duffel bag hanging off his shoulder as he turned to watch you walk towards him.

“Please, I know you fuckin’ hate me and god knows I don’t know why. But I can’t get home, my dad was supposed to pick me up and he’s not answering me.”

Almost as if you could quite literally see him deliberating, he looked across at you, your puffy eyes and wobbling lip seeming to be enough to appeal to his better nature, whatever the beef seemingly shared between the two of you.

“Fuck sake..” he whispered to himself, letting out a huff as he unlocked his truck and opened the driver side door. “Get in.”

Letting out a sigh of relief, you scurried around to the passenger side of his truck, opening the door and moving a few things off of the passenger seat before sitting down and closing the door.

Trying to compose yourself as he got in next to you and shut his own door, you could hardly even focus on how you were now sitting in the truck of a man you apparently hated.

“I can’t take you to your pa’s place.” he started, his tone already laced with annoyance at the predicament he had found himself in and somehow agreed to.

As he spoke, you waited him to finish, already not loving the idea of not being in your own bed tonight, but anything was better than being stranded out here at night.

“It’s the exact opposite of where I live and I’m fucking exhausted.”

You couldn’t blame him in that regard, you were just as tired if not more, feeling as if you could even fall asleep on these seats, as uncomfortable as they were.

“But, I have a pullout couch you can crash on, just don’t make too much fuckin’ noise and i’ll take you home in the morning, gotta head out that way anyway.”

Nodding, you were in no position to say otherwise, and you knew you were already on thin ice anyway, arguing against him could result in him rescinding his offer of transport all together.

“Ok.” you spoke, trying to calm yourself down and relax knowing you were gonna be safe for the night “I’ll be quiet as a mouse, you won’t even know i’m there i promise-”

As you spoke, he sent you what could only be described as a warning look, tired and exhausted eye’s telling you all that you needed to know.

“Starting now.” you finished, buckling you seat belt and keeping your gaze out the window as his truck pulled out of the parking lot.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 : @foreverchangingmind . @tsukikyo . @marsupialnoises . @iknowrocknroll . @astromilku .

#bob thunderbolts #lewis pullman #lewis pullman fic #lewis pullman x reader #rhett abbott fanfiction #rhett abbott fic #rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott #robert reynolds #bob reynolds x reader #outer range fanfic #rhett abbott x you #outer range #rhett abbot

161 notes · View notes

theglassofmiddleearth · 2 months ago

Text

Evenfall

Imagine you wake up in Twilight as a random side character. (Part 6)

Nullification!reader Human reader! Fem reader! SideCharacter Bella! Isekai au! Edward Cullen X reader. Eventually Jacob Black x reader. (2 endings.) (All characters will be written less creepy and one dimensional than the ones in the books.)

Previous - Next

That night, Edward’s golden eyes and the green meadow made an appearance in her sleep. The warm dream of the meadow in the day was cut short by her alarm, blaring at 6:30AM. Y/N had wanted to wake up early to surprise Bella and Charlie with pancakes.

Rubbing her eyes after slamming her hand onto the reset button of her alarm, she stumbled blindly into her bathroom to begin her morning routine.

The first one up surprisingly was Bella. Y/N had been flipping a pancake over as she stepped into the kitchen.

‘Morning! Do you take syrup or butter on your pancakes?’ Y/N smiled welcomingly.

‘Hi, uh, syrup is okay.’ Bella smiled shyly. Her skin was pale, her eyes were wide and brown, just like Charlie’s.

Huh. She wasn’t anything like Kristin Stewart. This girl was… Exceptionally ordinary. Not that of course there was anything wrong with that. But in a way, her ordinary features came together to make an easy on the eyes face.

Y/N could see the appeal. Bella somehow reminded her of an animal that she would want to protect. Like a lamb.

‘I’m Y/N by the way! I’ll be here for the rest of highschool.’ She grinned, setting down a stack of warm perfectly circular pancakes onto a porcelain plate.

‘I’m Bella, I’m Charlie’s uh, daughter. I don’t know how long I’ll be here.’ Bella trailed off, cutting into her breakfast.

‘Wow, these are.. Really good!’ Bella’s brown eyes darted up to Y/N’s pleased face.

‘I’m glad you like them! Let me know if you want more!` She turned back to the stove, turning down the heat and pouring more of the beige, vanilla smelling mixture into the pan. Y/N was glad that Bella liked her food. She was even more happy that Bella was being rather friendly to her. Maybe the story line really could play out normally!

‘I knew taking you in would be a good idea. Pancakes for breakfast, who woulda’ thought?’ Charlie rubbed his eyes as he walked into the kitchen, his uniform already on. His hair was slightly unkempt but it only added to an appeal that Y/N squashed down.

‘Morning! I’ve got a stack over here with your name on ‘em.’ Y/N handed him a plate and gestured for him to sit down.

‘How’d you sleep Bells?’ Charlie asked tentatively, poking at his pancakes.

‘Pretty good actually! Dad I actually have something to talk to you about.’ She looked guilty. Oh dear.

‘What is it?’ Charlie cut into his pancake with a fork, shovelling a piece into his mouth.

‘Well, I was thinking about going back to Floria. Mum could travel with Phil and I’m old enough to live on my own. I’m seventeen years old dad I can handle it.’ Bella said without empathy.

‘Bella, why don’t you give it a week? You can see if you like the town and the school.’ Y/N interrupted, seeing Charlie's distressed look. It seemed as if Bella was more adamant to go home than she was in the book.

‘If you make breakfast for the entire week I might consider it.’ Bella joked, standing up with her plate. ‘But I'm quite certain I want to stay in Florida. I’ll stay the week though, don’t worry. She placed her plate in the sink.

Y/N gave Charlie a subtle wink, to which Charlie gave a quick grateful smile.

‘You want a ride to school?’ Bella gave Y/N a cheerful grin, sitting back down at the table.

‘Oh, that’d be really nice actuall-’ Y/N was cut off by the ringing of the door bell. ‘Huh, are we expecting anyone?’ Y/N blinked, digging into her breakfast. The pancakes were warm and fluffy with just a bit of crisp at the edges. Charlie stood, pushing his chair back. He absentmindedly rested one hand on his utility belt.

‘Edward?’ Charlie’s gruff voice came from the front door. He sounded surprised, irritation seeping through his tone.

‘Morning Chief Swan. I just wanted to drive Y/N to school if that was okay.’ The sweet voice of Edward filtered through the house.

‘Who is that.’ Bella’s eyes narrowed. She sounded… annoyed?

‘Oh, that's my friend Edward! He uh-’

‘Morning Y/N/N. You ready to go?’ Edward’s brilliant smile greeted Y/N from the doorway. ‘Cute apron.’ He chuckled, grabbing Y/N’s backpack from the kitchen floor.

‘I was gonna give her a lift today.’ Bella stood up, her tone was ice cold, freezing the room’s tension.

‘Who might you be?’ Edward gave a fake smile, his jaw clenched in disgust. Y/N stood quickly, placing her arm on Bella’s shoulder.

‘I’ll ride with you! Edward I can ride home with you, is that okay?’ She walked forward, tentatively grasping Edward’s arm and squeezing reassuringly. The leather jacket he wore did well to cover his bitterly cold skin. This seemed to calm him down. Edward shifted his golden eyes down through his eyelashes, fixing Y/N with a soft look.

‘I want to show Bella around, it's her first day of school. Besides, we have pretty much all our classes together Ed. Just for today, hm?’ Y/N didn’t want things to escalate. Seeing as for some reason it looked like Edward was ready to tear off Bella’s head and Bella was ready to shoot Edward’s off.

‘I’ll see you soon okay?’ Edward relented, placing this time, a kiss to the crown of her head before she could react. His eyes were glinting with a smug amount of pride to which Bella was rolling her eyes at.

Huh, it seemed like they hated each other? That was strange.

‘Friend huh?’ Bella snickered, nudging Y/N’s shoulder teasingly, picking up her bag and walking toward the front door.

‘Yep! He uh, he's a little overprotective?’ Y/N winced, not knowing how to specify their particularly complicated relationship. ‘He’s the first friend I’ve made since coming here I guess.’

‘Well, you’ve got me too now! Hopefully we’ll have at least one class together!’ Bella opened the front door for Y/N, gesturing for her to walk out.

Edward was still waiting there, sitting inside his car with it running.

‘Is he going to follow us to school?’ Bella frowned, looking irked.

‘Uh.. probably I mean we all go to the same school!’ Y/N rubbed her neck sheepishly.

Bella opened the passenger side door for Y/N. ‘Hm, I don’t like that guy. He feels toxic.’ Y/N was stunned. She swore she could hear a noise of indignance come from Edward’s car. In fact, she could see the way Edward had rolled his eyes, his lips curled into a snarl.

The drive to school was filled with Y/N and Bella’s constant flow of easy conversation. When they got to the school, Bella had been able to get her documents and papers swiftly and Y/N had walked her to her homeroom.

As Y/N walked back to her own homeroom she was met at the doorway by a disturbingly calm Edward.

‘Hey, did you wait long?’ Y/N walked through the door, heading to the back of the room.

‘It felt long.’ Edward murmured, sounding content. ‘Thank goodness her stink didn’t rub off on you.’

‘You said you hated white chocolate? That was kind of random.’ Y/N laughed, sitting down dropping her bag onto the floor.

‘It’s overly sweet, it was only really made to use up the remaining stock of milk powder and cocoa butter in the nineteen thirties and there isn't even any actual solid cocoa in it.’ Edward shuddered, sitting down next to Y/N.

The classes came and went. They were studying Wuthering Heights in English Lit just like the original plot. They breezed through their morning classes before lunch came.

‘Y/N!’ Bella’s voice called out from behind Y/N and Edward.

‘For goodness sake.’ Edward grumbled.

‘Edward.’ Y/N shoved him. ‘Hey Bella! How were your classes!’

‘They were good! I made a friend. Her name is Angela Weber! She invited me to come sit with her and her friends during lunch!’ Bella caught up to Y/N grinning broadly.

‘Thats amazing! Did you also meet the guys?’ Y/N gave her a knowing grin.

‘Nope, they all ignored me thank goodness. Do you think they can tell I like girls?’ Bella gave Edward a sly look.

‘Hm, I’m not sure but honestly most of the boys here aren’t really worth noting.’ Y/N smiled, stepping toward the cafeteria. She could feel Edward, closely pressed to her side. His face was contorted into scowl that was somehow still beautiful.

‘Did you wanna come sit with us Y/N?’ Bella smiled, nudging Y/N slightly with her hip.

‘I think-’

‘Y/N!’ Rosalie appeared before her looking excited, Emmet next to the blonde haired girl. ‘Who's this?’ Rosalie’s stunning smile dropped as she noticed the brown-haired girl in the mix. It seemed as if they wouldn't get along in this plot line either.

‘Oh this is Bella! She’s Charlie’s daughter!’ Y/N smiled, placing an arm behind Bella’s back.

‘Yeah, we live together.’ Bella smirked, resting her head on Y/N’s shoulder.

‘Huh is that so.’ Rosalie set her perfect lips into a thin, unwelcoming smile. ‘Well, Y/N/N’s promised to sit with us so-!’ Without finishing her sentence she whisked Y/N away, leaving Bella, Edward and Emmett behind.

‘I’ll see you Bella!’ Y/N called from over her shoulder, feeling sorry for her but Rosalie had superhuman strength (literally) and she could not leave.

‘Don’t take it personally, she doesn’t like to share.’ Emmett said, shrugging before turning to follow the two girls whereas Edward had already left without a glance.

‘Man she smells kind of funky.’ Emmett wrinkled his nose, giving Y/N a small smile. ‘Nothing like our Y/N/N huh?’ The three sat down, Y/N sandwiched between Edward and Rosalie.

‘Don’t be mean to her. She’s nice. Please?’ Y/N pleaded, sighing as she slid down the back of her chair. ‘She’ll be here the whole week but I’m not sure if she’s staying.’ Y/N got up to head towards the lunch line when she was interrupted by Alice.

‘Hey! Me and Jasper decided to grab you a tray! We’ve never been in the line so it was kind of exciting!’ Alice set down the tray of food on the table and ushered Y/N back into her seat. Y/N flashed a grateful smile to Alice and Jasper before sitting down.

‘Thank you so much. I was dreading standing in line to be quite frank.’ Y/N popped a piece of fruit in her mouth.

‘No problems Y/N’ Jasper said in his signature southern drawl. It looked like Jasper was a true gentleman through and through

‘Honestly I hope she doesn’t stay for the entire week.’ Edward grumbled, resting his head on his fist. ‘She stinks up your house and I have to be extra quiet.’

‘Extra quiet doing what?’ Emmett joked, earning a smack from Rosalie.

‘Yeah, why did he rush home to change his clothes?’ Jasper chimed in, sharing a cheeky smile with Alice.

‘Oh, we were just hanging out! There isn’t really much space in my room so I let him sit on my bed.’ Y/N wrinkled her nose at the watery mush of rice that was next to her vegetables.

‘You don’t have to finish that, we can go get some food after school.’ Edward whispered, his breath grazing her neck suddenly.

‘With what money.’ Y/N laughed, rubbing at her ear.

‘I’m rich, handsome and young, remember?’ Edward snickered, leaning back in his chair. ‘We’ll get something to eat.’

‘We?’ Rosalie smiled excitedly.

‘We, as in me and Y/N.’ Edward huffed, shooting Rosalie a dirty look.

‘Rose can come! Everyone can come, right? They're your siblings Ed.’ Y/N rambled eagerly. ‘Oh, is it okay if I call you Rose?’ Y/N turned back to Rosalie who was nodding animatedly.

‘Yes! Yes. That's so cute!’ Rose enveloped Y/N in an unexpected hug. Just like Edward, she was cold to the touch, but the gesture was warm enough.

‘She knows that we’ve all called her Rose for decades right?’ Edward rolled his eyes.

‘Yeah. Guess you have to be a cute girl for it to have any effect.’ Emmett chuckled, gazing lovingly at his mate.

‘Can we Edward?’ Y/N took a page out of Edwards book and gave him a wide eyed, hopeful smile.

‘How about this, the dance is soon I believe. We’ll go shopping together, all of us. But tonight, it’ll just be you and me, hm?’ Edward ignored the loud protests of Alice and Rosalie whilst tucking a strand of hair behind Y/N’s ear.

‘Well, I-’

‘We can get pasta.’

"Guys, can I go?’ Y/N turned quickly, looking at the two girls with an innocently imploring look. Alice sighed and nodded, turning to Rosalie

‘Yeah, they'll end up hanging out without us anyways.’ Alice grumbled, sliding down in her chair and crossing her arms, face pulled into a pout. Edward grinned, seeing the way the night would play out in Alice’s vision.

‘Y/N/N really likes pasta huh?’ Emmett chuckled, patting Rosalie’s shoulder in consolation.

‘Er, just a little.’ Y/N could feel her face get warm. ‘Right, speaking of pasta. Can you guys still eat? Is that a thing?’

Y/N just realised she had forgotten how that process worked.

‘We can eat, we just can’t digest it.’ Jasper answered, taking a bite from the pizza that was on her tray.

‘So, what does it do, just sit in your stomach?’ Y/N raised an eyebrow, looking at her now bitten pizza, puzzled.

‘Well it means it’ll have to come back out. We don’t have to excrete so it’ll come back up the same way it came.’ He replied, leaning back and putting an arm around Alice’s shoulders.

‘Okay, thank you for letting me know that you’ll vomit up my pizza at some point…’ Y/N mumbled, eying the slice tentatively. Thankfully Edward took notice and silently slid Y/N’s tray away from her and grabbed her backpack with his other hand. Y/N said her goodbyes as Edward led her gently by the small of her back towards her next class.

Of course, the rest of the day went by with little to no mishaps other than Y/N tripping over a ball during P.E. In her defence, it was the same colour as the ground. Other than that and Edward fussing over her for the rest of the day, she was glad to say the school day was over.

As she and Edward walked into the parking lot, Edward’s grip tightened a fraction.

‘Y/N! Did you wanna-’ Bella started, running up behind the duo.

‘She and I will be heading to Port Angeles for dinner. She’ll see you when you get home.’ Edward bit, continuing to usher Y/N towards his Volvo. Bella was left fuming, her face pulled into a frown.

‘I’m sorry Bella! I’ll see you at home?’ Y/N called apologetically, waving as Edward all but dragged her to the car.

‘Edward, what was that?’ Y/N pouted, spinning around in his hold.

‘What?’ He gave her a smirk. ‘Didn't you wanna get pasta for dinner?’ Edward tilted his head still giving her a mischievous smile.

‘Hmm?’ Y/N raised a single eyebrow unamused, her arms crossed.

Edward sighed, ‘I don’t like sharing.’ He looked at least somewhat remorseful. ‘I’m sorry.’

Y/N rolled her eyes affectionately, ‘You scared I’ll like Bella or something?’ She joked, nudging him with her elbow.

‘I’ve waited almost a hundred years to find you. I’m not sure how much more waiting I can take.’ He whispered out with his eyes closed, lifting Y/N’s hand to his lips. ‘You have no idea the restraint I’m showing right now.’ His eyes flitted open, gaze flickering from Y/N’s lips to her eyes.

‘A hundred?’ Y/N mused.

‘Well technically I am a hundred and four chronologically.’ Edward laughed, manoeuvring Y/N by the waist to open the passenger side door.

‘If you didn’t stay mentally seventeen I would be rather concerned.’ Y/N teased, sliding into her seat.

‘Yeah well-’ Edward stopped, standing still. ‘Are you calling me immature.’ He raised an eyebrow, leaning forward with a wicked grin.

‘Maybe.’ Y/N poked Edwards cheek, feeling the smooth skin refuse to dent. ‘Man you’re actually made of diamonds aren't you?’

‘If that's what you like then sure.’ Edward gave a lingering kiss to Y/N’s fingers before stepping back and closing the car door.

‘You should call Charlie and let him know you’ll be home a little late. It takes around an hour to get to Port Angeles.’ Edward started the engine.

‘Um, actually how would you feel if we were to have the pasta that your family made last night?’ Y/N fiddled nervously with a loose thread.

‘I don’t mind. The rest of the family are out tonight. The sun is out tomorrow so they’ll be heading out to hunt for the next day and a half.’ Edward rested his right hand on the steering wheel, putting his left hand in the centre console.

‘Huh, I thought they wanted to go get food with me.’

‘They would have cancelled for you. Alice was ready to buy out a whole dress store to persuade you into hanging out more.’ Edward pulled out of the parking lot, heading toward a familiar road through the dense forestry.

‘She doesn’t need to do that. I like both of them enough to hang out with them in general!’

‘I’m pretty sure she’s just worried I won’t be able to convince you to join the family on my own.’ Edward smiled wryly.

‘You’re not doing too bad on your own Edward.’ She gave him a bashful grin before swiftly casting her eyes back onto the road. Edward’s boyish charm was slowly drawing her in. It was hard not to reciprocate his affections.

If Edward’s undead heart could skip a beat, it would have.

#the twilight saga x reader #twilight saga x reader #twilight x reader #twilight saga #twilight x you #edward cullen x reader #edward cullen #twilight edward cullen x reader #edward x reader #twilight saga edward x reader #twilight saga edward #Edward anthony Cullen

274 notes · View notes