#will probably end up drunk replying to things

[jjscrybaby]

teary girl.

warnings: alcohol consumption, mentions of sex, crying, kind of mean!jj.

toxic ex!jj masterlist

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊ ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊ ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊ ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊

Wine never sits right with you. You’d told Sarah as much when she’d invited you over for wine and movie night, and yet when you showed up at her front door there were two bottles sat on the coffee table. Who were you to say no to a drink?

Sarah was out for the count by midnight, heading to bed with a kiss to your cheek and an offer to sleep in the guest room. You sat on the couch and finished your glass, your head spinning and cheeks flushed.

Your phone taunted you, staring at you as you tried to fight your drunken mind. With a pout, you unlocked your phone and clicked on contacts. He was still at the top of your favourites, a pink heart emoji next to his name. You’d have to change that one day, you knew that.

“H’llo?” He answered on the third ring, it sounded like he had something in his mouth; probably a joint.

“Jayj?” You murmured, the first time you picked up on the slur to your voice.

“Uh oh. You drunk?” You could almost imagine the smirk on his face. Most of the time your drunk calls were booty-calls, but that wasn’t what you were after tonight. “Where are ya?” He asked, before you even had a chance to respond.

“Sarah’s,” you replied, shaking your head at yourself. Why did you tell him?

“On my way.” He hung up before you could even try and fight him on it; because you would, just for the sake of it.

You got your stuff together and sat out on the front porch, cigarette between your lips as you waited for him to show up. You let out a sigh of relief when you spotted the Twinkie rather than his bike; that thing still gave you anxiety.

He beeped the horn and you huffed, he couldn’t have gotten out? On shaky legs, you stumbled over to the van. He reached over and opened the door for you, a lazy smirk on his face as you climbed in and buckled up.

“Lovin’ the pjs.” You cringed, looking down at yourself. It was meant to be a night spent just at Sarah’s, so you’d worn some pink plaid pants and a white crop top.

Back when you guys were together you couldn’t care less about what you looked like around JJ, but nowadays it felt like you had to make an effort. Every time you’d go and see him you’d do your makeup beforehand, even if by the end of the night it had all been sweated off.

“It was girls night,” you muttered, shrugging as your cheeks heated up.

He started to reverse out of the driveway, that cocky smirk still on his face. “Yeah? You guys have a pillow fight and talk about boys?”

There was no pillow fight, but there was talk about boys. “We aren’t living in a Disney movie, JJ.”

“‘Course not,” he teased, reaching over the console to squeeze your thigh.

“Get off me,” you grumbled, swatting at his hand.

He huffed, the smirk faded and was replaced with a look of annoyance. “Not allowed to touch you now? What’d you call me for if not for that?”

You didn’t reply straight away, tears brimming your eyes as you stared at your legs. The problem was you didn’t know why you called him. You just wanted to be near him, even now his presence comforted you. Not in the same way as it used to, he couldn’t make you smile just from a singular word and you weren’t able to just blurt out whatever you wanted; but he still made you feel safe.

“I just wanted to see you,” you squeak out, tears starting to roll down your cheeks.

He cursed under his breath as he heard the wobble in your voice. “C’mon, dude. Why’re you crying? What’s wrong? Huh?”

“I don’t know,” you sobbed. Maybe you didn’t, or maybe everything was wrong. The fact you couldn’t just call him without there being the assumption you were going to hook up anymore. The fact you were embarrassed to be in your pyjamas around him.

“Alright, alright,” he murmured, voice softer than it had been in awhile around you. “Let’s get you home, yeah?”

Home didn’t mean the Chateau anymore. Home meant your home, without him.

“Okay,” you sniffled, bringing your knees up to your chest. You could feel his eyes on you, he let out a soft sigh as he carried on driving in the direction of your house.

He cut the engine off when he pulled up outside, all the lights were off; your parents hopefully asleep so they didn’t see your ex dropping you off. You made no move to get out the car, tears still welled up in your eyes.

“What’s goin’ on, babe?” He asked quietly. “Is it ‘bout me? ‘Cause I thought we were cool.”

“We are,” you sniffled, turning to look at him. “I just— I don’t get how this doesn’t suck for you.”

He groaned, running a hand through his hair. “What does that even mean, dude? Nothin’s bad, so what would suck?”

“Everything,” you whimpered out. Your lip started to quiver and he let out another sigh, reaching out for you.

“C’mere, c’mere,” he cooed, pulling your head into his chest.

“It just sucks,” you sobbed, feeling his hand cup the back of your head as he began to stroke your hair.

He leant down and kissed the top of your head, hand moving under your crop-top to rub up and down your back. “I know, baby. I know.”

You weren’t sure if he did. You were the one that ended things, but it wasn’t by choice. By the end of your relationship it felt like you weren’t even together anymore, all you’d do was have sex and argue over his choices. All his time was spent with his friends, with beer and weed.

“C’mon, let’s get you inside,” he said, leaving one more kiss to your head before pulling away.

You didn’t speak as he helped you unlock the front door and lead you up the stairs, he pushed open your bedroom door and you sat down on your bed; looking up at him with wide eyes.

“You drank wine?” A weak smile made it’s way onto your face; he knows you, even if sometimes you wish that he didn’t.

“Yeah,” you whispered, nodding.

“We both know you can’t handle that,” he smirked, standing in front of you. He nibbled on the inside of his cheek. “You gonna be okay?”

You wanted to ask him to stay, but you knew that wasn’t an option and you’d rather just not ask instead of getting rejected. “Yeah, I’ll be okay.”

“A’ight, good.” He stood still for a few more moments, before bending down to press a quick peck to your lips. “I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

“Yeah, okay,” you mumbled, giving him a small smile as you laid down on your bed.

You could feel him standing in the doorway as you closed your eyes; you ignored him and soon enough you could hear his footsteps retreating and the sound of the front door opening and closing.

You’re never drinking wine again.

[parfaitblogs]

in a world of boys, he's a gentleman ❀ s. reid x reader

in which your night out comes to an end, and your boyfriend has to try to keep your wandering hands off of him. 

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: fluff tags: alcohol consumption. reader is drunk. reader is a brat. spencer is so exasperated. but he loves you so bad. age gap probably. suggestive content. word count: 2.1k a/n: oh my god i miss having a man to pick me up and love me when im drunk #thisshouldbeme final boss level 1000. simple fun fluff i love when he's nice to us i should do this more often. circa summer 2024 ass title i'm rebuilding spencer reid tumblr brick by brick. 

You were never meant to be this drunk. 

Truly, you had grandeur plans for it to be a one and done night. Entertain the birthday girl — your best friend — with your presence and take care of her, for it is her night, and then go home and pass out early enough in dark green sheets and the sound of your boyfriend sleeping next to you. 

You'd even told him about these plans. 

Instead? He's staring down at his phone with a locked jaw, and four different messages from you glaring back up at him. Incomprehensible, if he weren't as smart as he were. If he weren't as attuned to you and your mannerisms down to the way you text. A man who doesn't even like texting, and he's memorised how you do. 

Something about him picking you up, maybe, if he wants. Another thing about you finding him pretty. Another with a photo of the — and he quotes — really good vodka coke the bartender made you (he's certain it tastes the same as the last three you mentioned drinking). Finally, a photo of you in the bathrooms, arms around your best friend, grinning at the mirror through your phone, showing off your outfit to him. As if he hadn't memorised, documented, the way the skirt looked on you when you left hours earlier. 

When he doesn't reply to a single message, you call him, and endearment for you grows, for he can hear the pout on your lips as you speak into the phone. 

"Why're you ignorin' me?" you mumble, which isn't much help considering how loud the world around you is, your voice nearly drowning out. 

"I'm not, honey," he says. "I only just checked your messages. I was about to respond."

"Liar. You're ignoring me. You hate me."

"I can assure you I don't," he's amused. He's so stupidly amused, you want to kick him for it. You don't. You can't. Instead, you let him keep sweet talking you out of your predisposed anger. "Are you having a good night?"

"Yes!" you brighten almost immediately. "Did you see the photo I sent?"

"Of your outfit? Yeah, angel. You look pretty," he's practically perfected how to talk to you when drunk. You're oblivious to it, always too intoxicated to register he is extra nice when you're barely able to hold yourself upright. 

"Thank you," you reply, and he can hear the fluster. "Look prettier in—in person."

"I know. I saw you before you left, remember?"

"Oh. Yeah," your cheeks heat, and you roll your bottom lip between your teeth. The bricks are a juxtaposing cold against your back. Rough, too. Oddly comforting. "Are you busy? Am I keeping you from somethin'? S'that why you were ignorin' me?"

"No," he replies. "I'm waiting for you to be ready to come home. Is that why you're calling?"

"Mm-mm," you shake your head, giggling to yourself because you remember he can't see that. He doesn't know why you're laughing, but he smiles at it nonetheless. "Jus' wanted to hear your voice. Miss you."

"I miss you too, honey," he says, and you can hear that smile in his voice. 

"What're you doin' then?" you ask, staring at the door to the club you had deserted, keeping an eye out for your friends to emerge. 

"Reading."

"Reading what?"

"Sofia Petrovna," he tells you, and, as if he can see the way your eyebrows furrow, he adds, "Russian novel by Lydia Chukovskaya. I'll find a translation so you can read it, I think you'd like it."

"You should jus' read it to me right now," you mumble, crouching down to the floor, resting your head on your knees. "Translate for me."

"You most certainly won't remember a thing I'm saying. Where are your friends?"

"In the club. It got overstimulating," you tell him. 

There's a pause on the other end of the line, and an excuse about how you can actually see your friends still — you can't — manifests on your tongue, preempting the scolding he's no doubt formulating. 

However, two simple, stern — but not too scary — words kill the faux reassurance immediately. "You're alone?" 

You hesitate. "...No?"

"Can you go find your friends, please? I don't want you outside alone."

"Yes, sir," you stand back up. His jaw clenches, biting back his reprimand. He doesn't have the energy to lecture you about the dangers of being this drunk alone, and he's sure you wouldn't appreciate it anyways. Or remember it. "I will call you back later! Bye! Love you!"

He continues to hear from you for the two hours following. A photo once you find your friends to assure him you're safe, a mistyped message about how you love him more than anything in the world, another asking if he's mad at you when he doesn't reply. Eventually, you're calling him again, chatter from the smoker's lounge you'd disappeared into loud, but he can faintly make out you asking him to pick you up. 

He finds himself in an empty enough street just a block away from the last club you told him you were going to, waiting. 

There were people everywhere, just past the corner of the street. Girls with their bags hanging limply down by their calves, fast food paper bags held up to some of their mouths. Never his scene, but he's shown up enough for you since you started dating to know what he's looking out for. 

He can see you before you spot him, but when you do, he can't fight the smile at the sight of you brightening up in an instant. Distantly, he hears you call his name, pointing him out to your friends and stumbling towards the car. 

"Hi!" you collapse against the passenger's seat door, window open and waiting for you, as you lean into the car. 

Recognising the offer for what it was, he leans across the console to kiss you before you can start drunkenly accusing him of not loving you. Or whatever you can come up with to start a baseless, completely harmless argument with him. 

"Hi, honey. Good night?" he asks as you finally pull open the door, settling into the seat with a sigh, head nodding as you peel your shoes off of your feet and curl up. 

"I think so," you murmur, hair covering your face as you drop your head, and a yawn stretches your mouth open. "I'll tell you all about it t'morrow."

"Can't wait," he muses. 

"You never answered me," you then say — which is generous, considering he could barely make out a word — looking over at him. "'Bout if you're mad."

"I wasn't mad," he reassures you. "Just worried. Thought we talked about not being out and alone when you're this intoxicated?"

"Yeah. I know. Sorry."

Tomorrow, as it turns out, follows a quiet drive home for you to collect your thoughts, and his helping hands at removing your makeup and getting you into the shower. A year old promise that he will always force you under the water before bed no matter what protests you come up with.

Now, here you are, rambling his ear off animatedly on the edge of the bathroom sink, as he brushes a wet comb through your hair. 

He's listening intently, soaking in every word you were saying about your night out, even if it entirely made no sense to him. Your attempt at stringing together your night's events was poor at best, and he's pretty sure you've re-explained four times that you went into then night with fake names and backstories to try and fool everyone.

"And then we went to... um... I forgot the name. But it was free entry, so we went in, obviously, and this guy bought us drinks because of the birthday sash she was wearing, so that was awesome. That was the vodka coke I sent you, it was so goo—can I have a kiss?"

Your request catches him off guard, and the comb clatters to the basin beside you when his hand drops from your hair. 

"Is that all you want?" he hums, leaning forwards. His lips brush against your own, and you smile.

"Yep. Just a kiss," you chirp, slouching your shoulders so you could look up at him with wide eyes you know all too well he can't deny. "Please?"

You just had to ask so nicely, and he was left with very little choice in the matter in the end. 

He kisses you for only a second, aiming to pull away and successfully get you into bed before you can take this any further. 

Ever so sneaky, though, you catch your fingers into his hair and tug him back into you, legs hooking around his waist to keep him locked. His hips knock the cabinets, but he's distracted by your lips back on his to fully register the hit. 

"Honey," he mumbles against your lips. A warning, you think. It sounds it. 

You don't listen. 

Instead, you inch closer to the edge of the basin until he's forced to roll his hips into yours to push you back, saving you from falling off. 

You whine, and the sound has him coming back to reality, deftly pulling away from your lips. You protest, quietly, and he's forced to tangle a hand in your hair to tug your head back, keeping you away from him.

"No," he says, firmly. If you were sober, maybe you'd back down under the demand. Then again, if you were sober, he wouldn't be saying no to you. Instead, his tone of voice only makes your smile widen, and your skin tingle. 

"It was just a kiss," you protest, slipping off the sink once he steps back, letting him guide you like a lost puppy back into his bedroom. "Spencer?"

"No it wasn't," he says, hand on your back as he navigates you over to his bed. "We've talked about this."

He sits down before you, and despite the scolding, lets you climb over him into the bed anyways, hips straddling his waist as he lays back on the bed. 

"Just a kiss. I promise," you affirm, breath warm against his lips. 

He gives in, as he always does, and lets you kiss him again. 

Hips square above his, chest pressing on his, fingers ruffling the sheets beside his head. You kiss him until you're out of air, and convinced he's drunk enough on your taste to let you go further. 

He isn't. 

"Behave," he quips when your hand drops to his waistband, his fingers catching your wrist and lifting it back up. You're too focussed on the way his hand fits around the joint to argue. 

"I am," you huff, tilting your head with a lopsided grin. "Didn't do anything!"

"Brat," he pinches your hip, and you squirm, bursting into a fit of giggles. "Go to bed."

"Can't. You've got me caged up on top of you," you jut your chin out. "Maybe you're the problem."

"Yep. Sure am," he confirms, letting his arms around you go slack, just to watch you fall off his chest and to the mattress beside him. "Sleep."

"Or what?"

He pushes air out of his nose, but it's all too difficult to stay frustrated with you when you're staring up at him with the hugest smile on your face. You know exactly what you're doing — and he's just letting you.

He thinks he will forever.

He pauses in choosing a response. "Do you want me to be nice when I wake you up tomorrow?"

"Depends," you study him, eyes narrowing; drunken skepticism. "What's your version of nice?"

"You're a smart girl. Figure it out," he kisses your nose, "and go to sleep."

"Are you being suggestive?" you sit up abruptly, and his palms find comfort in his face, running down it. "Spencer."

"I'm not answering that. Go to sleep, honey."

"I can't. Why would you say that? You're such a tease. Oh my God. I hate you," you moan, dramatically falling back down to the bed, head finding the space between his shoulder and his neck. "Do you promise?"

It's like he knows you're giving up, for his voice has dropped into a drawl, exhaustion he'd been expertly masking coming out as he speaks. "Promise what?" 

"To wake me up nicely?"

"If you're good and go to sleep now, yes."

"Pinky promise?" his eyes are now closed, but you still search his face with keen interest. He smiles. He can feel it. 

"Pinky promise," he affirms, and he finally — finally — fully relaxes as he feels you curl into him. "Goodnight, honey."

"G'night, Spence."

[aajjks]

D&D (m)

synopsis. There is a lot to deal with whenever your horny roommate ends up drunk as fuck.

pairings. roomate!jk x fem!reader.

genre: 18+, cringe, smut, crack & comedy.

warnings. 18+, explícït längüägë, vëry gräphïc änd fïlthÿ dïälögüë, drünk Jüngkook, H Ô R N Y JK, ïntënsë sëxüäl tënsïön, rïdïcülöüsly bôld flïrtätïön, händ pläçëmënts gëttïng ä lïttlë tóó clösë, dïrty hümör, änd füll-ön läck öf fïltër, brò ís hórny.

note. I just can’t get enough of him. You know like he’s so cringe it it’s almost adorable and I think I am highly attracted to him but like if this flops that’s completely OK but you know you kind of want him too! BESTIE ENJOY AND PLEASE SHARE YOUR FEEDBACK AND THOUGHTS!!! also like don’t think about what d&d stands for… it just stands for some thing I thought of, but you can guess what it is. 🥰👁️💞

•••

It all started innocently enough.

You were minding your business, well, trying to, anyway, sitting in the living room with your favorite movie on.

You were practically drowning in popcorn, the TV blaring in the background, when you heard it:

the unmistakable sound of Jungkook’s loud, obnoxious laugh echoing from the kitchen.

That was your first warning sign.

He was clearly already drunk. It was barely past 9 PM.

You sighed dramatically, already knowing what was about to unfold.

He had been with the guys all afternoon, and they’d clearly made it their mission to get him obliterated tonight.

You were certain they were probably still laughing about how he’d tried to dance earlier and somehow got his foot caught in the rug, nearly faceplanting in front of all of them.

“EUNWOO SHUT THE FUCK UP BRO.”

Dude, you hate him and his equally insufferable friend eunwoo.

When he stumbles into the living room five minutes later, you’re greeted with the glorious sight of Jungkook in all his messy, drunk glory.

His hair was even messier than usual, his hoodie half off one shoulder like he didn’t know how to dress himself anymore, and his eyes were all glazed over in that half-drunk haze.

“Yn,” he slurs, trying to look serious but his giggling ruins it.

“I need you to listen to me. You are the most beautiful woman in the world.”

You squint at him, debating if you should even entertain this or just leave the room.

But, of course, you’re never one to back down from Jungkook’s nonsense, so you throw the popcorn in your lap and cross your arms.

“Is that so?” you ask, deadpan.

He stumbles closer, his breath reeking of alcohol as he points at you like he’s discovered the meaning of life.

“Yes,” he says, looking at you like you just shook his whole existence.

“You’re, like, the Beyoncé of my life right now. I can’t even deal.”

“Beyoncé, huh?” you reply, trying your best to keep the sarcasm out of your voice, but failing miserably.

“Then why are you acting like you just discovered the concept of a woman?”

Jungkook freezes for a second, blinking at you like you’ve just slapped him. Then, his face lights up like he’s found the perfect solution to prove his point.

“I’m telling you,” he slurs again, taking a slow step toward you.

“You’re a fucking goddess, and you don’t even know it. I just wanna fuck you on this couch.”

There it is. The moment you both crossed the line.

He’s so shamelessly drunk that he doesn’t even notice the shock on your face.

In fact, he seems pleased with his words. He tries to sit down next to you, only to miss the couch entirely and slightly fall onto the floor.

But, like a true chaotic drunk, he makes it look like it was intentional.

You can’t even deal. “You’re an actual disaster,” you mutter, already facepalming because you know what’s coming next.

He’s going to be relentless.

He sits up with a lopsided grin, completely unbothered by his near-fall, and slaps his knee.

“Nah, I’m just being honest. I mean,”

he raises a finger like he’s giving a TED talk now, “morning sex, shower sex, couch sex… you name it. I’ll fuck you in every room of this house, baby girl.”

You blink. “Excuse me?”

“I’m serious,” he says, leaning a little too close for comfort. “I’m a man of many talents, you know? I’ll even help you out with… whatever you need.”

You can feel your face burning, a mixture of embarrassment and irritation swirling inside you.

“Jungkook,” you say, trying to sound calm, but your voice comes out in a weird squeak. “You need to go to bed. Now.”

His eyes narrow as he leans in, completely disregarding your protests.

“Oh, so you’re gonna act like you don’t want me? Come on, babe. You love the attention. I can see it in your eyes,”

he says with a smirk that could kill.

“You want me to fuck you just as bad as I want to fuck you.”

“Ugh, can’t you be normal for like, five minutes?” you groan, turning your face away from him.

His voice is starting to grate on you, but it’s also doing something else. Something that you’re really trying to ignore.

But Jungkook is relentless.

“Normal?” he repeats with a mock pout. “Babe, I was normal until you came into my life, and now I’m just a fucking disaster.”

He gestures to himself dramatically, somehow knocking over his half-drunk beer in the process.

“See? This is what happens when you look this fucking good, everyone gets obsessed.”

Before you can even respond, he pulls himself upright again, now making it his personal mission to annoy you as much as possible.

“You know,” he continues, eyes narrowed in mock seriousness,

“the thing about morning sex… it’s not just about the sex, you know? It’s about waking up next to someone who’s so fucking sexy they make your brain short-circuit in the best way possible.”

“I’m not waking up next to you,” you snap, even though the idea is starting to sound a little… tempting.

His lips curl up into a wicked grin as he leans closer. “Why? You’re scared my dick’s gonna be too much for you?” he teases, his voice a deep growl.

“I get it, babe. I know my size can be a little overwhelming.”

“You are so annoying,” you say, your voice shaking as you try to push him away, but his damn body language is strong—

he’s definitely not moving anywhere.

Jungkook grabs your wrist gently, his thumb rubbing over your pulse like he knows exactly how to get you flustered.

“I’ll show you later, baby,” he whispers, his breath tickling your skin.

“Just wait ‘til I’m sober. I promise, you’ll beg for it.”

You don’t even know why you’re still sitting here with him. But, apparently, your own body betrays you when you notice the way he’s looking at you.

And, yeah, that’s it.

You’re definitely fucked.

“Jungkook if you don’t shut the fuck up in the next two seconds, I think I’m gonna throw the fucking pan on your head.”

He has the audacity to look at you and then he laughs out loud, and it’s an ugly laugh that has your ears ringing.

Goodness, he can be so fucking insufferable.

But at least he’s cute.

Although you will never tell him that because then he’s gonna eat your head.

[arminsumi]

tattoartist!suguru losing nonchalance when reader flirts with him?

im down bad for him holy hell

Oh, he's falling to pieces, got it bad for the girl he just met 'n he's gonna make a drunk little bet — y'think he's crazy enough to get your name tattooed on him? Or crazy enough to ink his name into your skin?

ㅤ★ wc; ~3k

ㅤ★ note; continuation of tattoo artist Suguru Geto!

ㅤ★ an; aaa!! you got my brain whirring like a laptop... tysm and i hope this makes u blush and kick ur feet as much as i did while writing!! 🍰✨

ㅤ★ tagz; @ohimsummer 💗@fairiesthrum💗 @heartofjasmina 💗 @kwonan 💗 @ghost-buddies 💗 @madamecorbie 💗 @mima0127 💗 @moggleatlife 💗 @natasaa13 💗 @yemmuishomeforthementallyunwell 💗 @wakashudou 💗 @khaothick 💗 @candy-s72 💗 @creamflix 💗 @starriesworlds

ㅤ★ warnings; sum alcohol/drunkenness

“So, was she joking, or am I your type?” Suguru asks, black eyes staring right into your soul.

“Mm, well…” you hum, giving his form a look-over – god, if only you could feel how hard his heart’s beating when you do this. “Maybe.” You reply teasingly.

“Aw, just ‘maybe’?” he groans, now leaning his hip against the edge of the display case that housed the studs and gauge earrings.

“Yeah, just ‘maybe’ – I’m teasing. No, she wasn’t joking; I’ve always had a thing for the black hair, black nails, bad boy look…”

“The ‘bad boy’ look…?” he questions, recalling what your friend had said earlier about bad boys being just your type.

“Yeah, the ‘bad boy’ look.” You giggle.

His heart beats even harder, muttering a naughty little “Well, lucky me.”

“Nah, not so fast – I’m a smart woman.” You warn.

“Oh, are you?” he clicks his tongue in defeat, “Damn, would you believe that my type is smart women? No, no I’m serious… I’ve got a thing for smart women.”

Your cheeks grow hot, the heat spreading to your ears.

“I can assure you that the ‘bad boy’ look is just an aesthetic; I’m really an artsy dork making a living off doodling on people’s bodies.” He shrugs.

“Hm… maybe, maybe not.”

You rub your lips together. He briefly licks his bottom lip. You look him up and down. He looks you up and down. Body language open and alive with attraction, the both of you stand in this air of electric tension that Shoko spies from the other end of the room.

She watches as the two of you giggle like little flirts, observing how totally absorbed the two of you are in each other’s company. When you catch her eye, Shoko gives you a wink and points at her wrist, mouthing “five more” – fair enough, the two of you have promised to get pizza.

Pizza first, boys later, right?

Five minutes more go by – adding to the total of four hours spent at the tattoo & piercing parlor. But despite her discomfort and need for a change of scenery, Shoko decides to linger around just a little longer so that the two of you can indulge in each other just a little more.

But now you're getting nervous – Suguru has you breathless, holding you in a battle of who can flirt harder? which you're starting to lose.

He's captivated by you. This 6’3, tattooed, goth-grunge, slightly dorky man chuckles and smiles like he hasn’t had this much fun talking flirting with someone in years.

It's going well, then your smile trips him up. I know, it’s always the smile, huh? If you see enough of it, you slip… and that’s exactly what's happened to Suguru. He quickly grows obsessed with the way your cheeks look when you smile – the image burns into his memory without him even realizing it in the moment.

No, in the moment he doesn't realize the magnitude of your effect on him. He's just thinking about himself, about you, about —

“I’ve gotta go,” you say goodbye finally, “I don’t want to keep my friend waiting. But you’ll probably see my face here again… she loves dragging me along for these kinds of things.”

He stutters, “Oh! Oh… yeah – yes. Of course. Looking forward to it… maybe next time, you’ll be the one getting ink in your skin.”

“Yeah right.” You smile.

It’s your French exit that makes his heart throb in need.

No, don’t leave yet… I like you – don’t you ever wonder how many acquaintances in your life have thought this when leaving your company? And you’ll never even know.

Oh, Suguru was thinking so hard about asking you to exchange numbers or to meet up for coffee, but he didn’t want to come off as too forward – no, no… he had to maintain his mysteriousness. Or at least, he had to cling to whatever was left of it after revealing his inner dorkiness to you.

*****

After you leave, he wanders in and out of his studio, has small interactions with his co-workers, and doodles ideas for tattoos down.

Throughout all of these things, your face is at the forefront of his mind. Your voice echoes in his head as he recalls every detail of the conversation you two shared. Then he starts smiling softly as he applauds himself for being so gutsily flirty with you… a stranger, just someone, who he probably won’t see again…

A girl with no name.

God, why was he so slow? He didn’t even ask for your name. Suguru groans.

Yes, he probably won’t see you again… not unless your friend brings you along for her next visit. How long does he have to wait? Weeks? Months? That’s insane.

Suguru stops doodling, stares at the scrap of paper, and then looks up at the wall displaying his works. He rubs his fingers back and forth across his mouth.

I gotta.

He looks over to his phone. He reaches for it, takes it into his veiny hand, unlocks it, and scrolls through his list of contacts.

And then he dials his client’s number. Shoko Ieri.

*****

Now, it’s been just under an hour since you and Shoko left the tattoo parlour. She’s complained three times about the pain because exactly three times she has leaned back on the seat – squishing the fresh ink wound against her chair. You just cruelly laugh at how her eyes twitch in pain and each time.

The two of you sit eating pizza.

“He liked you. Why don’t we go back and you ask him for his number?” she teases.

“No way… he’ll think I’m too forward.” You shake your head.

Then three minutes later, Shoko's phone goes off. She reaches into her backpack. She looks at the caller ID, then at you, then at the caller ID, then –

“… is that him?”

“It’s him.”

“What’s he calling for! Me?”

“Absolutely he’s calling for you – I can bet gold on that.”

It stops ringing. She tells you she’ll text him back but guess what? She doesn’t even need to, because he calls again.

“Relentless.” She giggles. “I’m answering.”

“Pretend I’m not here!”

She winks at you and answers, “Hey, Suguru, what’s up?”

The two of you lean in until your foreheads press together – it’s still hard to make out every word.

“Yo.” You hear his smooth voice coming from the other side, “Sorry to bother you… (muffled)… your friend (muffled)… so embarrassed, so don’t tell her that I’m calling… (muffled)… what was her name?”

You clap your hand over your mouth when you hear those snippets.

She gives you a devious look before saying, “Oh! Well, she’s right here with me, actually, so you can ask her yourself.”

Mouth full of pizza, you freak out and X your arms to signal a fat NO WAY SHOKO! and fall to pieces all with the taste of pepperoni on your tongue.

But she just hands the phone over to you anyways, then proceeds to silently laugh as you spit out your pizza before talking.

“Hehlooo?”

“H-hey.”

You get right to the point. “My name’s Yn…”

“Oh… I like that… I’m Suguru.”

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you.”

“Suguru. Suguru Geto.” He raises his voice.

Cheek hot against the screen of his phone, Suguru is silently freaking out at the tense silence. He can feel his stomach starting to flip. His mind blanks.

“Anyways! Um, that’s all.”

No. That’s not all. He has a novel’s length worth of things to talk about with you.

At this point, Shoko rolls her eyes at the two of you being so awkward on the phone and decides that she needs to take matters into her own hands.

So she snatches the phone from you.

“ – Suguru? Say, you wouldn’t be free on Saturday, would ya? Yeah, I’m going on a date with this guy… and I’d love to make it a double date with you and Yn if you’d like to –”

You hear him stutter out a yes, absolutely before Shoko can even finish her sentence. She grins.

Suguru can sense that the two of you are smiling and giggling. He can predict that the two of you are probably going to gossip about him being the 'dork from the tattoo parlor that called not once, but twice for the name of a girl he just met' – but he doesn’t care. He’s been presented an opportunity and taken it.

To hell with seeming too eager.

When the call ends, Suguru blows out a breath through his lips. Then he promptly texts his best friend. Dark strands of hair slip out of his sloppy bun as he puts his face over the screen, thumbs swift and eager.

Toru 🤞😜 lol bravo... but i thought u said she was out of ur league??

Sugu i mean... yes. she's way too pretty and smart for me. but i'm not gonna pass up this opportunity

Toru 🤞😜 still can't believe u called ur client just to get her friend’s name... lol

Sugu you would understand if you met her ok

Toru 🤞😜 damn she must be something else

Yes, yes you are something else — Suguru can’t even begin to describe why. Translating his thoughts into words isn’t his thing; he translates them into art.

****

It's later in the day. You're lazing around Shoko's apartment.

She confirms the time and place of the double date, and cackles on her couch while kicking her feet, teasing you for being so crazy about a guy you just met – her tattoo artist.

You just couldn’t stop talking about Geto Suguru.

“Shiiit, should I even let you and a bad boy like him be alone in a room together?”

“I can control myself.” you assure her.

She slowly shakes her head at you.

“Yeah right… but can he? I don't trust neither of you... miss crazy and mister crazy... you might just wake up with his name in your skin.”

You giggle to yourself, biting your thumb. “Maybe…”

“Oh girl…” she groans, causing you to giggle into yourself, “You’re gonna be licking the tail of his dragon tattoo by the end of the date tomorrow.”

“H-h-he has a what? And where?” you stuttered, lashes quivering.

She shakes her head at you. “God, you’re screwed…”

*****

It's Saturday night. The bar's more alive than ever.

You've learned that Geto Suguru does, in fact, have a dragon tattoo inked up his toned arm – and a tight-fitting black tank top that shows it off along with his martial artist’s physique, too.

He’s got a glint of the devil in his black eyes. Softly-delivered dirty jokes ready to roll off his pierced tongue. A habit of tilting his head and looking hungrily at your lips and neck.

“Martial arts, huh?” you ask with stars in your eyes.

“Mhm, I could teach you a few things.” He purrs in reply.

Your stomach starts squeezing and flipping – that’s got to be the flirtiest 'mhm' that you’ve ever heard in your whole life.

“You think so?” you purr back.

Now it’s his turn to feel that squeezy, flippy feeling in his stomach.

Fuckfuckfuck is all he could think when he looks into your eyes.

I’m gonna fall to pieces. You’re gonna be the death of me.

“Uh…  do you two need some privacy?” Shoko teases.

Oh. It’s a double date. How could you forget? Shoko is literally sitting beside you at the bar with her date. But for a second there, it really felt like it was just you 'n this deliciously tattooed bad boy.

“Maybe.” Suguru chuckles coyly.

“There’s a hotel just next door…”

“Shoko!” you scold, playfully shoving her arm.

She giggles into herself, sipping down her cocktail innocently as if she didn’t just electrify the air between you and Suguru. His throat’s tensing, foot’s tapping up and down on the bar stool – boy’s got long spider-legs, huh?

Now after that, Suguru grins wider – showing off his pretty canines – his posture assuming something self-soothing; he holds his elbows, arms squished against his ribcage, which just makes his biceps more pronounced. Oh why, why did he have to wear a tank top like that? Surely he’s aware of the effect it has on girls. Or maybe he’s oblivious…

Nah. He's not.

*****

“Did it hurt?” you ask, trying to blink out the tipsiness from your love-drunk eyes but you’ve got three cosmopolitans surging through your veins.

“Not really… I’ve got great pain tolerance.” Suguru replies.

“Oh really?” you blink up at him again and his mind goes blank.

“Look at that...” He murmurs softly, not breaking eye contact with you. Where’s your friend and her date? Who knows. It’s just you and him now – and that’s all he wanted.

“Hm?”

“Not every day I see eyes like that…”

You widen your lips into a smile, “You’re laying it on thick.”

“Am I? Sorry – see, this is what happens after you feed Suguru too much rum. I just can’t keep my mouth shut.”

“That’s terrible… need someone to shut ya up?” you flirt.

He tilts his head at you, loose strands of hair shifting across his cheek. His left brow quirks up – he’s so taken aback by your forwardness but he falls right into it.

You just giggle flirtatiously after making that comment and pull the straw of your drink between your lips, sucking the remnants of a cosmopolitan into your mouth as sensually as you dare to in front of a bad boy who’s got bedroom eyes on you.

“I think I could do with some shutting up…” he admits.

“Mm,” you hum, “y’think by our third date you’re gonna snap and kiss me hard like we’re in a movie?”

Suguru smiles bashfully and looks down into his drink, swirling the melting ice cubes with a straw – slowly, round and round, they clink. Then he draws his gaze back to you, catching you with a sultry side-eye, and now it’s not just the ice cubes that are melting.

“Nah-uh…”

“Nah-uh?” you question.

“… I think it’s you who’s gonna snap first.” He says.

“Wanna bet?” you tease.

“Sure. What’ll be at stake?” he asks.

He keeps his sultry gaze on you as you look off to the side in thought for a moment. Your friend’s joke echoes in your mind.

“… you might just wake up with his name in your skin.”

Then you look back to him – his heart throbs but he’s trying to keep it together here, pulling his straw to his lips to get a sip of whatever rum still exists in his glass.

“Loser gets a regrettable tattoo?” you suggest.

He looks at you with a little bit of disbelief at your boldness.

“How regrettable?” he questions, one eye squinting shut in suspicion. He's wondering just how wild you actually are.

“Like my name on you? Or vice versa.”

He covers his mouth and lets out a chuckle hearing this. “You want me to tattoo my name on ya skin?” he teases. “Sure, I’ll bet on that.”

You can’t believe that he’s matching your crazy.

You stutter, replying only after a lingering moment of hot eye contact, “… there’s no way I’m gonna snap first…” you say boldly, proceeding to pop the cherry of your drink into your mouth and eating it right in front of the poor boy’s eyes. “ ‘m gonna have you walkin’ around with my name on you.”

Eyes glued on your lips, his breath catches in his throat.

“Yeah?”

Ooh, there it was. That feeling. That body singing electric songs feeling… that tummy-tightening, blood-rushing, skin-flushing feeling – it hit him all at once. He knows that if he were standing, his knees would have buckled now for sure, or at least he would have felt the tremor of your words under his feet.

He’s unsteady – smiling uncontrollably, looking dishevelled and softly drunk. Those rouge lips are begging to be kissed.

The bar grows quieter and quieter.

You’re hardly able to call each other anything more than strangers, and yet you’re leaning into him, closing the distance.

The tips of your noses are just inches apart now. You’re in each other’s air. He eyes out your lips, feels your hot, liquor-scented breath tickle his face.

But when you try and close the distance, he raises his hand and presses his thumb against your soft lips, stopping you.

“What happened to that bold statement, huh? Keep it together, baby; the bet’s on.” He feathers against your face.

*****

Tumbling into Shoko’s apartment after a night out drinking, you smile and giggle into the pillows of her bed.

She’s letting her hair down and swapping out her tight dress for jammies when she looks at you in your gleeful state.

“Someone’s in love.” She teases, coming over to tickle you.

“I’m not in love!”

“Oh, quit the act; I saw how the two of you said goodbye – you could barely hold yourself together. Drunk or not, I ain’t seen two adults giggling like that before.”

“Sh!” you swat her, “Not! In! Love!”

She takes a look into your eyes and observes your smile, then shakes her head. You're drowsy, so you make a dive into her bed and fall asleep almost instantly.

Shoko pulls a blanket over you, affectionately ruffling your hair.

“Madly in love, at the very least.”

[carnalcrows]

EX MARKS THE SPOT — THANOS

pairing: plug!thanos x male!reader

synopsis: After a messy breakup, you turn to Thanos, a dangerously smooth dealer in a suit, for more than just supplies—and somehow end up making your ex jealous while questioning your life choices (and his cologne).

content warnings: 18+, bottom male reader, drug usage, mentions of alcohol, myung-gi is reader's ex, marijuana, drunk sex, riding, shot-gunning, breeding, creampie, myung-gi is an asshole.

word count: 2.2k

A/N: this is hands down the funniest thing i've ever written lol. enjoy!!

Texting your ex always felt like poking a bear—pointless, frustrating, and dangerous. Yet, here you were, staring at a string of messages from Myung-gi, your recently demoted ex-boyfriend, as he passive-aggressively reminded you of all the things you’d “lost” when he left.

“Good luck finding anyone who’ll put up with you. Or supply you. 😊”

The nerve. You could practically hear his smug tone through the screen, and it made you want to chuck your phone into the nearest body of water. This man had cheated on you, lied about it, and somehow still had the audacity to act like you were the problem.

You rolled your eyes so hard you swore you saw the back of your skull. Myung-gi might’ve taken his flashy car, his designer cologne, and—worst of all—his “supplier,” but there was no way you’d let him hold your good times hostage.

Still, it was hard not to get irritated. Myung-gi always had a way of making your blood boil while somehow convincing you it was your fault. He was like an evil mastermind but dumber, pettier, and with terrible taste in socks. (Who wears neon argyle with loafers? Seriously.)

You shoved those thoughts aside and scrolled through your contacts. A friend had slipped you a number a few days ago, prefaced with, “This guy’s the best in town. Professional. Discreet. Just… don’t piss him off.” You hadn’t planned on using it, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

You took a deep breath and typed out a message:

You: “Hey. Got your number from a friend. Need to talk.”

The reply came almost instantly, which was mildly unsettling.

Unknown Number: “Come to 10th & Main. 9 PM. Cash only.”

Straight to the point. No pleasantries. Not even a "Hello."

You hesitated for a moment before typing back:

You: “Cool. What’s your name?”

Unknown Number: “Thanos.”

You stared at your screen, blinking slowly. Thanos? Thanos? Like the purple guy from the Avengers? What kind of name was that?  Was this some kind of joke? You half-expected his next message to be something like, “Bring me the Infinity Stones,” or, “I hope you enjoy dust.”

A dozen questions raced through your mind. Should you be scared? Impressed? Concerned he might snap his fingers and wipe out half your neighborhood? You weren’t sure if you were meeting a dealer or the final boss of a video game.

After a long moment of contemplation—and a quick Google search to make sure “Thanos” wasn’t slang for something illegal—you decided to go for it. Worst-case scenario, you’d die in an alley, and Myung-gi would probably gloat at your funeral. Best-case scenario? You’d have a cool story to tell.

With a sigh, you texted back:

You: “Alright. See you then.”

Unknown Number: “Wear something cute.”

Your jaw dropped. Was he… flirting? With you? Oh, this was going to be interesting.

When you showed up at the alley, you immediately regretted your decision. Thanos was leaning against the wall, his lean frame illuminated by the dim, flickering streetlight. His head gleamed like a polished amethyst, and his piercing gaze locked onto you the moment you stepped into view.

“So,” he said, his deep voice rolling over you like a summer storm. “You’re the newbie.”

You swallowed hard, clutching the cash in your pocket. “Uh, yeah. I guess.”

He pushed off the wall, his towering presence somehow even more overwhelming up close. His suit, far too nice for a back-alley transaction, clung to his broad shoulders like it was tailor-made.

“You guess?” he repeated, tilting his head with an amused smirk. “Pretty boy doesn’t know what he wants?”

Your brain short-circuited for a moment. “I’m here for… you know… the stuff.”

His grin widened, and he handed you a small bag of green nuggets. “Relax, sweetheart. I’m not gonna bite. Unless you want me to.”

Your face flushed, but you tried to play it cool. “Thanks,” you muttered, already turning to leave.

“Hold up,” Thanos called out, stopping you in your tracks. “Do you even know what to do with it?”

You hesitated, clutching the bag like it was a live grenade. “Uh… yeah?”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Don’t lie to me, pretty boy. Come on.” He gestured for you to follow him, and before you could protest, he was walking toward a nearby bench under the dim streetlight.

You trailed after him, curiosity outweighing your embarrassment. He sat down, pulling out a rolling tray, papers, and a grinder like he was some kind of cannabis sommelier.

“Watch and learn,” he said, his hands moving with surprising finesse as he broke down the green nuggets and ground them up. He sprinkled the freshly ground product into the paper, rolled it up with precision, and sealed it with a quick lick.

“There,” he said, holding up the perfect joint like it was a masterpiece. “Now you try.”

“I—uh—I don’t know if I can…”

“You can,” he said firmly, pushing the supplies toward you. His large hands hovered near yours as you awkwardly tried to mimic his movements. Your fingers fumbled with the paper, and you could feel his amused gaze on you the whole time.

“Here,” he said, reaching over to guide your hands. His touch was warm, steadying. “Like this. Don’t roll it too tight. You want it to burn evenly.”

You felt your pulse quicken as his fingers brushed against yours. By the time you managed to produce something vaguely resembling a joint, you were red-faced and flustered.

“Not bad for a first-timer,” he said with a chuckle, lighting your creation and taking a slow, deliberate drag before handing it to you. “See? Not so hard.”

You took a hesitant puff, coughing immediately, which earned a laugh from Thanos. “Easy there, sweetheart. No need to impress me.”

As you recovered, he leaned back against the bench, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “You’re cute when you’re trying too hard, you know that?”

You didn’t know how to respond to that, so you just focused on not coughing up a lung.

Thanos grinned, watching you with that same predatory confidence. “Don’t be a stranger, pretty boy. You’re fun.”

A few days later, you found yourself at a house party you didn’t even want to attend. The music was loud, the drinks were cheap, and the pool in the backyard looked way more inviting than the sweaty chaos inside. You’d planted yourself there, floating in the shallow end with a Bacardi in hand, silently regretting your decision to show up.

And then, of course, he appeared. Myung-gi . Your ex was lounging by the pool with his new girlfriend—a painfully perfect, Instagram-model type who looked like she’d never experienced a bad hair day. He was laughing loudly, probably for your benefit, his arm slung around her like he wanted to rub it in your face.

You downed the rest of your drink in one go and muttered to yourself, “Great. Just great.”

“Trouble in paradise?”

You turned at the sound of the deep, familiar voice, and your jaw almost hit the water. There, standing at the edge of the pool, was Thanos. He looked unfairly good—white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, dark slacks that hugged his thighs in all the right ways, and that same smirk that made you question all your life choices.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, your voice coming out more surprised than accusatory.

He crouched down, his golden watch glinting in the moonlight. “Got invited. Seems I’m more popular than I thought. But seeing you here? That’s a bonus.”

Your face heated, and you quickly looked away. “Well, enjoy the party.”

“Not until you stop sulking.” His gaze flicked to Myung-gi and back to you. “Ah. That explains it.”

“Explains what?”

“You’re sitting here like a kicked puppy because of him.” He gestured toward your ex with a tilt of his head. “Pathetic, honestly.”

You bristled. “I am not sulking.”

“Sure you’re not.” Thanos chuckled, then slid off his shoes and rolled up his pants, stepping into the pool like he owned the place. The water rippled as he waded closer, stopping just a foot away. “Wanna make him jealous?”

You blinked. “What?”

“You heard me.” He leaned in slightly, his smirk downright devilish. “We could give him a little show. Something to really stew over.”

Your heart raced. “You’re kidding.”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” He cocked an eyebrow, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

You glanced over at Myung-gi . He wasn’t looking now, but the idea of wiping that smug grin off his face was very appealing. You turned back to Thanos, who was watching you with an expectant look, and something in his confidence made you throw caution to the wind.

“Fine,” you said, your voice steady despite the flutter in your chest. “Let’s do it.”

His grin widened. “Atta boy.”

Before you could second-guess yourself, Thanos closed the distance between you, one hand cupping the back of your neck as his lips met yours. The kiss was anything but subtle—his mouth moved against yours with a ferocity that left you breathless, his other hand gripping your waist as if to anchor you to him.

The water lapped around you, the sounds of the party fading into the background as you lost yourself in the moment. His lips were soft but commanding, his teeth grazing your bottom lip just enough to make you gasp.

You vaguely heard the sound of spluttering from the side of the pool, and when you opened your eyes, you saw Myung-gi standing there, his face a mixture of shock and rage.

Thanos pulled back just enough to speak, his lips brushing against yours as he murmured, “Think he’s mad yet?”

You glanced at Myung-gi , who looked like he was about to explode, and couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, he’s pissed.”

“Good.” Thanos grinned, pressing another kiss to your lips, this one slower, almost teasing. “Serves him right.”

By the time you finally broke apart, Myung-gi had stormed off, dragging his bewildered girlfriend behind him like a kid throwing a tantrum in a grocery store. You barely noticed, too caught up in the heat of the moment and the rush of adrenaline coursing through you.

Thanos leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear as he murmured, “You’re welcome.”

“For what?” you managed to ask, your voice a little shaky as you tried to play it cool.

“For reminding him that he downgraded,” Thanos replied with a smirk, his thumb brushing a stray drop of water from your jaw.

You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. “You’re so full of yourself.”

He tilted his head, his piercing gaze making your pulse quicken. “And yet, you’re still here.”

Before you could come up with a witty retort, he reached out and took your hand, pulling you out of the pool with an effortless strength that left you momentarily flustered.

“Come on,” he said, his voice dropping an octave, rich and enticing. “Let’s find somewhere quieter.”

You hesitated for half a second before nodding, letting him lead you away from the crowd and the noise of the party. Your heart pounded as he guided you down a dimly lit hallway, past closed doors and muffled laughter, until he pushed one open and gestured for you to step inside.

The room was cozy and dim, the faint scent of lavender lingering in the air. As the door clicked shut behind you, the weight of the moment settled over you, thick and electric. Thanos leaned back against the door, his smirk softening into something more genuine.

“You good?” he asked, his deep voice cutting through the silence.

You nodded, your breath hitching slightly. “Yeah.”

He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming in the best way possible, and as his lips found yours again, all thoughts of Myung-gi —or anyone else—faded away.

You didn’t know how you ended up in this position. Or maybe you wanted it to happen. The booze and the weed had certainly gotten to your head.

Thanos was puffing on a blunt while you rode him, bouncing up and down on his cock with fervour.

“That’s it my boy…Taking it like a champ,” he mutters, the praise going straight down to your dick.

The hand that wasn’t holding the blunt was wrapped around your waist, guiding your hips on his length. He slowly took in a slow drag of his blunt while locking eyes with you, his dark orbs stained with red from all the substance. It certainly was a sight to see.

He pressed his mouth to yours, shot-gunning the smoke straight to your throat as you inhaled. You had gotten slightly better with the weed by now, so thankfully, you didn’t start coughing all over the place.

Your pace on his dick slowly sped up, you were at the brink of an orgasm. “Fuck… cum for me baby,” Thanos groans as his grip on your waist tightens. He takes another long drag of his blunt, before handing it to you.

You feel the scent of the herb hitting the back of your throat, and with that, you climax all over the purple-haired man’s stomach with your eyes rolling to the back of your head. Thanos releases soon after, painting your insides white.

You bask in the after-glow of mind blowing sex, lazily leaning forward on Thanos’ shoulder. The click of the doorknob alerts the man, who looks at a fuming Myung-gi and his still-confused girlfriend (the poor thing).

“Rise and shine my boy, I think we have an audience~”

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time and I take genuine effort to do them.

[brunchable]

Steve Rogers finally gets drunk.

Pairings: Steve Rogers x f!reader Themes: Funny? and CUTE. STEVE BEING CUTE WHILE DRUNK. Summary: Steve got wrecked by Thor's Asgardian Liquor and now he's stumbling under your balcony, reciting Shakepeare's Romeo and Juliet to you. A/N: I stumbled over a prompt that I have long lost now and this was the fruit.

It was a perfectly quiet night, and you were unwinding on your balcony, half lost in thought, when the unmistakable sound of someone quoting Romeo and Juliet—or at least attempting to—echoed from below.

“O, she doth teach the torches to burn... so—hic—bright!”

Rolling your eyes, you assumed it was some drunk wandering the street. But then, in a voice far louder than necessary, the mystery romantic slurred, “It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night... like a rich jewel in... uh... someone’s ear!”

You sighed, trying to ignore it. But then there was a strange thunk against your temple—a small pebble had just bounced off your head.

“Ow!” you hissed, standing and scanning the area, annoyed—until you spotted Steve Rogers, lurching slightly, down below on the sidewalk.

You watched in amazement as he squinted up at you, attempting to focus and swaying on his feet like a flag in a strong breeze. He seemed to be mentally assembling the pieces of a big plan, his face all determination and zero sense. Another pebble tumbled out of his hand as he wobbled, barely avoiding tripping over his own feet in the process.

“But soft! What light through yonder window breaks?” he shouted, looking about as stable as a newborn giraffe on roller skates.

You blinked. “Steve... are you okay?”

Steve flung one arm into the air, as if delivering a grand declaration, nearly toppling backward. “It is the east, and Juliet is the... uhm... Juliet is... Juliet!” He thrust a hand forward, fingers spread wide, as if that added extra meaning. “And you—you—are...”

He paused, visibly struggling, his other hand braced against a streetlamp for support.

“A total mess?” you offered, eyebrows raised.

“A goddess!” he slurred, blinking up at you with the most sincere, lovelorn look you’d ever seen. “A bright angel!” he continued, pulling himself up, trying—and failing—to straighten his posture.

For a moment, he seemed to try and get a grip, but his feet betrayed him, and he ended up doing an awkward spin, arms windmilling, before stabilizing himself.

“Steve, how much have you had to drink?” you asked, starting to laugh despite yourself.

“Only... one cup,” he replied, attempting to measure out what he must’ve thought was a “tiny” amount with his fingers. But the gap between his thumb and forefinger was about the size of a baseball. “Well... one Asgardian... goblet.” He grinned up at you, eyes bright. “A small one!”

You tried to bite back a laugh as Steve clasped his hands over his heart, gazing up at you with tragic romance. “Deny thy father and refuse thy—thy name!” He paused, his forehead wrinkling in concentration. “Wait... did I—did I skip a part?”

“Just a few lines,” you teased. “You also hit me with a rock.”

“Oh,” he mumbled, frowning. He bent down, swayed, and then picked up a handful of pebbles. “Doth my lady forgive me?”

“Steve, don’t you dare throw those at me.”

He looked down at the pebbles in his hand, confused. Then, with an exaggerated wink, he tossed them aside like he’d just disposed of a dangerous weapon. “Not a pebble in sight!” He shot you a triumphant, lopsided smile.

“And why art thou—no, wait—why are you out here, Juliet?”

“I live here, Steve,” you replied, trying to keep a straight face. “You’re the one making a scene.”

But Steve only clasped his heart, looking utterly enchanted. “Oh, fair maiden... would you come down and—uh, wait... no. Would you let down your hair?” He stopped, perplexed. “No, wait, that’s... that’s Rapunzel.” He scratched his head, lost. “Same thing, right?”

With a sigh, you leaned over the balcony railing, looking down at him with a smirk. “Steve, you should probably get home before you accidentally wander into traffic or—”

But he suddenly looked up at you with the most determined expression you’d ever seen, his eyes glassy but oddly focused.

“Doth thou love me?” he cried, one hand raised in a fist of drunken valor. “Say it true, or I shall be...” he paused, struggling, “...a total disaster!”

You couldn’t help it—you burst out laughing. “Steve Rogers, get your tipsy Shakespearean self home!”

He beamed up at you, his goofy grin full of pure, unfiltered adoration. “Parting is such sweet... uh...” he faltered. “...sorrow?”

Steve, swaying dramatically, looked up at you with a sudden, steely determination that only a man in his state could manage. “If thou shall not come down… then I… I shall climb up!” He pointed to the fire escape, his face alight with misguided heroism.

“Steve, please don’t—”

But it was too late. He grabbed the bottom rung with a graceless, lurching motion, grinning up at you with sheer triumph. “I’m coming, my fair maiden!”

With all the poise of a baby deer, he hoisted himself up, grunting as he fumbled his way onto the next step. Each rung seemed to be a new, Herculean task as he struggled to stay upright, clutching the railings like his life depended on it. His foot slipped once, making him lurch sideways, but he shot you a reassuring thumbs-up, completely oblivious to the danger.

“Steve! You’re gonna hurt yourself! Seriously, get down!” you called, half horrified, half laughing.

“Fear not, my lady!” he slurred, clinging to the railing and taking a very, very slow step up. “I am... coming for you!”

As he ascended, he attempted another line from the play, fumbling it badly. “Uh… But soft! What... yonder... light and window... um... something?” He shot you a sheepish grin. “Hold on... almost... got it.”

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of wobbling and mumbling fragments of Shakespeare, he reached your level on the fire escape. He extended a hand dramatically, nearly toppling over in the process, and declared, “I have arrived!”

You laughed, hands on your hips as he wobbled in front of you. “Steve, that was a lot more ‘Romeo in need of a medic’ than ‘Romeo and Juliet.’ You’re absolutely out of it.”

He blinked, swaying as he tried to focus on you. “I came for thee,” he said proudly, managing to stand up straight—though his grip on the railing suggested it was doing most of the work.

Steve, still gripping the railing for dear life, looked at you with a mischievous glint in his glassy eyes.

“Fair Juliet… couldst thou… come a bit closer?” He held out a hand, wiggling his fingers invitingly, his face lit with pure, drunken delight. “I have something… uh… very important to tell thee.”

You arched a skeptical brow. “Steve, I’m pretty sure you can say it from there.”

He squinted, trying to look tragic but only succeeding in looking adorably pouty. “Nay… ‘tis… a secret of the heart,” he slurred, placing a hand over his chest with a lopsided grin. “I must whisper it… so only thou can hear it.”

Rolling your eyes but grinning despite yourself, you leaned a little closer, watching as his gaze flicked from your face to your lips. 

“Alright, Romeo, what’s this ‘secret of the heart?’” you asked, half-expecting him to spout more mangled Shakespeare.

But instead, as soon as you were close enough, Steve leaned forward, his hand sliding around the back of your neck, and he pressed his lips to yours in a soft, surprisingly gentle kiss from across the railing.

Caught off guard, you froze, feeling the warmth of his mouth against yours. Then, with a laugh bubbling up, you pulled back slightly, blinking in shock as he gave you a pleased, slightly dazed smile.

“There it is,” he whispered, eyes twinkling. “My secret… is that thou art… perfect.” His gaze softened, and he gave a dopey smile. “And... very kissable.”

You shook your head, laughing. “Alright, Romeo. That was smooth—but I think it’s time to get you inside before you ‘heroically’ declare your love to the whole neighborhood.”

He grinned, still clutching the railing, looking like he’d just conquered the world. “Only for thee,” he slurred, leaning into your touch as you helped him down, his expression dreamy. “Only... ever for thee.”

Just as you were helping Steve down from the fire escape, a voice floated up from the street below.

“Steve! Where the hell are you?” It was Bucky, sounding frustrated and more than a little exasperated. You could see him pacing the sidewalk, looking around like he was on some kind of ridiculous rescue mission.

Steve’s eyes widened, and he pressed a finger to his lips, eyes sparkling with mischief as he looked at you. 

“Shhh!” he whispered, grinning like a kid playing hide-and-seek. His attempt at silence was immediately betrayed by a giggle that escaped his mouth, and he put both hands over his lips, eyes gleaming with excitement.

“Steve, I know you’re around here somewhere! Get down here before you fall off something,” Bucky called out, still searching.

Steve, in a fit of tipsy brilliance, looked at you with a conspiratorial smirk and pointed toward your open window beside the balcony. Without a word, he started squeezing himself through, contorting like he thought he could make himself invisible in the process.

“Steve, what are you doing?” you whispered, half-laughing, as he awkwardly wedged his shoulders into the window, one leg hanging out, struggling like he was trying to sneak into a bank vault. He gestured wildly for you to help, but his clumsy movement only made him even more noticeable.

He leaned forward, eyes wide, and whispered, “Shhh! The enemy approaches!” He stifled another giggle, clearly thinking this was the funniest thing in the world.

Just then, Bucky looked up, and Steve flailed dramatically, accidentally bumping his head against the window frame with a muted “ow,” then snorted, laughing harder. He pressed his finger over his mouth again, hushing you through breathy laughter.

“What the…” Bucky stared, his gaze following Steve’s ridiculous pose as he tried to disappear through your window, half-in and half-out, his other leg kicking as he tried to haul himself through.

“Hey!” Bucky called, hands on his hips. “Rogers, get down here. Right now.”

Steve froze, peeking over the window frame like a deer caught in headlights, then gave you a pleading look, as if you were his partner in crime.

“Shh! The man downstairs… he cannot know I’m here,” Steve slurred dramatically, squinting as if Bucky were some kind of Shakespearean villain.

You bit your lip to keep from laughing as Bucky’s eyes narrowed.

“Steve, you’re on the fire escape, not a secret lair. Get down before you fall off and end up in the hospital.”

Steve waved a dismissive hand, a drowsy, lopsided grin on his face. “I’m in safe hands, Bucky! I have my fair maiden to protect me,” he announced proudly, glancing at you with such conviction that you had to stifle your laughter again.

Bucky groaned, his exasperation palpable as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine, you’ve got one minute to say goodbye to your ‘fair maiden,’ then you’re coming with me,” he called, crossing his arms.

Steve turned back to you with a goofy grin, still wedged halfway through the window. 

“Didst thou hear that?” he whispered in a loud stage voice, pointing at Bucky. “The villain gives us but one more minute. But it shall be a glorious minute!”

You rolled your eyes, pushing him gently. “Alright, Romeo. Time to head home.”

With one last dramatic sigh, he extracted himself from your window, blew you a clumsy, theatrical kiss, and began his wobbly descent down the fire escape. As Bucky grabbed Steve by the shoulder, trying to steer him down the street, Steve spun around, clutching Bucky’s arm like he was clinging to the last lifeboat on a sinking ship.

“Unhand me, Mercutio!” Steve cried, throwing his other arm up with all the grandeur of a Shakespearean actor. “Thou art but a hindrance to my love! Dost thou not know I’m with Juliet?”

Bucky froze, staring at Steve in complete disbelief. “What did you just call me?” His expression was halfway between horrified and annoyed, eyebrows knitted in utter confusion.

Steve pulled himself up, looking deeply wounded, his hand over his heart. 

“Mercutio!” he slurred dramatically, pointing a shaky finger at Bucky. “You are the friend that doth betray me! I shall not be parted from my love!”

Bucky blinked, visibly trying to process this. “Mercutio? Steve, what the—” He looked up at you, helplessly gesturing at Steve. “I’m Mercutio now?”

Steve waved a dismissive hand. “Alas, yes, for you wouldst steal me away from my Juliet,” he said, glaring with the most intense puppy eyes you’d ever seen.

“Steve, I’m not Mercutio,” Bucky groaned, looking over at you as if hoping you could talk some sense into him. “You are absolutely out of your mind.”

But Steve seemed lost in his own world. He placed a hand over his heart, gazing longingly up at you again. 

“Juliet,” he called to you, his voice full of melodrama. “Mercutio hath come to tear us asunder.”

Bucky’s face scrunched up in pure irritation. “Steve, I’m trying to get you home before you fall flat on your face. You’re gonna thank me in the morning.”

Steve shook his head, looking at Bucky like he was the ultimate betrayer. “Mercutio… thou art a traitor,” he declared, voice wobbling with fake tragedy.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I swear, if you call me Mercutio one more time—”

“Mercutio!” Steve interrupted, leaning against him dramatically. “Wouldst thou poison my love? Dost thou come between us to ruin the most beautiful thing?”

Bucky let out a defeated sigh, looking over at you with an expression that screamed, Help me. “Your ‘Mercutio’ is about to drag you home, Rogers.”

But Steve just shook his head again, mumbling about “betrayal” and “unhand me, knave,” as Bucky steered him away, calling one last time over his shoulder to you, “Fear not, Juliet! I shall return! Mercutio’s treachery shall not prevail!” You stifled a laugh as Bucky, looking thoroughly done with it all, muttered to himself, “Mercutio… unbelievable.” He gave you one final, apologetic look as Steve continued to mumble protests about “Mercutio’s interference,” until they finally disappeared down the street, Bucky still muttering, “I’m not Mercutio.” Tags: @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @strawberrybisou @alyana-luvs-u

[fioiswriting]

Muña | one shot

Summary : Marrying your bastard nephew to mend fences between your families wasn't exactly what you had planned. But when you realise that Jace has grown into a strong and handsome man, you might be ready to rethink your plans.

Rating : Explicit, 18+ MDNI

Pairing : Jacaerys Velaryon x Aunt!Reader (Reader is Alicent and Visery’s daughter. She’s one year younger than Aegon)

TW : p in v sex, mommy kink, sub!Jace (kinda), Dom!Reader (but they both switch tbh), inappropriate use of the word muña, oral (f receiving), afab reader, incest, unprotected sex, not proofread

Words count : 8064

AN : hi everyone!! I’ve been very busy lately so I haven't had time to update BUT I’ve been working a bit on various fics. Sorry to all my Aemond girlies but today it’s time for some Jace x reader. It’s a fic I’ve written for my gf who’s turning into a Jace girlie 🤭 It's full of indecency and inappropriate things.

Also English is not my first language, so sorry for the grammar mistakes !! 

Enjoy 🖤

The gardens had become your refuge over the past few days. Under the shade of the trees, on the soft grass, you had found a peaceful haven away from the excitement caused by the arrival of your half-sister and her herd of bastards. The Red Keep made you feel suffocated. And seeing your mother pacing back and forth, running left and right, didn't help. You had to calm her down. You had to keep an eye on your older brother, making sure he didn't slip away into the maze of Flea Bottom for the umpteenth time. You had to hold your family together, and you were tired. 

You almost envied Daeron, in Old Town, away from the hustle and bustle of the court.

At least no one would think of looking for you where you were now. And you could enjoy a moment's respite, poring over the thick book you had borrowed from Aemond's library. Had he known that you had entered his room without warning, had he known that you had dared to disturb the perfect tidiness of his precious bookshelves, he would probably have threatened to feed you to Vhagar. But what he didn't know couldn't hurt him. Besides, you could perhaps find a way to pay him back later. 

For now, you just needed to be left alone.

You stretched out, arms reaching for the sky. The sun's rays crept through the leaves, their warmth leaving a pleasant sensation on your face. Summer was back and you were delighted. The gentle breeze that ruffled the corners of your book and occasionally lifted the silver curls around your face gave you a sense of freedom. You deftly kicked off your shoes and lay back for a moment, your eyes closed.

Footsteps echoed on the cobbled floor, and you sighed in annoyance. You didn't have to open your eyes to see who it was. You recognised his footsteps. So, you kept your eyes closed. With any luck, he would continue his way and leave you alone to find someone else to annoy.

"Hey, my favourite little sister," Aegon exclaimed as he landed heavily beside you, his body brushing against yours. You opened one eye to acknowledge him, then closed it again, your arms crossed behind your head. "Aren't you supposed to be keeping an eye on me?" he insisted when he saw you weren't answering him. "You know, make sure I don't run off or end up drunk somewhere…Stuff like that. Which our mother probably asked you to do."

A smile tugged at the corner of your lips. It was true that Aegon was terribly annoying. But of all your siblings, Aegon was still your favourite.

You resigned yourself to rolling onto your stomach, your chin resting on your hands and your head tilted sideways to face him.  "My dear brother," you replied sarcastically. "Unable to occupy yourself, as usual."  He rolled his eyes before reaching out to remove a leaf that had gotten caught in your hair. He subtly ran his fingers through one of your curls, his touch as light as a feather. "And why have you decided to come and disturb my moment of peace, tell me?"

He blew the leaf away and you watched as it flew away on the breeze. Your big brother's eyes shone with mischief. "Why would I need a specific reason to spend time with my favourite sister?" he added, and it was your turn to roll your eyes. He moved to lie next to you, his body practically pressed against yours. 

If you moved a few centimetres, your elbows would touch his. 

You'd always been inseparable, and the habit had stuck over time, even when the teenage years had driven you apart. But in those moments, you were like two children again, ready to run away from Septa lessons to get into mischief in the castle.

“Because you always have a reason for everything,” you replied, and he looked at you with a fake hurt look that was greatly exaggerated. With Aegon it was easy. It had always been easy.  He wasn't as serious as Aemond, he wasn't as strange as Helena, and he wasn't as far away as Daeron.

"I just wanted to make sure my little sister was all ready to meet her betrothed tonight." He paused. "And also, that she hadn't suddenly decided to become a pious woman and follow the path of the Seven." His voice lowered. You poked him in the ribs. "See? I'm a caring big brother. I care about you."

"Shut up, Aegon," you replied. He laughed. Then he rolled onto his back, arms crossed behind his head, one leg bent, and he closed his eyes. The golden rays caught in his long lashes made him look like an angel. 

Everything he wasn't. 

'Well?' He added. “Excited to see Jacaerys Strong?”

You sat cross-legged. The bracelets on your wrists clinkled. Aegon knew how much the idea horrified you. You had no desire to marry Jace, to sacrifice your freedom for your half-sister's bastard eldest son. You had no desire to leave the Red Keep, to follow him to Dragonstone and spend your life bearing him children. It was your mother and Rhaenyra's idea, of course.

The union of the eldest daughter of one and the eldest son of the other, as a way of repairing the rift that has grown between your families over time. 

As if you were destined to mend fences, to undo the mistakes of your own parents.

It wasn't that you hated Jace. But he was your older sister's son, a bastard who had pretensions he shouldn't have precisely because he was a bastard. He was the model son, the perfect son, the prodigy son, the one who always did everything right. It irritated you. He irritated you with his brown curls and his awkward posture.

 It wasn't fair that your father showered him with praise when he could barely remember your own name.

You stood up, smoothing the folds of your red dress to make yourself more presentable, and you caught your brother's eyes on your body, his eyes riveted on the thin fabric that revealed your delicate shapes. God, you loved to play with that. You knew how to get men wrapped around your finger with your sweet, innocent air, and Aegon was the first victim. You approached him and held out your arm to help him up, which he accepted by pulling himself to his feet heavily. After putting your shoes back on, you bent down to pick up the thick book in your arms. If you lost it, you could be sure that Aemond would be angry with you. And that was a risk you didn't want to take.

 "Perhaps you're right, lēkia. I'd better go and make myself more presentable for my betrothed. I wouldn't wish to disgrace our family." And with that you turned back, your hair swirling in the air behind you as Aegon watched you go with a small smile on his face. 

You knew how much Aegon hated being ignored, and even more so when it came from his little sister. You knew that he would return with his tail between his legs and a pleading look on his face. Between his constant whining and his dirty jokes, he gave you little respite, but it was a game that had developed between you; a game that, deep down, you enjoyed.

He was so predictable. 

“If I had known you liked strong men, I would have dyed my hair,” you heard him shout from behind you. Aegon wasn't the least bit shy. You shook your head, your silver locks bouncing.

"Get lost, you moron," you replied without even turning around.

The meal in honour of your betrothal promised to be exciting.

*** 

As soon as he saw you, your nephew rose to pull the chair beside him in a gallant gesture, and you found yourself watching him. Really watching him. His long, broad fingers on the back of the chair. His dark locks falling around his face. His precise features; his straight nose and deep eyes and square jaw. You hadn't realised how much your nephew had changed. He'd grown up too, and he was now a good head taller than you. 

He had become a strong man, indeed.

But you refused to admit that Jacaerys Strong had become quite pleasant to look at.

"Princess," he said, pushing the chair back for you to sit down. Fingers brushed the skin of your partly bare shoulders. The touch had lasted a fraction of a second, enough to make you wonder if it had been a figment of your imagination. 

"Lord Strong," you replied in greeting. If the words hurt him, Jace didn't show it. Always the perfect son. What would it take to push him over the edge? To crack the shell he'd built around himself? To shatter the image of the gentleman?

To your right, Aegon was already seated. He was holding a glass of wine between his fingers while Aemond seemed to be lecturing him about something you couldn't understand. The exchange between you and Jace had obviously not escaped his notice, and the corner of his mouth had already curled into a smirk. You knew what it meant. 

His silence was full of implications, louder than any words. 

Your mother had lectured him before dinner, warned him to behave because that was what was expected of him, and she was counting on you to make him obey. 

But your older brother didn't say anything. He simply raised his glass in your direction, his lips forming a word that you couldn't read. You weren't sure if you were relieved or disappointed.

You looked at your nephew. He had donned a gambison in the colours of the Velaryons, and you couldn't help but smile at the irony of the situation. 

After all, a bastard in blue was still a bastard.

"Enjoying King's Landing?" you asked your betrothed, in an attempt to start a conversation. His attention turned to you, his eyes widening slightly in surprise. 

“It's quite different from what I remember,” he replied, his voice a little lower than usual, his warm eyes meeting yours. “But of course it all depends on the company you are with."

You hesitated, suddenly unsure.

You hated what the sound of his voice did to you. You hated the way his eyes suddenly made you feel vulnerable. 

Fuck.

“It all depends on the company, indeed. And do you find yourself in good company tonight, nephew?" You gave him a defiant look, as if to judge his reaction. 

As if to unveil what he held within himself. 

“I'm not quite sure. Should I?” He paused, one eyebrow raised. He had taken the bait. “What would yousay?”

His eyes sparkled with something you couldn't quite put your finger on. It wasn't the malice you usually found in Aegon's eyes when he wanted to tease you. It wasn't the gleam that animated his mind when he came up with a new plan for you to cover. 

"I would say I'm in pretty strong company," you replied as you took your cup, a satisfied smile tugging at the corner of your lips that you hid behind the glass. 

You were cruel, giving him no respite, you knew. But you admired his composure. He hadn't cracked yet. 

You knew men who were less patient.

Jace leaned towards you. A slight tilt of the head, just to make sure you were the only one to hear him. As if he wanted to share a secret with you. “Careful, Aunt,” he began, his voice suddenly quieter than before. It was almost a whisper. “I might begin to think you enjoy my company.”

You know I don't, you wanted to reply, but Jace had already straightened up as if nothing had happened, his head turned away from you. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Baela give him a questioning look, and an unfamiliar sensation stirred in the pit of your stomach. 

An unpleasant heat. 

A hint of irritation.

You were annoyed, and you didn't know why.

“Look how handsome your betrothed has made himself for you,” Aegon sneered as he reached for the decanter and leaned in close to your ear. “A true Velaryon, isn't he?” He huffed.

You wanted to slap him on the thigh, make him swallow his mockery. 

“If you think he's so handsome, I can happily leave him to you,” you replied, and Aegon's eyes widened. You saw him take a sip of wine, and something deep inside you told you he probably wasn't opposed to the idea. His usual mischievous smile was hidden behind the wine glass, but there was no mistaking his eyes.

Aegon had that tendency to give himself away, and you could read him like an open book.

The meal proved to be as boring as you had imagined. Small talk exchanged over fake smiles. An illusory moment in which everything seemed to be going well for one evening.

You weren't fooled, and you knew it was all a facade. You knew your family well enough to understand that the slightest spark could set things alight. You knew your brothers well enough to realise that all it would take was a simple glance between them to liven up an evening they found dull.

You just hoped they wouldn't cause too much trouble tonight.

To your left, Jace was still deep in conversation with Baela. They had that kind of complicity that made your blood boil inside; a shared laugh that sounded in your ear like the squeaky music you hated. You frowned. It was you, his betrothed. It was you, not Baela, and you didn't understand why that statement was suddenly so important. 

After all, you despised this union. You hated Jace. You had no desire to promise him the rest of your life.

Jace was a bastard, and you deserved better.

So why did the sight of him touching Baela's hand cause a twinge of jealousy in your body?

His fingers brushed over hers absently. A light touch on her knuckles. 

And all you felt was fire.

And then. Then, your fingers slipped under the wooden table. 

You knew you were playing with fire. And you knew that if anyone paid too much attention to what you were doing, they would see that you weren't exactly behaving like the perfect Princess Targaryen you were supposed to be.

But you didn't care.

You let your fingers wander, running along the outside of Jace's thigh before moving up to settle in the hollow that connected his thigh to his hip. With a faint touch, your fingertips brushed the inside of his thigh, and then lower, tracing small circles through the fabric that was already beginning to tighten. 

Jace almost choked. 

He spat out the contents of his glass, his dark gaze fixed on you. Everyone had fallen silent, their heads turned towards him. Rhaenyra's eyebrows were furrowed in concern.

And you hadn't removed your hand. 

An innocent smile lit up your face, your eyes sparkling with mischief. You wondered if Aegon could read you. If he could see that look on your face, so similar to his own. That distinctive feature you shared. 

Deciding to play with your prey a little longer, you put on your best fake concerned face, pretending to be worried about his health.

"Are you all right, Jacaerys?" you asked, your voice a little higher than usual as your nails dug into the fabric of his breeches. Not to hurt him, of course. Just enough to wake a certain part of him, just enough to remind him that you were his betrothed.

He cleared his throat and coughed again.

“I swallowed wrong,” he replied. 

Your fingers crept a little higher, trying to explore his upper thigh, where you knew your nephew would be sensitive. You didn't want to be rational tonight, you wanted to let the fire take over and consume you. 

You wanted to let the sleeping dragon within you awaken.

The taste of the forbidden was divine, and the heat spreading through your lower belly was too delicious to stop now.

"Be careful, mandianna. We're not married yet." you said.  We're not married yet and look where I've got my fingers. You kept your thoughts to yourself. "I wouldn't want to find myself a widow already," you replied in High Valyrian, amused, and Jace looked at you with his big brown eyes, somewhere between anger and excitement, embarrassment and curiosity. 

Under the table, out of sight, your hand brushed the stretched fabric where you could read the confirmation of what he was feeling, the manifestation of his desire.

He was hard.

Perfect.

It was you who provoked this. 

He responded to your touch.

You felt a familiar breath on the back of your neck and realised Aegon was leaning against you again. He was pretending to serve you some of the vegetables that had just been brought in for the starter, taking the opportunity to whisper in your ear as he did so well. "Try to be more discreet, little sister," he chuckled softly, his voice nothing more than a whisper to make sure no one heard you. Discreetly, he nodded to where your hand still rested on your nephew's thigh. He tilted his head. "Rhaenyra is right in front of us. Do you think she can see what you're doing to her son under the table?"

He put on his best disinterested face. As if the words exchanged between you were nothing more than banalities. 

As if he weren't commenting on the indecent deeds you were doing under the table, unworthy of a girl of your rank.

"Shut up, Aegon," you replied, trying to keep a straight face. You didn't want him drawing any more of your family's attention to you, especially when you hadn't finished playing.

Your big brother gave you a knowing wink, as if to promise you that your secret was safe with him.

And you decided to continue entertaining yourself with the new game you'd invented.

You were bold, and you decided that if Jace didn't already know it, he would find out soon enough.

*** 

It wasn't that Jace was disappointed with his betrothal. You were divine, and the dress you wore made you so regal that he couldn't keep his attention anywhere but on your body, on your cleavage so gracefully offered to his gaze.

It was precisely why he had turned to Baela, why he had tried to distract himself with their conversation, why he had desperately tried to find something else to hold on to.

Because you were making him lose his footing. And that was a feeling he hated.

No, Jace did not regret his betrothal. You were everything a man could want; you were beautiful, you were regal, you were clever, and above all, you were a Targaryen. A princess. The king's daughter.

The only problem was you were distant and elusive.

Jace remembered your pretensions and mockeries from his childhood. He remembered the little brat you were, following in your older brother's footsteps. He remembered a little girl with a strong temper, who knew what she wanted. He remembered the pranks, not just the ones he'd taken part in, like the Pink Dread, but the ones that had turned against him because of you and Aegon, too.

It was clear that the little girl you had once been, taller than him, with long silver curls and an air of self-assurance far too confident for her young age, had grown into a beautiful young woman. 

And that was something Jace hadn't considered.

He couldn't concentrate on his conversation with Baela, not when your fingers were digging through the linen of his breeches into the flesh of his thigh, as if to remind him to whom he had been promised.  

Your fingers, slender, light, burning against his inner thigh. 

He clenched his jaw.

All around him, the words and faces of the guests mingled in a swirl of sound and colour. Fuck.

Fuck.

His breeches were really becoming too tight.

You'd dared to do that. You'd dared to slip your fingers under the table, in front of everyone, and Jace didn't know whether to admire your audacity or wrap his fingers around your wrist and force you to take them off. 

Suddenly he felt hot, a familiar warmth spreading between his loins. 

He wasn't sure he could get up, not with his member pulsing between his thighs. 

Fuck. You weren't supposed to make him feel like this. He wasn't supposed to feel such a desire for you when you weren't officially married.

This dinner was about officially declaring your betrothal, not consummating a union not yet pronounced.

He was trying to calm down. He tried to ground himself back into reality. Perhaps by staring intently at the contents of his plate he could ignore the sensation of your fingers rising dangerously high; the desperate need to finally have your fingers wrapped around his manhood.

His knees slammed into the table in a sudden movement.

Your fingers had just brushed the bulge that had formed between his thighs. 

And he needed more, infinitely more.

You couldn't have the cruelty to arouse such lust in him and then leave him like that. He would never forgive you.

"Stop that," he growled in your direction, low enough for no one else to hear. 

But you still had that damn innocent smile, that damn audacity to act as if nothing had happened. 

"I don't know what you're talking about, mandianna." Nephew. The sound of the High Valyrian rolling off your tongue sent a wave of heat between his legs. Seven hells, you were going to be the death of him. 

He wanted more. 

He needed more. 

More of your fingers around him, more of your tongue against his length, more of that innocent look on your face as you knelt before him, more of your tight cunt.

Jace was on the verge of losing it. You'd made him a slave to his own desire. You had closed your claws around him and he knew there was no turning back now.

“If you play with fire too much, you might get burned, muña," Jace retorted, leaning towards you, and he felt the imperceptible movement of your hand twitching at the threat. Aunt.

Despite his dwindling strength, King Viserys tried to make a speech about family, betrothal, and a whole host of other undoubtedly honourable values, but neither you nor Jace paid any attention. You were caught up in your own game.

Then Jace stood up, forcing you to remove your hand. 

You could see he was uncomfortable, for you knew where to look, for you knew what you had done. 

You knew he had a painful erection between his thighs, and it was all because of you.

But you could only admire your nephew's composure. 

“To my uncles, Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond. I have fond memories of our shared childhood.” His glass between his fingers, he raised it in the direction of his uncles, then turned to you. "And to my sweet and beautiful bride-to-be, who I'm sure will never cease to surprise me with her daring and surprising side. May our marriage be filled with joy and satisfaction".

The toasts continued, as did the meal. The servants had brought the rest of the dishes consisting of steaming meat and tasty garnishes. It was almost too joyous, almost too happy to be real. As if there was a threat lurking somewhere in the corner.

But Jace still had to teach you a lesson.

The music started, the sound of instruments filling the room. Jace apologised to Baela and walked over to his aunt. His other aunt. Your sister. 

And you felt the anger return; the same inner turmoil as before. 

Jace had held out his hand to Helaena and led her to dance a little further away. You immediately exchanged a questioning look with your brother, who had also stared at Jace in disbelief as he had walked away on your little sister's arm.

"So?" Aegon began. "It seems your betrothed didn't appreciate your little game?" You glared at him, but he just scoffed. "If he changes his mind... You know I like it." 

You wondered if you could do the same. You wondered if you could ask Aegon to dance and if Jace would feel the same bubbling inside him, the same jealousy coursing through his veins.

You hated that feeling. 

You shouldn't feel that kind of emotion, especially not for him.

You obviously didn't see it, too focused on your own annoyance, but Jace kept glancing in your direction, as if to make sure you saw him. 

He wanted to make you jealous. He wanted to fuel the feeling he'd identified in you. He wanted to catch you at your own game. And one thing was certain, Jace hadn't played all his cards yet.

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

After a moment that seemed an eternity, your betrothed returned to sit beside you, Helena going back to her own seat. You were less and less able to hide your annoyance, and no doubt Jace noticed, for he leaned towards you, a satisfied look on his face. "Your sister is very sweet," he murmured. He knew very well that this simple phrase would be enough to send you over the edge. 

You liked attention. You liked compliments. You liked to be praised. 

You said nothing back. But Aegon had his trademark grin, the one that stretched his lips when he had a devious plan, and he was already getting up on the pretext of serving Baela some wine so he could whisper in his nephew's ear.  "I know my little sister can be particularly demanding.” He paused. “And difficult to tame. So if you ever need any advice... Or demonstrations…"

Jace was fuming, but he knew he had to keep his cool. It was Aegon, typical Aegon, to push his buttons, to succeed in making him suddenly unsure of himself, to make his mind confused. His fingers closed around his cup, his jaw clenched, and it took all his self-control not to throw the contents in his uncle's face. 

He didn't even look at Aegon, who had returned to his seat with a triumphant smile.

But you felt something under the table. Something slipped between the folds of your dress, along your skin, discreetly, lightly, a delicious touch against your skin that made you want more.

Your eyes widened.

Jace. 

Jace the perfect son. Jace the model son. 

Jace slipping his fingers under your dress, touching the skin of your thigh, rising dangerously high where you could already feel the wetness forming in the crease between your thighs. 

This was the moment he snapped, you knew it. You hadn't heard your brother's words, you had only seen him lean towards your betrothed, but you knew he must have struck a chord with Jacaerys Velaryon. That he had probably touched his weak spot. 

Or perhaps you were just getting your comeuppance. After teasing him, after making him hard and desperate.

Jace moved his hand, tracing the space where your skin was soft and tender, all the way up your thigh, with a slow, gentle touch. His hand moved further towards the centre of you, where you were sensitive, and he brushed against your crotch. He didn't even need to apply any pressure with his fingertips to tell that you were wet.

Your hips automatically moved towards his hand in search of more contact, causing you to wiggle in your chair. All you wanted to do was grab his wrist, force him to slide his fingers under the fabric separating you, force him to touch you right here. But you were still at dinner and the game was becoming far too dangerous. 

"I told you to be careful," Jace whispered as he withdrew his fingers and resumed his serious gaze, his fingers fidgeting on the wood of the table. “Two can play at this game.”

And then perhaps the Seven heard you. Perhaps they were offering you a way out. To be honest, you weren't sure if it was a miracle or a curse. For Aemond had risen, and he had done what he did best; he had made a mocking and provocative speech to his nephews. 

Everything happened quickly. Jace and Luke leapt to their feet to answer the provocation, Aemond and Aegon were ready to fight back, and even Baela and Rhaena were prepared to defend their family. You had no time to move, no time to react, for dinner was already over, and so was your little game of cat and mouse with Jace.

This was your way out, you knew it. You were tired of sitting around a table listening to boring speeches. And the entertainment that had consisted of sliding your fingers under the table to push Jacaerys Strong over the edge had now turned against you.

"I shall rest," you warned your mother, who was deep in conversation with Rhaenyra, her features wrinkled with worry. "Tonight's events have left me somewhat tired. And I think a night's rest would do me a world of good."  She nodded, stroking your hair, and you knew instinctively what she was thinking. Always the perfect daughter.

And as you passed through the heavy door of the dining room, you hurried off in a direction that was not that of your room.

Oh, but if she knew.

*** 

Thankfully, the corridor was deserted. You didn't have the slightest desire to run into a guard who would ask you where you were going or escort you to your room for security reasons. 

Your steps were as discreet as possible on the stone floor, like those of a small mouse. You moved quickly, stealthily, almost on tiptoe.

Only the crackle of the fire broke the heavy silence between the cold walls, where the dancing shadows of the flames distorted.

You slowed your pace. You had a doubt. You weren't sure which door was the one you were looking for. 

And then suddenly, as you reached the end of the corridor, you felt a hand grab your wrist and pull you against the wall, away from prying eyes. A strong grip, as if it didn't want to let you vanish again.

Jace was holding you between the wall and his own body. Despite the darkness, you could see his eyes shining in the candlelight, fueled by a devouring hunger you didn't know he possessed. He stared at you for a moment. His eyes in yours. A tension hung between you, burning, ready to consume you both, and you were completely willing.

Gently yet firmly he turned your body. Your chest against the cold wall, your back against his warm chest, and you pulled your hips back to provoke him. You wouldn't succumb so easily, not to Jacaerys.

He pressed himself against you, moving his pelvis forward so you could feel his hard member against the top of your buttocks.

"Do you feel what you're doing to me?" Another thrust of his hips. "Can you feel the effect you're having on me?" He pressed harder against you. Through the layers of fabric between you, you could almost feel him throb. Gods, he seemed big. "Teasing me all evening... Such a tease, aren't you?"

If it wasn't the consequence of your own actions.

You stifled a moan with your arm so as not to attract any patrolling guards. What you were doing was dangerous. At any moment you could be caught. At any moment you could be in big trouble.

But you couldn't stop now. Not when the best was yet to come.

You moved again, seeking more contact, seeking to make Jace harder and more painful than he already was, and you turned your head to challenge him. "What if it's you who's just too weak?"

You felt his hoarse breath against the back of your neck, at the base of your hair. He seemed to be hesitating, thinking. About what he was going to do to you, about what he was going to do to make sure you were responsible for your actions. Again he turned you so that you had your back to the wall, facing him, and you recognised the gleam of desire in his eyes.

Towering over you, he lowered his gaze to you, your faces inches apart. For a moment he let his eyes devour you, wandering from your eyes to your lips, from your lips to your breasts, visible through the fabric of your dress. He wanted to keep this image printed behind his eyelids; your half-open lips, your pleading gaze, like that of a little girl caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

You looked ravishing.

"Tell me to stop," Jace murmured. And you knew it was the sensible thing to do, you knew it was better to stop everything now, while it was still possible to turn back. For you weren't married yet. 

But you had no desire to be responsible.

His fingers curled around a lock of your hair and tucked it behind your ear, waiting for your answer before continuing.

"What if I don't want you to stop?" you replied, your eyes locked with his. He felt your hand against his cheek as you detailed his face, tracing his well-sculpted cheeks, and he longed for more contact, his face seeking the warmth of your palm. 

You put your arms around his neck to draw him closer, to close the distance between your lips, to feel his warmth against your body.

To quench this desire, this need that was becoming uncontrollable.

And your lips met in a feverish, urgent kiss. He pressed you further against the wall, his fingers running down your sides, brushing against the breasts he so craved.

He found your hips and his fingers worked frantically up the bottom of your dress in a crumpled ball of fabric to reach your core. "Look at how wet you are." His fingers brushed your folds through your undergarments. "All of this just for teasing me." He pressed one hand against the wall, still leaning against you, but not giving you what you wanted: his hand had stopped, and you tried to wiggle your hips to force him to continue, to force him to give you what you wanted.

Deep down, you loved the way he was losing control. 

You loved that side of Jace you didn't know. 

So you grabbed his wrist, guiding his fingers under the last barrier that separated his skin from yours. 

The sensation was delicious. 

The touch of his warm fingers against your folds sent a wave of heat from your lower belly through your entire body. You didn't want him to stop. "Here." You breathed against his lips. "This is where muña needs you." Aunt. He tensed beneath you, and you wondered if it was the ambiguity of the family tie, uttered in High Valyrian, that had such an effect on him. 

You let your lips brush against his.

He collected your wetness on his fingers, exploring the slit between your folds up to your little pearl. You were soaking wet. And you desperately needed him inside you. 

His fingers slid down to your opening where he applied a little pressure with the tip of his index finger without ever penetrating you.

"I know," he murmured, drawing small circles before abandoning your opening to return to your bud. "But I can't give you what you want now."

You whimpered under his cruelty, against his lips. 

You could see through his game. 

He wanted to make you beg, but you weren't the kind to beg. You were the one with the power and you were going to show him.

"We shouldn't stay here," you muttered, rubbing yourself against your nephew's hand. "If someone catches us..."

Jace nodded his head in agreement, withdrawing his fingers glistening with your juice, which you guided to his own lips, spreading the stickiness against his lips. 

"If you're a good boy, I'll let you taste me."

And with that, he pulled you into his room.

*** 

Lying on the bed where you'd pushed him, Jace watched as you removed your dress, his prominent erection stretching the fabric of his breeches. The dress fell to the floor, forming a red puddle that you stepped over, one foot after the other.

Your nephew couldn't look away from your hypnotic figure, but his eyes inevitably wandered back to your breasts. You'd seen him glancing at your cleavage all evening, you could tell he wanted to run his fingers over your soft flesh, his lips over your nipples, and now that you were completely naked in front of him, you could see the unmistakable desire in his eyes.

You walked up to him. He clenched his jaw when he saw you. You, and the perfection of your shape, your little pointed nipples, the tantalising path that led from your chest to the space between your thighs where he knew you were soaked for him. 

The flat of your hand pressed against his chest, forcing him to lie down between the pillows. He complied, never breaking the eye contact between the two of you, and you took your place on top of him, your legs on either side of his body. His husky breath escaped through his parted lips, lightly caressing your face.

You were naked, he was still dressed, and you had infinite power over him.

You lowered your hips against his covered crotch, the essence of your desire staining the linen of his breeches as your hips began to move slowly.

You leaned down and traced his jaw with the tip of your lips, planting kisses along his throat. Underneath you, his member twitched. Mimicking what he'd done earlier, you let your fingers rest on the painful bulge between his legs and whispered, "I know." You applied a little more pressure, drawing a moan from between his lips. "I know it's painful. But I can't give you what you want right now."

Jace growled. He wanted to turn you over, slam you against the mattress, pound into you and make you swallow your insolence. But he wanted to see how far you were willing to go. He wanted to see you keep control for a while longer.

You deftly undid his breeches to make it easier for your hand to slip through. You found his hard member, warm and heavy between your fingers.

It was a new sensation. As a model princess, you'd never ventured into this territory, saving your maidenhood for your future husband.

But Jace was your future husband.

You closed your fingers around him, your thumb collecting the sticky beads that had already formed at the tip of his cock and spreading it along his length. 

"First I want to come on your tongue," your lips articulated against the skin of his throat as the hand that was in his breeches moved up his torso to close around his jaw, your thumb caressing his lower lip to emphasise your words. "Will you let me?" you added. In response, he let the tip of his tongue slip between his lips, touching the pad of your finger. "Let me show you," he whispered.

And indeed, Jace worked devotedly between your thighs, his tongue tracing the length of your slit, drinking in your essence as it flowed from your entrance like a delicious nectar. His tongue tickled your little knob, his thumbs spreading your folds to gain access to the treasure he coveted.

One of his fingers found your hole clenching around nothing, tracing small circles against it to force you to voice what you wanted. "Do you need me here?" he whispered against your flesh, the vibration of his deep voice sending shivers through your core. Your hands buried themselves in the dark mass of his hair and you moved your hips against his face, urging him to maintain the contact of his mouth against you. "Use your words, muña," he added, despite his nose being buried between your folds.

When you gave him the answer he was waiting for, he let a finger enter you in a delicious stretch. You held back a moan, your fingers digging deeper into his hair, not caring if you were hurting him or not. He continued to explore your cunt with his tongue, like a thirsty man, like a devoted man.

You wouldn't last long, your release close.

Jace then added a second finger. The sensation of his fingers inside you, against that rough spot, combined with that of his tongue between your folds, against your pearl, was simply divine. 

"Go on," Jace started, but you immediately cut him off. "Shut up." You didn't want him to speak. You wanted him to continue with his damn tongue, with his broad fingers inside you. You didn't want him to stop. "I am... I am close."

And your climax washed over your entire body like a wave of warmth. Your legs closed around your nephew's face.

It was probably one of the best sensations you'd ever experienced.

Still between your legs, his fingers gripping your thighs, Jace collected your arousal on his tongue, sending shivers of overstimulation down your spine, and your whole body shuddering in a brutal spasm. You straightened up, knees still bent, your hand returning to your nephew's hair to guide him over you, his face close to yours. You stroked his cheek gently, as if to let him know he was a good boy, and your thumb picked up the sticky fluid that was smeared all over the bottom of his face.

You were both out of breath. You from the intense release you'd felt, he from the dedication he'd shown.

A smirk formed at the corner of your lips, and you pressed your thumb between his lips to ensure he didn't waste anything. Jace tilted his face close to yours. "You taste divine," he breathed, turning your cheeks red. "But now I need to be inside you."

His fingers slipped between your thighs, where your centre was pulsing, still far too sensitive from the ministrations he had given you. 

"You can give me another, can't you?" He asked, and you nodded, so sore.

After he undressed, Jace pushed on your shoulders to make you lie down, but you skilfully changed positions, taking him by surprise.

You were unwilling to give him the power he wanted, not yet.

Straddling him, you moved your hips to rub your crotch against his erect manhood, spreading your wetness along his length. Beneath you, his torso rose and fell rapidly, and the grunts he let out conveyed his need for more. So your hand sought his hard member, guiding it to your entrance without letting it penetrate you. "So?" you asked playfully. "Do you think you've been a good boy ? Do you think you deserve to be inside me?" You wanted to make him beg, and Jace could see right through you. "To be the first?" you added, lowering your voice slightly, as if you were telling him a secret.

But he wasn't sure he could hold out much longer.

So he capitulated, giving you the defeat you'd been waiting for.

"Yes." he breathed. "Please." Your victorious smile stretched your lips and you guided him further against you, pressing his erection against your opening. Fuck. He was massive.

He was about to breathe a sigh of relief, ready to feel your velvet walls tighten around him, but you blocked his hip movement. 

It wasn't enough.

"Please who?" you asked, your fingers moving back and forth around his manhood. He glared at you. You were gloating. "Please, muña," he finally begged, and you gave him what he wanted.

You lowered your hips to let him slide into you in a long thrust that stretched you around him. He was indeedmassive, and the new sensation of having him inside you was a delicious mix of dull pain and burning pleasure. You stood still for a moment to adjust to his presence inside you, your core throbbing around him. The initial pinch gradually dissipated, replaced by a pleasant sensation that sent a wave of warmth through your body. 

And then he began to thrust in and out, pushing up to sink into you. "Fuck...fuck, you're tight," Jace growled. Your loose hair cascaded down either side of your face, tickling his cheeks, and he caught it in a messy bun to hold it behind your head. 

You could feel the same pleasure as before building up in your lower abdomen. 

Gods, you could feel him so intensely. So deeply too. Bouncing rhythmically against that particular part of you. 

You buried your head in his neck, his woody scent filling your nostrils.

It was primal. Animal, between the two of you. All that mattered was the here and now. Your body against his, the sweat beading between you, the moans filling the room.

Jace tugged at your hair, causing you to throw your head back, freeing access to your chest, and he straightened up into a sitting position, his member still deep inside you, to find your breast. He buried his face in it and your hand instinctively found the back of his head to stroke his hair. Jace's lips traced a trail of kisses down the valley between your breasts, following the curve of your flesh before closing around your nipple, which he sucked gently. One of his arms wrapped around you to hold you tight against him, his other hand resting on the breast he wasn't devouring.

You stayed like that for a while, your legs on either side of him, his mouth seeking solace in your breasts, the divine sensation of being full, with him inside you, in the softness of the night, the flames rocking your lovemaking.

One of Jace's arms finally found your back and in one swift movement he reversed position. He desperately needed more, sensing that he wouldn't last long. 

He pinned you beneath him, against the mattress, your legs immediately closing around him and the pace quickened.  His thrusts became more messy, more sloppy because of your two combined essences.  "You're mine, now" he grunted, and you shivered. His index and middle fingers wandered between your folds, caressing the spot where you were joined before moving to the pearl hidden at the top of your slit. "Am I?" you replied teasingly. You could feel him throbbing inside you. "Then be a good boy now and give muña your seed."

That was the spark that ignited the fire. Jace quickened the rhythm of his hips, his fingers still buried between your folds, his movements erratic. With each of his thrusts, you felt his member hitting that sensitive spot against your spongy inner walls. You tensed and for the second time that evening, your release flooded your entire body.  You were followed by your nephew as Jace spilled into you, his seed painting white ropes against your womb.

He lay still inside you for a moment, his cock softening as you both caught your breath, your hands in his dark curls, his head at the nape of your neck. 

You winced as he withdrew from your still sensitive core, his now cold seed flowing between your thighs. Jace dropped down beside you, satisfied. Then you turned to him. You grabbed his wrist one last time and guided his fingers to your centre, where your folds were smeared with the remnants of your lovemaking.

"Look how much you've left inside me," you whispered into his ear, making Jace collect his own seed on his fingertips and push it back into you. "I'm going to keep it all inside me, would you like that, sweet boy?" you whispered again.

And Jace pulled you against him to kiss you, his member stirring between his thighs, against you. It was true that he'd given you the upper hand this time. But he was ready to show you what he could do. You snuggled up against his chest, tucking your head under his chin.

"Perhaps…We should bring the wedding date forward."

And he smiled.

[requiemforthepoets]

the story we won’t tell is my greatest fantasy ⟢ LN4

PAIRINGS: lando norris x female!reader

SUMMARY: seven years. you and lando had been together for seven years, but it all went down the drain the moment he decided to come clean about the mistake that he did.

REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WARNINGS: no use of y/n, breakup, cheating, cheater lando, pregnancy, secret child, mentions of nausea and vomiting, fainting, angst, open ending, math is not mathing (but i tried), some inaccuracies, named side characters (except for the reader), single!mom reader, and minor typographical errors

WORD COUNT: 7.2k

AUTHOR’S NOTE: this fic is inspired by niki’s song ‘apartment we won’t share,’ ik that we have diff interpretations for the songs, but i interpret it as the way how i wrote this fic. i’m not planning on doing a second part of this, and just leave it an open ending. but if someday i get inspired, i’ll try and make a part 2 for this, though for now, there will be no part 2 for this fic. i will be leaving the ending all up to you. you comments/reblogs is highly appreciated, and i hope that you’ll enjoy this one.

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It had been a long and exhausting week. The lingering ache from your family emergency still tugged at your heart, so to keep off your mind from things, you had spent most of the day sorting through Lando’s things, folding clothes and making sure his suitcase was ready for his flight to another race weekend. It was the kind of task you had done so many times in the last seven years, but this time, it felt heavier, like there was something wrong that you couldn’t quite place.

When Lando returned to Monaco a few days later, you expected him to be his usual vibrant self, but something was off with him. Lando’s eyes seemed heavier, his posture slouched, and smile lacked the spark that you were used to.

“Hey, can we talk for a second?” he asked, voice unusually subdued.

You set down the shirt you had been folding, brows furrowing. “Sure, of course,” you replied, taking a seat on the couch. “What’s on your mind?”

Lando hesitated, hands fidgeting with the edge of his hoodie. He sat across from you, knees bouncing slightly as he stared at the floor. “You know I love you, right? More than anything.”

A faint smile crossed your lips. “I know, Lan, and you made sure to let me know everyday for seven years.”

He looked up briefly, gaze fleeting before dropping back to the floor. “I need to tell you something, I wanted to be completely honest with you…and it’s probably the hardest thing I’ve ever had to say.”

Your heart skipped a beat. Lando’s tone, demeanor—it was all wrong, and you were getting really nervous by now. “What is it?” you asked, voice quiet, wary.

Lando took a deep breath, his hands now gripping his knees as if to ground himself. “When I was out for a night with the guys a month ago…I messed up.”

Your stomach churned. You didn’t want to interrupt him, waiting for Lando to continue, though every fiber of your being wanted to scream at him, to demand some answers.

“There was…someone at the club that night,” he said, words slow and measured, like he was forcing them out of him. “It was stupid, an honest mistake. I was so drunk, caught up in everything, and I wasn’t thinking.”

You felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. “W-What are you saying?” you managed, voice barely above a whisper.

Lando finally looked at you, eyes glistening. “I accidentally slept with her. It was a one-time thing, I swear, then she called me last week—I don’t even know how she got my number, but she told me that she’s pregnant.

Pregnant.

The words hit you like a freight train. You stared at him, mind completely blank, unable to process what he had just said. Tears began to blur your vision, but you didn’t wipe them away.

“Lando…” you tried to speak up, but your voice cracked.

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” he said, voice shaking. “I didn’t know what to do. All I could think about was how much I’ve hurt you. But I can’t let my kid grow up without a family. I know how much family means to you, to me. I have to be there for them.”

Your heart shattered into pieces. You could see how much Lando was struggling, the guilt etched into every line of his face. But the pain of his betrayal was unbearable.

“I don’t…I don’t have anything to say anymore, honestly,” you said finally, voice trembling. “Because you had already made your decision—you’re choosing them.”

Lando shook his head vehemently. “No! No, I’m not choosing anyone over you. You’re the love of my life. That hasn’t changed and never will.”

“Lando, you can’t have both,” you said, tears streaming down your face. “I can’t stay here knowing all of these. I can’t be a part of this.”

He reached out as if to touch you, but you recoiled. You couldn’t bear his touch right now. “Please love,” he whispered, voice breaking. “I love you. I don’t ever want to lose you.”

“You already have,” you said softly, standing up and wiping your tears. “I won’t hold you back, Lando. You need to do what’s right for your child. They deserve a family, and I will not be the reason why they don’t have one.”

You walked to your shared bedroom, your movements mechanical as you began packing your things. Every item you placed in your suitcase felt like a dagger to your chest. This apartment had been your home, your safe haven, and now it was just a place you needed to escape from. Lando just stood in the doorway, watching you pack all of your things, his face pale and tear-streaked. He didn’t try to stop you—he knew that he couldn’t.

When you zipped up your suitcase and grabbed your bag, you turned to him one last time. “Take care of both of them,” you said, voice barely audible. “Be the father they need.

With that, you walked out of the apartment, out of the life you and Lando had built together. You had loved him for seven years, trusted him with every piece of your heart. But now, all you had was the emptiness of what could have been.

The crisp night air bit at your skin as you stood by the entrance of the apartment building, clutching the handle of your suitcase. Your ride to the airport was just a few minutes away, but the wait felt eternal. You stared blankly at the sidewalk, mind is a chaotic mess, the weight of everything that had happened tonight pressing heavily on your chest.

You heard familiar voices approaching before you saw them, their cheerful tones instantly recognizable. Quickly, you wiped at your cheeks, hoping your red-rimmed eyes wouldn’t give you away. Plastering on a smile, you turned towards Max and Kelly as they walked towards the entrance, hand in hand, their expressions bright despite the late hour.

“Hey! What are you doing out here so late?” Kelly asked, brows knitting in concern as she noticed the two large suitcases beside you.

You hesitated, forcing your smile to stay in place. “I, uh, have a family emergency,” you lied smoothly, voice steady even though your heart was pounding. “I need to head back home for a bit.”

Max tilted his head slightly, sharp blue eyes scanning you with the protective gaze you had come to know so well over the years. “Two large suitcases for just a quick trip? That seems a bit much,” he remarked lightly, though his tone carried a hint of suspicion.

You shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. “It’s just…really complicated right now. I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone, so I packed extra, just in case.”

Kelly’s hand tightened on Max’s arm as she stepped closer to you, her concern evident. “Is Lando not home right now? Why didn’t you tell us earlier? We could’ve helped you pack, we can drive you to the airport.”

You shook your head quickly. “Lan’s already sleeping and I hate to wake him up, he just recently got back from his trip. I also didn’t want to bother you, I’ve already called a car, and it should be here any minute.”

They exchanged a look, clearly unconvinced but respectful enough not to press you further. “Well, we’re not leaving you out here alone,” Max said firmly. “We’ll wait with you until your ride gets here.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the determined set of his jaw told you it would all be just pointless. Instead, you nodded, grateful for their presence even as it made it harder to hold yourself together.

Kelly gave you a warm smile, trying to ease the tension. “It’s late, but P was asking about you earlier,” she said softly. “She’s been begging to have another day with her favorite Auntie.”

Your heart clenched at the mention of Penelope, and you forced your smile to widen. “I’ll miss her so much,” you said, voice thick despite your best efforts. “Tell her I’ll see her soon.”

Kelly’s brow furrowed slightly at your words, but before she could say anything, your ride had pulled up to the curb. Relief and dread washed over you in equal measure. Max then stepped forward immediately, grabbing your suitcases with ease.

“I’ll load these up for you,” he said, tone gruff but kind.

“Thank you,” you murmured, watching as he placed your suitcases in the trunk of the car.

When Max turned back, Kelly pulled you into a tight hug, her familiar perfume bringing a rush of bittersweet comfort. “Take care of yourself, okay?” she whispered. “Whatever’s going on, we’re here for you.”

You nodded against her shoulder, your throat too tight to respond. When she pulled away, Max had stepped forward, wrapping you in a hug that was strong and protective, just like he always was.

“Be back soon, okay? P will be missing her favorite Aunt.” he said, chuckling. “If you need anything, you call me or Kelly. No excuses.”

“I will,” you promised, though you knew that you wouldn’t.

As you stepped back, Kelly offered you a gentle smile. “When you get back, P will be so excited to see you again. You know how much she loves spending time with you.”

The lump in your throat grew, and you could only nod in response. You managed a faint smile as you climbed into the car, giving them one final wave.

“Safe travels,” Kelly called out as Max closed the door for you.

You watched them through the window, standing together on the curb, their figures illuminated by the soft glow of the streetlights. They waved as the car pulled away, but you couldn’t bring yourself to wave back again. Instead, you turned your gaze forward, the city lights blurring through the tears that silently slid down your cheeks.

You didn’t look back. You couldn’t.

When you finally arrived back home, the weight of the long hour of flight clung to you like a heavy fog. You dragged your suitcases through the familiar front door, exhaustion etched into every inch of your body. The warm, welcoming scent of your childhood home did little to comfort you, instead, it only amplified the ache in your chest. All you wanted was to collapse into your bed and wake up to a world where none of this had ever happened—a world where your heart wasn’t shattered into pieces. But this was your reality, as cruel as it was.

You definitely hadn’t anticipated seeing your older sister, Noelle, and her husband, Mike, in the living room, seated across from your mother, their laughter filling the space. The sound abruptly stopped when they noticed you standing in the doorway, your pale face and tired eyes a huge giveaway of the turmoil you tried so desperately to hide.

“What are you doing here?” Noelle asked, rising from her seatc brows knitting together in concern. “You didn’t tell us that you were coming home.”

Noelle’s brows knit together as she took in your disheveled appearance, her sharp eyes catching every detail—dark circles under your eyes, stiffness in your movements, and the forced smile you mustered.

“Yeah,” you replied quietly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I, uh, needed to come home for a bit.”

Your mother rose from her seat as well, concern etched into her features. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” she asked softly, gaze darting between you and the suitcases you had left by the door.

You hesitated, throat tightening. You had been dreading this moment, knowing full well how much your family adored Lando so much. They had welcomed him with open arms from the start, treating him as one of their own. Now, you were about to break their hearts almost as much as he had broken yours.

“It’s nothing,” you said, forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace. “I just needed a change of scenery, that’s all.”

Noelle stood, arms crossed as she gave you a pointed look. “Don’t give me that kind of excuse. You don’t just show up unannounced looking like this for no reason. What really happened?”

You swallowed hard, avoiding Noelle’s gaze. “Lando and I broke up,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

The whole room fell silent, the weight of your words sinking in. Your mother’s hand flew to her mouth, eyes wide with shock. “Oh, my darling sweetheart,” she breathed.

Noelle, however, was not so subdued. “What?” she exclaimed, voice rising. “What do you mean you broke up? What happened? Did he do something stupid?”

“No!” you said quickly, shaking your head. “No, it wasn’t like that.”

“Then what was it like?” she pressed, tone sharp.

You took a deep breath, willing yourself to stay composed. “We just…fell out of love. The both of us,” you said, hating the words even as you said then. “We’ve been together for so long, and I guess we just realized that we weren’t the same people years ago anymore. It didn’t make sense to keep on pretending, we’ll just end up hurting ourselves in the long run.”

Noelle’s eyes narrowed, clearly unconvinced. “That doesn’t sound like Lando at all. The man adores you so much, even worships the ground you walk on.”

“He did,” you said softly, chest tightening. “And I adored him too. But people change, feelings change.”

Your mother stepped closer, her hands reaching for yours. “Are you sure this is what you wanted?” she asked gently.

You nodded, the lump in your throat growing. “It’s for the best,” you lied, voice cracking slightly.

Mike, who had been silent until now, placed a hand on Noelle’s shoulder. “If this is what she’s decided, we should respect it,” he said quietly, giving you a small, understanding nod.

Noelle just sighed, clearly torn between pressing you for further information and letting it go. Finally, she relented, though her expression was still skeptical.

“I just don’t want you to regret this,” she said, voice more softer now. “You two were so good together.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep you from breaking down. “I’ll be okay, eventually,” you said, words hollow.

Your mother pulled you into a tight embrace, her warmth briefly soothing the ache in your chest. “Whatever happens, we’re always here for you,” she murmured.

“Thanks, mommy,” you whispered, blinking back tears.

As you pulled away, your sister gave you a long look, her expression unreadable. “If he hurt you—” she started, but you cut her off.

“He didn’t,” you said firmly, voice steady despite the storm inside you. “It just didn’t work out. That’s all.”

Noelle still didn’t look convinced, but she nodded, clearly sensing that there’s more to it, and you didn’t want to talk about it anymore. “Alright,” she said quietly. “But if you ever want to talk, I’m here, okay? We’re all here.”

You gave her a small smile, though it didn’t reach your eyes like it used to. “Thank you,” you said, words barely audible.

Excusing yourself, you retreated to your old bedroom, closing the door behind you gently and sinking onto the comfort of your bed. The familiar surroundings brought no comfort, only a stark reminder of the life you had left behind. While you lay down, staring at the ceiling, the tears finally came, silent and unrelenting.

You had still protected Lando from your family’s anger, even though he did not deserve any of it, and now, you were left to pick up the pieces alone.

The Nausea hits you like clockwork every morning. You found yourself rushing to the bathroom, stomach twisting in protest against seemingly nothing. It had started a few weeks ago, and though you had initially dismissed it as a lingering flu or perhaps the stress with work finally catching up to you, it was becoming harder to ignore. Rest didn��t seem to help you, but you assured yourself that it wasn’t that serious. Besides, you have work to focus on, and that was enough to keep your mind occupied, most of the time.

Two months had already passed since you had left Monaco for good, and life had begun to settle into a new rhythm. Yes, the ache in your chest was still there, but it had been dulled into something manageable. You were slowly rebuilding yourself, piece by piece, though the nausea was an unwelcome distraction.

It was a normal afternoon, while you were curled up on the beanbag chair in your bedroom after a long and tiring day, your phone buzzed. The caller ID that was displayed on the screen made your breath catch for a moment—Kelly. You hesitated before answering, already bracing yourself for the conversation. Her face appeared on the screen, bright and concerned.

“Finally, I caught you!” she said with a smile, though her tone was tinged with worry. “I was starting to think you were avoiding me.”

You shook your head, chuckling and offered her a small smile. “I’m so sorry, Kelly. Things have been so busy with me lately.”

Kelly’s brow furrowed slightly as she studied your face. “You look tired. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, it’s just a silly flu,” you said quickly, but the faint edge in your voice didn’t go unnoticed.

“Don’t lie to me,” she said gently. “Max and I found out about it already, about you and Lando.”

Your chest tightened, but you forced yourself to stay calm. “Oh.”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” she asked, expression softening. “We would’ve been there for you. You’ve been through this all alone.”

You sighed, your shoulders sagging. “I didn’t want to drag anyone else into the mess, and I didn’t even know what to say.”

Kelly’s voice grew firmer. “You didn’t have to say anything, we would’ve understood. Max is furious with Lando, you know. So is Carlos. I even have to break the two of them away from Lando.”

Your heart sank at the thought. “Please don’t be mad at him. It’s not worth it.”

Kelly shook her head, lips pressing into a thin line. “It is worth it. What Lando did to you was unforgivable. You didn’t deserve any of that.”

“It’s okay,” you murmured, though the words felt hollow. “I’ll move on, eventually.”

Kelly’s expression softened again, and she leaned closer to the camera. “I just wish you’d let us help you. You know we love you, right? You’ve always been family to us.”

“I know,” you whispered, tears pricking at your eyes.

Her face brightened slightly. “But speaking of family, someone’s been dying to talk to you!”

Before you could respond, the screen shifted, and Penelope’s little face appeared, her eyes lighting up when she saw you. “AUNTIE!” she exclaimed, voice high with excitement.

”Hi, P!” You said, heart aching at the sight of her.

“I miss you so much!” she said, pouting slightly. “When are you coming back? Mommy says you’re not in Monaco anymore.”

You hesitated, unsure of how to explain. “I miss you too, darling. I just…I had to be somewhere else for a while.”

“But you’ll come back, right?” she asked, her big eyes staring at you expectantly.

You swallowed hard, forcing a smile. “We’ll see, P. For now, you have to be good for your mommy and Maxie, okay?”

“I’m always good!” she declared, puffing out her chest.

Kelly’s voice chimed in from the background. “That’s debatable,” she teased, earning a giggle from Penelope.

You couldn’t help but smile, even as your chest tightened. “You’re the best, P. Don’t ever forget that.”

“Okay!” she said brightly before turning to Kelly. “Mommy, can we call Auntie again tomorrow?”

Kelly returned to the screen, giving you a knowing look. “We’ll let her rest for now, P. But yes, we’ll call Auntie again soon.”

“Promise?” Penelope asked, her eyes wide.

“Promise,” Kelly said, smiling before turning back to you. “Take care of yourself, okay? And if you need anything, anything, just call me.”

You nodded. “Thank you so much, Kelly. I will.”

After ending your facetime call with Kelly, you stumbled into the bathroom, your stomach churning violently. The moment you stepped inside, you collapsed in front of the toilet, heaving uncontrollably. It felt as though your insides were twisting, every muscle tensing in protest. When it finally subsided, you shakily wiped your mouth, staring at your reflection in the mirror. You looked pale—paler than usual, and eyes were bloodshot from the strain.

It took you a couple of minutes to compose yourself before heading to the kitchen, hoping the water would help settle your spinning head. Grabbing a glass from the cabinet, you poured the water, but as you lifted it to your lips, another wave of dizziness hit you. This time, it was stronger. Your grip faltered, and the glass slipped from your hand, shattering loudly as it hit the floor.

The sharp noise brought Noelle and Mike running into the kitchen. They froze when they saw you swaying on your feet, barely managing to stay upright. You blinked, trying to focus, but everything around you was growing hazier. Before you could say anything, your legs gave way beneath you, and you crumpled to the floor, your vision blackening as you began to lose consciousness. Noelle was by your side in an instant, her hands gentle but urgent as she checked your pulse.

“Don’t worry, she’s alive,” Noelle muttered, voice steady despite the fear in her eyes. “Mike, call an ambulance now!”

Mike didn’t hesitate, rushing to grab his phone and calling for help. You could hear Mike’s voice in the background, muffled and frantic as he spoke to the operator.

“Yes, we need an ambulance,” Mike said, tone clipped, almost too calm for the situation. “My sister-in-law collapsed, and we need help immediately.”

Noelle’s voice cut through your haze, trying to keep you steady. “Come on, stay with me, okay? Just hold on.”

You couldn’t respond, couldn’t even make a sound, but you could hear them both, voices blending with the rush of adrenaline in the air. Mike’s footsteps moved swiftly, his voice growing more distant as he spoke with the ambulance on the phone.

The minutes that followed felt like hours. The sound of the ambulance siren grew louder, and relief flooded Noelle’s face as the paramedics rushed into the house. They quickly assessed the situation, asking Noelle questions about your symptoms and recent health conditions.

“She’s been experiencing dizziness for weeks now,” Noelle explained. “She’s stubborn, didn’t want to see a doctor. This morning she was nauseous, and now she’s fainted.”

The paramedics nodded, lifting you onto the stretcher carefully. Noelle and Mike followed closely as they carried you out to the ambulance. “I’m coming with her to the hospital,” Noelle said firmly, climbing into the back of the ambulance without hesitation.

Mike stayed behind, watching the ambulance doors close with a worried expression. “Alright, I’ll be informing your mother when she arrives, but call me as soon as you know something,” he said to Noelle before they drove off.

Inside the ambulance, Noelle held your hand tightly, her fingers trembling against your own. “You’re going to be fine,” she said, though her voice was thick with concern. “Just breathe, okay? We’re almost there.”

You couldn’t focus on what Noelle was saying. The world had gone dark around you, only the pulse of your own heartbeat reminding you that you were still there, still fighting to stay conscious.

The steady beeping of the machines was the first thing you registered as you slowly opened your eyes, the sterile smell of the hospital room making everything feel surreal. Blinking against the harsh fluorescent light, your gaze landed on your sister, Noelle, sitting in one of the chairs beside your bed, her expression a mixture of worry and relief when she noticed you stirring.

“Noelle,” you croaked, voice hoarse from sleep and dryness.

She shot up almost instantly, coming to your side and helping you adjust into a sitting position in the hospital bed. Her hands were gentle but firm as she propped a pillow behind your back.

“Hey, take it easy, okay?” she said softly. She reached for a bottle of water on the bedside table, unscrewing the cap before handing it to you. “Here, drink up. Small sips.”

You followed her instructions, taking slow, careful sips, the cool water soothing your parched throat. “What happened? Why am I in the hospital?” you asked weakly, mind still foggy.

“You fainted in the kitchen,” Noelle explained, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “You scared the hell out of us. Mike called the ambulance, and I came with you here. Mom and Mike are both on their way. They’ll be here soon.”

Before you could respond, there was a knock at the door, a doctor entered, her expression professional but kind. Noelle immediately stepped aside, letting her approach you.

“I’m glad that you’re awake now, my dear,” she began, smiling at you. “We’ve run some tests to determine the cause of your fainting and other symptoms.”

You nodded slowly, stomach churning with apprehension. Noelle moved closer to your side, her presence grounding you.

“We’ve reviewed your results,” she continued, glancing at her clipboard before meeting your eyes. “The dizziness, nausea, and vomiting you’ve been experiencing for the past weeks are all consistent with early pregnancy symptoms. Congratulations, you’re seven weeks pregnant!”

Pregnant. Pregnant.

For a moment, the words did not register. The hospital room seemed to grow impossibly still, the doctor’s voice fading into the background as you processed the news. Seven weeks. The timeline clicked into place, and your heart sank as realization hit. Seven weeks pregnant. You could hear the faint ringing in your ears, a sharp contrast to the quiet gasp from Noelle beside you.

“I…I’m sorry, what?” you managed to stammer, voice shaking.

“You’re pregnant, dear,” the doctor repeated gently. “Seven weeks along. Your vitals look good, but it’s important to start prenatal care as soon as possible. We’ve referred you to an OB-GYN who will guide you through the process and answer any questions you might have.”

You nodded numbly, unable to form any coherent response. The doctor continued to explain what you should expect in the coming weeks—dietary recommendations, plenty of rest, and the importance of regular check-ups. But her words felt very distant, as if you were hearing them through a fog.

When the doctor finally left, you were left staring blankly at the sterile white wall, the weight of the revelation crushing you. Seven weeks. You did the math in your head, mind racing. By now, you know that the woman Lando had gotten pregnant would be around three months into pregnancy.

Tears began to well up in your eyes, the enormity of the situation was starting to overwhelm you. You were carrying Lando’s child. That man had broken and shattered your heart into pieces, and who had chosen someone else, was now bound to you in a way that you could not escape.

“Noelle,” you whispered, voice breaking.

She knelt beside the bed, taking your trembling hands in hers. “I’m here. Don’t worry, I’m here, okay?” she said softly, her tone steady and reassuring.

“I don’t know what to do,” you cried, tears streaming down your face. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. How am I supposed to handle this?”

Noelle’s grip on your hands tightened slightly, eyes full of concern. “I don’t have all the answers,” she admitted, “but you don’t have to go through this alone. Whatever you decide to do, I’ll be here for you—Mom and Mike, too. We’ll all figure this out together, okay?”

Two years had already passed, and your life was a world away from where it had been. Astrid, your little ray of sunshine, was turning two today. She was the center of your universe, your whole life, her giggles filling every corner of the house you had worked so hard to call your own. It was a beautiful home, just three doors away from your mother’s home, ensuring that Astrid was always surrounded by the love and warmth of your family.

Noelle and Mike, ever the doting aunt and uncle, spoiled her endlessly. They brought over toys, books, and clothes—sometimes more than you thought Astrid needed, but you couldn’t deny the happiness on Astrid’s face when they arrived with surprise in hand.

It’s true that your pregnancy and the early days of motherhood had not been easy, but you were able to survive. More than that, you thrived. With a promotion to a top position at work and a comfortable life for you and Astrid, you finally felt at peace. The past—Lando, was no longer a wound, but now a distant memory you had learned to accept. Your family also had long stopped asking questions about the details of your breakup, and while they knew Lando was Astrid’s father, they never dwelled on it. Astrid had all the love she needed, and that was what mattered most.

But there was one part of your life you had not reconciled yet—Max and Kelly. Despite keeping in touch with Kelly through regular facetime calls, you had managed to keep Astrid a secret. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust them, it was just too complicated to explain everything. It was already enough that they found out what Lando had done that caused your breakup.

However, when Kelly had mentioned that they would be spending their vacation in your home country and would be arriving the day before Astrid’s second birthday, you had a window of opportunity. It was time to take a step forward. So you had invited them to what you described as a simple gathering at your home. You didn’t explicitly tell them that it would be Astrid’s birthday party—just that it would be a chance to catch up and spend time together.

As the day drew closer, you found yourself torn between excitement and anxiety. What would they say when they realized the gathering that you had talked about was actually a celebration for your daughter? Would they feel hurt that you had kept Astrid a secret for so long?

These thoughts lingered as you finalized the decorations, baked Astrid’s favorite cake, and prepared the house for your guests. But when you looked at Astrid, happily playing with her toys in the living room, the doubt began to fade. This was your life now—a life filled with love and laughter, even if it was different from what you had once imagined.

The backyard was a colorful dream, adorned with streamers, balloons, and a banner that read, Happy 2nd Birthday! and Astrid’s favorite colors painted every corner of the space, and the laughter of children filled the air as they played games and ran around laughing. Astrid herself was the picture of happiness, twirling in her pretty dress, a bright smile on her face as she clung to her grandmother’s hand.

You excused yourself from the backyard, your hands brushing against your dress nervously as you stepped back into the kitchen to double-check the desserts. Rows of cupcakes sat neatly on the counter, each one topped with swirls of frosting and sprinkles. You picked one up, turning it slightly to make sure everything was perfect. Then the doorbell rang.

Your heart skipped a beat, a wave of nerves rushing through you. It had to be Max, Kelly, and Penelope. You wiped your hands on a towel, took a deep breath, and walked to the front door, steadying yourself before opening it. The moment you opened the door, cheerful shouts of ‘surprise!’ had greeted you. Kelly was the first to throw her arms around you, pulling you into a warm hug.

“It’s so good to see you!” she exclaimed, stepping back as Max swooped in for a hug.

“You’ve been hiding!” Max teased lightly, squeezing your shoulder before stepping aside to let Penelope in.

“Hi Auntie!” Penelope chirped, small arms wrapping tightly around your waist as she hugged you with all her might.

You bent down to her level, pulling her into a proper hug. “Hi, darling. I missed you so much!”

Penelope pulled back, her face beaming. “I missed you too, Auntie! Can I see your house?”

Before you could respond, the sound of children’s laughter drifted in from the backyard, catching their attention. Kelly tilted her head curiously.

“What’s going on back there?” she asked, brows furrowed. “That sounds like a lot of kids.”

Max glanced at you, an eyebrow raised. “Is this the simple gathering you mentioned?”

A nervous smile tugged at your lips as you stepped back, gesturing for them to follow. “Come on, follow me.”

You led them through the hallway and out through the glass doors that lead to the backyard, where the yard was buzzing with activity. Children were playing games, some of them are having the time of their life on the bouncy castle, parents chatted near the tables of food, and Astrid was in the middle of it all, her laughter carrying above the noise.

Penelope gasped in delight. “Can I please go play?” she asked, bouncing on her toes as she looked up at Max and Kelly.

Kelly nodded with a smile. “Of course, go ahead.”

Penelope dashed off, her excitement blending seamlessly with the other children. Kelly and Max, however, stood frozen, their eyes scanning the scene. It wasn’t long before they realized that this was not just any gathering.

“Is this…” Kelly began, voice trailing off.

“A birthday party?” Max finished for her, tone laced with confusion.

You nodded slowly, your smile nervous. “Yes. Actually,” you glanced at Astrid, who was now in your mother’s arms, laughing as your mother tickled her sides. “It’s her birthday party.”

Their confusion deepened as they followed your gaze. Max opened his mouth to speak, but Kelly beat him to it. “Her?” she asked, voice soft, almost uncertain.

Taking a deep breath, you walked over to your mother and gently took Astrid from her arms. Astrid immediately snuggled into your shoulder, her tiny hands clutching at your dress as she peeked at the newcomers. Turning back to Max and Kelly, you smiled, though your heart was racing.

“Guys, this is Astrid,” you said softly. “My daughter.”

For a moment, there was only silence as Max and Kelly processed your words. Kelly’s hand flew to her mouth, eyes wide, while Max stared at you, his expression a mix of shock and something deeper.

“You have a daughter?” Kelly finally asked, voice trembling slightly.

You nodded, holding Astrid a little tighter. “I do.”

Max’s voice was careful, almost cautious. “Where’s her father?”

The question hung heavy in the air, heavy and unspoken truths lingering just beneath the surface. You looked down at Astrid, avoiding Max’s gaze as you shifted your weight uncomfortably.

“He’s…not in the picture anymore,” you said quietly.

Max’s eyes narrowed slightly, jaw tightening. It was clear he had pieced everything together, but decided not to press further. Instead, his gaze softened as he looked at Astrid, who was now peering curiously at him. Kelly stepped forward, her initial shock melting into warmth.

“Can I hold her?” she asked gently.

You nodded, carefully handing Astrid over. Kelly cradled her as if she had been waiting for this moment forever, her face lighting up as Astrid stared at her with wide, curious eyes.

“She’s so beautiful,” Kelly murmured, voice thick with emotion.

Max crouched down slightly to Astrid’s level, his serious expression softening. “Hey there, little one,” he said, playfully covering his eyes with his hands and then revealing them. “Peekaboo!”

Astrid blinked at him, tiny lips began curling into a smile as Max covered his face with his hand again and revealed it with a loud ‘boo!’ Astrid’s laughter was immediate and infectious, filling the air and making Max grin wider.

“She likes you,” Kelly said with a laugh, glancing at Max as she bounced Astrid gently.

Max looked up, his expression a mix of amusement and something more tender. “What can I say? Kids love me.”

Penelope had run up to you with little Astrid in tow, face glowing with excitement. “Auntie, can Astrid play with me? I promise that I’ll take care of her,” she said, her little hands clasped together as she gave you the most earnest look.

You smiled, crouching down to their level. “Alright,” you said gently, brushing a strand of hair out of Astrid’s face. “But remember, she’s still very small, so be careful with her, okay?”

“I promise!” Penelope chirped. “Come on Astrid, let’s play!” she took Astrid’s hand and led her back towards the group of children.

Once they were settled, you turned to Max and Kelly, who were waiting nearby, their expressions a mix of curiosity and seriousness. You gestured towards the patio table, and the three of you moved to sit down. For a brief moment, there was an awkward silence, only broken by the distant sound of children laughing.

It was Max who spoke first. “So,” he began, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, “are you going to tell Lando about Astrid?”

“No.” you said firmly, meeting his gaze.

Kelly’s brows furrowed. “No?” she repeated, voice a mix of confusion and concern. “You don’t plan on telling him that he has a daughter?”

“Telling him that he has a daughter is not included in my plans,” you said quietly, glancing briefly at Astrid, who was now sitting on the grass with Penelope, giggling as they played.

Max exhaled sharply, leaning back in his chair. “But why?” he asked, voice steady but tinged with disbelief. “Don’t you think he has the right to know?”

You looked at Max, expression calm but resolute. “He had already made his choice and I made mine,” you said softly. “By the time I found out that I was pregnant, he was already committed to building a life with someone else—for their child. I’m not that ignorant, I’ve seen the articles, Max. It’s clear as daylight that he’s happy with them, he’s being the father that the child needs.”

Max sighed. “This isn’t about the articles or public perception. It’s about Astrid. She has the right to know who her father is, and Lando has a right to know about her.”

Kelly nodded in agreement with what had Max just said. “And what happens when she grows up and starts asking questions?”

“I’ll tell Astrid,” you said. “I’ll tell her when the time is right, I’ll explain everything to her. But for now, I’m protecting her. I don’t want her to feel like she was a second thought or an obligation. I don’t want to make her feel unwanted.”

Max shook his head slightly. “It’s not fair to Astrid, or to Lando,” he said, voice low. “He deserves to know. He deserves the chance to be a part of her life.”

“And what if Lando doesn’t want to be a part of her life, Max?” you said, voice cracking slightly and gripping the edge of the table. “What if yes, I ended up telling him, and he rejected her? What if I ruin the good thing he has now, for nothing? I’m not going to be the person who will bring chaos to my daughter’s life by trying to force something that might not even work, and I most definitely won't be the one who will tear Lando’s life apart just to ease my conscience.”

Kelly reached out, placing a hand gently on yours. “I understand that you’re scared,” she said softly. “And I understand why you’ve made your choice. But you don’t have to do this alone. Whatever you decide, we’ll support you. But please, just think about it, okay?”

You nodded, though you knew that your decision was firm and wouldn’t change. “Thank you,” you said quietly, looking between Max and Kelly. “I just need you both to trust me on this one. Trust that I’m doing what’s best for Astrid.”

Max hesitated, then finally nodded. “We’ll be keeping this just between the three of us,” he said, though there was a note of reluctance in his voice. “But if you ever change your mind, you know where to find us.”

Kelly smiled faintly, her grip on your hand tightening briefly before she let go. “Astrid is lucky to have you as her mother,” she said, voice warm. “She’s amazing and gorgeous, you know. She’s already so full of life.”

You smiled softly at Kelly’s words. “She is,” you said. “She really is.”

Glancing back towards the yard, you watched Astrid and Penelope play together, the sound of Astrid’s uncontrollable laughter filled the air, warming your heart in a way that words could never even describe. Her happiness was infectious, an important reminder of everything good in your life despite the path it had taken to get where you are now. But as your eyes lingered on her, there was a familiar ache that settled deep in your chest.

You couldn’t deny it—Astrid’s features were very unmistakable. Her eyes, so full of wonder and innocence, were a mirror image of Lando’s. Every now and then, when she turned her head a certain way or smiled just so, it was like seeing a glimpse of Lando again. The resemblance was undeniable, and it only grew stronger as Astrid got older. It was a bittersweet reality you carried with you every day.

Yet, despite the pain that came with those reminders, you were happy. Truly, deeply happy. Astrid was surrounded by love—a love so abundant that it filled every corner of her little world. She didn’t need anything else, not when you, your whole family, and everyone who cherished her. That love was enough, it had to be enough.

Letting Lando go was not easy. It had taken every ounce of strength you had to accept that the life you once imagined with him was not meant to be. But you had done it, you had learned to let him go. You had made peace with the fact that you were not the one he chose, and the woman you would never be was the one who was not his.

Someday, you knew, the time might come when you were ready to tell Lando about Astrid, ready to introduce him to the child you both brought into this world. But that day was not today. For now, you would let him continue living the life he had chosen, with the person he had chosen. You wished him nothing but happiness, even if it wasn’t with you.

You also hoped that Lando would one day find everything he was searching for, that he would feel fulfilled and content in the life he was building. Even if it hurts, you wanted that for him, and while he was busy living that life, the daughter you both would not raise together would still be here—waiting for him, even if he didn’t know it yet.

The breakup, heartache, and the choices you made were not what you had wanted, but they were what you needed. Sometimes, it’s hard to accept the fact that love is not enough to keep two people together, and that’s okay. It didn’t make the love you once shared with Lando any less real.

But for now, everything else could wait.

[helioooss]

your song

synopsis: after years apart, y/n, now a successful chef running her own restaurant in makati, finds her life briefly interrupted when sophia laforteza, her childhood best friend turned global pop star, returns home.

w/c: 15k+

warnings: swearing, slowburn, angst

a/n: heaps of filipino words and dishes used; this is an ode to home! also, my future restaurant’s name is concave so…

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the night air in your grandmother’s backyard was thick with smoke and laughter. anthony was sitting in the corner, half-cross-legged on a cracked monobloc chair, his old ibañez propped over his knee as he strummed through a chord progression he never quite finished. his fingers moved like habit, a little drunk and careless, but familiar in the way things were when you’ve known someone since you were nine.

diana had claimed the role of drink master again — her term, not anyone else’s. she poured red horse into mismatched glasses like she was tending bar at a family wake, wrist flicking slightly each time she tipped the bottle. kyle was by the plastic table, already halfway through the pulutan, a lazy grin on his face as he picked at the sisig you made earlier.

“this shit’s good, y/n,” he mumbled, mouth half-full. “you should serve this at concave.”

you shrugged, one leg drawn up against your chest as you nursed your drink. “too much prep. and people in makati want it artisanal now like, ‘elevated street food,’ whatever the fuck that means.”

someone snorted. you think it was anthony. maybe diana. the laughter came in waves tonight, a rhythm of remembering and forgetting, pausing just enough for something real to slip through before it got drowned again in the next joke.

the group had thinned out over the years; some moved abroad, a few married, one had a kid — but all four of you were still here.

even though diana was getting married.

“speaking of elevated,” she wiggled her eyebrows, wiping her fingers on a paper napkin before reaching for the bottle. “did you guys see sophia’s post last week? they were at some awards show in america. full glam, backless dress, the whole thing.”

there was a short silence; just enough for the name to settle in.

“she really made it, huh?” anthony strummed a few soft notes, like background music for the weight of it. “used to sit on that same stool you’re on, y/n, crying over her trigonometry homework.”

you smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “yeah…she would act like it was the end of the world if she got anything below ninety.”

“remember her driver?” kyle grinned. “the old one who always got lost in pasay? guy called her ten times a day like he was in a hostage situation.”

“well, remember when sophia tried to say kwek-kwek in that american accent?” diana added, slurring a little but still sharp, still loud. “kwek-kwAAAK,” she mocked, holding her nose and puffing her lips like a bad parody.

the group cracked up. even anthony barked a laugh, though he kept plucking at a loose tune; probably something from a parokya song, low and familiar.

kyle choked a little on the spoonful of sisig he scooped straight from the serving dish.

your head tilted back as you laughed, really laughed, and it sounds like it came from somewhere buried.

sophia has always been different in so many ways, but you were close. painfully so. you still remembered the softness of her voice when she would call your name, the smell of her mum’s perfume on her school jumper when you hugged goodbye after visits. she used to send you voice notes even after she transferred schools, even when you couldn’t relate to her stories about cafeteria fights and international school problems, you would still reply.

“what a time,” anthony murmured.

no one said anything, the silence that followed wasn’t loud; instead, it was thick.

everyone knew it was coming, that someone was going to bring her up eventually. it was inevitable — like how you could you not talk of your childhood without mentioning the girl who made it out?

“katseye,” kyle broke the quiet, rolling the name in his mouth like he was still getting used to it. “my niece has her face on a pencil case, she won’t believe that i knew sophia.”

knew.

anthony chuckled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “i saw her in an ad. some korean skincare thing, couldn’t tell if it was her at first. she looks different now.”

your fingers tightened slightly around your bottle. the condensation had already soaked into the tablecloth, leaving a pale ring where your drink sat.

“did she ever…reach out to you?” diana asked, careful this time. her voice softer. “you were pretty close.”

you shrugged. “once or twice. birthdays. new years. the usual.”

you didn’t say more, didn’t say how the last time she messaged was two years ago. how it was just a short, clean: happy birthday, hope you’re well. no warmth to it.

and it’s not like she owed you anything than that…but you thought you were more important than a short sentence.

but sophia, she was always looking past the gate; over the rooftops, past the wires strung like spiderwebs in the sky.

and you — well, you looked at her.

then, like someone flicked a switch, the memory passed. kyle reached for more sisig, diana lit a mosquito coil under the table and conversation shifted without ceremony.

she turned to you, refilling your jar before you could decline. “you working tomorrow, chef?”

“nah,” you replied, voice low, eyes still on your lap. “sunday crew’s got it.”

“concave’s always packed, huh?” anthony grinned, adjusting his grip on the guitar. “saw someone post about the wagyu kare-kare last week.”

“that’s leo’s recipe,” you said, leaning back and finally meeting their gazes. “i just plated it.”

“bullshit,” diana shot back. “kristoff says you make everything in your head.”

you shrugged; it didn’t feel like bossing.

it was more like waking up too early and going home too late, keeping inventory on your phone while waiting in line for rice deliveries and never having time for yourself, let alone anyone else — but they didn’t need to hear that.

not tonight.

they laughed at something stupid anthony had said, but your eyes had drifted to the bamboo fence, where the light from your grandma’s kitchen filtered through in weak slices. you could still hear them talking: about kyle’s ex who showed up at his gym, about some basketball game, about whether anyone wanted to go to tagaytay next weekend…but it blurred around the edges.

you took a sip of beer and leaned back in your chair as you thought about the last time you really saw her — before the debut, the contracts and when she stopped replying. she had red-stained lips from a street barbecue and her hand around your wrist, tugging you toward her car, saying you had to try the new taylor swift song on her aux.

she said she’d always write. that she wouldn’t become one of those people.

and just like that, sophia laforteza faded from the conversation. but not from your mind, not really, not in the way you hoped.

the red horse was beginning to settle in your chest, warm and heavy. the buzz in your ears had dulled the voices around you, just a little, like a layer of gauze had been pressed over the moment.

then kyle, mouth full of sisig, glanced your way. “hey.”

you looked up, startled by how gently he had said it. “yeah?”

“you got quiet,” he said, eyes narrowing in a mock squint. “what, are you still in love with her or something?”

you scoffed, too quickly. shook your head like it was reflex.

all eyes were on you. anthony had stopped playing and now your song by parokya ni edgar was spilling out into the yard, a little tinny through the old speaker. the intro played soft, like a memory you didn’t know you still knew.

and somehow it fit like it always did.

“come on,” anthony teased you in that tone. “it’s just us.”

you wiped the sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand, heart thudding quietly. the air was thick again, the kind that stuck to your skin and made your shirt cling slightly to your back.

“it’s nothing,” you murmured, but your voice caught in your throat. “i mean — it was a long time ago.”

“that doesn’t make it nothing,” diana said, not unkindly. “i think deep down, we all knew. she was always fucking holding your hand and you chased her around.”

you stared down at your lap, fingers playing with the frayed edge of your shorts. you hadn’t thought about this in a while. not like this; with witnesses.

“when we were kids,” you started, voice quiet. “it was just easier to…watch her from afar. you know?”

the group went still in the way only close friends could. not exactly dramatic, they were just present.

“she was always…hard to reach. not because she was trying to be. she just was. always got picked up early, going to dance classes, international school. she’d come around in the summers and hang out like nothing changed, but each year…it did.”

you paused, scratching at a mosquito bite on your ankle, feeling the dull sting of it.

“i knew there was no point, not really. there were always boys, older ones, cooler ones. and i was just — me; just a girl in boy clothes who made her laugh sometimes, i carried her backpack when she’d forget it. told her which vendors had the best mangga’t bagoong.”

you shrugged, trying to bury something under the motion before continuing.

“i never said anything. what was the point? she’d never look at me like that. she was the kind of person you tell stories about, not someone who stays. even now…she’s like a ghost. just — shows up on my screen sometimes; all glammed up, perfect hair, perfect lighting. and then she disappears again.”

you felt the words dig into you on their way out. they didn’t sting exactly. they were just real in a way you’ve been avoiding.

“these days, i don’t think about her much. i’ve got the restaurant, i’ve got bills and staff to worry about. my back hurts from standing too long — real life’s really fucking loud.”

you took a breath. slow and steady.

“but every now and then — she shows up. and it’s like nothing ever happened, like i’m fifteen again and i still don’t know what to do with the way she smiles at me.”

the words sat there. no one moved to fill the silence. the night buzzed around you: cicadas in the tree, a distant karaoke machine somewhere down the street, the faint rustle of the neighbour’s curtains.

anthony strummed a slow chord again, soft and out of tune. it lingered.

“that’s some indie film shit,” kyle muttered finally, rubbing his chest like he didn’t know what else to do. “damn, red horse does that to you nowadays? you’re getting old.”

you laughed through your nose. “shut up.”

you leaned back in your chair again, glass cool against your palm. the love you had for her, it was all still there. not overwhelming, maybe a little suffocating.

and that was okay. maybe it didn’t need to go anywhere.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

five years ago

the rain had started somewhere along españa. one of those annoying late afternoon drizzles that came without thunder, just a quiet soaking that crept into your shoes and made the air feel heavier than it needed to.

the jeep you were riding moved in fits — start, honk, pause, inch forward, then brake again. the kind of crawl that made you check your watch three times a minute, even though you already knew you were running late.

by the time you got to the lafortezas’ house in forbes park, your hair had dried in uneven patches, your uniform smelled faintly of garlic and onions from lunch lab and your lanyard with your university ID stuck awkwardly to your chest.

the guard let you in without a fuss, he remembered you from before, gave you a small nod like he felt bad about how out of place you looked.

the house was alive with sound too and not just the sharp clang of glasses or the soft bass of music vibrating through expensive outdoor speakers — but voices; loud ones.

laughter that rang out from the pool area, old relatives talking over each other inside, the kind of family gathering that reminded you that sophia’s world was always louder, always busier, always somehow more than yours.

you stood near the archway for a second, unsure if you should walk in like you used to, back when you didn’t need an invitation, back when you were just there, all the time.

there was a part of you that waited for someone to stop you, they didn’t. one of the servers walking by gave you a polite nod.

you spotted her dad, godfrey, first. he was manning the grill like always, even with his button-down shirt slightly open and a cigar resting in a glass tray nearby. he looked up and grinned.

“look who finally showed up,” he said, flipping a skewer. “traffic?”

you nodded, stepping into the light as you bowed, the back of his hand briefly touching your forehead. “yeah, sorry tito.”

“no worries, kid. you hungry?”

“a little,” you admitted and he just laughed.

“you came straight from school?”

you glanced down at your stained shirt, your scuffed shoes. “yeah.”

“hardworking as ever,” he teased, not unkindly. “you’re doing good over there at ust, huh?”

“really trying to.”

he nodded, like that was enough; trying meant something. “she’s out back. by the pond. look after her!”

you chuckled, heels turning away from him. “i always do, tito.”

you knew exactly where he meant as you followed the path to their enormous backyard.

and there she was.

sophia sat on the edge of the stone walkway, her legs tucked beneath her, a nearly-empty flute of champagne in her hand. her hair was longer than you remembered.

she turned when she heard you, her face lighting up in the same way it always had, as if you were the only person she had been waiting for.”

“i thought you weren’t coming.”

you dropped your bag to the grass and sat beside her. “i was stuck on the road for hours. i left early but the jeepney broke down somewhere in quiapo — i’m sorry, piya.”

“classic, but still late,” she teased, nudging your knee with hers. “i’m glad you’re here.”

you looked at her profile, soft and strange in the warm light. she was beautiful without even trying.

“you look like a celebrity already,” you mumbled, brows furrowing.

she laughed quietly, sipping the last of her drink. “it’s the makeup.”

“nah, you’ve always looked like this; maganda.”

she glanced sideways at you then, her expression unreadable. you looked away first.

the koi stirred beneath your feet, rippling the water. you could hear the faint clink of cutlery behind you, the celebration continuing without her. or maybe without the both of you.

she leaned forward and fixed your collar, not even hesitating, her fingers brushed your neck and it made your breath hitch.

“you smell like garlic.”

you gave her a look. “you’re welcome.”

she laughed. then — without warning — she pulled you into a hug. and it wasn’t for show. not like earlier with her titas or the camera flashes or the formal poses. it was just her, warm and tight and real.

“i thought you really weren’t gonna make it,” she murmured. “i needed to see you.”

you didn’t answer.

there was a long pause when she pulled away; a silence where you could feel everything pressing up against the surface, but no one was brave enough to say it first.

“so…dream academy,” you said eventually, trying to keep your voice light. “sounds fake.”

she snorted. “i know, it feels fake to me but i’m going — i have the ticket and all that jazz. y/n, i’m really going.”

you nodded, a fond smile plastered on your face. “i know.”

and you did. and it was exciting. and you were proud.

but at the same time, something inside you folded a little. it felt like something had creased your chest without permission because this was it.

this was the before. and everything after this would be new and distant.

she looked at you then, like she could feel the same thing.

“i’m scared,” she admitted, voice low.

you swallowed the lump rising in your throat. “piya, you’ll be fine. you were born to do this.”

“promise me something,” she bit her lip, nudging her knee against yours.

you glanced at her, waiting.

“don’t forget me, y/n.”

you blinked, surprised by the way it stung, it was getting too real. “piya —”

“i mean it,” she cut you off. “when i come back…you know. if i come back…i don’t want it to be weird. i don’t want us to be strangers.”

you wanted to say something honest: that you were already strangers in some ways. that you had spent the last few years slowly drifting, seeing each other less, learning how to fill your lives with other people, other stories. yet, she was looking at you like the girl who used to cry over algebra and make you listen to her sing in secret, like the friend who once stood outside your house with a stolen umbrella just so you wouldn’t walk home in the rain.

so, you nodded. “i won’t forget you.”

and you meant it, too. because how could you?

and then she reached up and tugged your lanyard over your head.

“hey —”

“i’m keeping it.”

“soph.”

“souvenir.”

“i’m gonna get in trouble.”

“worth it.”

you stared at her as she smiled, lanyard in hand, your face on the ID still as awkward as ever. and you let her have it because it felt like something small you could give. something real. a piece of this version of you, before everything bent into something else.

someone called her name from across the lawn. tita carla, probably. there was cake to be cut and photos to take.

she looked at you one last time. “i’ll see you soon, yeah?”

you nodded again, even though you didn’t believe it. even though you already knew — you would never see her quite like this again.

and then she was gone; taken by the crowd. and you were left standing under those lanterns, hands in your pockets, garlic on your clothes and a phantom weight where your lanyard used to be.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

makati at 4am was quieter than most people would believe. the usual heat had not yet risen from the pavement and the sky still held onto its last shades of dark blue as if it didn’t want to let go of the night.

the air smelled cleaner somehow: fewer cars, fewer cigarettes, less of everything. you liked this version of the city. no sharp edges, just soft engine rumbles and the occasional flick of a lighter from a security guard somewhere down the block.

you lived just a few minutes away from your restaurant, on the second floor of a quiet building tucked between a shuttered nail salon and a law office that hadn’t opened since the pandemic. your apartment was two bedrooms — too much space for one person, but you needed it. one room was mostly office and storage. the other was yours and in the living area sat your aquarium, humming low in the corner. a slow, glowing square of water filled with plants and one stubborn betta fish named pansit who outlived all the others. he swam lazy laps as you passed by, grabbing your apron off the back of the couch.

concave sat in one of those narrow alleys just off the high street, in between a luxury flower shop and a tailoring studio that catered to wedding clients and politicians. it was a location most restaurateurs dreamed of: central, walkable and expensive as hell.

the rent made your head spin sometimes.

the district lights always flickered too bright, and the kind of people who walked by at night never looked like they worried about money.

still, you liked being there, becoming a part of something that looked clean from the outside even if your hands smelled like vinegar and fish guts most days.

the delivery truck arrived a little after five like it always did.

the driver, tonio, though you weren’t sure if that was really his name — nodded in your direction. he never said anything more than what was necessary, same as he had every morning for the past three years.

there was a rhythm to it now, something almost respectful in the silence.

you opened the metal back door and started unloading: kangkong, eggplants, calamansi by the kilo, three trays of bangus on ice, a bag of frozen ube, half a sack of garlic, pork belly in clear packaging and two boxes of duck eggs, stacked and tied with orange twine.

no lemongrass — you stared into the crate where it should’ve been and let out a quiet curse.

“tangina,” you muttered, rubbing the back of your neck. “of fucking course.”

but you didn’t panic, you and leo would have to figure something out. one of you (was always him) would run to the market before it got too hot, haggle a bit, text the other something dumb about how god’s testing them again.

you started prepping before the sun had fully risen; chopped onions, boiled pork bones for broth, mixed vinegar and soy into plastic tubs for later. your body moved on memory.

your brain stayed somewhere else — thoughts mostly quiet, save for a dull reminder that you had only slept four hours again.

by the time the sun hit the windows, the others started trickling in. leo was first, as usual — his hair still wet from the shower, plastic bags in one hand and an old insulated mug in the other.

“guess what,” he said, holding up the lemongrass like a trophy.

you raised your eyebrows and gave him a tired thumbs up. “legend.”

kristoff came next, with his usual coffee order in one hand and a tray of eggs in the other. aira followed soon after, lipstick already on, humming something that sounded like ligaya as she unpacked tupperware full of garlic rice from home.

the playlist kicked in around 6:45, old eraserheads at first before bleeding into rivermaya. the speakers crackled a little when the volume was too high, but no one minded. leo started singing along without meaning to.

lunch service opened at eleven-thirty sharp.

you barely looked up from the grill when yohan came in, there’s a burn on your forearm from last week that hasn’t scabbed properly but you had no time to worry about it. tickets rolled in and stacked fast.

people asked for things that weren’t on the menu, pointed at photos on their phones, laughed too loud over iced tea. you worked through it, answered questions and nodded when you needed to. instructions were yelled at when something started to burn.

the kitchen was a flurry of heat and noise and movement. and through it all, you stayed planted. solid and sweating.

by two, the noise thinned, tables cleared and the room exhaled.

the team ate standing, as always — no time to sit, they reckoned. kristoff scraped the last of the kare-kare straight from the pot. aira found a pack of chocnut near the register and handed them out like party favours before leaving to see her boyfriend. leo held up the receipt from one of the tables.

“make sure yohan gets a thousand from that,” you sighed, shaking your head at thought of the shy kitchenhand as everyone else cheered for him.

“thanks boss,” yohan gratefully tapped your shoulder.

“five thousand pesos,” leo grinned, waving it. “cash. no note, just pure vibes.”

“well shit,” kristoff said. “guess we didn’t fuck up today.”

you watched from the doorway of your office, legs folded beneath you as you sat on an upturned crate, still wearing your apron, your ma’s pancit bihon in a container beside you. untouched. your hands were resting in your lap, wrists sore, fingers stained slightly orange from atsuete.

you heard the chime of the front door open, kristoff went out to check as your eyes curiously followed him.

after a second, he came back, hesitated before walking over to you.

“chef,” he said softly. “there’s someone here. umm, i think it’s chef godfrey.”

you looked up real fast; it took a second to register “what? seriously?”

“yeah.”

you got to your feet slowly, wiped your hands on a rag that didn’t help much and stepped into the dining area.

he stood near the window, wearing a button-down and linen trousers. same gold watch. in his hands, a small box. he smiled like he was surprised to be there too.

“tito,” you greeted. “you didn’t text.”

“didn’t want to give you a chance to say no.”

you walked over and gestured toward a table. “want anything? we’ve got some sinigang left. or i can get you something from the bar.”

he placed the box on the table, pulled out a chair. “red horse is fine, if you have any.”

you raised a brow. “oh? at this time of day? does tita carla know you’re here?”

“brought pulutan,” he added with a laugh, opening the box. “and she won’t know if you keep your mouth shut.”

you leaned over and laughed, he brought cheese rolls. the ones from that bakery in greenhills, the same ones sophia used to beg for after school like she didn’t have a fridge full of imported snacks.

“they’ve gotten smaller,” he frowned. “but more expensive like everything else in this damn country.”

you sat down across from him, both of you cracking open bottles like you had done this before, though you hadn’t for a while really.

you talked about concave, mostly. the insane rent. the stress of keeping a small team happy. your hope to maybe move it someday, maybe somewhere a little quieter; in quezon city, just somewhere with better parking.

he nodded through it all. sipped his beer and listened. then, halfway through the second bottle, he said it.

“sophia’s coming back.”

your shoulders stiffened before you could hide it. “yeah?”

“just for a few days. there’s a brand deal, promo rounds and she’s filming something at home — she was asking about you.”

“that’s good,” you stared at your bottle, the condensation on your fingertips.

“i told her i didn’t know if you’d want to see her. after all these years.”

you said nothing.

“i figured it was better to say this in person,” he continued. “there’s an intimate dinner at the end of the week. family, mostly. i think you should come. her team’s going to film it.”

you reached for another cheese roll, tearing a piece slowly between your fingers. “i don’t think she even remembers me.”

“you’re wrong about that.”

you looked up. “tito…i doubt it. we haven’t spoken in years.”

“and yet, she still asked.”

you didn’t reply. just took a bite. let the silence rest between you.

“just think about it,” he said gently.

you both sat like that a while longer. the beer was warm now, the box half-empty, the afternoon light softening into gold. you didn’t say yes and you didn’t say no either.

and neither of you rushed to leave.

some things were easier that way.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the next morning, the kitchen still smelled faintly of fried oil and last night’s vinegar, clinging to the walls like a memory that refused to clear. you opened earlier than usual. the silence helped. your hands moved on muscle memory, chopping onions into uniform pieces, brow furrowed, mouth set in that same neutral line you wore when something was stuck in your chest but you didn’t want to talk about it yet.

leo was already there and he was peeling garlic, badly. half the cloves still had skin on them and you were trying not to notice. or crash out over it.

“you’re unusually quiet,” he began, not looking up. “like…extra quiet.”

“you yap enough for both of us.”

he let out a soft cackle. “true, but you usually complain about something by now.”

you didn’t answer, just kept chopping carefully as your hands moved automatically. there was a pot simmering behind you and a container of cleaned bangus on the counter. you could feel leo watching you now.

“did you get laid or something?”

“leo,” you groaned, voice flat.

he whistled. “not a no.”

before you could respond, aira burst through the back door, her hair already up in a messy bun, eyeliner on point like always. she dumped her tote on the bench and grabbed a spoon from the drying rack, immediately dipping into one of the sauces without checking what it was.

“oh my god,” she muttered, licking her finger. “what is that? it’s like…happiness in liquid form.”

“sinamak,” you replied. “don’t drink it.”

“you didn’t eat your ma’s pancit yesterday,” leo pointed out, not leaving the topic alone.

“wasn’t hungry.”

he made a face and returned to peeling garlic, slower this time. you felt his eyes flick toward you again but he didn’t push it.

“so, uh…” he started, deliberately casual. “that guy yesterday.”

you paused for a moment. your knife hovered above a clove of garlic as you waited for him to finish the thought.

“older, gold watch, smelled like old money and dental appointments.”

you huffed out a quiet laugh despite yourself, but refused to say anything.

“was that chef godfrey?” he added, and this time he turned properly to face aira, who was unloading vegetables from the delivery crate. “as in godfrey laforteza.”

aira froze mid-crouch, holding a bundle of kangkong like she had just discovered fire. “wait, sophia laforteza’s dad?!”

you sighed; there it was.

“oh my god, oh my god,” she stood up straight, practically vibrating. “are you telling me that the godfrey laforteza was here and no one told me? you let me go see my stupid boyfriend?”

leo shrugged, grinning now. “i didn’t realise until he left — his back was facing the kitchen so we couldn’t see and kristoff didn’t say anything.”

aira placed the kangkong down like it was sacred. “do you know who his daughter is? she’s literally the reason i started contouring. i watched one fancam and it changed the shape of my face. oh my god. oh my god.”

you wiped your hands on a towel and leaned against the counter like it was no big deal. “we used to be friends.”

she blinked at you in disbelief. “you…what?!”

“me and sophia,” you repeated, voice flat like you were talking about the weather. “we sort of grew up together…but like different tax brackets and all that.”

she made a noise somewhere between a squeal and a choke, placing both hands on the edge of the counter. “i need you to repeat that sentence. slowly. with emotion.”

you raised an eyebrow. “we. used. to be. friends.”

“holy shit,” she whispered. “like, close friends? or like…you-commented-on-each-other’s-posts kind of friends?”

you reached for a pot behind you, pretending to focus on something else. “close like her snotty ass was over at mine all the time and the guards at forbes park knew me.”

leo leaned in now, voice teasing. “she stole her college ID too, as souvenir.”

“leo,” you muttered, warning him because she was definitely going to flip out.

she gasped so hard she nearly dropped the carrots. “wait — are you being serious? like she physically stole it? like in a cute way?”

“she asked if she could keep it,” you mumbled, smiling shyly. “i let her.”

her jaw dropped and she looked physically pained.

“why are you still here?” she asked, scandalised. “why aren’t you in an airport chasing her down with a bouquet?”

leo let out a laugh. “i’ve been asking myself the same thing.”

you felt heat rise to your neck and busied yourself with lighting the stove. the gas hissed, caught the flame and you stirred oil into a pan without thinking.

“it’s been years,” you said finally, voice quieter now. “we haven’t spoken since she left.”

that sobered the room a little. aira glanced at leo, then lowered herself onto a bench, the excitement in her face softening into something else.

“but…she’s back?” she asked.

“for a few days. a brand thing, plus her dad said there’s a dinner.”

no one said anything for a while. its been way too long now and you began to wonder what her voice sounded like these days.

“you thinking of going?” leo asked again.

you stared into the pan and watched the garlic start to colour. “i don’t know.”

she tilted her head. “you want to?”

you didn’t answer right away because you didn’t know how to explain the weird ache that came and went whenever you heard her name. how some days it barely registered, and others it clung to you like heat in the back of your shirt.

how you weren’t sure what was worse — seeing her again or not seeing her at all.

“i’m busy,” you muttered, not quite meeting their eyes. “we have a business to run.”

leo snorted. “cop out.”

“maybe.”

aira leaned her chin into her hand. “just wear something nice. you don’t even have to say anything, go see her.”

you stirred the garlic again, let it brown.

“just think about it,” she added, softer now. “you owe yourself that much, yeah?”

the smell of burnt garlic filled the room.

“shit,” you muttered, turning off the heat. you scraped the pan out into the compost bin and started again, slower this time.

no one pressed further. they didn’t have to.

the kitchen was loud again within minutes —spoons clinking, water running, someone restarting the playlist. rivermaya this time. hinahanap-hanap kita played low beneath the noise, as if the speakers knew something you weren’t ready to say yet.

and you let the thought of her linger, unspoken, like the smell of something once sweet still hanging in the air.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

five years ago

the weekend after sophia graduated, the sky above manila looked unusually clean - cloudless, wide, almost smug in how blue it was. your lola, alongside your parents, had left for the province earlier that day, which meant the house was yours for the weekend.

the family house in quezon had the kind of roof that wasn’t really meant for lounging, just concrete and rusting rebar poking from the corners, but you claimed it years ago with foldable chairs and old blankets, a spot to sit when the house felt too full or the night too quiet.

sophia had arrived just after seven, wearing shorts and a loose t-shirt that hung slightly off her shoulder. her driver had dropped her off at the corner because she insisted on walking.

she came bearing gifts: one large jollibee bag, four smirnoff mules sticking out the top and a plastic container of gravy she insisted was worth the spill in her bag.

“you told your lola?” she asked, stepping out of her shoes by the back door.

“that you’re crashing the night?” you returned a question, reaching for the bag of fries. “nope.”

“perfect,” she grinned.

you both carried the food and drinks up the narrow stairs to the roof, a towel tucked under your arm, a blanket you pulled from the cabinet smelling faintly of mothballs. the rooftop was still warm underfoot, the cement holding onto the last heat of the day. your neighbours’ radio played something low — maybe kitchie nadal, the echoes of someone else’s happiness.

“we’re celebrating,” she announced, grinning as she pulled the food out one by one on the roof, the stars above just starting to show. “high honours. second highest in the whole school. can you believe it?”

you shook your head and passed her a spoon. “i would’ve believed it if you passed math without crying.”

“that was character development, asshole,” she shot back. “besides, crying builds humility.”

you laid the blanket down between the water tank and the clothesline as you laughed at her, surrounded by rusting steel bars and old satellite dishes.

“cheers,” sophia said once you’ve settled down, cracking her bottle open against the metal pipe and raising it toward you.

you tapped yours against hers and took a swig. it was sweeter than you remembered. “this shit’s nasty.”

“well, can’t be picky, i brought the gifts and your only job is to consume them,” she snarked.

you both ate like you hadn’t had fast food in weeks, spooning rice straight from the paper containers, sitting side by side on an old blanket with faded cartoon characters printed across it.

the drinks were warm, but they still fizzed when opened and you continued clinking bottles like you were pretending to be older than you were.

“what now?” you asked, wiping gravy off your chin with your sleeve. “what’s next?”

she leaned back on her elbows, looking up. her hair spread out against the blanket like ink in water. “i don’t know. maybe take a break.”

“from what? being pretty and smart?”

“exactly.” she laughed, then glanced over. “i’m thinking of trying something…different.”

you raised a brow. “like what?”

she hesitated and you noticed it — not nervous, exactly, but something quieter. something still forming.

“i dunno yet,” she hummed. “something big.”

“whatever it is, you’d be good.”

“i might suck.”

“you won’t.”

she tilted her head toward you, her ponytail brushing the blanket. “you’re always sure about me.”

“someone has to be.”

you lay side by side on the blanket, her legs brushing against yours occasionally. the stars weren’t as sharp as they were in the province, but they were enough. the city around you still hummed: buses in the distance and a dog barking.

you didn’t talk much; not at first. your arms were close, then closer. and then her fingers found yours and didn’t let go.

her hand was warm and a little clammy from the bottle, but you didn’t mind. you didn’t even breathe too hard, afraid it might ruin the moment. she didn’t say anything either. just let the space fill with sound and the night stretch over both of you like a quiet promise.

you could feel her thumb moving in soft circles against yours.

“i still can’t believe i graduated with medals,” she murmured after a while.

“you say that like you were failing all year.”

“i mean, i wasn’t trying that hard. they just like me.”

you turned your head to look at her. her eyes were fixed on the sky, lashes catching the light of the nearest streetlamp. she looked older than she did last summer, but still had that same uneven tan on her arms from volleyball tryouts, nails still painted light pink and chipped at the edges.

she turned her face toward you now, the stars catching in her eyes.

“do you ever feel like you’re standing at the edge of something?” she asked. “like something big is about to happen and you can’t tell if it’s good or bad, just that everything’s going to change?”

“yeah,” you said. “i do.”

sophia smiled, slow and real. “good. then we’ll be scared together.”

you wanted to kiss her right then, but you didn’t - couldn’t. all you could do was squeeze her hand a little tighter and memorise the way she looked with the city lights flickering below her and the whole night sky above.

neither of you moved.

you finished your drinks and shared the last peach mango pie. one of your neighbours yelled for their kid to come inside, the air cooling down. you stayed on the roof until you both started to shiver, until the stars faded behind the first pale streaks of morning, until sophia fell asleep with her head on your shoulder, fingers still loosely laced with yours.

you didn’t sleep, just watched the sky change and wondered how long before you would lose this version of her.

before whatever was coming finally arrived.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the team had just settled into their usual late-morning rhythm when anthony showed up, slouched and sunburnt, with a guitar strapped to his back like it was a medical condition he refused to treat.

“oi,” he called out as he pushed through the front door, sweat already glistening along his hairline. “you still feeding stray musicians or what?”

you glanced up from where you were marinating pork belly, salt crusted on your fingertips, elbow-deep in prep bowls. “what time’s your gig?”

“twelve and nearby. rooftop bar in legazpi. they said there’s free iced tea, which means it’s gonna be a nightmare.”

you smirked and went back to massaging vinegar into the pork. “you just want free food.”

he gave you his best impression of innocence. “nooo, i want your company.”

“you wanna scab off my company,” you corrected.

“and your company.”

aira, who had been julienning carrots with the intensity of someone seeking vengeance, glanced over and groaned. “for fuck’s sake, him again?”

“hello to you too,” he grinned, leaning against the counter like he owned the place. “still can’t cook eggs without burning them?”

“still can’t sing without pretending it’s 2007?” she bit back, raising an eyebrow. “get the hell out of my kitchen.”

“i came for peace and nourishment.”

“you came to freeload.”

leo, somewhere behind the fridge door, coughed out a laugh. kristoff didn’t look up from stirring the adobo, but his shoulders shook with quiet amusement.

you shook your head and went back to slicing, but you were smiling now. there was something about anthony that always shifted the air when he arrived — like someone had opened a window and let in a breeze that was equal parts annoying and familiar.

aira sighed dramatically and reached for the leftover chorizo in the cooler. “you’re getting fried rice. no substitutions. no complaints. and i’m adding egg even though i know you hate egg.”

“can’t wait,” anthony chuckled. “truly, this is a restaurant built on spite.”

“you’re welcome.”

he slid into the bar stool by the pass and began unloading the contents of his pockets: a capo, his wallet, half a cigarette in foil. the guitar remained slung across his chest, awkward but somehow fitting.

you rinsed your hands and leaned against the sink, watching the chaos unfold with a quiet sort of fondness.

then, mid-moan about a previous gig that involved a flooded stage and a broken amp, anthony looked at you and went suddenly quiet.

“hey…umm, piya messaged me on facebook last night.”

your chest didn’t tighten immediately. it moved slow, like something thick dragging its way through water.

“piya?” you asked, like you hadn’t said that name aloud in years. which, technically, you hadn’t.

“sophia,” he clarified, more careful now. “she asked if i’ve heard from you because apparently…she hasn’t.”

silence fell like a dropped plate. even the pan aira had been rattling on the stove went still.

yohan emerged from the walk-in cooler with a crate of eggs and a raised brow. “who’s sophia?”

kristoff, ever the bearer of pop culture, didn’t even blink. “sophia laforteza.”

yohan stared. “as in katseye sophia?”

“yep,” he replied, flipping a slab of meat in the pan.

aira dropped the spatula. you didn’t say anything, your mouth had gone dry.

he was still looking at you, not accusatory, just curious. and maybe - maybe a little worried. “you haven’t checked your phone, have you.”

you looked down at your apron, then your hands. the faint cuts on your knuckles, the turmeric stain beneath your thumb nail. you hadn’t brought your phone, again.

it’d been three days now. you kept leaving it in the same place, on the corner of your dresser under a half-folded shirt, turned face down.

“i haven’t,” you admitted.

“y/n,” anthony winced, voice a little firmer now. “come on.”

you shrugged. “i didn’t feel like it.”

“she’s looking for you — she’s trying.”

“yeah, well.” you ran a hand through your hair. “she knows where to find me.”

aira leaned back against the counter, arms crossed. “babe, i know you’re mysterious and deep and have a whole torpe heart thing going on — but that’s sophia laforteza. why are you trying to fumble so bad?”

leo chimed in from behind the fryer. “what if she’s standing outside the restaurant right now? what if this is like, her kilig moment?”

“don’t be weird,” you muttered, though the thought twisted somewhere low in your stomach.

she wouldn’t show up, would she?

anthony slid the plate of chorizo fried rice toward himself, but didn’t touch it yet.

“listen,” he said, more gently this time. “you don’t have to talk to her. or see her, but you should at least know what she’s trying to say.”

you nodded slowly, not agreeing; more like acknowledging. kristoff turned the stove off, someone turned the playlist down.

the kitchen didn’t resume its usual volume right away. everyone hovered in that pocket of quiet, watching you in the way people do when they’re not sure if you’re okay.

you looked out toward the front window, where the morning light was already starting to glare off the tiles.

sophia’s name sat in your chest like a coin pressed flat under your ribs.

maybe the message was nothing; maybe it was too late to matter; maybe it mattered anyway.

you stepped back toward the sink and turned the tap on, cold water rushing over your hands, grounding. you closed your eyes for a moment and let the sound fill the room.

behind you, anthony finally took a bite of the fried rice.

“aira,” he called through a mouthful. “this is surprisingly edible. are you okay?”

aira launched a spoon at his head.

the kitchen laughed once again, tension cracked open just enough for the morning to keep going. you dried your hands and walked back to the prep table.

you still weren’t ready to check your phone.

but maybe you were getting close.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

it was just after eight in the morning and the kitchen was already hot and humming, the scent of garlic and bagoong thick in the air. kristoff was slicing tomatoes at the speed of a man who had nowhere else to be, while yohan fiddled with the fan in the corner that never pointed in the right direction.

you were leaning against the sink, phone pressed between your shoulder and cheek, stirring sinigang broth while staring at nothing in particular.

the line rang twice before godfrey picked up.

he answered on the second ring. “hello?”

“tito,” you began, voice still scratchy from sleep. “hi, it’s y/n.”

a pause, then the warmth you expected. “anak, good morning. i was just about to call you to confirm.”

you cleared your throat. leaned against the bench. “i, uh…i just wanted to say thank you again for the invite.”

he waited because he knew there was more to come. “everything alright?”

“yeah, yeah - nothing serious. one of my chefs, aira, is down with something. food poisoning, maybe. someone needs to cover service so i can’t make it tomorrow night.”

you heard a chair scrape in the background, faint clinking of glasses — probably preparations for the dinner you were bailing out on. he didn’t say anything at first, just let out a slow breath.

“that’s…a shame,” he replied eventually, voice still gentle. “i was hoping she’d get to see you.”

you looked down at the broth, watched the thin film of oil ripple as you stirred it slowly.

“thank you for letting me know,” he added. “you should see her this week, if you can. i think…it would mean a lot to both of you if you talked.”

his tone stayed polite, but you could feel the weight shift. something a little sad.

“yeah,” you muttered like a promise. “i will.”

you weren’t planning to, not really. the thought alone made your pulse skip and your stomach knot. not in a sweet way, not in a maybe-it-could-work way — just fucking tight and heavy.

like too much time had passed and the wiring inside you didn’t know what to do with her anymore.

still, you said yes because it was easier. and because godfrey sounded like he still believed in whatever you and sophia used to be.

you hung up after a few more words: safe, formal ones — and stood there in the kitchen, staring at the phone like it owed you something.

you didn’t feel relieved. just…stalled.

aira stood directly behind you, holding a bag of spinach. you turned just in time to get hit in the chest with a plastic bag. it bounced off harmlessly, but she looked like she meant it to hurt.

“you absolute fucking liar!” she hissed as she hit you once more.

you turned, blinking. “what the hell —“

“food poisoning?” she narrowed her eyes. “from what, y/n? the rice i cooked myself this morning and ate in front of you?”

you opened your mouth to speak, she smacked your shoulder again with the spinach bag.

“i didn’t think you’d hear me!” you put your hands up in defeat.”

“you used me,” she said, dramatically. “like a prop. like a false witness.”

“aira —”

“to lie to sophia laforteza’s dad. you’re going to hell.”

you put the ladle down and started laughing. “you’re being ridiculous.”

“you used me?” she gaped. “me? your innocent, hardworking, full-of-life staff member?”

you raised a brow. “you’re the one who took a three-hour break yesterday to go get lash extensions.”

“irrelevant,” she snapped, pointing at you dramatically. “you really lied to sophia laforteza’s dad and dragged my good name into it. that’s a sin, y/n. a literal sin.”

you pressed your lips together, trying not to laugh again.

“you’re going to hell,” she continued. “straight to the deepest, hottest level — no aircon. and i hope they only serve watered-down matcha.”

you let out a quiet snort. “i wasn’t planning on going to heaven anyway.”

she placed a hand over her heart. “you don’t deserve nice things.”

you rolled your eyes and went to the fridge, pulling out the tub of leftover atchara. “he said i should see her sometime this week.”

aira’s voice jumped an octave. “then can i go? text him! say your loyal, honest employee is free to represent you.”

you ignored her, opening the lid and giving the contents a stir.

“seriously,” she said, planting herself beside you. “i have an outfit picked out already. it’s tasteful but flirty. i’ll call him ‘tito’ and everything; maybe he’ll adopt me.”

“aira.”

“yes, ma’am?”

“i have a lot to do today.”

“you’re hiding,” she pointed out, softer now. “you’ve been hiding.”

you didn’t say anything, just closed the tub and placed it back in the fridge.

from the other side of the kitchen, kristoff called out: “what’s happening?”

she spun around. “chef y/n lied to god.”

“which god?”

“godfrey.”

the kitchen erupted into laughter as you let the noise fill the space again. it was warm and familiar — just loud enough to cover whatever it was you were still trying not to feel.

even yohan peeked around the shelves, smiling behind the fan he was still pretending to fix.

“god,” aira muttered, turning back to you, hand over her heart. “i would’ve died to go. you should’ve asked him if i could take your place. my body is ready.”

“you don’t even own a blazer.”

“i have a linen vest,” she feigned offense, insulted. “and a perfectly respectable skirt.”

you shook your head, trying not to smile. “i’ve got things to do, aira. it’s payroll day. i need to sort everything by lunch.”

she sighed, deflating, then threw the spinach onto the prep bench. “you’re a coward,” she yelled out. “and i say that with love.”

the rest of the boys chuckled, the tension melting back into the usual mess of clanging pots and overlapping instructions.

everyone moved around you again, the rhythm of the morning returning. you leaned back against the counter for a second, letting the noise swirl around you.

for a second you had opened your phone last night just to check your email, you told yourself. but there they were; texts from an unknown number…short ones.

“heard from dad you’re still in makati. didn’t know if you’d want to see me, but i’d really like to see you.”

“even just for coffee. no pressure.”

“there’s a lot i probably don’t have the right to say. but i hope you’re okay.”

the first message had come four days ago. you hadn’t answered any of them.

every time you read her name, your chest did that same thing: tightened, skipped, clenched. it was stupid. you weren’t sixteen anymore — you had rice to steam and salaries to divide, but still.

aira nudged your hip with her elbow as she passed by. “hell,” she mumbled under her breath. “straight to hell.”

you laughed again, low and dry, and reached for the spinach she’d abandoned.

“then at least i won’t be cold.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

seven years ago

it was too bright inside newport world resorts. you hadn’t known a mall could shine like that; every floor glossy, every piece of light somehow staged to make everything look more expensive.

sophia walked ahead of you, her arm looped through leon’s, her heels clicking softly against the marble. you trailed just behind them next to sophia’s mum, carla, close enough to hear snatches of their conversation but far enough not to be in it.

leon was one of sophia’s best friends, tall and confident in that quiet, magnetic way. he had that hair that always looked good no matter how humid it got and a voice that sounded like he had grown up near a mic. when he smiled, people looked.

you hated that you noticed.

“you alright?” carla asked, reaching a hand to your back. her voice was gentle, but her bracelets clinked as she moved, always sounding like she was about to announce something.

“yes po,” you answer, even though your knees felt a little weird and you kept adjusting the strap of your shoulder bag like it was a nervous tic.

she gave you a kind smile, one that felt different from most adults. it was like she noticed you. “you can drop the po, y/n. we’re not at school.”

“we’re going to the steak place upstairs,” sophia said over her shoulder, her voice light. “dad booked the private room.”

you nodded; didn’t say much. you’ve never been to a place with private rooms before. most of your lunches were in food courts or karinderyas, you almost wore your school shoes today out of instinct.

“we’re early,” carla murmured to sophia as you reached the escalators.

“he’ll make us wait anyway,” sophia replied, pulling her sunglasses up onto her head. “he always says twelve and then shows up at twelve-thirty.”

you didn’t know if she was annoyed or just amused. it was hard to tell with her; always had been.

leon waited for you as you reached the top of the escalator. “he’s a chef, you know that? her dad?”

you nodded. “yeah, godfrey laforteza.”

“have you met him?”

you smiled. “only at their house.”

he grinned. “this’ll be interesting then, i’m stoked to try the food.”

the restaurant was tucked into the corner of the resort’s ground floor, behind a set of frosted doors and a name you couldn’t pronounce. a host greeted you all in english, bowing slightly before gesturing toward the private dining room.

it was dim and warm inside, golden light spilling from above like syrup.

godfrey stood as you entered; gold watch catching the light. he smiled wide when he saw sophia, then clapped leon on the back with a kind of easy affection that told you this wasn’t the first time they’d met.

then he looked at you.

“y/n,” he said, more warmly than you expected. “you look taller.”

your ears went hot. “hi po, tito.”

“come, sit next to me,” he patted the seat next to him. “we’re trying the new lunch menu. i want to hear what you think.”

you didn’t move until carla gently nudged your back. “go on, love.”

you sat between godfrey and carla, across from sophia and leon. she looked at you briefly, smiled; her teeth were perfect.

the waitstaff came in like a small parade — trays of soup poured from porcelain teapots, vegetables arranged like ikebana, fish so delicate you hesitated before touching it.

godfrey talked about everything. the plating, the temperature, the timing. he said things like mouthfeel and balance of acidity, and you tried to keep up but mostly, you watched his hands as he sliced through a duck breast with practiced ease.

“you like food, don’t you?” carla asked beside you.

you nodded, wiped your mouth before answering. “yes po.”

“she makes mean pancit at home,” sophia added. “and mango float.”

godfrey leaned in slightly. “you wanna learn how to cook?”

“a bit,” you looked around, unsure. “not like this, i don’t think i could ever be this good.”

“this is all technique,” he waved a hand. “the heart’s what matters. you’ve either got it or you don’t.”

you didn’t say anything. but you felt something click quietly into place, right behind your ribs.

you looked at him. then at your plate. then at your hands. and just like that, without drama or realisation or applause — you knew.

you wanted to cook.

“you’d do well in a kitchen,” he mentioned, sipping his wine. “smart hands and curious eyes.”

carla beamed at you like she had already decided this could be your life if you wanted it.

you were still thinking about it: about the feel of the fork in your hand, the way the food made your chest open up — when sophia leaned into leon and whispered something that made him laugh. she touched his arm lightly, leaned her cheek against his shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.

you blinked.

something tight twisted in your stomach, sharp and unfamiliar. it wasn’t anger. not quite. it wasn’t sadness either. just a kind of…displacement. like you lost something before you even knew you were holding it.

you stabbed your fork into the plate a little harder than you meant to.

“y/n?” sophia turned to you, concerned. “you okay?”

you nodded. “yeah. just hot.”

leon passed you a napkin, still grinning. you took it, barely looking at him.

she turned back and you felt the moment leave you.

the rest of the lunch passed in a blur; you listened when they talked, laughed when you had to, but your mind had split. half of you sat at the table. the other half had already started picturing a kitchen of your own: the heat, the knives, the smell of onions hitting butter. the fire.

and somewhere deep inside that heat, you imagined sophia again. her hand not on leon’s shoulder, but yours.

you didn’t know what that meant. not yet.

but the ache stayed with you. it still does.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

saturday nights at concave always felt like a controlled collapse. the kind of exhaustion that made your fingers ache and your lower back throb with every step, but somehow still left you wired from the chaos.

tonight had been one of the busiest yet—valet queues doubling up, someone asking for a private dining room that didn’t exist, and a family of seven who insisted they were promised a window seat by ‘the guy who owns the restaurant’ despite not having a reservation at all.

it was past ten when the last table finally cleared.

aira was singing off-key into her phone, facetime angled towards the ceiling while she wiped down the counters with rhythmic aggression. her boyfriend’s laugh filtered faintly through the screen, followed by a dramatic “babe, i’m working!” which none of you believed for a second.

the rest of you sat on plastic crates near the back door outside, backs against the wall, the night air heavy with heat and frying oil. kristoff lit the last cigarette and passed it around, all of you taking slow drags like it was communion. there was a quiet bond that came with being this tired at the same time as other people.

“i still can’t believe she dropped that bottle,” leo began laughing, his voice hoarse from yelling over the pass earlier.

“ten thousand pesos,” yohan added, exhaling smoke through his nose. “and she cried like her dog died.”

you winced, leaning your head back against the concrete. “i felt bad. she was shaking.”

leo nudged your foot. “you told her it wasn’t coming out of her pay.”

“of course i did.”

he grinned. “see, that’s why you’re a terrible boss.”

“wow, thanks.”

“you care too much,” he continued, flicking ash off the side. “it’s gross.”

“good bosses don’t cry in the dry storage,” you muttered.

“you cried?”

“it was humid.”

they all laughed.

kristoff took a final drag from his cigarette, then flicked it into the old tin can near the door. “you know what’s worse?” he shook his head. “diana and i fighting last night.”

that got everyone’s attention as you all turned your heads slightly.

“about what now?” yohan asked.

he dragged a hand down his face. “i put her water bottle in the freezer. just the regular way. and apparently that’s…how you destroy the lining? or the metal? or our future children? i don’t even know.”

leo blinked. “damn.”

“she said it’s proof i don’t respect her stuff. then she said we should do separate laundry from now on.”

“over a bottle?”

“over a bottle.”

the sound of tyres crunching against gravel pulled everyone’s attention. it wasn’t loud — but sharp enough to cut through the rhythm of the moment. you all turned your heads in unison, squinting toward the end of the alleyway where the staff parking lot sat mostly empty.

“customer coming back for vengeance,” yohan muttered, flicking his cigarette over the side rail. “you know that lady who said the bangus was too bony?”

“lock the doors,” leo added. “she’s probably got a weapon.”

“the gun’s in the safe,” kristoff mumbled carefully, not missing a beat.

you were about to say something — something dumb, something to diffuse the rising tension when the driver’s door opened.

and godfrey stepped out, casual as ever in slacks and a light button-down, waving toward you like this was the most normal thing in the world.

but you weren’t looking at him.

your eyes were fixed on the passenger door: on the way it opened slowly, deliberately. on the figure that stepped out and stood for a moment, as if she was letting her eyes adjust to the light.

the yankees cap, the face mask, the black hoodie pulled tight around her. but the way she stood, slightly tilted to one side, one foot angled out like she might run at any second — it was all her.

you knew those eyes.

no one could hide that shade of brown from you. the way they scanned, half-expectant, like they were always waiting for a sign.

your stomach dropped, hard and low like it had missed a step.

“holy shit,” leo whispered, nearly dropping the cigarette.

“is that —“

what the fuck, you thought.

“yeah,” kristoff breathed. “the hell?”

yohan stood up so fast his crate tipped over. “i’m not ready for this, bye!”

then, like a well-rehearsed act, all three of them turned and made a mad dash for the back door; grown men scattering like roaches.

a bunch of traitors.

kristoff stumbled on his way in but still managed to shout, “aira!” and a split second later, you heard her scream. then the door slammed shut, the metal rattling in the frame, leaving you alone with her outside.

you were still sitting on your crate, legs suddenly unsure if they remembered how to work.

she started walking to you.

slow, steady steps that felt too loud in your ears. she lifted a hand and gave a small wave, a little awkward, like she didn’t know if it would be received.

you stood, finally, your knees feeling loose and unreliable. the heat from the kitchen behind you met the cool of the alleyway and it made your skin prickle.

the world shrank.

you could hear your own heartbeat now, thudding somewhere in your neck. the sharp scent of garlic still clung to your shirt; your hands, stained with soy and calamansi, hung at your sides.

and there she was.

sophia stopped a few steps in front of you. not close enough to touch, but enough to undo you completely — you saw it in her eyes.

the softness; the nerves; the weight.

neither of you spoke.

the streetlight buzzed above you. someone’s stereo played a slow opm song in the next building over. back inside, you could hear aira saying something very loud and incoherent, followed by someone — probably kristoff —shushing her in vain.

but none of it mattered.

you stood in front of each other, the past folded neatly between your bodies like a letter you had never opened.

she stepped closer, and in the light, harsh and flickering from the mounted alley lamp above the staff door — she looked older. more refined around the jaw, a little sharper in the cheekbones. the years had carved something into her face, but

it wasn’t unkindness, but time. it was a life you hadn’t been part of, filled with late flights and green rooms and a thousand versions of her you would never get to meet.

a breeze pushed through the alley and caught the edge of her shirt. her hat dipped slightly forward as she pulled her mask down with careful fingers, revealing a soft, tired smile.

“hi,” she spoke, her voice small and steady.

you swallowed as you nodded once, your throat felt dry.

she glanced behind her toward the street, then back at you. “i didn’t mean to show up like this. i kind of forced dad to bring me, he said you didn’t want to see me yet,” she scratched the back of her neck, then added. “we had a whole argument about it in the car. like, full-on telenovela volume.”

her laugh was breathless, a little shy. “i hope you’re not mad at him.”

you shook your head, though your voice hadn’t found you yet. it felt like all your thoughts were stuck behind glass: still moving, but quiet.

“i just needed to see you,” she continued, taking a step closer. “i needed to hear your voice.”

the words landed hard. not cruelly, just…directly. she always had that way of talking — like if something sat on her chest long enough, it had no choice but to escape.

you felt like you were eighteen again, standing in a doorway too narrow for everything you wanted to say.

“how’ve you been?” she asked, her voice a little uncertain now, as if startled herself with the silence that followed.

that pulled you out of it.

“i’ve been good,” you managed to answer, though the word felt strange coming out. “busy, tired. you know, kitchen stuff.”

she smiled, nodded quickly, hands playing with the hem of her shirt.

you pointed to the stack of crates near the door. “you wanna sit?”

“yeah,” she exhaled like she has been holding her breath the whole time.

you both sat side by side on one crate, knees brushing slightly. her hands were in her lap. yours were still trembling faintly, so you pressed them into your thighs, grounding yourself in something solid.

you talked, slowly at first. about small things. safe things.

anthony still came by to steal food. she laughed, really laughed and said she wasn’t surprised. you told her about kyle, still waiting on his contract so he could go back out on the ships. she asked if he still sang backstreet boys during karaoke.

he still did.

you told her kristoff worked here now. “he’s marrying diana,” you added and her eyes lit up.

“no way,” she breathed out in disbelief. “they actually made it?”

“somehow.”

“who’s managing who?”

“depends on the day.”

she laughed again, covering her mouth. you watched her and felt something shift in your chest. not new, not really — it’s familiar in a way that made you ache a little.

your feelings for her weren’t coming back, they truly just hadn’t left.

they had gone quiet, buried themselves beneath years of busyness and the slow accumulation of adult life. but sitting here beside her, the memories began resurfacing — old pages being turned back over, softer with age.

sophia looked down at her hands. her voice was quiet when she spoke again.

“i cried when i saw the photos from your opening,” she continued. “i saw your mum. your lola. some of the old neighbours. even my parents. it looked like home.”

you didn’t speak.

“i’m sorry,” she added. “for not looking back.”

the silence stretched between you.

you looked at her, and the guilt in her eyes was real. it was…honest like she finally let herself feel it.

you nodded in quick understanding. “life happens sometimes.”

she turned her face toward you, brows furrowed like she didn’t expect you to let her off that easily.

“no, really,” you pushed. “you were chasing something; something big and real. and you got it. i don’t think you could’ve looked back even if you wanted to.”

her eyes glossed, just a little.

“i’ve always been proud of you,” you said, voice steady now. “even if we’re no longer a part of each other’s lives.”

she let out a breath, shaky and soft.

you leaned back against the wall, looking up at the empty stretch of sky.

“you’re everywhere now,” you added, smiling faintly. “can’t even get away from you if i tried. the billboards alone are stalking me.”

sophia laughed through her nose, wiping at her cheek. “those were terrible photos.”

“your face is literally flawless.”

“you’re delusional.”

“you’re still annoying.”

she grinned as reached her eyes and lingered.

neither of you spoke after that. you just listened to the low rattle of a tricycle turning into the alley, the soft clatter of dishes being washed somewhere inside, the low hum of the world continuing just beyond the corner of this moment.

you shifted slightly, looked at her. “you want a mule?”

her face broke into another smile. “yes.”

you stood slowly, legs stiff from the day. the city didn’t feel as loud anymore. the ache in your chest had settled — not gone, but softer. more in the lines of something remembered than lost.

then, you motioned toward the kitchen doors with a nod. she looked at you with curious eyes.

“you want to meet the team?” you asked, dusting your hands off on your apron. “if you don’t mind…they’re scared of you.”

she laughed, light and surprised. “i saw them run inside.”

you grinned despite yourself and pushed open the kitchen door, holding it open for her as she followed. and you felt it…that part of you that had never really closed the door on her.

the second you stepped in, everyone suddenly became very busy. kristoff was wiping down a perfectly clean shelf, leo had mysteriously found a clipboard to stare at like it held the secrets of the universe, yohan, as expected, remained hidden in the washing station, clanking plates like his life depended on it.

and aira - bless her soul - stood frozen in the middle of the room holding a bag of mangoes.

you looked around, unimpressed. “really?”

they all avoided your gaze, except aira. who continued to stand like a train was about to hit her at full speed.

“everyone, this is sophia, or piya, like i used to call her,” you introduced, voice dry.

sophia raised a hand, smile soft. “hi, sorry for barging in at the last minute.”

aira still didn’t move, the mangoes swaying in her hand.

thankfully, kristoff recovered first and stepped forward quickly. “it’s so nice to see you again, soph. been years, no?”

“way too long,” she responded, smiling at him. “i think the last time was…diana’s birthday party? the one where you both got food poisoning?”

“yes,” he nodded, grinning. “bonding through suffering.”

you caught a glance at aira, jaw slightly slack and eyes suspiciously glassy.

leo wiped his hand on a towel before offering it to her. “it’s nice to finally meet the legend,” he said, which earned a quiet groan from you. “i’m leo.”

sophia chuckled as she shook his hand. “you guys run a tight ship back here.”

“depends on the day,” he laughed. “today we survived.”

she turned to aira next, who hadn’t spoken or blinked. she approached slowly, like one might approach a deer in a clearing.

“hi,” she said gently. “i’m sophia.”

aira’s mouth opened but no sound came out. just a small, strange breath. she nodded once, violently, like she has been programmed under poor wi-fi.

“aira,” you winced in embarrassment. “say something.”

“is this real life?” she finally croaked.

sophia laughed again and, to everyone’s horror and delight, pulled her into a hug. aira’s arms hung limp for a moment, then she clutched her like they had known each other for a decade. over sophia’s shoulder, she mouthed oh my god at you.

“i love you,” she blurted.

you groaned. please no. “don’t be fucking weird.”

everyone laughed. sophia pulled back, still grinning. “and i love you too.”

aira looked over at you and added, “y/n loves you too.”

“aira!” you barked, already turning away. your whole body flushed hot, ears burning.

“i love y/n too,” sophia was trying not to laugh, her head bowed, lips pressed together in a losing battle.

you muttered something incomprehensible and walked off to grab the mules, still mentally screaming. your hands were shaking slightly as you popped the bottles open. you weren’t even sure from what — embarrassment, maybe. or something deeper. like your chest had been cracked open and every feeling you buried decided that tonight was the night to come home.

from the kitchen, you heard sophia’s laugh, low and warm. then her voice, teasing: “aira’s not sick.”

“she lied to you!” aira shrieked. “she was just too nervous to come.”

“you absolute snakes,” you muttered to the mules, then carried the bottles back out, just in time to see kristoff and sophia mid-conversation.

“so how’s diana really?” sophia asked.

“terrifying. but in a hot way,” he responded. “we’ve already got the wedding date. she’s in full planner mode, i just show up.”

“you guys are really getting married, that’s huge.”

“yeah, diana and i are doing the civil wedding first, we don’t have time to plan a big thing with all the restaurant shit going on.”

“i’m so happy for you guys!” she squealed, clapping her hands together.

“you’re next,” he said, looking past sophia, then directly at you.

fuck off, you mouthed.

sophia raised an eyebrow. “i’d need a girlfriend for that. at least.”

“head chef is single!” aira yelled out, a little bit too keen. and so much for promising yourself you wouldn’t go red.

you looked up. then immediately looked away, the bottle nearly slipped out of your hand.

“you good?” leo asked, grinning.

“chef hands,” you wheezed. “tired hands.”

it was a dumb joke, maybe. or maybe it wasn’t. you never really asked, never dared her. the memories of your hands touching hers, of sleeping shoulder to shoulder, of quiet moments on rooftops — those were things you kept somewhere safe, under glass, labelled friendship.

it never occurred to you that maybe…she saw it differently.

you took a slow sip from your bottle, unsure whether to laugh or pretend you lost hearing altogether.

the rest of the team had found their courage again. kristoff pulled out his phone and suggested selfies, to which sophia nodded without hesitation. they huddled in tight near the prep bench, yohan even emerging from the dish area —though he refused to make eye contact, hovering awkwardly in the background like he was summoned against his will, which she found charming and weird in equal measure.

then leo said: “okay, now just you two.”

you blinked. “what?”

“just you and sophia,” aira repeated, already motioning with her phone. “hurry up, chef, i got places to be.”

“i reek,” you mumbled. “i’ve been over a stove for twelve hours.”

kristoff frowned. “just put your damn arm around her and smile; be respectful.”

“i’m literally a health hazard.”

before you could argue further, sophia stepped in beside you, her body warm and familiar. without warning, she reached for your wrist and guided your arm around her shoulder like it had always belonged there.

you didn’t breathe, just smiled the most awkward smile you could ever let out.

your hand rested there: awkward, hesitant, too aware of her warmth. sophia’s body leaned just slightly into yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.

snap. the photo was taken.

you stepped back so quickly you nearly dropped the bottle.

the team took a few more photos, then began to peel off one by one. kristoff was the first to wave goodnight, followed by yohan who mumbled something and disappeared again. aira said goodbye three times before finally leaving, and leo, as always, made sure the lights were off in the storage before stepping out with a tired salute.

you walked them out, flipped the sign to closed, and turned the lock.

the kitchen felt impossibly still after they left. the kind of quiet that only came after a long shift and a longer night. your muscles ached and your heart hadn’t stopped racing.

“i’m just gonna get changed,” you cleared your throat. “these clothes have seen horrible things.”

“okay,” she replied, voice soft now. like it was only meant for you.

you slipped into the staff bathroom, peeling off your apron and tossing it into the laundry basket. your shirt clung damp to your back. you washed your face with the cheap peppermint cleanser you kept in the drawer and stared at yourself in the mirror.

she was here.

sitting in your restaurant.

laughing with your friends.

you were halfway through drying your hands when the thought hit you full force: this wasn’t a dream. and you had no idea what it meant, for you.

you pulled on a clean white shirt, ran fingers through your hair and stepped out.

the kitchen was dim now, lights off except for the soft glow spilling from the bar. sophia sat alone at the counter, her bottle in front of her, fingers tracing the label.

you moved quietly to the stool beside her.

the hum of the fridge, the soft buzz of the light overhead…everything felt so much louder in the quiet. she looked at you, then looked away. but her smile stayed.

something inside you; something buried and stubborn, stirred like it had been waiting for this. for her.

and now it’s just the two of you.

alone again.

you swirled what was left of your mule, the ice melting slow against the glass. it only tasted good because of who you were drinking it with.

“so how did this place happen?” she began, gesturing vaguely at the restaurant around you. “concave - when?”

you leaned back against the stool, exhaling slowly. “three years ago.”

“i always wondered,” she hummed, eyes watching you fondly. “how?”

“dad got a payout,” you replied, fingers tapping lightly on the bar. “he was working in australia, had injury on site. slipped, messed up his spine. they paid out this ridiculous sum. more than any of us expected. he didn’t want to keep it.”

she turned toward you, her chin resting against her hand. “i didn’t know that.”

“he asked me what i’d do with it if it were mine,” you said. “i didn’t even think about it. just said, i’d build a place where i could cook whatever i wanted. and he said okay.”

her brows furrowed, soft with concern. “is he okay now?”

“he’s alright. limps a bit and retired earlier than he wanted, but he likes it. spends most of his time annoying my mum,” you looked down into your drink. “i still don’t think i deserved it.”

“i do,” she said, voice low before sipping her drink. “you’re always working hard; even when we were kids.”

you smiled and it surprised you how much it meant to hear that from her.

“lola’s still the same,” you added, shifting the subject. “stubborn. refuses to let the kasambahay do the laundry. still insists she’s stronger than all of us combined.”

“she probably is,” sophia chuckled.

“she probably is.”

“and your mum?”

you shrugged, but it came with a warmth you couldn’t quite hide. “she still makes me lunch. insists i don’t eat enough. dropped off sinigang last tuesday and then took half of my pantry in her bag.”

“that’s so her,” she giggled, shaking her head. you could feel her shoulder brush lightly against yours now, whether from the way she leaned or the narrow space between the stools.

you watched her as she spoke, the way her eyes lit up when she remembered things, like they lived in her just as vividly. it made something inside you tug gently at its roots.

“she always liked me.”

“she still does,” you answered, taking another swig at your bottle. “she saw you in a tvc last week and said, ‘that girl used to steal our shampoo.’”

“i did,” she admitted, not even sorry. “your mum had the expensive kind.”

you tilted your head, smiling into the rim of your bottle. “she still does.”

“you kept all of them,” she said. “everyone that mattered.”

you didn’t know how to explain that they weren’t just yours to keep…that they stayed because something about the way you lived didn’t demand that they love you from afar. but instead, you smiled and said: “yeah. somehow.”

for a moment, the silence returned — soft, comfortable. you watched the way sophia’s fingers turned her bottle slowly, the condensation pooling beneath it, catching the light.

then she looked at you, eyes curious. “so…is there anyone?”

you blinked, letting the question sit for a second longer than it should’ve.

“not really,” you shook your head too fast. “i think i’m too emotionally unavailable for that.”

she laughed, a small puff of air. “you? you’re being dramatic now.”

“i’m bad at saying things out loud,” you explained. “i think too much, miss my moments. then think about them for five years straight. not exactly a dream package.”

she looked at you like she wanted to argue, but only said: “you can cook. you’re a chef. you own a restaurant with a good bar. what else could a girl want?”

you gave her a look. “a girl who’s not afraid of commitment?”

“minor detail,” she chuckled, raising the bottle to her mouth.

you shook your head, but it was hard to hide the way your chest buzzed. not nervous exactly, the air shifted and you weren’t quite sure what it meant yet.

“what about you?” you asked. “anyone?”

sophia leaned her arms on the bar; just like you, her fingers tapped lightly against the edge of the bottle. “there was someone for a while, but it didn’t work out.”

right.

the words stung in a quiet, unexpected way. not jealousy, but the faint ache of knowing someone else had been where you once wanted to be; that someone got to hold her in the ways you could only imagine and dismissed as daydreams.

it shouldn’t hurt, but it did.

you tried to mask it by swallowing another sip. the bottle was nearly empty.

your mind caught on the earlier moment — her casual joke about needing a girlfriend. the way she said it so easily. it hadn’t left you since. your thoughts kept replaying all the times you held hands when you were younger, how it never felt weird, but maybe it was always almost something.

maybe you were just too much of a coward back then to let yourself name it.

she was much closer now. not in an intentional way, but enough to feel it. your knees brushed and her arm warmed the air between you. the room was so quiet it felt like even the walls were listening.

“have you seen the letter?” she eventually spoke, voice softer.

you blinked, caught off-guard. “what letter?”

her fingers curled slightly around the base of the bottle. “before i left…i wrote you one. i didn’t know how to say everything, so i wrote it instead. tucked it in your recipe book with the red cover. the one you always carried.”

you paused.

the memory flooded back fast: the airport, that day. you remembered it in pieces; how you refused godfrey’s offer to drive you home, how you cried in the terminal bathroom and then boarded a jeep half-blind from tears. your hands trembling.

you groaned, running a hand through your face.

“i left the bag,” you said, burying your face in your hands. “soph, i left the fucking bag in the jeepney. i was crying like an idiot and i got off without it. my notes and my book with your letter.”

she went still beside you.

“i’m so sorry,” you added, looking at her. “i had no idea.”

her expression changed. not anger, not disappointment; something you couldn’t name. a bruise behind her eyes like she had just lost something all over again.

you wanted to reach for her.

“it’s fine,” she quickly dismissed. “it doesn’t matter anymore.”

but it did, you could see that it did. and you didn’t want to ask what the letter said, not tonight because her voice had gone fragile in that particular way people get when they’ve decided not to cry.

and you knew sophia — when she closed a door, she didn’t open it again unless she wanted to.

you both sipped the last of your drinks. the silence felt like it had weight to it; carefully holding something between you.

she began to talk again….about the summers you used to spend barefoot, catching dragonflies, the time she dared you to eat a siling labuyo straight and you cried for twenty minutes and your old teacher who threw chalk with military precision.

you laughed, reminiscing.

you didn’t say everything you wanted to say.

but she stayed and that had to mean something, too.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

part two

[pbaz7]

SOFT SPOT: CHAPTER 5

paige x azzi

word count: 9.3k

a/n: i’ve probably been slowly writing this chapter over the course of a few days because i randomly wrote here and there on vacation. may have also been a little drunk when writing some of it so bare with me ✨. i think people will like this chapter tho. as always leave any reactions/ thoughts or comments that you can!! thank you for reading.

—————————————————————————

It had been about two weeks since the fight, and Paige was finally starting to feel like herself again…Ish. The swelling and cuts were mostly gone and the bruises on her side faded into yellowish marks. The relentless throbbing in her temples had eased a few days and now that she wasn’t grimacing every two seconds or wincing just from opening her eyes, the quiet anger she’d been too sore to entertain was beginning to bubble back up.

With the physical pain not being able to dull her thoughts or distract her anymore the humiliation she seemed to feel was sharper and it pissed her off.

She tried to watch the fight back a few times on different devices. Once with her phone propped up in her room, another in the living room with her remote in hand. Each time her heart started to beat faster every second she watched it and ultimately each attempt ended the same: disgust curling in her gut by the second round, mumbling “What the fuck was that?” to herself before turning it off. She hadn’t made it through the whole thing once yet.

Trying to subside her agitation she spent the last few days in the gym. Even though her body still wasn’t at a hundred percent she couldn’t sit still. Couldn’t let herself marinate in her version of a loss or the thoughts swirling around in her head about the fight. So she kept herself moving. She shadowboxed, hit some of the lighter bags. But seeing herself in the mirror was less forgiving than the fight footage.

She just felt stuck. Agitated. Claustrophobic in her own skin. So she did what any semi-sane person with too much money and not enough distractions would do; made plans to get the hell out of town.

Her fingers hovered over her phone screen for a moment before she typed a text:

Paige [10:47 AM]:

about that date

A few minutes passed before Azzi replied.

Azzi [10:54 AM]:

What about it?

Paige looked at the screen for a second with her thumbs hovering over the screen.

Paige [10:55 AM]:

i wanna take you on one

Azzi’s reply came back faster this time.

Azzi [10:56AM]:

Oh?

Tell me more

Paige smirked at her phone a little, pulling one knee up as she thought through how to present what she wanted to ask.

Paige [10:56 AM]:

you have a few days off before playoffs start right?

Azzi [10:57 AM]:

Yeah. Why?

Paige [10:57 AM]:

how you feel about leaving the state for a first date?

There was a longer pause than before. Then Azzi responded in the way Paige figured she would.

Azzi [10:59 AM]:

Excuse me?

You sure you aren’t still concussed?

Paige [11:00 AM]:

i’m sure

There was a short pause, then another message popped up.

Azzi [11:01 AM]:

Where are we going and for how long?

Paige [11:01 AM]:

pack a bag for two days

Azzi [11:01 AM]:

Okay…what am I packing?

Paige [11:03AM]:

something comfortable, swimsuits, clothes for an actual date

Azzi [11:03 AM]:

Ohh, so leaving the state isn’t the actual date?

Got it

Paige [11:04AM]:

no

i’m not a bum

Azzi [11:05AM]:

I don’t think a bum would take me to a different state under the guise of a first date so no worries

Paige [11:05AM]:

text me when you’re ready

The conversation ended after that.

…

The next thing Azzi knew she was back on a plane. It was the same private plane she’d taken to Paige’s fight a couple of weeks ago but this time, it was just the two of them on it.

The hum of the jet was steady and the cabin was dim. Paige was slouched comfortably in a Essentials sweatsuit with her hood up and her legs stretched out. Her hands were tucked in the pockets of the joggers.

“You got a deal with Essentials or you just hoard every color?”

Paige turned her head towards Azzi, chuckling a little. “Both.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, holding back a smile. “Gotta be cozy to keep secrets?”

Paige raised one of her eyebrows. “What secret?”

Azzi leaned forward putting her chin in her palm. “You know what secret. Where are we going, Narnia?”

Paige chuckled letting out a groan as she stretched, crossing her ankles when she was done. “Somewhere.”

“Oh wow,” Azzi said, completely deadpan. “Thanks, that really clears it up. You’re so generous.”

“I try.”

Azzi tilted her head. “Is it tropical?”

“Do we have tropical states?”

Azzi narrowed her eyes. “Paige.”

Paige grinned a little wider this time. “Bringin’ out the government name now?”

“I always do when I’m not getting what I want,” Azzi said. “And you’re keeping secrets.”

“I’m taking you on a date. Not smuggling you. Just relax.”

Azzi leaned back and Paige thought she finally gave up until she said, “So…is there a lot of sun?”

Paige didn’t answer.

“Water?”

Paige still didn’t answer so Azzi pouted. There was a short pause as Paige just looked at her. Then she sighed and said, “Maybe.”

“You suck.”

Paige shrugged. “You’ll like it.”

“I better. I packed a red bikini.”

Paige’s eyes flicked over to her hearing that. “You tryna threaten me or reward me? M’gettin mixed signals with that statement.”

Azzi grinned. “Depends on how fast you tell me where we’re going.”

Paige stared at her for a moment considering just telling her to end the interrogation but then she just let her head fall back against the seat. “You’re annoying.”

Azzi huffed and decided to leave it alone for now.

For the rest of the plane ride neither of them said much. There was just the sound of the engines. Eventually, Paige closed her eyes again and the tension from earlier slowly drained from her shoulders.

Azzi glanced over and watched her for some time before pulling out her phone and settling into her seat. While Paige slipped into sleep, Azzi worked on a few things she was planning to do before she was met with an impromptu trip. When she was done she sent a quick message to her group chat.

Azzi [4:13 PM]:

Don’t bother me unless someone dies

She glanced over again, catching Paige’s hoodie rising and falling and smiled to herself before turning her screen brightness down and putting her phone away deciding to get some sleep herself.

When the plane touched down, the sky was a muted gray that stretched over the open land. It wasn’t freezing, but it was colder than what Azzi expected after being told to bring a swimsuit. Cool enough to make her grateful when Paige pulled her hoodie over her head and handed it to her.

The drive from the airport had long stretches of trees and winding back roads that offered a silence and the kind of stillness you couldn’t find in the city. Eventually, the car rolled into a gravel driveway that opened to a wide clearing.

Azzi stepped out of the car first, her shoes crunching against the stones. “Okay…this is definitely not what I expected.”

Paige led her toward the entrance, carrying both of their bags like it was second nature. “That a good thing or a bad thing?”

“Definitely not bad.”

Just beyond the tree-lined driveway was a more modern cabin. It had floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over a glassy lake. The water stretched endlessly and was framed by trees that swayed gently in with the breeze; some starting to lose their leaves. The cabin itself had high wood-beamed ceilings, an open layout on the first floor, soft light coming from the large windows. When they stepped through the front door, it smelled like cedar and fresh linen, like someone was doing laundry earlier in the day and it was warm from pre-set heat.

Azzi’s eyes wandered past the living room, through the back windows. She saw a hot tub on the deck overlooking the lake and just below that, an infinity pool with a perfect view of the water beyond the cabin.

She blinked at Paige in confusion despite how impressed she was. “Where are we?”

“Minnesota,” Paige answered plainly, dropping the bags by the stairs.

Azzi gave her a look. “Yes, thank you captain obvious. I meant here.”

“Family cabin,” she said, laughing a little. “It was one of the first things I bought cause it helps me stay connected to home.”

Azzi looked around again, this time a little slower with the new information. Everything about the layout felt purposeful. It was warm, quiet, had touches of Paige’s personal life tucked into each corner. “So this is like a special place?”

Paige gave a small shrug, like it wasn’t a big deal. “Guess so.”

Azzi folded her arms, her eyes sweeping across the cabin one more time before looking back at Paige. “Kinda crazy for a first date.”

“Don’t get a big head,” Paige mumbled. “Just didn’t want you thinking I was a sore loser who couldn’t follow through on a bet before I left LA.”

Azzi scoffed, walking slowly toward the windows. “Righttt. So you text me on a Thursday morning, tell me to pack a bag, fly me halfway across the country…to your family’s cabin...just to settle a bet?”

Paige looked at her for a moment, Her expression giving nothing away. Then, without answering, she chuckled a little and moved toward the kitchen. “You want something to drink?” she said over her shoulder.

Azzi shook her head, smiling despite her best effort. “Unbelievable.”

Paige’s voice floated back. “I got wine. All the wine you could think of probably. Tequila, beer, some tea I think.”

Azzi trailed into the kitchen. “Wine is fine.”

Paige glanced over her shoulder. “You got a preference?”

Azzi leaned her hip against the counter. “Surprise me like you’ve been doing all day.”

Paige shook her head, the corner of her mouth twitching up as she reached for a bottle of Chardonnay. “You’re annoying.”

“You’ll grow to love it.”

Paige didn’t respond, just pulled two glasses down from the cabinet. The soft clink of glass echoed slightly in the kitchen as she sat them on the counter. She uncorked the bottle and poured a generous amount into both glasses.

Azzi watched her do all of this, still half in disbelief that this was real. Paige handing her a glass of wine. In Minnesota. At her family’s cabin that she willingly .

“So…” Azzi said, raising her glass a little. “To first dates that start with mystery texts and end in the woods…?”

Paige tapped her glass lightly against Azzi’s. “Don’t make it weird.”

Azzi grinned saying, “Too late,” before taking a sip of the Chardonnay.

After a sip of her drink, Paige nodded toward the rest of the house. “Come on, I’ll show you around before it gets too dark.”

Azzi followed her through the cabin, their footsteps being heard against the wooden floors. The place was new but somehow gave off a rustic vibe with its vaulted ceilings and thick wooden beams. Paige moved through the house without thinking much, clearly familiar with the space.

They passed the open kitchen and a den before Paige led Azzi up the stairs and down a hallway. “Couple bedrooms down here. This one’s mine,” she said, tapping on the door. “You can pick whichever room…or you know, whatever.”

Azzi raised her eyebrow, pausing with her wine glass mid-sip. “Whatever?”

Paige cleared her throat. “Just pick a room.”

Azzi smirked. “Mmm, okay.”

Paige didn’t take the bait, just turned and kept walking, opening another door and motioning lazily. “Bathroom’s here. There’s another one in one of the guest rooms and there’s one downstairs too. Shower sucks in that one for some reason though.”

They kept walking through the cabin, the comfort between them a little easier than any other time they’ve been together. Azzi brushed her hand along a wooden railing, admiring the space as they walked. “You’re definitely looking less wincey than last week when I saw you.”

Paige chuckled at the word. “I’m still sore in the mornings,” she admitted. “But my head doesn’t feel like shit anymore, so...progress.”

Azzi nodded. “That’s good.”

Paige glanced back at her. “You good?”

Azzi shrugged one shoulder. “Just trying to stay in game shape. First round’s in a few days. Should be easy though.”

Paige gave her a look. “Don’t jinx yourself.”

Azzi held up her free hand. “Alright, knock on wood.”

They stepped onto the back deck, the cool air wrapping around them. The lake was beautiful up close. String lights were wrapped around the wooden beams and they twinkled overhead, casting a hue across the deck.

Paige gestured with her glass. “Not bad, right?”

Azzi gave a small smile. “Not bad at all.”

Paige leaned on the railing next to her, the moment stretching just enough as Azzi looked out towards the lake before Paige said, “Come on. One more thing.”

She led Azzi down a set of steps and around the side of the cabin to a small building tucked against the tree line. She pushed open the door and flipped on the lights to reveal another fully-equipped home gym. Punching bags, racks, mirrors, everything Paige needed to get through a workout. It was simpler than her one back in LA, but it was clearly still made custom to what Paige needed.

Azzi smiled a little. “Okay, so this is probably where you’d disappear to if you decided to ghost for a few days.”

Paige grinned. “I had it added last year. I needed somewhere quiet to train without being bothered all the time.”

Azzi walked in fully, her eyes scanning the space. “It’s very you.”

Paige smirked. “Is that a compliment?”

Azzi looked over her shoulder. “Depends. You gonna train on our date?”

Paige tilted her head. “Mmm. Depends on if you’ll join me.”

Azzi laughed, walking back toward her. “I’ll think about it.”

By the time they made it back into the main cabin, the sun had dipped lower and it cast shadows through the trees and turned the lake a deep slate-blue color. Paige kicked off her shoes by the door and moved around the kitchen casually, topping off both their wine glasses before sliding one toward Azzi.

Azzi took hers with a quiet “thanks,” sipping as she leaned against the counter. Azzi didn’t even last five minutes before her eyes drifted toward the stairs that led back out to the gym. “I actually kinda wanna workout now.”

Paige raised an eyebrow as she sipped her wine. “Of course you do.”

Azzi smiled. “Only today though, tomorrow I won’t touch the gym if you don’t want me to.”

Paige gave a small grin, setting her glass down. “Alright. I’ll change.”

It didn’t take long for both of them to change and meet in the gym. Azzi had pulled her hair into a bun, already thinking about what she was going to do as she scrolled through her playlists and laid out some resistance bands. Paige was moving more slowly, stretching out her shoulder before wrapping her hands and putting on gloves before moving toward the heavy bag.

The space filled with the music from Azzi’s phone that she connected to the gym speaker. Azzi moved through a circuit. Some jump rope to start and warm herself up. She barely seemed to notice the time as she zoned into her workout.

Meanwhile, Paige worked the bag with a slower rhythm, testing her body, finding where the soreness still lingered and where it didn’t.

“Your form’s terrible today,” Azzi teased mid-lunge.

Paige laughed a little. “Thanks, coach.”

They shared a small grin before both of them returned to their workouts.

The whole workout passed like that. There was light conversation here and there, a comment tossed between sets, a playful insult when one of them slowed down. But mostly, they worked in tandem, both of them comfortable in the silence as they worked on their craft. It was the kind of peace only two athletes could understand as they both let the world fall away in a home gym in Minnesota.

Azzi slowed down eventually, her last round of the circuit tapering into stretches as her focus drifted across the gym. Paige was still at the bag, each of her hits landing cleaner than they were when she first started.

Azzi leaned back on her palms, letting her breathing settle as she watched.

There was something almost hypnotic about watching her. Paige’s shoulder blades were flexing underneath her sports bra and the controlled rotation of her core was visible as she pivoted through each punch. Her arms were glistening and every once in a while she exhaled just loud enough for Azzi to bring her attention back to her. Sweat slid down her neck and traced the lines of her back beneath the fabric of her bra.

Azzi found herself staring for who knows how long. Eventually she stepped back from the bag for a moment to shake out her arms, and her eyes drifted over and she caught Azzi watching and raised an eyebrow. “You wanna try?”

Azzi blinked out of her daze, a little caught off guard. “Me?”

Paige nodded, already walking toward the shelf where she kept extra gloves and wraps. “Unless you’re just gonna sit there drooling.”

Azzi scoffed. “I was not staring.”

Paige didn’t even turn around. “Right.”

Azzi stood up slowly, wiping her hands on her thighs. “I’ve never even thrown a punch.”

Paige glanced over her shoulder. “You probably couldn’t have a better teacher then princess.”

Azzi hesitated, rolling her lips together. “Promise you won’t laugh?”

Paige turned around holding wrap and gloves. “Scout’s honor.”

Azzi eyed her, skeptically. “I’m almost 100% sure you were never a scout.”

Paige shrugged. “Still counts.”

That earned a reluctant smile from Azzi as she walked over. “Alright. Let’s see what the hype’s about.”

Paige gestured for her to sit on the bench while she knelt in front of her. “Left hand first.”

Azzi held it out and watched silently as Paige began wrapping her hand. Her fingers were warm as she worked the wrap around Azzi’s hand and despite the teasing, Paige’s touch was careful, almost gentle, as she checked for tightness and comfort as she went.

“You nervous?” Paige said without looking up.

Azzi tilted her head. “Little bit.”

Paige glanced up with a faint grin. “Don’t be. I’ll go easy on you.”

Azzi just smiled at that as Paige continued to wrap Azzi’s hands. When she was done she slid the gloves on for her, tightening the straps just enough to be snug but comfortable. Once she was done, she sat back lifting her eyes.

“Good?”

Azzi nodded, holding her hands up awkwardly.

Paige smiled at her, rising to her feet. “Alright. Over here.”

She nodded toward one of the lighter bags, and Azzi followed her even though her movements were a bit hesitant. Paige motioned for her to square up when she got in front of the bag.

“Ight put your feet about shoulder-width apart,” she said, circling behind her. “Back foot slightly turned out. Yeah—like that.”

Azzi adjusted, and Paige stepped closer.

“Bring your hands up,” Paige said, tapping gently beneath Azzi’s elbows. “Higher. To protect your face.”

Azzi tried and her form was stiff. Paige chuckled under her breath before reaching out to nudge her arms into place.

“Here relax your shoulders,” she said, fingertips brushing over Azzi’s shoulder blades as she softened the tension there. “You’re not about to fight a bear. It’s just a bag, it won’t hit you back.”

Azzi huffed out a quiet laugh. “Feels like I’m bracing for war.”

Paige moved around to Azzi’s side, resting her palm lightly on her lower back. “You’re a hooper. You know how to move your body. Think of this as new muscle memory.”

Azzi gave her a sideways look. “Didn’t know you were gonna whisper sweet encouragements in my ear.”

Paige ignored Azzi trying to flirt but her mouth twitched. “You want to learn or not?”

Azzi smirked. “I’m listening, coach.”

Paige rolled her eyes but stayed close. “Throw a light jab with your dominant hand. Just test it out.”

Azzi did, and the glove landed against the bag with a gentle thud. Paige nodded. “Not bad. Do it again.”

Azzi reset her stance and this time it looked like she had a little more confidence as she threw another jab. The sound of her glove against the bag was harder, but Paige tilted her head slightly, trying to figure out the best advice to give her.

“You’re not bad,” Paige said, stepping in. “You’re throwing with just your arm though. You gotta turn into it. Use your hips, your shoulders. The power’s not going to be in the punch itself, it’s in the movement.”

Azzi gave her a confused look over her shoulder. “What does that even mean Paige?”

Paige sighed, a small smirk tugging at her lips. “C’mere.”

Before Azzi could respond, Paige was behind her with one of her hands resting gently on Azzi’s hip, the other on her upper arm.

“Alright,” Paige mumbled, her voice suddenly much closer to Azzi’s ear. “When you go to jab, turn this,” she said, nudging Azzi’s hip lightly, “just a little, like this.” She moved with her, guiding her body through the motion. Her chest brushed against Azzi’s back, and the space between them all but disappeared as Paige tried to show her what to do. Azzi blinked, suddenly hyper-aware of the rhythm of Paige’s breath behind her, the weight of her hands, how still everything else felt.

Paige didn’t seem fazed in the slightest, her voice stayed even the entire time. “See? It’s not a huge movement. You just need enough rotation to transfer your weight. That’s where the power comes from.”

Azzi nodded, but it was distracted. “Uh-huh. Got it,” she mumbled, even though it clearly sounded a little dazed.

Paige paused just long enough to notice, her eyes moving towards Azzi’s face. “You good, or did I break you or something?”

Azzi let out a breathy laugh. “I’m good. It’s just the unsolicited back hugs. Kinda distracting.”

Paige grinned, stepping back slightly to give her space. “Focus.”

Azzi turned her head, her brown eyes meeting Paige’s over her shoulder. “I’m trying.”

There was a lingering look between them. Then Paige nodded toward the bag again.

“Show me.”

Azzi threw a few more punches with her eyebrows slightly furrowed in concentration. The impact on the bag wasn’t perfect, but it was getting cleaner. Paige stood a few feet away with her arms crossed, watching her the entire time.

“Better,” she said, nodding. “But drop your shoulder a little—yeah, right there. Keep your chin tucked too. You’re not tryin’ to get hit if this was a real person remember?”

Azzi exhaled, adjusting, then threw a few more punches. She pulled back, glancing at Paige, searching for her expression.

Paige raised an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth twitching. “I don’t know. I might need to get you in the cage soon.”

Azzi laughed, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet. “Relax. I just figured out how to throw a punch.”

Paige walked closer to her. “Mmhm. I can’t tell, definitely got me feeling some typa way.”

Azzi blinked. “Excuse me?”

Before she could say more, Paige was behind her again, her hand gently skimming down Azzi’s arm under the guise of adjusting the position of her glove.

“I’m just saying,” Paige said, her mouth unironically warm by Azzi’s ear. “Feels like you doing some of this on purpose. Like you know somebody watching or somethin.”

Azzi’s breath caught in her throat a little bit, from the words, how Paige’s fingers lingered and from the slight press of her body into Azzi's again.

Azzi turned her head toward Paige, her smirk returning once she gathered herself. “And are you?”

Paige’s lips quirked as she squinted her eyes at Azzi a little. “Always.” Then she stepped away again, nodding toward the bag like she hadn’t just said what she said. “Alright, again.”

Azzi shook her head, smiling as she squared up again. “You’re ridiculous.”

Paige just shrugged. “Little bit.”

Azzi threw a few more punches and the sound of the gloves hitting the bag echoed through the gym, more rhythmic and steady this time around. Paige leaned against the wall that was nearby watching her closely.

“You’re still kinda stiff. Relax your shoulders.” She stepped forward, her hand grazing Azzi’s bicep before sliding down to adjust her elbow. “And bend just a little more in your knees.”

Azzi glanced back over her shoulder. “You sure this isn’t just an excuse to touch me?”

Paige didn’t even blink. “Would that be a bad thing?”

Azzi faltered again for half a second before she looked away, resetting her stance with a soft laugh. Paige smiled to herself, stepping back behind her.

“Okay, try it again.”

Azzi did and this time she got more hits in before Paige spoke up.

“You wanna remember to keep this hand a little higher, protect your face, remember?” Paige said.

“Feels like I should be paying you for this lesson.”

Paige chuckled. “Nah, first one’s free.”

Azzi shifted into the motion, punching the bag again, this time with a little more power. The sound made Paige nod in approval.

“There she is,” Paige murmured.

Azzi turned her head, catching Paige’s eye over her shoulder. “Guess it just depends on the coach.”

Paige smiled. “Good answer.”

They held eye contact before Paige stepped back, giving Azzi her space again. “Alright, again. Let’s see if the muscle memory sticks.”

They stayed in the gym for maybe thirty more minutes, the time passing without either of them really noticing. Paige kept her word. No laughing the entire time, not even when Azzi’s punch slipped a little and sent her stumbling forward into the bag. She caught herself, mumbling something under her breath, but Paige just walked over, nodding like it was no big deal.

“Keep your weight a little more balanced,” she said, crouching slightly to tap at Azzi’s back foot with her own. “You’re leaning too far forward.”

Azzi reset, adjusted, and went again, and with the slight adjustment her movements were cleaner. Paige watched her with a glint of quiet pride in her eyes, offering occasional comments. “Better…Don’t forget your guard…There you go. That one felt good, huh?”

Of course, it wasn’t all business. Azzi couldn’t help but toss a few comments in, especially when Paige came behind her again to adjust something miniscule. “You sure this is standard coaching?” Paige just hid her smile and said, “Nah this for special clients.”

Azzi rolled her eyes at Paige’s tone, but kept swinging.

By the time they wrapped up, both of them were a little flushed, sweaty, and grinning slightly for completely different reasons. Paige pulled off Azzi’s gloves for her and unwrapped her hands while Azzi stretched out her arms, exhaling hard.

“Okay, I get why you’re so into this now,” Azzi said, redoing her bun that had fallen a little too much. “Kinda makes you feel like a badass.”

Paige gave her a quiet laugh. “Told you.”

“You were right.”

“I usually am.”

Azzi nudged her. “Don’t push it.”

Paige smirked but didn’t say anything back. They lingered in silence while Paige finished unwrapping Azzi’s hands.

When she was done Azzi asked, “Hot tub now?”

Paige wiped the sweat off of her face with a towel. “Thought you’d never ask. Lemme hop in the shower first tho.”

Azzi took her time in the shower, letting the hot water soothe her muscles after the impromptu workout. By the time she made her way back into the living room, her hair was damp on the ends and pulled into another loose bun. She walked barefoot toward the kitchen, where she saw Paige at the counter with her head bowed slightly.

Azzi tilted her head. “I didn’t know you smoked.”

Paige glanced up, the flicker of a grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Occasionally.”

Azzi hummed, leaning on the counter with her elbows, watching her break the buds into the paper. “What’s occasionally? Like, once a week? After every workout? Only when you drag someone across the country?”

Paige chuckled under her breath, her eyes going back to her hands. “More like...when I feel like I earned it. So…rare.”

Azzi smirked, but her eyes were trained on Paige’s lips and the way they parted slightly as she rolled. Her tongue flicked to wet the paper and Azzi caught herself staring. Everything Paige was doing was slow and perfectly in place. Too slow, maybe, because Azzi’s brain had gone a little quiet as she watched.

“You smoke?” Paige asked without looking up.

Azzi didn’t answer right away. She was still watching, a little dazed as Paige’s mouth twisted and sealed the end.

“Azzi.”

The way Paige said her name snapped her out of it.

“Huh? Oh.” Azzi blinked quickly, standing up straighter. “What?”

Paige exhaled slowly, moving her eyes up to meet Azzi’s. “I said, do you smoke?”

Azzi cleared her throat, trying to act casual. “Not often, no. But...I mean, I could be convinced.”

Paige let out a laugh, moving her eyes back to the j. “We’ll see,” she said before flicking the lighter against the paper to finish sealing it. She held it up like a promise, then stood and nodded toward the patio doors. “Come on.”

Azzi grabbed the nearly-finished bottle of wine from the fridge and two more glasses from the cabinet, before she followed Paige outside. The sliding glass door opened with a soft creak, letting in the cool bite of a September night in Minnesota. It wasn’t frigid yet but the air was crisp enough to make the steam rising from the bubbling jacuzzi seem like a heavenly invitation.

Paige stepped in first, letting out a long exhale as the heat traced up her skin. She sank back against the edge, spread her arms to the side, and tilted her head just slightly to take it all in. Her hoodie and sweats were gone now, replaced by a black bikini top that contrasted against the paleness of her skin. Strands of her blonde hair curling slightly at the ends as they touched the water.

Azzi set the wine and glasses down with a clink on the edge of the jacuzzi, her fingers brushing her thigh as she stepped up onto the jacuzzi’s edge. She caught the way Paige’s blue eyes followed her unashamed. She didn’t look away once, even as Azzi sank into the water across from her, letting the heat settle over her skin.

For a moment, Paige watched her. Not saying much of anything. Once again like she was trying to figure Azzi out, or like she had already figured Azzi out and was trying to figure out what to do with the information.

Azzi raised her eyebrow after a while of Paige just staring and not saying anything, a soft smile on her lips as she said, “Good?”

Paige gave her a subtle nod, her jaw ticking slightly as the steam curled around her face. The warmth from the porch lights reflected in her blue eyes making them look even softer than usual, but her expression stayed unreadable.

Azzi tilted her head, still smiling out of shyness a little, “What’re you looking at?”

“You.”

Azzi let out a soft, “hm” at that, before she turned to pour the wine to distract herself from the light butterflies in her stomach. Her smile lingered as she reached for the bottle, but her eyes drifted back once, just quick enough to catch Paige lighting the blunt, her lips pulling from it effortlessly like she’d done it hundreds of times before. The faint glow from the cherry lit up the sharp lines of her face. She leaned back slightly, tipping her head to the stars as the smoke curled up from her lips.

It was honestly unfair how good she looked all the time. It was in the kind of way Azzi had no defense against. Like the brown haired girl wasn’t used to being this attracted to a person, let alone for such an extended period of time.

Paige took another pull then glanced back over, catching Azzi watching her again. “You just gonna stare or…?”

Azzi rolled her eyes, handing her a glass of wine before accepting the blunt Paige was oddering. She took it, her fingers brushing Paige’s just slightly in the process. “Getting me crossed on the first date?” she teased as she brought it to her lips.

Paige chuckled, her eyes already becoming a little low. “This isn’t the date.”

Azzi raised her eyebrow, inhaling again before passing it back. “No?”

“Nah,” Paige said. “Promise I’mma take you on one tomorrow, though. Don’t trip.”

Azzi leaned back with her wine glass in hand. “Who said I’m tripping?”

Paige laughed again, taking a second pull before passing it back. “Just a phrase, princess.”

The whir of the jacuzzi filled the silence of the night air, bubbles breaking the surface in gentle bursts. A cool breeze swept in from the lake, but the warm water countered the chill, steam rising in tendrils into the air. The light blue glow of the jacuzzi lights gave everything a softer hue.

Paige leaned back, stretching her arms along the ledge behind her. Blue eyes were half-lidded as she watched the way Azzi brought the blunt to her lips.

“You roll good,” Azzi murmured as she exhaled before she passed it back.

Paige grinned. “What, you thought I was gonna be bad at this too?”

Azzi smiled, swirling her condensation wine glass. “Nah. I’m just surprised you’re not more of a control freak about how I’m pulling it.”

“I’m healing,” Paige said dryly, taking a hit. The smoke curled up around her face, catching in the blue light, softening her features.

Azzi watched her a second before reaching for the joint again to distract herself. “You ever bring anyone else here?”

Paige shook her head, eyes still on her. “Outside of my family? Nope. Just you.”

Azzi raised her eyebrow, lifting the glass to her lips to hide the involuntary smile that was growing. “Hm. Should I feel special or concerned at how easy it was to get you to invite me here?”

“Both,” Paige said with a crooked smile as she took a long pull. “Balance, right?”

They settled into a comfortable rhythm. Smoke, sip, tease, repeat. Their conversations drifted from music to movies to random memories, the kind of stuff that didn’t need full context to laugh at. The night stretched on intimately as the warm water wrapped around them in contrast to the sky above that was wide open.

When the blunt burned down to the end, the last of its embers dimmed as Azzi flicked it into the nearby ashtray Paige had set on the edge. She let her head fall back as her eyes scanned the dark silhouettes of trees surrounding the cabin, the sky above streaked with stars she could never see in the city. The moment was peaceful in a way she wasn’t used to. There was nothing urgent tonight, nothing loud. Just a simple calmness in a Minnesota cabin with a blonde girl who somehow made her mind calm and chaotic at the same time.

Across from her, Paige looked like she belonged in this kind of silence. Her head was tilted back too, her eyes closed, arms stretched casually over the ledge behind her, her expression looked relaxed and her skin glistened with the mix of steam, wine and whatever haze lingered between them.

Azzi's gaze lingered on her. She took in the slope of her jaw, the flutter of her long lashes, the relaxed set of her usually clenched mouth. She wasn’t sure how long she stared before she finally said, quietly, “Paige.”

Without opening her eyes, Paige replied, “Hm?”

Azzi hesitated, exhaling softly through her nose. She didn’t want a half-aware hum. She wanted her attention more than usual. So she pushed herself up and moved slowly through the water until she was in front of her.

The movement caused ripples that lapped at Paige’s skin. Azzi stood in front of her, directly in front of one of the lights that cast a glow across her curves. “Look at me,” she said.

Paige’s eyes slowly opened. They were rimmed in red from the wine and the weed, as she processed how close Azzi was. Her gaze swept over Azzi’s long curls, some of them damp as they framing her face. She looked at the water glistening on her collarbone, the way the wet red bikini clung to her skin, the quiet confidence in the way she stood directly in front of her. This was probably the longest Paige had ever looked at Azzi and she shamelessly let her eyes travel across every portion of the girl in front of her.

Azzi tilted her head, catching the weight of the look in Paige’s eye. “Why you looking at me like that?”

Paige’s lips twitched. “You told me to.”

That made Azzi smile as she moved forward again, now standing between Paige’s legs that naturally opened to make room for her.

“You always do what you’re told?” Azzi asked, lowering her voice on purpose as her eyes met Paige’s.

Paige looked her up and down again, not bothering to hide the way her gaze lingered on her chest, on the silver piece of jewelry resting near her belly button. Her voice was quiet when she answered. “Depends who’s telling me.”

Azzi quirked her head to the side at this. “If it’s me?”

Paige didn’t look away from her. “Then maybe.”

Azzi let a beat pass between them before taking a small step closer, her thighs brushing Paige’s. “Only maybe?”

Paige’s eyes dropped to her mouth for a second, then back up. Her voice dropped too, a little raspier now as she said, “You gotta earn the ‘always’ from me.”

Azzi huffed out a soft laugh, tilting her head as if she was considering that information. “That right?”

Paige nodded once. “Mhm.”

There was silence between them again. This version was thick, more intimate than their stretches of silence usually are. The water bubbled against them, steam curling upward making the moment seem...warmer. They were close enough to feel each other’s breath, their intoxication slowing everything down, making it heavier.

Azzi's hands moved beneath the water, her warm fingers gliding over Paige’s forearms before gently guiding her hands to her waist. Paige’s grip settled there naturally, her thumbs brushed over Azzi’s skin as she invited her closer with a soft pull.

Azzi let her legs drift, slotting herself against Paige until she was nearly straddling her in the water, knees brushing each side of Paige’s body. Her arms came up, looping around Paige’s neck, her wet fingertips tracing the damp edges of her hair. Neither of them still not offering any words.

The only sounds were the bubbling of the jacuzzi and the occasional noise of a grasshopper in the woods around the house.

Azzi leaned in slightly, keeping her eyes on Paige’s. All of her movements were slow, partly from the intoxication, partly from giving Paige time. Permission. An out if she didn’t want her in this way.

But Paige didn’t move away, contrarily Azzi noticed the way her gaze dropped to her lips, lingering there as she moved closer.

So Azzi closed the distance, her lips brushing Paige’s in a kiss that was slow, but not in a way that was hesitant. They just weren’t rushing, just the slowness of two people feeling out something new and inevitable. Paige’s hands held her waist while Azzi kissed her like she’d been waiting to, like she was learning the shape of her mouth, the rhythm of her breath.

The kiss deepened slightly, but stayed gentle, their lips moving in sync, intoxication softening the edges of everything around them, making them more attuned to the moment, to what they were feeling. Allowing the kiss to melt into something fuller, their mouths parting just enough for breaths to hitch and warmth to spill between them. Paige’s grip on Azzi’s waist tightened slightly, when Azzi tugged on her lip softly, but it wasn’t possessive. It was careful in a way that caught Azzi off guard.

For someone who fought for a living, Paige’s touch was unexpectedly soft. Her hands held Azzi like she might break her, her thumbs tracing gentle circles along her hips beneath the water. Azzi had expected heat and intensity the first time she got Paige like this. And it was there but it was wrapped in a kind of reverence that made her stomach flutter. The feeling had her in heaven but sick to her stomach at the same time from the feelings drifting from deep in her chest to her brain.

Azzi felt like Paige was kissing her like she was learning her mouth by heart. Each tilt of her head, each brush of her tongue was gradual but still somehow reflected the want she felt. Azzi responded in kind, one hand moving to tangle in the damp strands of Paige’s hair, the other still looped loosely behind her neck as she pressed a little closer, the water gently rocking around them at the movement.

They stayed like that for a while, tangled in each other, kissing like they had all the time in the world.

Azzi’s lips parted from Paige’s just barely, her breath ghosting over pale wet skin as she trailed soft kisses down the line of Paige’s jaw and to the curve of her neck. Paige’s eyes fluttered closed again, tipping her head back as her arms stretched out along the edge of the jacuzzi, giving Azzi full access to her exposed skin—silent permission to keep going.

Azzi smiled against Paige’s skin, her lips brushing the slope of her neck as she whispered, “You enjoying yourself?”

Paige let out a low hum. “Mmhmm.”

Azzi kept her lips moving slowly, before she pulled back just enough to look at her. “Good. But just so you know,” she added playfully, eyes flicking to Paige’s that had opened, “I don’t sleep with people on the first date. So don’t get any ideas.”

Paige couldn't help the smirk that formed, her eyes barely open as she looked up at Azzi. “That’s funny. I thought you wanted to sleep with me the first day we met.”

Azzi laughed against Paige’s skin, her lips brushing along her collarbone as she started to kiss her neck again. “That so?”

“Yup.”

Azzi pulled back again, just enough to glance at her with raised eyebrows, hands still loosely wrapped around Paige’s neck. “What gave you that impression?”

“Maybe all the eye-fucking you were doing from the bench before I was even introduced to you.”

Azzi scoffed, a disbelieving laugh coming out of her as she pressed her forehead to Paige’s shoulder thinking about it. “No I wasn’t.”

Paige tilted her head, smiling wider now. “Sure.”

Azzi smiled against her skin again, biting back her next laugh—because she kind of was now that she thought about it further.

Azzi lingered there for a beat, forehead resting against Paige’s shoulder, her breath warming her skin as she forced the warmth from the tips of her ears. Her fingers lightly traced over Paige’s collarbone, nails dragging just faintly against the skin. “You’re really full of yourself, huh?”

Paige’s hands slipped lower on Azzi’s waist beneath the water. “Just calling it how I saw it.”

Azzi tilted her head inwards, her mouth barely an inch from Paige’s jaw deciding to flip the script. “What are you seeing right now?” she whispered as her lips ghosted her skin but not quite kissing it.

Paige’s breath caught subtly, Azzi wouldn’t have noticed if Paige’s hands didn’t tighten slightly on her waist. “Feelin a lot more than I’m seeing.”

Azzi grinned, then kissed her again, deeper this time, a touch needier. There was still that slow intoxicated rhythm to it, but now it simmered with more tension. Azzi shifted in the water, straddling Paige properly, her body pressing in just enough to make them both feel it.

Paige’s hands slid up from her waist to the curve of her lower back, holding her in place. Her lips were soft. Patient in a way but leading them at the same time, coaxing Azzi to give more, as Azzi’s fingers threaded through the back of her damp hair, her hips instinctively rolling just once before she caught herself and pulled back slightly with a breathless laugh.

“Easy,” she whispered, resting her forehead against Paige’s again.

“I’m not doing anything,” Paige said, as she smiled a little, showing the amusement mixed in with her desire.

“Your hands are saying otherwise.”

Paige smirked, her fingers gliding back down to Azzi’s hips under the water. “Don’t matter. You didn’t sleep with people on the first date, remember.”

Azzi smiled at this. “This isn’t the date, remember? Makes things a little hazy”

Paige leaned in, brushing her lips along Azzi’s jaw, clearly distracted as she mumbleed. “Then what rules do I gotta follow?”

Azzi exhaled softly, her eyes fluttering shut as Paige’s lips hovered over the sensitive spot beneath her ear. “Shhh,” she whispered, one hand sliding into Paige’s hair as she guided her mouth lower, pressing Paige’s lips to the sensitive part of her neck.

Paige obliged, her lips finding Azzi’s pulse point as Azzi tilted her head to the side, giving her more to work with. She melted into it, her breath catching every so often as Paige’s mouth moved slowly, tracing Azzi’s pulse points with her tongue and teeth. When Paige bit down gently Azzi rocked further into her, a soft sound catching in her throat.

Each time Azzi rolled her hips closer, grinding against Paige she felt the perfect amount of pressure that was only heightened when Paige helped her press down further causing the water to lap around them.

They repeated this for nearly ten minutes. Azzi’s body straddled Paige’s, her fingers drawing patterns over her shoulders as she pushed herself into the blonde. Paige’s hands stayed low on Azzi’s back, then drifted lower when she sensed Azzi getting a little needier, her fingers playing idly with the string of her red bikini bottoms beneath the water. The way she toyed with the string was intentional. She was teasing Azzi but staying patient, waiting for the girl on her lap to make whatever decision she wanted.

Azzi felt the tension coiling in her stomach, breaking the kiss and hovering her lips near Paige’s ear. She was about to tell her breathily to take it off but then Paige’s phone buzzed against the ledge behind them.

Azzi stilled but Paige didn’t even lift her head from Azzi’s neck. “Ignore it.”

Azzi easily gave in, leaning back in to kiss her again, her mouth finding Paige’s. Paige slipped one hand up to cradle the back of Azzi’s neck and pulled her closer.

But then the phone rang again and for some reason in this moment it seemed louder…more insistent than usual.

Azzi laughed against Paige’s lips, pulling back to look at her as Paige chased her a little. “You sure I’m the one who was thirsty?” she teased.

Paige tilted her head back, closed her eyes and let out a frustrated sigh. “Unreal.”

Azzi smiled softly as she slid her hands down Paige’s chest and gave one last lingering kiss to the corner of her mouth before whispering, “Good night, Paige.”

Paige opened her eyes just as Azzi stepped out of the jacuzzi, steam curling around her silhouette in the cool air. Paige watched her go with her lips parted.

And the fucking phone was still ringing.

Paige let out a long sigh as she reluctantly snatched it off the ledge and swiped to answer when she saw the name Cam glowing across the screen. “What.”

“Hi to you too, grumpy.”

Paige leaned her head back again, the steam from the jacuzzi curling around her face as she exhaled, clearly annoyed. “What, Cam?”

“I was just checking on you. I hadn’t heard from you in a few days.”

Paige’s tone was dry. “I’m alive.”

There was a pause on the other end of the phone, then Cam asked, “What are you doing?”

Paige groaned at the pointless conversation, “You cockblocked me.”

There was a beat of silence before Cam burst into laughter. “What?!”

Paige pinched the bridge of her nose, her patience wearing thin. “Do you need something Cameron?”

Cam hummed dramatically. “I don’t know…maybe just to hear my annoying sister’s voice.”

That pulled a soft chuckle out of Paige as she ran a hand through her damp hair and shifted her weight in the water. “Hi, Cam.”

She could hear the grin on Cam’s face through the phone as she said, “There we go.”

There was a brief pause before Cam’s tone turned curious. “So...who ya with?”

Paige snorted. “Mind your business.”

Cam gasped. “I’m almost 100% sure it’s Azzi so you might as well tell me.”

“What makes you say that?”

“She texted the group chat and told us all to leave her alone unless somebody died. That was like...six hours ago.”

Paige couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her lips as she leaned her head back against the ledge again. “Hm.”

The two of them talked a bit more, Cam giving her updates on Ben and her mom’s latest antics, Paige tossed in a few dry comments here and there to entertain Cam.

Mid-conversation, Paige’s eyes drifted up toward the second floor of the cabin and she saw Azzi moving past the window before pausing when she saw Paige looking. Her hair was pulled over one shoulder as she looked down at Paige.

Paige smirked as she tilted her head, silently inviting Azzi back downstairs with a playful look in her eyes.

Azzi arched an eyebrow.

Paige gave her best version of a pout, mouthing please.

Azzi rolled her eyes, her lips twitching at the corners before she exaggeratedly mouthed, no and walked away.

Paige sighed, but the smirk never left her face as Cam kept talking in her ear.

…

Much later that night, Azzi was in bed, restlessly kicking at the sheets. The air in the room she picked felt too warm and no matter how many times she flipped her pillow or changed positions, she couldn’t get comfortable. Her body felt tense…unsettled in a way she couldn’t just ignore to fall asleep. She was uncomfortable and needy.

With a frustrated sigh, she pushed the covers off and sat up. The silence of the large cabin settled around her and it was broken by the creak of floorboards as she walked barefoot down the stairs. The dim lighting from the moon spilled in through the large windows lighting up the open space just enough for her to see. She walked into the kitchen and grabbed a glass, filling it with cold water from the fridge.

She stood there a moment, sipping slowly, trying to calm herself down. Her eyes drifted to the sky outside. It was clear and scattered with more stars than she could count. She ran a hand up her neck, exhaling through her nose before pulling her shirt over her head, revealing a thin tank top that clung to her skin. Her small pajama shorts rode high on her thighs, and she tugged at the waistband out of habit as she redid her messy bun, a few stubborn curls falling loose around her face.

For a few minutes, she tried to focus on the quietness, on her breathing, on the cool glass against her lips but it didn’t work. Eventually, she gave up.

Setting her glass down on the counter with a soft clink, she turned and moved through the hall. Her knuckles hovered over Paige’s door for just a second before she knocked.

Paige heard the knock and stirred, blinking slowly as she registered the sound. She groaned softly, pushing the covers off and rubbing at her face before swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. Her body moved on autopilot as she moved across the room and opened the door still half-asleep.

Azzi stood there, her silhouette illuminated by the moonlight spilling in from down the hall. Paige blinked, her sleepy eyes scanning down the thin tank top clinging to Azzi’s body and the pajama shorts that left little to the imagination.

Paige blinked again, slower this time. “…Wassup? You good?” she asked, her voice rough from sleep.

Azzi shifted her weight, her lips pressing together for a second. “I’m hot,” she said simply, then added, “and I can’t sleep.”

Paige raised her eyebrows, a slow smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth as she tilted her head at Azzi’s choice of words. But she didn’t say anything, just stepped aside, opening the door further. “Come in.”

Azzi hesitated for a moment at the threshold as Paige moved back into the room. The cool air from Paige’s room brushing over her skin and making her exhale softly. It was a relief from the stuffy heat of her own room so she stepped inside, quietly closing the door behind her.

Paige was already crawling back in bed, flopping onto her stomach with a tired groan as she buried half her face back into a pillow. The sheet dipped slightly as her weight settled, the muscles in her back flexing faintly as she got adjusted.

Azzi walked over and carefully slid under the covers next to her, lying on her side as she looked at Paige.

“You always sleep like that?” she asked quietly.

Paige hummed. “Mmhmm.”

Azzi smiled a little. “Looks uncomfortable.”

“It’s not,” Paige mumbled into the pillow.

They were quiet for a moment before Azzi spoke again. “You okay with me being in here?”

Paige’s eyes stayed closed, but she shifted, turning her head toward Azzi. “Yeah.”

Azzi let out a slow breath, her body starting to relax as melted into the bed. “It’s freezing in here,” she added playfully.

“Better than melting,” Paige mumbled. After a pause, she added, “C’mere then.”

Azzi didn’t respond; she just smiled to herself before drifting closer under the covers and turning the other way. Paige shifted to her side and wrapped her arms around Azzi, pulling her in. Azzi immediately felt the heat from Paige’s skin and it was comforting; seeping into Azzi’s own skin and soothing the restlessness she'd been fighting all night.

Azzi whispered, “Thank you.”

“Mhmm.”

For a few moments, it was quiet. Paige’s breath was steady against the back of Azzi’s neck as she started to easily slip back into sleep.

But Azzi’s mind hadn’t settled. She spoke again, almost like a thought of hers slipped out without permission. “You sleep like this often? Holding people?”

Paige hummed. “Nope.”

Azzi smiled a little, her fingers brushing Paige’s forearm. “So, what I’m special?”

Paige gave a lazy, “Yup.”

Azzi kept going. “You’re warm...like stupid warm. I feel like I’m melting now…in a good way though”

“You’re welcome.”

Azzi chuckled under her breath, but when she opened her mouth again, Paige interrupted with a tired, “Azzi…”

Azzi paused, then tried to turn a little to face her. “Hm?”

Paige’s arms tightened around her, pulling her back into place as she mumbled against Azzi’s shoulder, “Go to sleep for me.”

Azzi was about to protest, but Paige somehow managed to pull her closer, her head gently resting on top of Azzi’s. One of her hands slipped under Azzi’s tanktop and her fingers drew patterns on her waist.

Azzi let out a quiet breath, her protest completely forgotten as she whispered, “Okay.” Her eyes finally fluttering closed.

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Intoxication [S. R]

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

wc: 9.2k

Summary: when Spencer and reader accidentally consume aphrodisiacs, it seems impossible to maintain control of themselves. It all comes down to who will lose their mind first.

warnings: +18, mdni!! alcohol consumption, mentions of weed, unintentional use of aphrodisiacs, explicit descriptions, oral (f receiving) fingering, kissing, porn with plot, p in v, protected sex, no y/n!

It had been just over half an hour since I entered the fraternity building, fully aware that within the first second, I’d feel the need to leave. Attending any gathering wasn’t a regular thing for me. The noise, the crowds, and the multitude of germs everywhere were reason enough to avoid them.

However, that time, I thought, why not? I had never been to one of those university parties and wanted to experience it. However, I never considered the fact that, to enjoy one, you either: a) went with a group of friends or b) drank until you forgot your name and the discomfort you felt about yourself. I didn’t have the first option, nor did I want to do the second. So, after a few minutes of reflection, I decided I would walk back to my apartment and go straight to bed.

The place was huge, and since my postgraduate program didn’t include the benefit of dormitories, I rarely found myself in places like that. I was about to leave when a hand grabbed my forearm to stop me. In front of me, smiling widely, was her. The moment I saw her, I could swear my face lit up.

“Hi”

“Spencer! I didn’t think I’d see you here.”

Without letting go of my arm, she came closer, wrapping me in a hug and planting a kiss on my cheek before I could react.

I quickly glanced at her, and in the dim light, I noticed her wearing a fitted, spaghetti-strap dress in a deep burgundy red with delicate floral embroidery that looked hand-drawn on the sheer fabric. The material, likely chiffon or tulle, clung to her figure as if custom-made. I tried to focus on her leather jacket instead because the last thing I wanted was to make her uncomfortable by staring too long.

“I was just about to leave, actually.”

“Why?” she asked, noticing my sigh.

“It’s just... I don’t know anyone here.”

“Well, that problem is now solved,” she kindly murmured.

I didn’t even get the chance to respond when she had already walked over to another girl, whispering something in her ear, probably to let her know she’d be away for a while.

Even though I wanted to decline to stay, the truth was that I genuinely enjoyed her company. Rejecting her would have been too rude. We had met some time ago thanks to the advanced classes she took, which overlapped with mine. She was younger than me, of course, but only by one or two years.

She had always been kind to me, attentive, and one could say she was a friend. After all, I trusted her enough to let her hold my hand and guide me through the crowd, despite my aversion to physical contact… and people.

“It’d be a crime to let you leave so early after finally coming to a party,” she breathed once we were both seated on a tiny couch where the noise was slightly muffled. At least she had been considerate in that regard.

“I don’t even know why I came,” I said, shifting uncomfortably. She was leaning against one side, legs crossed, looking at me with a smile. “I don’t like parties.”

“Do you like drinking?” she asked. I shook my head “Maybe that’s the root of the problem.”

“Getting drunk to the point of losing control isn’t my thing,” I replied.

“That’s not what it’s about,” she murmured almost compassionately “It’s more like… fuel for your social battery, you know? You don’t have to deal with these people. I don’t even know half of them, but the guys in this fraternity are disgustingly rich and just want to get as many girls drunk as possible to sleep with whoever they can. They won’t mind if you drink a little. Enough to have fun, but not so much you end up in some stranger’s bed.”

I thought about it for a second and silently nodded. I didn’t want to look like an idiot in front of her by saying I didn’t want to drink because, come on, what kind of university student doesn’t drink?

“I understand your point, and I don’t mean to be a buzzkill, but alcohol has a more complex impact than it seems. It’s not just something that ‘fuels your social battery’; it’s a central nervous system depressant, which means it slows down brain and motor functions. That initial feeling of euphoria or relaxation happens because it inhibits the prefrontal cortex—the part of your brain that regulates judgment and self-awareness. So, technically, drinking a little might make you feel more uninhibited or confident, but it can also impair your ability to make rational decisions if you overdo it, even if you don’t notice right away.”

I paused, gauging how much more I should say before losing her interest. Hearing no objections, I continued:

“Additionally, strong liquors, which have high ethanol concentrations, can hit your system faster than diluted drinks. And if you drink too quickly, you could easily exceed your liver’s ability to metabolize the alcohol. The excess ethanol stays in your bloodstream, raising your blood alcohol levels and increasing the risk of intoxication.”

I avoided looking directly at her, partly because I didn’t want to get distracted by her gaze and partly because I was nervous around her.

“It’s not that I want to ruin your fun, but if you’re going to drink, you should do it slowly, alternating with water, and never on an empty stomach. Not to seem smarter than everyone else, but because staying in control can be the difference between a fun night and a situation you don’t want to be in.”

I expected her to look bored, confused, or even indifferent, assuming she’d left halfway through my rambling. But when I looked at her, I was surprised by the admiration shining in her eyes, accompanied by an amused smile.

“All right, genius boy, if you know all that and basically have the perfect recipe for not making stupid mistakes while drinking, why do you still refuse?” she teased playfully. I didn’t know what to say, but luckily, she answered for me “Listen, I drove here. How about we make a deal? We can drink a little, have a good time, maybe dance if you want, and if either of us starts doing something embarrassing, the soberest one will make sure to drag the other to the car and drive them home. Deal?”

She handed me her car keys, and I wasn’t sure if the brush of her hand against mine was intentional or if she had decided to linger a little longer.

I agreed to her proposal, and a second later, she was already off her seat, walking toward where I assumed the kitchen was. No one noticed us entering, too absorbed in their own business to care if we were strangers.

There was every type of alcohol scattered around, and she took the liberty of pouring me a shot of a clear liquid, which I guessed was vodka. She warned me to drink it in one gulp, and when the warmth hit my throat, I barely managed to avoid coughing. If she noticed, she didn’t say anything.

“Tastes like… strawberry.”

“It’s good, right?” she laughed, giving my shoulder a playful nudge.

Our previous seat was already taken, so she opted for us to stand in a quiet corner. I have to admit that, although I still felt slightly awkward, the vodka was having the desired effect; making me feel more animated to talk.

Talking to her was almost hypnotic. Maybe it was the rhythmic movement of her lips, still stained with traces of what had once been red lipstick, or perhaps it was her tone, but it made me feel like I had to watch her. She never faltered when she spoke, always exuding confidence and calm, no matter the topic.

On the other hand, whenever I responded, I completely lost focus. No matter what I said, she kept looking at me with a wide smile, nodding, and even leaning closer when something made her laugh. But her laugh wasn’t mocking—no, it was as if she genuinely found my intellectual jokes or nonsensical remarks funny.

Gradually, my glass emptied, and she guided me back to the kitchen, serving us moderately but consistently. After an hour, all my nerves had vanished, leaving only a normal guy enjoying the terrible background music, unconcerned about how dirty the place was, and utterly captivated by the woman next to him.

“It’s strange, you know? I didn’t think I’d enjoy something like this. Parties always seemed so… chaotic,”

She looked around with a slight smile.

“That’s true. They’re not exactly calm, but in a way, the chaos has its charm. It lets you leave everything else behind for a while.”

“I suppose you’re right. Sometimes, you just need to disconnect.”

“You seem less tense now, huh? Are you sure it’s not the vodka helping with that?”

She moved closer, almost leaning against my chest in a friendly way, and seeing her looking up at me made my face feel hot.

“Maybe. But it’s also largely due to the company.”

She seemed surprised by my sudden boldness and let out a laugh that I interpreted as a sign of approval. We continued drinking, laughing, and soon my stomach demanded food. Even in my slightly tipsy state, I still remembered that eating would help lessen the effects of the alcohol.

I have to admit that the way I held her waist to guide her to the kitchen was entirely intentional. However, she didn’t seem bothered by the contact. By this point, I’d realized that no one really cared about what we took or didn’t take, so we felt free to rummage through the pantry.

“There are chips, pretzels, Cheetos, some cookies...” she began listing, handing me each package she found.

I grabbed a stray cookie, and suddenly, she let out a sigh of admiration.

“What is it?”

“Chocolate,” she murmured happily. It was a half-eaten, luxurious-looking golden package with no label “Do you want some?”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea. Chocolate has properties that can slightly boost energy and mood. Both alcohol and chocolate can be hard for the body to handle, especially with a combination of high sugar and alcohol content. This can lead to stomach discomfort, dizziness, or a stronger hangover the next day.”

But she wasn’t listening. She had already popped a sizeable piece of chocolate into her mouth. Immediately, she offered me a piece, slightly bigger than hers.

“You have to try it,” she moaned.

I resisted, but I have to admit that the fact she grabbed my shirt and pulled me closer caught me off guard enough to let her slip the chocolate into my mouth.

“Hey!”

“You’ll thank me later.”

It was delicious, that’s for sure. Like a pair of sneaky raccoons, we kept scavenging for snacks in the kitchen until we were satisfied. She grabbed a bag of chips, and I took the bag of pretzels.

After our little break, she poured us another round of drinks, and something inside me told me it was time to stop. I decided that would be my last glass for the night.

Let’s dance she suddenly whispered, and once again, I let her lead me toward the crowd.

I didn’t know how to dance; I think that was pretty obvious. But the situation managed to make me forget that fact.

She was patient with me and laughed every time I made a mistake. Even though there was smoke around me, probably from weed, that didn't stop me from staring intently, and even somewhat intimidated, at my friend. Beautiful, statuesque, and drunk friend.

We danced for a long time until something in her swaying movements, in the way she smiled at me, began to make my head spin. It was as if the atmosphere was charged with something more—something I couldn’t identify at first.

She leaned closer, and my pulse began to quicken slightly. Her hands rose to tangle in my neck, bringing a warm sensation that followed: my thoughts seemed clearer, sharper. I wondered if it was the alcohol, but then something different began to course through my skin.

The warmth intensified, not just in my body but in my mind as well. I felt more alert, more awake, yet the calmness of the vodka lingered, balancing the sensation. My skin felt more sensitive, as if every little touch sent vibrations through me in a more intense way.

My eyes focused more on her movements, her voice, and the way the air filled with her perfume. I wanted to get closer, as if there were an invisible force pulling me toward her. And though my body responded with a soft yearning, my mind remained present, conscious of every second.

By the way she was looking at me, I imagined I wasn’t the only one experiencing these kinds of emotions.

“Sweetheart.”

“Hmm?”

“Can we sit down for a moment? I’m completely sweaty, and the smell of weed is starting to bother me.”

“Of course.”

My hands rested on her waist, unsure of where else to go, and we stumbled out of the crowd, finding a couch to collapse onto.

I was sweaty too, and we were both breathing heavily. When I saw her lean her head back against the seat, leaving her neck exposed, something stirred inside me.

“You move well, Reid.”

“Don’t lie.”

“I mean it. You just need a little confidence,” she smiled. Perhaps the alcohol dulled her sense of personal space, which is why she leaned so close to me. “You’re so smart that, with a bit of practice, you’d be the most skilled at a lot of physical activities.”

Did she know how nervous she was making me? My face was already flushed from the alcohol, the effort, and now from the way she was looking at me while twirling a strand of her hair around her finger.

I wanted to say something else, but a voice interrupted mine: a tall, burly guy accompanied by two others who seemed to be flanking him. Probably a member of the fraternity hosting the party.

He specifically addressed her, asking how she was enjoying the party and throwing in a compliment, clearly with ulterior motives. For a moment, I felt disheartened. Of course, she could have gone with him and I would have understood. I was far too used to rejection.

“I’m having a great time—with my friend. Thanks,” she exclaimed, cordial but curt.

“Want a drink?”

“Honestly, no.”

By the uncomfortable smile she gave the men, I assumed she was politely ending the conversation. With some reluctance, the guys walked away.

Suddenly, my breath caught when I felt her hand rest on my thigh, sliding painfully slowly down to my knee. I couldn’t even hear her words over the heat of her fingers on my pants.

“Sorry?”

“I thought you were going to say something, earlier.”

“No,” I quickly replied, smiling like an idiot because of the way she had leaned toward me. “Nothing.”

“I like listening to you. You know so many things, and you don’t make me feel dumb when you explain them. That’s very sexy.”

“Sexy?”

“Yeah,” she smiled, because I’d replied in a voice an octave higher than normal. “You are very sexy.”

Her compliment was followed by a soft, distracted kiss on the line of my jaw, which sent my brain into overdrive.

“Uhm… you… you’re beautiful. Very beautiful.”

My clumsy compliment seemed to please her, and I felt one of her nails, long and painted black, tracing circles on the skin of my knee. Each small movement felt deliberate, as if she knew exactly what she was doing.

“Did you know fireflies don’t just glow to communicate but also to… attract?”

Her voice broke the silence between us, soft but layered with a double meaning that made me lift my eyes to her.

“Yes, I know,” I responded automatically, my brain switching to autopilot. “Bioluminescent signals are a form of courtship. The light patterns vary by species and can be very specific.”

She turned her head toward me, her lips curving into a lazy smile.

“Of course you’d know that. But tell me something—do you think it actually works? Making someone notice you just by glowing?”

My throat went dry. There was something about the way she was looking at me, like she was expecting a more personal answer than a scientific one.

“I guess it depends on who you’re trying to attract,” I murmured, feeling ridiculously exposed under her gaze.

“That makes sense.”

Her hand slid slightly—barely noticeable—toward the edge of my knee. After tapping her fingers on my pants, she withdrew it.

She didn’t move from the couch, and neither did I. There was something about her posture that held me captive—the way she leaned back against the seat, relaxed yet naturally elegant. Her dress had ridden up slightly along her thighs, revealing more skin than I felt prepared to handle at that moment. I tried to look elsewhere, but it was as if my eyes had a will of their own, always returning to the same place.

“Are you okay?” she asked, her voice soft but laced with a hint of amusement.

“Yes, of course,” I replied quickly, turning my head in the other direction. Perhaps too quickly, because my neck cracked slightly in the process.

She didn’t say anything, but her suppressed laughter made me feel even more awkward. In the silence that followed, I forced myself to focus on something safer: the empty glass on the table, the flickering lights through the window, anything but the curve of her leg or the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed.

“It’s hot, isn’t it?” she commented suddenly, with almost theatrical casualness. Then, without warning, she leaned forward as if to adjust her shoe, causing the neckline of her dress to dip even further.

“Do you think so?” I muttered, my voice raspier than I intended.

She smiled, a gesture somewhere between innocence and knowing.

“Yes, definitely. Though maybe it’s because we’re sitting so close,” she said, glancing around as if she had only just noticed the temperature.

Her words felt like both a slap and a caress at the same time. I tried to keep my gaze fixed on her face, but it didn’t help that her eyes shone with a kind of mischievous intent. Then she lifted one leg, bending it to get more comfortable on the couch, and her knee accidentally brushed against my thigh.

“Did you know you have a very particular way of distracting yourself?” she remarked while toying with the hem of her dress, as if unaware of the chaos she was causing in my head.

“Do I?” my voice sounded weak, almost a whisper.

She nodded slowly, leaning in a bit closer until I could feel the warmth of her proximity.

“Yes. It’s like you’re trying to avoid something but… you can’t.”

My throat went dry. I wanted to say something clever, to steer the conversation away, anything to regain some ground. But instead, all that came out was a nervous, forced laugh.

She didn’t stop looking at me. Then, with exasperating slowness, she smoothed the fabric of her dress over her thigh—a casual gesture.

“You know, sometimes you seem so self-aware. It’s something that can be endearing, but also… well, how do I put it?” she paused for a moment, bringing a finger to her lips as if she were reflecting. “It makes you seem easier to impress.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s nothing, Reid. It’s just me rambling” her voice softened, and I felt the lightest touch on my nose as her finger grazed it. I tried to ignore the fact that her gaze had lingered on my lips “Scattered thoughts I have in my head.”

Without warning, she let out a loud exhale and leaned back into the couch, arching her back as if trying to relieve some muscle tension. I know she probably wasn’t aware of the movement, but it was what finally made me lose the little composure I had left.

“I need to use the restroom. Can you give me a moment?”

I escaped. Cowardly, completely, I got up and practically bolted toward the bathroom, desperate for a moment of peace. As soon as I entered, I realized I had an obvious problem in my pants—I was hard as a rock, and that wasn’t good. I looked at myself in the mirror, surprised at how flushed my face was. My pupils were dilated, my lips dry… What the hell was happening to me?

It quickly became clear that she was the reason for my situation.

The alcohol prevented me from feeling the embarrassment I surely deserved, and instead, I felt like my head was spinning. I placed a hand over the fabric of my pants, letting out a frustrated, pained groan.

I stayed there for a while, trying to think of something that would make my erection go away, but nothing worked. A couple of knocks on the door startled me, and that forced me to leave. Once in the hallway, I walked for a bit until I bumped into someone.

“Spencer! I’ve been looking for you. Are you okay?”

“No! I mean, yes… it’s just…”

I needed to think of something quickly—something believable, but not catastrophic. However, it was hard to concentrate with her body so close to mine, mere inches away from her noticing my situation.

“Did you throw up?”

“No, no, it’s not that. It’s nothing. I think the vodka didn’t sit well with me, uh, maybe I got dizzy from dancing, I don’t know. I think it’s best if I leave.”

“Poor thing,” she murmured, pouting “I’ll take you home right now.”

“I can take a cab.”

“Nonsense. That was our agreement, remember? If one of us was in bad shape, the other would take care of them. Plus, I was the one who encouraged you to drink. I’d feel bad if something happened to you.”

She was already putting on her jacket—she’d been holding it, probably suspecting the situation—and tried to find the keys in her pocket. My outstretched hand reminded her that she’d already given them to me earlier.

When she placed her hand on the small of my back to guide me out, my breathing deepened. The sensation of excitement coursed through me in a way I couldn’t ignore. I realized that something in me desperately wanted her. Too much.

It wasn’t an impulsive desire but a subtle one that had been building throughout the night—with every glance, every gesture. Perhaps the vodka had intensified my evident attraction to her, but whatever the reason, it had turned into something far more palpable.

It was almost as if my body was begging me to stop her right then and there, to kiss her recklessly, and maybe, just maybe, ease the relentless ache inside me.

The cool night air made me feel better, and as the noise faded behind us, I began to calm down. I fervently tried to hide the bulge in my pants, but the truth was she didn’t even seem to notice. Then again, it would’ve been strange to catch her staring at my crotch, right?

“Are you sure you’re in a condition to drive?”

“I’ve driven home in far worse states of drunkenness. Don’t worry,” she smiled.

She looked more lucid now, as if her intoxication had vanished in an instant. I decided to trust her abilities.

The drive home was silent, and I kept shifting in my seat, trying to find strategic positions to avoid embarrassment. I guess she attributed my silence to the supposed discomfort I was feeling, as she didn’t try to start a conversation.

She didn’t say anything when she caught me looking at her through the rearview mirror. It was an innocent glance, at least on my part, simply admiring her. Her lips were driving me crazy, her eyes, slightly narrowed from the lack of light and smudged with mascara, seemed the most beautiful to me. I didn’t know what she saw in me, but I think—no, I feel—that it was something she liked.

“Thank you so much for bringing me home… and for everything.”

“Did you have fun?”

“Quite a lot, actually.”

“We should do this more often.”

“Go to university parties?”

“Just go out in general. To a bar, grab some drinks, a coffee, the library if you’d prefer,” she laughed “The place doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re there.”

Was she implying she wanted a date with me? I swallowed hard and looked at her, trying to decipher what she wanted me to do. I couldn’t figure it out.

“I’d like that, yes. We can talk about that later. Thanks again for the ride.”

A kiss on my cheek marked her goodbye, and I rushed out, eager to get inside my apartment. I was about to unlock the building’s door when the sound of a car horn made me turn around.

“Hey, would you mind if I use your bathroom? I’ll be quick,” she promised.

I needed to get to the shower and turn on the cold water, but I didn’t protest when she turned off the car engine.

Almost no one visited me in the apartment, so I kept the space however I pleased. It wasn’t really messy, but there were plenty of things on the desk and several books scattered around.

She entered, as she had said, rushing to the bathroom. It was only then that I dared to put a hand over my pants, swallowing a moan that was about to escape from my throat.

In my limited sexual experiences, nothing like this had ever happened to me, and I wondered what the cause might have been. Alcohol couldn’t be blamed, of course, but it was responsible for ruining my ability to react enough to find another explanation.

The shirt began to feel heavy on me, and almost out of necessity, I undid the first buttons to let myself breathe. I tried to ventilate my skin by tugging at the fabric with the tips of my fingers, but it was useless. I sighed.

I glanced around the room, just wanting to make sure nothing was embarrassing in view, and at that moment, she came out of the bathroom. She looked flushed and had some wet hair, as if she had washed her face.

“You okay?”

“Yes, just… suddenly felt a bit feverish”

“Let me check”

My intentions were purely medical when I cupped her face with one hand, putting the back of the other against her forehead to confirm or deny my suspicions. Of course, I hadn’t considered how close we would be. Or maybe I had, subconsciously, and that’s why I moved forward.

My choice of words wasn't the best either.

“You’re hot,”

“I don’t think it’s as much as you.”

A daring smile slid across her lips, and I held my breath as her fingers traced up to the line of my collarbone, exposed by my shirt.

“Why are you saying that?”

“Don’t you like it?”

“It’s just… I don’t understand it.”

A soft laugh echoed in my ears.

“Well, I think you’re very handsome. Would there be any other reason for that?”

I swallowed deeply. She noticed the movement of my Adam’s apple.

“No… I think… I think not. It’s the most logical thing.”

“Don’t they tell you that often?” she murmured, genuinely confused. I shook my head “That’s a shame.”

Her hand, which had been tentatively caressing my skin, moved up to my neck and pulled me just a few inches closer to her.

“Hey, Spencer.”

“Yes?”

“Could I kiss you?”

A chill ran down my spine. And without thinking, I answered yes.

Her mouth found mine with a softness that contrasted with the whirlwind of sensations inside me. It was a heady contrast: the sweetness of her lips against the intensity of the desire that had been building up in every fiber of my being.

My hands instinctively moved to her waist, hesitating for a moment, as if fearing that this might just be a product of my imagination. But she didn’t hesitate. Her body leaned into me, closing any distance that remained.

Her lips were insistent, demanding, and before I could process what was happening, her hand slid down to my chest, pushing me gently back until my back collided with the wall.

“I’m sorry…” I managed to murmur between kisses, pulling my face slightly away. My voice came out more trembly than I wanted.

She raised an eyebrow, tilting her face toward mine, her fingers now brushing my jawline.

“Why are you apologizing?”

“For this” my gaze dropped quickly before returning to her eyes. “No… I didn’t want you to feel it. It’s embarrassing.”

For a moment, I thought she would pull away, that the spell of the moment would break. But instead, her lips curved into a mischievous smile.

“Embarrassing? I thought I was the only one feeling all this tension,” her tone was low, almost a whisper, but filled with a certainty that made my breath grow even more erratic.

Before I could respond, her lips captured mine again, this time with more intensity. The kiss was everything I didn’t know I needed: desperate, intoxicating, completely consumed by the connection between us. I felt her body press against mine, her curves fitting perfectly as if they were made to be there. And then, all my doubts, all my attempts to hold back, vanished.

My mind was a whirlwind. Every touch of her lips, every time her tongue sought mine, was like a fire I couldn’t put out. My face was hot, yes, but now not because of the alcohol, not even from the effort of holding myself back. It was her closeness, her touch, her condescending voice still echoing in my head.

She knows what she’s doing. And she’s slowly killing me.

“Hey, wait…”

“What’s wrong?”

“Do you feel okay with this?”

“A lot. Do you want to stop?”

“No. It’s just that… you’ve been drinking. I don’t want you to think I took advantage of you” my voice came out hoarse, full of doubt and repressed desire.

Her eyes met mine, firm and warm at the same time, as if her gaze could completely disarm me.

“Relax. You’ve been drinking too, pretty, and I think if anyone could make that accusation, it would be you. Do you feel like I’m taking advantage of you?”

“No”

“I’m fully aware of everything. I don’t even feel drunk anymore. The only thing that’s making me dizzy right now is you, Spencer…”

I shivered when I heard my name on her lips like that. She continued:

“I’m just as anxious as you are. I’ve been holding back all night, trying not to make this too obvious, but I can’t anymore. Please, don’t doubt me. Don’t doubt what I want. I want you”

Her confession hit my heart like a blow and ignited a spark that set my entire body on fire. My hand moved up her back until it tangled in her hair, while the other rested on her hip. The pull was gentle but enough for her to understand that my inner struggle had ended. I wasn’t resisting this anymore.

I wanted her too. I wanted her now.

“I never imagined…”

My words were barely audible as our lips brushed in a kiss that was both an explosion of emotions and a long-awaited relief. Her mouth was soft, and so perfectly synchronized with mine that I felt like the world stopped at that moment.

Her hands gripped my shoulders, anchoring the connection between us, while my thumb traced a slow path along her jawline, savoring every detail of her skin. It was more than a kiss. It was the confirmation of something that had been lingering all evening.

When we parted just a centimeter to breathe, our foreheads stayed pressed together.

“Did that clear your doubts?”

“You have no idea how relieved I am to hear you say all that,” I replied with a weak smile, the only one my pounding heart allowed me to form.

“Then stop overthinking”

The space between us disappeared again as we kissed with desperation we had both been suppressing. Her low laugh vibrated against my lips, and I couldn’t help but smile. How did she do it? How did she drive me crazy with so little effort?

But now wasn’t the time for questions. It was time to feel.

The whole world had reduced itself to him: his warm breath, his lips that wavered between soft and desperate, and the hands that roamed my waist with a mix of reverence and clumsiness, making me want him even more. Spencer had always been an enigma to me, a balance between restraint and passion that I didn't know how to decipher... until now.

I had waited for this moment more than I would ever admit. Maybe it had been the way he looked at me when he thought I didn't notice, or the warmth in his voice when he said my name, as if it were something sacred. But now, with his body pressed against mine and his doubts finally gone, I knew I hadn't imagined anything.

It was as if the pieces of a puzzle I had been trying to put together in the dark finally clicked into place, and the resulting image was more beautiful than I had ever dreamed.

Wanting to reverse the roles, it was now him who gently pushed me against the wall, and I felt the control he always seemed to have begin to crack. His breath was heavy, his body trembling slightly, a sign that this was as new and overwhelming for him as it was for me.

"Spencer..." I murmured his name again, feeling it resonate in my chest at the same time his lips moved more intensely against mine. "Can I ask you something?"

I received an affirmative exhalation, and to let me speak, his lips moved to the hollow of my neck. Although my mouth was free, the soft and wet kisses I was receiving blurred my judgment a bit.

"Tell me”

"Did you really feel bad at the party? Or was it just..."

"I didn't want you to notice what you were doing to me. Although I think at this point it doesn't matter much, right?"

Contrary to what I expected, Spencer pushed his hips against mine, as if he wanted to prove that it was true. I could even call it a claim, something that said: look what you did to me. And I wanted him to know just how much my body was begging for him.

Carefully, I moved one of his hands from my waist, and before he could protest, I guided it to one of my thighs, dangerously close to my core. I was glad I had thought of lingerie as a great complement to my dress, maybe in an attempt to feel sexy even if no one saw it. But now, he was going to see it.

Spencer understood my silent request. Those long, slender fingers, which seemed made for more than just flipping through the pages of a book or scribbling frantic notes on paper, slid across my smooth skin. I sighed as I remembered the veins tracing a map under his fair skin, like rivers of contained energy.

Until they finally reached where I needed them. And his touch... God, his touch was something else. They were hands made for discovery, for holding, for exploring, but in those moments, they seemed to be made only for me.

Spencer wasn't an overly bold guy, so it didn't surprise me that he just traced shapes above my panties, as if he wanted to diagnose my anatomy before making any move. My sighs at his ear seemed to please him.

Suddenly, he stopped kissing me, and I huffed, since I liked the attention he was giving my shoulder, until I felt his lips drop just slightly. A loud, pathetic moan escaped me when he squeezed my tits while burying his face to leave an experimental kiss.

I was barely processing that when he knelt in front of me and, carefully, took the edge of my dress and lifted it.

My legs trembled with anticipation at the thought of what he was going to do next, and then I felt his lips brush my thigh. He started gentle, kind, but soon he began sucking every bit of skin he could, and in the end, he made sure to leave bites strong enough to make me whimper.

Who would have thought that this man, seemingly so inexperienced, turned out to offer the best foreplay a woman could desire?

I squealed as I felt his kisses trail down to the fabric of my panties, pausing for a moment to lick the length of my still-clothed pussy.

“You’re dripping wet,” he observed. I was too focused on not giving in right then and there to say anything "Is oral something you're into?"

“I don’t know,” I exclaimed honestly. I didn’t care how vulnerable I looked as I confessed that no man had ever dared to give me head “You?”

“It’s an idea that piques my curiosity, yes.”

Gently he slid some of the fabric aside to clear the way for his tongue, and I felt as if my entire body was only aware of the parts he was probing, kissing, sucking. When he raised my thigh to shoulder height, deepening his thrusts, I felt like I was going to pass out.

I lowered my hand to his thick head and tried, in vain, to push him away from me. I honestly didn’t have the strength or desire to do so, much less when he had picked up the pace.

I moaned a sweet nickname out loud and then Spencer pulled away, looking up at me with glossy, swollen lips.

“Take me to bed, please.”

He didn’t need me to say it twice as he immediately stood up and took me by the waist to guide me to said spot. I was able to taste myself on his lips and for some reason that only turned me on.

Once we hit the mattress the way he laid me down was gentle and I sighed at that. How could he be so sweet all the time? I wondered. And worse yet, how much would this little adventure affect my future expectations?

Because if it was about standards, I was finding out that Spencer Reid was the standard.

Seemingly more enthralled now by my lips than my pussy, he continued with the make-out session we were having. With each touch we had, my excitement was increasing more and more. In the midst of it all I managed to unbutton his shirt and take it off to leave it somewhere on the bed; the semi-darkness of the room shielded any insecurities he might be feeling, as well as my own.

“You are painfully stunning, did you know?”

My tone was one of reproach, and he laughed at that, looking down almost embarrassed. Maybe he wasn't used to compliments, but something told me he was definitely enjoying it.

I heard him murmur something under his breath about me, while he took down the straps of my dress. My hands almost instinctively went to unbuckle his belt, and before I could do anything, he pulled away from me. Needless to say, this left me confused.

"Sorry, I..."

“You don't want to?” I murmured understandingly. I thought maybe he wasn't a big fan of these situations, and I understood, but somehow I felt hurt.

"No! Sure I want to. I want it a lot, but..." he tried not to look at me, as if avoiding confrontation "It's just that I don't have any protection here”

A laugh escaped my lips, and I feared he might interpret it as mockery, so I stretched my neck to steal another kiss.

"One would think there are many girls who pass through these sheets."

"Don't make fun of me."

"I'm not making fun of you. It's cute, actually. It even makes me feel guilty," I murmured, smiling "For a second, I was afraid something had made you uncomfortable."

"No, it's not that."

I hesitated for a second whether I should suggest what was on my mind.

"We could do it like this. It doesn't bother me."

"It's not just about avoiding an unwanted pregnancy..." he began. At that moment, I saw him return to his usual nerdy mode. "Although, of course, that counts. But there are things like sexually transmitted infections, some of which don't even show symptoms at first and could complicate things if not detected on time. I know this doesn't sound very attractive, but believe me, protection isn't just for avoiding future problems; it's also to take care of you now, so you don't have issues later: because sometimes men can transmit diseases we're asymptomatic for, and to be honest, I've never done those kinds of tests. A lot of people don't think about it, but the risks are real. And don't get me wrong, I trust you, but even though you trust me, diseases don't discriminate. And I'd like us both to have that peace of mind. Prevention is never too much."

“You conflict me deeply. On the one hand, I admire how responsible you are; it's very cute. But on the other hand, I just urgently need you to fuck me deep and cum inside me”

Spencer was surprised by my desperate whining and tensed when I placed one of my legs around his waist, trying to persuade him. But I was even more surprised when I felt him pull completely away to stand beside the bed.

"Where are you going?"

"To the pharmacy," he announced, putting a jacket over his bare torso.

"Are you serious?" I laughed widely, sitting on the bed now that my companion had moved away.

"Definitely. I feel like I can't handle it any longer, it’s physically painful, and when you talk to me like that, it just drives me crazy” he groaned, joining in the fun. It was the first time something like this happened, and I honestly thought it was absolutely hilarious “I'll be back in a minute, I swear! Please, don't go...”

"I couldn't," I murmured sweetly. He came closer, and I took the opportunity to kiss him again "Be quick. I'll be waiting anxiously for you."

Something in my tone of voice affected the man, or maybe it was the wink I gave him, but I saw him bolt out the door. I flopped back onto the bed, taking a moment to digest what was happening.

I have to admit that my classmate had always been attractive to me, but I never thought he could feel the same way. Not even in my wildest dreams did I imagine that I would be waiting for him in his bed so that, with any luck, he could ravish me without holding back.

As I reached out my arms, I could feel the fabric of the shirt I had previously removed from him, and then I brought it up to my nose, inhaling without thinking. A familiar scent hit me immediately: the mix of sweet cocktails he had drank during the party and a subtle trace of cannabis, as if the night was still impregnated in him. I could distinguish a hint of wood, perhaps from the furniture in the place, combined with a light scent of sweat that was not bothersome, but rather natural. And then, among all that, there was his perfume: a citrus and spicy aroma that evoked something fresh, but also deep, sensual, as if every molecule of his being was waiting for something more. I breathed harder, feeling that this aroma, this moment, defined him.

I didn't know why that particular night my whole body was screaming for his closeness. I was crazy about him and it wasn't the alcohol's fault, because I'd had too many drinks to know. Neither of us had ever done drugs and for a moment I was terrified by the idea that I could want to be with someone like that, with such fervor that it was worrying.

Still dizzy from the excitement of the moment, I lowered one of my hands to my crotch to get rid of my panties. I thought about him, wondering how skilled he was. Not that I doubted his abilities, but just like I’d told him that night, he might need some practice.

I started to fantasize about helping him through this situation, maybe guiding him or pampering him by just asking him to lay back so I could do all the work. Spencer was the kind of man who invited you to please him, the kind of man you wanted to satisfy because he never pressured you into it.

Playing with myself, I sniffed his shirt again, desperately wishing I could have the source of said scent with me, until my brain was filled only with daydreams in which he was the protagonist and my fingers were replaced by his. That's why I didn't notice when he opened the apartment. And that's why I didn't know he was watching me from the door frame until I heard him let out a ragged sigh.

Being caught in that position made me feel embarrassed at first, but the way he practically lunged at me and kissed me more decisively than before, I figured he liked seeing me like that.

"Busy?"

I was caught off guard by his sassiness and I knew he was proud of it by the smile I felt on my neck.

“I guess you found what we need, right?”

“Uh-huh”

“Have you read any books on female anatomy?”

“Quite a few”

“So I guess you know a lot about sexuality, don’t you?”

“In theory, yes. Unfortunately, I haven’t had many opportunities to put it into practice.”

A smile spread across my face, which luckily he couldn't see because he was too busy leaving a trail of kisses along the top of my torso.

“How unfortunate, considering you’re a scientist. I wouldn’t mind becoming an object of your study, though, you know?”

He subtly slid the straps of my dress and revealed my bra, from which a considerable part of my boobs protruded, which he happily kissed.

At the same time his hand came down to caress me, making me shiver with anticipation, resting on just the right spots. It was the least I could expect from such an intellectual man, one who definitely knew about the thousands of nerve endings concentrated in my clitoris, which he was definitely tapping into to satisfy me.

“May I?” he whispered, looking at the little underwear he still had on.

I nodded immediately and arched my back to make it easier for him to unbutton it, which didn't take too long. He was practically worshipping every inch of my skin, which, combined with his gentle yet firm fingers rubbing me, was driving me crazy.

We both moaned in unison as he pushed a finger into me. It felt just as good as I had imagined.

I had read somewhere that, physiologically, women need more time to achieve an orgasm and although none of my exes had cared about that, this one seemed to know that fact. Maybe that was why he was giving me such attention, which I was undoubtedly grateful for.

“Honey…” I choked out “you’re doing great, really, really good, but would you mind if we replaced those fingers? I want to feel you inside me,” I practically begged.

I never begged, I felt like a fool doing it, but if that got me the intensity of the kiss he gave me, I wouldn't mind starting to do it.

Spencer pulled away from me, searching for the packet of condoms he'd run off to get, and while he unbuttoned his pants I got rid of my dress, which by this point was just a mass of fabric around my waist.

My body wasn't perfect, but I figured that wouldn't matter to him. Besides, I doubt he'd be rude enough to mention it.

“Need a hand?” I joked playfully, noticing that he was struggling to open the silver package.

“I’m sorry, I’m just a little nervous,” he said to himself, hoping I wouldn’t mind too much.

I wanted to reward him for treating me so well a few moments ago and I took the package from his hands, placing my palm on his chest until I laid him down against the mattress. Once in that position it wasn't difficult to get rid of the wrapping to place the piece of latex on him, thinking that I didn't have a single complaint about his body.

My hands on him made him nervous and I watched him turn into a mess as I began pumping his cock up and down to make sure he had the condom on properly.

“You don’t have to hold back. I like the sounds you make,” I exclaimed in a velvety tone, trying to sound as genuine as possible “That way I know you’re enjoying it.”

“I don’t think I’ll be able to hold out for much longer,” he confessed, as my hand continued to move along his length. Although I wished I could take better care of him, I understood the situation.

“Your wish is my command”

He didn't complain when I put each leg on his sides and he bravely hardened as I teased him for a moment before sinking my pussy onto his dick. I started slow, trying to make him last as long as possible, but with each second it was getting harder to keep up a pace.

I tried my best to ride him, trying to give him the best experience as a thank you for all his hospitality. And from the whimpers coming out of his throat I assume I was doing my job well.

At some point his hands ended up on my hips, guiding me as he pleased. Sometimes he pushed me down, as if he wanted to get to the bottom of me, and other times he manipulated me so that the thrusts were fast.

He wasn't lying when he said he would cum in no time, as the repressed desire added to the previous sexual actions had him on the edge of the abyss. I knew he had reached orgasm when he closed his eyes and his hips slammed against me, in erratic movements.

I kept riding him a little longer, chasing my own climax, and when I got it I put my hands against his chest, arching in pleasure. Spencer, breathing heavily, grabbed my wrists in his hands and then pulled me so that I was against his torso, my lips too close to his.

He placed his palm on my cheek and pulled me in his direction, seemingly asking for a kiss. I granted it.

“Are you satisfied?”

“I am,” I sighed wryly. It was cute that he didn’t know that sometimes girls don’t even make it. “How was it for you?”

“I'm speechless.”

I laughed and, to a certain extent, felt flattered that I had left a man who knew a million ways to express himself in that state.

We enjoyed the high we had just had for a few minutes and waited for our breathing to slow down; when our sighs took the same rhythm, he spoke again.

“You should go to the bathroom. It’s, uh… healthy for you to do it after every encounter.”

I reached for the garment he had been wearing and, trying to protect myself from the cold air, I put it on over myself.

“Do you mind lending it to me?”

“Nu-huh,” he hummed, eyeing me as if I were a cupcake. I would later learn how affected he was to see me using his clothes to slide out of bed.

When I came out of the bathroom he already had his boxers on, probably wanting to maintain modesty, and when he went to attend to his needs I also looked for my panties. It wasn't long before he returned to keep me company.

“Do you want to cuddle? I’d feel like a whore if I just left”

“Yes, of course I want”

He made sure to throw anything that was on the bed onto the floor and patted the pillows to make them more comfortable. I settled into the space next to him, leaning against his chest, right at heart level.

One of his arms was holding me from behind and in some strange way that made me feel safe; protected.

“Your feet are frozen, are you cold?”

"Not much"

“Do you want me to get you some socks?”

“I’m fine, Spencer,” I laughed softly. I brushed my cheek against his skin and tried to snuggle closer to him. “It’ll just get colder if you leave.”

“Did you know that the human body is incredibly efficient at maintaining its temperature? When two bodies are nearby, like… now,” he paused, settling a little closer to me, “heat transfer occurs due to thermal radiation and direct conduction. Essentially, each body generates heat that helps the other maintain a stable core temperature.”

“So you’re like a human blanket”

“That’s right. In fact, in situations of severe hypothermia, sharing body heat in this way can literally save lives.”

I raised my head to look at him and noticed an excited gleam in his eyes, the one he always had when he shared something from his vast knowledge.

“I’ve been thinking quite a bit about what you said earlier, about female anatomy,” seeing him frown, I continued, “No field of study considers one experimentation enough, right? Everything needs to be replicated two, three, four times. Ten times if necessary.”

“Your guess is quite accurate.”

“Say no more. We must give everything if it is in the name of science”

From the smile on his face, I knew that my joke had pleased him and that my proposal seemed to please him. To seal the deal I reached up and kissed him softly. We remained silent for a while, him caressing me over his own shirt and me enjoying the closeness.

“I like you a lot”

“I had a feeling,” I teased, earning a soft laugh from him “I really like you, too."

He pressed a kiss to my forehead and for some stupid reason a blush crept up my cheeks, even though we had just had sex. I carefully placed myself on top of his body and buried my face in his neck, feeling him hug me around the waist.

It didn't take long for him to fall asleep, I could tell by how calm his breathing was becoming, and I tried to enjoy the peace he emanated a little longer, until, eventually, Morpheus picked me up in his arms too.

@spoolsofgreenspoolsofblack @shuichiakainx @gghostwriter @cafters @weallhaveadestiny @your-left-sock @jaeminsmilk @tmrs-basilisk @kristennotstewart @lostinwonderland314 @f4tpo3s @lortheswiftie @dark-unicorn222 @samsienichole @blackholegladiator @gretaandthatsit @cherrysprlte @halfbloodwriter @piercethefic @reidingandallthat @ariel-23-19 @zorrasucia @ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat @juluina @kylakins88 @tinainaction @sadroses98 @dumbbunnys-safes @bowerfeithwk @freyafriggafrey

Thank you very much for your interest! I hope you liked it, if you feel like it, let me know what you think :)

[nadvs]

just one time (one-shot)

pairing rafe cameron x kook! female reader

rating explicit 18+

summary you’re constantly venting to rafe about how unlucky you are in love. one night, he gets fed up hearing about your insecurities and finally shows you how badly he’s always wanted you.

tags best friends to (temporary) lovers. alcohol mention. filthy smut. angsty ending. divider credit.

Rafe Cameron gives it to people straight. Hell will be an ice rink before he offers anyone words that have been coated with sugar.

He’s been like that since you befriended him in the twelfth grade, when you both donned private school uniforms and jaded scowls that had no business being on the faces of privileged teenagers.

The only thing steady about Rafe is his honesty. It’s why you go to him for the truth. You know your best friend will dole it out without a single inhibition holding him back.

And it’s what you desperately need right now.

You’re lying in your bed and holding your thumb against your phone screen, every passing second cracking your heart a little more.

The cycle continues, the curse lives on – another man you have growing feelings for has indirectly rejected you, this time through a story on social media. The photo shows his hand holding a woman’s over a car console, paired with a sappy caption.

When you saw him last weekend, you ended the date with a kiss. He’s been on your mind since, while he probably forgot about you the second he drove off your street. He’s already with another woman. One he actually likes.

The all too familiar feeling of inadequacy screws a hole into your chest. You hate that something as trivial as validation from the men you date can hit you this hard, but it can and it does.

It’s a pattern now. Your texts go unanswered, your crushes unrequited, and at this point, you need to know what it is about you that men deem so unwantable.

You need Rafe and his unwavering disposition for telling the truth, no matter how ugly it is. You text him: come over?

He responds: What’s up? I’m with the guys.

You reply: need your opinion on something when you stop being too busy for me.

Maybe if you ask nicely.

You scoff to yourself. Typical Rafe, acting like time with him is a gift. You text: jerk.

Damn. Right to calling me names. Is it that bad?

You close the conversation, knowing you’re taking your disappointment out on him, but too pissed off to curb it. He lets his anger drive him; it’s rubbed off on you.

You’re just as upfront with him as he is with you. While he can tell you if you’re overreacting about a fight with a girlfriend, you can tell him when he’s been drinking too much. Honesty is the foundation of your friendship and you both hinge on this hard but necessary way of caring for each other.

After a few minutes, Rafe texts: I’ll head over soon. You know him well enough to imagine the annoyed huff he let out when he gave in to you and typed out the message.

As expected, Rafe’s friends give him shit when he tells them he’s leaving to see you. They’ve been like that for years, jeering him for being so soft for a girl who doesn’t even put out.

But their taunting doesn’t get under his skin. They don’t understand that Rafe could count the things he cares about on one hand and that you’re one of them.

They don’t know him as well as they think. They were all friends when he was an eighteen-year-old with a chip on his shoulder, but they had no clue what he was going through.

They didn’t know that he wasn’t getting any sleep because the fighting echoing through the walls at home kept him up. They didn’t know how hard he took the catastrophic divorce he had to watch unfold. They didn’t know how badly he needed to escape.

But you did. You let him slump next to you at the back of class for an entire semester, sleeping while you took two sets of notes. You reminded him to bust his ass until the end of the school year, giving him the tough love he needed to graduate.

And it was all because of one night, at a party, when he drunkenly confessed to you how shitty his life was and how he just wanted to make his dad proud after his mom left.

He’s never said it to you, but he owes you for pulling him out of the hole he’d fallen into back then. You were just a pretty girl assigned to sit next to him, until you became more, and he’s kept you close since.

Your bedroom is dimly lit. He doesn’t know what it is, if it’s a perfume or shampoo or cream you use, but he knows that he finds relief when he smells the familiar fragrance that means you’re around.

You shut your door behind him, falling into bed on your back, your hands over your eyes.

“Tell me,” he says, settling onto the edge of your bed. The mattress sinks with his weight. “Why’d I come all the way over here?”

“What’s wrong with me?” you ask.

Rafe’s eyes trail to where your shorts end, the flesh of your thighs tantalizingly swelling past the hem.

“A lot,” he jokes.

You sit up and he looks away. It’s a skill he’d mastered, forcing his eyes off of you at the right moment so you don’t catch him staring.

“Seriously,” you say, a tremble in your voice that you weren’t expecting. “I want to know.”

The hardness in his face fades, his stare melting into something gentler.

Moments like these, you see the guy you knew in school, the one who’d pretend he was heartless, when really, his emotions ran layers deeper than he ever let on.

“What do you mean?” Rafe asks.

“Why does every guy I like treat me like I’m nothing special?”

His hardness reappears, like a light being switched on.

“This shit again?” he mutters. “You called me over to talk about guys?”

“Be honest. What is it about me?”

He sighs your name in frustration, having heard this so many times. This is territory he refuses to go into with you.

If he’s honest, you’ll find the desire he’s hidden away from you and it’ll open a door he won’t be able to slam shut.

Feelings don’t last. Love is a joke. He learned that young. He’s not about to put himself through the same lesson and fuck things up with his best friend just because he finds her so agonizingly attractive.

“I need the truth,” you say. “I liked this guy and I thought he liked me, too, but he’s with another girl now and–”

“And what?” Rafe interrupts. “Did you want to marry him? You’re always crashing out over losers.”

You inch closer to him and pull your knees up to your chest, your stare doleful.

“Are they all losers?” you say. “Or are some of them right that I’m missing something?”

“You need to get your shit together,” he says sternly.

“I’m know I’m being pathetic,” you say. You gaze at him, at the crease between his brows, at the way his lips firm when he’s irritated. “But it’s just… what’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re being nice and I hate it.”

“Being nice,” Rafe repeats in a disbelieving huff.

“Just tell me what to fix.”

A tense silence blankets you both, you anticipating harsh words, him clueless as to what to do.

“Call one of your girlfriends for this,” he says, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I love them, but they’d just give me a pep talk and say that guys are intimidated by me or something,” you say. “This is why I called you.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Come on. I hear the gross way you talk about girls with your friends,” you reply.

Countless times, Rafe’s vulgarities have fallen on your ears, evidence of his rough and untamed edges. You’ll never be more than friends and that’s okay, because if he ever were to find a girl that he wants to be serious with, she’d have to tolerate his temper, his narcissism, his volatility.

And while you love him, you could never love him like that.

“Just pretend I’m a stranger,” you continue. “What would you say to your friends about me if you saw me enter a room?”

Rafe would rather not imagine you as a stranger. The thought of his life without you makes an empty feeling spiral in his gut.

He wants you from any distance. He craves the taste of your tongue, something he’s never even had. He dreams about your legs wrapped around his hips. He wants to hear the noises you make when you’re drunk in pleasure.

Fuck. Had he known he was walking into this, he never would have gotten into his car.

“Rafe,” you say impatiently, oblivious to the irritation that turns inside him whenever you force these types of conversations.

“For the fiftieth fucking time, you don’t need to change anything,” he says. “It’s like I’m talking to a wall.”

You exhale slowly and look down to your bedsheets, so used to his abrasiveness that it doesn’t even leave a scratch.

“That guy kissed me when he dropped me off,” you mumble. “Maybe I’m a bad kisser and that’s why he isn’t into me.”

Rafe’s eyes lower to your lips, glossy from the way you’d just licked them, and he can’t imagine those lips going anywhere near him and not being appreciated for it.

“I doubt it’s that,” he relents. You meet his blue eyes.

“You think so?” you ask.

“You’d know if you were bad at it,” he says. The square of his sharp jaw tenses.

“How?”

“You can just tell,” Rafe says. “Seriously… just get it together. You’ll be fine.”

He shuffles to stand up, but you pull him back by the crook of his elbow, your touch sending an electric current through his body.

“Why are you being more of an asshole than usual?” you ask. “Did something happen?”

He tries not to drown in your gaze, but he does, comforted by the sympathy that nobody else offers him.

“I can’t hear you saying this shit about yourself,” he admits. “And whatever I say just doesn’t register.”

“Rafe, be real with me. I know my body isn’t perfect and I know I’m not the prettiest girl around, so it’s not like I’m delusional.”

He scoffs. You are delusional. And it chips away at him, listening to you list your insecurities, ones that have no basis in reality.

You’re fucking beautiful and you have nothing to change and he doesn’t know nor care why the morons you date don’t see it.

“I can take the truth,” you repeat. “I think you’re just scared to be honest because you don’t want to hurt me.”

Your chest rises and falls with gentle breaths. Your eyes search his with caring curiosity. You’re enveloped in privacy for the millionth time, but he hasn’t ever felt this tempted to give in.

And he finally breaks.

“Kiss me, then. I’ll be honest,” Rafe murmurs, selfish and selfless at the same time.

Shock doesn’t touch your features, not for a second. You know he’d do anything for you, even go to these types of measures to prove you wrong.

You lean forward, your lips hesitatingly pressing on his. You slowly melt into the kiss, and it’s too easy to overlook the fact that the lips on yours are your best friend’s, as you’re revelling in how soft his lips are and tasting a hint of whiskey and savoring the arousal coiling in your core.

Your noses brush together as you push closer, perching on your knees, breath hitching when his big hands cradle your face.

His ring presses against your cheek, the ring you’ve seen him wear over so many years, and its hardness is a reminder of how long you’ve known him, how insane it is to be doing this with him.

He pulls back, dying to know if you feel it too, the spark sizzling in the air, the fire despairing to be stoked.

“You’re good,” he rasps, his breath warm on your cheek, hands still cupping your jaw.

“Just good?” you whisper sadly.

“Fuck,” Rafe mutters. His muscles are stiff and his boxers are getting tighter. He’ll go as far as you’ll let him go so he can prove to you that the words describing how badly he wants you don’t exist.

His grip firms, pulling you into him again. The more of your taste that he gets, the more he wants. He’s hungry for you, ravenous, and if you’re letting him finally surrender to his appetite, he’ll stop putting up this bullshit front that he doesn’t fantasize about you.

Your tongues run over each other’s, lips smacking as he pushes you down to your back.

Your mind is spinning. This is Rafe. The man who looks at you like you’re one of the guys, who tells you about his noncommittal hook-ups, who feels nothing but friendship for you.

Logic is dulled by lust and you give in completely. You hook an arm around his neck, writhing beneath him, begging for some friction.

He shifts to put his thigh between your legs as if you’ve done this before, giving you relief when you grind up against him. You’re tumbling into mindless bliss, starved for him, for the validation he can give you.

He’s hard against your thigh. It makes desire heat you from the inside out. You’re friends, but you’re not ignorant to the fact that he’s the most attractive man you know, so feeling his body’s charge for you is intoxicating.

You lower a hand, feeling for the bulge beneath his jeans, touching him in a way you never would have expected to, feeling yourself getting wetter.

Rafe ducks his head, teeth nipping at your neck, hips rolling into yours as you stroke his cock, too many layers of clothes between you.

“You’re fucking hot, alright?” he murmurs into your ear. You can only nod as you continue to rub his length, anticipating how he’ll feel inside of you. “I’ll prove it to you.”

“Just one time,” you whisper, because even though you’re lost in the moment, you’re not so stupid that you won’t build a safeguard around your heart.

You’ve already been fooled by the familiar emotions rushing through you, tricking you into thinking that a man wanting to fuck is a man capable of love.

You need to remember it, especially now. You know Rafe. He doesn’t want love and he doesn’t want to give it.

“One time,” he echoes. “Take your shirt off.”

You’re trembling beneath him, your words caught in your throat, eagerly shifting to pull your top over your head. The moment you’re left in your bra, he digs his head into your chest, hands gripping your tits tightly, breathing in sharply.

Rafe’s kisses are sloppy and heated and he roughly pulls down the cups of your bra, exposing you, stabilizing himself on his elbows as he drinks in how goddamn perfect you are.

The closest he’s ever been to seeing you naked in the past was when he’d notice the peaks of your nipples under a shirt or a bikini. He’d imagine how they’d feel in his mouth. He doesn’t have to imagine anymore.

His lips close around your nipple, sucking and licking, earning soft, surprised moans from you. Your hand finds his hair, fingernails dragging over his scalp as he wets your chest with his spit.

“Wow,” you breathe. You can feel yourself clenching for him, your hips stuttering in need. Your hands drag down his back, bunching up his t-shirt.

He sits up to pull it off and throw it to the floor, looking down at you, his body broad and hard and heaving. You spread your legs wider, slowly pitching your hips forward with desperate eyes.

His lips part like he’s about to say something, but he speaks with his body instead, resting his hand between your legs to slowly stroke his thumb over you. You sigh in pleasure when he rolls over your clit, silently begging him to take what’s left of your clothes off.

Rafe keeps his eyes on yours when his fingers hook under your shorts, wriggling to make sure he’s captured the band of your panties, too. He drags them down your legs, gazing at you like he’s never seen a naked woman before, his face pinched in awe.

“God,” he moans. He doesn’t waste a second. His chest is on your bed, his head between your legs, and his open mouth makes contact, hot and wet and perfect.

He laps at you, drool rolling down the side of his mouth, his face drenched in your arousal. You gaze at him through half-lidded eyes, gentle whimpers spilling out of your mouth.

The thought of someone not wanting you feels like an unknown concept, like something that never even crossed your mind. He’s ravishing you like he’ll die if he stops.

He’s licking and sucking with abandon, reaching every inch, dipping his tongue inside and sighing in pleasure simply from tasting you.

“Your pussy’s so sweet,” he rasps against your inner thigh. “I’m going to fuck you so fucking hard. Say you want it.”

You throw your head back in ecstasy, thoughts a tangled mess. This is not what best friends are supposed to do. You don’t care.

“Please,” your voice comes out weak and honeyed, eyes shut. “Now.”

Anticipation rolls through you when you hear Rafe unzip his pants. His jeans are bunched up at the end of your bed and he hovers over you and you’re so glad that he doesn’t wait.

He holds himself at his base, guiding into your heat, filling you quickly, the pressure hard but perfect.

Your stomach numbs when he bottoms out and surrounds you in himself, the realization hitting you like a wave that he’s inside you right now, that he feels you as intensely as you feel him, that your bodies are joined in a way you never thought they would be.

He rocks back to thrust into you, your body jolting, your legs wrapping around him. He finds a rhythm, every push into you paired with a heavy exhale as his cheek presses against yours.

The line between you blurs and breaks with every movement.

“Tell me you’ll stop talking like that,” Rafe demands. He rolls his eyes from the thrill of how tight you are around his cock, squeezing him in hot, wet velvet. It’s so much better than he imagined.

“I will,” you promise. His chest is firm and hot against you, skin sticking with sweat.

“I don’t want to hear it anymore,” he whispers, voice strained. “I want you to remember how bad I wanted to fuck you whenever you think that stupid shit about yourself.”

“Yes,” you whisper. Rafe doesn’t care enough to lie. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t fake what you do to him. He’s being honest when he says there’s nothing about yourself that you need to change.

He’s driving into you at a perfect angle, giving your clit sweet friction against his groin, pulling you closer into an orgasm. Your hands are on his hard back, feeling his muscles tense and loosen.

He kisses your neck, telling himself to remember every single detail. Your noises and your aroma and your touch. You said it yourself, just one time, and you’re right, because he’s never had his heart involved in sex like this.

It’s fucked up and wrong for him to feel what he’s feeling. He’s proving a point, he’s indulging a fantasy, and that’s it.

“Shit,” you whisper, back arching as the coil in you gets closer to snapping. “I’m…”

You come with a shudder, your entire body tightening around him, fireworks sparking every single nerve in your system. Pleasure pools you from head to toe, leaving you shaking.

Rafe groans when he feels you flutter around him, pulsating with your peak. He starts to thrust harder and sloppier, dismissing the notion of making this last and instead giving in to the impulse to take the same satisfaction he’s given you.

He comes inside you with a hitched breath, his mouth open at the crook of your neck as a rush of euphoria rips through him.

And he collapses. Body against body, still inside you, panting with you, blissed out and so fucking confused.

The lust dissolves and reality sinks in and he can tell by the look on your face that you’re thinking the same thing when he pulls out: What the fuck did you just do together?

It comes with years of knowing each other; he can read your expression, not needing to hear the words to know you regret this, too.

You sit up, pulling your sheet over your chest, eager to pretend there’s a boundary even after what you’d just done.

“I believe you now,” you say with a thin voice, desperate to somehow put back together the pieces you’d just shattered, even through a lighthearted joke. “You fixed me.”

Despite himself, Rafe huffs a chuckle, leaning against the wall, following your cue to cover up, acting like you hadn’t just plunged into an unreal level of intimacy.

You stare at each other from across the bed, the weight of your friendship, all the shared memories and inside jokes and ridiculous arguments and promise of an uncomplicated bond, now on shaky ground.

His eyes travel over your pretty features, having never felt this after sex. Satisfied, but famished for more.

“I didn’t mean for… I mean, that’s not why I called you,” you say awkwardly. You take in his pink cheeks, the sweat sheened over his skin, his lips wet and parted. “I… didn’t plan this.”

“I know,” he replies. “Me, neither. It was just one time.”

“Right,” you say.

It’s what you agreed to.

He wanted to prove something to you and he did.

And if you have any respect for each other, if you have any cares for keeping your friendship and not messing it up with sex any more than you already have, you know it’ll need to stay that way.

Just one time.

(the end)

[hard-core-super-star]

push me on the counter, call me princess [W.Maximoff; N.Romanoff]

pairing: dom!wanda maximoff x sub!reader x dom!natasha romanoff

summary: you and wanda develop a connection you definitely shouldn't have with someone in a relationship. unbeknowst to you, it's all part of their plan.

warnings: PURE SMUT, MINORS DO NO INTERACT -> mentions of cheating! [no actual cheating, though! wandanat have an agreement, R doesn't know about it until things get spicy]; mommy + daddy kink; nipple play; impact play; wanda using her powers to hold R down; fingering [R receiving]; oral [Nat receiving]; twinges of humiliation; degradation + praise; nat's a little mean but we love her for it; use of the term 'slut'; probably more but i forgot

wordcount: 3.3k

a/n: so...i'm technically not doing anything official for kinktober this year because school is kicking my butt already BUT i have a few ideas for some very filthy smut fics so i'll be posting them this month. i haven't written for wandanat in a minute so i hope i did them justice. please let me know your thoughts, i hope you enjoy <3

[part two | part three]

* * * * * * *

It was supposed to be a one time thing.

That's what you told Wanda when she pushed you against the farthest wall in some dingy, badly-lit, New York bar.

The two of you had come back from a long, draining, mission and, instead of staying at the Compound and actually resting, you decided to go out and get drunk to let off some steam. The mission had technically been a success, but it had also been a pain in the ass...and in the shoulder, thanks to the knife wound you'd received.

So, yeah, maybe going out wasn't the best idea in the first place.

In your defense, it was borderline impossible to say no to the witch. Mainly because she was very convincing when she wanted to be, but also because of your massive, and borderline ridiculous, crush on her.

To make matters worse, Wanda was pissed off at Natasha for...something and you ended up taking the place of a supportive partner.

It would have been fine had the drinks in your system not made your inhibitions lower significantly, which rendered you helpless against the green-eyed woman of your dreams. Then again, it's not like you were particularly against that idea in the first place.

Maybe that made you a horrible person.

Maybe that made Wanda a monster.

But how could she be one when she whispered the sweetest words in your ear while taking you over the edge and destroying you in the most pleasurable of ways? How could there be anything wrong about her soft caresses and gentle smiles?

A part of you knows the answer. It's wrong because the witch's heart isn't yours. Or worse, because someone else's heart belongs to the witch.

Because for all their problems and arguments, Wanda and Natasha love each other. At the very least, they tolerate each other enough to stay together.

And you don't fit into their relationship.

You shouldn't.

But Wanda isn't a person you can just ignore.

She makes that perfectly clear no less than a week after your little "mistake".

You're in the kitchen at the Compound, eating some leftovers and scrolling through your phone to keep yourself occupied, when Wanda walks in. You don't need to look at her to know she's pissed off. Her energy is way too heavy to mean anything else.

"Hey, Wands," you say, barely looking up from your phone out of fear of falling under her spell once more.

She walks over to you, leaning against the counter and silently watching you for a second. Her silence honestly scares you, but you don't question her yet. You know better than that.

"You've been avoiding me," she says, her voice soft yet not gentle. "Why is that?"

A shiver runs down your spine at the question. 

You know you can't lie to her, she's a freaking mind reader, but you can't exactly tell her the truth. You've both been trying to ignore it since the morning you woke up tangled together in her bed.

A bed she shares with someone who isn't you.

"I've been busy," you reply with a shrug. "Kate's been forcing me to train every day."

Clearly, that's the wrong answer, considering the tilt of her head.

Yup. You're fucked now.

"Is that so? I didn't realize you two were such good...friends."

Wanda pushes herself off the counter, taking slow, calculated, steps until she's standing behind you. If you weren't so focused on keeping your voice steady, you might have been able to guess what her plan in.

"Well, we both love annoying Clint and making Yelena mad."

She hums in response as her arms wrap themselves around you, pulling you back until you're firmly pressed against her. 

The action almost makes you fall off your stool. You somehow stay put, though, even as every fiber of your being tells you to leave. The harsh truth is that you don't want to leave.

You want her so badly that the consequences don't seem to matter.

Nothing matters but her.

Which is exactly what she wants.

"You should be careful with the little archer," she says, her hands not so subtly caressing your sides. "You know she's just going to use you then throw you away when she's bored."

The irony in her words isn't lost on you.

You open your mouth to let her know that when her hands move up and brush against your chest. It takes all your willpower to stop yourself from gasping.

"Wanda," you hiss. "We're in the middle of the kitchen."

"Relax, detka," she whispers into your ear, your body instantly obeying her words. "You know I won't let anyone see."

"Do I?" you reply. "Because it seems exactly like something you'd enjoy."

The witch chuckles despite herself. "That's true but you're not the only trying to keep things a secret."

You know her words should make you feel worse about this whole thing but right now, they only serve to turn you on. As messed up as it is, there's something exciting about the situation. 

About how much Wanda wants you.

So, even though you know you should push her away, you lean back against her, allowing her hands to explore your body however she wishes.

Your obedience (if you can even call it that) is instantly rewarded by the other woman. Her hands sneak their way under your shirt, her fingers drawing teasing shapes on your warm skin as she makes the journey upward.

"You're such a good girl for me, baby," she mumbles almost absent-mindedly. "Letting me use you like this. Letting me play with you whenever I want."

A part of you wants to put up a fight. To show her you have a bigger backbone than she realizes. That you're able to switch the tables on her whenever you want.

Unfortunately, that part of you goes quiet the second her fingers find your nipples. "Look at you, all ready for me, huh?"

"Shut up," you mumble as your cheeks heat up.

Your words of defiance earn you a sharp pinch to your already sensitive nipples. "Watch your mouth, sweetheart."

It's impossible to stop your back from arching as the leftover sting rushes through your system. You'd learned the hard way that Wanda could either be the sweetest or the most unforgivable lover. In a way, it made being with her all the more exciting...and unpredictable.

Then again, you can't pretend you don't like it. If you didn't, you would have never gotten mixed up with her in the first place.

"Sorry," you whisper, not sounding particularly sincere.

If Wanda notices, she doesn't point it out and instead goes right back to playing with your chest, squeezing and pinching your nipples as she pleases.

Her actions only serve to make you more and more desperate for her. It's almost embarrassing how good she is at reading you. At knowing exactly what buttons to push to turn you into a shaking, pleading mess.

A part of you knows it's thanks to her powers that she can read your desires so well, but you ignore the thought for now. You could beat yourself up over all this later, right now, you had a very important task ahead of you.

"You're eager today," she teases, her eyes zeroing in on the slight movement of your hips. "Did you miss me that much?"

You're not sure why you're in such a defiant mood today but your mouth moves way faster than your thoughts. "Yeah, Kate was too busy today."

You don't see the scarlet that begins to overtake her eyes since you have your back to her. You miss the warning signs until she uses her magic to bend you over the counter, keeping your hands behind your back.

"You're going to regret talking to me like that," she says, holding you down easily thanks to her magic.

It's obvious you should apologize and yet you remain as composed as you possibly can given the situation. As stupid as it is, you're still mad at her for putting you in this situation.

Out of the two of you, she was the one who was in the wrong. She was the one fucking up her relationship just because she was upset with her girlfriend. And she had the audacity to pull you down with her.

To make you like it.

You couldn't place all the blame on her and yet you did it anyway. As if that would somehow fix the entire situation.

Her hand comes down on your ass before you can make your predicament worse. The sudden sensation makes you jump, the leftover sting taking over your mind.

"Wanda." Your attempt to sound mad falls completely flat since your voice is far too breathless for it to be convincing.

She spanks you again. Once. Twice. Each time striking both harder and faster.

"Try again, detka," she tells you, her voice unforgiving. "And then maybe, I'll go easy on you."

She won't.

You know she won't. But the idea that she could is more than tantalizing enough.

Although, then again, it wasn't like you didn't enjoy calling her by her beloved title.

"Mommy," you whisper, your voice sounding way too loud in the empty kitchen.

You don't need to be looking at her to see the proud grin that takes over her features.

This is the real reason why she wants you. Why she likes being with you. Because she doesn't need to fight you to get you to submit to her every whim.

"Good girl." Wanda's hands toy with the waistband of your pants. "Tell me what you want."

You allow the silence to drag on for a second longer than necessary. You both know you won't deny her, you can't, but that doesn't mean you can't keep her guessing. 

Maybe then she'll grow tired of you and stop using you so carelessly.

"Want you to touch me...please, mommy."

You half expect her to drag the moment out until you can't hold yourself back from begging for more. For her.

She doesn't, though, because unbeknownst to you, she's playing a different kind of game with you today.

Wanda uses her powers to undress you, barely giving you a second to register just how vulnerable she's leaving you. You know no one will walk in on you two, she promised you that much, but that doesn't make it any less scary...and thrilling.

"Look at you," she coos, her fingers spreading your slick folds. "So wet and I've barely even touched you. Such a needy thing, aren't you, sweetheart?"

It's embarrassing how hard your walls clench around pure air from the mere tone of her voice. It's that intoxicating mix between degrading and sweet that you want everything she's willing to give you.

"Yes, mommy," you whimper.

"Oh, I know," she says, pushing the tip of her index finger into your tight cunt. "She's such a good girl, isn't she?"

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion but her powers hold you down and stop you from turning to look at her. Your question is answered before you can even ask it, though, as a certain pair of black boots make their way into your field of vision.

"I'm not sure." The sound of Natasha's voice sends a shiver down her spine. "She looks like a desperate slut to me."

Wanda stops you from answering, thanks to her powers. "Oh, come on, Nat, don't be mean. Look how eager she is to be played with."

The redhead rolls her eyes. "That just proves my point."

The witch laughs, taking the moment to sink her finger deeper into your pussy, relishing the wet sounds that fill the kitchen. You're more than a little humiliated, but there's nothing you can do to stop it. Worse, there's nothing you can do to deny how wet the situation is making you.

How desperate you are for more.

Wanda knows. Of course, she knows. It's partly because of her powers and partly because she knows your body far too well. And because she knows you so well, she gives you a chance to call the whole thing off before it even truly starts.

"What's your color, y/n?"

It would be so easy to say "red" and stop everything. You know there would be zero judgement. That despite whatever agreement they've come to, they'd both take a step back and make sure you were okay.

And yet...you can't seem to form the word.

Because, as much as you don't want to admit it...you want this.

"Green..." you whisper.

Wanda leans in, taking your mind off of Natasha's eyes on you, and peppers soft kisses across your back. The softness of her lips is a stark contrast to her previous demeanor and it helps calm down your speeding nerves.

The Russian steps forward, her hand cupping your face and gently tilting it backward until your eyes meet. "You want this, don't you, darling?"

You don't want to admit it but you can't bring yourself to lie to her. "Yes...I want this."

The sharpness in her eyes fades away slightly. There's still an edge of annoyance in her features but she looks almost as turned on as you feel. "Good girl."

Your walls clench around Wanda's finger and she chuckles before starting to move in and out of your tight heat. "I think she likes you, Nat."

"Shut up."

Wanda adds another finger into the mix, expertly stretching you out and drawing out a long moan from your parted lips. "That's it, just give in, sweetheart. Doesn't it feel better when you stop thinking so much?"

It's startling how right she is.

She doesn't wait for an answer this time, though, she simply speeds up her movements, curling her fingers in the way that drives you crazy. The pleasure slowly overwhelms your mind, removing all other thoughts until all you can focus on is how good it all feels. How much you like submitting to them like this.

"Mommy..." You whine, watching the way Natasha's eyes darken in response to your sounds. "Please...need more."

"Aw, are two fingers not enough for you, baby?" The fake pity in her tone turns you on more than it should. "Does your greedy pussy need more?"

You nod desperately, ignoring the humiliation that lingers in your every move.

All that earns you is another laugh from Wanda and an eye roll from Natasha.

The redhead steps back from you, causing you to whimper, before her hands move to her belt. Her eyes remain on yours as she starts removing her garments, slowly revealing the red strap-on resting between her legs.

Your lips part almost instantly once you catch sight of the full size of it and just how incredibly dominant it makes Natasha look. You shouldn't be surprised considering what everyone, including Wanda, always say about her. Then again, seeing is believing.

"So fucking eager, aren't you?" You know the Russian is technically making fun of you, but you can't help feeling a bit proud of yourself for the grin on her face.

She steps forward, her hands coming up to tangle in your hair and guide you forward. There's something weirdly soft about her movements, about the way she takes her time with you. Maybe, just maybe, she likes you more than she's let on.

You wrap your lips around the head of the dildo, your eyes glued to Natasha's face. You can see the flecks of pleasure spreading across her features, the way she clenches her jaw to stop herself from vocalizing it. It's like you're stuck in a far too arousing competition with her. Each of you trying your damn harderst to break the other.

Unfortunately for you, you also have Wanda working behind you, her fingers restlessly pumping in and out of your soaked entrance. She knows exactly how to wind you up. 

Exactly how to keep you on your toes yet wanting more.

Natasha guides you further down her cock, working the length deeper into your mouth. "You look so much better like this, malyshka."

"I told you," Wanda pipes up, choosing that exact moment to work another finger into your tight heat. "You just wanted to be a party pooper."

"Keep talking like that and you'll be next, Maximoff."

"You're no fun."

You've never heard Wanda like this. So pouty and borderline bratty. It's a stark contrast to the dominant woman you've grown so attached to. To the one that turns your brain to putty with just a few words.

"Don't get any ideas, sweetheart. Mommy's still in charge here."

You moan in response, the sound muffled by the dildo currently stuffing your mouth.

"If you're Mommy," Natasha says, starting to thrust into your mouth. "Does that make me Daddy?"

You try to voice your approval for the title but neither of the women pay attention to you. They just keep talking like you're not even there, like all you are is a toy for them to play with.

"I thought you didn't like being called that."

The redhead shrugs in response. "I don't but now I'm curious."

"I think our good girl would like it."

You wait for Natasha to complain and say something about how you aren't theirs. Maybe make fun of you again for even thinking they'd ever entertain that idea.

She doesn't, though.

All she does is double her efforts as she keeps thrusting into your mouth. 

The kitchen fills with the sounds of your pleasure as they both play with your needy holes.

You feel yourself growing closer and closer to the edge, the coil in your stomach getting tighter with each one of their well-timed thrusts. You're completely at their mercy and you love every second of their never-ending show of dominance.

Of control over you.

Wanda's movements speed up and you do your best to ask for permission to cum, knowing all too well the consequences that would await you if you forgot. It's practically impossible to speak, though, considering the way Natasha is still thrusting into your mouth, her hips grinding against the base of the dildo each time she slips the length back inside.

"I know, baby," the witch reassures you. "You want to cum so bad, don't you?"

All she gets is a muffled whine in response, your body jerking forward when her thumb teases your swollen clit.

"Go ahead, darling," Natasha speaks up, her voice practically a low growl. "Cum all over Mommy's fingers for me."

You're not used to receiving such a command from the redhead and yet your body reacts immediatly to her tone. Your whole body seems to come alive as you fall over the edge, Wanda's fingers never ceasing in their movements. She expertly draws out your pleasure until you're left shaking and panting. 

The ringing in your ears doesn't allow you to hear the string of moans that leave Natasha's mouth as she watches the scene. The sight of you coming undone so violently causes her to fall apart, her fingers tightening in your hair until you're sputtering for air.

Thankfully, Wanda knows your limits well.

No words are exchanged as she uses her magic on you again. You're barely coherent, your mind still too muddled by pure pleasure and the cotton-filled haze of submission.

She gently sets you down on the couch, wiping down your soaked skin with a wet cloth, making sure to look you over in case their rough movements bruised you up.

"You okay, darling?" The witch asks as she settles down next to you.

You nod in response, shifting a little until your head rests in her lap. "Yeah...just tired."

"You should get some rest, detka. We have a lot to talk about."

Her words make you laugh. "That's an understament, Wands."

"Whatever." She moves her hand down to run her fingers through your hair, gently scratching your scalp as sleep overcomes you.

There's a lot you don't understand, a lot you really figure out, but you feel safe with the knowledge that you haven't ruined anything. That you're not an intruder in their relationship. If anything, you're a welcome addition.

[arminsumi]

🔞 / 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐃𝐍𝐈 / 𝐀𝐝𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 / 𝟏𝟖+

𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐁𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮

𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮 is a strange friend.

You can share anything with him — completely confide in him. Spend nights curled up on his chest crying about things in your past that you can't change as he genuinely listens, sometimes stroking your hair.

Ending up kissing him once, twice, more, with a cheap excuse each time, desperate to convince yourselves that you're just friends.

It was a dare. It was one time at a party. I was drunk. You were drunk. We were both drunk. Oh, that time? We were experimenting.

Well, next thing you know, you're in between Satoru's sheets. And he's smiley, cracking jokes, acting casual and as if he didn't just let you cum all over his abs.

Anyone breaks your heart, Satoru's there for you; so is his dick. He always says there's nothing a good 'pillow fight' can't fix. Or is that just his excuse to sink 7.8 inches deep into you? Probably. The way he slides into your soft pussy, there's nothing platonic about it. He started out fucking you like a friend just needing to release tension, but now he's beginning to fuck you like he's your man.

Satoru stubbornly insists that you and him are platonic. That you're just casually fucking in his shower, that it's just a funny experiment if he wants to control your vibrator in public.

"No, we're just friends." he shrugs. "What? Do friends not typically cum on each other's faces? Weird."

"Be serious, Satoru. What are we?" you ask one day. "Sometimes I feel like you like me."

He goes silent, hands behind his head and smug look erased. No reply.

𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮, who is your 'friend' and is also uncontrollably attracted to you and wants to try creampie you until you fall in love with him. Maybe if he fills you enough, you'll think he's as irresistible as he thinks you are?

© 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐢

[milla-frenchy]

You oughta know

4k2 | Clint Flood x fem reader | ao3 | Masterlist

Summary: after your ex breaks your heart yet again, you ask your dad’s best friend for a favour

Warnings: 18+ mdni. Age gap (reader is 20, Clint is in his late 40s, early 50s), virginity loss, dbf!Clint, Clint is a little sleazy but soft, pet names (Clint calls reader kid, honey, baby), pussy pronouns, praise kink, oral (f/m), unprotected piv, creampie

a/n: writing really helps to process things. So this one is dedicated to one of my shitty ex bf (no dbf in my own story, tho). To my 16 yo self: you did great, girl 🫂😘

The fic is titled after “You oughta know” by Alanis Morissette, this absolutely perfect and full of rage banger. Shameless use of some lyrics at the end of the fic

Thank you @aurorawritestoescape for being you, and for beta-ing me💕🫶 dividers @/saradika-graphics 🙏

You and Mike have never been a thing for a long time, or a thing at all. When he offered you a drink one night, you didn't tell him to fuck off, even though he had already broke your heart twice. Seemed that you were a kind of girl who thought she could fix the fucked up ones.

The way it ended the third time was the worst.

"Still a virgin? Yeah, that's not gonna work. I want someone who knows how to suck a cock, you know? Or to ride me. Not someone who knows nothing."

You ran into him again a few days later, his arm wrapped around some girl’s waist. She was prettier than you, more confident. And probably more experienced. They laughed when they saw you.

Fucking assholes.

You dragged your broken heart around for a while, until you saw Clint one night at the bar, shamelessly making out with a woman, his hand cupping her breast over her top. He was sitting on a barstool, she was standing between his thighs, and the way he was kissing and touching her made you stop dead in your tracks. It was hot, and for a moment you imagined yourself in her place and your pussy clenched. You were more turned on by that sight of him than by any other guys who had kissed you before. Including Mike. 

Clint was your father's best friend, he often came to the trailer where your dad and you lived, and they would drink beers and watch a game. Unlike his friend, your father was not really reliable, too often drunk, and a real jerk. Telling you off a thousand times for your mother leaving him. Forgetting that she had left you too, when she’d run away from him.

Clint was cool even though it pissed you off when he called you “kid”. He didn’t give a shit, and seemed to enjoy it, looking straight into your eyes with a smile on his lips.

When your dad ended up drunk on the couch, Clint would often smoke a cigarette with you, then give you a few more before driving off in his Chevrolet. He wasn't much of a talker, but at least he wasn't a jerk. And he was hot.

So when you saw him at the bar that night, you thought about your shitty ex and got angry. He wanted you to be experienced? You were going to fix it with someone who would surely know how to handle it.

A few days later, Clint mentioned to your father about going to the movies the next night, and you knew he always liked to go alone. 

Now Clint had a date with you, he just didn't know it yet. And you had to figure out how to convince him.

The movie was at 6 pm, and you finished work at 4. That gave you time to shower before going to the cinema.

Your father was home when you got there, and you wondered if he'd already been fired from his new job. As usual, he made a comment about your skirt being too short when you left. You didn't reply, got in your car and put on some music, trying to control your anxiety.

Clint’s car was already parked on the street when you arrived, and once you entered the movie theater you spotted him immediately at the back row. You went to sit next to him, and he saw you as you were walking along the seats, his usual reserved expression set on his face.

“What are you doing here, kid?”

You were so anxious that you didn't even roll your eyes at the usual nickname.

“Watching a movie. What are you doing here?” you retorted, trying not to show how nervous you were. He shrugged, and you sat down next to him, your short skirt reaching mid-thigh. His gaze slid over your legs for a second before returning to the screen, and the movie started.

He glanced at your thighs once or twice during the movie, and it gave you the courage to brush his arm and an elbow a few times with your own. He never pulled away until he finally turned to you and whispered, “you wanna explain what you're doin’?”

“Come with me,” you said as you stood up- not sure if he was going to follow you, but you could feel the heat of his gaze on your ass. You waited by the bathroom and he joined you a few seconds later.

“You're making me miss the movie,” he grumbled.

“It’s a shitty one anyway,” you replied as you pushed the door to the men's bathroom and entered before checking that no one was there. 

"I need your help," you said and quickly explained what you needed from him, not overthinking it for once.

A man opened the door and entered before Clint had time to react to your words. Your father’s friend turned to him, and growled, "it’s busy."

The man’s eyes lingered on you, so Clint took a step closer to him and asked, “the fuck you're looking at?” The guy didn't argue and left. You heard him open the women's restrooms and rolled your eyes.

Clint turned to you, a questioning look on his face. “You want me to fuck you? For your first time?”

“Yeah.”

“To piss off that jerk and get him back?”

“Yeah...”

He scoffed. “This is the dumbest shit ever.”

Your eyes dropped to the floor in embarrassment. You thought that after today when he‘d come to the trailer it would be awkward, that you were very naive to tell him about everything, carried away by your anger. That you should have overthought it.

“You shouldn't go back to him after that.”

His implied sentence made you raise your head and you looked at him hopefully.

“I'm not one of those men who whine some shit like “oh no, no… you're my friend's daughter, I won't fuck you.” Fuck it. You wanna fuck? I'll fuck you, no problem.”

Your smile went wide. “Great. In here?” you asked, pointing at one of the stalls, and he sneered at your words. 

“Damn, you're not a subtle kind, kid. No, not here, ‘course not. You can't take this cock like that. Well, you could, but I'm not sure you'd like it. Need some time to get you ready.”

“Ok, when then?” You felt the heat rise in your cheeks at your completely uncontrolled impatience.

“Jeez, he really pissed you,” he smirked. “You're on the pill or something?”

“No, I’m not... Didn’t really need to.”

“Well, honey. I won't pull out, and I won't fuck you with a condom. I'll fuck you raw." 

"I'll get the pill, then," you replied. He nodded, then told you to come to his place on Friday night. 

"Ok. But Clint?… you're clean, right?” 

“ ‘course I'm clean, honey.”

“I thought you'd chicken out,” he smirked when he opened the door for you on Friday. “But you didn't,” he added, taking you in from head to toe.

You rolled your eyes and said “and you? you didn’t chicken out?”

He chuckled. “Told you, you wanna get fucked, I'm all in. I won't say ‘no’ to a tight, virgin cunt, kid. Just don't tell your father, obviously. Don't need that shit in my life. And you aren’t spending the night here. I don’t wanna be rude, ok? But sometimes we can feel… things, after the first time. It can't happen, it would be too damn complicated. Ok? It’s just sex.”

You nodded, a little shy to be in front of him, now that you fully realized what was going to happen soon.

“Okay. So, what have you already done, sexually?”

“I.. ehm… watch porn.”

He raised his eyebrows then said “porn ain't real life, honey. What else?”

“I jerked off a guy once.”

“You made him come?”

“Yeah.”

“Nice,” he nodded, as if to encourage you. “Ok, what else?”

You shook your head.

“Nothing? Nobody ever went down on you?”

“No.” 

“Guys are so stupid, nowadays, damn…” he said, shaking his head. “Okay, undress and lie down on the bed.”

You hesitated and looked around, silently asking for his help.

“I'm not really the romantic type, you know?”

“Come on, Clint. Help me a little, ok?”

He narrowed his eyes at you, and something flashed through his eyes. As if he somehow realized that you needed some softness.

He nodded and moved closer to you, pulling your top off. You looked at him shyly as his gaze lowered to your breasts before he cupped them with his large, warm hands. You shivered at the touch of his skin. He bent down, took your nipple in his mouth and sucked on it slowly, making it twirl under his tongue. 

Then he took you in his arms. You weren’t expecting it but it was comforting. He was so big that it felt like being enveloped in a protective cocoon of warmth and your body relaxed. You wrapped your arms around his neck and held him close. He breathed in your scent, nuzzling the spot just below your ear, then said “lie down” in a low voice.

Once on the bed he knelt between your legs and grabbed the hem of your pants, pulled them down, then your panties followed.

“Gonna stretch you, ok? Besides, I like eating pussies. Feeling them getting all soaked for me.”

“Oh mmm…” you said, clearing your throat. “Ok.”

“You're gonna enjoy this, don't worry,” he said with a smirk.

He took off his plaid shirt and a gray t-shirt. He was so damn massive, broad. And hot. And you.. you weren't sure what to do with your arms, hesitant to cover your breasts, even though it was probably a little odd.

“No need to be shy in front of me. It's all natural.”

He got up and took off his pants and socks, keeping his boxers on. Your curiosity led you to look at his crotch. He was massive there, too.

“You, uh… ever done this before? Before me?”

“Being someone’s first? Oh, yeah,” he replied, climbing back onto the bed. “You girls like to let a real man take care of it. Someone who knows what he’s doing, right? Makes you feel safe.”

“Yeah,” you murmured. “I feel safe.”

“Good. Now, do you know what happens when a virgin’s being eaten for the first time?”

You shook your head. You obviously had no idea what would happen.

“She comes really quickly.”

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks again, and you gasped when he spread your thighs with his large hands. You couldn’t believe he was going to go down on you right there, that he wanted to eat you out, to fuck you.

“Oh!” you exclaimed, covering your mouth with your hand, when he licked a long stripe from your folds to your clit. 

“I fucking love being the first, you know that? Your ex’s a fool.”

He circled your pussy with his lips and started licking, with the flat of his tongue.

“Oh god,” you whined, squeezing your breasts with your hands.

“Hands on my head, kid. Hold on to it.”

You'd always been annoyed by that nickname, but the fact that he was using it, right now, was the hottest thing ever. He spread your folds with his thumbs and pressed his broad shoulders against your thighs, pushing on them, while still lapping at your cunt. It was sloppy, messy, grunts falling from his mouth, as your hands were holding onto his head tightly. It was so different from touching yourself. The sensations coursing through your body were unfamiliar but so overwhelming, and you felt your limbs tremble and your hair stand up when his nose brushed at your clit.

“Clint, I… fuck?!”

The heat in your lower abdomen was burning you up alive, increasing with every lick of his tongue. He was taking his time and stopped just before you came. You were about to whine, when you saw him staring at your cunt.

“Look at that. She's so messy for me,” he said, eyes fixed on your pussy. “She likes it and wonders why she never got eaten before, right? Well, because this one,” he said, raising his eyes to you, “only dated dumbasses.”

He pushed in a finger, slowly, making you whimper. His digit was thick, much bigger than yours. He pumped it in and out a little, slowly, and smiled as he felt your pussy clench.

“You're gonna choke my cock so hard, baby,” he chuckled, then wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked. Your fists clenched his curls hard, making him growl, but he didn't ask you to stop or to release your grip.

“Mmm,” he hummed, still sucking on your bud. “These fucking kids don't know what's good anymore. They just want to get their dick sucked, and thrust in a cunt 3 or 4 times before shooting their load. Jeez.”

He played with the tip of his tongue, teasing your most sensitive spot. You felt your pussy drip along his skin and down your crack.

When you already thought you were close to seeing stars, he pressed a second finger against your pussy, without pushing it inside. Just flattening it against your skin, below the entrance, then his tongue swirled around your clit.

“Oh fuck… oh fuck!!”

“Let it go. Come for me, give it to me,” he breathed between two licks.

“I don't know how, I… the feeling is so… so strong…”

“Just let it go, kid,” he said, sucking again, and you did, coming hard on his mouth, seeing stars for real, your hands clinging to his head.

His tongue rested on your clit until your shaking stopped completely, your legs and stomach relaxed. Only then he withdrew his fingers and licked your folds clean off your wetness. Your head was tilted to the side, resting on the pillow, your breathing slowly going down. You were unable to open your eyes, fully savoring that new sensation of post climax. 

You felt the mattress rise and opened your eyes. He was standing beside the bed, pulling his boxers down. His cock sprang free, hard, heavy, its red tip oozing.

“I wanna suck you off,” you said, sitting up on the edge of the bed. “Can I? I wanna learn this too.”

“I won't stop you. Go ahead,” he said, letting his arms rest at his sides.

“Tell me what to do,” you told him, eyes locked with his.

“Run your hand between your legs, get them wet. And jerk me off. Gently.” He watched you slowly running your fingers between your folds, lightly brushing your sensitive clit and you could swear his cock got even bigger when you looked back at it.

You wrapped your fingers around his shaft and he placed his hand on yours, setting the rhythm.

“Don't squeeze too hard, yeah, just like that. Keep going, wrist loose. Yeah, you're doing good.”

Your gaze was fixed on his cock, your mind on his breathing. You wanted to do it well, wanted him to praise you, to hear him breathe heavily. You dragged your fist up and down his length, slowly, and he growled.

“Now, spread the precum with your thumb, on the tip. Shit, yeah, just like that.” 

His fingers still circled yours, but the pace was yours now. He placed his thumb on his slit before bringing it to your lips.

“Taste it,” he said. You looked up at him, circled his thumb with your lips and swirled your tongue around it, slowly.

“Good?” he asked.

You nodded and sucked until his thumb no longer tasted like him, then you moved his hand away, gently, darting your tongue to lick his crying tip.

“Mmm,” you hummed, as you rounded your lips and took him in your mouth. You didn’t really know how to do it, but you were eager for his cock and needed to feel him more. Fully. 

He placed his hand on your head, then said “that’s ok, keep it… keep it between your lips. Focus on the tip for now, suck on it. Yeah, that’s good, kid. Shit....”

You kept going and felt your pussy drooling again. You slid your fingers between your folds and stroked your clit, without thinking, without really realizing what was happening, just answering your physical needs.

“Yeah, rub it for me, baby. Get her ready for me.”

His hand was still on your head, but he wasn't forcing you. "Stay on the tip. You'll have plenty of time to learn more."

Your brain couldn't process his words and their implication, drunk from the taste of him running down your throat, from his praise, from your fingers sliding against your soaked folds.

“You're so fuckin’ pretty like this, sucking on my cock.”

You couldn't resist the temptation of taking him in a little more. He felt heavy on your tongue. His hips jerked and precum flooded your throat.

“Ok, that’s it, that’s it,” he said, cupping your cheek with his hand. “You ready?” he asked, his thumb brushing your skin. You looked up at him, and wondered if your eyes were as wild as his. If you looked a bit of a wreck, too. Probably.

“Mmm? You ready?” he repeated. 

You snapped out of your thoughts and nodded. 

“Ok, lie down.” His voice was low, calm.

You did as he said and he took place between your thighs, supporting his weight on one elbow.

“You still wanna do this?”

You nodded and he replied “okay,” grabbed his shaft and rubbed it against your wet folds before nestling it at your entrance.

“Look at you, so damn gorgeous, all ready to take my cock,” he added, and he pushed in, slowly, just a few inches. The feeling was already enough to make him lean his head back as he felt how tight you were, his strained neck just within reach of your mouth. You pressed a kiss there, right on his throbbing veins. Maybe to think about something else, to forget how stretched your folds were around his tip. When he pushed a little deeper you whined, sensing your body resisting him.

“Fuck, Clint… it’s…”

“I know. But you can do it,” he panted. “Just… just a little more.” He pushed in and didn’t stop this time, despite your body trying to keep him away. He bottomed out and grunted “fuck” and “shit” a few times, but you barely heard him, digging your nails into his strong biceps, until your discomfort passed.

His breathing was heavy, his jaw clenched hard, with him trying to not shoot his load already. 

“Fuck, that’s it, shit… you feel so good, goddamn…”

He pulled back and pushed in again, slowly. “You ok?” he asked, his face lowered to yours. You nodded, your fingers gripping his skin a little less tightly.

“That jerk doesn’t know what he’s missed,” he murmured, pushing in and out slowly, his eyes closed again. 

“I’m glad you did it,” you whispered, and he looked at you. “I'm glad I did it with you.”

“Mmm… let’s try to make you come on my cock, ok?”

“Yeah,” you murmured.

“Fuck, you’re so tight. You’re gonna give me one more, baby? Gonna clench on it?”

“I don't know… I don't know if I can.”

“You can. Just don’t overthink it, ok? Lick it for me,” he said, bringing his finger to your lips. Then he slid his hand between your two bodies, down to your clit. Rolling it gently, face lowered towards you.

“You're doing great, kid. You're perfect.”

You nodded. You felt good now, the pain already forgotten, and you were finally able to look at him, to really look at him, while he was thrusting into you. Looking at his hair, the drops of sweat that beaded on his forehead, his obsidian eyes. Your fingers ran up his arms up to his shoulders, his muscles rolling under your skin. You felt his cock twitch inside you at your touch, and he bit his lip.

“You like it?” you murmured.

He swallowed and said “yeah… yeah, I like it, honey. You feel so good around me.”

You closed your eyes for a few moments, his digit stroking you perfectly, then said “kiss me.”

“It's not a good idea,” he objected.

“You dick's inside me... Come on.” You didn't wait for him to respond and cupped his cheeks with your hands, pulling him closer until your noses and mouths brushed. You felt his breath against your lips and pressed them to his, whispering, "kiss me." He pulled back slightly, staring into your eyes, then wet his lips with his tongue before finally giving in, his hips rolling toward yours, his finger still stroking your clit. His lips carried the taste of you, and you wondered if he could taste his own on your tongue.

You loved the feeling of him inside you, his lips on yours, his tongue against yours. Your pussy clenched around him, and he whimpered. “You're so close. You feel it?”

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, and he slid his free hand down to your breast, along your torso, then grabbed your hip. Rolling inside you, deliciously, perfectly.

“I… yeah, I feel it, Clint. It’s growing,” you said, your forehead against his.

“Come for me, baby. Come on my cock.”

You whined and let it happen, didn’t fight it like a few minutes earlier. You let your body shudder, your back arching, as his hand slipped into the crook behind it to hold you against him while he kept thrusting in.

“Shit, yeah… fuck!” he growled, and froze inside you before pushing in again, a little faster. “Shit, I’m… I’m gonna come, kid. Gonna fill you up.”

He grabbed your hips with his two hands, and barely slowed down as he came, long ropes of cum hitting the back of your cunt, grunts and moans escaping from the depths of his chest pressed against yours.

He pumped you full of his cum, and you felt every jolt of his cock inside you. The emotions you felt were so strong you could have cried, and you hugged him tight. He brushed your cheek and you kissed his neck one last time, then he lay on his side. You stayed on your back for a few moments, catching your breath.

“So what’s the deal with that guy?” Clint asked. “How did he get so into your head that you wanted to do it because of what he told you?”

You turned to him, and tried to explain your thought process. “He already broke my heart twice before that. That’s probably why I was so into him… stupid red flags attraction.”

It made Clint laugh and you did too, then kept talking. “But when he told me he didn’t want to be with me because I was a virgin, it pissed me off. I guess I wanted to get him back.”

“He’s a jerk. Don’t let him poison your thoughts like that.”

“Yeah,” you sighed. “I know.”

“Now… Why me?”

“Well, you’re hot. Yes, you are!” you insisted, seeing his disbelief. “And… I saw you with that woman the other night, at the bar. It was hot, the way you were touching her. I wanted you to touch me like this.”

“Mmm, ok. So… Was this what you were hoping for?”

“Yeah… Yeah. Choose the perfect guy.”

You got up and got dressed, remembering what he told you when you arrived.

“D’ya need a ride?”

“No, it's fine. I got my car.”

“Don't fall in love with me, kid.” he told you when you opened the door. “It’s just sex. Let’s not complicate things, ok?”

“Don't you fall in love with me, old man,” you said, letting him see your wide smile before you closed the door behind you. 

You kept seeing each other, despite his words. It definitely wasn’t just sex. You didn't really talk about it, it just happened like that. You would mostly meet at his apartment, since your dad had been fired from his job and was often at the trailer.

One evening, you two went to a bar. One where you were sure you wouldn't run into your father.

"Oh, shit," you said, recognizing a familiar figure in the crowd.

“What?”

“It’s him, over there. My ex.”

“That guy?” he asked, pointing at him. “Let’s piss him off, kid.”

“Hi,” Mike said when he saw you, a slightly uneasy smile on his lips. “It's been a while since I saw you.” He looked at Clint and frowned, then said “you huh… wanna hang out sometime?”

Clint put his arm around your shoulder, letting you know he was here for you, glare fixed on your ex. You squeezed Clint's hand in yours, then said “no… I prefer experienced men, you know?” You hesitated, then added, “and every time I scratch my nails down his back, I hope you feel it.” The way his jaw dropped was worth all the tears you'd cried for him.

You looked up at Clint and smiled at him, then said, "let’s go."

other virginity loss fics:

After (qz!Joel) A summer with the Millers (dbf!Tommy x reader x Joel)

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[pleasureable]

Pink-haired Angel !

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ in which you dye your hair with the help of your purple-haired boyfriend

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ you had always loved the idea of having colorful hair—it was just so pretty looking to you

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ really, the only thing stopping you from dying it was your fear of picking a color you end up not liking and then being stuck with it for a little while lol so you kinda closed off on doing it for a lil

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ buuuuuttttt, when you started dating a certain little purple haired menace, the idea of dying your hair popped back into your head again

˚ ༘♡ ��｡˚ Thanos loved the idea of you dying it !! he thought you would look even cuter than you already do :)

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ “c’mon babyyyy, do purpleeeee” he would beg, as much as he loved the idea of you dying your hair he loved the idea of you and him having matching hair colors even more

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ “i’m actually thinking of pink, baby. i think a light pink would be cute, no?” you said. as soon as the word “pink” came out of your mouth his blush-colored lips formed an O because pink would look amazing on you !!

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ you two had taken a quick trip to the store to buy your hair dye. looking at the colorful array of tint-filled bottles—a little plastic bottle of light, baby pink dye named Fleur Du Mal had caught your eye

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ “I want this oneeeee” you said, squatting down slightly to pick the little container up from the shelf—“aw, this is cute, baby”thanos replied. he had always loved pastels on you, he said they made you look “so angelic”

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ “can I do it for you, pretty girlllll?” Thanos asked. you were incredibly hesitant to let him touch your hair with the semi permanent dye, let alone the bleach—Thanos had the biggest tendency to not take anything seriously and you were almost positive this would be no different. “fine, but if you start to mess around I’m buzzing your hair off in your sleep”

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ once the bleach had taken effect on your hair, it was time to apply the actual dye onto your head

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ “you’re gonna look so good baby, ‘gonna be the prettiest little angel in the world” he said while brushing the tint onto your hair—eyes full of admiration for the woman sitting in front of him

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ once the dye had finished processing, you washed the remaining dye off and then blow dried your hair

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ once he had seen the finished product, Thanos truly couldn’t keep his hands (and lips) off you

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ you were just so fucking beautiful and this new hair was breathtaking on you

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ “so fuckin’ pretty baby, my pink-haired angel. gonna have you all f’me forever”, he spoke while pressing kisses onto your face and neck. he was so drunk in love with you and you loved it—you had never felt as beautiful in the past as you had ever since meeting him

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ “this was probably the best thing I could’ve ever done.” you said while staring at your newly colored head of hair in the bathroom mirror—“damn straight, baby.”