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violetrainbow412-blog · 25 days ago

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A little bit of jam [B. R.]

Bob Reynolds x fem!mutant!reader

wc: 2.5k

Marvel and I are so fucking back, baby!! I think this mass love hysteria toward Bob is the best, and I honestly wanted to play with the "found family" trope a little because I love it so much. I hope you like it!

and if u have any idea, let me know ;)

Two months had already passed.

Two months since the sky split in two, since the world almost went to hell—again—and since a dysfunctional group of dangerously competent people were thrust into the headlines as the new “heroes.” No one was sure if the title was too big or too accurate. The only clear thing was that, after surviving hell together, you had ended up sharing something more than a mission.

Now you lived in the old Avengers Tower. Together.

It wasn't an official government decision or part of any rehabilitation protocol. It just happened. Most of you didn't have a fixed place to return to, and the few who did... didn't want to return at all. So, without saying it out loud, you started staying. One night. Then a week. Then a sofa became a bed, a kitchen became a habit, and lights left on at all hours stopped seeming strange. Without seeking it, you had made it work. As if the disaster had woven an impossible routine between people who, otherwise, would never have shared more than one mission.

Nobody said it, but you knew it.

You finally, amid all that chaos, felt like you fit in somewhere. You weren’t an Avenger, you weren’t an X-Men, you were never officially from anywhere. You’d grown up far from anyone who could explain to you what to do about your mutation, and you’d spent more time evading labels than claiming them. But now… now you had a room with your name written on the door in permanent marker (thanks to Yelena), a mug for your coffee (which sometimes Alexei stole from you), and an old Bob sweatshirt that you’d sometimes find hanging on your desk chair for no reason; as if someone knew when you needed it more than you did.

So, little by little, you began to look more like a team, a real team. But also, in a way, you shared a certain familiarity that all of you definitely needed in your lives.

Weekends were occasions, without explicitly stating it, to spend time together. Sometimes you'd just gather in the living room, put on a movie, and the rest would join in, or someone would start drinking, and soon you were all doing it.

Speaking of which, that day you had decided that a few boxes of donuts wouldn't hurt you and your friends. Maybe you could even make some coffee, since with the rain that had started to fall in the city, that seemed like a good plan.

When you walked in, you could see most of them. Yelena was sitting on the floor, completely wrapped in a huge blanket, eating a bag of chips with her feet up on the coffee table. Ava was leaning against the wall, silently observing everything, her arms crossed and a neutral expression that didn't quite hide her curiosity. John Walker was flipping through a magazine upside down, clearly just pretending to read while he kept an eye on what you had brought. Alexei was snoring in the largest armchair, face up, a remote control resting on his chest, as if it were a sacred artifact. Bucky was leaning against the counter, probably making himself a drink or reviewing policy documents.

And Bob… Bob was probably in his room. You noticed he was sleeping a lot lately. Not because he was lazy, not because he was idle, but because he was carrying his own mind, his memories, The Void… exhausted him in ways the others could barely understand. So none of you blamed him for taking long naps.

“I brought donuts,” you announced, in case anyone hadn’t noticed the packages you were holding.

NO one refused the food, and even Alexei, who seemed to be asleep, got up to get a couple upon hearing your announcement. You'd bought a variety of flavors, a box of classics and some more sophisticated ones, so almost all of you sat down at the coffee table to enjoy.

You exchanged a few pleasantries, talked about things that had happened and possible future missions. At one point, when everyone had already eaten at least two pieces, you saw Walker's hand reach for the box of donuts.

Serious mistake.

“NO!” you screamed, almost like a spring.

John froze, his finger brushing the blackberry's glossy glaze.

“Why not?” he asked, offended, as if you had denied him the last glass of water on the planet.

“That one’s for Bob.”

“But Bob isn’t here.”

“But it’s for him!” you insisted, crossing your arms, as if that closed the case.

“There’s more!”

“But don’t eat that one. Eat anything else.”

“It’s my favorite!”

“Well, what a shame, there’s only one and it’s not yours.”

Suddenly, everyone seemed interested in the donut. It was a blackberry donut with vanilla glaze, a small work of art in dessert form. The fluffy, lightly browned dough was covered in a smooth, glossy glaze that smelled of natural vanilla extract, not the cheap, cloying imitation. Above the glaze, a purple swirl of homemade jam snaked like a miniature galaxy, with tiny pieces of blackberry peeking out here and there like barely revealed secrets.

“I saw it first,” he replied, his hand now closer to the box.

“DON’T TOUCH IT!”

By then, Ghost had already materialized behind John, her head peeking out from over his shoulder.

"What if I cut it into two equal parts? Half for each of you."

“I said no!” you shouted.

“Do it,” John concluded, lifting the box to give it to Ava.

Yelena, sitting on the couch, gave a curious look while she chewed her third donut with total shamelessness.

"Why don't we just hide it and see who finds it first? Like a stupid, grown-up version of a treasure hunt?"

“No one’s going to hide that donut. I already told you it’s Bob’s,” you complained, twisting around to shield the box with your body as if it were a nuclear device.

Alexei, sitting at the bar with a beer in his hand, licked his lips.

"I say the only fair solution is hand-to-hand combat. Whoever wins keeps it!"

“No!” you shouted, and Bucky joined in. However, your friends had a different opinion.

“I fight,” Ghost said.

“You didn’t even want it in the first place!”

“Me too,” Walker said, already taking off his jacket.

“I can eat it while you guys fight!” Yelena said, but you had already thrown a pillow at her with surgical precision.

The room became a chaotic choreography: Walker dodging Ava, Yelena climbing the back of the couch like a cat on sugar overload, you trying to put the box on top of the cupboard, Ghost dematerializing mid-leap.

From his position, Bucky watched you like an exhausted dad and issued a warning about not breaking any of the furniture. Alexei, at his side, was shouting to encourage the fight.

Peace only returned when a sleepy voice was heard from the hallway:

“Why are you shouting? What time is it?”

Bob peeked out, his hair a mess and his eyes still squinting from his nap. The chaos stopped. You all looked at him. And you held the box up in the air like it was a trophy.

“Take it away!”

"What?"

“Take it!” you practically ordered him.

The poor man stumbled over to you and snatched the box from you, hearing a collective sigh. You were relieved, the others were annoyed.

"What is this?"

“I bought you a donut,” you explained simply.

Then he frowned and opened the box. It was a little squashed, but the blackberry dessert was still in one piece.

Bob blinked.

“Were you all killing each other over a donut?”

Perhaps it was the incredulous tone of voice, or how ridiculous the situation sounded when said out loud, but suddenly all of you found yourself holding back a laugh. A few seconds later, laughter erupted.

“What a shitty team we are.”

“We can share it, if you want…”

"Yes!"

“No!” you shouted in unison. Bob flinched slightly at the tone of your voice. “Walker can choke on all that’s left, but that one’s for you.”

You said it in a way that left no room for argument and he smiled slightly.

“It’s my favorite.”

“That’s what I said!” John complained. However, he didn’t pursue the matter further and approached the others, taking two more donuts as a sign of resignation.

As quickly as chaos had appeared, it was gone.

Alexei occasionally expressed his approval of what had just happened, arguing that this kind of situation was an exercise in group bonding. You thought you heard Bucky call you idiots, but in a tone that made it clear he didn't mean it.

"Here"

Your murmur brought Bob out of his thoughts, and he smiled broadly when you placed a mug in his hand. It was a gift from Yelena and was inscribed with: Today is a good day. Very appropriate, in your opinion.

"Thanks”

“Two of milk and one of sugar,” you announced with satisfaction.

His happiness only increased when he realized that you were actually paying attention to him.

You plopped down next to him on the soft couch—most people's favorite when it came to a nap—and he shrank down to give you space, sitting in the lotus position as he always did.

You watched him out of the corner of your eye. That day, he was wearing a thick, slightly baggy olive-green sweater with slightly long sleeves. The color had a muted hue, like moss or old pine, which brought out the sparkle in his eyes.

There was a white T-shirt underneath, barely visible at the neck. A pair of soft, dark gray sweatpants, the kind with drawstrings and deep pockets. And on his feet, a pair of dark socks with which he glided around the tower.

He didn't look scruffy, just comfortable.

“I got scared a little while ago. I thought something bad was happening.”

You let out a soft chuckle at his confession, feeling the tension in the air melt away.

“I’m sorry we woke you up.”

“Don’t worry. At least it wasn’t in vain,” he smiled reassuringly, taking a sip of his hot drink. The steam brushed his face before he opened the dessert box and looked at him with more than just hunger.

“How did you know this was my favorite?” he asked, surprised, as he carefully turned the box over in his hands.

“You told me.”

He looked up at you, clearly confused.

“Well… you didn’t tell me directly. I heard you muttering it in your sleep.”

“Do I talk in my sleep?”

“Apparently so. And you actually answer. Because when you said I'd give you a donut, I asked you what you were talking about… and you said you wanted this one.”

"How embarrassing.”

“It’s kinda cute, if you think about it.”

The rest of the group was absorbed in their conversations, muted laughter, and the occasional impromptu board game. Between you, the air felt more intimate, softer.

Bob took a bite of the donut. The slight crackle of the glaze broke with the sound of a deep sigh, as if something inside had loosened.

“When I was a good kid, my mom used to give me money to buy one of these,” his voice lowered slightly, almost as if he wasn’t sure if he should share “It wasn’t all the time, of course. And sometimes we went together, on the… the better days, you know. I think everything seemed simpler back then.”

He was silent for a moment.

“I’ve been thinking about her a lot lately, maybe that’s why I mentioned it in my sleep.”

“Oh… I… had no idea.”

“But it's a good thing. I forgot how good it tastes” a soft, nostalgic smile spread across his face. “I always liked this flavor because it has just the right amount of sweetness, with a hint of sourness. “I feel like it’s very similar to what life is like.”

He was silent again for a second, fiddling with the napkin between his fingers.

“It’s probably not something you’re interested in, but…”

“Yes, I’m interested,” you quickly interrupted “Any story you want to tell us will interest us, Bob. There’s Alexei with all his anecdotes from his years in the service… we’ve never complained, even though he tells them over and over again.”

He laughed a little, brief but genuine.

“Do you want to try some?”

“But it’s yours”

“I'd like you to try it. It's something I want to share.”

You hesitated for only a second before accepting. You leaned closer and took a small bite from the side opposite the one he'd tried. The flavor was more intense than you expected: sweet, sour, and smooth all at the same time.

Bob watched you silently, as if observing your reactions was more important than the dessert itself. When your lips curved into a smile, he nodded, satisfied.

“It's delicious.”

“Um, you have a little bit of jam left…” he said softly, leaning slightly towards you. He raised a hand, hesitant, then pointed a finger at your lower lip “This way.”

His gaze dropped to your mouth. The air seemed to stop for a moment.

For a moment, just a moment, it seemed as if he was going to lean closer. That he was going to wipe the jam off with his lips instead of his hand.

His eyes searched yours. And then, he took a deep breath. He lowered his hand, barely brushing your chin with his fingertips, and pulled away with a shy smile.

"That's it."

You didn't say anything at first. The warmth was still there, floating in the air, unnamed.

“You should, uh, drink your coffee. Before it gets cold.”

Your friend nodded at your suggestion and after that you tried to shake the nervousness from your mind, ignoring the sting that still burned where he had touched you.

Minutes later, fatigue began to take its toll. The noise of the group became a distant murmur, almost like a lullaby in the background. Bob leaned back slightly on the couch, still holding his cup in one hand. Without thinking twice, you approached and rested your head on his shoulder.

“Do you mind if I stay like this for a while?” you asked quietly.

“No. Stay”

His words were gentle. There was something so serene about him that made you close your eyes. Your arm instinctively reached for his, wrapping it around him in a gesture that didn't ask for permission, only offered shelter.

Bob stayed still, careful with every movement, as if breathing deeply could bother you. He felt your weight against his side, your breathing slowing. The warmth of your body was unlike any blanket; it was human, alive.

He felt held, loved, in a way he hadn't known he needed so much.

The team was always affectionate toward him. Many patted him on the back, hugged him unexpectedly, or sat very close without question. But this… this was different. It wasn't a casual display of affection. It was something that asked him to stay. Something that said: you're safe here.

He looked at you once more. You were already asleep, your lips parted and your brow barely relaxed. And although the chair wasn't entirely comfortable, and the noise continued in the background, Bob didn't want to move.

Not that night.

#bob reynolds #sentry #the void #bob reynolds x reader #sentry x reader #bob reynolds fanfic #thunderbolts fanfic #bob reynolds x you #thunderbolts #the new avengers #the new avengerz #lewis pullman #thunderbolts fluff #bob reynolds fluff #sentry fluff #robert reynolds #robert “bob” reynolds

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munsonify · 7 days ago

Note

hey!! i was rewatching season 3 and steve is just so cute, im sorry but if he tried to flirt with me at scoops ahoy, i would say yes!! i was thinking about a fic where they knew of each other in high school but were never friends then she runs into him working at scoops ahoy and he starts flirting BUT SHE ACTUALLY IS LIKE FLIRTING BACK AND HES SO FLUSTERED. and like they go out and it’s lowkey cute and afterwards is just some good classic steve smut

MUCH LOVE 💕

hey!! i adore this idea!! i’ve always loved season 3 steve and idc what anyone else says. sending love and apologies for taking so long, i hope you enjoyed this!!! (this fic ended up way longer than i expected im so sorry i dragged some of this shit on).

shoots and scoops

pairing. steve harrington x fem!reader

summary. after steve boldly starts flirting with you - his old classmate - at scoops ahoy, you take the opportunity and run with it.

warning/s. 18+ smut mdni, harmless flirty banter, possible ooc steve, steve calling r honey, steve calling r an idiot (affectionate), kissing/making out, hickeys, body worship kind of? (f!&m!receiving), oral (f!receiving), fingering (f!receiving), handjob, piv sex (protected), hand holding during sex, alludes to aftercare

word count. 6560

———

“well ahoy beautiful!”

your first instinct was to laugh - a deep, chest heavy chuckle that startled you when you felt it coming. you choked it down quickly, a slight wheeze slipping out in replace. it sounded slightly of a scoff.

the man standing in front of you was the last person you’d think would be flirting with you. steve harrington, whose hair was finally being constrained in a lousy sailor hat, stood with a flirtatious smile that has never been thrown your way. you know he hated how flat it looked, even if you barely spoke to him during high school. the man who always had every strand of hair placed perfectly would be caught dead before messing with his routine.

that was until now, which you assumed was not his choice.

it was a split second decision for you to respond the way you did. what the hell, right?

“ahoy handsome. nice hat,” you teased with a giggle. your eyes were bright behind your lashes as you look up at the man. he knew then he was a goner. a lump formed in his throat and his cheeks tinted pink quickly as he reaches up and takes it off.

you hear steve mumble something about a ‘stupid uniform’ as he drops the hat to the ground. in a weak attempt to try and redeem himself, he starts to ramble, moving away from your last comment. you’d never seen him get this way.

admittedly, you loved it.

“what can i get you, sweetheart? u.s.s. butterscotch? a banana split? plain chocolate? my number?”

you giggled at his last offer. for a second you thought, and for a second or two longer you faking-ly thought some more. you needed to make sure you didn’t come off as desperate. or at least too desperately.

you were honestly loving this attention.

“depends. how much does the latter cost?” offering him a sweet grin.

“just a date with me.”

your grin grew, and you knew you couldn’t resist.

“give me a scoop of u.s.s. butterscotch too and we’ll call it a deal.”

———

the moment you left with his number in one hand and a bowl of ice cream in the other, steve whipped around to find robin. he found her with her whiteboard propped up, marker with the cap still on. he was quick to snatch it from her hand, putting down two tallies under ‘you rule’.

“two? steve it was one girl,” robin protested, trying to wipe away the second tally. steve was quicker, moving the board to sit next to his discarded hat.

“she flirted back and i bagged a date with her. that deserves two.” he spun around to face the front of the store again, smoothing his hair back with a smug smirk. “i’m so back.”

———

a soft knock at your front door made your heart skip a beat. it’d been two days since you’d ran into steve at scoops, the flimsy napkin he wrote his number on the back of still on your nightstand, folded neatly. his voice sounded more smooth and confident over the phone. you could tell he talked himself up before answering to cool his nerves.

you checked yourself out in the mirror in passing, before moving to the door, opening it after a long, deep breath.

there steve was, hair done in his usual way. he wore a nice, short sleeved shirt that showed off his freckles biceps nicely, and a pair of his nicest blue jeans. you nearly poked fun at him for finally covering up his thighs, but you stopped yourself at the sight of the flowers in his hands. you settled on something a little less narrow. you definitely didn’t want him to think you were staring at him or anything.

“hey there sailor,” you greeted with a small smile, your eyes bright as you stare up at him. you tried looking in his eyes to avoid his toned arms, though his eyes were just as disarming. they’re a warm honey that make you fold.

“hey you,” his smile was just as pretty as his eyes. steve held the flowers in front of him, and you noticed how tight his grip was on the stems. was he as nervous as you were right now?

your heart skipped another beat at the way your fingers brushed against his when he passes you the flowers. in a desperate attempt to contain yourself, you welcomed him in and thanked him, rushing around to find a vase to set the beautiful flowers inside of. you weren’t worried about cutting the stems down or filling it with water just yet, only worried about your heart not falling out of your chest and straight into steve’s hands.

whether good or bad, you knew this was gonna be a long night.

———

it was a sweet night. steve treated you to dinner and a drive-in movie in which you spoke through most of. much to your surprise, you found it very easy to talk to the man. he was easy going in a way he never was in high school. his usual nonchalant attitude wasn’t as prominent anymore. you liked it.

“ya know,” steve whispered, leaning over towards you. his lips were right next to your face, only a few inches away from gracing your skin as he spoke. you were glad it was so dark, hopefully your blush wasn’t too prominent. “i betcha i could do that.”

by that, you were assuming steve meant karate. up on the screen was ralph macchio, side by side with mr miyagi in the second rendition of the karate kid. a small giggle rippled through your chest, eyes rolling playful as you turn a little to look at him. your faces were inches away, noses nearly brushing against each other. you could feel his warm breath against your skin. it smelt faintly of spearmint - he must’ve slipped himself a mint after dinner.

“you’re an idiot,” you teased, staring right into his eyes. “there’s no way in hell you could do that. you’re no macchio!”

“i am too! you haven’t seen my kickass fighting skills yet, you wouldn’t know,” steve exclaimed, still in a quiet tone. he’s speaking like he’s gotten into loads of fights before. “but i can promise you i could clear him, easy.”

steve was so certain in himself. you always knew him to be a little cocky, so this wasn’t much of a surprise to you. what was a surprise was how much you liked it. god were you screwed.

———

the drive back home was nice. you spoke to each other about how you enjoyed the movie, steve still convinced he could do karate. he even tried showing off, whacking his hand off the steering wheel like an idiot. that and the little wince he let out sent you into a fit of giggles you struggled to control. it wasn’t until the man shook his head, whispering a small ‘alright, alright’ that you managed to suppress them.

what really pushed you into silence was that same hand moving to rest against your thigh as steve drove. the sudden display of affection made you freeze. you weren’t repulsed or ungrateful for the sudden touch, only caught off guard. your teeth began to toy with your bottom lip in a weak attempt to contain yourself. you were so glad you were pulling into your driveway.

one of steve’s large hands pressed against the small of your back, gently guiding you to the front door of your house. he heard the way your breath caught in your throat and stayed there. the boy hadn’t even let go of you yet and you were already mourning the loss of his touch. in just a few minutes you knew he’d let go and be gone.

“i loved talking to you tonight,” steve spoke, his voice soft. he seemed fond, content.

“me too,” you told him, a small smile playing on your lips. it was almost shy. you watched as steves eyes flickered down to them, shiny with lipgloss you recently reapplied. the hand on your back moved to gently cup the side of your face. his thumb swiped slowly against your cheek, eyes gazing into yours.

“can i kiss you?” all you could do was nod. steve’s free hand found its way to your hip, gently pulling you towards him. his body slotted against yours perfectly, broad chest and strong arms practically enclosing you in. man did he smell good.

steve’s lips finally found his way towards yours, soft and inviting. they slotted between yours in a kiss that made your head swirl. if he didn’t have such a good grip on you you were sure you’d fall over from dizziness.

the kiss only lasted for a few too short seconds, your hands finding their way to his chest sometime during then. it took you a few moments to compose yourself enough to let your eyes flutter open. when you did, you caught glimpse of steve’s pretty eyes gazing at you, cheeks rosy pink and warm.

he let a soft sigh slip from his mouth. in a way, it felt painful for him to pull away from you. steve let his fingertips graze against your cheekbone, before dropping his hand to his side. the grip on your hip, however, stayed. his lips parted gently, mind swirling with thoughts he tried to get ahold of. he wanted to say something, but you really had a grip on his lungs. he wanted to stay, follow you to your bedroom. he wanted to feel your soft skin against his. he wanted to know what you tasted like. god, he had to stop. he didn’t want to mess things up by being to ahead of himself.

“would you wanna stay?” steve’s eyes went wide. everything from the tone of your voice to the way you stared up at him through your eyelashes screamed you wanted him too. needed him to. you about look as desperately as he felt. and, just like you before, all he could do was nod.

gripping the collar of his shirt, you gently pulled steve back down for another kiss. it was more heated this time, deep and needy, slow. a low hum reverberated in his chest, rattling against yours, eventually reaching your perfect lips. you blindly began to search behind you, a hand desperately trying to find the handle to your door.

steve helped, breaking the kiss for only a few moments, opening the door and pushing the two of you through it. the only thing he did was make sure it shut behind you two before his lips were back on yours, he let you slowly guide him in a stumble towards your room, arms holding each other steady as you make your way down the lengthy hallway.

on any other occasion, you’d be a little embarrassed by how cluttered your room was right now. your dirty laundry basket was overflowing, failed outfits from before the date in a small pile somewhere on the floor. the only thing you seemed to care about was getting steve out of these tight jeans of his.

once you secured your bedroom door shut, the man was careful with guiding you towards your slightly untidied bed. he let you lay down first, watching as you rest up on your elbows towards the top of your bed. steve was quick to climb up right after you, and even quicker with his hands, pawing at your waist as he leans down to connect your lips again.

a hand found its way to his hair, threading your fingers through it to tug his face closer to yours. it was a deep kiss, one that made you dizzy again. you were grateful for the soft landing behind your head in the case you do need to fall back.

steve’s lips parted after a while of your slow make out, tongue brushing against your lips in a plead. you let your lips part immediately, letting your tongue meet his, warm and desperate for more. finally, the man adjusted himself above you, gently moving to rest between your now parted thighs. when your lower halves connected you realized just how much trouble you’d be in.

his thick, heavy bulge pressed right against your covered heat when he settled in, letting his weight rest against you gently. even then, with the barriers between you two, you could tell steve was big. with the pressure still settled between your thighs, he adjusted himself slightly to rest against one of his forearms, pressing it right next to your side. his other hand started slowly exploring your body.

steve didn’t let his touch breach your clothes yet, despite the both of you desperately wanting him to. he was being respectfully, hand caressing up your waist, smoothing against your body until it settled beneath one of your tits, cupping slightly, yet not touching the supple skin. the boy could feel the way your bottom lip pouted out slightly into the kiss.

with that, steve pulled slowly away from the kiss, a small string of spit connected your lips briefly before it snaps. his eyes slowly opened, meeting yours in a droopy, heavy stare. somehow, he looked even more desperate than before. his hand drops down from its place beneath your chest, fingers beginning to toy with the hem of your shirt. he looked into your eyes in a desperate plead.

“can i?” steve whispered, not willing to move any further without your permission. you were quick to nod, almost too quick. if you weren’t so pent up you were sure you’d kick yourself for it.

you helped the man slide your shirt off your body, watching him discard of it on your floor amongst the other clothing of yours. steve still didnt seem to notice the mess, though, evidently preoccupied with something else. his eyes scanned your torso as respectfully as he could manage. he seemed to be memorizing your smooth skin - he admired the way your waist and hips curved (even through your shorts), the way your stomach pudges at, the way your tits sat perfectly inside of your bra.

that’s exactly where one of steves hands went next, behind your back to feel for the clasp of your bra. you gave him an encouraging nod, eyes trailing against his face, catching the freckles against his cheekbone. he was quick with pinching the clasp undone, something you were sure he’d practiced tons of times. while he was quick to unclasp your bra, he was slow to pull your straps down. steve let his fingers dance against the smooth skin of your arms, goosebumps waking at each dusted touch.

his eyes dropped down to your chest again the moment you bra was off. you saw the way his lips parted slightly, catching a glimpse of the way his adam’s apple bobbed as he lets in a quick, small breath. just before he could bring himself to start kissing on you, he felt your hand rest right against his chest again, gentle and needy. you gently tugged at the fabric of his tight shirt that was frankly hiding nothing, eyes pleading up at him for just a little look at him.

steve was quick to oblige, tugging off his shirt to expose his tanned upper body. dark, wiry hair spanned across his chest, eventually thinning down into a line that disappears into his too tight jeans. like a moth drawn to a light, your careful fingers found their way to his broad chest, nails scraping through the hair and against his skin delicately. you could feel the way steve’s stomach lurched and his abs tense slightly when your touch starts grazing down towards his stomach and happy trail. you were memorizing him the same way he was memorizing you, yet somehow, it felt different to him. the way you admired him with your gentle touch and your soft gaze tugged at his heart.

he was in desperate need of a distraction before he combusts. steve, as gentle as ever, slowly lowered himself against you again, large hands guiding you back down on the bed with him. unlike last time you leaned down, you let your back hit your soft mattress, head resting on one of your pillows with a pretty floral design on it. you let your hand rest on his lower tummy as steve’s face leans towards yours again, lips capturing yours in another breathtaking kiss.

you planted your other hand right on his shoulder, smoothing it against his skin in attempts to ground yourself in the moment, temporarily satiating your need for more. one of steve’s hands found its way to your waist, fingers tracing your skin, tickling you slightly. the other found its rightful place back beneath where your breast sits, cupping slightly. the smirk he gave into the kiss when he felt your breathing hitch against his thumb was diabolical.

steve broke the kiss just after that, lips trailing to your jawline in a slow, determined manner. he didn’t try and rush anything. he wanted to take his time with you, explore your body, truly feel you. steve let his lips kiss all the way to the pulse point on your neck before he truly latched his lips to you. you let your head rest back a little more, giving him all the room in the world to kiss where he pleases. it took you a second to realize his true intentions here, though the moment you felt his teeth begin to graze your skin, it clicked. you almost wished he would stop making you so dizzy.

once the man sucked a delicate, soon to be purple hickey to your neck, he let his lips trace your body even further down your neck. steve’s mouth trailed to the center of your chest before his head started to tilt up slightly to look at you, a quick check in to make sure you were still okay. he could feel how quick your heartbeat had picked up. the moment your eyes locked with his he knew to keep going. his slow kisses found their way to one of your breasts, the hand underneath reaching a little farther up to squeeze gently, lips grazing your soft, plush skin.

steve wrapped his lips wrap around your hardened nipple for only a few short moments, warm tongue grazing it, earning a pretty whine from your mouth. he received the same reaction when he gave your other breast the same attention.

the hands you had on steve’s body slipped away from him reluctantly as he travels down lower, intimate kisses pressed against your stomach and your sides. you weren’t quite sure where to put your hands yet, letting them hover above the two of you slightly until you were sure. just like your hands, steve eventually found his way to the hem of your jeans, his kisses pausing for a moment as he hovers over your clothed cunt. that’s when it hits you just how worked up he had you. all of those warm kiss and gentle touches have you aching for release, and more importantly, him.

steve’s pause had you worried, your eyebrow quirking up as you searched his face for some sort of hesitation or worry, any inkling of a ‘no, i don’t want to’. you saw none of the on his face.

“out of all the places you decided to stop,” you mumbled at breathlessly. “this is where you landed?”

steve let out one of his chuckles that make your tummy burn hotly, watching as he peaks up at you through his eyelashes. you began to lean up on your elbows again to get a better look at the boy. “just wanted to make sure you were okay, you idiot.”

you tried to contain your giggles, a few slipping out past your lips that were quirked up into a small smile. you gave him yet another nod, taking your lower lip between your teeth as you watched steve roll his eyes affectionately at you. his hands found their way to the buttons of your shorts, tugging your zipper down quickly afterwards. you lifted your hips up gently to help him shimmy them off of you, watching him tug them down and toss them with everything else of yours.

before you could let your hips settle back down, one of steve’s hands found its way to your lower back, holding you up for just a few short moments. he was quick to grab a pillow from beside your head, and even quicker to wedge it beneath your hips. you’re unbelievable was all you could think as you settled back down onto the bed.

heat spread up your neck and to your face the moment it hit you just how intimate he was being with you, broad shoulder placed between your spread thighs, face hovering over your lace panties. they were soaked through, you could feel it. even worse, you knew steve could see it, smell it even. and, as if steve could hear your thoughts, he brought a firm, soothing hand up to your hip. his thumb began to smooth against your bare skin, helping you settle down properly again.

every little touch he gave you was electric. a small zip flashed through the delicate skin of your thigh the moment steve’s other hand found its way there. though cold, though new, that touch soothed you too. he left small kisses on the skin of your stomach as he began to whisper to you.

“lay back, honey. let me take care of you.” fuck. you nodded to him in a haze, laying back into the bed comfortably. steve continued to leave small kisses against your exposed lower body, touch relaxing you even further into the bed until he finally made the move. his lips kissed right covered clit, making you jump ever so slightly. your slick made your panties transparent, leaving nothing to his imagination. soft kisses trailed down slow until his lips found your pulsing opening.

steve left a firm kiss right against it, letting it linger, before his tongue lolled out of his mouth. flat and eager, he let it slide from your leaking hole back onto your clit again, applying the tiniest bit of pressure against it before pulling away. an exasperated gasp left your mouth, a hand of yours moving to your forehead to rub slightly in irritation.

you always knew steve was a tease. he upheld that reputation a while with the ladies. you just didn’t think he was this much of a tease. he was working you up beyond belief. this was the complete opposite of how he’s been with you thus far - straightforward, easy going.

steve let his warm tongue connect with your clit once more, swirling around it slowly, before pulling away. this time, even with your desperate whine, he didn’t leave you hanging. his fingers hooked the sides of your panties, tugging at them enough to get your attention. you lifted your hips up long enough to let him tug them past your hips and down your thighs, before finally letting yourself rest down.

“so pretty honey,” steve whispered to you, hands finding their places back on your hip and thigh. you weren’t quite sure whether he was talking about you or your pussy - either way, it made your body heat up dramatically. without much of a thought, one of your hands found its way down to his, the one tracing your waist. he caught on to what you wanted quickly, grasping your hand in a gentle hold.

steve went through the same motions as before. after slowly spreading your folds apart with his unoccupied hand, his lips found your exposed clit in a warm kiss. he could feel the way it twitched against his flesh, and god did he love it. his lips trailed down to your opening again, watching as your arousal slowly drips out of you, leaking down to the puckered hole beneath it. a soft kiss placed against your opening was followed once again by his warm tongue, slowly sliding up through your folds again.

a breathy moan slipped out of both of your mouths at the feeling, only yours was followed by yet another as steve began to slowly lick at your clit. his tongue swirled and licked at the sensitive nerves with skill. you couldn’t help but bring your other hand down to his soft hair, threading through his locks gently to ground yourself, giving his hand a squeeze.

you could feel steve tense up, and you worried that maybe you’d done something you shouldn’t have. was he really that stuck up about his hair? you realized quickly how wrong you were when you saw the way his eyes fluttered shut for a few moments in pure bliss, lips wrapping right around your clit and sucking gently, almost as a thank you. you let out a choked moan the moment his lips latched and sucked, thighs tensing up slightly.

you were about to crumble hard, undoing all of the glorious work steve put in to work you up. he even doubled down, the hand not holding yours finding its way to your cunt, his middle finger collected up some of your arousal that was leaking from you. and, just as his tongue swirled around your clit once more, steve eased his thick finger inside of you slowly. a small gasp broke out from your mouth, feeling him pump his finger in and out of your tight hole. it wasn’t until several deep strokes that he pushed in a second finger, stretching you open, tugging a few desperate moans from your chest.

by accident, you’d tugged on the roots of steve’s hair. he didn’t seem to mind in the slightest, a guttural moan hitting against your clit, sending shockwaves up your body.

“i’m so glad i don’t have that stupid hat on anymore,” steve mumbled against you, lips a little too preoccupied with sucking deliciously on your clit.

“i kinda liked it,” you let out breathlessly, trying so hard not to fall apart too quickly. instead of verbally responding, steve simply curled his fingertips into a spongy spot in your body you didn’t even know someone could reach. your eyes rolled back into your head at the feeling, letting out a broken moan. it was all so much - you could feel the pressure building up in your stomach, and quickly.

steve’s fingers kept brushing against the perfect spot, his lips and his tongue somehow knowing exactly what you needed from him. your chest started to heave slightly as you rapidly approached your orgasm, grip on his hair tightening slightly, urging him to keep going. your moans sung out for him to hear, uncontrollable and needy. you tried to warn the boy, though your words came out in a slight mess right as everything hit you.

pleasure filled every inch of you as steve works you through your high. the wet squelching coming from your sopping cunt only encouraged him more. your whole body tensed up for what felt like forever, hand gripping his as you grind slightly onto him, desperate for the last bit of friction before he pulls away, whispering thank you’s to him. he gave your clit a final farewell - a soft kiss - as he slowly sliding his fingers from your cunt. you looked down in bliss just in time to see steve, king steve, wrap his pink lips around his fingers and moan at the taste of you.

hesitantly, you let go of his hand, gripping ahold of his shoulder instead as you gently tugged the man up the bed towards you. the poor guy was still stuck inside his jeans. somehow, he hadn’t torn the threads in the front, his hard, thick cock pressing against the coarse fabric in an attempts to release itself. once steve was properly hovered over you again, your hands went straight to his belt buckle, only you right before undoing it, looking right up at his dark, lust filled eyes. his eyes darted across your face worriedly, before letting it drop, shaking his in disbelief.

“funny,” he whispered, gently pressing himself against your hands further. you gave him a teasing smile right as you began fumbling with his belt. you wish you had the patience to admire just how nice the leather on it was.

steve let you fumble around with his zipper, only assisting you in kicking off his jeans, keeping it far away from the two of you. he was still situated between your thighs, this time his hips slotted perfectly between them, knocking them wide open. your hands found their way back to his soft tummy as he leans in closer, face inches away from yours, noses knocking against each others. your eyes were still focused downwards, though, letting your hands drift towards his steadily leaking tip. you traced it oh so gently through the fabric of his boxers, close enough to his face to hear him inhale sharply.

your fingers began to trace the length of his cock, feeling the curve he has to him. the loss of his fingers inside of you made you feel empty, and all you could think about was how perfect he’d feel inside of you. your hand gripped his length through the fabric and squeezed gently, watching as another splotch of pre cum appears in its wake. you were much less of a tease than steve, you realized, giving into him quickly as you slowly tug off his boxers, helping him discard them.

finally, you got a full, unfiltered and unblocked view of steve’s cock. truthfully, you’d never seen one quite as nice to look at. his tip was a bright red, still leaking pre cum, veins lining his length perfectly. he was heavy in your hands when you grasped him again, lips lifting into a pleased smile at the sound of his soft gasp. you gave him another gently squeeze, slowly twisting your hand up his length, and down just as slow, smearing what you’d collected at his tip down with it. your hand somehow seemed so small compared to his cock, and you loved it.

“need you inside of me, stevie,” you choked out, finally peeling your eyes away from his dick, looking straight into his eyes when he looked right back up at you. you batted your eyelashes at him, eyes begging for him as you continue to slowly stroke him. steve stares at you with an almost blank expression, almost like he wasn’t quite listening, little whines rippling through his throat as his eyebrows knit together.

you stop stroking him at his base, squeezing his thickness once again, touch not leaving him. “said i need you inside f’me, stevie, please?”

you watched as he finally processed what you said, eyes going wide, head nodding rapidly as he scrambles back to his jeans to fish out his wallet, tugging out a condom he so conveniently had stashed away in there. this is the first time tonight you’d seen steve so at loss for words, and you weren’t sure why.

he did, though. this was the first time since he’s been in the dating pool that he’s felt a real, honest connection with someone. sure, you guys had only been on this one date. he knew that. there was just something about you and you’re kindness, your humor, your passion for everything that had him swooning. intimacy was a lot different when you were with someone you could admire like that. not to mention how hot you are.

steve fumbled through slipping the condom on properly, and it didn’t help you were beneath him smiling patiently up at him like you were. the moment he successfully managed it on, he found his way back down to your level, faces finally close again. steve has an arm rested right beside your head, his hand gently brushing all your hair away from your face. he wanted to see you properly, look you in your eyes.

you gave him a reassuring nod, telling him that yes, you were ready - that you wanted him. with a hand cradling the top of your head and the other gripping the base of his throbbing cock, steve lined himself up with your entrance. he was gentle with the way he pressed himself into you, your arousal still plentiful, helping him ease his way inside of you better.

“fuck,” you let out, eyebrows and nose scrunched up at the way steve was stretching you out. he let you adjust to him inch by inch, knowing how difficult it is to fit him at first. you brought a hand up to his face, cupping his jaw to get him to look at you as he slid in the rest of the way, bottoming you out, eyes locking at the perfect time.

“there ya go honey,” steve whispered, lips pressing against your forehead as he encouraged you, his cockiness finally slipping through again. “i know, tight fit.”

you could tell why he put so much effort into working you up the way he did - getting you in the mood, kissing you all over, filling you up with his fingers. it made this ten times easier on the both of you. he liked doing all of it regardless, making you feel good that is. he liked being of service.

when steve pulled his lips away from your forehead, you were quick to bring his attention to your own lips, pulling the man down gently to connect them with yours. it was a deep, desperate, wet kiss, something you craved so badly right now. that’s when he started to rock his hips into yours, slowly rolling himself down against you. he let himself test the waters, see how easy it would be for you to adjust fully.

luckily for the both of you, after a few slow, deep strokes, you adjusted just fine. the arm not rested by your head found its way to your waist, fingers trailing your soft skin as he begins to find a rhythm to fall into. he picked up the pace a little, hips moving just a bit faster as you make out. you let your hand move to the back of steve’s head, fingers threading once again in his beautiful hair. it wasn’t until you rested your other hand against his chest, smoothing against it that you found out what really gets to him.

the feeling of your nails scrapping against his scalp, your hand firm against his chest, and your dripping cunt squeezing around him was fatal. his hips stutter and snap harder than he intended, a desperate moan falling from his lips and directly into yours. your body jolted slightly at the snap of his hips, a moan falling out of your mouth along with his.

“sorry, sorry you just- fuck you can’t just do that,” steve rambled out, breaking the kiss and slowing down his thrusts. you gave him the cheekiest smile, raising your eyebrows at him.

“why not, handsome?” you questioned, circling your hips at the perfect angle, his tip snagging at just the right spot inside of you, whimpering beneath him. “s-seems like you liked it.”

steve adjusted himself at the sounds of your whimpers, nudging himself around until he finds that spot again, slowly thrusting himself into you. your grip on his hair tightened again, bottom lip quivering slightly as you take in the pleasure.

“i do, i do,” he reassured, finally finding his rhythm again, moans slipping from your lips. “just not when i’m t-trying not to go too fast, or f-finish too fast- fuck, honey, feel so good f’me.”

your back arched just a little at the sound of him praising you, clenching down around him again, just like you did before that caused the praise he gave. steve’s eyes lit up at the realization. he had some dirt on you now, too, and man did it feel good to be even.

“wouldn’t m-mind if you went faster,” you spoke, eyes begging up at him, legs spreading wider. you were already sensitive from your last orgasm, but now that he knows you like being praised? and he’s looking at you like that? you were struggling to contain yourself. “wouldn’t mind if you went h-harder either.”

“yeah?” he questioned.

“yeah.”

steve gave you a long, gentle kiss on the lips, petting your hair down affectionately, before he sat up a little in his place. he uses his large hands to readjust your legs, helping you wrap them firmly around his waist, giving him more leverage to fuck into you properly.

with every thrust from then on, steve fucks you just a little faster, just a little harder, until he finds that sweet spot that has your eyes rolling to the back of your head. you reach a hand out to desperately claw at him, finally find one of his hands to grab onto, holding hands with him just like before. this time, however, you tangled your fingers with his holding onto him tight. he’s gentle when he pins your hand down against the mattress, the complete opposite of how he was fucking into you right now.

you started to writhe underneath him, moans becoming more frequent, eye contact becoming harder to keep. you were close.

“look at me,” steve spoke out, chest heaving a little from exertion, choked noises of pleasure bleeding through. “honey, look at me. wanna see those pretty eyes when we cum.”

you let your eyes flutter open, forcing eye contact with him as you rapidly approach your orgasm, his praise feeding into your pleasure. he gives your hand a squeeze, a squeeze you’re quick to reciprocate. he looks just as close as you are - fucked out and needy. you kept your other hand planted in his hair, anchoring yourself down, keeping him close.

“gonna cum, stevie, gonna- ohgod,” you could barely get your words out by the time your second orgasm washes over you. your cunt convulses around steve’s large cock uncontrollably, gushing around him. you fought tooth and nail to not let your eyes close, and you were so glad that you didn’t. steve was quick to cum right after you, face scrunched up all cute, moans and whines almost on par with yours, white ropes of warm cum filling the condom. he had a hold on your hips and waist that would leave bruises as he took you two through your orgasm.

you two stayed there for a few minutes. no thrusts, no tiny hip movements, just taking in the feeling of your orgasms, heavy breathing filling the room. you two still maintained eye contact, even after it was all done. you were the first to break the silence.

“can you wear your scoops uniform next time?”

“oh shut up.”

the both of you burst into a fit of laughs, steve finally, slowly pulling out of your wrecked cunt. you were glad you had a trash can in the corner of your room - the only thing steve had to do was stumble over and discard his condom, grabbing ahold of his boxers and his shirt, offering up the shirt for you to wear. you happily obliged, tugging it on, before motioning to your panties after he slipped into his boxers. steve wanted to make a comment about how you ruined the pair, but spared you just tonight.

he was hoping there would be many other nights where he’d be granted to opportunity to do that.

#munsonify #steve harrington #steve harrington imagines #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x female reader smut #steve harrington x fem!reader smut #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x reader smut #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x fem #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x y/n smut #steve harrington x y/n fluff #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fics #steve harrington fic #stranger things 3 #st 3

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sleepyjuice · 11 months ago

Note

Request, after fratboy!jj writes your name on his dick (with sharpie ofc like a dumbass) you help him get it off but the stimulation makes him cum

EEEEKKKKKDJ his dumbass!!!!

“Why the fuck did you use sharpie?!”

“You know, I didn’t think that part through.”

You rolled your eyes for what was probably the twentieth time in the past ten minutes as you walked back into JJ’s bedroom from the slightly disgusting frat house bathroom carrying a warm, wet washcloth with soap.

“You gotta admit, it’s hot though, right?” He grinned at you as he sat on the foot of his bed, clad only in a t-shirt and his boxers.

“Yes,” you sighed, kneeling down by JJ’s feet as you gestured for him to pull off his boxers. “But the fact that you used permanent marker is not. I don’t even think it’s gonna come all the way off.”

He obliged, pulling his boxers off and revealing his soft dick, your name big and bold along his shaft. This was such a JJ thing to do and you could tell his intentions were to make you feel special in his own JJ type of way.

“Well, just do what ya can,” he looked down at you with an endearing smile. “Totally worth it though, got you on your knees for me.” He half joked, wiggling his eyebrows.

You rolled your eyes once again, swatting his bare thigh as you grabbed his cock, feeling it immediately begin to stiffen, growing harder by the second.

You couldn’t help but blush. Regardless of the situation, the fact that you just had to get on your knees and lightly touch your boyfriend’s dick to get him hard made you feel all warm inside.

With a fake annoyed hum, you began gently rubbing the washcloth along JJ’s cock, careful to not be too rough and hurt him but using enough pressure to hopefully make some progress on removing the ink.

JJ’s stomach tightened immediately as you worked away on his dick, swallowing thickly as he attempted to keep his composure, even though at this point, he was fully hard.

“Well, I guess it is easier with you being hard…” you mumbled, staying focused on the task at hand. You really did not want to have sex with JJ while there was sharpie on his dick, so the sooner you got it off, the better.

“Mhm.” Was all he said in response, his fists clenching the sheets at his sides, his breathing becoming a bit heavier the more you rubbed his cock.

The warmth and the wetness of the washcloth was a nice enough feeling on its own, but the sight of you on your knees beneath him, brows furrowed in concentration and seemingly oblivious to the fact that he was getting off on this was bringing him close to nutting all over your hands.

And that’s exactly what happened.

“I think it’s starting to— oh!” You gasped as JJ let out a loud and shaky moan, his eyes widening as he met your shocked expression, taking you by complete surprise as he came in thick spurts all over your hands as well as the washcloth.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he panted, reaching down to cup your face. “I didn’t think— yeah… felt so good, baby, ‘m sorry.” He apologized, squeezing your cheeks lightly in his large hands, his own face slightly flushed, eyes glossy as he finished coming down from his unexpected orgasm.

You were quiet for a moment before you giggled loudly, shaking your head at your boyfriend as you wiped your hands clean with the apparent magic washcloth.

It was hard to ignore the blood that rushed to your center, thighs clenching absentmindedly as you fully realized everything that had happened. You just accidentally made him cum.

“JJ—“

“I know, I know,”

“Hey. That was hot, you’re fine, it’s okay.” You giggled again, but spoke firmly to assure him. You knew he was embarrassed and nervous he had upset you, but you weren’t upset in the slightest.

“Oh yeah?” He smirked lazily at you, his demeanor shifting once he realized you weren’t upset, rather the opposite.

“Yeah, but don’t get all cocky, you just nutted from me cleaning your dick.” You challenged, slowly standing up.

“Valid point.” he reached for your waist, pulling you onto the bed and laying you onto your back. He lowered himself onto his stomach, quickly reaching for the hem of your soft shorts and sliding them down your legs.

He positioned himself between your legs, his face inches away from your pussy as he spread your thighs, the only barrier being your quickly dampening panties.

“Let me say thank you for doing such a good job then.”

#jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #outer banks #jj maybank prompt #jj maybank one shot #jj maybank fanfiction #jj maybank fic #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank smut

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pricegouge · 5 months ago

Text

price x pregnant!f!reader meetcute drabble i whipped up on my lunch dedicated entirely to the girl at work who's too heavily pregnant to fit her scrubs rn. john price would love you, girl, keep your chin up

The worst part wasn't actually the discomfort of the papery material, nor the cheap elastic waistline which dug into your plush sides and itched like a sonofabitch. It wasn't even the embarrassment of having to track down your lead at the start of your shift and shamefacedly admit that you could no longer fit into your designated scrub pants and ask if he could maybe please find some spares somewhere? (He couldn't, because apparently no one on the team before you had ever fallen ill with a baby in the belly or even just gained a little weight.)

No, the worst part was the noise.

It hadn't been something you'd even considered until you were already barging into your first patient's room, swishing away with each step. Mr. Jeffreys had grumbled in his sleep, eye peeking open just as you'd leaned over him to start your morning check. Enough ruckus, woman. You'd thought he was just being irritable, a common enough occurrence, but then it happened again and again, each new room bringing another grumpy occupant, displeased about being woken up so far ahead of breakfast. Still, you almost preferred that to the early risers, the old biddies who would turn to greet you, already alert, take one look at you with your swollen belly overhanging the thin paper pants they'd made you wear over your reliable leggings, and start cackling loud enough to draw attention from the other orderlies.

You weren't the first pregnant woman to outgrow her pants, but you were perhaps among the first to have done so in a professional setting.

At least it got easier the more the day dragged on, quippy remarks coming more naturally to you the more you had them levelled at you in kind. You'd even let a little boy doodle on your shin, an attempt to keep his mind of his mother groaning in pain, attempting to work through a kidney stone. You're fairly sure you're rocking an Incredible Hulk there now, but it was a bit hard to tell with the way the magic markers had bled across the tyvek weave.

"Missed your calling."

You frown down at the man before you, thick brows only slightly pinched despite the way you knew his shoulder must be killing him. GSW. Didn't get many of them 'round here, but you'd seen enough hunting accidents to figure out the good stuff didn't always cut it. And this didn't seem like your average misfire, or pulled-shot graze. He'd been the talk of the nurses station when the call had come through to prep for him, bullet taken straight on, center mass. He wasn't from here, didn't seem to know anyone from here. No one believed it was a simple hunting accident, but the authorities had come and gone, sent skittering by a rather severe woman yielding a badge no one had gotten a good look at. No arrests, minimal testimonies. Rumors had sprouted roots, grew too tall too quickly to be believable. You'd heard everything from a jilted lover to some sort of military coup, but you hadn't placed much stock in anything other than the three letters which had remained unchanged on his chart since the moment he'd been admitted, and then later the surgeon's notes.

GSW. Successful operation.

That had only been two days ago. You'd been in his room once before, set about the same task. He'd been fast asleep, the handsome man who's been visiting offering charming but ultimately short conversation. It hadn't bothered you as you'd been in a rush, and you'd known full well the stress loved ones usually felt, trying to ensure the best possible rest for their injured loved ones.

He had no guard dog today, no one to send you packing when your putzing made too much noise. And now you've woken him, poor man.

"Pardon?"

Blue eyes blink open, cloudy with pain and the influence of strong meds but surprisingly alert. They flick down to your leg, shoulders tensing a bit as he lifts his head to see properly. "Pretty tree you've made there."

You can't help but laugh. "Seems I'm right where I should be, then, seeing as that's supposed to be the Hulk. I think," you add once you've earned a smirk.

"Can't even remember what it is you've drawn? You the reason I can't find a comfortable position? Been stealing my morphine?"

"I wish," you sigh, pat your belly dramatically. "But they say it's bad for baby."

His brows lift into his hairline, pain momentarily forgotten as he looks you over again, as if seeing you for the first time. You realize pretty quickly that he's one of those people, the crinkling around his eyes revealing him as the type. It's one of the weirdest parts of being pregnant, the strangers who look at you with awe, as if you've hung the moon. You try not to think too much of it, don't like imagining couples who've tried for years when all you've managed to do was slip up your birth control one time, like a fool. This man isn't wearing a ring, but that doesn't mean much. Most women who carry on after you are single, too. At least he's not trying to touch your belly.

"Is that why you're half way to a paper gown? Come wandering from maternity?"

"Har, har," you deadpan, waving your stethoscope at him although you know full well he's seen it - hard to miss, resting atop your swollen tits. "No, I've simply grown too fat for my scrubs. And I think my lead's having too much fun embarrassing me about it."

He frowns, somehow vaguely patronizing even while heavily medicated. "No spares for someone in your condition?"

"Nope! Apparently I'm lucky enough to be the only fertile little heifer ever on the team," you snark, and then squint at his monitor when his pulse spikes unexpectedly.

"Sorry," he mumbles - odd - and when you check, you notice some color to his ears. He clears his throat to distract you from fretting, though the softness is gone from his eyes again, replaced by an implacable type of tension. "Perhaps they're simply not used to expectant mothers working so late into their term?"

Ah. At last, the well-meaning concern. It grates at you worse than usual, the ease and simplicity (albeit annoyance) of your silly morning falling apart in seconds. Perhaps it's that, the whiplash, that has you huffing irritably, mood plummeting. "Well. Someone's got a pay my bills," you gripe, snapping the claw of his clipboard just to work out some aggression. Maybe it's the hormones.

There's a huff of breath, almost as animated as yours. When you look to make sure he's not aspirating or something, your new friend's absurd mustache is twitching. "Well. That's what Mr. Pretty Nurse is for, no?"

The phrasing makes you smile, hands gentling as you busy yourself with his monitor. This is familiar ground, at least, a path well-tread which you'd like navigating with a conversational partner who would call you Ms. Pretty Nurse. "Sure," you concede, tapping away at his station to check the trend of his vitals. Steady, even. All night. Like he was practiced at taking bullets. "You ever see him, you tell him he owes me a back log of bills, alright?" In truth, your 'mister' never was a mister, just some guy you'd been trying to blow off steam with. He'd cut and run the second you'd brought up the pregnancy, but you'd decided to keep it after some thought and had never followed up with him, deciding it ultimately was no longer his concern. You harbored no ill will, really, but the dead beat dad was a common schtick, an easy conversational piece when simply shooting the shit with talkative patients. If the worst part about pregnancy was the noisy pants (and the morning sickness, and the belly hair, and the leaky nipples and the -) then the best part was surely the built-in small talk.

"Be sure to let him know," chops murmurs, voice tight. You check his file again, correct your mental dub with his real name, John Price. Traditional, like the neat beard hiding the growing color in his cheeks. When he speaks again, his voice is slightly rougher. "Who did that, then?"

You think he's pointing to your belly, far too forward, but when you check you see his finger aims lower, towards the art that started this conversation. "Kid over in pre-op. Was upset watching his mom writhing around. Passing a stone," you supply with an exaggerated whisper, as if telling him some scandalous secret.

John grins, soft again. "You'll be good at it, then."

"Pardon?" you ask absently, watching as his heartbeat seems to flutter weakly.

"Said 'too round for scrubs,'" he chuckles. "Good job, mama."

You scoff, scandalized, but when you turn to him you find he's got that far off look in his eye, a sharp contrast to the lucidity of his speech. That does it. You tut, leaning over him to check his forehead with the back of your hand. And outdated practice, sure, but still useful in a pinch. He doesn't feel overly warm, but his focus has slipped back into that slight haziness, blissed out and vaguely absent, staring a good half a foot below your eyes.

"Mr. Price -," you start but he interjects.

"Just John, love."

"Sure. John. Are you feeling okay?"

Eyes crinkling again, he gives you an unbearably soft smile, at odds with everything you've managed to glean from his chart. "Never better, doll."

banner by @/cafekitsune

#it's shit but i haven't written in weeks so we're rolling with it and we're being nice #price x reader #john price x reader #captain john price x reader

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mrsmangi · 5 months ago

Text

found - luigi mangione

♡ summary: luigi spends his nights haunted by dreams of you—vivid, tender, and impossibly real. each morning, he wakes with the ache of losing you, over and over, with no foreseeable end. how much more can he take? ♡ w.c.: 6.3k ♡ a/n: hi. this is a continuation of my fic, past life. it was absolutely devastating to write, but i will post this with pictures of luigi in his red sweater (again) to make myself feel better because it's my favorite outfit of his thus far. hope you guys enjoy!

♡ trigger warnings: this work contains themes of depression, grief, and suggestive content. please proceed with care.

—

The soft click of the apartment door echoes in the stillness as Luigi steps inside, his hand lingering on the cold metal doorknob for support. The familiar scent of perfume drifts toward him, engulfing him in a warmth that feels too good to be true. He pauses, a faint flicker of awareness settling in his mind.

Luigi is dreaming, again–he knows it. The clarity of the moment, the way every detail feels sharper than reality feels unmistakable, but he knows this isn’t his world.

These dreams had become more frequent since the first–when he had met you. He felt each of them pulling him into this world, further and further down the rabbit hole, where you waited for him. Although he was beginning to become acquainted with it–his abnormal awareness in his dreams–, it never stopped feeling strange to him. It was as though he continuously existed in two places at once: as the man in his dreams, showered with intimacy from his lover, and the man outside of it, alone.

He is unsettled. Not just by the vividness of his illusions, but how natural it all feels, as if this version of his life is just as real as the one he always returns to in the morning. The longer Luigi stands, the harder it is to ignore the whispers of longing plaguing the back of his mind. Despite knowing it isn’t real, he can’t help but wish it were.

So, he chooses to stand and take it all in. It feels like home.

That’s when he sees it.

Streamers criss-cross on the ceiling in haphazard lines. Balloons floating lazily in corners of the living room. Taped to the wall in large, uneven letters is a banner that reads: “WELCOME HOME, LUIGI! ♡” Glittery, colorful, slightly crooked letters–but perfect. He blinks, heart dropping to his stomach. An overwhelming sensation; one that pleasantly surprises him.

You stand in the center of it all, clutching a poster board almost as tall as you, the word “HI” scrawled across it in colorful marker and uneven glitter glue. Your grin (that beautiful grin he just adores) stretches wide. You are sunshine personified, he realizes fondly, a dazzling beam of joy. You only grow brighter the moment your eyes lock.

Immediately, you burst into laughter, poster board slipping from your hands and clattering to the floor as you sprint toward him.

“Luigi!” you call out, voice bursting with excitement and relief.

Before he can react, you crash into him, arms wrapping gently around his waist. He stumbles slightly, caught off guard, body stiff and protesting the sudden movement. He doesn’t care. Dropping his bag to the floor, he folds himself around you, breathing in the familiar scent of your hair. The warmth of your body against his is almost enough to make him forget the ache in his back and the heaviness of his legs.

Your lips find his in a kiss so tender, he thinks his knees might buckle from beneath him. For a moment, Luigi feels no pain. The accident never happened and he was never escorted to the hospital, or bedridden for over a week. There’s just you, soft and warm and impossibly close. He leans into you, hands curving around your waist, melting into place.

When you finally pull away, your hands cup his face, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones as you study him. “Hi,” you whisper cheekily.

“Hi,” he breathes.

“I missed you so much,” you sigh. “You have no idea.”

Luigi’s lips twitch into a faint smile. His chest swells with gratitude. “I missed you more,” he confesses softly. Luigi knows this won’t last. It never does.

The welcome banner, the streamers, your smile–none of it will follow him when he wakes. He’ll wake up, alone in a bed half empty because you won’t be there. But even knowing all of it, Luigi lets himself savor every moment he has with you, holding onto you like a lifeline.

He will let himself believe it’s real, even if it’s just for a fraction of a second. The pain in his spine becomes more pronounced, and he can’t tell if it’s just because he’s post-recovery or because he knows this is only temporary, especially when he wants it to be permanent so desperately.

“Are you still with me?” Your voice pulls him out of his thoughts. He snaps out of it, looking down at you as you smile up at him, teasingly. You always seem to know when his mind begins to wander. You are so patient. He likes that about you.

“Yeah, sorry. Just thinking,” he pauses, arms still hooked around your waist. He looks over the room once more. “You didn’t have to go through all this trouble just for me.”

“Don’t be silly. It wasn’t any trouble and even if it was, yes, I did,” you say. “You’ve been stuck in bed for over a week in that awful hospital room. I just couldn’t wait for you to come home. I wanted so badly to remind you how loved you are.”

Luigi swallows hard. There’s a lump in his throat that makes it impossible to speak. Instead, he tightens his hold on you, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You only laugh and run your fingers through his curls. For however long it lasts, he wants to lose himself in you. Pretend this fleeting world of light and warmth and all things good will last forever.

“I don’t deserve you,” he murmurs into your skin, quietly.

“Stop that,” you scold gently, pulling back to meet his eyes. “You deserve everything, Luigi. I’m just getting started.”

You take his hand and lead him to the couch, guiding him to sit down. He winces slightly as he lowers himself onto the cushions, a strain in his back reminding him of his limitations. You notice in an instant, as perceptive as always. Your hands flutter over him as though you could soothe his pain with sheer willpower.

“Are you alright?” you ask, worry etched into your features. “How is your back? Do you need a pillow? A hot pad? Water? Anything?”

He chuckles despite himself, shaking his head. “I’m okay,” he reassures you, although the throbbing of his spine indicates otherwise. “Better now that I’m home. With you.”

You kneel between his legs, resting your hands lightly on his knees as you tilt your head up to look at him. “Bedridden for over a week and still handsome as ever,” you tease. The tone of your voice is playful, but there’s something in your expression that feels darker. He releases a shaky breath, clearing his throat subtly.

“Talent,” he replies dryly, a small smirk curving across his lips.

You laugh. It sends a pang of languish straight to his heart. It hasn’t hit him just how much he’s missed hearing that sound until now. It’s only been a few days since the last dream, but to him, it’s felt like years.

“Seriously, though,” you say, eyes softening. “How are you really feeling?”

He hesitates, smile faltering. “I’m getting there,” he admits. “It’s still difficult. The pain isn’t great, and I’m not exactly thrilled about having to take it easy for who knows how long. But…” He gazes at you, then around the room. All the effort you had put into making this moment as special as possible. All for him. “Coming home to this? To you? It helps so much more than you know.”

His heart skips three beats at once when you grin, leaning forward and resting your cheek against his knee. “Good,” you say gently. “I’m so excited to have you home. It’s so boring without you.”

He breathes out another laugh, but before he can reply, your hands slide upward. Your fingertips trace the pattern of his jeans–slowly, deliberately. He feels his breath hitch as you gently pry his legs apart, movements unhurried but undeniably calculated. There’s a lustful glint in your eye that sends a jolt of heat through him. He doesn’t find it in himself to look away, entranced by your movements.

“You’re stuck with me now,” you whisper, kissing the inside of his lower thigh gently. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Luigi’s breathing becomes heavier as you work your way up his thigh, and he opens his mouth to reply, but the words never come.

—

When he awakes, Luigi stirs in discomfort. His eyelids feel heavy as they open slowly. The emptiness of his apartment hits him like a tsunami. The silence washes over his body, drowning him. His legs feel sore, his chest throbbing as he lays motionless, staring at the ceiling.

He rubs a hand over his face, as if he could chase away the remnants of the dream, but it’s done in vain. He knows he couldn’t erase you from his mind, even if he tried.

“Are you even real?” he wonders aloud, eyes boring into the plain paper of the ceiling above.

When no one answers, he sighs. He sits up and the pain returns. In his head, in his back, in his stomach, and within his heart. His mind feels foggy.

It’s not just the dream that haunts him, but the life within it: the life where you exist, where he isn’t so fucking miserable and alone.

The day unfolds sluggishly, each hour stretching longer than the last. Reluctantly, Luigi forces himself out of bed, his body protesting every movement. He spends the morning shuffling through small, mindless tasks–folding laundry he forgot to put away, wiping down the counters in his kitchen, and clearing the clutter off his nightstand. All things that should distract him, but in reality, it does little to lift the weight pressing down on his chest.

Even as his apartment is neater and cleaner, he feels no real sense of accomplishment nor satisfaction, only a quiet, gnawing emptiness eating away at his being. His thoughts always seem to drift back to you.

By midday, he stares blankly at his computer screen, shuffling through emails he has no intention of answering. A notification from a friend briefly catches his eye, but he hesitates to respond. What could he even say? There’s nothing to say, he tells himself. The words feel distant, unreachable. Instead, he closes the laptop and sits in silence.

The hum of the fridge in the next room is the only sound that breaks the stillness. When his stomach eventually growls, he throws together a half-assed sandwich, eating it mechanically while staring at the muted television. The show he puts on–once a comedy that made him laugh–fails to hold his attention. The afternoon drags on. Luigi drifts from task to task with no real purpose, his movement more on autopilot than anything else. He tries to focus on a book he’s been meaning to finish, but the words blur together on the page.

“Fuck off,” he groans, setting it aside and leaning back into the couch he sits on. The ceiling stares back at him.

The evening settles in. He makes another half-hearted attempt at cooking dinner, though the plate ends up sitting untouched on the counter. The hours stretch endlessly, and all he can think about is how desperately he wants for the day to end. He misses you.

He needs you.

He needs to feel tethered to something real, even if it’s only fleeting.

Luigi’s eyes drift to close, the corners of the room growing hazy and darkening as he dozes off.

—

“You don’t have to push me away, Luigi.”

Something is different about this dream, Luigi notices. He can hear it in the way you say his name: unbearably frustrated, but somehow still gentle. He feels it in the strange sense of detachment that ties him to his spot before you. Although he knows this is just a dream–just another insufferably short dream–, the words manage to make him flinch, as if he’s a match struck against sandpaper. There’s a fire catching in his heart before he has the chance to smother it, and the flame is your voice.

His body reacts before he even has the chance to register that it’s your voice. He feels like a passenger in his own skin when it hits him: he’s not in control.

He feels his hands curl into fists at his sides, nails biting into the flesh of his palms. There’s a familiar tightness in his back sending sharp, burning pulses of discomfort through his body down to his legs, one he can’t simply ignore, but it seems painless in comparison to the throbbing of his stomach.

Are you two fighting? He doesn’t want to fight.

“I–” Luigi begins, but the words get caught in his throat, trapped by the weight of his shame as he gazes at your confused expression. He can’t look at you like this, so he doesn’t. He shifts his gaze away.

“You’re shutting me out again,” you say. Your voice is steady, but he hears the tinge of pain it carries. It’s familiar, it’s recognizable; a pain similar to his own. “I know you’re hurting. I know this feels absolutely frustrating and impossible to overcome, but do you really think I would leave you because of something like this?”

He hears himself release a sharp, harsh breath, turning his face away as his jaw tightens. He runs a hand over his mouth before holding his head in both hands. “It’s not as simple as that,” he hears his voice mutter. There’s a bitterness in his tone that he can see startles you from his peripheral vision. It startles him, too. He pretends it doesn’t bother him. He sees the flicker of hurt in your expression; he wants to reach for you, to tell you that he’s not in his right mind, but his hands remain motionless. He keeps talking. “You don’t get it.”

“Then help me get it,” you urge him, stepping closer to him.

He’s sitting on the couch. You kneel before him and take the hands that carry his head into your own.

“Luigi,” you breathe, eyes scanning his face for a sign of understanding. “You don’t have to carry this alone. Please, let me be here for you. I want to stay.”

He can’t look at you. He trains his eyes to burn holes into the carpet rug of the apartment floor.

There’s a numbness that he feels settling in, brushing against the nape of his neck, crawling its way down his chest and curling upward to his temples. His heart churns and twists beneath his skin. He’s caught between his desire to let you in–let you hug him, console him, reassure him–and the fear of his inescapable reality: he will drag you down with him if he allows you to remain with him any longer.

I don’t want to hurt you, he thinks. The words you hear instead are: “You have no idea what it’s like.” His voice is low, tremors racking his throat. “You have no idea what it feels like to wake up, knowing I can’t be everything that you deserve.”

“Luigi,” you plead. “Luigi, you are everything to me.”

“You say that now,” he laughs bitterly, shaking his head, “but what happens when it’s too much?” He finally looks up at you. He feels the word vomit creeping up his throat. This doesn’t feel like him. He can sense it–he’s about to say something he’s going to regret, but he can’t help himself. You need to know.

“I can’t do the things I used to,” he says as a matter of fact. “I’m 24-years-old. I’ve barely lived. I can’t surf or hike or go to the gym like I did before. I can’t even fucking sit for too long without feeling like my spine might shatter. It seems like every single, miniscule movement I make fucks with the way my entire body feels. My friends are getting sick of hearing how depressed I feel–” He pauses, making eye contact with your broken gaze before continuing. “And you,” he breathes, watching your nostrils flare as tears well in your eyes. “You’ve been so fucking patient with me, baby. You’ve been so damn good, and you know, I can’t even fucking make love to you,” he hears his voice crack. He sees your eyes glint with indignance and he knows you’ll attempt to protest. He continues.

“Do you know what that’s like? To look at you and not be able to give you that part of me anymore.” His hands twitch on his lap, fists clenching and loosening.

Luigi sits in horror of himself. He wants to take the words back, to silence the voice coming from his mouth, but he can’t do anything but watch. It’s torture. Can’t he just shut up?

No, he can’t. The person in charge of his body keeps going.

“It might be a stupid thing to be worried about, but I know I can’t pleasure you like I used to. You can sit here and deny it all you want, but you and I both know ever since that stupid, fucking accident happened, everything has been different and it’s not just about the sex. You drop everything for me to go to doctor’s appointments, pick up my prescriptions, you don’t go out with your friends or see your family anymore. I mean, for fuck’s sake, baby,” he places emphasis on your name, tearing his hands out of yours to grasp your face.

His thumbs brush your cheekbones, holding your face as if it was made of porcelain. They wipe away your tears. Tears he’s responsible for prying out of you. Luigi has never hated himself more.

“Your whole life has been placed on hold for me,” he whispers. “You’ve given up so much. How am I supposed to live with myself knowing that? I’m a burden to you.”

You’re staring up at him, helpless. He knows the words hang in the air, igniting an overwhelming silence to suffocate the two of you. The thought that he’s pushed you too far, teetered your state of being over the edge, crosses his mind. He desperately hopes that isn’t the case.

As your tear-filled stare searches his face, he has a feeling it isn’t, but there’s something unreadable in your expression. There are hints of perplexion, hurt, and confusion, but something else. Something healing: tender, unrelenting love.

Slowly, you reach up and he feels your small hands over his own where they hold your face.

“Luigi, I love you,” you say softly, “I love you so much. That’s why I’m here, not out of obligation. You could never be a burden to me, Luigi. You never have been and never will be.”

He feels his hands falter, dropping from your face as his shoulders sag. I believe you, he wants to scream out. His body won’t allow him to. There’s doubt that lingers in the back of his mind–doubt he refuses to claim as his own.

For a moment, Luigi thinks his body will finally relent. That, by some kind of miracle, he’ll collapse into you and let the heat of your body consume his own. But instead, he feels himself pull away from you. His hands fall completely, weight shifting as he pushes himself up from the couch. His legs feel as heavy as ever, but they move him away anyway, carrying him to the door.

“What are you doing?” he hears your voice rise, panicked. “Luigi–where are you going? Please, let’s talk about this.”

He hears the steps of your feet against the cold, wood floor, the quick catch in your breath as you follow after him.

Stop, Luigi pleads. Turn around. Don’t do this.

When Luigi realizes he doesn’t, a scream builds in his chest, desperate to escape. He feels his jaw tighten, shoulders tense, and his steps are automatic. Then, you do something that makes him falter–you throw your arms around him, wrapping yourself tightly against his back. Your fingers grip the fabric of his shirt to anchor yourself to him, refusing to let go.

He freezes as he feels the warmth of your body pressed to his, your trembling breath against his shoulder.

“Please,” you beg, voice raw and breaking. “Don’t do this.”

He feels it then: a tender, desperate kiss pressed between his shoulder blades. The warmth of it burns through the layers of fabric resting on his back, searing into his skin like a brand. Your lips linger there, trembling, and it feels as though you’re willing him to stay. He feels every ounce of love and hope that you’ve poured into a single touch.

This is what you want, he hears his own voice urging him to accept it. To stay. This is what you need. Don’t let her go. He feels nauseated when his hands reach down and pry yours from his torso. His movements are gentle but firm. To Luigi, it feels like the cruelest betrayal. He’s a prisoner in his own skin.

“I can’t make you happy anymore, (Name).” Your name rolls off his tongue without him even having to think about it. Luigi can feel defeat ruminating in his soul, causing him to tremble. He finally knows your name and it’s come to him in the worst way possible. It’s wrong, it’s unfair. He can do absolutely nothing to console you or wipe away the tears that continue to spill from your cheeks because his asshole body won’t let him. His voice sounds muffled, distorted and distant, yet unmistakably his own. The words spill out like they belong to someone else. He doesn’t recognize himself. “This isn’t the life you deserve.”

He steps forward, heading for the door, slipping out of your grasp completely. He misses your warmth already. Your arms fall to your sides. He feels a sense of relief that isn’t his own wash over him when you don’t move to follow him, but an overwhelming sense of grief overcomes him.

“Luigi,” he hears you call out to him.

Stop.

His legs halt with his hand on the doorknob. He doesn’t dare to look back.

“I’ve never cared about having a perfect life,” he hears you say, voice mirroring his own defeat. “Ever since I met you, I,” you pause to release a shaky breath, voice cracking with each syllable you verbalize. “All I’ve ever wanted is you.”

Luigi’s heart plummets, the weight of your words settling heavily in his chest.

Luigi has never loved anyone the way he has learned to love you. It was ridiculous of him to believe he could love someone the way he loves you–relentlessly, unconditionally, and all-consuming–without consequence.

The phrase still punctures him right to the core, like a knife being plunged into him, over and over. The tremble in your voice, your unmistakable sincerity, cuts him deeper than any pain he’s ever known. All Luigi truly wants to do is turn around.

To fall to his knees and beg for your forgiveness, to tell you you’re everything he’s never known that he’s always wanted.

But his fingers only tighten around the doorknob, legs trembling as they continue to push him forward. Slowly, he pulls the door open. The hinges creak softly, the sound piercing through your shared silence.

Once he steps into the threshold, the warmth of the room behind him–your warmth–slips away, right between his fingers. The cool air of the hallway bites at his skin, but it’s nothing compared to the chill in his chest. He feels himself hesitate, shoulders falling under the heaviness of it all.

Say something. Anything. He screams at himself, but his lips remain shut.

He closes the door behind him. When the latch clicks gently, its sound feels deafening. A symbol of the finality of his choice. He only stands for a moment, just as he did before, when the warmth of your love came over his body. He ruminates in the cold. He lets out a breath he wasn’t aware he had been holding when the stifled sound of your muffled sobs bleeds through the wood of the door behind him.

He nearly breaks, right then and there. Nearly.

He turns and wills himself to walk down the hallway, each of his steps feeling heavier than the last. The fluorescent lights above cast long, harsh shadows upon him, but he pays them no mind. He ignores his vision blurring, head spinning with grief, helplessness, and anger. Your words only ring in his ears, growing louder with every echo of his heels.

All I’ve ever wanted is you.

It becomes a chant in his head–a mantra playing on a constant, never ending loop in his mind. Everything else becomes drowned out. He feels his fist clench at his sides, nails digging crescents into his palms as if the pain might awake him. It doesn’t. He reaches the elevator, feet dragging. He presses the button, the weak ding of the elevator arriving and pulling him from his haze.

The doors slide open, he steps inside. The metallic chill of the space envelops him. The light of the elevator reflects off its stainless steel walls, making him feel small.

He reaches for the button for his floor but hesitates, hand overing over the button, mid-air.

Don’t.

He does anyway. He presses it with the sharp exhale through his nose.

Just before the doors slide shut, Luigi feels his legs finally give out, and he leans against the wall. His head falls back as he stares up at the metal ceiling. His chest heaves, breathing uneven, legs numb, vision blurring even further.

All I’ve ever wanted is you.

It begins before he processes what happens. The tears fall from his eyes quicker than he can manage to wipe them away. Luigi heaves a gut-wrenching sob as the pain in his chest blooms. His body shakes with the force of his anguish, raw and irrepressible.

As the elevator doors close with a dull thud, he’s finally able to scream.

The dream shatters.

—

When Luigi wakes, the tears are already falling, hot and heavy against his cheeks, flooding his ears. His chest wracks his being with silent sobs. His fingers brush against his damp face as if trying to wipe away the echoes of your voice and leave them behind him. But it doesn’t leave him. He has a feeling it never will.

He lays there for what feels like hours, unmoving. He feels like a corpse.

It takes him longer than he would like to admit to realize something is missing. The realization doesn’t hit him until later that evening, when he’s standing under the steady hot stream of the shower. The water pelts his skin, but does nothing to soothe the ache of his entire body. He runs a hand through his curly, wet locks. He tries to scrub away the fog in his mind, scrub you away, but it’s no use. The fog and the memory of you cling to him like a second skin.

He steps out of the shower, towel tied loosely around his waist, he stops in front of the mirror. The steam blurs his reflection, so he wipes away the condensation of the mirror when something catches his eye in its reflection. In another mirror behind him, there’s the trace of a mole on his back, faint.

A mole on his back, in the exact same place you had kissed in his dream. He freezes as the fragments of the dream rush back to him.

The name–your name. It was there, in that horrendous God-awful dream, vivid and sharp. It echoed in his mind just moments ago. Now, it’s slipped away from him, gone as quickly as it came. It’s there, on the tip of his tongue, he can feel it but he just can’t remember. The harder he tries to hold on to it, the faster it disappears and fades farther away. He closes his eyes, pressing his forehead against the glass of his mirror, and exhales shakily.

You were gone.

After that, so were the dreams.

Days without dreams blurred into weeks. The dreams that had once been a cruel comfort had abandoned him entirely. The rest of his life drags on in a haze of monotony, each day more dreary than the last. He wakes up, gets himself out of the house, comes home, and repeats the cycle.

There’s an emptiness gnawing at him from the inside out.

The flowers of the corner stand he passes when he leaves the house used to catch his eye–the bright daffodils and carnations bursting with life–but now, they’re dull. The colors of their petals muted by the overcast sky of New York. Luigi finds himself stopping to stare at times, hands buried in the pockets of his coat. He gazes at them as if they will remind him of something, anything. They don’t.

When the silence of his apartment is insufferable, Luigi goes out to eat instead of cooking at home. Yet, every coffee he orders tastes bitter, no matter how much sugar he adds, and every piece of food he shoves into his mouth leaves a bland aftertaste in his mouth.

Occasionally, his friends text or call, asking him to meet up. He finds himself declining more often than not. It’s not that he doesn’t care, really, it’s not. It’s simply because he can’t find the energy to fake being “okay.” On the rare instance that he does go, however, he finds that their laughter and lighthearted conversations–that should be comforting–feel static in his ears. So, he sits silently, nursing a drink he can’t muster the willpower to finish.

He takes midnight strolls to avoid resting, wandering the city aimlessly. He lets the cold air penetrate his skin as he searches for something he can’t name. Perhaps a purpose, maybe a sign, an indicator of your presence. Anything to fill the empty pit in his stomach that has grown every day since you’ve been gone. It all feels so futile.

When Luigi is home, the clock ticks loudly. The hum of the fridge grates on his nerves. The TV drowns out his silence, but the dialogue of the shows he plays are nothing but meaningless background noise.

The ache in his chest persists.

—

Months pass before Luigi begins to convince himself he is moving on. Slowly, reluctantly, but moving on nonetheless. The dreams never returned, and with them, the constant emptiness in his gut that made him feel hollow. The name–the one he couldn’t bring himself to remember–had grown quieter in his mind.

His days filled with monotonous routines ground him. Errands, nights out with friends, light exercise, reading helps him from thinking about you for too long. He’s forced himself to return texts more regularly, forcing himself to engage.

He tells himself it’s progress. That he’s healing, maybe even healed completely. Deep down, he knows better.

The ache hasn’t disappeared, but he’s learned to live with it. It’s only buried itself deeper, settling into a quiet part of his mind he tries not to pay any mind to. Though, it sometimes resurfaces in unexpected ways: in the warmth of sunlight creeping through his blinds or in seeing signs with bright, colorful lettering as he walks through his neighborhood. Small things. Things that should be insignificant to him but now, because of you, aren’t.

Still, Luigi tells himself it’s enough–that the progress he’s made, however small or hollow it feels, is better than being stuck. For a while, it is. He believes it.

Until he sees you.

It’s a quiet afternoon, the kind he’s found usually blur into the rest. Luigi wanders the streets without purpose, allowing his legs to move him along wherever they please. Then, through the fog of his rumination, you appear.

You sit in a coffee shop, your head bent over a book, a mug of coffee settled beside your hand on the table. The gentle glow of the afternoon light spills through the window and catches in your hair. Just like in his dreams.

For a moment, the world stops and all Luigi can do is stand there, across the street, frozen on the sidewalk, staring like a deer caught in headlights.

It was you–unmistakably, indubitably you.

His breath hitches. He wants to look away; convince himself this is some cruel trick of his imagination. He can’t. There’s no mistaking you. The gentle curve of your face, the way your lips press together in concentration as you turn a page. He could cry.

Without realizing it, his legs begin to move, carrying him across the street, weaving through the bustling crowd.

The bell above the coffee shop door chimes as he steps inside. The cheerful, bright sound cuts through the muffled conversations and clinking dishes of the shop.

It’s fate, his heart says. The universe rings a bell, just for him, to tell him this is exactly where he needs to be.

You look up at the sound, your eyes scanning the room briefly before they land on him. Everything else fades away. The noisy hum of the coffee shop fades to a distant murmur, the busy streets outside a blur of motion he can no longer see. All that exists is you.

Your eyes lock onto his, your expression shifting into something resembling recognition–or maybe confusion. But then your lips part slightly, and the smallest hint of a smile forms as your eyes soften. The smile he’s seen so many times in his dreams, now real. He can feel it: that familiar flick of a flame igniting itself in his heart, spreading across the space between you.

Luigi steps closer, the weight he had been carrying on his back for weeks giving way to something lighter. He focuses on making his way to you without his legs giving out, heart thrumming against his ribcage like a trapped animal.

As he reaches your table, you close your book gently, placing it on the table beside your coffee. Your head titles slightly, eyes never leaving his as the faint smile on your lips grows just a little wider. His chest tightens, his mind racing to find the words he’s always wanted to say to you, but now that you’re here–now that you’re real–they vanish.

Once he’s before you, he stops stupidly. You stare up at him, expectantly.

What does he say now that you’re here? Do you even know who he is? He must look like such a freak right now, but still, you manage to look as beautiful as ever–even more so in person.

“Hi,” your voice rips him away from his thoughts. The single word carries more familiarity than he thought possible.

His throat tightens as he swallows, sound barely audible over the pounding in his ears. His lips part, and for a moment, nothing comes out. He panics but masks it when he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, managing to find his voice.

“Hi,” he whispers breathlessly.

“Can I help you with something?” you ask gently.

He tenses. The truth gnaws at him. You don’t recognize him, don’t feel the connection he had spent months dreaming about. The world feels like it’s been tilted on its axis. He stares at you, breath catching in his lungs, unable to comprehend the realness of it all. Every detail of you: from the way the light frames your face to the soft curve of your lips, all down to the bridge of your nose. Every detail of your figure he had spent all those weeks dreaming about, every part of you he memorized with meticulous care, it’s all here. He can’t look away, can’t tell himself it’s an illusion.

“I,” his voice comes out softer than he expects. He clears his throat gently, to steady himself as he speaks. “My name is Luigi,” he says. “I just wanted to say…” He pauses, looking you over from head to toe. It’s you. The girl of his dreams. “How beautiful I think you are,” he breathes.

He watches your confusion melt into bashfulness. Your face quickly softens into a flustered smile.

“Oh,” you say, heat blossoming in your cheeks. “Thank you so much, Luigi. That’s very sweet of you.” A pause before you laugh–a melodic, gorgeous sound. “I’m (Name).”

“(Name),” he repeats. It tastes sweet on his tongue. It feels good, it feels right. “You’re very beautiful.”

“Thank you,” you repeat, laughing once more. Luigi knows at that moment, he’d dedicate himself to making you laugh for the rest of his life if you’d let him.

He lets out a small, shaky laugh of his own, scratching the back of his neck. “Well, I should let you get back to your book,” he says, gesturing awkwardly toward the table. He forces a smile and takes a step back. “That was really all I wanted to tell you.”

What a lie, but you don’t recognize him. What more can he do?

“It was nice meeting you, (Name),” he says gently, and he sees your mouth open to speak, but it feels like too much.

Before you say anything, he turns to leave, moving for the door. The bell above it chimes as he prepares to step out. Just as he reaches the threshold, your voice stops him.

“Luigi?”

This feels like deja vu. He makes sure to turn this time, though, meeting your gaze. He watches you hesitate slightly, before gesturing to the chair across from you.

“Would you like to join me?”

Luigi stares at you, his mind struggling to process what you’ve just said. Then, something shifts within him, just as it did all those months ago as he laid in bed, before the first dream had ever occurred. It eases the ache that has lingered for so long.

He nods, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he takes a step back toward you. He sits in the seat across from you and you smile once more. He is whole.

For the first time in his life, Luigi feels the fullness of a love that is unwavering. He has found everything he never knew he needed, and it’s more beautiful than he ever could have imagined.

#alexa play everywhere everything by noah kahan ft gracie abrams #i played this on loop for hours writing the ending scene #luigi mangione #luigi mangione x reader #luigi mangione fanfic #luigi mangione fanfiction #angst #soulmate au #past lovers #real person fiction #luigi mangione imagine #luigi mangione angst #luigi mangione x y/n #luigi mangione x yn #mrsmangiwrks #fanfiction #free luigi

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hellfirenacht · 8 months ago

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Anomaly Part 2

Summary: You can talk to anyone in school with no problem. At least, anyone who's not named Eddie Munson.

Tags: Anxious-ish!Reader but not shy, one sided pining, no use of y/n, fem!reader, one sided enemies to lovers, fem!reader

2.1k Words

Part 1

School assemblies were fun in their own way. You weren’t exactly brimming with school spirit but you could fake it for a half-hour when it got you out of your History class. Everyone was ushered into the gym at the end of the day to celebrate the sport season. You had no idea if the Hawkin’s Tigers were good or not, you could really only name two and a half people on the basketball team: Jason Carver, who you unfortunately had shared a free period with once, Lucas Sinclair, who you had seen talking to Eddie once in a blue moon, and Steve Harrington who had graduated, so he didn’t really count. You vaguely remembered working with him on some school project for two days and thinking that you just wanted to squish his hair down to see if it would spring back up.

Stacy bounded over to you in the bleachers, decked out in more Tiger’s Green than a leprechaun. She shook the scrunchy out of her hair and slipped it onto your wrist. You sometimes wondered how she never became a cheerleader with how perky she was.

“There, now you look like you tried.” she giggled, nudging you.

“I was gonna scribble on my face with a green dry erase marker, but Mr. Thompson’s had run dry.” You said.

“He was probably lying so you wouldn’t steal one and huff it in the bathroom.”

“Hey, that was one time and 4th grade math was hard.” you cackled.

“Speaking of hard drugs, look who decided to actually show up.” Stacy smirked and your stomach instantly dropped as you followed her gaze.

“What the fuck is Eddie doing here?” you whispered to Stacy. “He doesn’t do pep rallies!”

“Guess he does now.” she shrugged.

Eddie was a few rows lower than you, leaning against the end railing of the bleachers. You vaguely wondered if he was burning up in that leather jacket, it wasn’t exactly cool in the gym with so many bodies all squished together.

He was alone, looking like he’d rather be literally anywhere else. You didn’t blame him, this clearly wasn’t a place where he fit in. You looked down the bleachers in the opposite direction, unable to pick out any of his friends. During pep rallies, the bleachers were divided by grade, with Seniors on your end of the bleachers, and freshmen on the opposite end. Maybe Eddie was pressing himself against the railing to create his own section of Super Seniors.

If he was anyone else, you’d join him in that section, but you kept that knowledge to yourself.

“He looks lonely, go talk to him before they start.” Stacy encouraged.

“Please, I doubt he’d want to talk to me at any other time. You think he wants to talk to me now?” you asked incredulously.

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

“He could convince me to join a cult and then sacrifice me to the dark forces.” you said, looking over at him. Well, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

Eddie’s head snapped up and he whirled around. Out of everyone around, his eyes immediately locked onto yours.

Oh shit.

He heard that.

His round brown eyes sized you up, and you cringed out of embarrassment for your stupid joke. You felt like a deer in the headlights. Eddie was looking at you, really looking at you for the first time and you were about two seconds away from jumping off the back of the bleachers and tunneling your way out of the school.

Next to you, you could practically feel Stacy shaking as she tried to hold in her laughter, which unfortunately, triggered your own set of nervous giggling because this whole thing was so stupid and Eddie was still looking at you.

He looked unimpressed, and flipped you off before turning back around to sulk against the railing again as the band suddenly started up, and everyone started cheering for the team.

“Gotta say, I am nailing this, Stacy.” You laughed, leaning against her shoulder. “Practically had the boy swooning.”

“Yeah, he’ll be asking you out any day now.” She rubbed your back sympathetically.

“I can’t believe he heard me. He totally thought I was being serious.” Your giggles finally subsided and you looked up at her.

“It would be very easy to clear this up, if you’d just talk to him.” She said.

“I don’t like it when you’re rational, you know.” you replied and glanced at him again. Eddie was no longer looking at you and was just fiddling with his rings as he watched boredly as Principal Higgens was giving announcements.

You had to apologize. The last thing you wanted was for Eddie to think that you were really like that. You didn’t buy into the bullshit that some dice and graph paper could damn your soul to hell.

“Fuck it, I’m going in.” you said, and turned to head towards Eddie.

“Go get ‘em, Tiger!”

You made your way to the edge of the bleachers, and three things happened in quick succession. First, Miles Cooper got overly enthusiastic as you passed by him, and his elbow made a quick and sharp connection to your stomach, knocking the wind out of you. The second thing that happened was a stray backpack got kicked right in front of you as you staggered from the shock of being elbowed. The third and final thing was you falling down the two benches of bleachers that separated you and Eddie.

“You can either go to the pep rally and act like you are a part of this school, or you can have detention, Mr. Munson. The choice is yours.”

Normally, no one gave a shit if Eddie skipped out on something like a pep rally. That time was better spent either reading in an empty classroom or as a smoke break in the parking lot. He had just made it out to the parking lot before he was spotted and given the option. Eddie had been good about not skipping class this year, but he really didn’t want to give Higgins another reason to threaten to withhold his diploma.

So there he was, leaning against the railing of the furthest bleachers so that the second the pep rally ended, he could just book it back to the van and leave to.. Somewhere. Uncle Wayne had work, and Eddie didn’t have a shift at the Hideout. There was no Hellfire today.

Eddie was feeling restless as he fidgeted with his rings. Today had already been annoying and he really just wanted to sneak out to his van and have a smoke. It’s not like anyone here would miss him, they’d probably celebrate his departure more than the entrance to the basketball team.

He looked down at his hands, taking his rings off and rearranging them on his fingers. He tapped them on the railing, listening to the sounds they made as he counted the seconds for this whole thing to be over.

As his mind started to wander off, a voice snapped him back to the hell he was currently in. “-join a cult and sacrifice me to the dark forces.”

It was always obvious when someone was talking about Eddie. Normally he’d let it go and ignore whoever it was, but he wasn’t exactly in the best of moods today. His head whipped around, looking for whoever was talking about him.

There you were with Stacy, again. Eddie wished he could be surprised, but he wasn’t. His eyes narrowed as he looked you over. You weren’t dressed in anything that screamed “school spirit” except for a scrunchie around your wrist.

He saw how you cringed at the sight of him, which only pissed him off more. What was your fucking problem? You were friends with Stacy, who had been on the cheer squad before her ankle gave out, the skaters liked, you liked everyone. Everyone who wasn’t Eddie Munson.

Eddie had wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt, that maybe the two of you just hadn’t crossed paths enough. Maybe it wasn’t personal. But now, after hearing you say that you also thought he was some sort of demon worshiping freak he was fine to write you off as just another Hawkins student. Maybe then he could finally move past this weird feeling he had whenever you gave him the stink eye.

Stacy started giggling next to you, and Eddie just rolled his eyes and turned away. It wasn’t worth it to start anything now at the pep rally. He was already on thin ice after being caught trying to skip. The sooner this was over the better.

His attention drifted as Higgins droned on and on about school spirit and upcoming fundraisers and games. It was all background noise. In his mind, Eddie was working out the next dungeon that Hellfire was going to take on. His party was getting too used to his usual tricks, so he’d have to pull out something new to really throw them off-

There was a choked off gasp.

Then a curse.

Then a horrible cracking sound as something fell next to him.

“Jesus-!” Eddie jumped nearly a foot in the air as you hit the bleacher next to him. His eye nearly bugged out as he saw you sprawled next to him, clutching your stomach and gasping for air like a fish.

Everyone in the section was still as they all stared at you, before a few started to snicker. Stacy was quick to jump down with far more grace and land by your side. Eddie was completely frozen, unsure of what to do until he heard Miles Cooper say-

“It was Munson! He did it!”

Eddie’s head snapped to Miles, about to say something before a teacher sharply demanded the Eddie get off the bleachers and come down for what was sure to be a one-sided lecture and detention for something he didn’t do.

He didn’t fight it, he was about to argue and cause a scene right now in the bleachers. Not when that teacher had a fire in her eyes that said she was just itching for trouble. Fine, he wanted to be as far away from this as possible.

Eddie walked down the bleachers and followed the teacher out into the hallway. He was already tuning out the lecture about watching your body and not hitting girls. This was such bullshit, and he knew he couldn’t even fight back and defend himself.

“Look, I didn’t touch her!” Eddie couldn’t stop the frustration in his voice. “She was behind me when she fell!”

“Witnesses say otherwise.” The teacher crossed her arms.

“Look, just because that dumbass said it was true-”

There was a loud CLANK as the heavy doors to the gym burst open and to Eddie’s surprise, you were rushing through the door, holding onto your arm.

You made a beeline for him and the teacher and Eddie could already see it now. Your fake tears as you cried about how the freak shoved you down for no reason-

“Didn’t... do it.” you were shaking your head and panting hard. With your free hand you were pointing at Eddie. “He didn��t... he didn’t do anything... Miles elbowed me. Then I tripped. Eddie never.... Touched me.”

Stacy was behind you and grabbed your shoulders, trying to hold you in place. “Eddie didn’t do anything, Mrs. Jane.” she explained. “She was just trying to go get some water and ate shit. Eddie had nothing to do with it.”

You nodded, still panting hard as if trying to catch your breath. Stacy was rubbing your back, and you looked like you were on the verge of tears.

Eddie felt like he had just stepped into an alternate timeline. You were actually defending him? You were in that much pain but had still come running to claim his innocence?

Mrs. Jane looked at you with concern. “Eddie, you may go back to the pep rally.” She dismissed him without so much as an apology for chewing him out.

Fuck this. Eddie didn’t need to be told twice. He made his way back towards the gym, but slipped into a side hall. The pep rally was going to be over soon anyway, he might as well beat traffic.

He paused just as he was out of sight. Fine, he was a little nosey and mildly concerned as you had just come to his rescue.

“I... I think I hurt my arm.” you said, and he could hear the real pain in your voice.

“I’ll take her to the nurse.” Stacy said.

Eddie heard the sound of footsteps, and quickly slipped out of the school before Mrs. Jane caught him escaping.

Yeah, he was going to need something stronger than a cigarette after this.

I really didn't think the original blurb would get much attention lol

Tag List: @eddiemunsonfuxks @kirsteng42 @strangereads @pedroschka @generoustrashpeach

@sheneedsrocknroll92 @cyanfairywren @crocworkships @tomtomslongdong @aphrogeneias

@ghcstpyre @totheforestandtheocean @stevekeeryswife @dreamyyy222222 @ajnerdess

@sp1dyb0y1008 @projectcampbell @emxxblog @thebadbatchfan

@transparentenemypenguin @ghoulsgraveyard @spread-the-hope @exploding-bonbon @paleidiot

@2spock @c14r3v1b3srs @yujyujj @saramelaniemoon @morganlolitta

@veemoon @mrsrdlw @eddieheart

#nacht fic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you

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reidsapplelady · 1 month ago

Text

PAST IS PAST (part I) — /S. Reid/ & /R. Chase/

SUMMARY: when your ex, Robert Chase, and House's team, is brought in to consult on a case, old feelings start to surface. Caught between Chase's flirting and Reid's quiet affection, you find yourself caught between a love triangle, and a choice that you have to make.

spencer x psych!bau!reader x chase ⸝⸝ fluff & slight angst ⸝⸝ co-workers to lovers

WARNINGS: reader has attachment and commitment issues! wow!!, house being sassy as always (i cant tell if i made him too sassy), past!ppth!reader x chase, present!psych!bau!reader x spencer, use of y/n

WC: 1.5k+

There was a different kind of tension in the air, usually there's no tension at all. It reminded you of your old memories that you have put in the back of your mind, all because he was here. Your old love.

You called House to assist you guys in a case alongside with the CDC, you didn't know he'd be bringing the entire team.

You tried to not show the fact that you were tense. You'd survive UnSubs threatening or flirting at you, but the thought of seeing him again, after all this time, left your breath a little shorter.

You made your way into the briefing room, as soon as you walked in, you locked eyes with him. Robert Chase, who was leaning against the other doorway, his arms crossed against his chest, his blonde hair a little longer than the last you've seen him.

"I called House only, why're you guys here." You inquired as you looked at House, who was sitting down on a chair like he owned the entire place.

"I leapt at the chance to work with a bunch of people who think behavioral profiling is a science. And I thought, 'Wow! a little reunion could shake things up!' and then I forcefully dragged them here." House teased as he set his cane on his lap, his legs were set on the table. you did not hesitate to give him the finger before sitting down right next to Spencer, as Chase sat right next to you. What a great way to start this briefing.

"So, my favorite emotionally stunted overachiever, how are you doing?" He asks with genuine curiosity, "You traded white coats with black vests, what a downgrade."

"I'm fine, House." You roll your eyes.

The briefing room felt too full. Hotch stood where the screen was with Garcia, Reid was playing with his whiteboard marker that he grabbed not too long ago, Morgan kept glancing at House, as if waiting for him to start chaos, and everyone else was doing their own thing.

"This is cute," House stated as he peered at the organized folders on the table. "Did the behavioral pixies color-code the victims too?"

"That's enough." Hotch said curtly, Cameron just smiled politely, while Foreman rolled his eyes and looked like he regretted the entire trip.

House ignored Hotch, "Three victims." House said as he swiped through the tablet screen like they bored him. "All died horribly with consistent symptoms. Question is: Was it mother nature or a very enthusiastic bioterrorist?"

"You called me because you guys are desperate, well good news: I love desperate." House puts emphasis on the word 'love', he certainly knew himself well.

Rossi narrowed his eyes as he stared at House. "Do you always talk like this?"

"Only when I'm awake." House replies.

Morgan raised an eyebrow at House's reply to Rossi. "You always this subtle?”

"No, but I can turn it down if your fragile ego needs coddling." House replies as his gaze falls on Morgan, who was now trying to hold back the urge to argue with House.

Hotch rubbed his temple as he spoke, "How long is this gonna take?"

House looks at him dead in the eye. "Depends. How long is your team gonna stop ignoring the tension between boy genius and girl wond—"

You cut him off, "House."

"What? I'm just saying." He says as he shrugged.

You looked at Spencer beside you, he was trying to cover his face with the file, but you could see his ears reddening. Which made your cheeks heat up too. What you didn't know was Chase was looking at you.

"Can we focus." You request, your eyes now landed on the floor as you shifted uncomfortably in your chair.

"Sure," House then turns his head to face Chase, "Remember when they used to cry during night shifts at the cafeteria? Good times."

"House," Chase snaps

Spencer's gaze looked at you before turning to House. "You were under him?" He asks you as he was staring at House

"Yeah, and these two, right here, were practically walking HR violations, they did more than teamwork alright." House overshares as he pointed at you and Chase, he then noticed Spencer's little frown that he had plastered on his face but ignored it.

Cameron made a strangled noise, Foreman sighed deeply and Spencer looked like someone had punched him in the gut.

"The past is past." You say as you set the tablet on the table.

"I was just giving context." House put the two of his hands up as you just sighed.

After that, Spencer's gaze never met you again, of course, House notices this, "I love federal drama," he said brightly, but only Cameron and Foreman heard him. "better than HBO." He snickers.

You roll your eyes before Hotch speaks up again, "Okay, JJ and Prentiss, go talk to the victims' families, get any background that may be useful, Morgan, Rossi and I will go investigate the crime scenes, while you and Reid stay here and help them." Hotch's gaze were set on you as he mentions you and Spencer.

Chase chuckled before turning to you, "Is your boss this broody?" He raises an eyebrow.

"Kind of, but he's nice, I swear." You smile at him. You then turn to your old colleagues in front of you.

"Nice to see you again, Y/N." Cameron flashes a small smile at you.

"Nice to see you guys again, too." You turn to face Spencer "Spence, you alright?" You say. You noticed that Spencer has been zoning out for a bit.

He snaps out of it before he mutters, "Hm? Oh yeah." before shifting in his seat to a more comfortable position as he avoids your gaze.

"Let's take a look at victimology first, the three victims all have brown hair. It's highly likely they're surrogates." Spencer says as he flips through his case file, you just nod at his words.

"Surrogates?" Foreman asks.

"Surrogates are victims that represents or looks similar to someone that the UnSub hates or loves and over time they'll evolve eventually to kill that person." Spencer rambled, as his hands were making gestures as he explained.

"Of course. Foreman, you're dumb." House stated as he looks at Foreman, Foreman just bit his inner cheek and ignored him.

"Aside from you know, obvious details. Is there anything else in common? Like do they have a dead beat husband? Or are they having an affair with the smoking hot next-door-neighbor?" House inquires as he taps his finger against his cane, Spencer found his use of inappropriate terms very unnecessary but he ignored it.

"Mm, we don't have that much information yet, I'm sure Prentiss and JJ would give us some sort of background before we could actually dive in." You say as you look at House.

"This is gonna be one hell of a case." Chase says as his eyes darts to his team that was in front of him before to you and Spencer. "I mean, using airborne diseases as a method to kill someone? Atleast we know it has to be someone with a science background."

"The CDC's already investigating the disease, I called you guys because you're here to lend a helping hand." You purse your lips as you cross your arms on your chest.

As you guys kept talking, at one point you guys decided to end the meeting and try to figure out what the disease may be based off of the symptoms.

You were looking out the window in the briefing room, you notice a figure slowly approaching you, which is why you turn around. And you see Chase. Right in front of you. He gives you a small smile before sitting at the couch right next to where you're standing.

"So.. It's been a while." He spoke up, which caught your attention.

"I guess so." You shrug as your gaze go back to the view of the city.

He paused before speaking up, "I got you coffee, by the way." Your gaze then landed on him, then on his hands. You didn't notice he was holding two mugs.

"Two teaspoons of sugar? Like how you liked it back then." He smiles as he offered you the coffee, you took it before taking a sip.

"You remembered." You gave him a small smile.

"Well it's hard to forget, especially when it became routine for 2 years." He replies before taking a sip of his coffee.

"Oh." You pause.

"Yeah."

"Well, that's nice. I guess." You now try to avoid eye contact with him, your gaze wandered back on the city.

"Stop." He says.

You raised an eyebrow but your eyes never met his gaze. "Stop what?"

"Stop pretending that you don't care, I can still see that you do. It's just... not in the same way." He frowned as he took another sip of his coffee. "You left without a goodbye and I didn't say enough to you, I didn't say how much I loved you."

"You didn't have to."

"Yeah, well, it felt like I needed to."

taglist: @dearlenore @tinkerbellsgf @1nterstellarcha0s @th3g5eren0

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better-setterv2 · 10 days ago

Note

Hiii! I really love your work, you're the first full LH writer I found and followed. I read and re-read all your fics and loved them. I was wondering if you could please write one in where reader is Lewis private chef and he falls for her...? I really thank you in advance if you decide to write it and if not for also reading my request :) (English is not my first language so I hope that makes sense lol) Have a good day <3

𝒯𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒 𝒯𝑒𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇

Authors Note: Hey everyone! I’ve still got three more requests to work through, but I’m trying my best! I’m so glad you love all my fics! Have a wonderful day, lovely. Lots of love xx

Summary: Lewis Hamilton falls for his private chef as shared meals turn into something more.

Warnings: none

Taglist: @nebulastarr @hannibeeblog @cosmichughes

MASTERLIST

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

You’ve cooked for A-listers, Olympians, and people whose names are whispered more in boardrooms than on red carpets. Your work is quiet, behind-the-scenes, and exactly how you like it. You know the rhythm by now book the gig, learn their preferences, adapt, excel, move on.

So, when your agent sent through the request for a new high-profile client, the message felt routine. Until one name jumped out, as if someone had taken a marker and underlined it twelve times:

Lewis Hamilton.

You blinked. Read it again. Then leaned back in your kitchen chair, letting it sink in. Not just any world-class athlete. The seven-time Formula One World Champion. Vegan. Socially conscious. Globally adored. And, yes, drop-dead handsome in a way that didn’t make you flustered but did make you keenly aware.

You weren’t nervous not really. You’d cooked for the best, fed entire sports teams, crafted tailored menus for Oscar winners. But this felt different. Not because he was famous, you were used to that. But because something about his request felt intentional.

He wasn’t just after someone to cook vegan meals. He wanted someone who could travel with him, fuel his body through the most physically demanding season of the year and this was the line that stuck with you “someone who understands that food is connection.”

Aww

The tasting was scheduled at his Monaco apartment, which was a sleek, minimal space overlooking the shimmering water, all muted stone and soft lighting. You arrived early, allowing yourself a moment to take it in before the doorbell echoed.

When Lewis opened the door, he was in black sweats and a sleeveless hoodie, his curls damp and tousled from a recent shower. His smile was polite but distant in a professional, cool, like a champion used to people hovering around him, wanting something.

“Hey,” he said, stepping aside. “I’m Lewis.”

“I figured,” you replied with a grin, which earned the smallest amused huff.

He led you into the kitchen a stunning open-plan space that looked more like a set for a photoshoot than a functional cooking zone. But it was well-stocked. Sharp knives gleamed under soft lighting. Spices lined the shelves. A gleaming Vitamix sat ready. You raised a brow.

“You cook often?” you asked, unpacking your carefully prepared ingredients: jackfruit, creamy avocados, cashews soaked from the night before, lentils cooked just right, flaky sea salt, rich maple syrup, shaved dark chocolate.

“Sometimes,” he said, leaning against the island, arms crossed casually. “Not like you. I mostly blend stuff and hope for the best. This is where I unwind, you know?”

You liked that answer. A lot.

He poured himself chamomile tea, no sugar and you noticed the deliberate calm in his routine. As he made it, his gaze flickered to your hands focused, precise, moving through familiar motions.

“You sure you don’t want me out of your way?” he asked, watching you pour a blended cashew creme into a small saucepan.

“Not at all,” you replied, glancing up with a small smile. “You’re part of the process. Remember? Connection.”

That earned a real smile, the kind that lit up his eyes.

While the jackfruit cooked low and slow with smoked paprika, you talked. About expectations. Logistics. Travel. The gruelling hours of race weekends.

Lewis was straightforward, precise. “I train in the mornings, usually want something light after like smoothies, easy digestion. Bigger meals in the evening, when I have time to relax. But race weekends? Different story. I’ll need food packed, labeled, heat friendly. No microwave stuff. I don’t touch that.”

You nodded. “Understood. Heat-friendly means things that reheat well, no soggy textures. I can prep stuff that keeps its flavour and integrity.”

He nodded approvingly. “Good. I’ll have to trust you with my nutrition. My performance depends on it.”

“And it has to taste good,” you added firmly. “You shouldn’t feel like you’re missing out just because it’s healthy.”

He met your eyes, a little challenge in his own gaze. “No compromises.”

You smiled, “None.”

He glanced over the ingredients you’d laid out, then tilted his head. “Why jackfruit for the main? You think it’s the best for post-training recovery?”

You explained, “It’s a versatile meat substitute rich in fibre, low in fat, and it absorbs spices well. With the smoked paprika and chipotle, it adds a smoky depth without overpowering. I balance it with the chipotle cashew crème to add healthy fats and creaminess. Plus, pickled red onion gives a sharp contrast to refresh the palate.”

He crossed his arms again, nodding slowly. “I like that you thought it through. Not just throwing something together.”

As you moved to plate the dishes for jackfruit tacos, lentil-stuffed sweet potato drizzled with lemony tahini, and a tiny chocolate chia mousse topped with flaked sea salt and a shard of candied hazelnut - he watched you like it was a performance. Not judgmental but invested.

He picked up the taco first, took a deliberate bite, and paused.

Then looked up at you, something unreadable flickering in his expression. Not doubt. Not surprise. Just quiet disbelief.

“You did this for me?” His voice was low.

You nodded, “Of course.”

There was a pause.

Then a smile. The real kind. The one that curved slow and soft and warm across his face like maybe something inside him settled.

“Alright,” he said, licking his thumb where some crème had smudged. “You’ve already ruined every other chef for me.”

Before you could respond, a soft shuffle echoed across the tile floor. You turned just in time to see a floppy-eared bulldog trudge into the kitchen, blinking sleepily and plopping down next to Lewis’s bare feet.

Roscoe.

His collar jingled softly as he sat, then turned those soulful brown eyes up toward you. And then at the plate you assembled.

“Roscoe,” Lewis warned lightly, nudging him with a foot. “No begging, mate.”

But Roscoe didn’t move. Just stared at your food with comical intensity, then gave a soft, hopeful whine.

“May I?” You asked giving Lewis a quick glance and he gestures a nod of approval.

You crouched down, offering Roscoe a small, safe piece of sweet potato. He accepted it like royalty.

When you looked up again, Lewis was watching you - not your food, not your technique, but you. Something thoughtful in his gaze.

“You’ve thought about everything,” he said quietly. “Packaging, textures, timing. How do you manage this on the road?”

You smiled, “Routine. Prep meals that reheat well, pack them in reusable containers labeled by day and time. I use silicone bags and glass containers as it’s good for the environment and the food.”

He nodded, impressed. “Sounds like you’re ready to hit the track with me.”

You felt your pulse quicken. “I am.”

He studied you a moment longer, then his expression softened, something almost vulnerable flickering behind his eyes.

“So, do I get the job?” you asked, trying to steady your heartbeat.

He didn’t hesitate.

“Yeah,” he said, “I think you do.”

And just like that, the next chapter began, one you’d never seen coming but already felt like it was meant to be. ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

The morning light filtered softly through the curtains of your small but efficiently packed carry-on as you double-checked the last containers sliding into your insulated bag. Everything was labeled by meal and day, exactly like you’d promised. The precision felt satisfying, even if your nerves buzzed just beneath the surface.

You caught your reflection in the mirror of the hotel room: calm, composed, but wide awake and ready. This was the real test. You weren’t just cooking you were becoming part of Lewis’s rhythm, his routine, his relentless world.

A soft knock on the door announced your cue. Lewis stood in the doorway, dressed casually in a fitted black track jacket and joggers, his curls pulled back loosely. He looked up at you and smiled less reserved than before.

“Ready for day one?” he asked, voice low but steady.

“As I’ll ever be,” you replied with a grin, zipping up your bag. “You?”

He shrugged, a little smirk tugging at his lips. “Depends. You sure you can keep up?”

“You’ll be the judge of that.”

The car ride to the airport was quiet but comfortable. Lewis’s phone buzzed with incoming messages from his team, but he silenced the notifications as soon as you climbed in.

“Alright,” he said, glancing over at you. “Tell me what you’ve got planned for the flight food.”

You pulled out your meal plan sheet, laying it on your lap. “Light and easy to digest for the flight I made chia pudding with fresh berries, cashew and vanilla overnight oats as well as a handful of raw nuts for crunch and energy. I’ve packed it all in a small cooler with ice packs, so it stays fresh.”

Lewis raised his eyebrows. “No junk food?”

“Junk food never made a world champion,” you teased, earning a chuckle from him.

“Fair enough.”

Once on the plane, the cabin dimmed for takeoff, and you unpacked the meals with quiet efficiency. Lewis watched with genuine interest as you prepared his tray not just assembling the food but explaining why you chose each element.

“Chia seeds are great for omega-3s and slow energy release,” you said, spooning the pudding into a small container. “The berries add antioxidants and the oats give you complex carbs to keep you steady.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Makes sense. You’re like my nutritionist and chef rolled into one.”

You laughed softly. “I get that a lot.”

The flight passed quicker than you expected, punctuated by small conversation, a few questions from Lewis about ingredients, and a surprising amount of laughter when Roscoe curled up in your lap under the seat.

At your first hotel stop - a sleek, modern building overlooking the circuit you had just enough time to set up the kitchen space before Lewis’s training session.

He watched you unpack your supplies, then gave a slow nod. “I can tell you’re used to this. Everything’s got its place.”

“It has to,” you said. “When you’re on the move, you don’t have the luxury of chaos.”

Lewis smiled. “Good. I like order.”

Later, after training, Lewis swung open the kitchen door, sweat still clinging to his brow. You were plating up a post-workout meal quinoa salad with roasted veggies, a bright lemon-tahini dressing and a side of grilled tempeh.

He leaned against the counter, watching you work. “I’m going to be picky,” he warned, “but I want honest feedback too.”

You raised a brow. “Bring it on.”

He took a bite, chewing thoughtfully. “The dressing is great fresh, not too heavy. But the tempeh? I usually prefer something a bit less chewy after training. Maybe baked tofu or seitan?”

“Got it,” you said, jotting down notes. “Texture matters.”

He smiled, clearly pleased you weren’t offended. “You’re already adapting. That’s good.”

By the end of the day, something had shifted. The professional distance had softened into something more real. You felt the edges of exhaustion from jet lag, the new routine but also a quiet thrill.

Lewis caught your eye as he packed his gear for the next morning. “You’re good at this. Better than I imagined.”

You shrugged, cheeks warm. “I’m just getting started.”

He grinned. “Good. Because this season’s going to demand everything.”

You met his gaze and, for the first time, felt less like the new person trying to fit in and more like a part of something bigger.

Your routine with Lewis built itself with the kind of quiet rhythm most people search their whole lives for effortless, unspoken and steady. It was the way his mornings began, how your days folded neatly into his and how the world seemed to fall away in the simple sanctity of shared moments. ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

Breakfasts were always early, the sun barely awake when you slipped into the kitchen to prepare his first fuel of the day. You crafted smoothies thick with spirulina, flaxseed, hemp protein, and frozen blueberries - a blend dense with nutrients yet light enough to stir awake without ever weighing him down. You knew the delicate balance between flavour and function and you found satisfaction in seeing the way his lips would twitch in approval with every sip.

Sometimes he’d shuffle in, still tangled in the remnants of sleep, hair tied loosely back as if still caught in a dream. His voice would come out gravelly, a half-mumbled compliment on your “magical” abilities to make healthy taste like indulgence.

Post-workout meals followed with an almost ritualistic precision: vibrant bowls filled with roasted vegetables like sweet potatoes, red capsicum and tender zucchini mingled with fluffy quinoa, creamy avocado, earthy black beans and bright citrus tahini drizzled just so. Each bowl topped with something crunchy such as toasted pumpkin seeds, crushed almonds, or crispy chickpeas adding texture and life to every bite. Next to each meal, you placed a turmeric-ginger recovery shot, chilled just enough to soothe his muscles without dulling the sharp zing of spice.

You didn’t need to be reminded that food was fuel. But with Lewis, the act of cooking was becoming something more a language of care, a quiet offering in a world that never stopped moving.

Traveling with him was a whirlwind, a blend of jet lag and adrenaline and the constant shuffle from one city to the next. Back-to-back Grand Prix weekends, testing days in Bahrain under the blistering sun, simulator sessions in Brackley where you’d both grin at the virtual tracks, and media runs in cities so unfamiliar you lost track of their names.

No matter where he went, so did your knives, your spices, and your laminated, colour-coded meal plans of those colourful little guides you’d painstakingly assembled to make sure the menus never repeated, and the macros never slipped. You’d unpack and set up kitchens in sleek hotels or cramped paddock spaces turned temporary culinary stations, sometimes improvising with whatever was available.

Lewis made it easier, in his own quiet way.

He never hovered, but he was always there through the way he’d casually help carry bags of groceries, rinse berries without a word of thanks, or hand you a clean towel just when your hands were slick with moisture from washing produce. Sometimes, he’d drift into the kitchen mid-prep, hair damp from a post-gym shower, the faint scent of eucalyptus and citrus clinging to him like an invisible cloak. He never asked for much just leaned on the counter with soft curiosity shining in his eyes, and would say something like:

“You don’t mind cooking at mine all the time?”

You’d smile without looking up. “Not when your kitchen’s nicer than most restaurants.”

And it was. Sleek marble counters that caught the light, industrial burners that roared to life without hesitation, a double oven, and a fridge so advanced you half-expected it to suggest new recipes. But none of that was why you liked it.

It was because it was his.

Because the moments in between those small pauses and shared silences were becoming the parts you treasured most.

Like the way he always brought you a fresh glass of sparkling water without needing to be asked, catching your tired eyes with a quiet smile.

Or how he hummed under his breath when he was relaxed, a soft sound that blended with the whirl of your blender and the chopping of knives.

Or those rare evenings when you found yourselves both lingering in the kitchen after a long day Lewis perched on a barstool, watching you finish prep, and he’d look up from whatever he was scrolling on his phone and ask how you were doing. Not just the polite “how are you?” but really asking, like he wanted to hear your answer.

And then there were the snack boxes.

You started them as a practical solution of bite-sized fuel that could live in his bag, waiting patiently to bridge the gap between qualifying and race briefings or long travel days.

Protein bites dusted with cinnamon and cacao, coconut-date balls rolled in shredded coconut, seaweed crisps for a salty crunch, almond butter-stuffed dates that melted with every bite.

At first, your notes were purely practical:

“Don’t forget to hydrate.”

“This one’s got extra turmeric, I know you hate ice baths.”

“Packed extra energy - you’ve got this.”

But slowly, the notes began to shift.

They grew softer, more personal, and somehow more you.

“Hope this one makes up for how early your wake-up call was.”

“A little sweet for my favourite speed demon.”

“For when you need a quick win just like you on the track.”

You didn’t mean anything by the “favourite speed demon” line. It was just a joke; a casual phrase scrawled in purple ink on a sticky note you found at the bottom of your bag one day.

But later, when you were reorganising his pantry, you found that very note folded once, tucked carefully inside a drawer beside his magnesium powder and zinc capsules.

You stood frozen, hand resting on a vitamin bottle, heart doing a quiet flip.

He hadn’t pinned it to the fridge or stuck it where anyone else could see. He had just kept it quietly, privately.

And then something changed.

Lewis became warmer, more present.

He lingered in the kitchen longer, even when he had somewhere else to be.

He started texting you mid-flight, checking if you’d remembered to eat.

He noticed when you wore your hair tied up instead of down and he offered you his jacket without a word when a breeze caught your shoulders one night after dinner in the paddock.

One evening, you found a note waiting for you in your own snack box.

It was small, written in his unmistakable hand on a folded slip of paper:

“Thanks for making even the busy days feel like home.”

From then on, little notes from Lewis started appearing tucked into your bags, slipped between cookbooks, or left on the kitchen counter.

They weren’t grand gestures.

Just quiet messages like:

“Don’t forget to breathe. You’re doing great.”

“Found this spice you love - thought you might want to try it.”

You smiled more than once, your chest warming with each one.

You noticed him too.

Not the famous Lewis Hamilton who’s the racing legend or the icon but the man who double-knotted his shoes before a run, who softened when Roscoe climbed into his lap, who looked at you with quiet curiosity not trying to solve you but wanting to understand.

It wasn’t love. Not yet.

But it was something.

Something simmering, unfolding quietly in the spaces between the roar of engines and the flash of cameras.

Something that smelled like rosemary, sea salt, and something else - something you hadn’t found words for yet. ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

Your phone vibrated sharply on the kitchen counter just as you were about to start dinner for yourself. Lewis’s name flashed across the screen, yanking you out of the quiet comfort of your evening routine. The soft hum of the city outside mingled with the distant sounds of traffic and occasional footsteps in the hallway.

“Hey,” you answered, surprise threading through your voice. “Everything okay?”

There was a breathless edge to his voice, as if he’d been running or rushing. “Hey. Listen, last minute my dad and Linda want to come by tonight. They want to check in, see how I’m doing. Could you come over and whip up something? Nothing fancy, but nice. I don’t want to be caught off guard.”

You glanced at the clock on your stove just over an hour before they’d arrive. Your mind kicked into high gear, the familiar thrill of being thrown into the deep end mixing with a flutter of nerves that had nothing to do with the race.

“On my way,” you said, grabbing your bag and keys with steady hands, trying to mask the little surge of excitement that bubbled inside.

The city air was cool, tinged with the faint scent of rain and blooming jasmine as you stepped into Lewis’s apartment building. You pushed open the door to his place, and immediately, the quiet buzz of controlled chaos hit you. Lewis moved through the space with a jittery energy on the phone with his manager, half-folding a shirt draped over a chair, the sharp, clean scent of his cologne lingering in the air: crisp eucalyptus layered with a subtle hint of musk.

“I’m so sorry for the rush,” he said, running a hand through damp hair that clung slightly to his forehead, eyes darting anxiously. His usual calm, effortless confidence was replaced by a restless edge. “I just didn’t expect them to want to come so soon.”

You gave him a warm, reassuring smile, setting your bag down carefully on the counter. “Don’t worry. I’ve got this.”

You slipped into the kitchen and flipped on the stove with practiced ease, the familiar click and whoosh grounding you. You pulled out fresh ingredients you’d brought along: bright, glossy cherry tomatoes, fragrant cloves of garlic, a handful of fresh basil leaves, creamy mozzarella and a colourful medley of vegetables. The rhythmic chopping soon filled the room, mingling with the soft hum of the extractor fan and the faint city noises drifting through an open window.

The sizzle of garlic hitting hot olive oil made your mouth water as you stirred gently, the warm, rich aroma wrapping around you like a comforting embrace. You slid a tray of vegetables into the oven, watching the soft golden edges promise a perfect roast.

As you worked, your fingers moved with smooth confidence, even as your mind kept track of the ticking minutes. A soft melody hummed in your throat, blending seamlessly with the sounds of the city outside and the distant revving of engines somewhere far away.

Meanwhile, Lewis flitted around the bedroom like a restless spirit, trying on shirts and adjusting his braids before checking his reflection in the mirror. His glances toward the kitchen were frequent, filled with a rare mixture of admiration and quiet gratitude reserved just for you.

“Do you need help?” he asked suddenly, leaning casually against the doorframe, an amused eyebrow raised.

You held out a spoon dripping with sauce. “Only if you want to taste-test.”

He laughed, taking the spoon cautiously and nodding with approval after one careful sip. “Definitely better than anything I could make.”

You smiled, the tension in the room softening between you.

Together, you set the table. You unfolded crisp napkins with gentle care, polished the silverware until it caught the soft light just right, and arranged fresh wildflowers in a small glass vase delicate bloom that brought a touch of life and colour to the sleek apartment. The room, with its clean lines and subtle shadows, transformed into a cozy sanctuary a warm refuge from the relentless speed and pressure of Lewis’s world.

“Okay,” you said, brushing flour from your hands. “Ready for company.”

Lewis grabbed his jacket and ran a hand through his hair once more, attempting to summon that effortless charm that came so naturally but felt just a bit elusive tonight. “Yeah. Just need to look like I have my life together.”

You laughed softly, the sound mingling with his as you shared a quiet, steady moment before the inevitable storm.

Lewis walked you to the door, his fingers brushing lightly against your arm, a silent thank-you. His eyes caught yours deep, steady, and sincere.

“Thanks for this,” he said, voice low and earnest. “Seriously. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Your heart fluttered, a warm rush blooming in your chest. You smiled, steady and sure despite the sudden wave of emotion. “Anytime.”

You took a small step back, ready to leave his place and opened the front door however everything seemed to freeze.

Standing just beyond the threshold, bathed in the soft glow of the light outside the door, were Anthony and Linda. They had arrived earlier than expected.

Anthony’s smile was steady and warm, eyes full of the kind of cautious kindness that had softened over the years. Linda’s face was bright, her eyes sparkling with genuine warmth and curiosity as she took in the scene of the neat kitchen, the flowers on the table, the subtle tension still lingering in the air.

For a long, breathless moment, no one spoke.

Lewis cleared his throat, stepping forward with a calm that belied the nervous energy humming beneath.

“Dad! Linda!” he said, his voice steady, welcoming, carrying an unspoken promise of a better evening to come.

You exchanged a glance with Lewis, the unspoken question hanging between you, how was this night going to unfold now?

Anthony steps inside first, his gaze settling on you with a mixture of curiosity and quiet respect. Linda follows, taking in the thoughtfully arranged table and the soft hum of city life filtering through the open window.

There’s a pause, the air thick with unspoken questions.

Anthony clears his throat, glancing at Lewis. “Lewis, we don’t often get to meet the people who mean a lot to you. And we don’t believe we’ve met this lovely lady before. Who is she?”

Lewis looks at you, and for a second, you see the hesitation in his eyes like he’s weighing how much to say, how to protect both you and himself.

You step forward, steadying your voice. “I’m Y/N, Lewis’s personal chef. I’ve been helping him tonight with dinner, and I guess I’m lucky enough to be here now.”

Linda smiles warmly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lewis speaks highly of you even if he’s been a bit secretive.”

Lewis chuckles softly, shaking his head. “I didn’t mean to keep you in the dark. I just wanted to make sure it was the right time.”

The tension begins to ease, replaced by a gentle understanding. Anthony nods, stepping closer to the table. “Well, we’re glad you’re here. Let’s eat, get to know each other If you aren’t in a rush to get home of course.”

You exchange a look with Lewis a mixture of relief and something quietly hopeful.

As you all sit down, the conversation starts to flow, sometimes hesitant, sometimes easy. The evening stretches out like a fragile promise that maybe, just maybe, this new chapter could be something steady, something real. ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

It was after Silverstone when everything began to shift.

You’d flown in early that week, slipping quietly into Lewis’s flat like you always did before a big race arms full of market bags, fingers smudged with ink from handwritten meal plans and shopping lists. His fridge had been half-empty when you arrived, his pantry stocked with old protein bars and two near-empty jars of almond butter. You sighed, rolled up your sleeves, and got to work.

Silverstone was different. It wasn’t just another Grand Prix. This was his race. The energy around him was different - charged, frantic, and buzzing like electricity in the bones. And you felt it, even in the kitchen. Especially in the kitchen. You knew him well enough by now to sense when he was just a little too quiet, when the weight of expectations pressed into the back of his neck and down his spine.

You felt it too, but your job was to anchor him. Not with words, but with routine. With quiet comfort. With nourishment.

Race morning, you were up before dawn.

The city was still cloaked in blue-grey quiet, the light just beginning to break through the blinds. You padded barefoot across the cool tile, pulling your hair into a loose bun as you lined up ingredients like a surgeon prepping for an operation. Sliced banana. A scoop of almond butter. A dash of maple syrup, just enough to sweeten but not overwhelm. You poured oat milk into the blender and calculated macros in your head as it whirred to life. Spirulina, maca, oats, hemp, chia every spoonful measured, every decision deliberate.

When Lewis walked in hood up, curls damp from the shower, sleeves tugged over his hands he looked like he hadn’t fully landed in his body yet.

You handed him a glass. “Try this.”

He blinked at you sleepily. “What’s in it?”

“Banana, almond butter, maca, oats, a little maple, and love.”

He cracked a grin. “Heavy on the love, I hope.”

Before you could answer, Roscoe trotted in, tail wagging, toenails tapping against the tile.

“I didn’t forget you, bub,” you murmured, crouching to add warm lentils, steamed sweet potato, and nutritional yeast into his bowl. Roscoe responded with a happy little sneeze, tail thumping wildly as he buried his face in the food.

You stood, turning back to Lewis. He was still watching you with a softness in his eyes that he rarely wore in the morning. You handed him a small container.

“Eat this between FP3 and quali. Chia, coconut milk, goji berries, almonds. All your All your favourites.”

He glanced down at it, then back at you. “You sure you don’t want to drive today? I think you’re more prepared than I am.”

“You’re joking,” you said with a wink, “but I’d still lap a few people.”

He chuckled, the sound low and genuine as he leaned in, brushing a kiss to Roscoe’s head before heading out. “I’ll see you there.”

You kept a low profile in the paddock.

Press passes tucked deep into your jacket pocket. Roscoe’s leash looped securely around your wrist as he trotted beside you like he owned the place. You stayed on the periphery of team meetings, close enough to be needed, far enough not to intrude. You watched Lewis with quiet pride as he moved through the garage focused, poised and magnetic in that way only he could be. When he came in for lunch, you were ready. When he needed quiet, you gave it.

This was how you showed up for people through quiet acts of care. Through food, through forethought. You didn’t need thanks, not really. But every now and then, when his eyes found yours from across the motorhome, holding that long, unreadable look, your heart gave something away.

He finished on the podium that Sunday.

P3 at home. Union Jacks waving like waves on a sea of roaring faces. The noise was thunderous from press, fans, photographers. But when he found you behind the garage, away from the chaos, all of it seemed to fall away.

He looked exhausted. Euphoric. Alive.

“Did you eat?” you asked, holding out a water bottle before he could say anything.

He laughed, hoarse and bright. “I just finished a race and you’re asking me that?”

“Yes,” you said seriously. “Because that’s my job.”

He stepped closer, his smile softening into something quieter, something more personal. “You’re more than your job.”

And then he reached for your hand. Just for a second. A quick squeeze but it said everything.

That night, back at his flat, the windows were open, and the air was heavy with the scent of rain on asphalt. Roscoe was curled in his favourite corner, snoring softly. You stood at the stove, stirring the butternut squash risotto he always asked for after a good race your own little post-podium tradition.

Lewis hovered nearby. He always did. Sometimes he asked questions, sometimes he just watched. Tonight, he didn’t say much at all.

“You okay?” you asked, glancing at him over your shoulder.

He nodded slowly, leaning on the counter, his eyes following the movement of your hands. “Just thinking how lucky I am.”

You smiled, still stirring. “Because of the risotto?”

But he didn’t smile back. Not fully. “No. Because of you.”

Your hand stilled.

He stepped forward. Close enough that you could feel the warmth of his skin, smell the salt on his collarbone, the faint trace of soap from his post-race shower.

His fingers reached up and gently brushed a smear of coconut cream from your cheek.

“You take care of everyone,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “But who takes care of you?”

You opened your mouth, but the words didn’t come. Not because you didn’t know the answer because, for the first time, you were beginning to understand it.

He didn’t press you. Didn’t push. He just stood there, looking at you like he already knew.

And maybe just maybe you were ready to let someone take care of you for a change.

The confession came weeks later, in Tokyo.

The air in the city buzzed, thick with neon and noise, but inside his rented apartment, it was quiet low lights, a candle flickering on the coffee table, and the smell of miso broth warming on the stove.

You hadn’t meant to stay for dinner. You rarely did. You liked your boundaries, liked giving him space to wind down, to rest, to be just Lewis and not Lewis Hamilton, seven-time world champion. Still, that night, when he asked you to stay to sit, to eat you said yes. Maybe because of the way he asked. Maybe because of the way he looked. Or maybe because your heart had already stopped pretending.

You plated the food together, your hands brushing occasionally as you moved in sync without thinking. Bowls of soba noodles with sesame glaze, crisped tofu, steamed bok choy dressed in tamari and ginger. A side dish of Japanese sweet potatoes roasted until golden.

“I feel bad letting you cook for both of us,” he said, settling into the floor cushions around the low table, Roscoe snuggled into a blanket behind him.

“You paid for the groceries,” you teased. “And the entire apartment.”

He laughed softly, shaking his head. “I just show up and drive. You’re the one making all the magic happen.”

You tried to laugh too, but your cheeks flushed as you looked down at your bowl. Something in the air felt different tonight weighted and delicate, like a moment balancing on the edge of something new.

Halfway through the meal, between casual chatter about free practice sessions and a ridiculous story involving Toto, Roscoe, and an unfortunate eggplant, he went quiet.

You glanced up, catching the shift. His shoulders were tense, chopsticks stilled midair, eyes fixed on his bowl but not seeing it.

“Everything okay?”

He set the chopsticks down gently. “Yeah. I just…”

Then he reached for your hand across the table.

It was tentative barely more than a touch, but it sent a ripple through you. You didn’t move. Just stared down at where your hands met. His thumb brushed the side of your finger, warm and steady, grounding you in the moment.

“I know you didn’t sign up for this,” he said, voice low and unsteady. “To be anything more than my chef.”

You looked up slowly, heart thudding, pulse skipping.

“But I think about you,” he said. “Even when I’m not hungry.”

The words settled into the silence like a secret being laid bare.

“I think about your smile,” he continued, eyes searching yours. “Your stupid little notes. The way you hum when you cook. And the way everything tastes better when it comes from you.”

You couldn’t speak. Your throat tightened, breath caught somewhere between disbelief and something that felt too much like hope. Your fingers curled around his instinctively.

“Lewis…” you whispered, unsure what you were even going to say.

“If it’s too much,” he said quickly, stumbling over his own breath, “tell me. I’ll drop it. I swear I’ll drop it. But I had to tell you. Because if I didn’t, I’d regret it.”

You stared at him for a long, heartbeat-heavy moment. At the vulnerability stretched raw across his face. At the way he looked both terrified and hopeful all at once.

And then softly, like something inevitable you let go of his hand.

Only to rise from your place at the table, heart pounding so hard you felt it in your ribs, and step slowly around the corner of the table. You lowered yourself onto the cushion beside him, knees brushing.

He turned to you; lips parted like he might say something else.

But you didn’t let him.

You kissed him instead.

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t rushed.

It was slow. Delicate. Nervous.

The kind of kiss that trembled on the edge of something fragile and new. Your nose bumped his slightly, and you both let out a tiny, breathless laugh against each other’s mouths, barely breaking contact. His hand rose to your cheek, featherlight, fingers trembling as they tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. You could feel the tiny tremor in his touch the same nerves that were making your own hands shake.

You deepened the kiss just barely, lips molding softly to his, like a secret passed between you. His other hand slid to your waist, anchoring you gently, and for a moment, you forgot everything else. The race. The world outside. Even Roscoe, snoozing in the corner. It was just this - warmth and want and the wild beating of two hearts afraid to say too much.

When you pulled back, your forehead rested against his, both of you a little breathless, a little dazed.

There was a second of silence, then:

“Okay,” you whispered, voice still catching. “Okay.”

He blinked, brows lifting with surprise. “Okay?”

You let out a tiny giggle nervous, giddy, and overwhelmed. “I just kissed you, didn’t I?”

He laughed too, that quiet, full-bodied sound that always made your chest ache. “You did. Definitely did.”

You peeked up at him, grinning now, cheeks flushed and lips tingling. “And I didn’t mess it up?”

“You couldn’t if you tried.”

Your nose brushed his again, a breath shared in the small space between you.

Outside, Tokyo glowed. Inside, the whole world had shifted and neither of you would ever taste dinner the same way again. ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

It’s been three months since that night in Tokyo.

Three months of shared kitchens and tangled limbs in bed. Of early mornings where he pads in quietly behind you, barefoot and warm from sleep, wrapping his arms around your waist while you blend frozen bananas and almond butter into something silky. Of whispered goodnights and murmured dreams, your legs tangled beneath linen sheets, Roscoe snoozing at the foot of the bed like he’s claimed the space as much as you both have.

Three months of racing and resting and falling deeper into something neither of you had planned but both of you now held onto with quiet, grateful hands.

You still cook every meal. You still leave notes.

Only now, they’re part of a rhythm. A ritual. Kisses over coffee. His chin resting on your shoulder as you stir something on the stove, his voice still rough with sleep as he mumbles, “Smells amazing, babe,” and drops a kiss to the side of your neck. He picks at ingredients like a kid stealing cookie dough nibbling raw cashews, sneaking tofu cubes before they crisp. You swat him away, but he always gets his way with a smile that crinkles his eyes and a dimple that still weakens your knees.

The notes still live in his containers tucked beside overnight oats, quinoa bowls, roasted veggie wraps. But now they’re folded into tiny hearts. Sealed with silly stickers you found at a grocery store in Milan a grinning avocado, a winking sun, a turtle in sneakers. You don’t know if he ever shows them to anyone, but you do know he saves them. You found him once, sitting cross-legged on the floor of his dressing room in Barcelona, fingers brushing over one you’d written weeks ago:

Carrots for your eyes. Kale for your heart. And a kiss for everything else.

His smile, when he caught you watching, was quiet and reverent. Like he’d been caught holding a treasure.

This morning, in the soft grey light before dawn, you handed him a smoothie in a frosted glass bottle. He was half-dressed in his team gear, hair tied up, hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows. You’d packed it all carefully into a cooler bag: the smoothie, a small container of baked tofu bites, a banana and a warm square of oat crumble from the batch you’d made last night.

The note was simple.

Win or lose, I’m already proud of you.

He read it just before leaving for the track.

You were rinsing out the blender, humming softly to yourself, when the front door clicked open again. You froze, sponge in hand, turning just as the quiet thud of his boots came back down the hall.

“Lew—?”

He didn’t say a word. Just crossed the kitchen in four purposeful strides, dropped the cooler bag to the floor and cupped your face with both hands.

The kiss was sudden, fierce but not rushed. It was grateful. Deep. Like he needed you to feel everything he didn’t have time to say. Like the note wasn’t enough. Like you were the thing grounding him more than any steering wheel ever could.

When he pulled back, his lips brushed your cheekbone. The tip of your nose. Then he whispered it against your skin.

“I don’t care if this is too soon, but god I love you.”

The words were quiet. Steady. Familiar now, like your name on his tongue. But still enough to make your stomach flutter like it was the first time all over again.

You smiled, pressing your hands to his chest, feeling the thrum of his heart beneath the soft cotton of his team hoodie.

“I know,” you murmured. “You murmur it to me under your breath every time you finish your vegetables. I love you too.”

He laughed into your shoulder, the sound muffled and warm. “Well. I’ll finish them forever if it means I get to keep you.”

You turned your head, brushing your lips against the corner of his mouth. “You already do.”

When he left again, it was with three kisses: one on your lips, one on your forehead, and one pressed right above your heart. The door shut gently behind him, and you stood in the kitchen a long while, smiling to yourself. Roscoe wandered in, stretching before curling at your feet with a huff, as if to say, He’ll be back soon. He always comes back.

Later that afternoon, between race debriefs and stretching Roscoe’s legs in the garden, you decided to bake.

“Come help,” you called, already tugging a mixing bowl from the cupboard.

Lewis padded in a few minutes later, barefoot and curious, a towel slung over his shoulder. “What are we making?”

“Oat cookies. With dark chocolate chunks and orange zest,” you replied, measuring oats into a bowl. “Help me stir?”

He reached for the wooden spoon. “You just want me to get messy.”

You grinned. “I like you messy.”

He smirked but didn't argue, and soon enough you were both shoulder to shoulder, ingredients flying, laughter bubbling between measurements. He leaned in close, whispering something cheeky in your ear, and you nudged him with your elbow, sending a small puff of flour into the air.

That’s when he did it.

A smudge of flour, right on your nose.

You froze. Narrowed your eyes.

“Oh, you did not.”

His grin widened. “I did.”

You lunged for the flour bag. He yelped, dodging as you smeared a cloud of it across his cheek, the both of you giggling like children. It turned into a full-on war with flour in your hair, streaks on his hoodie, laughter so loud it startled Roscoe in the next room.

By the time you finally calmed, both of you were coated in white dust, breathless and flushed, arms wrapped around each other in the middle of the flour-covered kitchen.

He looked at you, eyes soft. “You’re the best thing I never saw coming.”

You leaned in, brushing your flour-dusted nose to his. “And you’re the best mess I’ve ever made.”

He kissed you again slow, sweet, warm and you tasted oranges and chocolate and everything you’d built, one note, one kiss, one morning at a time.

Because love, like food, is better when it’s shared.

And you’re just getting started.

There will be more notes. More flour fights. More airports and early flights. More quiet nights and chaotic afternoons.

And always, there will be him.

Coming back to the same kitchen.

To you.

To home.

#lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton x reader #f1 x reader #lewis hamilton imagine #lh44 #x reader #lh44 x reader #f1 imagine #lewis hamilton x you #lh44 imagine #lewis hamilton one shot #team lh44 #f1 one shot #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1

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afawnable · 9 months ago

Text

★ . . . god I'm newly eighteen and I'm so fucking horny. so to try and fix it I'm being the worst student known to man. turning up late. wearing the shortest skirts to show off my bare pussy. the thinnest tops with no bra so people will stare at my boobs. all so that I'll piss off my teachers so much. that they'll drag me to the staff room and lock the door.

★ . . . tell me to strip naked. and when i refuse they force me down. ripping and cutting the clothes off my body. not caring that they are literal scraps on the floor. a slut like me doesn't deserve clothes. especially when I've been such a bad girl. they'll take turns punishing me.

★ . . . spanking my ass till it's redder than the apple I stole from my math teacher that one time. then shoving my holes full of sex toys. forcing me to take orgasm after orgasm. all of them laughing at me while abusing my poor swollen cunt.

★ . . . writing words all over my body in permanent marker. like 'free use slut' 'cum dump' 'brain dead fuck toy' 'rape toy' 'breeding bitch' and more. and just as I'm about to pass out they slap me awake and drug me with asphoradic.

★ . . . telling me the main event is about to begin. forcing me to suck off and eat out all of my teachers while apologising for being such a bad girl. before forcing me to take multiple dicks at a time. stuffing me full of cum. taking me in multiple positions. recording me in the process so they can jake off to the video's later.

★ . . . they make sure all my holes get bred. to the the point where I'm covered in so much cum it's disgusting. but don't worry any cum that doesn't find it's way into my holes they'll make me lick myself self clean. a bitch like me shouldn't waste perfectly good cum.

★ . . . at one point the female teachers start feeling neglected and a bit left out while the male teacher rape all my holes. so they get out there straps and have there way with me. suffocating me while making me suckle on there massive tits forcing me to drink their milk like a good girl.

★ . . . and when my mouth isn't busy sucking on big fat heavy breasts it's it's busy chocking on nine inch straps and sucking on fat juicy pussy lips. the are loaded with my cum so I'm forced to taste myself over and over again.

★ . . . suddenly the door opens and in walks the principal vice principal and the school parent committee. the moment I see them I beg for them to help me to save me from his mess. but they just join in stripping down to nothing and joining in on the fun.

★ . . . I don't know at what point I stopped fighting them. maybe when they tied me down to the coffee table and started pouring hot wax over me. or maybe it was when I felt all of those hands touch and grope me. twisting my nipples leaving angry red bites and hickeys all over my body and shoving stuff in my holes to keep me nice and plugged. wouldn't want any of that spilling out now would we?

★ . . . or maybe it was when my best friends mom was riding my face. while she smacked my tits red with a flog. smacking harder when she noticed I slowed down telling me to put more effort in saying it was the reason I was such a bad student. and scolded me for being a bad influence on her daughter

★ . . . "thank god my sweet jessie is nothing like this, your enjoying this aren't you getting fucked like some cheap whore god but god do you have a talent with that tongue of yours. if I had it my way i'd lock you in my basement and keep you as my pet how does that sound? I'd buy you a nice shiny collar keep you in tight skimpy outfits or better yet nothing at all, turn you into mine and my husbands favorite bitch. what was that? no? I can't hear you guess your mouth is so full of pussy it's left you speachless not like i'd give a whore like you a say anyway."

★ . . . while my or three other friends dads filled me up with there dicks. two in my pussy and one in my ass. the three of them casually talking about work and fishing. and all discussing how my parents should take advantage of having such a slut daughter.

★ . . . "if I had one like her I wouldn't stop raping her no matter how many time I would get her pregnant, not to mention she would make a fortune if I rented her out. not that a slut like you would mind isn't that right sweetie. oh my wife would love you, young dumb and so willing to spread your legs. I can't blame for jason wanting to be friends with you"

★ . . . all of them agreeing to inquire if they could 'borrow' me a couple times a week. and continued to fuck me while my teachers graded my tests from final week. all naked and now nursing glasses of wine as they enjoyed watching me get fucked to death.

★ . . . eventually the principal vice principal and the school parent committee all had to leave. but not after taking there fare share of photo's and video's of my messy fucked out form. while also covering me in one final orgasm. before stepping over my limp abused body. leaving without another look.

★ . . . leaving me with my teacher once again. who first scolded me for failing all my test. before beginning my punishment. but stopped for a second when I cried saying my parents are waiting for me. see I had been trapped in the staff room all day and the sun was minutes away from setting. but they all told me not to worry as they had called my parents to let them know I will be taking private tutoring sessions which require me to stay in school full time. and they shouldn't expect me home for the foreseeable future. and to my horror they agreed signing the legal paper work with out batting an eye.

★ . . . "your folks were rather eager to sign you over to us, though I can blame them a stupid fucking whore like you could test even a saints patience. oh don't cry love we've found something your actually good at, being a brain dead slut! isn't that amazing?"

★ . . . and with that my punishment began. rape me till I was pregnant. which I didn't even have the energy to fight. as I was too tired and not on birth control. so I was definitely getting knocked up. and there was nothing I could do to stop it. while they all whisper filthy words in my ear. about how I'll definitely get pregnant with there rape baby. so I'll be forced to drop out and have to rely on them. but I shouldn't worry they'll all take turns looking after me. locking me up in there homes. keeping me naked well fucked and full of cum. letting them and there partners heck even there parents have there way with me. like the true whore that I am. but that was for later !!

537 notes · View notes

hereforuconnwbb · 17 days ago

Text

The Study of Us - CHAPTER 8

paige x azzi (pazzi)

au fic!

word count: 5.8k

warning: language

hey yall heres chap 8. not much to say abt it cs its nth crazy but js that it wasn't edited so idk if some bits even make sense 😭 lemme know what yall think ! hope u guys enjoy 🫶🏽

‼️‼️this wasn’t edited

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Paige shoved open her door with 1 shoulder, letting it swing closed behind her with a soft thud. She dropped her gym bag to the floor, kicked off her crocs, and stood in the middle of her room for a second just breathing.

Her arms ached. Her legs ached.

She was also tired. Not the dramatic, exaggerated kind, either. The real, bone-deep kind that settled into her joints and behind her eyes like fog. She blinked slowly, took another breath, then flopped face-first onto her bed with a groan that probably echoed down the hall.

For a full min, she didn’t move. Just let her body melt into the mattress and tried not to think. Of the endless notes from film. Of the weight room that felt more like a warzone than a training space today.

But then her brain gave her a lil reminder.

Azzi. Tonight.

She rolled over with a grunt, propping herself up on her elbows. Her phone buzzed somewhere at the edge of her blanket and she fished it out lazily, swiping through notifications until she landed on Azzi’s name in her messages.

She stared at it for a beat, then started typing.

Paige: js got back to my dorm

Paige: u can come over around 6 ??

Paige: gives me time to clean n maybe nap so i dont die mid sesh lol

She hit send and stared at the screen for a second longer than necessary. Then, as if struck by a sudden bolt of awareness, she bolted upright.

“Oh my god,” she muttered, looking around the room.

The clothes. The dishes. The actual chaos that had accumulated on her desk.

“Okok. I said I’d clean. I can clean.”

It wasn’t dirty, not really. It was just lived in. There were 2 crumpled practice jerseys slung over the back of her desk chair, a single sock peeking out from beneath the bed, and a pile of notes and empty gatorade bottles occupying most of her desk surface. She shoved her phone into her pocket and got to work, redoing her hair up in a loose bun and putting one of her playlist that made it feel less like a chore and more like a montage.

Paige moved with energy—half fuelled by the desire to make the place presentable and half fuelled by the knowledge that Azzi would actually see this place. That she’d be here. In her room.

By the time the clock read 2:30 pm, Paige had made some pre solid progress. The laundry was either folded or hidden, the dishes were stacked neatly in the tiny sink, and she even lit 1 of the candles Ice had given her last Christmas which was some weird vanilla-honey scent that actually smelt kinda nice when it wasn’t overpowering.

She stood in the middle of the room again, surveying her work.

“Acceptable,” she declared to no one. “Barely.”

Her bed looked freshly made, the desk was cleard, and she even managed to find the whiteboard markers she’d lost a few weeks ago.

Her stomach growled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten, so she grabbed a protein bar and flopped back onto the bed. She opened her messages again, half-hoping Azzi had already responded.

When the reply came a few minutes after she had messaged, Paige couldn’t help but smile.

Azzi: sounds perfect

Azzi: see you at 6 :)

Azzi: i will bring snacks and flashcards like i said i would

Paige stared at the screen, the little warmth in her chest building slowly.

Paige: u r srsly too good at this. i owe you big time.

Paige: see u soon :)

She set the phone aside and stretched her arms above her head, letting herself relax again. Everything was ready—or close enough. She had just under 3 hours now. Plenty of time to shower, wear something simple that didn’t smell like gym floor. And, if she was lucky, sneak in a short nap before Azzi got here.

Paige stood up and grabbed a towel, heading toward the bathroom for a quick shower. The hot water was a relief against her skin, helping to loosen the tension in her shoulders that she didn’t even realize was there. After she finished, she wrapped herself in a towel, then pulled on a pair of grey trackies and a black nike sports bra.

She stepped back into her room, feeling the familiar weight of the day lifting as she moved around. The clean scent of body wash still clung to her skin, and she felt a little more like herself.

Paige climbed into bed and pulled the blanket over her shoulders, letting her body relax into the softness of her sheets. Her playlist still hummed in the background, a familiar rhythm in the quiet room. She let her mind wander to the evening ahead—Azzi sitting with her, focused and sweet, laughing at something dumb she said.

Something normal. Something calm. Something good.

She hadn’t realized how much she was looking forward to tonight until now.

With a soft sigh, Paige let her eyes slip closed, allowing herself to drift off, thoughts of Azzi still lingering in her mind.

—-----------------------------------

Azzi stood in front of her mirror, still dressed in the comfortable sweats she’d thrown on after she settled back into the dorm earlter. Her mind was half-focused on the clock, the other half wandering back to the thoughts that had crept in earlier of Paige. Her room. Tonight.

With a soft sigh, Azzi tugged her hoodie off and turned toward the bathroom. She couldn’t help but smile at the thought of Paige. Just imagining sitting with her, the easy rhythm of their conversations, her smile lighting up the room, it felt different than anything she’d experienced in a while.

The bathroom door clicked shut behind her, and Azzi turned the water on, letting it warm up before stepping in. The hot water hitting against her, the steam filling up and wrapping around the room. She tilted her head back for a moment, letting the water fall across her face, and for a second, everything else faded away. The weight of the day, the lingering tension in her shoulders, all of it was washed away with each passing minute.

She let her mind wander again as she worked through the routine, scrubbing off the day’s sweat. The thought of taking a picture of Paige earlier still lingered, that sharp image in her mind of the way Paige would look sitting at her desk, looking just a little too cute with that casual, effortlessly unposed vibe. She bit her lip as a sudden flush crept up her neck, the memory of the polaroid camera she’d jus got making her feel unexpectedly shy.

When she stepped out and wrapped herself in a towel, she took a long look in the mirror again, feeling that familiar pull toward something that felt more and more like a quiet certainty with each passing day.

It was already a little past 5:30, just a couple of minutes before she’d head over to Paige’s dorm. She moved quickly to change. She pulled on a plain, oversized hoodie and matching trackies, it was nothing flashy but it was perfect for the evening ahead. Comfortable, laid-back, and just right for the session.

She grabbed her bag and began packing her things. Snacks, flashcards, her books, laptop, and charger. and then, without thinking, she reached over to her desk and picked up the camera.

It felt different in her hands now. The camera was light, but holding it made her feel strangely aware like it meant more than it should. She kept thinking about Paige, maybe smiling, maybe mid-laugh. What if she could capture that ? Just 1 small, quiet moment. Nothing posed. Nothing big. But real. The thought made her stomach flip, and she looked down at the camera again.

Azzi swallowed, feeling her cheeks warm at the thought. She gently placed the camera into her bag, making sure it was secure. She still wasn’t entirely sure why the idea of taking a picture of Paige made her feel like her heart was doing a slow, steady flip, but she knew that it was something she couldn’t quite shake.

With a final glance at her reflection, Azzi grabbed her bag and slung it over her shoulder, stepping toward the door.

Azzi tugged the door shut behind her, the strap of her bag slung over one shoulder, the weight of it comforting against her side. The air outside was cooler than she expected, and the faint golden hue of the setting sun casting shadows across the pavement as she made her way across campus. The sidewalks were quiet, just a few students here and there, mostly retreating back to their rooms, the buzz of evening starting to settle in.

She kept her steps even but not hurried. There was no need to rush. Still, her heart beat a lil quicker with each stride, and it had nothing to do with pace. Her thoughts were ahead of her already on Paige. Paige, in her dorm. Paige, who would probably be in another hoodie and trackies, maybe a lil sleepy from a nap, maybe sitting cross-legged on her bed with a bag of chips between them as they studied. That’s what Azzi pictured anyway.

As she stepped into the dorm building and started walking down the hall toward Paige’s room, Azzi heard muffled shouting, a sharp burst of laughter. She smiled to herself before she even reached the door.

“ARE YOU SERIOUS ? Bro is really emoting on me. That’s not even—ok, rez me, rez me—ICE, BRO, COME ON—”

Azzi paused outside the door, listening. Paige’s voice rang through, loud and animated.

“HE’S ONE SHOT. HE’S ACTUALLY ONE. KK PUSH LEFT. LEFT ! LEFT—no, not that left. Geez, we’re cooked.”

Azzi grinned, her fingers curling into a light fist as she knocked softly once. No response.

“NOOOOOO This is actually criminal,” Paige growled from inside. “Dude, how did he third-party from that angle? That’s literally the dumbest—KK, stop emoting and rez me bro, I swear to God—”

Azzi knocked again, louder this time, and leaned in.

Still nothing.

“Hol up, I’m hearing something. Someone’s at the door ?” Paige’s voice dipped slightly, distracted. “Did I order food ? I didn’t order food.”

Azzi waited, biting her lip to keep from laughing. A second later, the door clicked open.

And there stood Paige, headset still snug over her ears, a controller still in 1 hand, her other pushing the door back lazily. Her grey trackies were low on her hips showing the top of her boxers, and she stil hadn’t bothered to throw a shirt or hoodie on yet. Her face still held that soft look of someone who had just napped, and her glasses sat slightly crooked on her nose. Her hair was up in a loose bun, messy, cute, effortless.

Azzi blinked.

She had not been prepared for this.

“Azzi ?” Paige squinted at her, a little breathless. “Wait—shit, is it six already?”

Azzi nodded, her lips parted slightly, her mind struggling to find a neutral landing point. “Uh, yea. Just about.”

Paige looked confused for half a beat before her eyes widened slightly. “Shit, sorry. I fell asleep earlier and then hopped on with KK and Ice. We’re running trios. I promise I won’t be long. You can come in.”

She stepped aside, tugging the door open wider and turning back toward her desk, still talking into the mic. “Yea, yea, I’m back. Chill. Hopefully y'all didn’t get me killed.”

Azzi stepped inside, her smile spreading again. Paige’s dorm was warm and tidy, everything in its place except for a single hoodie draped over the back of a chair. A faint vanilla-honey scent from the candle Paige lit up earlier hung in the air. But Azzi wasn’t looking at any of that.

She was looking at her.

Paige, hunched slightly forward in her chair, thumb flying across the controller, legs tucked up, headset still on. Her glasses kept slipping a little lower on her nose every time she tilted her head, and she had this intense focus, mouth slightly parted as she yelled again, “HE’S BEHIND THE TREE. I’m not even trolling—BRO. Ight he’s knocked. Ice, clean up.”

Azzi lowered her bag gently and sat down on the edge of Paige’s bed, eyes never leaving her. She reached into her bag without really thinking, fingers brushing past flashcards and snacks until they found the soft shape of the polaroid camera. She lifted it slowly, quietly.

Paige was still mid-game, too caught up to notice.

Click.

The flash went off.

“What the— ?!” Paige flinched, glancing over her shoulder while quickly muting her mic. “Did you just—did you take a picture of me?”

Azzi grinned, holding up the developing photo. “I couldn’t help it.”

Paige’s eyebrows shot up, but her smirk followed quickly. “While I’m mid-sweat ? Wow. Bold.”

“You looked focused,” Azzi said softly, biting back her own smile. “And kinda cute.”

Paige’s smirk faltered for half a second, her cheeks turning just a hint pinker behind her glasses.

“You think so ?” she asked, voice low now, just for her.

Azzi nodded, still looking at her. “Yea. I do.”

There was a pause then, just a beat between them, the game still running in the background, the clack of buttons and KK yelling indistinct things through the headset.

Paige’s mouth quirked again as she glanced back at her screen. “Well… I’m glad you caught my good side, then.”

“Hard to miss it,” Azzi replied quietly, her fingers fiddling with the photo’s edge. Her heart thudded unevenly in her chest. “You have a few.”

Paige looked at her again and the moment stretched between them, lingering, soft and charged.

“I won’t be long,” Paige murmured, suddenly shy again. “Then we can get into whatever nerd stuff you’ve got in that bag.”

Azzi laughed under her breath, a small shake of her head. “Take your time. I’m good right here.”

And she was. Watching Paige as she unmuted herself, admiring her, sitting in a room that suddenly felt warmer than any space she’d been in all day.

The photo finished developing in her hand, the soft colors settling onto the image: Paige, headset on, one hand gripping the controller, the other mid-gesture, lips parted like she’d just said something she meant.

Azzi stared at it a long time before tucking it carefully back into her bag.

On the other hand, Paige was fully locked in now.

“NAHHHHH, THAT’S WHAT YOU GET, YOU DUMBASSSSS,” she shouted, standing up slightly in her chair, her voice almost cracking. “YOU WANNA EMOTE ON ME EARLIER ? LEMME JUST T-BAG YO DUMBASS RIGHT NOW. SWING AGAIN. I DARE YOU.”

She pressed her joystick down repeatedly, making her character crouch repeatedly over the knocked body. “stupid idiot emoted on me earlier.”

Azzi, still sitting on the bed, burst into laughter. “Wow” she said, raising her brows. “You’re actually toxic.”

Paige glanced over her shoulder, unbothered. “He emoted on me when he knocked me before. I have to make it fair.”

From her headset came a burst of chaotic voices shrieking over each other.

“PAIGE, WHO IS THAT ?? WAIT—IS THAT AZZI ? IS THAT AZZI IN THE BACKGROUND ?”

Azzi looked up, curious, hearing the faint squealing but unable to make out any words. “What’s going on?”

Paige’s eyes went wide. She hunched her shoulders, pulling the mic slightly away from her mouth. “Nothing. It’s nothing,” she muttered, her voice suddenly lower, face heating up immediately.

The headset voices only got louder.

“OH MY GOD IT IS AZZI”

“Y’ALL ARE SO CUTE OH MYYYY”

Azzi tilted her head as she heard more muffled screaming from Paige's headset. “They ok in there?”

“They’re just loud,” Paige muttered, fidgeting with the thumbstick.

The squeals kept coming. “P BOOGERS LIKES AZZI SO MUCHHHHH LIKE SOOOO MUCH” KK sang dramatically. “OH MY GAWSHHHH, AZZI, YOU’RE SO COOL, YOUR VOICE IS SO SOOTHING—PAIGE, IS THAT WHAT YOU SOUND LIKE WHEN YOU TALK TO HER ?”

“I do not sound like that” Paige hissed into the mic.

“YES YOU DOOOO,” both of them chorused.

Azzi, still smiling, shook her head and reached for her water bottle. “They sound pretty wild.”

“They’re unwell,” Paige said through gritted teeth, her face now fully red. “Actually diseased.”

From the headset, “YOU GUYS WOULD BE SO CUTE TOGETHER. JUST KISS HER ALREADY.”

Paige instantly yanked the mic away. “Geez bro, I can’t with them—”

Azzi blinked. “What?”

“Oh nothing” Paige said, spinning back to the screen like she was avoiding cross-examination. “I’m hopping off after this game anyway. Got uhhhmmm, school things.”

The end of the game came fast. They cleaned up the last team with a push. Paige headshotted the final player mid-air and let out a yell.

“LET’S FUCKING GOOOOO !”

She leapt to her feet, flexing hard with both arms overhead. “VICTORY ROYALE, BABY”

She turned to Azzi, still shirtless, a lil sweaty from adrenaline, smug as hell.

Azzi, caught mid-sip of her water, choked slightly and looked away fast.

“Ok, wow,” she mumbled, covering her mouth to hide a very unchill smile. “That was… something.”

Paige grinned, still high off the win. “Told you. Revenge arc. I’m nasty wit it.”

The headset still on Paige now had KK’s voice coming through loud and clear.

“Ok but for real,” KK said, calmer now. “Paige. Be honest. You gonna try and be a lil bold tonight ?”

“Yea,” Ice added, “like, look at her. You can’t not flirt. Just a little.”

Paige leaned closer to the headset. “You are both on thin ice.”

“Just do subtle stuff” KK said. “Eye contact. Stare at her lips when she talks. Laugh at her jokes.”

“Touch her arm,” Ice added. “Like casual, not weird. But enough to be like I’m noticing you.”

“Compliment something,” KK said. “Not like ‘you’re smart,’ but like ‘you look good’ or ‘I like your voice’ that stuff works.”

“Take notes, Rizzler,” Ice cackled. “Wow, who would’ve thought we’d be giving you advice.”

Paige sighed dramatically, but her brain was taking notes. Quietly, carefully.

Eye contact. Laugh at her jokes. Subtle touches. Compliments. Stare at her lips.

Bet.

“Alright, alright, I’m hopping off,” she said, glancing at Azzi, who was now reading through one of her notebooks with her legs swinging slightly off the bed.

“Have fun being emotionally repressed!” Ice yelled.

“Good luck, P Boogers,” KK called. “We believe in you.”

“Bye, losers.” Paige said before turning off her console and taking the headset off and settling the controller next to the console.

She turned to Azzi and shrugged, trying to act casual, even as her ears were still pink.

“Ok,” she said. “I’m all yours now.”

Azzi looked up, still grinning a little. “Well, that’s good. I was starting to feel like I had competition.”

Paige blinked. “From Fortnite?”

Azzi laughed. “From the two in your headset.”

Paige snorted and sat down next to her, close—but not too close. “Trust me,” she said, voice dropping just a notch. “They don’t stand a chance.”

Azzi paused, eyes flicking toward hers briefly, and something passed between them just for a moment.

“Good,” she said softly, nudging her bag toward Paige. “Now. Let’s get nerdy.”

Azzi unzipped her backpack and started pulling things out: a small stack of flashcards, a neatly tabbed notebook, a worn textbook, and a half-crushed bag of chips.

She tossed the snacks on the bed between them, then reached back into the bag. “Oh,” she said casually, “I also brought these. Thought we might need a lil sugar boost.”

She pulled out a frozen bag and set it on the blanket with a casual thud.

Paige’s head whipped around so fast it was a miracle she didn’t get whiplash.

“Is that—Wait. Is that Tru Fru ?”

Azzi blinked. “Uh, yea. Why?”

Paige stared like she’d just seen a miracle. “Are you serious right now?” she said, reaching for the bag with almost reverent hands. “This is elite behavior. You just brought Tru Fru like it’s casual?”

Azzi laughed. “It is casual. I like them.”

“No. No, Azzi. This is amazing.”

Azzi grinned, watching her tear open the bag like it was treasure. “Glad you’re easily impressed.”

“I’m not.” Paige said, already popping one into her mouth. “Ok, maybe I am. But still—Tru Fru ?”

She offered the bag to Azzi with a look that bordered on romantic devotion. “You want one?”

Azzi took one and nudged Paige with her foot. “Alright Rizzler. Focus.”

Paige choked a little, glaring. “You heard that?”

“Bits,” Azzi said with a shrug. “Enough.”

Paige groaned and muttered something under her breath. Then, with a quick glance to make sure Azzi wasn’t looking, she checked herself.

Eye contact. Laugh at her jokes. Casual touch. Compliments. Lips. Got it.

She exhaled slowly, rolled her shoulders, and leaned in.

Azzi pulled out the flashcards and handed half to Paige. “Ok. Let’s do the derivatives first, and then hit matrix operations. Sound good?”

“Sure.” Paige leaned slightly closer. “Coach always says hit the fundamentals before the fancy plays, so. Makes sense.”

Azzi nodded. “Exactly. Derivatives are like… reading a defense. You’re not just reacting to a play, you’re predicting how it’s going to change. Like, if you’re driving the lane and the defender’s momentum is moving left, you already know to cut right.”

Paige raised her brows. “Okay… yea. Yea, that actually makes sense.”

Azzi flipped to the next flashcard. “What’s the derivative of 3x²?”

“6x,” Paige said immediately, then grinned. “Quick first step.”

Azzi chuckled. “Not bad.”

Paige tilted her head, letting the silence linger for just a second longer than necessary. “You’ve got a good teaching voice, by the way.”

Azzi blinked. “What?”

Paige shrugged, playing it off as casual. “I’m just saying. Like, it’s calm. Explains things well. Makes stuff less scary.”

Azzi opened her mouth, then shut it again, just barely ducking her head. “Thanks,” she said quietly.

Point one. Compliment. Executed.

Paige smiled, trying to hide the way her own pulse had jumped.

Azzi moved to the next card. “Alright, what’s the derivative of sin(x)?”

“Cos(x),” Paige answered, still watching Azzi.

When Azzi looked up, Paige met her eyes, holding it just a beat longer, before offering a small smile. Azzi faltered. “Right,” she said, blinking once before looking back down. “Correct.”

Eye contact. Check.

Paige scooted a little closer and reached across to grab one of the notebooks Azzi had opened, brushing their arms together. Her fingers grazed Azzi’s wrist, then lingered there just a second as she pulled the notebook toward her.

“Sorry,” Paige mumbled, but didn’t move her arm away.

Azzi didn’t either.

Touch. Casual. Executed.

They moved on to matrix multiplication. Azzi leaned in to explain it using a basketball example.

“Ok,” she said, “imagine each row in this matrix is a player, and the columns are stats—points, assists, rebounds. When you multiply by this matrix, it’s like applying game conditions—home or away, fast or slow tempo, pressure defense. It changes the output.”

Paige nodded, absorbing every word—but her eyes were flicking, just briefly, to Azzi’s mouth. Her lips, the way they moved when she talked, the little quirk in her smile when she finished explaining.

Stare at her lips. Not creepy. Just once. Nailed it.

Paige leaned in a little more, then draped her arm over Azzi’s shoulders and let it rest there. Her hand slid down to Azzi’s far arm, light and steady. She didn’t make a big deal out of it. Just… settled.

Azzi barely reacted. She was used to it now—Paige’s warmth, her arm casually thrown around her like they’d done it a dozen times. Paige’s hand resting on her shoulder as they leaned over notes together. Normal.

But then Paige’s fingers tapped lightly against her shoulder. Absentminded. Gentle. Azzi tried to focus on the next example.

“And if we look at—uh—so if this row is the defensive scheme, then…”

She trailed off, eyes flicking down.

Paige’s bicep flexed a little as she adjusted her grip, anchoring them both together. Azzi blinked, her brain stalling for just a second. Her gaze dipped lower then back up quickly.

Focus.

“Anyways” she said, voice just slightly thinner. “That’s how you interpret the output. It’s… it’s predictive.”

Paige nodded, focused and calm, totally unaware of how her muscles were being lowkey studied.

Azzi tried again, flipping a page.

Paige leaned in, chin brushing close to Azzi’s temple as she peered at the notes. “You’re smart,” she murmured. “Like, actually.”

Azzi paused.

She turned her head slowly, met Paige’s gaze up close.

Paige smiled again, soft and maybe a little too honest. “I mean it.”

Azzi’s eyes searched hers for a second too long, her heart thudding. Her mouth opened like she wanted to say something but she didn’t. Just nodded faintly and looked back down.

Paige didn’t move her arm.

They worked through the rest of the practice problems slowly, surrounded by flashcards, open books, and the remnants of snacks. Every so often, Paige would make a little joke or laugh at Azzi’s quips, just enough to keep the mood light. The tru fru bag was nearly empty.

—-----------------------------------

Azzi scribbled something into the margin of her notebook, trying to stay focused. Paige’s arm was still draped comfortably across her shoulders, her fingers resting against Azzi’s upper arm like it was second nature. It was distracting. In the most confusing, quietly electric kind of way.

Paige glanced over at Azzi’s backpack again and tilted her head. “Hey,” she said, nudging Azzi’s knee with her own. “You just get that camera ?”

Azzi looked up, blinking. “Oh. Yea.” She reached over and pulled the small, pastel pink camera out from where it was half-buried under a notebook. “Received it this morning. Been wanting one for a while.”

Paige’s eyes lit up. “It’s cute. The colour is nice and kinda soft. Feels very you.”

Azzi gave her a skeptical look. “Soft ?”

Paige smirked. “In a good way. Like… deceptively powerful. Sneaky-soft.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “Ok, sure.”

Paige leaned closer, eyes flicking to the camera in her hands. “Also, by the way,” she added casually, “you can keep that pic you took earlier. Of me.”

Azzi paused, fingers tightening slightly around the camera.

She didn’t say anything for a moment. Just looked down at the camera like it had betrayed her.

“I mean,” Paige continued, voice a little gentler now, “not that I’m, like, obsessed with how it came out or anything. Just… you know. You took it. It’s yours.”

Azzi glanced at her, surprised by the softness in her tone. “Ok,” she said. “Thanks.”

There was a small pause.

“You wanna take one together ?” Azzi asked, not quite meeting Paige’s eyes. “Like… for the study archives or whatever.”

Paige beamed. “Absolutely.”

Azzi turned on the Polaroid and flipped it around in her hands. “Ok, it’s set… we’ll have to, uh… get close.”

Paige’s heart jumped just slightly but she kept it cool. “Right. Cool. Yea, no prob.”

She adjusted her position without moving her arm from Azzi’s shoulder, instead pulling her a bit closer, their bodies shifting naturally until their sides were pressed together.

Azzi inhaled a little too sharply.

The camera was held out in Azzi’s hand, a little shaky, so Paige reached her other hand up to help steady it. In doing so, she dipped her head slightly, letting her cheek rest gently against the top of Azzi’s head.

Azzi froze. Her heart was doing something weird.

“Ok ?” Paige asked, voice soft right above her ear.

Azzi swallowed. “Y-Yea. Good. Smile.”

They both smiled—maybe too much, maybe too soft. Paige’s eyes had crinkled a little at the corners, and Azzi’s dimples showed as her lips curled with that barely-there shyness she only showed when she wasn’t guarding herself.

Click.

The camera whirred and slowly spat out the photo.

They stayed like that for a second longer than necessary.

Neither moved.

Then the photo popped out, and Azzi reached for it quickly, setting the camera down.

The image was still developing, colours slowly blooming into clarity.

Paige leaned over to peek, cheek brushing against Azzi’s hair again. “Nawwww that’s actually kinda cute.”

Azzi held it up between them, her thumb brushing the edge. “Yea,” she murmured. “It… is.”

The photo showed them pressed close together, Paige’s arm curled protectively around Azzi’s shoulders, her cheek resting on Azzi’s head. Azzi was leaning just barely into her. They both looked comfortable. Happy. A little flushed. Like more than friends.

Azzi glanced up at Paige, who was already looking at her.

Neither of them said anything.

Paige just smiled, softer now. “You can keep that one too, if you want.”

Azzi blinked, something tugging in her chest.

“Thanks,” she said again. And this time, she meant something more.

She set the photo carefully beside the flashcards.

“…Ok,” she said after a beat, “but now I want one to keep for myself.”

Azzi looked over, intrigued. “Another one?”

“Yea,” Paige grinned. “But this one’s gotta be stupid. Like, completely unserious. I want chaos.”

Azzi blinked. “Chaos ?”

“Yeah. A silly one,” Paige said, reaching for the camera again. “Like for balance. You keep the soft, wholesome one. I keep the unhinged one.”

Azzi gave her a slow, suspicious look. “Define unhinged.”

“Like… we commit. Dumb faces. Chaos energy. No regrets,” Paige said, sitting up straighter with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Azzi laughed despite herself. “Ok, fine. But if this ends up on the internet, I’m suing.”

“No one’s seeing it but me,” Paige said, holding the camera up again. “Unless u start slandering me publicly. Then it’s going on every social media platform I use.”

Azzi scoffed, scooting closer to get in the frame again. “I’m literally tryna help you pass.”

“Exactly why I’m letting you in this iconic moment.”

They shifted again, bodies brushing, legs pressed together. Paige slung her arm right back over Azzi’s shoulder like she belonged there and grinned.

“Ok,” Paige whispered. “How about you do the disgusted look. Like, ‘ew what the fuck’. I’ll go dumbass mode.”

Azzi bit back a smile, but she nodded, glancing up at Paige as Paige tilted her head toward her dramatically.

At the last second, Azzi turned her face, giving Paige a dirty—chin tucked, eyes narrowed, lips curled like she couldn’t believe she was associated with this person. Her head rested right on Paige’s shoulder, angled up, expression perfect.

Paige, meanwhile, crossed her eyes hard and stuck her tongue out to the side, her nose nearly brushing Azzi’s from how close they were.

Their cheeks were flushed immediately but they held still.

Click.

The photo slid out again with a whir, and they both burst into laughter immediately, faces still close enough that Paige had to pull back slightly to avoid accidentally bumping lips.

“That was ridiculous,” Azzi muttered, but she was smiling so hard her eyes had almost disappeared.

“Iconic,” Paige corrected, already grabbing the photo and waving it gently in the air to help it develop. “Frame-worthy. Poster-worthy.”

When the image started to appear, they leaned in again to look—Azzi’s dramatic look, Paige’s deranged expression, their faces way too close, and somehow still cute.

Paige blinked at it, a slow grin spreading across her face.

Azzi tilted her head. “We look…”

Paige snatched the marker from the desk, uncapping it with her teeth before scrawling the date along the bottom of the photo. Then, trying to play it cool despite the buzz of excitement under her skin, she stood and slapped the photo onto the corner of her whiteboard, holding it in place with a magnet.

Then she turned back to Azzi.

“We lwkey look like a couple.”

Azzi blinked. Her breath caught in her throat.

Paige didn’t say it like a joke.

She said it with a little smile and a shrug, like the observation didn’t scare her. Like maybe she’d been thinking about it for a while.

Azzi opened her mouth. Then closed it. Then opened it again.

“I—yea,” she said, voice quieter than before. “We kinda do.”

Their eyes held for a moment longer than they should have. Long enough that Paige’s teasing smile started to fade into something softer. Something neither of them could name yet.

But neither looked away.

—-----------------------------------

Time had slipped by unnoticed. Now, the clock on Paige’s desk glowed quietly—9:02 pm.

Azzk’s gaze flicked to it, reluctant. She shifted a little on the bed, tugging her hoodie sleeve over her hand, suddenly too aware of how late it had gotten and how long she’d been there.

3 hours. 3 entire hours of studying, laughing, and taking couple-like polaroids with someone she never thought she’d be like this with.

She shouldn’t have been thinking about how good Paige looked like this with her bare shoulders, messy bun, those grey trackies still hanging low on her hips. And those glasses. God. It was like some twisted test designed to expose all her weak spots.

Paige, meanwhile, stretched with a soft groan and stood up, glancing toward the door like she’d just remembered Azzi had to leave at some point. She looked over, eyes soft.

“You heading out ?”

Azzi nodded slowly, rising to her feet. “Yea. I probs should before I end up just… staying.”

Paige chuckled. “You wouldn’t hear me complain.”

That made Azzi pause for a split second, but she forced a little smirk and reached for her backpack.

Paige walked her to the door without thinking, her hand finding its way to Azzi’s waist as they moved side by side. Natural. Familiar now. Her touch lingered even as they stopped at the threshold.

Azzi turned to her, backpack slung over one shoulder, a little flush high on her cheeks. “Thanks for today,” she said quietly. “This was… actually kinda fun.”

Paige smiled, stepping closer. “Yea ?” Her voice dropped a little. “I like hanging out with you.”

Azzi swallowed, eyes flicking down, and then back up. “I like hanging out with you too.”

They leaned in at the same time hugging like it was routine now. Like this was what they did.

Paige wrapped her arms around Azzi’s waist, slow and easy, pulling her in. Azzi’s hands found Paige’s back, fingers curling gently into the bare skin.

The hug lingered. Just a little too long. Just enough to feel everything.

Paige’s hand moved slowly, softly up and down Azzi’s back. A quiet caress. Thoughtless, but tender.

“Text me when you get back ?” Paige murmured near her ear.

Azzi nodded, eyes fluttering shut. “Yea I will.”

Paige hesitated, lips close enough to brush the edge of Azzi’s cheek but not quite touching. “I could walk you back,” she offered softly. “It’s dark.”

Azzi shook her head gently, still in her arms. “You don’t have to. That’d be… too much.”

Paige smiled against her hair. “Too much, huh ?”

Azzi breathed a soft laugh. “Yea.”

They pulled back slightly, but their arms stayed in place. Just swaying there in the doorway, faces close again, unspoken things passing between them.

“I’ll see you soon ?” Paige asked, voice a whisper now.

Azzi nodded, eyes warm. “Yea. Soon.”

Then slowly, they let go.

Paige watched as Azzi disappeared down the hallway. The warmth of her still clinging to her skin. And when she closed the door, she didn’t move for a long time.

Just stood there.

Smiling.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

#paige bueckers #azzi fudd #paige x azzi #pazzi #pazzi fics #uconn #uconn wbb #uconn huskies #uconn women’s basketball #ncaa wbb #wbb #wnba #dallas wings #wnba basketball

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tobiosbbyghorl · 2 months ago

Text

From the Bottom of the Cup | psh

café for7you followers eventt

Order for anon ⋆˚✿˖°

One Trope Latte: Secret admirer leaves notes under their cup every morning. Coming right up!!

Brewed with shy smiles over the counter, folded in with foamed confessions and hidden ink. This cup is warm with anticipation, stirred gently with soft glances and a quiet hope that maybe—just maybe—you knew all along.

The first time you noticed it, you nearly threw it away.

You were halfway to the trash with your finished vanilla oat milk latte — extra foam, light cinnamon, your daily 8:03 AM ritual — when a faint scribble on the bottom of the cup caught your eye.

You tilted it.

“Hope today is kinder to you.”

It wasn’t a printed quote. It was handwritten — messy but sweet, like it had been rushed but meant.

You turned your head toward the counter.

Sunghoon stood there, cleaning the steamer wand, sleeves rolled up and hair tucked under a beanie. He didn’t look your way, but something in the curve of his smile made your heart skip.

You didn’t say anything.

But you didn’t throw away the cup either.

And the next day, you checked the bottom of your cup before you even took a sip.

“Your eyes looked heavy today. I hope your heart isn’t.”

“Red looks good on you. Not just the scarf.”

“Caught you smiling at your phone again. Lucky person.”

Every message felt like a secret whispered across the room. Always on the bottom. Always from him. You knew it—though he never said anything.

Then one rainy morning, you showed up earlier than usual.

The shop was quiet, only a few early birds tucked into corners. You waited near the espresso machine, pretending to scroll your phone while watching

Sunghoon prep your order.

He held the cup in one hand and a marker in the other. His brows furrowed in focus, lower lip slightly tucked between his teeth.

He scribbled something fast on the bottom, set the cup down like it was nothing, and reached for the milk jug.

He hadn’t seen you watching.

So you pretended — like always — to know nothing.

“Vanilla oat milk, extra foam, light cinnamon,” he said when you stepped up.

“Perfect,” you replied, smiling as you took the cup. You didn’t look underneath. Not yet.

But this time, the message read:

“It’s okay if you know. I just hope you keep coming back.”

You grinned.

The next morning, you got there a minute earlier. Just enough to catch him mid-scribble again.

This time, he noticed.

Eyes wide. Marker still in hand.

You tilted your head and leaned on the counter with a slow, knowing smile. “So… what are you writing under the cup today?”

Sunghoon looked like he short-circuited for a second.

“I—uh—wha—?” he stammered, then immediately cleared his throat. “Nothing. Definitely not love notes. Who does that?”

You raised a brow. “Love notes?”

“I mean—uh—motivational messages,” he corrected, blushing hard now. “For customers. In general. Not a specific one. Obviously.”

You gave him a look. “Sunghoon.”

He hid behind the espresso machine for a beat. “Okay, maybe for one specific customer. Just a little.”

You leaned closer across the counter. “Just a little?”

He peeked up through his lashes, face still burning. “Depends. Did it work?”

“Did what work?”

“Getting your attention.” His lips twitched into a shy grin. “Because if I knew all it took was scribbling under a cup, I would’ve started on day one.”

You let out a quiet laugh, cheeks warm. “I knew it was you from the first one.”

Sunghoon blinked. “Wait—seriously?”

You nodded. “Almost threw it away, but I saw the handwriting. And… I kept every one.”

His eyes widened, and he looked like his brain was buffering again. “Wait. You did?”

You tapped the cup he’d just handed you. “Guess you better make today’s extra good.”

He leaned forward, trying to sound cool despite how red his ears were. “What if I just give you my number instead?”

You blinked. “Finally.”

He looked stunned. “Wait, finally?”

You laughed, backing away with your drink. “See you tomorrow, lover boy.”

The next day, scribbled beneath the cup in familiar, flustered handwriting:

“From the barista with a hopeless crush… who finally got the girl.”

The café was already closed, chairs flipped onto tables, lights dimmed except for the soft golden glow behind the counter. Outside, the city hummed gently — quieter, like it knew something soft and important was happening here.

Sunghoon wiped his hands on a towel, trying not to look as jittery as he felt. “Thanks for waiting,” he said, sliding into the booth across from you. “Sorry I took so long, I had to close up and—”

“You don’t have to be nervous, you know,” you said, chin in your hand, smiling in that way that always made his brain go fuzzy.

“I’m not nervous,” he replied instantly. Then paused. “Okay, I’m like… 43% nervous.”

“Only 43?” You reached into your bag and pulled out a small, beat-up journal. “Want to see something?”

“Uh… sure?”

You opened the journal slowly — and there they were.

Pictures. Photos. Glued-down coffee cup bottoms, carefully cut and pressed flat. His handwriting on every single one. Page after page.

“I kept all of them,” you said softly, flipping through them with your fingertips. “After that first message, I started saving them. I didn’t know why at first. I just… didn’t want to throw them away.”

Sunghoon stared in awe, mouth slightly open. “That’s… you really—? Wait, that one—” He leaned in, pointing at a smudged message. “‘You looked tired but still managed to smile’—I remember writing that. You were in a blue hoodie. You looked… I don’t know. Soft.”

Your smile was warm, a little shy. “I liked that one. A lot.”

He exhaled slowly, resting his chin in his hand to mirror you. “You’re kind of ruining all my future flirting plans. I peaked with the cups.”

“You didn’t peak,” you said, laughing gently. “You set the bar.”

He looked at you then — really looked — and the smile that spread across his face was slow, fond, and just a little dreamy.

“Would it be too much,” he asked quietly, “if I kissed you now?”

You leaned forward with a teasing glint in your eyes. “Only if you promise to still write under my cups.”

He grinned. “Deal.”

And when he kissed you — shy at first, but sweet and sure — the world outside the coffee shop seemed to blur.

But somewhere in the back of your mind, you were already thinking about what tomorrow’s cup might say.

Want to place an order? See here what Café for7you has to offer for you! ₊˚⊹♡

permanent taglist: @ijustwannareadstuff20 @hoonielvv @rjssierjrie @rikifever @firstclassjaylee @morganaawriterr

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orikixx · 4 months ago

Text

Blueprints & Heartbeats

Part: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

Featuring: Nanami Kento

Warnings: slight angst, wc 1.5k, part 2 will be a smau!

Summary: academic rivals to lovers! a mixup in the architecture group project forces you to team up with Nanami Kento, the serious and stoic student. But maybe, he isn’t as brooding as you thought?

Author's note: I feel like I’m trying a new style and this is kinda scary lol. I hope you guys like it!🫶

There he was.

As you walked into the classroom, you saw him. The man you’ve heard all too much about, yet never got the chance to talk to. Well, it’s not like you didn’t get the chance, Nanami Kento just flat out ignored you.

At first, you thought he hasn’t heard you. He couldn’t have been ignoring you on purpose, right? So you tried again, and again, until eventually giving up because clearly, he had no interest in talking to his classmate.

You two share the same major, but that doesn’t seem to matter to him. Despite being in the same classes and even the same study groups, Nanami always finds a way to avoid interacting with you. It’s frustrating, to say the least, especially when can’t understand why. Maybe it’s your personality?

It cannot be the fact that you’re an annoying person, because you aren’t. There’s no denying that people definitely find you loud and bubbly, but no one would actually describe you as an annoying person, since you almost manage to brighten everyone’s mood. Or almost everyone, in that case. The problem could be Nanami, perhaps he just hates everything that’s not beige, boring and brooding, just the way he is. Or maybe there was something else, something deeper, that made him keep his distance. He definitely strikes you as the antisocial, loner wolf type. Either way, it was clear that Nanami Kento wasn’t interested in getting to know you.

You sat down next to Satoru, a friend you’ve met through the architecture course, and immediately felt at ease, with the help of his non stop babbling about some movie he’s watched with his girlfriend over the weekend. Zoning out a little, the hum of conversations fills the room, Satoru’s voice drowning in the background as you observe the walls of your lecture hall. The walls are lined with endless sketches, and the faint scent of ink lingered in the air. The harsh fluorescent lights made you dizzy, which brought you back to the fact that your professor has just walked in.

You quickly hush Satoru, and look at your professor. She’s known for being very harsh on students, so you always try your best to leave a good impression on her. She starts talking, something about another group project. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence to have to work in groups, but it felt like such a hassle for you. Having a very different way of working than the other students, it sometimes caused clashes within the group. They were eventually solved by getting to a compromise, but it was noticeable that it happened every single time you were in the group.

While most students meticulously planned their designs with rulers and perfectly aligned sketches, your workspace always looked like controlled chaos. Bold, colorful markers and loose sheets of paper filled with quick sketches and half-formed ideas were scattered across your desk. You thrived on spontaneity, letting inspiration strike in bursts, while others preferred methodical precision.

Your designs were vibrant, full of life and energy, much like you. They weren't always perfect, but they stood out. Other students often seemed to be skeptical about your work, yet they agreed that your flashy ideas were always the cherry on top of their mundane, strictly planned designs.

The professor starts reading out the names for the group projects, which are in duos for the first time in the entire year and a half you’ve spent at the course already. She reads name after name, and when satoru is paired with some other student instead of you, the both of you silently groan. You wait as the list goes on, until eventually you’re paired with… Nanami.

Before you can even process what your professor said, someone’s coughing loudly, and you turn around to see that it’s no other than the man himself. You turn back bashfully, ears red with embarrassment. The fact he looks terrified out of his mind at the thought of working with you bothers you, but what can you really do at this point.

When class ends, you and satoru go your separate ways. He went to talk to his teammate, and you were intending to do the same, or at least try to, because when you search around the class for Nanami, he’s already standing by the professor, seemingly.. arguing with her? You get closer, trying to subtly eavesdrop on whatever they were not so calmly discussing.

“There must be something you can do to change the groups!”

Oh.

You stop in your tracks, feeling like a beat down puppy. You don’t even move away, inevitably listening to the rest of their conversation as the other students’ conversations buzz around you.

“I’m sorry Nanami, I’ve already submitted your names to the administration, there’s nothing I can do to change the situation.”

There’s a burn in your chest, slowly spreading until you feel your neck heating, until your face is red, and you’re suddenly filled with such utter despair, because how the hell are you supposed to work on a project with someone who hates you without even knowing you?

You weren’t intending to be dramatic, but you know you can’t handle him right now. Before either of them could turn around and notice you, you just left class. Not discussing even the simplest details with him felt wrong, but you can try doing that later, when you’re calmer, if he’ll deem you as worthy enough to talk to.

As you were walking through the campus, your mind clouded with anger, you tried deciding how to deal with the situation.

You could text him, though with the way he’s treated you so far, he might as well just block you. You don’t actually believe he’d to that, since he cares too much about his grades, yet he’s definitely going to be so unpleasant to you.

…………

Nanami might as well have buried himself 6 feet deep at this point. Not only he got paired with the one person in the entire class that could beat his grade on every single assignment, but she also had the audacity to be so effortlessly unbothered and vibrant about it. Her carefree attitude, her ability to come up with ideas on the spot, and the way she never seems to second guess herself, it irritates him in ways he can’t quite explain.

He knows he won’t be able to function.. normally, if he had to work with her alone. It’s not like he hates y/n, because no one could hate her. He just lets his ego get to him, and he doesn’t know what to say when she comes by, trying to talk to him. As he sees it, she might as well wave a huge flag that says “look at me! I’m better than you!”. He knows it’s stupid, but that’s just the way he is. So when the professor tells him she can’t change his teammate, he feels defeated.

He turns around, contemplating if he should search for y/n in the classroom.

He scans the room , yet he can’t spot her anywhere. She usually hangs out with gojo, but the white haired man is now talking to his own teammate, and y/n’s bubbly voice isn’t heard throughout the place.

Nanami’s phone buzzes in his pocket, and he swiftly takes it out, curious about who even has his number saved.

Unknown number: hi Nanami, it’s y/n from the architecture course. Would you like to meet up tomorrow and start working on our project?

Nanami stares at the screen, unexpectedly dumbfounded. How did she manage to beat him even at texting?

Nanami: meet me tomorrow at the café near the lecture hall at 11:00.

He knows he could’ve been nicer to her, but honestly it doesn’t bother him at the moment since all he can think about is how he’s gonna spend the rest of the semester with y/n as his teammate.

She doesn’t reply to him, just leaves the text on read. He shouldn’t be surprised, or feel anything considering the fact he’s been anything but nice to her, but he feels like it doesn’t fit her personality. Maybe he hadn’t talked to her even once, but he’s been watching her.

A lot.

He knows which students get on her nerves, and he can recognize the look on her face when she tries to hold her laugh in during a lecture. The fact he even knows anything about her irritates him, but if he doesn't observe her to learn and improve himself, what other option does he have?

Nanami sighs, shoving the phone back into his pocket before leaving the hall. As he walks across the campus, in the direction of his dorm, he notices y/n. She was sitting on the grass with her friends, the sun shining on her figure, and she looked so…. He doesn’t want to finish that thought.

Her hands move in an almost animated manner, one he often sees in class. He has to tear his eyes away from the sight, fastening his pace.

Still, even as he tried to stop it, the image of her lingered in his mind, unbidden and unwelcome.

divider credit: @soulari

taglist: @yourname-exee @realalpacorn @zayuriluvs @galactacium

#jjk #jjk x reader #nanami kento #jjk nanami #nanami x reader #jujutsu kaisen nanami #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #academic rivals #slight angst #jjk angst #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk smau #smau

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sugarplumkneecaps · 5 months ago

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Memories (Shadow x Reader)

Pairing: Shadow the Hedgehog x Reader (gender neutral) → Can be read as platonic or romantic Word Count: 3.4k T/W: loss, mentions of death (previous to story) Summary: It's New Year's Eve and life has been quite peaceful for the last few months following Dr. Eggman's defeat (again). You work up the courage to invite Shadow over, but he seems to be a bit distracted...

SQUEEE- the marker squealed as another day was crossed off the paper calendar hung on the wall in the hallway. The end of the year had come much sooner than Shadow expected. It felt as though most of his days blurred together, the mundane routine turning his concept of time on its head. At one point in his life, he had longed for the same sense of normalcy that Rouge had mentioned long ago. But this? This was torturous. He replaced the cap of the pen and hung it back up with the calendar before moving into the kitchen of his apartment with a great deal of reluctance. He had yet to go grocery shopping, making his usual routine of finding breakfast somewhat more adventurous than he had the energy for this morning.

Rouge had urged for him to rent the apartment and get his current job following their efforts to put a stop to Robotnik’s world ending plans. “I think you are long overdue for a taste of normal life Shadow,” Rouge had cooed at him.

He scoffed at the memory, taking in the view of his living space as he exited the kitchen with a sad bagel topped with cream cheese (making a mental note to stop by the corner store to grab something to fill him up a bit). His apartment wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t anything grand either. His living room could fit a single, plush couch across from a TV, record player, and his plant. The walls were lined with records that were regularly rotated out every week. He had direct access to his small breakfast nook and kitchen due to the open layout, which he enjoyed. It allowed for him to sit and enjoy his music as he ate or cooked. The hallway led to his room, office, and bathroom, all neat and tidy in their own respective manners. It was comfortable for him, mostly due to never expecting any real company over.

The size of it also meant that rent was cheap, which was good as all of his paycheck from the cafe only had to go towards every day living expenses (at the behest of a certain bat, once again, advising him to save his payout from their more intensive work). Shadow couldn’t deny the merit of her words; the higher paying work had slowed down significantly. Preventing world domination for the upteenth time seemed to discourage others from another attempt too soon.

Shadow finished his breakfast and headed toward the front door, slipping on his shoes before starting his commute to work which was only a short walk from his place. He let out a long sigh as he locked the front door behind him, nearly running into you as he turned toward the stairwell.

“Oh! Uh- Sorry, Shadow. I didn’t see you there,” you stuttered, embarrassment dripping from each word. You had been neighbors for a few months now, excited and yet intimidated by the proximity you had with him. It was simply chance that you two had even met in the first place, what with Infinite sparing you and the events that followed; you had somehow become an integral part of Sonic and his cohorts’ plan to bring Dr. Eggman to a halt. But the fact that Shadow not only worked with you at the local cafe but had also moved in next door to you so soon after felt too good to be true.

“All good. See you at work,” his voice somewhat hushed and low before he continued on his way. Burying his hands in his pockets, his steps covered an impressive distance in only a few minutes, Shadow’s mind wandering. He had also taken note of you - your impressive feats to aid them in their world saving efforts all the way down to your also somewhat mundane ritualistic activities. You both worked behind the counter at the cafe; him focusing more on brewing orders while you handled customers. He was always curious how you managed it with a smile on your face most days; the idea of switching spots with you was enough to make him shudder, shaking his head in effort to rid himself of the idea.

“Oh Shadow, people aren’t all bad!” Maria’s voice echoed. Shadow stopped dead in his tracks, the sudden flashback startling him. Why would he remember that now, of all times and places?

You weren’t too far behind Shadow, but you swore he glided to work effortlessly even without his air shoes. It wasn’t until he paused that you were able to catch up with him, letting out a small chuckle as you bumped shoulders with him lightly. This seemed to pull him out of his daze.

“C’mon, spacey, we don’t want to be late. I still owe you a breakfast sandwich for yesterday!”

“Wait- what? What are you talking about?”

You turned to look at the dark hedgehog, a smile creeping on your lips, “you saved me from that older gentleman, remember? He was making all sorts of comments-“

Shadow let out a “tch-“ sound before furrowing his eyebrows further, “Oh. You don’t owe me anything for that. You seemed uncomfortable.” His pace picked up a bit, causing you to need to start into a light jog to keep pace with him.

“I mean- yeah. He was being a bit creepy.” You huffed out a breath, once again embarrassed only this time by how winded keeping up with Shadow made you. “Hey, could you slow down a bit? We aren’t running that late or anything.”

Shadow eyed you from the side, smirking slightly before slowing his pace, “well, lucky for you, we’re here.” He motioned toward the building in front of you both, windows lining the outside to reveal the dark seating area of the cafe. You let out an exaggerated huff in an effort to make light of your winded state before digging in your bag for the keys to the front door. After wrestling with the key for a moment, you were able to unlock the building and begin setting up to open.

“Hey Shadow, I’ve been meaning to ask, how do you like your coffee?”

Shadow paused for a moment while he removed the chairs from atop their respective tables, pushing them in and moving on to the next methodically, “black, which I’m sure you probably could’ve guessed.”

“Ah- right. My bad. That does seem too fitting to not be obvious, huh?” you laughed shyly, starting the brew and selecting a breakfast sandwich to heat up for your counterpart. Man, you’re really going 3 for 3 this morning, huh? Your head hung low before rolling your shoulders back. This is your last chance to invite him, don’t screw it up!

The oven chimed as an indicator that Shadow’s sandwich was done, encouraging you to work up a bit of courage to not only present the seemingly unnecessary gesture but to also address him. You plated the sandwich and placed it on the table Shadow had just cleared off.

“Your breakfast, my good sir!” you bowed dramatically, getting a strained chuckle in response from Shadow. Clearing your throat, you figured now was as good a time as any, “I wanted to ask you something.”

Shadow sat in the chair in front of the sandwich, thankful that he wouldn’t have to resort to the corner store option, “hmm?”

You waited a moment to see if his gaze would meet yours, only to realize after a few bites in that your gesture maybe wasn’t as unwanted as he made it seem. “Well, see, I am going to be having a few people over later tonight to celebrate New Years. Rouge, Silver, maybe a few others, and uhm-“ you gulped, your mouth dry as your original, short invitation started to take a turn for the worse. “And... you? If you’d like to come?” Your ears drooped a tiny bit, your body subconsciously preparing for the inevitable rejection you were sure you would face.

Much to your surprise though, Shadow paused his chewing to look at you, “Yeah. I could stop by.” He continued to eat, completely unfazed by your shock at his response.

“Really?? That’s great! I mean- that’s, uhm, yeah! The party starts at 8PM!”

Shadow said nothing, which you took in stride, practically twirling as you went to grab him a coffee.

The work day somehow dragged on and yet also was over before either of you knew it. Shadow was appreciative of the routine of brewing the coffee, cleaning the machine, collecting dishware, and starting over as it allowed him to shut his brain off. It seemed to be determined to pull the rug out from under him today considering his flashback earlier. Memories of Maria weren’t unwelcome by any means, but Shadow recognized his emotional responses to them weren’t necessarily appropriate at work. He could have contemplated the reason behind their resurgence, but he simply chalked it up to his recent living situation changes, unwilling to dig deeper than that. Although, he might not have been too far off.

Rouge wasn’t the only one Shadow had heard speak of normalcy longingly; Maria’s illness was better managed whilst in the care of her grandfather, but that didn’t mean she got to experience much of a normal childhood as other kids her age did. She was at the mercy of her grandfather’s schedule and her small living quarters. “I know it seems silly,” she would say softly, “but sometimes I miss going to school. I miss riding the bus. I miss running through flower fields and my parents yelling for me when the street lights came on.” These concepts had meant very little to Shadow at the time, but as life had settled around him, he couldn’t help but wish he could show Maria that he was trying to live each day with her in mind.

The New Year creeping up on him was maybe too much of a reminder that he hadn’t done that great of a job to really appreciate the peace he had recently found. All he could hope for is that the party tonight would not be something he would regret agreeing to. I’ll make a promise to Maria that I will do better in the coming year.

You stared at your reflection for far too long. Clothes were strewn about your bed, all rejected options for tonight’s celebration. “You don’t need to overdo it!” you said to yourself, gripping the jeans in your hands. “Just wear the stupid jeans and find a comfy sweater. This isn’t meant to be some crazy thing.”

A knock on your door indicated that you didn’t have time to continue to bemoan over your lackluster wardrobe any longer. Throwing on the clothes in hand and quickly fluffing your hair, you made your way to the front door to greet your first guest. To your surprise, Shadow greeted you with a bottle of champaign.

“Hope this is okay,” he said, looking you over subtly. He was dressed in a pair of dark slacks, a turtleneck sweater, and a nice blazer. You could feel the dread set in once again before mentally shaking yourself out of it, “yes! This is fine! Thank you, you really didn’t have to bring anything.” You welcomed him inside and placed the champaign on the kitchen counter before turning to pull refreshments from the pantry and fridge.

Shadow stood next to the door as he watched you move about your apartment, removing his blazer and placing it in the crook of his arm. Your own apartment wasn’t much different than his, the layout the same, but flipped. It seemed much more suitable to host guests than his own, he noted, as he moved across the living room to where you were at in the kitchen. He hung his blazer along the back of one of the dining room chairs before holding his hands out to you. By this point, you were struggling to move the punch bowl, having filled it prematurely and realizing you would have to move the full thing to its proper place. Shadow’s outstretched arms took you by surprise but you did not refuse the help. You gingerly placed the bowl into Shadow’s arms, “thanks- uhm, you can set it on the bar counter next to the cups.”

He nodded and placed the bowl with ease, something you were quite jealous of. His otherworldly strength was quite useful while you two worked together, as he did a majority of the heavy lifting when food shipments arrived. Of course the simple task of moving the punch bowl would be easy for him. You laughed at yourself quietly at the thought and quickly turned away to continue setup.

It did not take long for the other fantastic mobians to join you both, the space of your apartment quickly filling with sounds of chatter and laughter. As the festivities kicked off, you began to notice that Shadow wasn’t really interacting with anyone (except for Rouge every now and again when she would seek him out). You had made a mental note to check in with him, but were quickly swept away to host.

You had never quite pulled something like this off, and the constant interaction was quickly draining your own social battery. Chaos, if I’m feeling this way I can only imagine how Shadow is doing. The thought prompted a quick scan of the apartment, but Shadow was nowhere to be seen. Your brows creased with concern, hoping he hadn’t left without saying anything. However, your search would need to wait as you felt an intense need to step outside for a bit of fresh air. You checked in with Tails, asking for him to keep an eye on things while you stepped out, to which he smiled at you and told you not to worry.

One of your favorite parts about this apartment was access to a private balcony. It wasn’t anything impressive but it made for a nice getaway when you needed it. You pulled on the door, struggling as it stuck to the doorway before prying it open and prompting Shadow to turn around to face you.

“Oh- sorry! I didn’t mean to, uhm-“ you gulped, startled by his presence. Why was talking to him always so nerve-wracking? “I just needed some fresh air.”

You watched as Shadow shifted over to allow some space to join him, “be my guest.”

Struggling again to close the door behind you, you moved next to him to rest your arms on the railing. Your eyes gravitated toward the sky, catching sporadic flashes of light from fireworks far off in the distance. The cool night air was a refreshing contrast from the sudden stuffiness in your small apartment and almost immediately your body relaxed. It was only at that point that you were able to take a deep breath and really released the subconscious tension you held in your shoulders since everyone arrived.

“Quite the turnout, huh?” you offered, shifting your gaze to Shadow.

He stood unmoving, his eyes now fixated on the sky above him. The stars lit up their dark backdrop, competing only with the bursts of fireworks every now and again. Shadow hadn’t seen the night sky like this in what felt like a lifetime. He had his own balcony but rarely ever used it, having forgotten it was there for the most part. In his solitude, he had very little reason to occupy the space.

The silence between you two and his unbroken focus on the sky brought you to look up again. This moment was not unwelcome nor awkward like you feared it might be. You felt a wave of comfort wash over you as you listened to the muffled sounds of your friends indoors alongside the chirping of crickets and popping of fireworks.

Shadow finally acknowledged his lack of a response to you, shifting slightly and clearing his throat, “I wonder if Maria had gotten to experience a New Years like this.” Taken aback by this vulnerability, you turned to Shadow again.

Maria. That was a familiar name in regards to the dark hedgehog. You knew she was the only friend he had before he was captured by GUN, having suffered a horrendous fate at the organization’s hand. You contemplated if she was the reason for his more prominent standoffish behavior tonight.

“This place reminds you of her, doesn’t it?” The words came out as hardly anything more than whisper, your effort to come across as tender shining through.

You watched as Shadow winced, moving his hands to interlock his fingers. “Not just this place.” He took a deep breath, as if calculating how much he wanted to divulge to you. “Everything and everywhere does...”

His voice was low and barely audible in comparison to the world around you. Shadow had been carrying the weight of Maria’s death with him through life, a feeling you could only imagine. His ears drooped slightly as his gaze shifted downward to his hands. He studied their shape, taking note of his inhibitor rings and the creases along his fingers, trying to remember what Maria’s felt like. With another small breath, he continued, “memories of her are in everything.”

To say you were stunned would be the understatement of the century. You took in the scene of Shadow, arms resting on the railing in front of him, the fingers of one of his hands tracing the other, his demeanor sad and sincere. You placed your hand on his shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. His eyes lifted to meet your own, his gaze years away as tears pooled and fell along his cheek. You smiled at him, pulling him gently toward you.

He hesitated at first before accepting your embrace. You held each other there for a moment, searching for the right words to say in response to his. Everything seemed to come up short, in your mind, sounding way too cheesy and cliche to truly convey your desire to comfort Shadow. Against your better judgment, you pulled away to look at him.

“I think... that’s how you help keep their memory alive. You carry them with you in some capacity. You associate certain things in life to them, and you cherish those things more than you would have otherwise.”

You paused, searching his expression in an effort to ensure you weren’t overstepping. He stared back at you, his usual scowl nowhere to be seen, his expression softer than you had seen before.

“Maybe it also helps us live life to the fullest and not take things for granted.”

He nodded slowly, your words sinking in as he stepped out of your arms to look at the sky again.

“She would have wanted me to enjoy life,” he said thoughtfully. Shadow took a deep breath before looking at you once again, a timid smile playing on his lips. “Thank you.”

You returned his smile in kind, imprinting this moment to memory for you to cherish always. After a brief pause, you offered your hand to him, “what do you say we go back in?”

He looked down at your hand and nodded, wiping the tears from his face and giving the night sky another glance. Shadow would have to remember to spruce up his own balcony to enjoy the stars.

Your fingers intertwined with his as you started to head back inside; the backdoor being of no issue for Shadow (of course) to pull open and close shut with ease. He let go of your hand after giving it a light squeeze and moved through the group to find Rouge of his own accord, smiling back at you. Sonic approached you, taking note of the interaction, “wow, never thought that guy could actually smile! You sure we don’t have a SUPER faker among us?”

Your elbow jabbed into Sonic’s arm playfully as you laughed and shook your head.

As midnight approached, you all gathered around the TV in the living room and counted down the New Year. Shadow closed his eyes, allowing Rouge to shake him as she joined the others in celebrating. His eyes opened and rested their gaze on you, watching as you cheered alongside everyone. It was then that he decided; he was going to make sure he did everything he could to appreciate his newfound friends and peaceful existence, just the way he hoped Maria would have wanted him to.

#tried to write smut #all i have to offer is fluff #shadow the hedgehog x reader #shadow the hedgehog #shadow x reader #wholesome #✧*̥˚ my fics *̥˚✧

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jnnul · 5 months ago

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if i say...i love you!

a/n: i saw the if i say i love you music video and i am a CHANGED WOMAN. was going to make this for taesan but there aren't enough loser leehan fics out there. cranked this out in one day so if there any grammatical errors, pls let me know <3 quick note: feedback, comments, etc. GREATLY encourage writers! if you felt any sort of way (in a good or bad way!) about this fic, pls leave feedback!

word count: 7.4k

tags: high school au!, losers in love, leehan is referred to donghyun, dongmin is a character accurate loser + menace, jihyo han/jihan best girl!, the bnd boys are chaotic and stupid, leehan is in LOVE, warnings: none!

THERE'S A FAT CHANCE THAT YOU'RE GOING TO ACCEPT KIM DONGHYUN'S CONFESSION.

at least, this is what han dongmin says when donghyun lays out his plan in front of his best friend.

"why?" donghyun whines, looking down at his hasty scribbles on his blueprint. "what's wrong with the plan?"

dongmin rolls his eyes, not even looking down at the blueprint (which donghyun had literally drawn out his plan on blue paper to make the entire situation more official - but dongmin just thinks its childish, if not a little adorable) as he pads into the kitchen to grab a snack.

"well for starters, i'm fairly sure that y/n can't read what you've written," dongmin says, two packets of goldfish richer when he returns.

donghyun frowns as he looks down at the paper before groaning, realizing that the hieroglyphics he'd written in place of legible letters were definitely far from interpretation.

"what do i do?" donghyun bemoans, dragging out each syllable. "by the time i work up the courage to confess to her again, we'll all be senior citizens instead seniors in high school!"

dongmin snorts before finally giving the 'blueprint' a solid look to decipher exactly what donghyun's plan was.

"your plan is to get down on your knees before first period and ask her out in front of the entire class with - are those chocolates or suspiciously small grenades? - chocolates and flowers? and you think that she's going to be first of all, comfortable with this and second of all, willing to say yes?" dongmin shakes his head, shoving a handful of goldfish into his mouth. "even if she does have feelings for you, she'll probably say no just because of this plan."

donghyun lets out another groan as he lays on the floor, cursing his luck. when he'd run the plan by jaehyun, the older had said that it was the perfect plan. although, if myung jaehyun thought that this was a good way to ask someone out, that really should've been donghyun's first sign of danger.

"also did you even need an entire sketch for this? i mean, it seems pretty straightforward," dongmin says, barely dodging assault by very well aimed marker.

"well, if you're done snarking on my plan, can't you help me figure out how to ask her out?" donghyun says, flipping over to serve dongmin his killer move - puppy eyes. the motion is clearly lost on dongmin when he just shovels more goldfish into his mouth but after a painfully long moment of chewing dongmin moves from the couch to the floor.

"alright, alright, fine...here's what you're gonna do..."

TRIAL ONE: DONGMIN'S PLAN

"hey jihyo," donghyun says casually, nodding to you as he spoke with your best friend, han jihyo. it was 7:30 in the morning and while donghyun usually couldn't be bothered to woken up before 7:45 in the morning (when he would eventually be yelled at by his mother and then scramble to get to school), he felt surprisingly excited to get up early in the morning to get to the school.

jihyo looks at donghyun confusedly as she takes her seat right next to you, where you had your textbooks open in front of you, just like he knew you would. "hey donghyun. what's up?"

donghyun shrugs, trying his best not to look at you scribbling away as he converses with jihyo. "nothing much. i was just wondering if you were busy later today? dongmin got us tickets to watch a movie but our friends dropped out."

"which movie?" jihyo asks, eyes sparking up at the mention of donghyun's best friend.

"uh..." donghyun wracks his brain, trying to come up with a movie name on the spot. dongmin hadn't prepared him enough! "interstellar?"

"are you asking me or telling me?" jihyo says, just barely suppressing her laugh. next to her, you look like you're in a similar situation, eyes bright and sparkly with the efforts to not completely laugh in his face.

while donghyun would usually take this in a win in itself, he decided to push his luck just a bit further. "i'm telling you; it's dongmin's favorite movie."

he pretends to ignore the subtle elbow jab that you offer to jihyo, fighting down the corners of his lips that keep creeping upwards. perhaps this plan could help donghyun and dongmin - two birds one stone. even if in this situation, dongmin was completely oblivious to jihyo's affections...

"yeah, i'm free later on," jihyo says before turning to you, her hair covering her face so donghyun can't see her facial expression as she's speaking with you. "you're free too, right y/n? you're coming with us?"

"i mean, i am free but i don't want to intrude. we don't even know if dongmin has enough tickets," you point out, a little shy as you look anywhere but donghyun and jihyo - which is a little hard considering that jihyo is practically in your face and donghyun is a good two meters tall (or at least, that's what it feels like).

"i have tickets," dongmin says, announcing his presence with an arm slung around donghyun's shoulder.

"perfect! so then we'll meet you guys in the courtyard at the end of school," jihyo says, fluttering her eyelashes not so subtly at the sight of the large man currently dangling off of donghyun.

he flashes an 'ok' sign as the two boys make their way to the back of the classroom, dongmin snickering at donghyun's dazed expression.

neither of them realize that you've turned around in your seat, a soft look in your eyes as you steal glances at donghyun.

+++

"i hate you," donghyun mutters under his breath. dongmin slaps his forehead with the heel of his palm, staring at the tickets in his other hand.

"you didn't exactly give me enough time to secure four tickets to interstellar of all movies," dongmin hisses, turning to flash a sweet smile to jihyo and you, waiting in the line patiently for some popcorn as the boys stood outside the theatre.

"well you didn't prepare me with a movie name! i did the best i could," donghyun whispers back, pulling dongmin to the side when an older couple tries to enter the theatre behind them.

"yes, and now look. we've got four tickets scattered across the hall," dongmin says, waving the tickets in donghyun's face.

donghyun sighs, running a hand through his hair as he tries to figure out a solution to the situation.

"what if we just bounce and do something else? there's no point in watching the movie if we're all gonna be on opposite sides of the theatre," donghyun says and dongmin frowns, looking down at the tickets once more.

"wait wait...there's two seats that are next to each other. it's just the other two that are on the opposite sides of the theatre," dongmin says, pointing out the seat numbers on the tickets.

"so y/n and i will sit in those seats, and then you and jihyo will sit on opposite sides of the theatre?" donghyun asks, reaching out to grab the tickets when dongmin draws his hand back quickly, holding them out of reach.

"what happened?" you ask, voice soft and gentle as you and jihyo walk up to the boys with arms filled with popcorn and soft drinks.

donghyun and dongmin exchange a look before handing over the tickets sheepishly. jihyo takes the tickets with furrowed brows after handing over (dumping) the soft drinks in dongmin's arms.

"hm. okay, give me one sec, i'll text you guys," she says somewhat mysteriously before disappearing into the theatre where trailers were playing.

"uh...i feel like one of us should go with her," donghyun says before pushing dongmin through the door behind her. the bewildered look on his face is quickly covered by the doors that cover him in darkness.

the giggle that leaves your mouth might as well been a choir of angels by the way that donghyun feels weak in the knees, unable to tear his away from your frame.

"here, let me hold that," donghyun says, gently taking the larger than life tub of popcorn from your arms. you thank him shyly, tugging your jacket over your shoulders.

"do you remember the last time we watched a movie together?" you ask, a faint warmth in your cheeks. donghyun nods, tossing a kernel of popcorn into his mouth.

"i've learned that you should be kept far far away from horror movies," donghyun says cheekily. you pout, tucking your hair behind your ear.

"no one warned me that there would be that many jump scares," you complain, chewing on a piece of popcorn.

"i remember how you were shaking while the murderer was searching the house," donghyun laughs, dodging when you reach out to slap his arm. "you wouldn't let go of my arm until the murderer was put in a jail cell."

you clear your throat, trying to will away the heat that was building on your nape and cheeks. "interstellar doesn't have any jump scares does it?"

you look up to meet donghyun's eyes, only to realize that they're already looking into yours. big, bright, sparkly and looking at you as if he's trying to commit every detail about you to memory.

"no, no jump scares," he says softly, and suddenly you get the feeling that you're stumbling into a territory you've never explored before as he draws closer to you.

"um, that's good," you whisper, the moment suddenly too intimate to speak. donghyun looks at you for just a second too long before stepping back when there's a buzz in your pocket.

"dongmin and jihyo?" he asks, shoveling more popcorn into his mouth before you walked in, knowing that dongmin was prone to eating everything in sight when watching movies.

you nod, reading the text message out loud. "jihyo somehow convinced two people to switch seats so we've got seats all next to each other."

"cool. let's head inside then," donghyun says, the warmth of his body leaving yours. he pauses just before he enters the dark theatre, looking at you with a soft smile.

"and y/n? even if there aren't any jump scares, feel free to hold onto my arm."

+++

"what happened afterwards?" kim woonhak asks, sprawled out on park sungho's bed. sungho reaches over to smack him on the arm when woonhak opens up a bag of cheetos, only to spill them all over his bed.

"nothing, obviously. the fool started getting so into the movie that that's all he would talk about for a good hour before y/n said she had to go home and study," dongmin says, slapping donghyun upside the head when donghyun starts to contest his recollection of the situation.

"you're really stupid," lee sanghyeok says, accepting the packet of haribo gummy bears that jaehyun throws in his general direction.

"sure. but this is all because i listened to dongmin's idea. i was supposed to ask her out at the end of the movie in some weird, complicated speech that dongmin came up with," donghyun protests.

"see, that's your issue," sanghyeok says, wincing when woonhak rips the head off of a gummy bear as he eats it. "i don't know why you'd listen to the least romantic person in this room about how to ask a girl out."

"then what do you think i should do?" donghyun asks.

"well, as the only person out all of you fools with a girlfriend, here's what i think you should do," sanghyeok starts, holding up an ipad with a drawing on it.

"when the two of you are cleaning the classroom after classes..."

TRIAL TWO: SANGHYEOK'S PLAN

"uh, what do you mean that y/n's sick?" donghyun says dumbfoundedly. jihyo gives him a weird look as she continues to take down two copies of notes, confirming that y/n is most definitely not at school.

"i mean that she's sick. she caught something from her brother. she's not coming to school today," jihyo repeats, staring at her notes for a moment before continuing to write again.

"oh," donghyun says defeatedly, thanking jihyo before heading to the back of the classroom. dongmin appears in the doorway of the classroom not even two minutes later, lollipop in his mouth as he drops one on jihyo's desk before heading to the back of the classroom to sit down next to donghyun.

jihyo twists in her seat. "this is y/n's favorite flavor. i'll give it to her later when i drop off some soup my dad's making her."

"you're going to y/n's house?" donghyun asks, leaning forward on his elbows, looking like he was pretty close to toppling over the desk and onto the student in front of him.

"uh, yeah." donghyun scrambles out of his seat to head over to the front of the classroom where jihyo was sitting.

"can i come with you?" donghyun asks. jihyo looks at him strangely for a moment before craning her neck to dongmin behind him. it seems whatever she sees is enough to convince her because she nods after a beat of silence.

"sure. you can come too. i'm heading over after we clean the classroom," jihyo says, nodding over to where dongmin was sitting and thumbing through his phone with earbuds in. "bring dongmin too."

"why?" donghyun questions with an innocent expression, backing off when jihyo fixes him with an unimpressed look.

"consider it a favor exchange. my friend for yours."

+++

"you know what, i thought sanghyeok's idea was stupid anyway," sungho says over the phone. donghyun can vaguely hear the sound of weights being lifted and dropped and he figures that his college going friend was likely at the gym when donghyun had emergency called him with a need for a new plan.

"so what do you think i should do? i mean, i only have a couple minutes until jihyo comes out of her house after picking up the soup. how do i come up with a plan in the next three minutes?" donghyun asks worriedly, shoving dongmin away when he sees that dongmin's dangerously close to his phone, trying to figure exactly what sungho was saying on the other end.

"well, clearly food is out of the picture, since you don't have time and because you're a walking hazard when it comes to anything related to a stove," sungho says, more to himself than to donghyun.

"if you could come up with a way to help without snarking on my cooking skills, that would be highly appreciated," donghyun says drily, winding up to kick dongmin when he starts snickering from where he's leaned up against the wall.

"alright, alright. here's what you do, alright? first, when you get to her house..."

TRIAL THREE: SUNGHO'S PLAN

"you've seriously never been to tokyo?" dongmin asks incredulously, his hands shoved in his pockets. jihyo shakes her head, setting down the soup from where she'd just reheated it on your stove.

your parents were out of town on a business trip and according to what she knew about your brother, jihyo figured that park sunghoon was out frolicking around in the snowy streets with his own friends.

"i've never been on a plane before," jihyo explains, satisfied with the heat of the soup finally. dongmin just shrugs, looking around your house with a renewed interest when donghyun pads out of your room to where the other two were standing in the kitchen.

"is she still sleeping?" jihyo asks, trying the soup herself. donghyun nods, rubbing his hands to create some friction and warm them up.

"yeah. she seems to be waking up but i think that she's still pretty out of it right now," donghyun explains before picking up the container of soup. "do you think that you can bring the paracetamol? it looks like y/n has a pretty bad headache."

"how can you tell she has a headache?" dongmin asks, his question turning to a whisper when jihyo looks at him with a withering glare.

"it's called having empathy, han dongmin," jihyo calls out, looking for the paracetamol in one of the medicine cabinets.

"empathy? i have plenty of empathy," dongmin says under his breath sullenly as he follows jihyo into your bedroom.

you're laying in bed, curled up in carefully laid covers, clearly donghyun's work by the way he's examining the bedspread with rather severe scrutiny, as if he's willing the hearts on your bedspread would turn into mini heaters to provide warmth to your sick and tired body. your eyebrows are furrowed, even in your sleep, as though you were fighting away the illness with a physical weapon with effort.

"y/n? you gotta wake up soon. sunghoon said you've been sleeping for hours and that you haven't eaten anything yet," jihyo says, setting the paracetamol down on your nightstand.

"yeah, where is sunghoon anyway?" dongmin asks, watching as donghyun wakes you gently, offering you a smile so sweet, even dongmin feels himself swooning.

"gallivanting on the streets. he's still sick himself but there's no containing the man," you explain, sitting up in your bed. you somehow don't seem all that alarmed that there are so many foreign people in your room, looking worse for the wear.

"here's soup. don't worry, i didn't make it - jihyo's dad did," donghyun says softly, handing the bowl of soup over with so much care, it seemed as though he were handling a live grenade.

you let out a mellow laugh, coughing at the effort as you accept the bowl of soup, letting out a blissful sigh after sipping a spoonful. "tell your dad i said thank you, ji."

jihyo just waves you off, unzipping her backpack to search for her other copy of notes. "here are the notes from today. the biology lecture really gave me a headache so i wouldn't even try to decipher that until you feel better unless you want to feel like a tightrope walker with an anvil on your head."

"that's...really descriptive," dongmin says, laughing when jihyo shoves him.

"i can help you," donghyun says, watching you carefully as you take another sip of soup, thankful for the liquid warming you up from the inside.

"you're willing to sit with me to study biology? are you sure that you don't think it'll be a bother?" you ask, looking up at donghyun through your lashes. donghyun's breath catches in his throat when you do. somehow, even with a runny nose, mussed hair, and granny pajamas, donghyun thinks you look like the vision of beauty.

"it's not a bother to me. spending time with you could never be a bother," donghyun says offhandedly, looking at the label on the paracetamol. it's only when the entire room goes silent does he realize that he'd spoken out loud.

he looks around nervously for a moment before his eyes land on you, staring at him, bright-eyed and every inch the reason why donghyun has trouble sleeping at night these days.

"i mean, you're my friend, right? why would it be a bother to spend time with your friend?" donghyun backtracks and he hears jihyo and dongmin let out a breath behind him. you still look somewhat confused before you nod slowly, finishing your soup.

"friend, right."

+++

"you were at her house and you still fucked it up," woonhak laments, wincing when jaehyun chucks a pillow at him.

"language," the older boy says before flopping on sungho's bed next to woonhak.

"why do you delinquents always have to come to my room? can't we ever hang out in sanghyeok or jaehyun's room? or better yet, why can't we ever hang out at your guys' houses?" sungho complains, but he still sits down next to jaehyun, shoving the two boys a little bit over to make space for himself.

"because your room is the cleanest," sanghyeok points out, never looking up from the homework he was working on at sungho's desk.

"yeah, unfortunately sanghyeok's room is currently serving another purpose," jaehyun snorts.

"what, as a pigsty?" dongmin quips, a smirk drawn out on his lips when sanghyeok fixes him with a thoroughly unimpressed look.

"all of you are useless," donghyun wails, swatting sungho's hands away from his hair. "i've been trying to confess to her for a good week and a half now and all i've managed to do is make a fool out of myself three separate times."

"you didn't make a fool out of yourself, donghyun," woonhak comforts before jaehyun sits up from where he was scrolling on his phone, shaking his head.

"nope, he definitely did. the first time, when dongmin booked four separate tickets and jihyo had to save your ass so you could attempt to confess after the movie, just to ramble about physics and black holes for hours. and then when y/n never showed up to school so you couldn't confess to her while you were cleaning the classroom like sanghyeok suggested. and then when he couldn't even take care of her properly like sungho suggested while she was sick because he can't cook if his life depended on it." woonhak nods when jaehyun finishes his spiel, much to the horror of donghyun, who was now starfish on the floor, looking ready to throw a tantrum.

"yeah, i can see why she would think he's weird," woonhak says with an air of seriousness.

"you guys think she thinks i'm weird?" donghyun cries out dramatically.

"no, otherwise you wouldn't be going to the library together on sunday to go over biology," sanghyeok points out logically, flipping through the pages of his textbook with a crease in his forehead from focusing.

"see, the issue is that all three of those fools are way too subtle with their confessions. sungho's ideas especially was stupid," jaehyun says. "i mean seriously, telling her that you're half in love with her while she's gotta killer migraine must've been the stupidest idea i've ever heard."

"you thought that asking her out in front of the entire class was a good idea," dongmin reminds jaehyun, who just rolls his eyes.

"you guys have no sense of romance."

"i have a girlfriend."

"shut up, sanghyeok."

"damn, alright. i didn't realize all of you were that salty that you're single losers."

"SHUT UP SANGHYEOK!"

after sanghyeok has been served with enough slander for being an insufferable boy in love, woonhak and jaehyun turn to donghyun with twin expressions of evil on their faces.

"you need to man up, donghyun! here's how you tell her that you like her..."

TRIAL FOUR: JAEHYUN AND WOONHAK'S PLAN

"so the reason why this question is phrased this way is because you're supposed to focus on the oxygen affinity for fetuses versus adults based on this curve," donghyun explains patiently, pointing at various points on the diagram in front of him as he speaks.

you nod hesitantly as you follow his hand around the paper before ultimately shaking your head, slumping down on the table.

"i'm sorry donghyun, this entire thing might just end up being a waste of your time. i have no clue what any of this means," you mutter disheartenedly looking at donghyun.

donghyun just shakes his head, smiling as he closes the textbook and stretching. at the table over from the two of you, dongmin and jihyo are bickering about the best my chemical romance instead of studying for english like they'd promised when your teacher announced the upcoming exam on friday.

in the ideal world, dongmin and jihyo would be off being a cute couple (whether they realized it or not) somewhere where donghyun couldn't see them and be jealous but the effervescent feeling he gets from spending time with you is more than enough to douse that jealousy.

"you're shoving a lot of information into your brain. it's hard to get on the fiftieth try, much less the first," donghyun says gently, and you peek up at him, only to cast your gaze elsewhere when you realize just how overwhelming it is to look at him.

it's a warm feeling that spreads through your body as you realize that donghyun looks at you as though you may as well have put the stars in the sky personally for him.

funny. did he ever realize that you looked at him the same way?

but you're left to leave your thoughts with the disarray of papers when donghyun stands up, shrugging his jacket and scarf on.

"come on, let's go get you some coffee," he says, lifting up your jacket to hand it to you. you offer him a small smile as you put your jacket on, following him out of the library once he's stopped and dongmin and jihyo's table to ask them to watch your stuff.

"bring me back a latte!" you faintly hear jihyo whisper-shout, to which donghyun turns around to flash her a thumbs up before leading you out of the library.

the weather outside is surprisingly clear and warm for how much it's snowed over the past few days.

"you didn't put a scarf on?" donghyun chastises, unwrapping his own scarf and draping it around your neck. you try to protest, giving donghyun back his scarf but he just ignores you, expertly ducking and weaving as you try to drape the scarf back on him.

"you're going to get cold!" you exclaim, but you don't fight him when he wraps the scarf around your neck properly.

"you know, i wanted to be your friend since the day i saw you, back in middle school," donghyun says, his breath leaving his lips in clouds as the two of you walked the three blocks between the café and the library.

you wrack your brain, trying to recall the first time that you'd met donghyun. "i thought we met in high school, though? at jihyo's birthday party?"

donghyun just smiles, looking up at the clear skies. "that's when you first saw me. i saw you back in middle school."

"really?" you ask quietly, shocked by the knowledge that donghyun had been thinking about you in whichever capacity for so long.

"yeah. i remember you had braces back then but you still were the prettiest girl in class. you always used to be so quiet and kept to yourself but you were so sweet to everyone around you. i remember when jihyo found out that she was nearsighted, you used to write her notes for her every period until she got glasses. and then again, when she had lasik surgery," donghyun says casually, opening the café door as the two of you enter.

"you - you weren't even in our class," you say, shivering even in the warmth of the café. donghyun seems to notice, by the way that he draws closer to you - so close that you can see the faint freckle by his eye.

"no," he agrees simply. "but i knew anyway."

"you paid that much attention to me?" you ask incredulously. donghyun shrugs, nudging you forward when the person in front of you orders.

"i've always paid that much attention to you, y/n. i just don't think you ever paid that attention to me," donghyun says faintly. you feel weak in the knees at the insinuation, moving forward somewhat dazedly.

"a caramel macchiato, vanilla latte, an americano, and a hot ginger tea please," donghyun says, completely ignoring you when you offer your card to the cashier, swiping his quickly.

"you didn't have to buy coffee for me," you say, tucking your hair behind your ear. donghyun tilts his head, eyes forming little crescents at your gesture.

"hmm." the two of you find a table to sit at while you wait for your orders to come out before you turn to donghyun, curiosity blatant on your face.

"how did you know my coffee order?"

"like i said, y/n. i've noticed you for a while before you ever noticed me."

+++

"you had everything in place! why didn't you tell her about your feelings?" jihyo cries out from where she's sitting in donghyun's beanbag chair, dongmin sitting right next to her, squishing the poor beanbag to near smithereens.

"i agree with her! why didn't you tell her about your feelings?" dongmin exclaims. donghyun rolls his eyes, throwing the tennis ball in his hands at the ceiling before catching it and throwing it back up.

"why is she invited to this anyway?" woonhak asks, even as he offers jihyo a chocopie from the stash of snacks that sungho and jaehyun had gathered after raiding donghyun's pantry.

"because she's the object of this guy's affections for the past four years," sanghyeok says, pointing at jihyo and then donghyun. "it's good to get all of the firepower you can get, with how much a dunce this kid is."

"first of all, i'm not a dunce. and second of all, i haven't asked her out because i don't want to ask her out using one of you idiots' plan," donghyun explains. "i wanna ask her out the way i wanna ask her out."

dongmin sighs, shaking his head. "how is it that you're so mature and suave when you're speaking with y/n and you're such a child when you're with us."

"i think woonhak has cooties and donghyun somehow imbibes them whenever he's in a forty kilometer radius of him," jaehyun offers as explanation.

"shut up. you and i had the same idea for how donghyun should ask y/n out," woonhak reminds jaehyun to which jaehyun has no choice but to just nod along, munching on a chocopie.

"anyway. can we talk about dongmin and jihyo for a second. how the hell is it that y/n and i went to the café while you two were fighting like cats and dogs about the best mcr song and we come back to you to basically making out in the library," donghyun says, turning in his swivel chair to smile smugly at the conjoined twins on his beanbag chair.

"shut up!" jihyo yells, throwing a chocopie wrapper, only to incite more laughter from the boys when it falls to the floor pathetically.

"hey, to be fair, it only took us about two years of knowing each other to start dating," dongmin specifies. "it's just that the past month of trying to push you and y/n together pushed us together enough for us to realize that maybe dating wouldn't be such a bad idea."

jihyo and donghyun exchange a look (a threatening glare from jihyo and very thinly surpressed smirk from donghyun) - something, which unfortunately, does not go unnoticed by the rest of the boys. especially dongmin, who twists to look at his girlfriend with an unbelieving look.

"no way. don't tell me you also have some pining love story like donghyun," dongmin incredulously. at jihyo's silence, the entire group erupts into chaos, with sungho and donghyun (after feeling guilty) trying to silence them in vain.

"oh my god, just when i thought they couldn't get any more insufferably cute!"

"god, i hate both of them."

"why is everyone so bad at confessing their feelings."

"i'm gonna tell my girlfriend about this; she's gonna find this hilarious."

"i REALLY need to stop being single."

dongmin just ignores all of them, pressing a chaste kiss to jihyo's cheek when he realizes that she's gone bright red from the attention to her feelings.

donghyun mimes throwing up when he does so but can't help the smile on his face when he turns to his phone.

"anyway, anyway. back to the donghyun and y/n intervention," jihyo says, clearing her throat. she still earns a couple cheeky grins but manages to turn the gazes of the group to the individual sitting at his desk, frozen in his spot.

"what's wrong?" woonhak asks concernedly. donghyun just lifts up his phone to show the others in the room.

y/n (<3): hey, can we talk?

TRIAL FIVE: DONGHYUN'S PLAN

"y/n? is everything alright?" donghyun says, his footsteps masked by the snow that didn't melt from when it snowed again a few days ago.

you look up at him with a nervous smile. "yeah, everything's fine. um...do you wanna sit down?"

you scoot over to make space for donghyun on the bench you were sitting on. the bench faced the pond, somewhat concealed from the busy streets of seoul by the various coniferous trees that lined the public park.

"sure. yeah." donghyun takes a seat next to you, knee bouncing nearly as soon as he sits down.

"you look nervous," you say gingerly.

"you look nervous," donghyun echoes.

"touché." you fiddle with your hands, the evening suddenly feeling a lot colder than you thought it would be. donghyun notices, just as he notices everything, and for some reason, he shifts so that he's sitting on his hands. almost as he was physically stopping himself from doing something.

"so...what did you want to talk about?" donghyun asks, watching as a young child tries to escape his father's grip to run straight down the little slope that fed into the pond.

"nothing," you squeak out before shutting your eyes tight when you feel donghyun turn to look at you instead of the pond.

"oh. did - did you just want company as you sat outside for a bit?" donghyun stutters, not sure of what to do with himself.

"no," you start, before shaking your head at your own words. "i mean, i do have something to say. i'm just trying to find the words to say it."

"you know, i've been meaning to tell you something to you too," donghyun says tenderly and you immediately nudge him, encouraging him to go ahead and say his piece first.

"no way, you have to tell me first," donghyun defends, turning his nose up away from you when you try to catch his eye, trying to grasp his jacket to turn him towards you.

"i'm nervous, donghyun. can't you do me a favor and go ahead first?" you plead and donghyun melts, unable to hear any sort of sorrow in your voice - for whatever reason.

"alright, how about we say it at the same time?" he proposes and you concede as you nod, retracting your hand, not noticing the way that donghyun's gaze follows your movement.

he lifts three fingers, then folds one, until there's only one left. you shut your eyes, unable to see the expression on his face.

"i like you!"

"i love you."

you immediately open your eyes, jaw hanging as you stare at donghyun, who looks equally flummoxed by your words.

"you like me?" he asks, pointing a finger at you. you turn the finger back at him incriminatingly.

"you love me?" you gasp and donghyun's gaze grows tender, taking his other hand to trap your hand between his two large ones.

"for a while," he admits sheepishly, a shyness so uncharacteristic to the gentlemanly and smooth donghyun you were used to. "i've been trying to confess to you for the past month now. you just...never noticed."

you laugh besides yourself, immediately willing all laughter away when donghyun looks at you with a hurt expression.

"you've been trying to confess to me? donghyun, i've been trying to confess to you for the past month!"

"what?" he stammers. "you've been what for the past month?"

"yes, you fool. i've been trying to confess to you for months. i've liked you for months! and then when you asked jihyo and i to the movie, i figured that it was dongmin's scheme to ask jihyo out so i decided to use the chance to ask you out. and then the whole tickets fiasco happened," you explain, inching closer to him. donghyun uses the opportunity to thread his hand with your own, tugging you close to him so that his body warmth could envelope your shivering frame.

"and then you spent the next hour talking about the movie and you just seemed so excited that i didn't want to distract you. and you know, you're cute, when you're excited," you continue, grinning stupidly when donghyun turns away his head to hide his shy expression.

"so this whole month, you've been trying to confess to me too?"

"donghyun, you say i haven't paid attention but i swear to god, you are so dense sometimes."

TRIAL SIX: Y/N'S PLAN

"look, look," jihyo whispers under her breath as donghyun enters the classroom. you don't look up, not wanting to feed into jihyo's taunts, knowing that it would only serve as fodder for her teasing later on. you wait for donghyun to pass by your desk to the back of the classroom, where he sat everyday, staring out of the window rather than paying attention to any of the classes. any of the classes other than biology, that was.

but to your surprise, donghyun stops at your desks, talking to jihyo about some movie or another. a pang of jealousy that you try to swat away strikes in your chest before you hear dongmin's name and hear donghyun's attempts to keep from snickering in jihyo's face

ah. so he was just the messenger for dongmin.

you continue to write, not sure of what exactly you were writing anymore as you were trying not to make it overt that you were listening to jihyo and donghyun's conversation.

"i know you have tutoring today, but push it back until seven in the evening," jihyo whispers hotly once donghyun has disappeared from earshot.

"you have a movie date."

+++

"are you going to finally use this chance to ask him out?" jihyo asks when she catches you staring at the tall boy conversing with his friend outside the theatre hall as the two of you stood in line for refreshments.

"that's the goal," you respond with a sigh. "i don't know if he feels the same but i don't want to regret never telling him about my feelings."

jihyo nudges you softly. "hey, don't have such a negative outlook. you don't know how he feels, right? don't knock it before it happens."

you don't respond, watching donghyun chasing his friend around with a blithe smile, waving the tickets in the air.

+++

"i personally thought that the best part of the movie was when the dad ended up inside..." donghyun rambles excitedly, holding scoops of popcorn in his hands as he explains his theories to dongmin. you can't help the smile on your face as you watch him act so carefree and enthusiastic. dongmin nods along, explaining his own theory every so often.

jihyo's eyes dart between donghyun and dongmin before she slumps down, taking a long sip of her fanta. "somehow, i don't think that any level of confession is going to happen today."

you just laugh, content to listen to your friends discuss their favorite scenes from the movie before clicking your phone open, only to curse when you realized you only had a few minutes before tutoring.

"i'm so sorry - i have to get going!" you say hurriedly, gathering your things as quick as you can before you rush out of the theatre, wincing when you realize the amount of courage you'd have to work up once again to confess to him.

but donghyun just watches your uncomfortable expression as you rush away, unsure of it was his fault.

+++

you sit up in your bed, accepting the bowl of soup that donghyun hands you, trying your best to ignore the tingle of electricity that runs down your spine when your fingers brush against his.

your focus fades in and out of the comfortable rhythm of the conversation as you sip on the soup when jihyo drops the daunting copy of notes she'd written for you on your desk.

"i can help you," donghyun says, anchoring back to the conversation. you try not to show the fact that your heartbeat is now around the same decibel as a plane taking off, instead trying to deny his offer for fear that spending too much time together might cause to spit out the words you've been chewing on day and night for the past few days.

but something about the way that he says he's more than happy to help you and that you're not being a bother by asking for help makes you stutter for just a moment and in a second of weakness, you accept his help.

"friend." the word feels surprisingly bitter on your tongue when you echo the way donghyun says it, like its been dripped in lead in the way that it sits so heavy.

not when you wanted so much more

+++

"you know what, this will be the perfect timing for you and i to ask them both out," jihyo says, opening the door to the library as the two of you head inside.

"i still cannot believe you and him have been fighting like cats and dogs and you think that it's peak romance," you laugh as jihyo shoves you playfully.

"whatever," she says before turning to you, surprisingly serious. "alright, promise me that you'll ask him out. whenever i'm alone with dongmin, i'll confess my feelings for him so you have to promise that you'll confess your feelings to donghyun."

you interlock your pinky with her, only to drop your hands when you stumble across donghyun and dongmin, who are sitting with their heads together, looking not too unlike head-butting bulls.

"oh. have we interrupted something?" you ask through a stifled giggle, causing donghyun and dongmin to spring apart. you swear that dongmin quite literally is suspended in air for a good two seconds before landing once more in his chair.

"no, no, not at all. come y/n. you and i can sit here," donghyun says, pulling out a chair for you to sit in.

you try your best to ignore jihyo's gaze as you pull out your textbooks, ready to learn as much biology as you possibly could. and maybe put off any sense of confession for as long as possible.

+++

"weren't you the one who said that you didn't want to regret not confessing your feelings to him?" jihyo points out, stirring a mug of hot chocolate. you nod, slumping in your chair.

"i know..." you scramble to straighten your posture as you lean over the table to look at jihyo. "how did you ask out dongmin?"

she shrugs, uncharacteristically shy as she takes a sip of hot chocolate. "i didn't. dongmin asked me out."

you groan, sliding down your chair once more. "why can't donghyun ask me out? what if i just never work up the courage to ask him out?"

jihyo just laughs at your torment when her phone buzzes. she pulls her phone out of her pocket before reading the text message.

dongminnie mouse: donghyun's house in twenty. you're officially on the donghyun and y/n intervention squad >:)

she pockets her phone once more before sliding her hot chocolate over to you before gathering her belongings.

"where you going?" you call out, passing off the hot chocolate to your brother padding down the stairs. jihyo slips her shoes on before turning around with a shit-eating grin.

"to go and fix your issue for you!"

TRIAL SEVEN: FATE'S PLAN

"that's one killer best friend," donghyun huffs as he pieces together the entire situation together. "if only dongmin was as competent; we'd have had this conversation months ago."

you rest your head against donghyun's shoulder, watching as the sun slowly begins to start its descent into the horizon.

"i don't know. i'm kinda glad that things worked out the way that they did. what if i didn't feel as strongly as i do now? maybe this was all meant to be," you say softly. donghyun smiles, turning to look you in the eyes.

just as sparkly, bright and so full of affection as you knew his eyes would be.

he leans in close, just a breath away from you as his eyes never leave yours.

"really? and if i say i love you right now?" he asks, and you forget why you'd ever been scared to confess to this boy, so full of love just for you.

you lean in even closer, pressing your lips against in a sweet, tender kiss, smiling when his lips seem follow yours even with his eyes closed.

"does that answer your question?"

"more than enough."

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