#someone's someone // find you // follow were the first three songs i was here for as a monbebe

[hanjsquokka]

Swim - [ Lee Know ]

🎸 SYNOPSIS : After a nasty break-up with your loser ex, you head to your favorite club to let loose, when the bartender catches your eye. He's managed to make you laugh more than you had all week and slowly you find yourself losing focus on his words and more on his veiny hands.

GENRE : smut, strangers to potential lovers

PAIRING : lee know × fem!reader

CONTENT WARNING : smut (warnings under the cut!), cocky minho, mentions of cheating (not between minho and reader), drinking

WORD COUNT : 1.7K

AUTHOR'S NOTE : (Part of my Stray Kids × Chase Atlantic series special for their sixth anniversary). Lee Minho. Where do I even start with this man. I think I started to notice more of him during the Oddinary Era videos (because of his purple hair 🧎‍♀️). I feel like out of all of them, I'm very much similar to him. I like him a lot because of that. Also his cats :( I think seeing him transformed me into a 75% cat person now lmao.

minors dni. if you click read, you agree to nsfw content

SMUT WARNING : hand kink, fingering, unprotected sex (don't be stupid), piv, semi-public sex, use of nicknames (doll, bunny), choking (fem receiving), clothed sex (?), reader drinks a little but no drunk sex, everyone is sober and consenting!

“Three shots of vodka please.” You said as you slid onto the bar stool, eyes on the bartender's back as he nodded and prepared your drink, handing you three shot glasses and leaned against the counter. You adjusted the hem of your short dress once you noticed a guy eyeing you with a hungry gleam in his eyes.

“Rough day?” The bartender asked, watching you down a glass.

“How do you know?” You asked with a chuckle.

“Everyone's out here drinking gin tonics and beers. Call it a hunch, I guess.” He shrugged, making you chuckle and thread your fingers together, watching the man with newfound interest. Brown hair hung over his eyes, the middle part showing a bit of his forehead. His lips were rosy (and very kissable at first impression). His biceps strained against the black button up he was wearing, the sleeves rolled up giving you a perfect view of his veiny arms and hands… Oh god — his hands. “So what's gotten the fine lady in a bad mood?” He asked, his big eyes focused on yours.

You drummed your nails against your glass. “I'll let you guess.”

“Let's see…” He cocked his head to the side, “boss yelled at you? Fired? Friends?” You shook your head. Finally, his eyes light up, “Ah… vodka, hanging out at the bar instead of the floor, your phone's practically a vibrator at this point — broke up with your man?”

“He's an asshole.” You huffed and took another shot, the burning liquid flowing down your throat made you cringe but you welcomed the floating feeling that followed afterwards. You weren't a lightweight, a few vodka shots weren't going to make you dead drunk, but you felt better. “He went out to a party, got wasted and fucked someone — two someone's as per his friend. And then had the fucking audacity to beg for another chance.”

He laughed. “Sounds about right.” A song started to play in the background — most likely by the performing group (3RACHA or something?) of the night since there were cheers all around. He turned around and then back again, placing a glass of ice cold beer in front of you. “On the house. That guy is an asshole. You deserve much better.”

“You don't even know me.”

“Any girl like you deserves better than a cheating bastard.”

You laughed, the smile brightening on your face as you kept talking to the man, who introduced himself as Minho. Minho. You liked that name. You liked your name rolling off his tongue even more when he repeated it after you, saying it again after tending to a few other customers. You stole glances at his hands when you thought he wasn't looking, the prominent veins underneath his smooth skin made your face flush as dirty thoughts clouded your mind.

“Do you stare at everyone's hands, or is it just mine?” The smug smile on his face paired with the glint in his eyes — he knew what you'd been doing. You turned red, trying to stammer some sort of response but it died out once you noticed that he didn't look like… he was bothered by it. “I feel honored.” He leaned forward, fingers pulling out some invisible leaf from your hair as he whispered, “wanna tell me what you were thinking about, doll?”

You gave a very intelligent response. “Uh…”

He smirked, looking away from you to tell one of the other bartenders that he was going to get more glasses from the back before telling you in a low voice, “Wait here for a few minutes and then go through the employees only door in the back.” You couldn't muster an answer before he winked and left.

Your heart was thudding in your chest. Were you actually going to do it? Follow a bartender you met a few hours ago? Something inside you was telling you to go for it. Sure, there was a possibility of you walking straight into a trap, but there were so many times he could've done something to you the whole night and he did nothing but lift your spirits. He'd managed to make you laugh more than you had all week.

You downed your last shot before getting up and going to where he instructed you to. No one batted an eye as you slipped through the clearly labeled employees only door and carefully walked into the dimly lit place that looked to be a janitor's closet when a finger tapped on your shoulder and you were met with Minho's big eyes again.

“Now that we're alone…” The muffled sound of music still played from behind the door, “what were you thinking when you were staring at my hands, hm?” You swallowed, Minho's finger traced your jawline before resting underneath your chin, making you look straight at him.

“W-Well…”

“Words, bunny.”

The nickname turned your ears red. “Y-You might be right…”

“Might?”

“Fine.” There was no going back anymore. “I was thinking… certain things about your hands.”

“Like what?”

“How they'd…” You bit your lip. “How they'd feel inside me… or… around m-my neck.”

“Good bunny.” He smirked. “Can I kiss you now?”

“Please.”

He wasted no time joining his lips with yours, practically devouring you as he pushed against the wall, tongue sliding into your mouth and meeting yours. His hands rested on your waist, squeezing the flesh as he deepened the kiss. Sloppy and messy, things only got more heated as the minutes flew by. He detached from you and instead peppered kisses along your jaw and down your neck. Your palm was flat against his chest, feeling his muscles tensing beneath your skin. He nipped at a spot on your neck that made heat pool between your thighs, an unintelligible sound leaving your mouth.

“Oh, you liked that?” He bit down again in the same spot, hard enough to leave a mark before smoothing over it with his tongue.

“Please…” You whimpered.

“Please what?”

“N-Need you. Your fingers.”

“Where do you need them bunny?” He was teasing you. You could see that. But you had just about enough of it. You took his hand and guided it between your parted legs, right onto your covered crotch. “You're soaking. Just thinking about my hands did this to you?” You nodded. He rubbed your clothed pussy, making your head fall onto his shoulder, the feeling nearly making your knees buckle and he barely even did anything. He pulled his hand away and tapped his finger against your lips, “Suck.”

You wasted no time in doing exactly what he said, wrapping your pink lips around his two fingers and coating them with your saliva. He chuckled, taking them out and slipping off your panties from underneath the short dress you were wearing, rubbing over your folds and your clit. You moaned at the simple touch which made him chuckle. He prodded at your hole before a digit entered inside you and you could've cum from just the feelings. “Oh god…”

He inched his finger inside and slowly began moving it in and out, adding another finger when he heard the sweet, sinful sounds escaping your lips, scissoring you open. “Look at you. Already fucked out from just my fingers. How are you even going to be able to handle my cock, hm?”

“I-I can do it. Want your cock. W-Want you to fill me up, Minho, p-please —” You were cut off by your own whimper as he pressed his thumb against your bundle of nerves. You were clenching around his fingers, almost able to taste your orgasm when he stopped and removed his fingers. You whined at the loss, your climax crumbling away.

“The only way you're cumming —” He undid his belt and pulled his pants down along with boxers so his dick could spring out. “On my cock.” And it was big. Fuck. You drooled at the sight of his thick cock, the leaky mushroom tip and the vein that ran along his length and then his heavy balls — holy shit. “Get on that table for me.” He nudged his head towards the small desk table. You scrambled to get there, laying down on the cold wood, your wet pussy on full display for him. “Such an obedient bunny.” He ran the tip of his dick along your folds, only entering you slowly after you whined for him to just put it in.

And he was big. He just kept going and going until you felt the head brush against your cervix. You felt impossibly full, head swimming in ecstasy. Through your half-lidded eyes, you could see he was struggling to keep his composure, eyebrows taut as he held your hips down. Once you gave him the go ahead, he wasted no time in setting a quick pace. Your moans echoed off the walls. The music from outside was like a background track for the sinful deed you were doing.

The water's getting colder, let me in your ocean, swim.

“Pussy so fucking tight — even after I stretched you out with my fingers —” Minho grunted, angling his hips so that he was hitting that spot inside you that made you see white with every thrust. You were babbling incoherently, much to his amusement. “Did I fuck my bunny dumb already?” One of his free hands reached up and wrapped around your throat. You opened your eyes again, the sight of his veiny arms making you clench impossibly tighter. He let out a groan, squeezing your neck to restrict your breathing a little.

You could feel your orgasm approaching again, your moans turned into high pitched whimpers, his name leaving your mouth like a mantra as you convulsed, cumming around his cock, milking him dry. He let put a string of curses as his thrusts turned sloppy and uncoordinated before he came inside you, fucking his seed into you until he was spent and slowed down.

The two of you were silent, panting to catch your breath.

“Block your loser ex. I'm the one who's going to make you feel like this. With my mouth. With my fingers. And with my dick. Over and over again.”

©hanjsquokka | copying, translating or republishing my work is strictly prohibited

#Spotify #k-labels #stray kids #skz #stray kids smut #skz smut #lee know #lee know smut #lee know x reader #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #lee know hard thoughts #lee know hard hours

[schrodingerscougar]

Note: Wow, the roommate!Simon story blew up. Anyway, here's part 2.

Following his conversation with Johnny, Simon begins to think. He begins to consider the possibility that maybe, just maybe, he’s developing feelings for you. Why else would he be so protective and mad when the sergeant talks this way about you? The thought scares him at first.

For one, being near him is a death sentence, he saw that with his family. He can’t even imagine surviving losing someone he loved again. Then there is another thing, the fact he isn’t sure you would return his feelings. If you didn’t, as he suspects, living with you would be torture, and he’s honestly too lazy to look for a new place to stay.

The next time he arrives home in the middle of the day, the apartment is empty since you’re at your workplace most probably. Not seeing your face brighten at the sight of him makes his heart ache, but he knows you’ll be home in two or three hours, so he can most certainly survive that by lying down to catch up on sleep. He leaves a post-it for you on the small table next to the front door where you always put your keys, warning you that he’s back home.

He’s woken by the smell of fresh coffee and something sweet. When he checks the clock on his bedside, he notices it’s past seven, which means he slept a good four hours without interruptions. The new record of the past weeks as the most he slept peacefully was two hours tops. He climbs out of bed and goes to the living room, surprised to see you in the kitchen, humming a song to yourself as you admire the neatly cut brownies on the kitchen island.

“You’re awake!” you exclaim happily, quickly pressing a button on the coffee machine to make him some coffee too, then pick up an empty plate and put a slice of brownie on it. “Welcome home. Here, try this. I thought you might use some homemade things after being away for so long.”

That damn smile of yours. It’s wide, happy, and it easily warms his heart and makes him smile too. Your good mood is infectious and he finds himself stuffing the cookie into his mouth as he stands next to you, nudging your side with his hip playfully. “It’s perfect, thank you,” he says while chewing, earning a roll of your eyes. You hate it when someone talks with their mouth full, so he quickly swallows the remains and goes, “Sorry.”

You shake your head with a laugh then turn away to get his coffee. Simon can’t help but wonder if this is how things would always be if you were his wife, if you would be this kind and caring all the time. He certainly could get used to this. He wouldn’t believe he deserves all the love, but he would definitely enjoy your attention.

“What got you thinking so hard?”

Simon lets out a questioning hum before realizing he zoned out for a while. “You,” he replies honestly.

“Me?”

“Mm-hmm.” Before you could ask more questions, he moves in front of you, trapping you between the kitchen island and his body as he leans down to you. “I had an interesting conversation with someone and it got me thinking while I was gone,” he says with his lips moving so close he almost kisses you. “Do you have any idea how much I miss you when I’m deployed? How many times do I wonder what you’re doing while I’m away?”

It’s easy to tell, especially from this close, that your heart is racing and your breath is caught in your throat as you watch him. Your eyes are moving back and forth between his lips and his eyes, unable to decide what to focus on. You’re both under a spell that he doesn’t want to break, in fact he wants this moment to last forever, this anticipation before he finally makes up his mind to kiss you. He wants to do it, but he can’t help but think about whether or not you would be against it.

Maybe he thinks too much, maybe his brain is too focused on the negative thoughts, and before he knows it, you move your head to capture his lips with yours in a slow and sensual kiss. Simon is aware that he has issues. He understands that his brain is only on high alert because deep down he doesn’t believe he deserves your attention. After all, he’s not a good man. Well, not always. He does his job like a good little soldier, but the lines are blurry between good and bad.

He knows that you know this too. Shortly after he moved in and found out what he did for a living, you had a lot of questions, many that he simply wasn’t allowed to answer. But you probably sensed that he was keeping things to himself, certain aspects of this position that civilians would never understand. He didn’t want to scare you away, he didn’t want you to throw him out, so he kept his mouth shut. You knew that and never pried for more information.

When your nails dig into the skin on his back in a desperate attempt to pull him closer, Simon finally returns to the moment, returning your delicious kiss while his hands grab your ass and help you on the counter behind you. His lips trail from your lips to the shell of your ear, whispering praises until he feels your hands moving to his belt.

As much as he wants that, he knows he has to stop you. So he reaches down to grab your hands, pulling them away and lacing his fingers with yours as he kisses the tip of your nose. “Not yet, love. Let’s go on a proper date first, yeah?” he asks you with a small smile.

You whine, then you beg for more, asking him why you have to go on a date when you've been living together for over a year now. He tells you that the reason is simple; he spent a bigger part of it away from home so you have to get to know each other.

“I know you, Simon,” you push on, your fingers tracing the tattoos on his forearm as you speak. When you see the determination in his eyes, you finally let out a sigh of defeat and say, “Okay, fine. Let's go on a date first. But don't even think about something fancy. Let's keep it simple.”

With a short laugh, he leans down to give you a quick kiss. “Understood.”

Later in the evening, way past eleven, the two of you finally say goodnight and he returns to his room. There's a message waiting on his phone, one that came from Johnny. “I’ll send her a DM if you won't introduce me,” it says.

“Better not. She's taken,” he replies.

#ghost #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #call of duty #simon riley x reader #mw2 #modern warfare #mw3 #john soap mactavish #john mactavish

[godslino]

PIECE BY PIECE | minho first date series. friends to lovers.

pairing: minho x fem!reader word count: 6.2k genre: college au, mutual pining, fluff, angst warnings: drinking, referenced injury (very minor) summary: minho, on a drunken whim, asks you out on a date.

chan | minho | changbin | hyunjin | jisung | felix | seungmin | jeongin · · · ♡ series masterlist · · · ♡ taglist · · · ♡

a/n: finally!! the minho part!! i’ve been sooo excited about this one since i first got the idea. i hope you guys enjoy! once again any and all feedback is appreciated, happy reading <3

“Dude, I think it’s clean.”

Minho looks up from where he’s scrubbing the counter, eyes narrowed. So what if it’s his third time going over every surface in the kitchen?

“Are you going to help me or are you just gonna sit there and make more crumbs?”

Jeongin’s eyebrows shoot into his hairline. He holds up his hands in surrender, the bag of chips in his lap crinkling. “I’m just saying. You’re acting like she’s never seen the place before.”

That’s the problem. You’ve seen his place. Minho has to stop the shudder that threatens to overtake his body at the thought.

“So you’re not helping? Great. Get out.”

“I live here!” Jeongin whines. “Why do I have to get out? You can’t banish me like this.”

“I can and I will. Now leave. I have two hours to make sure everything is ready and I am not going to vacuum for a fourth time.”

“Yes mom,” Jeongin rolls his eyes as he unfolds his legs from underneath him.

He stops just short of the kitchen counter, points an accusatory finger at Minho’s disheveled figure still hunched over an imaginary stain.

“For the record, Chan hyung would never do this to me. He loves my crumbs.”

Minho throws the scrub daddy at him.

🏠

The night it happens, all it takes is approximately three shots and a pep talk from Hyunjin for Minho to finally find the nerve to ask you out.

“You’ve got this,” the younger boy says, words slurred, his hands steady on both Minho’s shoulders. The bass thumps loud in the other room, drowned out by the walls of the kitchen until it’s nothing but garbled nonsense going in one of his ears and out the other, vibrations low in his chest.

“I’ve got this.” Minho repeats, the thrum of alcohol already spreading to his fingertips. He feels warm, light on his feet. His limbs are starting to loosen up and his insides are turning to jelly. He might even be floating.

“You look hot.”

“I look hot.”

“She’s gonna say yes.”

“She’s gonna say yes.”

“You’re gonna venmo me twenty dollars.”

“I’m gonna venmo you twenty dollars.” Minho parrots before he can even process what he’s saying. Changbin, who’d been watching the entire thing unfold from where he stands with his back pressed against the sink, snorts.

“Wait, what the f—”

“Go get her!” Hyunjin screams, pushing him through the door of the kitchen with one last pat on the back, “And send me my money!”

Minho stumbles over himself, just barely able to stop in time before he goes crashing into a group of people. The living room is crowded: there’s furniture pushed up against the walls, bodies pressed front to back in the middle of the floor, a makeshift DJ stand in the corner where Chan is controlling the music from his laptop, drink in hand. Minho catches his eye from across the room, the glow of the LEDs reflecting off the toothy grin he shoots his way, dimples on full display.

“Hey!” Minho feels someone grab his arm, and he turns to find you staring up at him. “Where’d you go? You said you were gonna get a drink.”

Minho follows your eyes down to where you’re staring at his empty hands. “I—uh, well. I ran into Hyunjin and we took a few shots.”

The pout you give him does nothing but spur on the fluttering of his chest, his brain still hyper aware of the way your hand was resting on his elbow. “Shots? I want shots!” you whine, and Minho has to avert his gaze from staring at your lips when your pout only worsens.

“How much have you had?” he tries to ask over the music. There’s a shitty pop song playing, high pitched and wonky. If he remembers in the morning, he’ll make sure he berates Chan about his DJ-ing abilities.

“What?” you scream back, tiptoeing to bring your mouth closer to his ear.

Minho is only a man. A man who's been in love with you since the moment you accidentally spilled your coffee all over Hyunjin in the quad during freshman year. He remembers that day well, remembers the way your eyes went wide and your lips parted. He also remembers the way he wished it was him with the large wet stain on his shirt, that way it was him that was offered to have his lunch bought as an apology.

He’d never admit it, but sometimes really late at night, when the moon is high in the sky and he’s feeling oddly sentimental, he counts his lucky stars that Hyunjin had been in a relationship at the time. Minho doesn’t know what he would’ve done had he been forced to watch the two of you hit it off—some form of arson, presumably. Anything to take the edge off. But because of the fact that Hyunjin was not trying to have his head cut off by said girlfriend at the time, he invited Minho along as some sort of collateral damage. That’s when the two of you became friends. Kind of perfect if you ask him.

With the jumbled mess of butterflies in his stomach that he gets whenever you’re near him, and the threat of the alcohol slowly seeping through his skin, his brain short circuits the minute your breath grazes the shell of his ear. When your hand follows not long after, fingers gripping the nape of his neck to hold him in place, he almost passes out.

“Min? What’d you say?”

Minho is rendered completely useless by you. Absolutely ruined. Your existence has thrown his entire plan to woo you off course and now his mouth is opening and closing like a badly programmed robot. Pathetic. Nuts and bolts for brains.

By the grace of God (or some other higher being that Minho’s never bothered to believe in until this very moment) he finds his voice, but not before you’re pulling back with a confused look on your face.

“I asked how much you’ve had to drink,” he says, straining against the music.

A saccharine sweet grin that has him seeing stars spreads across your face, “Not enough!”

Minho is not an enabler. Never has been, never will be. There was one time, back in that fateful freshman year that also introduced the two of you, that he let Hyunjin get blackout drunk. A terrible decision on his end, if the earful he got from Chan the next morning was anything to go by. And as if that wasn’t enough, he was finding remnants of the resulting hacking session for the following week. So yeah, never again.

But while Minho isn’t an enabler, he is smitten, and the way your hand feels wrapped around his wrist as you drag him into the kitchen has his soul threatening to leave his body. He thinks that maybe he could do anything as long as you asked. He also hopes you can’t feel the way his pulse is rabbiting beneath his skin, right under the press of your thumb.

“There’s, like, nothing here.” you say as you rummage through the cupboard near the window, nose scrunched and a frown on your face.

Minho laughs, rounds the kitchen island to crouch down and open the cabinet under the sink. “That’s because you don’t know where to look,” he smirks, pulling out a fresh bottle of tequila. “Also, Chan hyung is greedy. He knows people like you will go scavenging his supply if he isn’t careful.”

“I resent that.” you frown, taking the bottle from him. “Besides, people like me deserve to have fun too.”

“Mhm, sure.” Minho says, grabbing a solo cup. He holds his hand out for the bottle, pours just the right amount before sliding it over and following it up with a can of coke.

“A man after my heart.” you joke, holding your cup up to him in a mock toast before downing it in one go. Minho watches with so much focus, fighting against the way his head spins. He doesn’t even know if it’s the alcohol anymore, it might just be the effect you have on him. Dizzying—you flip his entire world on its axis in the best way possible.

Minho’s gonna be seeing your exposed neck in his dreams later, he’s sure of it—it’s branded into his memory.

“That…is so fucking bad.” you giggle, holding your cup out. “Another one.”

Minho clicks his tongue. “I don’t know…”

“Pleaseeee Min,” the lilt in your voice sounds oddly familiar. Minho holds his breath just in case you—yup. There it is. There goes that pout again.

It’d be so easy for him to lean down and kiss it right off your lips. He could blame it on the alcohol, maybe, but then that takes away from how he actually means it.

He sighs instead. “It’s gonna cost you.”

“An arm and a leg?”

“What? No—I meant some water.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Three shots and a full bottle of water later, Minho knows you’ve hit your limit. Cheeks flushed pink, a dopey grin on your face, pupils blown wide. Even in this state, Minho is certain that you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“Anotherrrr,” you slur, waving your cup in his face.

Minho shakes his head. “No can do. You’re cut off.”

“Please,” you whine, placing both hands on his shoulders, “I’ll do anything.”

Minho, completely taken back by the sudden closeness of your body to his, freezes.

“Anything?” he asks before he can stop himself.

This is stupid. You’re drunk. There’s no way you’re going to remember anything in the morning, much less within the next thirty minutes. He’s pretty sure that you’ll lose control of all your senses soon, which is why he’s already texted your roommate Jiwoo to unlock the door so he can carry you inside. Nothing he hasn’t done before.

“Anything,” you repeat, eyes going cross-eyed where they’re fixing on the mole he has at the tip of his nose.

This is stupid. But then again, so is Minho. A big, stupid fool that blames everything on the fact that he’s so in love with you it hurts. This might be the only chance he gets to shoot his shot.

Minho takes a deep breath, says something similar to a little prayer that’s more like Hey, if anyone’s listening, help a guy out, and hopes that the twenty bucks he sent Hyunjin works.

“Go on a date with me.” he says slowly, wincing when your eyes snap up to meet his gaze.

Well, there’s really no going back from that. The only thing that could possibly grant him redemption now is banking on the fact that you don’t remember anything in the morning.

Minho waits with bated breaths, watches as your eyes search his for a long while. He waits for the anger, the disgust, the visible repulsion that he starts to think might happen the longer the silence continues.

He’s about to backtrack, quickly conjuring up an excuse about how Oh, haha, gotcha! when your hands suddenly drop from his shoulders. You grab the cup, your chin tipped upwards, and hold it out for him to fill.

“Okay.”

“O…kay?”

“Yeah. Okay. Pour me another one.”

The next morning, when Minho all but drags himself into the kitchen in search of water and something to soothe the throbbing in his head, he nearly spits a mouthful at Jeongin, the poor guy too busy eating his cereal to realize he’s gotten a front row seat in the splash zone.

Y/N [10:34am]

so

when do you want to do that date?

🏠

Are candles too much?

Minho has options: clean linen, lavender breeze, ocean mist, warm vanilla. He really just needs something to get rid of the smell of cleaning spray.

He thought that having a night in for a first date would be ideal—less pressure, no unwanted attention, a bathroom that he can run into when he starts to hyperventilate if you smile at him for too long. But now that it’s happening, he’s convinced that every surface of his and Jeongin’s shared apartment will scare you away if anything so much as looks off-putting.

Minho is, to put it simply, freaking out. All the other times you’ve been over to his place were on a completely platonic level. Movie nights with all the other guys in tow, dropping off food that you felt generous enough to buy every once in a while, one time because you’d accidentally worn Minho’s jacket home from a party and needed to return it to him.

But this is different. This is a date. Minho’s not dreaming—he already pinched himself a dozen times in the bathroom mirror, tiny red marks on the inside of his forearm to prove it. He’s going to open the door, invite you in, cook for you, and then proceed to resist the urge to tell you how beautiful you are for however long the night continues on after that. He can practically hear Jeongin’s laugh in the back of his head, sneering at how pathetic his inner monologue sounds right now.

He needs to find another stain to scrub.

By the time you’re knocking on his door, Minho has changed his outfit seven times. Sweats were too casual, a button up was too fancy. Should he not have done his hair? No, that’s just lazy, the way his fringe is swept up and out of his forehead adds a nice touch that doesn’t scream Hey! I’m trying to woo you! You’ve never been the type to be impressed by grand gestures and shows of confidence anyways, he knows that well.

One time, when a guy from one of the frat houses hired the campus quartet to sing a song for you in the quad as he stood there with big beady eyes and a bouquet of roses in his hand, you’d all but ran from the scene, Minho following close behind as you called out to him over your shoulder. It’s one of his fondest memories. As soon as the two of you made it around the back of the science building, you’d doubled over in laughter, the both of you in disbelief at what had happened. Minho has had that information tucked into the deepest parts of his brain ever since, saved just in case he needed it.

(Later that night, in the safety of his own bed, he’d laughed maniacally at the situation. Something about watching you reject another guy filled him with a sense of joy he couldn’t explain. He just hoped he was never going to be on the receiving end of it.)

He does a quick once over of the kitchen: double checks that all the ingredients are out, blows a speck of dust off the glass stovetop, spins the tiny floral arrangement he bought so that it’s sitting at just the right angle. When the doorbell rings, the chime bouncing off the walls of the apartment, he visibly pales.

He has to reel it in, to remember that it’s just you. You might not even be here with any intentions other than to fulfill your end of the deal; one date in exchange for the extra three shots he poured you the other night. Minho takes a deep breath, grips the doorknob with conviction, and decides that he’s determined to show you the way you deserve to be treated. The opportunity is there, and he’s gonna take it.

As soon as the door swings open, every nerve that had somehow crept its way into his brain disappears, the sight of you standing on the other side immediately sending the anxiety scrambling and replacing it with fondness instead.

“Hi,” you smile, and Minho sees images of you coming home to his apartment flash across his mind. After class, after work, in the winter when it’s cold and your nose is tinted pink, on rainy days where the ends of your hair are damp and you have a wet umbrella in tow. He could get used to it. He’s so in love that it hurts.

“Hey,” he breathes out, stepping aside to make way for you, “Come in. Are you hungry?”

“Starving, actually. Been saving myself all day since I don’t always get to have your cooking.” You hop on to one of the stools, your attention momentarily stolen by the flower arrangement. One point for Minho.

I’d cook for you every day, he wants to say. But that’s weird, right? So instead, “Well then I guess today is your lucky day.”

“Yeah, I guess it is.” You say softly.

Minho can’t see you with the way his back is turned, hands moving to grab out the knife and cutting board, but if he could he’d see the way your eyes are staring softly at his back, the ghost of a smile on your lips.

Conversation flows easily after that, despite Minho’s original worries about it being awkward. You’re not necessarily treating it as a date, and he isn’t really either. It feels more like a glorified hangout, just the two of you spending time together with the added glances and smiles that normally wouldn’t be there.

Minho finds it easy to get lost in you. He finds himself craving to know more about your day, about the things that’ve been on your mind lately and the hobbies you’ve picked up. Most of the conversation is a continuation of stuff that’s fallen through the cracks during the times you see each other, but he doesn’t miss the way you ask about him too, your eyes shining with genuine interest. It makes his heart slam against his ribcage.

“How are your cats doing?”

Minho looks up from the cutting board, follows your gaze to where it’s fixed on the scattered pictures that litter his fridge. “They’re good,” he says, smiling down at a head of garlic, “My mom sends pictures all the time. She says they claw at the door to my room when they miss me.” He smashes the garlic under the knife’s blade by hitting it with the heel of his palm. “It’s cute.”

“You’re cute.”

Minho, in a very flashy demonstration of what it means to be cool, calm, and collected, slices his thumb mid-chop.

“Shit.” he mutters, dropping the knife.

It’s not that bad, just a little nick, the surprise was mostly what scared him. He probably doesn’t even need a bandaid. But despite how small it is, nothing stops you from hurriedly walking up to him and taking his hand in yours, his thumb held closely to your face for inspection.

“Are you okay?” You turn his hand over between your fingers, the soft pads of them against his calloused ones. Minho is dumbfounded, struggling to find the words to say.

“Yeah—um, it’s fine. My fault. I was distracted.” He stammers out, pulling his hand back and holding it up. He wiggles his fingers, making a show of bending and twisting his thumb that, at most, has just a small cut on the side. “See? Perfect.”

Your face relaxes, and then you’re laughing. Why are you laughing? Either Minho looks like a complete idiot or he’s suddenly the funniest person in the world for being clumsy and reckless and almost ruining the night by losing a finger. Whichever one it is, he doesn’t care, as long as he gets to hear that sound again.

“Let me help cook, please? I know you said you would do it all but clearly you’re a threat to the integrity of this meal.” You say, bumping your hip against his to move him away from the cutting board.

Minho scoffs. “I wouldn’t have done that if you didn’t catch me off guard.”

“So what? You admit that I make you flustered?”

Oh.

Minho wasn’t prepared for this. He wasn’t prepared for the—the flirting that’s clearly happening. You’re flirting with him, right? Why else would you have called him cute or given him that suspicious side eye after you asked that question?

You and Minho have joked around like this before, but it was always empty with no real feelings attached—as far as he could tell. You’re a naturally friendly person, getting along with others comes easy to you. He’s seen the way you talk to the other guys and has always just assumed he was no different in your eyes than they were. Sure, there were moments where maybe your hand lingered on his arm for a little while after he made you laugh, or the two of you would steal glances across the room. Sometimes when Hyunjin said something stupid you’d both catch the other’s eye and make a face, just another funny way of proving that you were both on the same wavelength most of the time. It’s kind of why Minho is so taken with you—he’s never met anyone that gets him the same way.

Reluctantly, Minho puts his pride aside and allows you to help. And as it turns out, you’re actually really good at cooking. Minho doesn’t have to instruct you much, and before he knows it you’re both working like a well-oiled machine, scooting past one another as you switch places between the stove and the sink, reading each other’s minds without even having to ask.

“Taste this.” You say, holding the spoon up to his mouth. Minho leans forward, front teeth poking out, and brings the spoon into his mouth. You cup your hand under his chin to catch any droppings, watching in anticipation as he smacks his lips together.

His eyes light up, big and brown and twinkling under the light of the kitchen. “Perfect.” He smiles.

“Oh you have—uh,” you stop him with a hand on his forearm just as he’s about to turn back to the sink, your other hand hovering next to his face hesitantly, “It’s just, um, your—here.”

Minho’s eyes go wide when your thumb swipes against the corner of his mouth, your touch feather light. It’s so intimate, the only sound being the music playing low from the speaker on the counter. He’s half convinced that you’re able to hear his heartbeat, blood pumping loud in his ears.

“You had some sauce…on your face.” You say shyly, your palm still pressed to his cheek.

“…Oh.”

Minho’s never really looked into your eyes from this close up before. He’s always known they were beautiful, the shape of them soft, full of nothing but the world. He can see himself in them from here, and, selfishly, he hopes you can see yourself in his, too.

He might be imagining it when your gaze flicks down to his lips for just a fraction of a second, but there’s no time to unpack any of that when the sauce starts bubbling over the edge of the pot, spilling on to the burner as loud sizzling and smoke fills the kitchen.

It’s chaos. The bottom of the pot is burnt and there’s only so much of it that’s salvageable. He only bought the exact amount of ingredients too, because this is a self-proclaimed no-food-waste household (as explicitly stated in the napkin contract he has with Jeongin, much to his dismay). So, hooray for conscious consumption of goods!

At the end of it all, there’s no one to blame. You’re both guilty of…whatever that was.

Minho tries to reassure you that it’s okay as he dials the number for the pizza place just down the street, simultaneously shutting down all your attempts to pay as an apology. It doesn’t matter to him, he’d do anything as long as it means he gets to spend time with you. At the end of the day, it’s another memory that he’ll hold close to his heart.

“Listen,” you say, swallowing down a mouthful of pizza, the both of you seated on his couch with a half-eaten box of pizza open on the coffee table, “I know you wanted to cook and all—which, by the way, I’m still sorry—but this is so good. However I’m sure whatever you made would’ve been better.”

Minho chuckles. “Stop lying,” he wipes his hands on a napkin, “I can guarantee you that whatever I cooked wouldn’t be as good as this anyways.”

“Stop selling yourself short, Min. You’re good at everything you do.”

The words fall from your lips so easily, like it’s something you’ve convinced yourself of long ago. Minho’s never been the type to bounce around from one thing to another, always choosing to stick with it until he has it down to a science. Cooking is one of them. Jeongin can attest to all the times Minho has berated him with tasting his latest dishes, chasing him around the apartment with a spoon. The words tighten themselves around his heart.

“I’m not,” he rolls his eyes, “But nine times out of ten, grease and mozzarella cheese are gonna win. I know that for a fact.”

You laugh, and the conversation gradually diverts into a debate about the top ten best greasy foods in existence. You’re heated, half kneeling on the couch with a finger pointed at him as you plead your case for onion rings, when your eyes go past Minho’s head and settle on the shelf of games in the hallway.

“You have games?” you ask, suddenly giddy with excitement as you hurry over to inspect the selection.

Minho watches with fond eyes, collects the plates and napkins to throw away. “Yeah, most of them are Innie’s. We don’t really use them. Sometimes when we’re drunk, other times when we’re bored and decide to wager money for fun.”

You hum, not really paying attention. Monopoly, Chutes and Ladders, some decks of cards, Uno—you scan the shelf until your eyes light up at what you find hidden at the bottom.

“Min! Can we play Jenga?”

“Jenga?” Minho asks, re-entering the living room. The coffee table is clear now, and he sits between it and the couch, his back against the cushion. “Isn’t that kind of boring? We have other stuff there.”

“It’s only boring if you play it the way it’s supposed to be played.” You roll your eyes. Minho turns to you when you situate yourself on the floor beside him and only momentarily contemplates running to the bathroom when your knee knocks against his. He’s been holding it together pretty well so far, however The Sauce Incident had him ready to book it if anything had gone further.

“Well how else are we supposed to play it?” He frowns.

“We make up our own rules.”

The pieces scatter across the wood of the coffee table, clacking as you diligently begin putting them together. “This is a date, right?” You ask, stopping for a moment to turn and assess his response.

Minho stills. He genuinely forgot the grounds on which tonight had even happened in the first place. Spending time with you makes him forget everything else. And, despite his fears in the beginning, being on a date with you has felt so natural that it almost seems like you’ve done it a thousand times before.

Your eyes meet. For a moment, Minho lets himself wonder what it’d be like if he went for it right then and there. “Yeah,” he says slowly, unblinking, hoping you can see the sincerity on his face, “A date. One of the best ones I’ve ever been on, actually.”

He almost cries out in victory when your face flushes pink. “Now who’s a liar?” You ask quietly, going back to piecing together the game.

Minho has learned something new tonight: he really likes seeing you flustered.

“Why do you ask?” he decides to cut you the slack, “Or what does this being a date have to do with Jenga rules?”

He waits as you finish the stack, your tongue sticking out in concentration. You’re so cute. Minho mentally pockets that image for safe keeping.

“Sorry, okay, it’s done. But basically, if we pull out a block, we get to ask the other person a question.”

“And if the tower falls…?”

“Hmm,” you think for a moment, chewing on your bottom lip, “Oh! I know. If you lose you have to tell me why you asked me on a date.”

Minho’s stomach flips. “Okay. If you lose you have to tell me why you accepted the date.”

Something unreadable passes over your face, but it’s gone in an instant. You hold your hand out for a shake, and Minho wraps his fingers around it gently.

“Deal.”

“Why are you taking all of the middle pieces?” Minho pouts.

The two of you have gone through a couple turns by now, throwing out random questions for the better half of fifteen minutes. Favorite colors, childhood foods you wouldn’t eat, the best memory you have from high school. Minho’s learned a lot, has fallen for you a lot more. But that was always a given. It’s impossible not to when he can feel the warmth from your body where you’re seated next to him, your presence overtaking all of his senses.

“Because I’m trying to win,” you laugh, putting your freshly pulled piece at the top. Just a little crooked, too. To piss him off. “Favorite movie?”

“Ponyo. Easy. My turn.”

“Seriously? Why Ponyo?”

“One question at a time, princess.”

He means it as a joke, really. He doesn’t even realize what he’s said until after the fact, the nickname making your heart skip a beat. Minho notices, the corners of his lips tugging downwards as he suppresses a smile. He manages to flick one of the side pieces until it gives way.

“What’s one thing you regret?”

“Ooh, getting deep I see.” You laugh, taking a sip of your soda. There’s a long pause, and then, “I regret spilling my coffee on Hyunjin that day.”

Minho’s brow furrows. You…regret it? He runs through all the possible reasons in his head. Surely it can’t be because you regret becoming friends with them, friends with him, right?

“Why?” He chances.

“One question at a time, princess.” You echo, laughing at his shocked expression.

You remove the last middle piece. “On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate our first date?”

Minho’s brain is going a thousand miles a minute. “A ten. Wouldn’t trade it for the world.” He says it fast, wastes no time in moving forward to remove his own piece. He doesn’t even notice that your cheeks have gone pink again, too busy itching to ask his next question.

“Why do you regret spilling your coffee on Hyunjin?”

Minho watches you, lets his mind wander to the worst possible thing you could say in this situation, and mentally prepares to book it to the bathroom.

You take a deep breath, “I regret it because I wasn’t supposed to spill it on him. I was supposed to spill it on you.”

Wait, what?

Minho blinks. “What are you talking about?”

This is humiliating for you. A terrible thing to have to admit. Up until this moment, you’d thought that this information would follow you to your grave. You press the heel of your palms to your eyes, “This is so embarrassing,” you groan.

Minho pulls one hand away. He’s not really sure what to say, mostly because he’s confused, but, “You can tell me.”

“I had…” you start, looking up at him slowly, “A plan. With Jiwoo.” Minho nods for you to continue. “I’d seen you and Hyunjin walking through the quad a few times, and I thought that you were cute, but I didn't know how to approach you. So I did something stupid and decided that I would literally just crash into you. But I fucked it up.”

I thought that you were cute. The words echo in Minho’s ears like a bell. All this time, all those stolen glances and lingering touches, all the ways you would make hope spike in his chest that maybe you felt the same—they were real.

“So you, wait—” Minho shakes his head, “So you’re telling me that all this time…”

You roll your eyes. “Yes, Min, really. All this time.”

Minho’s never been skydiving, but he imagines that this is what it feels like. Free falling—his soul hurtling towards earth at a horrifying speed, slamming back into his body right here in his living room with a force so strong it would knock him off his feet if he wasn’t already sitting on the floor. You were interested in him first.

Wordlessly, you lean forward, pulling out a piece with practiced ease. Minho waits with bated breaths.

“Can I kiss you?”

Minho feels like he might pass out. “Am I dreaming right now?”

“You didn’t pull out a piece.”

He scrambles forward, clumsily nudging a piece on the side that ends up sending the entire tower toppling over. You smile at him, soft and sweet. “Looks like you have to pay up with an answer. You know, since you lost.”

Minho doesn’t care. “Because I like you,” he breathes out, “I asked you on a date because I like you. I like you so much, ever since I saw you that day. And, funnily enough, I’ve always wished you’d spilled that coffee on me instead, too.”

The confession feels like a weight lifted off his shoulders. He’s spent so long pining after you, laying awake at night thinking about how this would go down if he ever got the chance. He never expected for it to happen like this, much less for you to possibly feel the same.

Panic slowly starts to rise in his chest when you don’t respond. He watches as you reach an arm over, build a small tower out of a few pieces, and then knock it over. You turn to him with a small smile, “Oops, I lost too.”

Minho is so in love with you that it hurts.

“I accepted the date because I like you, Minho. I’ve just been waiting for you to ask.”

He doesn’t think twice before he’s surging forward, cupping your face with one hand and kissing you with a tenderness that has you melting into his touch.

There’s no fireworks behind his eyes, no big bang or grand display of whatever it is that happens in the movies. But there’s a warmth, it starts out small in the center of his chest and spreads throughout his entire body, lights his skin aflame and travels all the way to his fingertips. You’re like that. A gentle presence, someone who worms their way into the very essence of his being and burrows into the deepest parts of him, like it was never his to begin with. Kissing you is slow, and deep, and right. He wouldn’t want it any other way. Minho doesn’t ever want to stop.

He lets his other hand fall to your waist, pulls you closer until you’re practically straddling him with his back against the couch, your knees on either side of his hips. Minho lets out a long, drawn out groan when you tilt his head back farther, his lips parting and allowing you to lick inside of his mouth. It’s so good. So good. He can’t believe he ever lived without knowing what this felt like; lived without ever having you this close before.

After a while, Minho reluctantly pulls back, holding you by the shoulders. When he looks up, your eyes are half-lidded. You look utterly debauched, cheeks pink and lips swollen from how hard they’d been pressed against his own. “We should probably slow down.” He tries hard to convince himself, too. “Talk about it all, you know? I don’t—this isn’t a one time thing for me. I don’t want it to be. I like you. I want you to know that.” He says softly, reaching up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear.

You lean into his hand, smiling when he flattens his palm to let your head rest there. “You’re like, so perfect that I want to kiss you until you forget your own name.”

Minho’s ears go red, his head falling forward until it rests against your collarbone. The feeling of his breath against your skin makes you laugh and run a hand through his hair, rubbing at the back of his neck fondly.

“This is gonna be so bad now that you say stuff like that.”

“Bad? No, I think it’s cute. You’re cute.”

“Shut up,” he whines, but there’s no bite to it. Not when he can look up and press a kiss to your lips. A dream come true. The entire world in his hands, exactly where it was always meant to be.

🏠

In the morning, when Jeongin comes back home, one hand covering his eyes just in case, he calls out,

“Everyone better be dressed! Or else I’m ripping up that napkin and making a new one with No fornicating on the furniture added into the fine print.”

When he doesn’t get a response, he rounds the corner, and finds the two of you nestled into the couch. Minho’s back is pressed into the cushions, his arms wrapped tightly around you as you nuzzle your face into his neck.

Jeongin huffs out a laugh, sends a quick text to Hyunjin that reads: Negative. Clothes are still on. But they’re so cute it’s almost sickening.

He snaps a picture to send to the group chat, grabs a piece of cold pizza, and retreats to his room.

Yang Jeongin Fanclub

jeongin: [Attachment: 1 image]

chan: AWWWWWWW

jiwoo: i’m gonna cry

changbin: dude is that the good pizza from down the street?

hyunjin: FINALLY

hyunjin: wait

hyunjin: does this mean i have to send back his $20?

[tags: @palindrome969 @summergirlsmj @n1staytiny @strwbrrychannie ]

© all rights reserved. godslino 2024. please do not steal, translate, or re-upload.

#lee know x reader #first date series : minho #lee know fluff #lee know angst #skz x reader #lee know fanfic #skz fanfic #lee know fic #skz fic #lee know fanfiction #skz fanfiction #stray kids x reader #stray kids fanfic #stray kids fic #stray kids fanfiction #lee know #godslino #first date series

[viennakarma]

My dearest friend and enemy

Part 1 | Fernando Alonso x Reader

Summary: You and Fernando always dreamed of the day you'd get into Formula 1. Unfortunately, the competition, the pride and the stubborness, get in the way of a beautiful friendship.

Word count: 7.8k

Tags: female!reader, driver reader, coming of age, ups and downs of a friendship, brocedes coded, very very angsty, cursing, anger, fights, overuse of flavio briatore as a plot device, lots of low blows, sprinkles of romance, kissing, making out, happy ending, not beta read

Relationship: Fernando Alonso x Reader

Note: Someone requested this, with this very detailed request, and it has consumed my every thought for the past week or two. I had to tweak some things from the request here and there, hope it's ok. It's heavily inspired by brocedes. Obviously we don't have all the facts with whatever happened to Lewis and Nico, but I have my own theories, that I tossed around this story here and there. (There is a lot of info that is wrong or inaccurate, I did this on purpose to fit my narrative, if you catch them, please ignore)

I'm sorry if it feels rushed, this was getting way too long and I just wanted to follow my heart. Feedback and opinions are appreciated xx

[If you have never listened to Tamino, or never heard this song, please do a favor to your brain and heart, and listen!]

Find me on Twitter!

PART 2 (END)

You wouldn’t cry. You wouldn’t cry.

You repeated those words to yourself as you stared at your fucked up kart, it wasn’t even starting. You didn’t have any more money to repair it, and if you didn’t, then you wouldn’t be able to keep going in the competition.

“Hey, are you alright kid?” Someone stopped you, and your tears fell down. You used the sleeve of your overalls to wipe your face.

“I won’t make it to the final round of the competition,” you pointed to your kart.

The boy knelt down beside you, taking a look at your kart. It was the first time you really looked at him. He was a bit older than you, probably two or three years, since you had seen him in the next category, and you knew he was one of the best from what you could see.

He walked away suddenly, but came back a minute later with a tool box. He knelt down and started tinkering with your kart.

“What- what are you doing?” You asked crouching beside him. He only hummed, seemingly concentrating on his work.

After a few minutes of silence, he asked you to test to see if it would work, and you started your kart, and it did work.

“Oh my god!” You smiled, leaving the kart, “how- how much does it cost?”

“Don’t worry, I wanted to help,” he shrugged, putting back his tools.

“Are you sure?” You asked again.

“Yes,” he stood up, and as his eyes found yours, shining under the sunlight, you smiled at each other.

“Thank you so much!” You said, offering a hand for him to shake.

“I’m Fernando,” he said, and as you said your name back, he smiled a little shyly and just said, “I know.”

“You know?” You whispered.

“Yeah. I’ve seen you in your kart. You’re good.”

You bashed under his praise, cheeks warming and stomach full of butterflies.

From then on, you and Fernando became friends, always meeting up in karting competitions, despite being usually in different categories, since he was a bit older than you. But you’d always be seen together on those occasions, or either of you on the stands, cheering for the other. Your parents knew you were close friends, and after a while, your parents would take turns at taking you two for competitions, usually going together.

You met again when you got to the Spanish Junior Championship, it was your first time at that competition and it would be Fernando’s third. Your rivalry was mostly playful in that competition, you were still the best of friends, even when you got close to his score, you still managed to leave the rivalry on the track. When it ended and you stared up at Fernando from the second place podium, you felt proud of him, happy even. You understood that he had more experience than you, winning that competition three times in a row, and you always would have next year to catch up to him.

That day when he took your hand to walk back to his dad, he held your hand tight. And when they dropped you off at home, you winked at him.

“I’ll catch you next year.” You walked to the door hearing him and José Luis laughing back in the car.

You didn’t manage to catch him next year. Fernando reached new heights as he moved up to world championships. Life took you apart, and without your greatest opponent in the championship, you took it home for three years in a row.

The next few years, you and Fernando were mostly apart. The distance was eating you thin, even when you two managed to talk for a couple of hours on the phone, or whenever he sent you letters talking about his biggest achievements. You still saw each other over summer and winter, which was what mostly kept your bond strong. You also managed to kart for fun sometimes, or go for ice cream, or just sit on the porch of your house, talking about life. You two always shared an ice cream on your birthdays, a tradition that was born ever since you were 13, and you and Fernando gathered together every coin you had to be able to buy one ice cream cone that you happily shared sitting on a sidewalk.

“We’ll make it to Formula 1 one day, Nena.”

You laughed. Despite being the greatest dream of them all, by that time, it had been twenty years since the last woman had been in a Formula 1 car, really competing. You wanted to, so bad, but you didn’t want to get any hope for it to be crushed later on.

“You, most likely, Nano. You’re brilliant, I’m sure you’re going to be a world champion one day,” you said, playful, “just don’t forget us peasants when you’re rich and famous.”

“You have too much faith in me, Nena,” he shook his head.

“No, I just know stuff. When you get your world championship, I hope you will hear my voice in your head telling you I told you so.”

He laughed it off.

Fernando extended you a bottle of cheap wine, it was his way of celebrating your 18th birthday, now you were of age. The wine warmed you up, leaving a pretty stain in both of your lips. 

“What about that girl you liked? Are you dating her yet?” You asked to break the silence.

“No…” he shrugged then took the bottle from you to take a chug straight from it, “she’s not for me.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, even though he didn’t look particularly unhappy about it.

“Don’t be. It was just a silly crush,” his lips turned down, “The girls don’t find me attractive enough,” he shook his head, feeling shy for having this conversation with you, “and I don’t know, I’ve always been a little shy, I guess. I don’t have much experience in romance. None, if I’m being honest.”

“None?!” You sounded shocked at his lack of romance. He just shook his head. 

At eighteen you had your fair share of teen love, having crushes here and there, sometimes even sharing kisses under the bleachers at school. Fernando was your best friend and you knew him like no one, and you could see that he was lonely and feeling embarrassed, up until that point, his life had been school, karting and work to fund his karting.

“Would you like to?” You asked, suddenly turning to him after drinking a sip of courage from the wine bottle.

“Like to what?” He frowned.

“To be kissed?” You whispered, and looked behind you, inside your house, where your parents were inside.

Your heart raced faster than you ever did, his pretty eyes looking for your face, trying to find any sign of joking, like you were just being silly. But you were serious, looking at his face intently. You were about to back pedal when he nodded softly.

“What-” his voice failed, and he gulped nervously, “what should I do?”

“Just follow my lead, and you will feel what to do,” you said, extending a hand and holding his face, “close your eyes.”

He did, and you just closed the distance quietly, but when you had barely touched his lips with yours, he bursted out laughing, leaning back. You also laughed at the strangeness of the situation.

“It’s ok, we don’t have to, Nano” you recovered, but he shook his head, giggling.

“No, sorry, sorry! You’re my favorite person, I trust you,” he sighed, closing his eyes again.

You held his face, trying to get closer again, and this time he let you. With a soft press, you pecked his lips for a couple of seconds. You felt butterflies in your stomach, and they pushed you to push into his lips, mouth opening a little and him following your lead. One of his hands found your face, and you deepened the kiss. He was inexperienced but surprisingly patient, letting you lead and slowly picking your pace and moves. Your kiss turned into an almost make out session, lasting long minutes, with Fernando getting the hang of it with every passing second. When you parted, his cheeks and lips were red, and you two smiled nervously at each other.

“Was that ok?” You asked, suddenly insecure.

“More than ok,” he whispered back, “I think we-”

A loud noise from inside your house made you two jump away from each other, and a second later, your mom’s voice boomed through the door, reminding you of your curfew, and checking your watch, you noticed it was almost eleven.

“Sorry, Nano. I have to go,” you stood up and he followed you.

“See you Saturday to go karting?” He asked just to confirm the plans you had made earlier.

“See you,” you waved awkwardly before sprinting inside your house.

Skipping to your room, you locked the door behind you and pressed a hand to your lips, still warm from kissing your best friend. Going to your window, you pulled on the curtains and watched through the gap as Fernando left, calmly walking down the street.

You never talked about it. And when you met again at the end of the week, none of you mentioned the kiss, things quickly went back to normal as you two pretended it never happened. Over a few months, your heart never let you forget about the kiss you shared with your best friend, and whenever you laid in bed to sleep, your mind would wander back to that specific night. You spent months building up the courage to confess you had feelings for him, and you wanted to be more than friends. Your choice was to tell him on his birthday, when you usually would go for a birthday ice cream.

“I need to tell you something-” You said at the same time he muttered, “Can I tell you something?”

“Go ahead,” he said, gesturing to you, but at that point, your bravery quickly faded.

“No, you first. You’re the birthday boy!”

“Uh, I’m dating a girl. I’m going to introduce her to you and my family at the birthday party tonight.”

That moment, with a smile frozen on your face, a small part of you was ripped forever. The excitement and fear of a young love turned into stone at the pit of your stomach. To this day, you don’t know how you managed to not burst into tears that very moment. Instead, you kept smiling, asking Fernando for more details so he could get distracted and not notice the pain in your eyes.

Managing to bury what you decided to call a silly teen infatuation after a few months, your friendship with Fernando became even stronger everyday that passed. 

You made it to the international and European competitions, winning the former twice in a row, and the latter once. You were in the Euro Open when Fernando made it to Formula 1.

He told you personally, when he signed with Minardi, and you were so happy you jumped on his arms, hugging him tight and screaming.

“I told you! I told you!” You shouted, as he carried your feet from the floor, “My best friend is in Formula 1! Oh my god, Nano!” You let go of him, your smile barely fitting your face, “I’m gonna be insufferable! I’m claiming bragging rights right now!”

He only laughed at your happy ramble.

You balanced your competitions with working double shifts for almost two months, so you could afford to go to the Spanish Grand Prix the year of his Formula One debut. He didn’t win anything that year, but he still had your immense support every step of the way. When waves of self doubt came and left him shaken, you’d hug him and whisper softly how he was just a rookie, how he would still have time to prove himself.

“You’re gonna be one of the best there is, Nano.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

He also would show you support whenever your schedule at the Euro Open didn’t coincide with his at Formula 1. It was one of the best feelings to get to the podium and see your best friend as you held the trophy. When you finally found him after the podium, he hugged you for a moment, commenting on his favorite moments from your race. As you stood, he gestured to someone, and a beautiful girl came closer.

“Nena, this is my girlfriend, Lucia,” he pointed. Your smile froze for a second. Another one, since the girl from last year couldn’t handle the distance of dating someone who was constantly traveling the world.

“It’s so nice to meet you!” You shook her hand, suddenly self conscious of your frizzy hair and sweat damp overalls. She was so pretty. So much prettier than you. 

Lucia was pretty and kind, a little bit clingy, but she treated you very well, and wasn’t jealous of your friendship with Fernando, different from the last one. All your flings never went as far as becoming boyfriend or girlfriend, so you decided to focus more on racing and trying to make a name for yourself.

“Fernando,” you called one of the rare days you two were both free and could laze around, this time, sitting on the ground of the garden, staring at the clear sky and sharing a pint of ice cream.

“Hm?”

“I talked to your dad, and you’re going to be free the day of the last race of the Euro Open, so I was wondering if you will come to see me become the champion?” You turned to him, a smile adorning your face.

“Confident, are you?” He teased your certainty that you would win the competition.

“Not confident, just focused,” you corrected him, and started explaining the date of the race, but as you talked, his smile quickly faded and you stopped.

“I’m sorry, Nena. It’s Lucia’s graduation that day, I can’t miss it.”

You swallowed, thinking it would matter so much to you that he’d be there, but at the same time, you didn’t want to be selfish or make it seem like you’re competing with the girl he loved. You tried to disguise the disappointment in your face, but he noticed. At that point he knew you for half of your lives, he knew very well when you tried to mask your sadness. And unfortunately, he had been on the receiving end of that sad face one too many times.

“Oh,” you nodded, “Don’t worry, I totally understand.”

Fernando pressed his lips thin, your meek voice doing nothing to soothe the squeezing in his heart.

The day you won the Euro Open, you could barely contain your happiness as you stood on the podium, showing your trophy to your parents, who were watching you all emotional. As the podium ceremony finished, you walked back to your parents, your mom wiping her tears and your dad the happiest. Then, you finally noticed Fernando was with them.

“Nano!” You hugged him.

“Congratulations, champion!” He said. Your heart was so full you thought it would explode, so all you managed to say were two words.

“You came.”

“You called.”

Later you found out through your mom, who found out through Fernando’s mom, who found out from Fernando’s dad, that Fernando and Lucia had broken up. They said it was because of the distance and the relationship didn’t last more than seven months. You couldn’t blame her, you as his best friend barely saw him that year either.

You became a reserve driver for Renault in 2003, meeting Flavio Briatore yourself after you won the Formula 3000 two years in a row. You knew that, by that time, Fernando had ties with Flavio, but the man assured you it had nothing to do with Fernando, and everything to do with you being extremely talented.

Still, that same week you found Fernando, to inquire if he had anything to do with Flavio’s invitation, but he assured you that you’d achieved that with your own merit. The unexpected chance to race came when by the end of the following year, Fernando’s teammate was fired by the end of the season. So you had to replace him for the remaining three races of the season, the team fighting for P2 in the constructors championship. The first two races you went alright placing P7 and P5, but still not where you wanted to place.

“Hey, you’re doing great, Nena,” Fernando told you right before the race started. He knew you were upset, frustration practically emanating from your body.

“Not as great as I can do,” you shook your head.

“Just do your best, ignore everything else.”

You nodded, before closing your overalls and gettin ready to get in the car. That race, you and Fernando managed to race just like in your karting days, with a silent partnership never seen before coming from Fernando. You placed a 2-3 podium, him ahead of you.

When you got out of the car, you jumped straight into his arms, screaming and celebrating. Your first ever podium in Formula 1.

During post race interviews you accidentally let out to the media that you and Fernando were childhood best friends, which they took as a personal reason to go digging into your lives.

Next season, Flavio signed you with the team. But before anything, he sat you down for a talk. He explained how Fernando would be top priority this year, you were a rookie, and they would offer you all the support but you had to help Fernando first.

“You will gain experience, work together with your best friend, and we can achieve great things this year. And depending on how good of a performance you show this year, next year you will be able to race for the championship, yes?” Flavio explained.

And you were fine with that, Fernando would be the main priority while you took the year to get used to the car, to being in an entirely new category, while helping your best friend reach his peak. It was the dream, finally. It was the thing both of you had daydreamed together, nothing could get in the way of that.

So you did just that. You kept your head down, fighting fiercely against your rivals, and keeping yourself out of the way whenever you and Fernando were close in a race. Your time would come, as Flavio had promised. That season you managed good results in the points, and even got five podium finishes, which landed you fourth in the drivers’ championship and managed Renault to win the constructors.

That day in Interlagos, during the Brazilian Grand Prix, you woke up knowing Fernando would become world champion. You didn’t tell him to not put any more pressure on him. He only needed a podium to mathematically become the champion of the world.

He finished P3, and you finished P7. Seeing Fernando radiantly happy, dancing, shouting and jumping was etched forever in your brain as one of your happiest memories. The way he eventually found you, holding you firmly against him, the both of you crying happy tears became headlines all around the world.

“I told you, didn’t I?” You broke the hug so you could stare into his red rimmed eyes.

“You did. You’re right more often than not, I’ve come to realize.” He whispered. When someone tried to put a mic in your faces, Fernando pushed it away.

“This is your moment, go.” You gestured to the other side, where he had to go before the podium.

Looking up from the ground to Fernando, you were so happy you thought your heart would burst open. And you couldn’t wait for it to be your turn, to feel this happiness the other way around.

That night, you, Fernando and the entire team got ready to party, to celebrate his championship. You dressed up to the nines, putting makeup and spending a good half an hour styling your hair. When you left the elevator, meeting the whole team at the lobby, they shouted and whistled saying you were pretty. It made you a bit shy but you liked the attention.

You and Fernando danced and drank like crazy that night, going strong all the way into the morning. When the party ended and you two sat on your suite balcony, watching the sun rise, you bought out an ice cream pint you had kept in the room minibar.

“How do you feel, Mr. World Champion?” You sat cross legged in front of him.

“Like a dream come true, sometimes I don’t even believe it’s real,” he said, staring into the horizon.

“Remember when we would talk about this moment?” You took his hand in yours, as he nodded, “Wow. This is great. I’m so happy for you, and happy for fifteen year-old Nano, the bright eyed boy that fixed my kart charge free.”

It’s barely a second after you finished speaking that Fernando leaned into your space and just kissed your lips. It took you a second to understand what was going on, but when his hand found your hair, you reciprocated. His lips, that had been cold from the ice cream quickly became warm under your ministrations. You held his shoulders and let him pull you closer, until you were straddling his lap. The kiss was messy, all over the place, clanking lips, teeth and tongue. You moaned softly as he squeezed your ass, and you pulled his hair at the nape, grinding down on his lap, making him groan too.

“We should not,” he said, breaking the kiss. You nodded, panting.

“Yeah, totally, we-” you tried to speak but he nipped at your neck and you lost all train of thought.

“No, we won’t ruin-” he tried again but you pulled his hair, forcing his head up so you could kiss him.

“You’re right-” you muttered against his lips, right before smashing it when you kissed him again. You stayed there, kissing, making out like you were teenagers again, too scared to reach for each other's clothes and take the next step.

When the sun was fully up in the sky, and whatever was left of the ice cream had melted, your alarm rang, and you and Fernando parted. You were about to invite him to sleep with you for a few hours when he paused, his face worried. Fernando took one of your hands.

“This is a one time- thing, right?” He frowned, and you swallowed before nodding.

“Yes, of course.” You don’t correct him with memories of your eighteenth birthday.

“I just, I don’t want anything to ruin our friendship,” he stared at you, visibly scared for your friendship, and you didn’t have the heart to ask for more.

“It won’t ruin, I promise. If you want, we can forget it ever happened,” you said, hoping and praying he would change his mind. But he looked relieved at your words.

After he left, you sat down on the bed, disheartened, knowing that these scraps of affection would have to be stored in a safe spot inside your heart, and would be nothing more than memories, and what-ifs you’d only dare to look at late in your sleepless nights. You wondered how many times he would have to undervalue your romantic affections for you to understand he didn’t want you and never would. That was the second time you shared a moment, and the second time he had dismissed it. It’s not meant to be, you whispered to yourself.

When the new season started, you had gotten a grip over your feelings for him, focused on moving on. Being in love with your best friend for around a decade was pathetic enough.

Fernando was great during the start of the season, scoring two wins within the first three races. And despite not being the results you wanted, you placed top ten in all of them, even managing one podium finish.

When the fourth race came, though, it was when you and Fernando started to collapse. It was a very carefully plotted race for you and your team, and after managing your tyres with care, you didn’t have to pit twice. And you won, for the first time ever, you stood on the top of the podium. Unfortunately, Fernando didn’t get a podium. Holding your trophy, you looked down from the podium looking to your team, and searching for Fernando.

He wasn’t there, and your heart shattered a bit with his absence.

Maybe he had a problem and couldn’t be there for you. Maybe he was busy.

You went down to speak to the press, happily talking about strategies, how you and your team masterminded it, how you managed to preserve your tyres for longer than expected.

“How do you and Fernando manage to balance your friendship out of the track with the rivalry happening inside the track?” Someone asked. You were caught by surprise, taking a few seconds to actually compute the words he said.

“Well, I haven’t seen Fernando yet, but I believe he’d be happy for my good result as much as I’d be happy for him,” you told him, but immediately regretted it as the reporter had a gotcha expression on his face.

“Well, actually, this is what Fernando said a few minutes ago when he gave an interview-”

The man gave you a tape recorder attached to a pair of headphones, and your stomach filled with dread as he pressed rewind and play.

“Fernando, today’s win puts your best friend as a contender for the championship, what do you say?”

“Well, I believe she is talented, but too young and not yet ready to face me and actually compete for the championship.”

His voice was bitter, like he didn’t see you as nothing but a bug under his shoes. Instead of making you sad, it only left you seething in anger, but as you removed the headphones, you controlled the urge to smash the headphones on the nearest wall and smirked coldly to the camera that was waiting for your reaction.

“What do you think about Fernando saying you’re still not ready to become world champion?” The reporter urged, waiting for a beef that he would successfully get.

“Well, I guess he feels threatened by me, so I’ll take that as a compliment,” you shrugged, not caring about adding more fuel to the fire. If Fernando thought he could go running his mouth and you’d be fine or not jab him back, he was in for a surprise.

After wrapping up the interviews, you finally managed to go to your room and take a shower. You were getting ready to leave when Fernando found you again, walking into your room without bothering to knock. You didn’t even look at him, just kept packing your bag.

“Nena…”

“Don’t fucking talk to me,” you shook your head, holding on to the anger instead of allowing yourself to be sad. How he was able to ruin your first ever win in Formula 1, you couldn’t know.

“Nena, please, just-” He tried again, blocking your path to the door.

“No! Fuck you, Fernando!” You took a step back, letting your bag fall to the floor, an accusatory finger pointing to his face, “How dare you do this to me? You know how many times I cheered for you? How many times I wasn’t even on the podium and still, I was happy for you? Huh? I was there for you every step of the way, and you can’t be there for me once? Now you go out there and disregard my win in front of the whole world? What did I ever do to you for you to say that shit about me?” Your voice trembled, but you refused to cry in front of him, “I’d never do that to you, you selfish asshole.”

“I shouldn’t have said that, but I was pole and didn’t even manage to turn it into a podium? I was upset, the strategy fucked me up! I know I should not have said that! You’re right! I was selfish and an asshole-”

“Damn right you were!” You shouted, then picked up your bag, “I don’t want to see you right now.”

You walked past him, leaving at once.

That night, you went to celebrate with the team and without your teammate, you got pretty wasted, dancing and drinking like you had never done before. You refused to let yourself feel down because of Fernando’s big mouth. Dancing the night away, you didn’t stop even when people on the team asked you to, since you were getting out of hand. You were grinding on a stranger, dancing to reggaeton when you felt a hand on your arm.

“Let’s go,” the voice said and you turned, seeing Fernando in front of you. He looked like he was dressed in pajamas and hair all disheveled.

He was asleep when someone on the team called him because they wanted to leave and you were being difficult, so they hoped that your best friend could come pick you up and convince you to leave.

“Excuse me?!” You pulled your arm from him.

“We’re leaving!” Fernando said, pointing to where your team was, seeing it empty, “you’re not going to stay here alone.”

Begrudgingly, you let him lead you outside, one hand in your arm, and the other one on your back. You stumbled in your heels, and Fernando pressed you against the wall, kneeling to remove your shoes and help you walk better outside. Silently, he drove you back to the hotel, while you were with your arms crossed and sulking.

He walked you to your room, helping you change into pajamas, then tucked you into the bed. He stood there for a second, pushing your hair away from your face as you closed your eyes, letting his knuckles run over your cheek softly.

“I wish-” you mumbled, sleepy, “I wish you were happy for me.”

His eyes filled with tears, seeing just how awful he had been to you. A dream was coming true and all he could think of was himself.

“I am, Nena. I’m so happy for you,” He said, but you didn’t answer, already asleep, due to being tired from the race and heavily drunk.

You woke up with a pounding headache and a stomach churning hangover. Still, you showered, drank tea and got ready to go home. When Fernando knocked on the door of your hotel room later that day to apologize, you were already on a flight to Spain. Your birthday would be later that week and your family wanted to throw you a dinner party. 

Your birthday was nice, despite obviously feeling Fernando’s absence.

You were sitting alone on the porch, after the party, when he showed up, late in the night. You didn’t say anything as he walked up to you.

“Peace offering?” Fernando showed you a small ice cream pint “I’m so sorry. I never meant to undermine you. I was a jerk, and you didn’t deserve any of it. I’m so, so sorry.”

You hesitated for a second, but his eyes were so gentle, remorseful, that you couldn’t help but give in. You jumped into his arms so suddenly he almost dropped the ice cream, but he managed to balance it and hug you back with the other arm.

“Happy birthday, Nena,” he whispered, 

“Thank you,” you said, without letting him go, “I’m sorry too. I apologize for implying you felt threatened by me.”

“You should have called me worse things,” he whispered.

You ended up sharing the ice cream once again, talking about life.

Deep down, you hoped things would go back to normal, but a part of you knew that things would never be the same. You two were too much alike for anything to work. Too proud. Too stubborn. Too competitive. When you were good, it was great, but when you were mad, your words were daggers.

The both of you tried to stay normal the next couple of races, but it was strained, forced, especially when you were racing each other. You supposed Fernando was used to you backing down for him, since it was all you had done the year before when you were a rookie. But now you were used to the car, to explore all the possibilities while pushing your tyres to their maximum, while trying insane strategies and making it work. You were a risky driver, just like him, often seen as reckless.

All the while, the media started catching up to it. They went digging to find pictures of you and Fernando when you were kids, in karting and junior competitions, finding out people to interview, old classmates, people you two had met over the years, telling everyone about your close friendship, about you growing up together. Despite you both refusing to comment on your past, the journalists would always find a way to learn more and more about you.

Eventually, it got to your nerves, harsh words were often said whenever questions were thrown at you. You were in a press conference, where Fernando was also there along with a few other drivers.

“It is noticeable that you and Alonso’s driving style is very similar, would you say that he taught you everything you know?”

You didn’t like his tone, you hated whatever he was implying, not because of Fernando, but because it meant to reduce your efforts and abilities.

“No, Alonso has no part in my racing,” your tone was firm against the mic, and you could feel Fernando’s eyes on you, two chairs away on your left.

“But you grew up together?” The man insisted, and you loudly sighed, exhausted from everyone trying to make you talk about it all the time.

“And that doesn’t mean anything!” You said with gritted teeth.

There was a moment of silence right after your outburst, and you didn’t dare to look anywhere besides ahead. When the questions moved on to other drivers, you breathed again. Finally sparing a glance to Fernando, he only looked at you for a fleeting moment, but you knew him so well, you could recognize his teary eyes. Only then it dawned on you how badly you fucked up by insinuating he didn’t mean anything to you.

When the conference ended, you watched as Fernando left really quickly, not even looking in your direction. You ran, trying to find him, going to his room that was right beside yours.

“Fernando-” You walked inside, not even bothering to knock.

“So, our friendship means nothing!” He shook his head, looking disappointed.

“I didn’t mean it like that, Nano!”

“Now I’m Nano again?” He scoffed.

You wanted to cry and plead, to explain that you never meant it this way. You were just tired of people trying to attribute your success to others. You were tired of people comparing the two of you, and saying everything you were came from him, just because he joined the category five years before you. 

“Fernando, please-”

“Leave.” His eyes were cold, almost detached when he pointed to the door.

“Please, Nano…” You whispered, feeling your own eyes welling up with tears. He just shook his head ‘no’ again.

You walked out quietly, not allowing your tears to fall down as you got into your room, inhaling and puffing your chest. You didn’t let up, trying to talk to him again, because it was just a misunderstanding.

Three days later, you tried to find him again, after the race ended, hoping he would have calmed down after a good result, a P2 in that race. You knocked on his door and entered. He was changing clothes as you walked in, he finished dressing a shirt.

“What?” He said, barely looking at you, as he sat down on the sofa, brushing his hair.

“I wanted to talk about what I said during-” your words were interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Come in!” Fernando said, and soon, two pretty girls walked in, wearing pretty dresses, one blonde and the other brunette, “pretty girls!”

You recognized they were grid girls, and they looked familiar from this weekend.

“Can we talk?” You said, trying to make him at least send the girls away for a moment.

“I’m listening,” he smirked, and you gulped as the blonde ran a hand up and down his chest. The brunette leaned into his ear with a seductive smile, whispering something.

“Fernando, please…” You asked again and he didn’t even look at you, laughing at something the girls whispered to him, “I’m sorry,” you whispered, before turning in your heels and leaving his room.

Shame and jealousy burned inside you.

He started giving you a silent treatment from then on and three races later, your silent strain came to a head, once again.

You were right behind him at the race, you P3 and him right ahead, but you had enough speed to outpace him soon, maybe a couple more laps and you’d equal him enough to try and overtake, you rode turn 2 smoothly, but as you two kept going, Fernando half a second in front of you, he suddenly hit the brakes, making you hit his rear.

“What the fuck? He brake tested me!” You shouted into the radio, reassessing, you gulped, noticing the damage to your front right tyre, “I’ve got damage!”

You called into the box to change your tyre, which fucked up your entire strategy, and made you go from the P3 to P9 in the grid. You managed to recover a little bit, but still ended P5 and out of the podium.

The rage was burning your chest as you went to the garage absolutely fuming. After all the podium proceedings and celebrations, you waited for Fernando, but he just walked past you without a care in the world. That made you even more pissed, and nobody managed to hold you when you tossed your helmet aside and marched up to him.

“That was really fucked up, Fernando!” You cut his path, making him stop short. Suddenly a bunch of people started gathering around you two, everyone ready for a show.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” He shrugged, but you knew him like the palm of your own hand, and you knew that condescending smile he showed you.

“You are a fucking coward if you have to brake test me just to get a podium,” you said, venomous, feeling your dad trying to pull you away and dissipate the commotion. But you weren’t done, “you’re pathetic, Fernando.”

“That’s enough!” Your dad said, pulling you back.

“Or maybe you’re just not good enough, have you thought about that?” Fernando said back, and you jumped on him, trying to get close enough for violence, but your dad held your waist, removing your feet from the ground and pulling you back.

“Man up, Fernando! You fucking asshole!” You shouted as your dad dragged you back into the garage.

Your dad placed you inside your room, grabbing water so you could drink and calm down. When he turned back, a sob broke from your throat, and you covered your mouth with a hand, trying to muffle the sounds of your crying. You shook as you cried again, your dad hugging you close and murmuring to you to let it all out.

You never thought your friendship with Fernando would ever come to this. You weren’t even sure of how the buildup happened that led to this.

“I don’t recognize him anymore, Papá. I don’t recognize my best friend anymore,” you shook your head, your voice breaking in hiccups. You pressed the plant of your hand to your eyes to try and stop the tears falling down, but it was useless.

“It’s ok, bebé. You’re both hotheaded, you need to talk calmly, try and fix it.”

You didn’t try to talk to him. He was wrong when he brake tested you, and if he couldn’t apologize for that, and for the hurtful words he said, then it was better to stay that way.

It only got worse as the season went on, the team tried to force you to give him advantages, but you refused many times, making the competition for the World Drivers Championship be between the two of you.

“We need to talk,” Flavio called you a day after another one of your wins, one that Fernando placed third, one that he didn’t even look at your face when you were up there.

“What happened?” You sat down in front of him by the table.

“You have to follow team orders. When we say you have to switch places with Fernando, you switch. You are deliberately going against orders, what is going on? You and Fernando are now in a cold war, the media caught up, the other drivers caught up too, why-”

“Am I the only one getting lectured?” You crossed your arms, seeing Flavio getting red in the face, angry.

“No. I want answers from both of you, and the way you’re being aggressive with each other, we believe it’s better to talk to you separately,” Flavio sighed, “What is happening? Before it was interesting, a beautiful rivalry, but now you way past that. You’re harming your own races and the team.”

“You talk to Fernando. He thinks because I won’t back down he needs to use every dirty trick in the book to damage my race. If he can’t handle competition like an adult, then he shouldn’t be here.”

Suddenly, the door opened, which made you jump. Fernando walked inside, fuming.

“So that’s what you think of me?” He raised his voice.

“Yes, you have been acting like a fucking kid,” you stood up.

“Me? You told the whole world our friendship means nothing to you! Have you any idea how that made me feel?!” Fernando got closer.

“Do you know how many times people disdain my career to pin it to someone else? To attribute my successes to you, or to Flavio, or even my dad?! You’ve got no idea what it's like being a woman here!”

“Power got to your head! You think you have to walk all over everyone to get what you want!”

“Power?! Literally every man here does that! You do that too, Fernando!”

“Funny you say that since you wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for me!” He shouted, pointing a finger to the ground.

“Fernando, stop.” Flavio muttered, coming closer to where you were face to face with Fernando.

You frowned, your anger completely dissipated and what was left was dread. And a bad feeling in the pit of your stomach.

“What?” You hated how your voice was nothing more than a vulnerable whisper.

“Fernando, enough!” Flavio commanded out loud, gesturing with a hand.

“What do you mean, Fernando?!” You asked again, ignoring Flavio trying to pacify the fight.

“I was the one to ask Flavio to sponsor you. I asked him to take a shot and invest in your career!” Fernando’s words were poison and in his eyes you couldn’t see anything left of your former best friend.

“Is it true, Flavio?” You asked but your eyes never left Fernando’s.

“Yes, but if we calm down, we can talk like adults.”

You couldn’t even come up with words, speechless not only from what Fernando told you, but from the tone he used. It was like he had punched you straight in the gut. You couldn’t contain your tears anymore, the lump in your throat threatening to suffocate you. You wanted to jump on him, to push him to the ground and punch his face. You wanted to scream in his face and call him all the dirty names you could think of. You tried to hold onto the anger but your limbs were still, and the pain expanded inside you like wildfire. He had lied to you, in the biggest step of your career he had lied to you. Even when you pressed for answers, he lied straight to your face.

You stared into his eyes one last time. It was the first time he had seen you really cry. He had seen you teary eyed or even emotional before, but it was the first time he had seen you truly cry.

“You’re dead to me, Fernando.”

Was all you managed to rasp, fat tears streaming down your cheeks. Flavio called your name as you walked away, but you never looked back and didn’t stop until you were inside your car, wailing like a baby. You sobbed all the way back to the hotel. You cried as you packed your bags, and tried but failed to contain your tears all the way back home, until you were at your parents’ door, sobbing on their sofa.

They didn’t ask anything until a couple of hours later when you managed to stop crying.

“I hate Fernando, so much, Mamá,” you whispered.

“Honey, don’t say that. Don’t do or say something you might regret later on,” She told you. You shook your head.

“I’m done with him. Done.” You bit back a sob, “he was so cruel, you had to see it.”

“He’s your best friend, dear. I’m sure it will be alright later on.”

“You should’ve seen the hate in his eyes, I don’t know him anymore. That’s not my Nano.”

So, your racing career was a lie. You didn’t make it because of your talent or your efforts. You were in Formula 1 because of Fernando. That was the cruelest thing someone ever said to you, not only because he was mean in the way he said it, but because with a few words he diminished your entire career. And what could you come up with to contest? He was right. You would never be there without him.

You wanted to give up so badly at that moment. You wanted to stay home and never come back, but you knew you couldn’t, your sense of duty was loud and you had to make it work. You had to prove that you deserved your spot in Formula 1, that all of Flavio’s forced investment on you was worth it.

You had to prove to Fernando you were more than a friend he pitied, more than a charity case he took so he could throw it at your face later.

It was one of the hardest things to realize and accept, the fact that he wasn’t your friend anymore. Maybe he never was. Despite all the disagreements the past couple of years, and all the beautiful history you had before the pinnacle of motorsport, maybe he never saw you as a friend. You thought you’d never treat a friend the way he treated you.

So you had to prove Fernando wrong.

NOTE: If you want to be tagged on part 2, please let me know in the comments!

#f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #formula 1 #f1 fic #f1 #formula one #fernando alonso x you #fernando alonso x reader #fernando alonso #brocedes #Spotify

[tteokdoroki]

✩࿐TRACK 01: RIGHT HERE. katsuki bakugou (2K)

about. leaving katsuki bakugou was the hardest thing you’ve ever done. pretending that you no longer love him every time he calls is even harder.

warnings. minors and ageless blogs do not interact! sfw, slight angst, fluff, hurt-comfort, happy ending, break ups, mentions of harassment, exes to lovers, pro hero + fem!reader, pro hero!bakugou.

things to note. yay !! the first fic of the series !! idk im really excited about these and they were super fun to write. i hope you guys enjoy <3 - masterlist / series masterlist / playlist ✩

leaving katsuki was probably the hardest thing you’ve had to do in all your years of living. 

being one another’s first loves, you feel like you owe a piece of yourself to him. the relationship that you founded together leaving high school had taught you so much, about yourself, about him and about how the world worked. it was comfortable with katsuki, he knew you liked the back of his own hands — what made you smile the way he liked, what made you laughed in the way that made his stomach twist with a joyous emotion he didn’t even know he was capable of, what made you squirm and what made you pissed off, too. 

and as you navigated the challenges of adulthood, grew into your lives and yourself — stretched the skin around your bones to spread your wings you realised that overtime, katsuki made you sadder than he made you happier. you made him feel angrier than he made you feel calm.

neither of you were prepared to let go, holding onto frayed ends of a love that had built up your confidence and set you on the course for the rest of your lives. but to say it ended on good terms would be a lie too. you needed an out and took the first one you saw, a friend on the other side of the country was starting an agency on their own and needed a partner. you knew it would hurt bakugou more than anything, so perhaps, that’s why you did it. 

you left in the middle of the night to fulfill the dream you and the blonde had come up with together — with someone else. 

of course, leaving him behind wasn’t easy and it still isn’t. cutting katsuki completely out of your life wasn’t a viable option and at least not for long, three months after your big move he came across your agency on the news following a huge rescue and shift in the hero rankings. katsuki was proud of you, he missed you, dialled up your agency to tell you himself and for some reason you found yourself clinging onto his every word not knowing that he felt the same.

you couldn’t forget about him, your golden boy and his golden smile that made heat spread through all four chambers of your heart and blood rush through your ears to the point where you were dizzy. bakugou was your day and he was your night, each of you taking turns returning from patrolling shifts that ran late for two semi-pro heroes like you — practically running into one another’s arms.

in another universe, it would still be that way for the both of you — but katsuki was bad for you, and you inevitably worse for him. even if you’d found new soil to settle your roots in, you secretly hoped that bakugou would come find you in every single timeline, every single world either of you existed in. 

maybe that’s why you kept in touch despite the dates you went on to get over him. maybe that’s why emails turned to texts and texts turned to phone calls that centred around reminiscing the past — the songs that you shared and the plans that you made. together. 

“how’s that boyfriend of yours?” bakugou grunts absentmindedly, the gruffness of his voice evened out by the static on his end of the phone. from the corner of your eye, you watch on the screen  as he slips through your old kitchen easily — knowing where everything is, knowing that he used to pin you up against those counters, knowing that he used to corner you while making coffee and...

you shake your head, popping it into view so that the blonde can see you roll your eyes in mock annoyance. “he’s not my boyfriend… just a friend from work.” you still have no idea why you lie to bakugou like that, actively pretending that your dating life isn’t flourishing. you tell yourself that it has nothing to do with the fact that you still want him. even though it never works out when you lead each other back into bed whenever you get the chance. “what are you making?” you ask, to distract yourself. 

“he likes you though.” katsuki returns from the fridge and steps into frame to show you the pack of tofu you know that he likes to cook with. you could have probably found it in your local convenience store with your eyes closed at this point. but you didn’t want him to know that you still remembered all of the little things about him. his likes, dislikes, hopes and dreams. “s’that tofu recipe fuyumi gave me back in high school. the one that makes ya—“ 

“the one that makes me shit my guts out, yeah. thanks for the reminder, bakugou.” you huff, glaring at the phone and wander into your own kitchen, subconsciously. probably to feel a little closer to your ex. “he doesn’t like me. how would you even know that?” 

“hah? bakugou? what happened to katsuki?” 

“don’t change the subject.” 

the swell of bakugou’s lush lips press into a thin line and you can just about make out his pout as you set the phone down to make yourself a fucking drink because you really can’t do this. you hate that you still seek him out in your darkest hours, when you’re alone in this city and it feels like the world is slowly turning against you. 

you’d turned off your television hours ago to avoid hearing the news. deleted the social media apps off your phone, too. called bakugou to fill the silence of your home with something soft, familiar like the deep depths of his voice. he provides a distraction that the chaos in your brain recognises, watching katsuki cook in that same old flat you rented right after going pro soothes the tensions in your body. 

his tatted arm with the sleeve flexes as he skilfully wields the sharpest knife from the set you gifted him on his twenty first. his crystallised ruby eyes squint and his nose scrunches in that adorable way as he reads the cooking instructions on the tofu even though you know that bakugou knows how to prepare it off by heart. 

all of these little things about katsuki make you feel at ease even though you’re worlds apart and taking your lives into different directions. 

“what happened today wasn’t your fault,” his timbre voice was over the line, grasping at the straws of your attention. you hadn’t realised you’d been zoning out when katsuki snaps his fingers at you. “quit that. ‘m talkin’ to you.”

“don’t snap at me, i’m not your dog.”

katsuki looks like he’s about to make a comment, but refrains when you scowl at him over the FaceTime call. “yeah but you weren’t listening to me, i know why you called me. saw it on the fuckin’ news, but i wanted you to hear from the resident fuck up that this’ll all blow over. the media is just shit.” 

even through bakugou’s brashness he still helps you lick at your wounds like you’re still his. “i hope so,” you sigh quietly and pick up your phone so that you can get a closer look at his expression, concern etched into his features. “being a pro hero decking a fan in the face doesn’t exactly instil confidence.” 

“he was a creep who’s been stalkin’ you for months. he fuckin’ deserved it. if you hadn’t,—“

“dynamight would’ve, my hero.” even though your tone is sarcastic, bakugou can tell that you’re thankful, that you mean it. he never liked that you were always one to suffer quietly, let the world walk all over you as if you weren’t worth standing tall and being proud of yourself. in some ways, the blonde wanted to be your hero — not the world’s. he wanted to stick up for you where you couldn’t even if he was defending you from yourself. 

you hated him for it, he loved you through it. perhaps that’s why your relationship was always falling from grace.

bakugou knows that you’re struggling to keep it all together, lock up all your troubles and throwing away the key with the hopes of never seeing them again. he knows that you carry that weight and that you’ll collapse if there isn’t someone to help you bear the burden. 

so he tentatively reaches out, metaphorically crosses that line you’d drawn after ending things, because you’re in need. “yanno, if you need me, i’m right here.” 

it’s like his words have snapped you back into reality, and you shoot him a look over the call. “katsuki, you shouldn’t say that.” 

“why not?” he quips — you almost miss it over the sound of his food sizzling as he begins to cook.

“we’re not together anymore… we’re broken up. it’s weird.” 

“it’s not weird to look out for friends.” bakugou snarls gruffly, though he’s all bite and no bark — mostly embarrassed by your rejection. “you think just ‘cause ‘m not callin’ you mine and giving you head every night anymore, i don’t wanna be here for you?” but of course he still finds a way to make the conversation go lewd, to fluster you. “i told you that wouldn’t change. broken up or not...what? what’s with that face. don’t make that face, sweetness.”

a hand comes up to mindlessly touch at your face and brush over your lips, you don’t even realise that you're pouting. 

“katsuki i’m serious.” you say, whining like a child. 

“and so am i.” your ex mumbles right back and you can see his tongue running over his teeth from behind his plump lips — just barely holding back a cocky smirk. 

“you’ll only make this harder.” 

“we’ve never been easy.”

“we’re supposed to be moving on from each other.” 

“you’re the one who called me, sweetness.” 

“that doesn’t mean—“ 

“you miss me.” bakugou has always been brutally honest but that doesn’t mean you’re prepared for him to hit you with the truth. it’s like a punch to the gut that makes the world start spinning and your heart stop beating. you do miss him, you always will — he’s all you’ve ever known even if it’s been years since you last embraced his love. what you have now has teetered on the blurred line of friendship and love, it’s far from normalcy. but tonight you feel like letting yourself fall a little harder, return to your old ways. “s’okay. i miss you too.” 

static echoes between your phones during the call, breaking the pocket of silence yourself and katsuki find yourself basking in. 

“you mean it?” you question the blonde tenderly. the world has been so tough on you lately, you’re not sure if you could handle bakugou breaking your heart again. or you breaking his. “you’re not just…playing with me like you used to.” 

“i’m being serious, sweetness.” you can tell that he means it, genuinity etched into his voice as it reverberates through your kitchen. “i’m by your side through everythin’, thick ‘n thin just like i promised.”

“yeah well so am i.” you mock his little quip from earlier and it makes him smile — brightly, the corners of his lips just touching his ears and the red in his eyes shimmering with a familiar affection you truly have missed so much. promises were easily broken, but bakugou’s made good on every one that he’s ever made for you. including this. “katsuki…” 

he tests the waters, dipping into your old routine with an air of hope about things. “yeah, baby?”

“will you come see me?” you bleat, picking up the phone as if it’ll bring you any closer to him. “i need you.” 

“if you need me, i’ll be there.” bakugou whispers without missing another beat. 

he doesn’t care what he has to do, what either of you have been through — you called because you needed him, because the world had put you on your knees and you were losing yourself in the mess of it all. 

katsuki bakugou books the next flight out to see you, intending to keep his promise to you.

no matter what, for you, he’ll always be right here. 

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou fluff #bakugou angst #bakugou imagine #bakugo x reader #bakugo x you #bakugo imagines #bakugo drabble #bakugo fluff #bakugou katsuki x you #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki fluff #bnha x reader #bnha x you #bnha imagines #bnha angst #mha x reader #mha x you #✧ ₊˚੭ — writing #tteokdoroki

[sometimesanalice]

I Like Your Cinema

Synopsis: Bradley wasn’t sure why you wanted to see the movie again, especially when neither one of you had particularly liked it the first time you’d seen it together. But when you’re tugging down his zipper, things start to make a lot more sense.

Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw X Female Reader

Length: 6K

Warnings: Unapologetic Smut (minors dni)

(author's note: this fic is set in the 'Like I Can Universe', but can be read on it's own! )

Bradley wasn’t expecting to find himself rolling up to the mostly empty movie theater parking lot at 11am on a sunny Saturday morning. But here he was.

He’d had to exercise more self-control than he knew he was capable of when you’d all but skipped out his front door wearing the tightest pair of jeans he’d ever seen. It was all he could do to follow after you to the Bronco, his eyes glued to all of your denim clad curves, instead of pulling you right back into bed with him like he wanted to.

In the passenger’s seat next to him, you’re surprisingly upbeat for someone who was only running off of two cups of coffee instead of the usual three you needed to become a semblance of a functional human being. You’d happily hummed along to the songs playing on the radio the whole ride to the theater.

The two of you had already seen the movie a few weeks ago. It had been fine, but they’d clearly used the funniest moments in the trailer as a way to get people in the seats. It wasn’t one he was particularly interested in seeing again in theaters, but he’d never been good at refusing you. Not when he was younger and certainly not now. So if you wanted to see it he’d be there seated right next to you, just the way he liked to be.

Although Bradley was still trying to remember just when last night it was that the two of you had talked about going to see a matinee showing of it again. He can only guess that it must have slipped his mind after the way you’d come on his mouth.

Less than an hour ago you were hustling him into the shower, he was thinking he was about to get lucky until you’d told him to hurry up or the two of you would be late.

“Wait, late for what, kid?” he’d asked confused. To his knowledge other than meeting up with Mav and Penny for dinner later that night, your Saturday was wonderfully free of plans.

He was getting used to having more morning of waking up with you than less. In his bed, in your bed. There was nothing he like more than feeling all your warm skin under his palm before the sun was up. After so many years on hard beds, it was your softness he was always seeking out still half asleep before getting up for the day.

He’s learned so many things about you from a lifetime of friendship, but he’s only had a couple of months learning what makes you sigh and gasp and keen and come.

It was one thing to know that you weren’t a morning person, regardless of how much you claimed you to be one, and another to see your adorably sleepy pout first thing in the morning with the pillow crease still etched on your cheek.

Bradley liked knowing what your preferred brand of toothpaste was and how many steps were in your bedtime routine. For as well as he’s always known you, there was so much more to discover and he was loving every new bit of you he got to uncover.

He liked your cozy apartment filled with all your pretty things and framed pictures on the walls. He’d never thought of getting a rug for in front of the sink in the kitchen until he was doing the dishes one night at your place, that night he’d ordered one for himself. However, he’d rather see your impressive shoe collection next to his minimal assortment of boots and sneakers in the closet of his condo.

More often than not, you were coming to his place with a tote bag full of your things, spare clothes and travel sized products. He didn’t want you to feel like a visitor passing through, he wanted to be your home. He was still working out how to ask you to move in with him, but he’ll figure it out. He always does.

He wanted more mornings, more nights, more days with you.

“For the movie,” you’d said slowly, looking at him deliberately. Tilting your head at him like his confusion was confusing you.

“Sweet girl, what movie? When did we talk about this? I literally don’t remember.”

The exasperated sigh that came out of you would have been funny if he hadn’t been wracking his brain trying to catch up with something he didn’t realize he was missing to begin with.

“Bradley, come on,” you huffed, petulantly, “We talked about it before bed last night. You said you’d come with me, I already bought the tickets for it.” You wiggle your phone at him like it’ll somehow help to jog his memory.

Well, that explains it. You’d done a number on him last night.

“Last night, huh?” he smirked, grabbing your hips and pulling you to him, “Was this before or after I coaxed you into sitting on my face?” Bradley chuckled at the bashful look that coasted over your face as you shoved at his shoulder lightly, but he’d just tugged you in closer, “Awh, c’mon, don’t get shy on me. It was hot.”

He liked being the one that gets to make you all flustered.

You just shook your head at him, not taking the bait, “It was after.”

“Well if it was after then you can’t blame me for not retaining that conversation.  You should know by now that you can’t hold me to whatever comes out of my mouth when I’m still pussy dru-”

“Don’t be crass,” you’d tutted at him, tugging at the hem of his worn Navy shirt.

He slides his thumbs under your shirt, letting them skim over the soft skin above your underwear, “We both know how much you like this mouth, especially when it’s ‘crass’.”

You’d hummed at him- admitting nothing, denying nothing - before a mischievous grin overtook your face, “That’s a good a tidbit to know though, seems like the kind of thing that could work in my favor for the future.”

Those dimples would be the end of him.

“Troublemaker,” he’d said, pulling off his shirt and dropping it onto the bathroom floor.

You weren’t subtle about the way you checked him out, “What are you going to do about it?”

The sweatpants came off next and your eyes weren’t anywhere near his face when he replied, “Come get in the shower with me and I’ll show you real quick.”

You’d sauntered up to him slowly. And for a moment he thought you were going to reach for his cock, instead you’d grabbed a fluffy white towel and pressed it into his chest, “Not going to happen, Bradshaw. We’ve got a date with seats F9 and F10 in 40 minutes. Chop-chop, pretty boy.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Although, it didn’t stop him from snapping the towel at your ass when you’d spun away in your triumph.

He’s given up trying to remember the conversation from the night before or when you bought the tickets because you are happily tugging him towards the doors to the theater and he’d do just about anything to see the pretty curve of your smile.

Including seeing the action comedy that had one too many explosion sequences and a car that ends up in space for whatever reason.

The last time he made a fuss about you not letting him be the one to buy something for the two of you, you’d given him a look that had nearly pinned him to the damn wall and then said: “Don’t be a caveman. It’s not the 1950’s, I am allowed buy you things too.”

He’d hate to be called anti-feminist, so he was trying to get better about letting you pamper him in your own ways. But that didn’t stop him from trying to be the first one to reach for a credit card every chance he got. You were his girl and he couldn’t help himself.

Bradley opens the door for you and is hit with the smell of freshly popped popcorn. He looks down at you in time to watch as your nose scrunches the same way it always has in all the years that he’s known you.

Once the tickets on your phone are scanned by the yawning teen at the podium in the lobby entry, you’re lacing your fingers between his again, “Let’s get some snacks.”

“How are you even hungry right now?” He’d made the two of you a big breakfast to recoup some energy after being thoroughly worn out by you last night. So he doesn’t know how you even have junk food on the brain right now.

“We’re at the movie theater, Bradley, we’re legally required to get something with some Red Dye 40 and an obscene amount of sugar in it.”

“My bad, you’re right.”

“Of course, I am,” you preen.

He huffs an amused laugh as you lead him to concessions stand. It’s early enough that there’s only one person working the counter. The two of you get in line behind the family with three small kids who have their faces and little hands pressed against the glass display with all the colorful boxes of candies excitedly making their selections.

Bradley is watching as you mull over the choices on the flat screen TVs displaying the theaters offerings, your lips quirked to the side deep in thought. As he watches you, it dawns on him that the two of you will have plenty of time after the movie to run a few errands before they meet Mav and Penny for dinner.

“Hey, I was thinking about getting for a new dresser. I think mine might be too small now that all my things are here in San Diego now. If you’re up for it afterwards, do you want to come help me pick one out? Anything outside of IKEA is bit outside my area of expertise.”

With your help over the last few months, he’s been picking up a few new things to make his place feel more like a home and less like something temporary. Like some throw pillow for the couch, some nicer towels for the bathroom that all match. All little things but he liked that your fingerprints were all over his place even when you weren’t there with him.

“Oh yeah?” you say as you turn your face to look up at him, eyes alight with interest, “I’d be happy to, it’ll be fun! I can think of at least 5 places off the top of my head. You’re in good hands, trust me.”

“Don’t I know it,” he winks and drops a kiss on your cheek.

When it’s your turn to order you get a Cherry Coke for yourself and a Root Beer for him. Along with a bag of gummy bears, a box of Milk Duds, and a packet of Red Vines. But it’s your final request that surprises him.

“Oh, and a large popcorn, please,” you say with a smile.

He peers down at you quizzically, “But you hate popcorn.”

“What are you talking about? No, I don’t.” He just gives you a skeptical lift of his eyebrow. “Ok, maybe in the past,” you allow, with a little nonchalant shrug of your shoulder, “But today I want some, it sounds good.”

Bradley has never in his life seen you eat anything other than the homemade stuff from on a stovetop, but at the determined tip of your chin he isn’t about to press it. You’ve always been the type of girl who knows what she wants. And gets it.

“Whatever you want, kid,” he says handing over his credit card to the girl behind the counter. Feeling more than a little pleased with himself as she swipes it since you’re still trying to reach for your wallet in your purse.  

You smile and shake your head at him as you press that overly large bucket of popcorn into his chest for him to take, it’s shiny and yellow with artificial butter. You grab a stack of the thin, single-ply napkins and stuff them into your purse before grabbing the rest of the goods from off the fingerprint covered counter.

He trails after you popping a few salty buttery pieces into his mouth, admiring the curve of your ass in those jeans. His own personal preshow entertainment.

The seats you had grabbed were to the left side in the very back row of one of the smaller theaters that are usually reserved for movies about to hit on-demand and streaming services. Bradley can’t say he’s too surprised that the zoom kaboom movie isn’t going to have a long theatrical run.

It doesn’t escape his notice the way you set his drink in the cup holder on the left side of his assigned seat, your own soda going into the cup holder on your right before you settle into your own seat. It’s the little things you do for him, like putting his cup on his dominant side or stocking the fridge at your place with his favorite beer, that make him fall more and more for you every day.

The two of you get competitive when the movie trivia segment plays. You’re a split second faster than him blurting out Matt Damon in Ocean’s Twelve and securing your win against him. Your victory shimmy in your seat is cut short when a man comes walking down the aisle heading towards the front row of the theater.

Bradley plays a couple rounds of the beer pong game on his phone that you always tease him about in between eating handfuls of popcorn waiting for the lights to dim and the movie to start. He offers you the bucket, but you press it back towards him and tell him you’ll have some later.

He thinks he catches the movie app with the seating chart from the corner of his eye, but you’re probably just closing it out from using it to get the tickets scanned earlier. But you’re more fidgety than normal. It’s only after he clocks you pulling your phone for the third time that he asks, “You seem antsy, you ok?”

“I’m just excited to see the movie again,” you reply, putting your phone on airplane mode and tucking it back into your purse.

“I didn’t realize you liked it so much.”

“Well, I did. I think you’ll like it more this time too, it takes at least two watches to catch all the nuances.”

“I didn’t realize a Kevin Hart movie could have so many layers,” he jokes as the lights turn down.

“You shush, it’s starting.”

As the opening sequence plays, you push up the armrest between the two of you to lean your head on his shoulder, curling into him as much as you can. When you rest your hand on his stomach he decides this might be his new favorite way to spend a Saturday morning, with you pressed against him in a darkened room and breathing in the smell of your shampoo.

Bradley isn’t surprised in the least when you turn down his offer of popcorn again 20 minutes later when it’s revealed the best friend in the movie is actually a rogue CIA agent. He smirks to himself when you push until its resting on top of the thigh furthest away from you. He couldn’t wait to tease you about it after the movie was over.

As the movie builds to the first big action sequence, your hand slowly slides lower down his stomach. It’s all he can to do try and focus on the movie in hopes of distracting himself from getting a hard-on like some horny teenager rather than the grown ass man that he is.

But then right as the chase scene through the crowded streets of London starts, you’re popping open the button on his jeans and tugging down his zipper.

And then you’re pulling out his now very hard cock.

“Oh, shit.”

Your delicate fingers are teasing along the length of him with a featherlight touch. He couldn’t care less about the half a million-dollar car on screen that’s on its way to the junkyard with the way it’s getting destroyed, and is entirely enthralled by the way your hand looks loosely wrapped around his cock as you toy with him.

“This ok?” you ask quietly, in a way that has him wanting to flutter his eyes closed. Your thumb sweeps slowly along under the flare of his head in the way you know he likes.

He’s always been a bit adventurous, he likes the adrenaline rush both in the air and on the ground, and he was learning you were too. You’d never come so quick for him as you did the night in the parking lot of the Hard Deck when the fire alarm went off unexpectedly causing everyone to start flooding out as you were riding his cock in the driver’s seat of the Bronco.

Bradley had never been more thankful to have arrived late enough that he’d had to park on the other side of the dumpsters. The only person who was allowed to see you undone and unraveled was him.

“So fucking ok, sweet girl,” he rasps as soundlessly as he can. The one other person in the theater with them is quite a few rows ahead of them, but he wasn’t about to give away what was going on in the back row of Auditorium 17 at the AMC Chula Vista 10.

“Shh, don’t you know talking during a movie is rude, Bradley?” you whisper into the shell of his ear. And god does he want to laugh, but he has to grit his teeth together to hold back the moan he’s desperate to release when you more firmly grasp him in your hand.

He already knows that is something that’s going to keep him occupied on those nights the two of you spend apart. Something to dream about on a cramped bunk bed on a carrier in the middle of the ocean when he is thousands of miles away from you.

You and your pleased smile and your hand on his cock.

There’s no way he could have prepared himself for the way you lean over him and lick up the length of him with a broad stroke of your tongue.

You’ve got one hand at the base of him and the other braced on his thigh supporting you. He’s clutching at the rim of that damn bucket of popcorn like it’s a lifeline as you drop wet, open mouthed kisses along his cock.

His pulse is thrumming in his throat and he can’t quite remember how to push the air out of his lungs. He’s had years of learning specialized breathing techniques and it all flies out of his mind at the stroke of your hand and the bob of your head and the swirl of your tongue.

Bradley is desperate to see you face, there’s nothing he loves more than looking into your eyes when you’re treating him to your perfect mouth. It’s not possible at this angle, but he gathers your hair into his fist so that he can see your lips stretched around him. He’s not guiding your motions, he just wants a better look at you. Even in the dimly lit auditorium, he can see how spit-slicked you’ve gotten him.

You’re taking as much of him as you can, with each dip of your head more and more of him disappears into your hot mouth.

And when he hits the back of your throat he nearly loses his mind.

“Jesus,” he curses up to the ceiling, throwing his head back and trying not to pant. Thankfully in time with some explosion on screen and he knows without a doubt that you’d done it at that moment on purpose.

You pull off of him and the string of spit glinting between your lips and his cock is going to fuel his one-handed fodder for the next month. He watches in rapt until its pulled taut enough to break. Your lips are shiny and wet, there’s a satisfied smile on your face as you take him in, still pumping him with your hand.

Your teeth graze his earlobe, and goosebumps erupt along his forearms. Your words hushed so that only he could hear them. Only meant for him. “God, Bradley, you’re so good to me. You’ve always been so good to me.”

“Sweet girl,” he whispers, roughly. His chest is tight with his sheer want of you.

You kiss his cheek, “Just enjoy the movie, Bradley.” Your hand is gliding up and down his shaft easily, your thumb skimming over his sensitive head on every upstroke.

Your tongue dips out to lave at the divot at the base of his neck and you nudge him with your nose in a silent request. He leans his head back along the red velvet seat and angles himself away to give you all the access to column of his throat. With his eyes tightly squeezed closed, every touch feels that much more heightened to him. Your hot breath on his throat is at stark contrast to the air conditioning wafting through the auditorium.

The feel of your lips mouthing and sucking and licking along him is worth any shit he’d get if he goes onto base on Monday wearing your handiwork on his neck. He’d do those extra push-ups with pride.

He looks down to where your hand is working him in smooth strokes, your fingertips not touching until they reach the from ridge of the head of his cock. He knows he’s not small by any means, but in your hands he looks huge.

It feels so wrong and so right. The movie is loud enough to cover any slick sounds your hand is making and the other person is far enough away that there’s no way the two of you will be caught, not above the surround sound of screeching tires on pavement and the shattering of glass.

Your lips graze his ear, “You always know just what I need and what to say. You make feel so seen and so special.” With every generous word, his heart hammers harder and harder against his ribs. Your sweet voice and your hand working his cock have him dizzy with need. “And it’s not just me. I don’t miss the way you check to see if anyone else needs a drink before you go to get another one or the way you’re always the first to help when someone needs an extra set of hands. It’s so hot the way you take care of everyone.”

Bradley’s face feels warm, he’s sure he’s flushed pink. He’s trying to keep his breathing under control, but you’re making it difficult for him. He’s never shied away from the praise that comes with his career, he’s worked and sacrificed for that. But with you, he never wants to stop earning it from you.

“You’re so damn handsome,” you hum, your lips brushing over one of the scars on his neck, the ones he’s never told you the full story about just how he got them. “I’ve never been so desperate for someone before, I want you all the time. I didn’t know it could be like this, Bradley. I lo-like you so much.”

He breathes your name unevenly.

He didn’t realize how hungry he was for those three words from you until just now. He’s loved you his whole life, in the affectionate way that friends do, but it’s been increasingly clear to him over these last few months that he is also in love with you.

Bradley already knew he was never going to feel the same way about anyone else the way he feels about you.

He’s never felt more himself than he does with you. You know the best parts of him and the worst, you’ve been there and seen it all. He doesn’t have to just be Rooster or Lieutenant Bradshaw all the time. He can just be.

It’s never been like this for him before either. He’s always orbited around your sun, but now you’re his whole universe.

He loses himself to the sound of your voice and pretty praise, soft and low, and to the feel of your lips and tongue on his skin as you work his cock in the way that he knows is going to have him seeing stars soon.

Bradley can feel your grin against his neck right before you drag your teeth down the column of his throat, “No one has ever fucked me as good as you do. I’ve never come so hard as I do with you.” 

He has to swallow down the groan that almost escapes him as he jerks into your hand as a tidal wave of masculine pride crashes into him.

Damn right you do.

You are his girl.

He knows your body. He knows you.

His. His. His.

Yours. Yours. Yours.

A cough from the front of the auditorium startles the both of you. The tension makes his throat tight, but when it’s followed by a sniffle rather than a second more pointed noise, the two of you know you’re safe to continue.

“Bradley.” He can hear the request in the way you say his name. With no minimal effort, he cracks his eyes open and turns his head to you. Half of your pretty face is illuminated by the movie playing in front of the two of you.

Holding his gaze, you slowly stick your shiny, pink tongue out to him and he almost comes on the spot.

He can see the playful dare in your eyes and the wicked curve of the corners of your mouth around your waiting tongue.

You know exactly what you are doing to him. A menace, his favorite menace.

His favorite person.

Bradley leans over and cups your jaw in his hand, his thumb skimming along your cheek right before he spits into your open mouth.

You let him admire his handiwork for a moment and then you wink at him.

It’s in that instant that he knows he’s played right into your winning hand because you’re leaning back down over his cock and letting the combination of his spit and yours drip right on to the top of him.

The two of you watch as the thick dribble slowly slides off and down, down guided by the thick vein along the length of him.

When it reaches the base of his cock, your mouth is chasing after it as you take him right down to the hilt.

His stomach and thighs are tensing with the strain of holding himself back when you hollow your cheeks around him. He almost doesn’t want to give in just yet, but the feel of your soft lips and the firm strokes of your hand on him is just too good.

That pressure that has been steadily building behind his bellybutton is too hard to ignore. He’s so close now. You must be able to tell he’s right there too because you’re humming around him in that way that makes his lower stomach and inner thighs coil in anticipation. He reaches for your leg, driven by the overwhelming need to touch you. Bradley can feel all your soothing warmth through your painted on jeans under his palm.

And with a tricky twist of your wrist at the base of his cock as you tongue at the firm ridge of him, he spills into your perfect mouth as you finish him off.

Bradley’s mind goes blank with pleasure as it hits him like a sucker punch. 

It’s intense. It’s a rush. It’s all because of you.

Spent and sated he melts further into the comfortable movie theater seat as you clean what cum you couldn’t swallow with your tongue, laving at him until you were content before tucking him back into his boxer briefs.

He doesn’t know how he made it through that without sending that giant bucket of popcorn to the floor, but the rim of it is noticeable crumbled on one side. He balances it on his leg as he adjusts himself and rebuttons his jeans.

When he looks over at you, you’re popping a Milk Dud into your mouth like a prize for a job well done. And you grin widely at him.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, affectionately pulling you back to him. He kisses the top of your head as you tuck yourself into his chest, that box of candy clutched in your hand.

The rest of the movie passes in a hazy blur as his heartrate returns to normal while he plays with the ends of your hair.

He tries offering you the popcorn again, but once again you push it away. This time he does laugh and you tilt your head up and press a soft kiss at the base of his throat. He can’t help but smile to himself every time you hold up one of the chocolate-covered caramel candies up for him to eat, your eyes never leaving the screen.

And this time, he’s not even annoyed when they misidentify the Immelmann Turn for a Barrel Roll Attack. Although how they got a Pontiac Fiero airborne is still beyond him.  

When the man in the front row leaves as the credits start rolling he turns to you, “Well, you were right, sweet girl. I think that might be my new favorite movie.”  

Your smile is beaming, but your laugh is even brighter.

He still can’t believe that just happened, but he’s already planning to preorder the damn collector’s edition Blu-ray the second he can. “Can I ask what brought that on?”

“You keep trying to get handsy with me at the library, but you know I can’t desecrate the books. Knowledge is power, Bradley. But I figured this was something you might like too.”

“Are you telling me you brought me here for the sole purpose of getting me off in the back row, kid?

“I am and I did,” you preen.

Bradley chuckles and leans over for a kiss. It’s soft and sweet.

He pulls away and looks into your eyes, grinning he asks, “So you like me, huh?” He knows he’s probably pressing his luck, but he’s willing to take a gamble if it means he gets to hear that from you again.

You press you lips together trying to fight back your own smile, “I’m not saying those three words to you for the first time after blowing you in the back row of an AMC, Bradshaw.”

“Is it just the AMC then?” he teases, setting his bucket of popcorn to the side before pulling you into his lap. Your knees balanced on the seats to either side of him as you settle on him, “Because we could hit up a Regal if that’s more your speed. Or-”

“Bradley,” you laugh, trying to cover his mouth with your hand.

He catches it in his and presses a quick kiss to your palm, “And what if I told you I like you too? Would that change anything?”

It’s no secret what he really means. He knows what almost slipped out of your mouth. But if you’re not quite ready to say it then he can be patient. You’re more than worth the wait.

Bradley sees the way your eyes light up and the way your smile gets even wider only a sliver of a second before you’re ducking down to eagerly kiss him.

For a moment he feels like he is a teenager again, making out with his girlfriend in the back of a movie theater without anyone around. Wild and reckless and carefree.

Your hands slide up his chest and into his hair, your nails on his scalp have him sinking further into the seat. His hands grip your ass, just like the way he’s by dying to touch you since he saw you in them this morning. He takes advantage of your gasp to slide his tongue against yours. He didn’t know that happiness tasted like the Cherry Coke you had been sipping on, but it does and he can’t get enough of it.

He probably would have kept on kissing you if it were for the pointed clearly of a throat that has the two of you flying apart like you’ve both been electrocuted. The teen standing in the aisle just awkwardly lifts up the broom and dust pan.

You bite your lip to keep from giggling at getting caught as you scramble off of his lap collecting your things, hastily shoving the candy back in your purse and babbling a sorry, sorry that he personally didn’t think sounded too terribly apologetic. He’s quick to follow your lead, checking his pockets to make sure he still had his wallet and keys, not forgetting to grab that large cardboard popcorn bucket as you head for the double doors to the auditorium.

The two of you manage to keep it together until the swinging door closes behind and then you’re bursting out into a fit of laughter in the hallway.

“Oh my god, Bradley, I’m mortified,” you giggle into his chest, “We can never come back here.”

“Nah, I’m sure that’s not the first time that kid has busted people for necking in the back row. Plus this is the best reviewed AMC in the area,” he says with a grin, dropping his arm over your shoulders. “Hey, I’ve still got at least half a bucket of popcorn left should we make it a double feature? I’m more than happy to return the favor. Those jeans of yours might make it a little difficult, but I’m up for the challenge.” He gives you a playfully suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows.

“Maybe next time,” you grin, reaching up and threading your fingers through his to tug him towards the exit. “I am worried we might be arrested for public indecency if we stay here a second longer.”

He tosses the popcorn bucket into the trash as the two of you pass by the concession stand on your way out.

“Ok, kid, but I have to know, why did you order the biggest size they had if you weren’t going to eat it too? We both know you hate movie theater popcorn.”

“You’re not allowed to tease me if I tell you.”

“I promise not to tease you,” he says holding open the door for you.

“I thought it might help to block any potential wandering eyes,” you admit, blushingly, “Just in case, there was any last-minute Kevin Hart super fans who wanted to go to a matinee first thing in the morning.”

He tips his head back and laughs, “She’s smart and pretty.”

“And you like me for it,” you say, squeezing his hand in yours.

“Oh, I more than like you for it, sweet girl,” he confirms.

Any other plans he had for the day are forgotten when you press him against the Bronco for another thorough kiss.

It was a miracle the two of you weren’t late meeting Penny and Mav later that night.

He still wants to get a new dresser, he wants you to have a place to put things in his home. But if his girlfriend wants to spend the rest of their Saturday in bed together, who is he to deny you.

Not when he knows you like him.

You don’t make him wait long to hear it though.

They are the first three words he heard out of your mouth the next morning.

And it is without a doubt the best thing he’s ever heard in his life.

Nothing has ever felt as easy or as right to him as it does saying it back to you against your smiling lips.

I love you I love you I love you I love you

Shout out to the AMC Chula Vista 10! They're the real MVP here. Bradley and Sweet Girl definitely return, and the next time she wears a dress 🤗

A big thank you to Jordan (@gretagerwigsmuse) for being the ultimate hype girl, I know when the vibes are right when the ALL CAPS come out. Ames (@laracrofted) you saved the day with the color edit for the banner, thank you! And Elle (@callsignspark), you know what you did and I thank you for letting me join you on the 'spit in my mouth' agenda, haha!

If you enjoyed these two, you can read their story from the start here!

You can read my other stories here!

Tag list:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @shanimallina87 @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader

#bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw x female reader #top gun fanfiction #top gun imagine #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster x reader #rooster x you #rooster x female reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x you #bradley rooster bradshaw x female reader #bradley rooster bradshaw fanfiction #bradley rooster bradshaw imagine

[jackhues]

karma - auston matthews

notes: this is based off of @matthewshisch's idea (karma is the guy on the leafs)! so s/o to her <3 also, reader is a singer :)) AND gif not mine !

likes are good, reblogs are better!

being a celebrity meant that no matter what, one thing would always be a fixed thing in your life. and that was the rumours.

one week you were dating a new guy. the next, you were engaged to some kid from your hometown. the next week, you were back with your ex.

no matter what, the dating rumours always flew around you. maybe the fact that you never made it public with anyone fuelled those even more. whatever the case, it was funny reading them.

especially when you thought about what you had planned for tonight.

a knock sounded on your door, followed by a familiar voice, "did someone order some flowers?"

you couldn't help the smile growing on your face as you made eye contact with auston in the mirror.

you were in your dressing room at the stadium, getting ready for the opening night of your multi-month tour. you'd worked hard to get to where you were now -- one of the most successful female artists in the world.

and right there by your side, supporting you for the past year, was none other than auston matthews, your boyfriend. you'd met at a leafs game years ago, but he'd only reached out to you just over a year before. ever since then, the two of you kept your relationship under wraps for the most part, doing your best to just enjoy your time together without the media's comments.

you'd talked about going public before, but for the most part, decided to let life take it's course. of course... tonight would be a pretty big surprise.

"hi, you made it," you got up from your chair, sinking into his arms for a hug.

"i wouldn't miss this for the world," he responded, placing a kiss to the top of your head. "it's my girl's big day. first tour in almost three years. nothing's gonna stop me from being here."

you grinned stupidly to yourself, finding auston's words so comforting and sweet. even after a whole year, he managed to make you feel giddy.

"i'm really happy you're here," you whispered, pulling away. "oh! i've got a surprise for you, but i can't give it to you right now. i'll give it after, okay?"

"a surprise for me?" auston repeated. "it's your day."

"hush, i wanted to do it," you said.

another knock sounded on your door, and your assistant, jenny, poked her head in. "y/n, we've got to start in ten. let's go. auston, mark's got your seat saved. head over quick, or someone'll spot you."

"that's not a big deal," auston waved it off. "if someone spots me, they spot me. it's not the end of the world."

"well, fact remains, we need y/n right now," she said. "c'mon, you can have her back when she's done her show."

"i'll see you soon," you kissed auston, before following jenny out to your position.

you adjusted your earpiece, waiting for the lights to dim. as soon as they did, the platform you were standing on moved higher, allowing you to enter directly on stage.

the lights turned back on, and the crowd went wild.

"let the show begin," you whispered to yourself.

---

"'cause karma is the thunder," you sang, "rattling your ground. karma's on your scent like a bounty hunter. karma's gonna track you down."

the crowd waved their flashlights in the air, following you as you continued dancing to the beat of the song, singing along. getting closer and closer to the surprise you planned for auston.

"step by step from town to town," you continued. "sweet like justice, karma is a queen. karma takes all my friends to the summit..."

you paused for half a second, allowing production to ready themselves and for the crowd to pay attention to the small change.

"karma is the guy on the leafs, coming straight home to me!"

you stomped on the mark, blue sparklers going off on either side of the stage -- matching with the colour of your dress and the leafs' colours.

the crowd screamed as you continued your performance, losing their minds at the confirmation that you and auston were dating.

"cause karma is my boyfriend," you locked eyes with auston in the crowd, noticing him smiling widely to himself as people nearby recorded the interaction. winking at him, you continued your song, "karma is a god."

the crowd continued chanting throughout the song, no one truly getting over the lyric change you'd done.

you had a feeling there were gonna be rumours about this for a while.

---

tags : @woodruff-edwards , @austinbutlerscaresme ,  @svechnikovvv ,  @hockeyboysarehot , @emptyflowerpots ,  @mysticaldonkey , @lam-ila ,  @babydollmarauders , @starjoyyy  ,  @kjohnson-91 , @gavinbrindley, @hischierdevils , @jackhughesily  , @panarin10 ,  @equallyshaw ,   @power2myheart  ,  @lynnismypseudonym , @beccaiscold , @akengii , @nowandkei , @cinnamonpancakes , @mitchymainer , @lifeofpriya ,  @marshmallow-babe, @hughesx3 ,  @emsully2002  ,  @starsandhughes , @huggy-hischier73 ,  @doglady5678 , @thatoneblog , @exonct07 @hughesmedicine , @qwanelledingele , @mindless-rock , @ireadthensuetheauthors , @huggy-hischier94, @slaythehousedownboots , @diary-of-jj

join my main taglist!

#naqia writes! #auston matthews #auston matthews blurb #auston matthews x oc #auston matthews fic #auston matthews imagine #auston matthews x reader #auston matthews x y/n #auston matthews imagines #auston matthews blurbs #toronto maple leafs x reader #toronto maple leafs imagine #nhl #nhl one shot #nhl imagine #nhl fic #hockey one shot #hockey fic #hockey

[seeingivy]

high infidelity

satoru gojo x f!reader

do you really wanna know where I was april 29th?

**part of my satoru as taylor swift songs series

content: infidelity (omg who knew), yn is a doctor, satoru gets injured and haha ur still my emergency contact's his way back into your life, megumi and yuuji flirting side quest, a big hot flaming mess of writing this is actually so bad

an: no one say anything to me about this fic actually. or the fact that I made everyone do a poll about which taylor as gojo to write just to not write either of those options and produce a flaming, hot wreck of garbage. anyways, live love high infidelity this song will always be special to me because on april 29th, I was indeed, at the eras tour seeing mother for the first time

--

You swallow hard as the waitress walks up again, with that sheepish, awkward smile on her face. And you dread the unrelenting, embarrassing question that’s going to follow. One that she’s already asked, three times. 

“Are you still waiting for someone or would you like to order?” 

And you’re not sure why, but the fact that she asks the question, in that phrasing, in that tone, is enough to aggravate the very thin patience you already have. Because really, it’s quite possibly the stupidest question she could have asked. 

Clearly, you are still waiting for someone. You’ve been sitting here for the past hour and a half. If you were really intent on eating at this restaurant alone, then you would have ordered the second they seated you. 

And it’s rude, abrasive even. To ask, to relentlessly question, three times. Because obviously, you feel horrible for taking the table, when there’s a line of people patiently waiting by the door. And it’s not your fault that your boyfriend is late. And really, it’s just humiliating, that she keeps throwing it in your face, that you’re sitting here, alone when he should be here making you feel special. 

You sigh, giving her a halfhearted smile. 

“Can I have twenty more minutes? I promise I’ll leave after that and let you give the table to someone else.” 

She smiles, genuine and sweet, as she places her hand on your shoulder and makes a promise to bring some more bread before you leave. 

The premise of it - the fact that she smiled in earnest and must know that you feel horrible, that she has her own deposit of pity for you - has you bringing your fingers up to your forehead and massaging that small, pulsating feeling by your temples. Because here you were, mentally cussing out the poor girl working minimum wage at the restaurant when the real subject of your wrath couldn’t even be bothered to show up. 

And you hate that the negativity, the frustrations of the situation, seem to bleed into everything else. Because you’ll find yourself being upset with Yuri, but then suddenly it turns into a blind agitation to everything. The barista, for not making your coffee right, your co-workers asking to switch shifts so they can go on a trip with their partners, the laundry machine when it stops working. 

Your phone starts incessantly buzzing on the table, the smallest glimmer of hope sparking in your chest at the sound. And instantly dies, when you realize it’s just the Emergency Room calling you. 

You slide open the call, pressing the phone to your ear. 

“This is Tokyo Metropolitan Hospital. Is this a miss Y/N L- wait.” Megumi states into the phone, mumbling off the speaker. 

You press the phone harder to your ear, to try to catch the end of the conversation that Yuuji must be having with Megumi. 

“Y/N. Right, hi!” he states, voice halfheartedly cheery, which is already odd enough for him. 

“Hi Megumi. Why are you calling me on my day off?” you deadpan, that backlogged deposit of irritation coming in hot and fresh for the sweetest resident you have. 

“Right. Um, we have a mister Satoru Gojo in the Emergency Room who has you listed as his Emergency Contact. He’s kind of in bad shape so we were going to call regarding-” 

“Gojo? I’ll be there in ten.” you respond, shoving the phone into your purse and leaving the tip flat on the tablecloth. You give the waitress - standing there with that restocked bread in her hand - a polite wave on the way out and speed as fast as you can to the hospital. 

--

You march into the ER, rubbing warmth into your biceps, to find Megumi at the nurses station, as always, flirting with the pink haired student nurse he’s taken a keen liking to. 

“Hey. Where is he?” you ask, Yuuji and Megumi turning their heads to give you half hearted smiles. It’s only the start of the night shift, but by the way their shoulders are already sagging, you can tell whoever has to deal with them has a long night ahead of them.

“Right sooooo. We can’t decipher any of his paperwork. We need you to read it first and then you can see him. He’s in room eleven.” Yuuji states, giving a peachy smile, as you scan over Gojo’s characteristic illegible handwriting. 

“Jesus. He still writes like a twelve year old.” you murmur, filling out the sheet at the side with all the information Yuuji needed. 

“You’re all dressed up, teach. What’s the occasion?” Megumi asks, lazily leaning his cheek in the palm of his hand. 

“Ah. It’s my one year anniversary with Yuri. We were supposed to go to dinner.” you mumble, scratching the last of the information on the sheet and handing it to Yuuji. 

You feel a hand sling around your shoulder and a distinct smell of smoke, only to find Shoko hanging off your frame. 

“And yet here you are, because he didn’t show up.” she murmurs, earning you a set of wide eyes as you glare at Shoko. Because at their core, Yuuji and Megumi are first, definitely crushing on each other, and second, nosy as hell. 

“And here you are. Destroying every last cell in your lungs, that are eagerly, earnestly begging you to stop.” you deadpan. 

She flicks your nose as you finish filling out the sheet and reading through the paramedics report that was attached to his paperwork.

“Please tell me you attacked Yuri at the dinner table and that’s why you’re here. Fork to the hand? Spoon in the eye? Knife to the dick?” Shoko asks, excitedly. 

“Didn’t you like take an oath? For the preservation of human life?” Megumi deadpans. 

“No. I skipped that day of medical school.” Shoko replies. 

“Gojo’s here, I’m still his emergency contact.” you respond back, giving her a pointed glare. 

“What happened?” 

You turn your head expectantly to Megumi, who obliges. 

“His car got t-boned. He’s pretty roughed up.” Megumi responds. 

You give Shoko a weary look, as you march to the other side of the unit, preparing yourself for whatever roughed up version of Gojo you were about to be greeted with. Because every interaction with Gojo was a rush of emotions - good, bad, sweet, and ugly - but this might be the biggest thing you’ve ever had to stomach yet. 

“So. Who is this Satoru guy? I’ve never heard of him before.” Megumi asks Shoko, giving Yuuji an all knowing glance. 

“Her ex-boyfriend.” Shoko responds. 

“No way. Before that asshat Yuri?” Yuuji asks, suddenly too invested in the story all together. 

“Well, obviously. He taught as a professor at the same medical school she attended.” 

“Y/N dated a professor?” Megumi asks, tone incredulous.  

“I mean that’s one way to get through I guess.” Yuuji adds. 

Shoko smacks the top of Yuuji’s head, earning a fit of laughter from the two of them for his stupid comment. 

“You need to focus on your nursing exams instead of flirting with Megumi on your fifteen. It would do you some good to flirt with your preceptor. And no, he was just a fellow doing research at the time. They were best friends for a good few years, had that whole will they won’t they vibe going on.” Shoko responds. 

“So….did they?” Megumi asks. 

“They did. To be honest, I can’t really remember why they broke up. Something stupid.” Shoko shrugs, giving the two of them shoves on the shoulder before walking past the hall, to find you standing in front of the door. Your hand is resting against the handle, but you have yet to yank down and push yourself in. 

“Are you warming up the handle or…?” 

You’re thrown out of your train of thought to find Shoko at your side, hands buried deep in her white coat as she gives you a weary glance. To anyone else, Shoko would seem wildly disinterested, almost annoyed at how you were acting. But you know better and can see that small twinge of concern buried under her long eyelashes, the hint of it in her voice. 

“Oh. Um…no. Just got lost in thought.” you murmur, staring at the faded eleven on the marker. 

“About?” 

You swallow hard, the warm tears filling your eyes. 

“I haven’t talked to him in so long. And the last time we talked we were arguing over…..leaving dishes in the sink. Breaking up. If I walk in there and he’s dead, that’s going to be the last thing I ever said to him.” you whisper, air grating against your throat. 

Shoko puts a hand on your shoulder and squeezes once.. 

“He’s not dead. The monitor tech would have picked up on that.” 

“The monitor tech? Are we talking about the same monitor tech? Because Nobara is too busy flirting with the phlebotomist Maki to ever do her job. They’re worse than Megumi and Yuuji.” 

Shoko scoffs, before rolling her eyes at you. 

“No one is worse than Megumi and Yuuji. Yuuji knocked the entire crash cart over when he clocked in because Megumi complimented his Star Wars themed scrubs.” 

You snort, shaking your head, as you take a deep breath in and push the handle down. Shoko gives you a warm smile as you walk in and flick the lights on, only to see Satoru, sitting up in bed and lazily scrolling through the TV channels. 

He looks over at you first, his eyes going wide, as you walk up to him and cup the side of his cheek. The tears that were welling in your eyes are falling in full flesh, at the sight of him all battered and bruised. 

His snow white hair is matted red, an angry, glaring scratch on his forehead. His arm is littered with tiny cuts, with a good amount of dressing on his torso, the red blood already seeping through and the look on his face so broken and tired that it makes your heart twinge. 

“Satoru.” 

He smiles, albeit a little confused, as he looks up at you and brings his hand up to yours, where it’s resting against your face. 

“Hey princess.” 

You laugh through your sprout of tears, which has the smallest smile turning up on his cut up lips and the soft, faint smile lines appearing near his eyes. 

“You here to patch me up, doc?” he whispers. 

You shake your head incessantly, which has him rolling his eyes. 

“Not today.” 

“Shame. I heard having sex is really good for patient recovery.”

You smack his shoulder, biting hard down on your cheeks that Satoru Gojo, in full flesh, is okay. Because he still has the audacity to flirt with you, even when he’s near death in the hospital. 

“I’m going to look at your chart, okay?” 

You let go of his face and find yourself in front of the computer, logging in with your credentials, and trying to pull up his chart as fast as you can. 

“If I found out you got into this accident because you were trying to find the perfect song before you got home, I’m going to put your head on a stick, Satoru Gojo” you murmur, earning a laugh from him. 

“First and foremost, you always have to close the drive home on a banger. Sue me.” 

“I think I might just.” 

“And contrary to your beliefs, this accident actually wasn’t my fault. They crashed into me, naturally, because I do no wrong. Ever.” he states. 

“Right.” you chuckle. 

You read over the report, making it a point to berate Yuuji for his shitty charting later, as you look through his vital signs and blood cultures that were taken when he arrived here. 

“So do all doctors dress like they’re about to go clubbing or is it just you?” 

You look down, only now noticing that you’re still wearing the a-line dress from the dinner you were supposed to have with Yuri. You make a mental note to shoot him a text after checking with Satoru after, knowing all too well that with how busy Yuri is, you standing him up would throw him over the edge. 

“Just me. I really love to put on a show for my patients, Gojo. And what clubs are you going to where people dress like this?” you mutter, clicking through the scans that were taking. 

“I appreciate the lengths you go to for me. It’s always what I loved about you. And I exclusively attend Taylor Swift night at the Underground” he states, placing his hands on his chest. 

You look over and glare at him, before reading through the treatment plan. When you look over Nanami’s notes, you feel your heart drop and turn over to look at him. At his bright, blue eyes so wide and unaware, the look on his face so…innocent it bothers you. That in a few hours, he’s going to be in unspeakable pain while he recovers. 

The door opens and Nanami and Yuuta are standing at the door, Nanami already scoffing at you. 

“That’s confidential patient information, Dr. L/N.” Nanami states, voice stern. He hands you a jacket, which you pull on, as you hike your hands under your biceps and talk to him. 

“You were going to tell me all of it anyways. So…what’s the plan here?” you grumble, settling next to Gojo at the side of his bed, placing your hands in his nearly pink hair. 

“Well. I’m going to-” 

“The surgical resident has to be Yuuta, I don’t trust that dumbass Todo to do it. You have to use prolene stitches, I don’t want his skin to scar and don’t leave him under for too long. He’s never been one to suit medications well. Don’t play any rap music when you’re operating, he hates that type of stuff and-” 

Nanami puts his hands square on your shoulders, squeezing once. 

“Thank you, Dr. L/N. We’ll talk all details after, okay?” Nanami states, voice soft, as you turn over to look at Gojo. 

Gojo gives you a weak smile, which you return, before pushing his hair off of his forehead, and lightly brushing through the white tresses as he looks at them.

“Give it to me straight, Kento Bento.” Satoru states, earning an eye roll from Nanami who's clearly unamused. But you can tell he doesn’t mind it all too much, because in the monotony of shitty patients, he’s always been one to appreciate the sweet jokesters. And Satoru’s the biggest clown there is. 

“It’s a relatively easy procedure, Satoru. We’re just going to go in and repair the damage that you sustained to your digestive tract from the crash. Do you have any questions for me?” Nanami asks. 

“Can I request that she’s not in there when it happens?” Satoru asks, looking up at you. 

“Hey. I can-” 

“Yes. We’ll make sure of it.” Yuuta responds. 

“Thank you, Yuuta.” Gojo responds, giving him a smile. 

“We’ll be around in an hour to take you to surgery.” Nanami states, ignoring the pointed glare you were giving him as he strolls out of the room. 

You turn to Gojo, the overstimulation of the past ten minutes really hitting you, as you feel your brain short circuit while he’s looking at you. You try to focus on the sensation of his hair in your hand and that pulsating beat that you’ve been feeling for his wrist, but you can’t really process any of it. 

Every high and low you’ve experienced in the past few minutes - the elation in Gojo’s voice, the pain from seeing him suffering, how he’s still the same as you left him- it’s enough to abandon any rational thought processes from occurring in your head. And it leaves you standing there, silently, with your hands on him. 

“Hi Y/N.” 

“Hi ���Toru.” 

He smiles at the nickname, reaching forward to lace his fingers through yours. 

“I was driving and then…I wasn’t. I looked up and all I could see was the stoplight above me, then the flashing lights of the ambulance, and now…you….looking at me like that. Your brain isn’t the only one hurting right now.” 

“Looking at you ike what?” you murmur. 

“Like you’re in pain, Y/N.” he states, emphasizing his syllables. 

You shake your head, fighting down that wave of worry that’s sitting in your skin. 

“You know, Kento’s a really good doctor. And Yuuta…he’s like the most promising surgical resident. And even then, I-I can get another senior surgeon if you don’t want a student. And-and it really won’t hurt that bad and I’ll make sure they give you all the good meds and-” 

“Y/N.” 

“Sorry. I’m sorry. I’m rambling. I know you’ve always hated that and I just-” 

“I don’t hate it. Just, slow down for a second…talk me through all this because I really don’t know what’s going on and you know I don’t like not knowing.” 

You pull up the chair, messing with his hands as you talk. 

“You have to get surgery. The impact you had when you crashed led to-” 

“Y/N. I know all of that already. I’m asking about you.” 

You frown, swallowing hard, as you run your fingers along the scratch on his knuckles.

“You never update your current information.” 

“Huh?” 

“You….you never canceled the stupid Hulu subscription when we got the Disney Plus bundle. And you kept having to trek all the way across town to get the mail, because you forgot to change the address when we moved, and you-” 

“I don’t really see how-” 

“You forgot to change your emergency contact, Satoru. After we broke up, you-you forgot to call them and tell them that they shouldn’t call me.” you hum, as Gojo’s hand tightens in it’s hold around yours. 

“Oh shit, Y/N. Sweetheart, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-” 

You lurch up from your chair, tangling your arms around his neck as you crackle his head into your frame, that incessant stream of tears pouring down your eyes as he brings his own arms around yours. 

And it feels too fast, because suddenly Nanami and Yuuta are back at your sides, giving you sympathetic glances as they wheel Gojo away and you’re left standing in the hallway, flat against the wall, every horrible outcome of the next four hours playing through your head. 

--

On hour five, already a bad sign, you’re sitting flat against the floor with a jello cup in your hand and in Megumi’s spare pair of scrubs. They’re both sitting at your sides, the dead quiet of the night shift leaving them with you. 

“Kento likes to be really careful, Y/N. That’s all it is.” Megumi states, giving his best attempts at calm reassurance. 

“And Yuuta’s great. We all love Yuuta, he’s sweet….intelligent. He’s more than capable to do this.” Yuuji adds. 

You crack through every last bone in your finger, the entire interaction playing over in your head. 

“I-I just went in there so fast. And the time was so…so short that I didn’t even say much to him.” you respond, sighing. 

“When’s Yuri coming?”

You turn your head to the side, in confusion, before you register Yuji’s words all together. 

“Why would he-” 

You panic, remembering that you had never texted Yuri back, that he’s probably fuming in his own pit of rage right now at his apartment, cursing your name to god knows what degree. You reach for your phone in your pocket, only to find no notifications from him. You scroll up on the chat, only to find that he hadn’t texted you the entire day, yesterday. 

His last text read April 28th, a reminder that he needed you to pick up his drycleaning for his golf game this weekend. 

“He’s really an asshole, isn’t he?” you spit. 

You see Megumi and Yuuji give each other wide eyed looks over the top of your head, as you click your phone shut and let it fall to the ground. 

Because in the dim lights of this hospital, with Satoru’s blood, some of it still smeared on the side of your hand, you feel like you’re seeing clearly for the first time in years. 

That really, Yuri in actuality, is not the one for you. And it’s not that he’s a bad guy, he’s honorable in some sense really, but what he gives isn’t even a fraction close to what you want. 

He’s tall and lanky. The type of guy to represent every portion of the food triangle in the three meals he ate. He wakes up at five in the morning to go to the gym before an entire day at work, and still somehow finds time to read and run a personal wellness blog when he gets home. 

He’s classy, in every sense of the term. The exact type of man you envision when you think of someone put together, wholly and fully. On top of their shit, living their best life, one that people aspired to. 

And that was in no way what you wanted. 

You wanted Satoru. Satoru who convinces you that there’s still enough room for a little treat after dinner, despite the fact that you both stuffed yourself full at the restaurant. He sleeps in late on the weekends, pressing lazy kisses to your skin to wake you up before entirely botching the whole breakfast in bed thing he was trying to impress you with. 

He was real, in every sense of the term. The type of person you envision when you imagine the person you wanted to spend the rest of your life with. He’s funny, he’s kind and he most certainly would never leave you stranded at a restaurant on your one year anniversary. Because Satoru Gojo certainly wasn’t classy, but he was honorable. And if he promised to be somewhere, he’d be there early, making sure everything was perfect before you got there. 

And right now, two of your most trusted co-workers had their hands inside his body cavity, trying to fix the mess in there. 

--

When Gojo comes to, there’s an aching soreness in his torso and neck. He can feel the tense pressure around his arms too, bandages wrapped around every square inch of his body. But that warm feeling around his wrist was entirely different from the rest. 

He opens his eyes to find you, fast asleep with your head down on the side of his bed and your hand secured tightly around his wrist. Your breaths are slow, so deep in your sleep that you don’t even process Satoru moving around you amidst your slumber. 

He brings his hand down to your hair and watches you lean into his touch, nuzzling your head closer to the blanket. Your hair is messy at this point, bunched up at the top of your head in the messiest knot he’s seen you sport yet. 

There’s a knock at the door and Yuuji is standing there, a small smile on his face. 

“Good morning, Mr. Gojo. Welcome back.” 

Satoru smiles as he moves to his side and starts to hook him up to the monitors, taking a set of fresh vitals. 

“How are you feeling?” 

“Just sore, Yuuji. How are you?” 

“Ah. Night shift. Same old.” 

“Is that little emo you like here?” 

Satoru watches Yuuji’s cheeks go bright pink, as he starts fumbling with the cuff around his hand. 

“Ah, you mean, Megumi? Y/N’s resident? No, he-he’s off tonight.” he stumbles. 

“Shame. Nothing like flirting on the night shift.” Satoru states, clicking his tongue. 

“Oh, I don’t flirt with-” 

“Well, you should. He’s cute. And a doctor. Someone is going to snatch him up real fast.” Satoru states, definitively. 

“Mr. Gojo, I don’t know if-” 

“Trust me. I know all too well. People swoop in for the doctors before you can even fight to get them back.” Satoru states, reaching down to tuck your hair behind your ear. 

“Well, I-” 

“I’m just saying, kid. Swoop in before it’s too late.” he states, giving him a smile. 

“Yeah. Sure, I-I will. Do you need anything else, Mr. Gojo?” 

“Can you get her a blanket? She always gets allergies when it’s too drafty in the room she’s sleeping in.” 

Yuuji smiles, tapping on the railings of the bed. 

“Sure thing.” 

And Yuuji curses himself for doing it, for meddling, but he pokes his head into the room one last time before leaving. 

“And just so you know. You….sometimes you think it’s too late to swoop. But it’s actually like…the perfect time. To swoop….like a bird or something, I don’t know-” Yuuji stammers. 

And when Yuuji leaves and Gojo is able to process his words, he’s trying his best to wipe the smile off of his face. 

--

“Hey, Megs. How are his vitals today?” you ask, swiveling over in your chair. 

Megumi, irritated with your constant pestering, has had enough of his fill today. He swings his own chair around, tugging at the stethoscope around his neck, as he glares at you. 

“For the hundredth time, your little boo boo bear is just fine. We’re planning to discharge tomorrow.” 

You frown, reaching for the closest item - a roll of gauze - and throw it square in his face. 

“He’s not my boo boo bear. And I’m just checking. You know he could have complications after the surgery like inf-” 

“Infection, hypotension, septic shock, multiple system organ failure, yeah yeah. I know. I graduated top of my class at medical school, you know?” 

“And yet here you are, being taught by Shoko. You’re clearly not that great if you’re being trained by a girl who cheated her way through medical school.” 

“I’m going to leave. And when I’m gone, you’re going to be really pissed because you’re going to be stuck with some idiot that can’t even take vitals.” Megumi deadpans, swiveling back to his computer. 

“No, you’re not. You’d never leave your boo boo bear hanging. Especially since he’s planning on asking you on a date tomorrow.” 

“He’s not asking me on a date.” Megumi responds. 

You smile, trying to swallow your laugh as you respond. 

“Oh, sure he is. And-” 

Your phone timer goes off, as you gleefully sprint out of your chair, and down the hall to Satoru’s room. Nanami’s in there, unwrapping his bandages, as you knock and enter to make your presence known. At the sight of you, Nanami’s glaring as you drag the chair up and sit at his side. 

“Y/N. You should be working.” 

“I’m on my lunch. And I’m allowed to do whatever I want for lunch.” 

“You should eat something, Y/N. Instead of bothering our patients.” Nanami scolds, as he shuts the door behind you and you turn to Satoru. 

Satoru looks way better, the bruising on his skin fading to yellow and the cuts all around his skin healing. He’s smiling softly, a hand cupping your cheek as he talks. 

“Good morning, Y/N.” 

“Hi Satoru.” 

“You know, you really should eat something on your lunch break.” 

“You know, you really should keep your annoying opinions to yourself.” you respond. 

He scoffs, moving his hand to mess up your hair, as you swat his hands off. 

“So.” Satoru states. 

“So?” 

“A little birdie told me that you broke up with Yuri last night.” 

“Well, your little birdie was wrong. As nosy as he is, he clearly doesn’t know how to listen.” 

You both laugh, Gojo slightly dejected by your response, as you lace your hands through his, and smile at your hands firmly pressed together. 

“Yuuji’s got a bad case of the chismosa virus.” 

“And you don’t? I heard you giggling with Shoko at the nurses station about how the emo is going to ask Yuuji on a date.” 

“No, Yuuji's asking Megumi on the date. And okay, but that’s actually a big deal. I’ve been trying to set that up for months.” 

“Well, you can’t take credit because I’m actually the one who got Yuuji to do it.” 

You frown, reaching forward to pinch his cheeks. 

“Shut up. It’s only the months of build up, that I basically created, that’s making him do it.” 

“Well, I pushed him over the edge. So it’s my victory.” 

You sigh, sitting back in your chair as you smile at him, at how easily you both fall back into this. 

“How about we both did it?” you ask, giving him a smile. 

“Sure. We always did make a good team.�� he responds, making your cheeks burn. 

You reach for his blanket and start moving his gown to inspect the incision, trying to make sure that the site wasn’t getting infected, from when you checked yesterday. . 

“Okay, pervert. I didn’t realize you were into voyeurism.” Satoru says, incredulously. 

“Gojo. Do you even know what voyeurism means?” 

“Yeah. It’s people who like to have sex in public.” 

You snort, moving the edge of the gown as you note the clean sutures, healing well along the length of his torso. 

“That is not what voyeurism means, dumbass.” 

“Sorry. I didn’t realize I was fighting with the sex kink expert here.” 

“I-I’m not a sex kink expert! You’re just fucking stupid.” 

“Oh, shut up.” 

You roll your eyes, as you settle back into the chair, reaching forward to cup his face. He smiles, soft and warm, which you return. 

“You’re healing really well. It’ll just be a faint line, right around your torso when you’re out of here.” you murmur. 

“It kinda looks like I got my legs cut off and someone sewed them back on.” he murmurs. 

“That’s not funny.” you deadpan, glaring at him. 

“Kinda funny. That’s a really unfortunate way to die.” he responds.

“I know there’s a universe out there where that actually happens to you. And I know for a fact that Satoru doesn’t think it’s funny at all.” 

“Okay, Doctor Strange. Let’s pipe down there, alright? Even if that did happen to me, I’d come back from it. Because guess what?” 

“Don’t say it.” you groan. 

“Because I’m the strongest.” 

“You know that never gets less annoying right?” 

“You love it.” he responds, reaching forward to pinch your cheek. 

You look down, at your hand tangled in Satoru’s as you find a way to broach the topic. That for all intents and purposes, that you want nothing to do with Yuri. That you want him, that you do love his stupid jokes, that you’d beg on your hands and knees for him to take you back because-

“Do you want to go to the aquarium on Friday?” Satoru asks. 

“The aquarium?” 

“Yeah. We can take a picnic basket, eat on the lawn outside afterwards.” Satoru says. 

You swallow the lump in your throat, aggressively nodding in response. 

“Yeah. That sounds nice. We can um-carpool.” 

“Sure. It’s a date.” he responds, leaning into his pillow with a soft smile on his face. 

You bite down the stupid smile that’s rising to your cheeks, as you close your eyes, humming in agreement. 

“Yeah. It’s a date.” you whisper back. 

--  

Eight days after the fact and Yuri, in his infinite wisdom, finally comes through. That’s when he musters the courage to bring himself to your apartment, where Satoru has been staying with you since he was discharged. And when Satoru answers the door, Yuri’s all levels of pissed. 

“Who are you?” Yuri asks. 

“I’m the owner of this house.” Gojo responds, trying not to laugh at his own joke. 

“Did Y/N move?” 

“No, dumbass. It was a joke.” he responds, rolling his eyes. 

Satoru leans off of the door frame, calling for you, as you join him at his side. 

“Hey, you okay? I was planning on making lunch for- oh.” 

Satoru smiles, reaching forward to ruffle your hair, before he shuffles away. 

“Holler if you need me.” 

You shoot Satoru a grateful smile, infinitely thankful that the two of you were able to pick up right where you left off, as you turn to Yuri in your doorway. 

“Where were you on Saturday?” he asks, arms crossed over his chest. 

You swallow hard, rehearsing the speech you had prepared with Satoru when you were tangled in his arms last night, and make your best attempt to deliver the blow the best you can. 

“Yuri. I think we should stop seeing each other.” 

“What?” 

“I just don’t think that we’re really compatible. You and I are…on different wavelengths. And you deserve someone who is better suited to you and your….interests.” you murmur, awkwardly rubbing your arms on your arms. 

In actuality, you feel a little bit bad. That technically, you might have been…a little bit dishonest with Yuri. Because you’re having this conversation with him, days after the fact, when you’ve already done god knows what with Gojo in the past few days he’s been back with you. He’s all but living in your apartment at this point, under the premise of needing twenty four hour medical support, when really, you’re both just soaking up on time you lost. 

Time is so precious, that you forgot to tell Yuri until he showed up, on your doorstep. You finally understand why Yuri was late to things, because whatever he was doing when he wasn’t with you, must have been keeping him occupied the way this was keeping you occupied. 

Because you kept planning on calling him, but then Gojo would take you out to breakfast. Or you’d sleep in too late and then knew that you’d be interrupting Yuri at work. And the list, it went on and on and led you to this moment and it’s painfully awkward. 

And maybe it’s bad, a little bit evil even, but that small bit of bad feeling is overshadowed by every bit of good that you’ve felt in the past few days. At Gojo ordering dessert out of nowhere, that he insists he’s sharing with you before he eats almost the entire thing, or when he drags you to the bathroom when he’s doing his night time hair care routine. 

“Where were you? On Saturday?” 

“Look, I just got called into work, okay?” 

“Are you…are you serious? Don’t tell me you’re really dating that dumbass who just answered the door?” 

“Frankly, it’s none of your business who I date anymore because you…you aren’t really a part of my life anymore. And we’re not dating, we’re just-” 

“God. He flashes one pretty smile at you and you go running back to him? Need I remind you, that you complained about him for months on end. About how he’s messy, he’s careless, he’s-” 

“That stuff doesn’t matter. At least not anymore.” 

“You’re a bitch, you know that?” 

You feel Gojo padding behind you, and you put your hand up in the air, signaling for him to stay where he is. 

“Do you really want to know where I was on April 29th? On our one year anniversary, I was sitting in a shitty restaurant, for an hour and a half waiting for you to show up. When I hadn’t heard from you all day. And then I got a call, that the man that I love was in the hospital, and then I was at his side. Willing him to wake up, because I would be so fucking angry, so fucking pissed if he died and I didn’t get to tell him that he meant the world to me.” 

Yuri swallows hard, the look of betrayal etched on his face. 

“Are you trying to hurt me right now? Do you get some kind of sick gratification from killing the one you love?” he asks. 

“I’d argue that my way is nicer actually. One fell swoop, with the truth out there. The slowest way to kill someone is never loving them enough. And honestly, it’s just cruel. And of course, something that you were too skilled at.” 

You’re not sure what it is about what you said, but suddenly Yuri’s stomping down the hallway and you’re shutting the door, as the tears start pouring out of your eyes and you’re leaning against the door. 

Now that Yuri’s gone, Satoru’s shed all his inhibitions and he’s cradling you straight in his arms, his soft voice cooing in your ear as you hiccup into his chest. 

“Hey. You did so good, princess.” 

“I-I’m not crying because I’m sad. I still…I still want you, you know?” 

Satoru smiles, bringing his hands up to cup your cheeks in his hand and wipe your tears away. 

“I know that, sweetheart. I’m irresistible.” he murmurs. 

You lightly shove him, before resting your head against his torso, hearing the rapid beating of his heart under your ear. 

“I’m just really relieved. That you-that you’re-” 

You look up, at his sparkling blue eyes, the tiny fractals of color like perfectly constructed, charted constellations in his eyes. 

“I’m glad you’re here. Again.” 

He smiles wide, leaning forward to press his lips to your forehead. 

“Me too, yeah?”

--

the satoru as taylor swift songs series masterlist

taglist:

@porridgesblog @k0z3me @kayleegomez @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetenertea @skzismyhome @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @luna0713hunter @shotenvinsoot @itzmeme 

lmk if you would like to be added to my taylor as gojo or my general masterlist in the replies or inbox <3

#taylor as gojo #seeingivywrites! #satoru #satoru x reader #satoru x y/n #satoru x you #gojo #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #satoru gojo #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x y/n #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen satoru #jujutsu kaisen gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen gojo #jujutsu gojo #jujutsu geto #itafushi #jjk fluff

[pink-amethyst-tarot]

♡ YOUR NEXT SIGNIFICANT RELATIONSHIP ♡

P I L E 1 ~ P I L E 2 ~ P I L E 3

This PAP reading is the winner from a poll that I previously posted a week ago! Follow me for more PAP readings and polls so that you can help me decide what readings I do next!

take a deep breath and pick the pile that you feel most drawn to.

♡ p i l e 1 ♡

Ace of Wands, Queen of Pentacles, King of Cups, Knight of wands

Bottom of the Deck: Eight of Swords (Reversed)

"You are a badass being, full of life, love and possibilities. Through this deck, may you find a path to your best self." -Lisa Sterle, Modern Witch Tarot Deck

The first thing I heard, was something along the lines of, "you set me free". The writing is kind of on the tin with this one, but I feel like you have liberated this person in some way, shape or form.

This is a new person who is going to come into your life when you are the most secure in yourself and when you are at peace with yourself. If you have been trying to manifest someone who is kind, caring, loyal, faithful etc., this is who is coming your way. You will be each other's peace. Even if it feels like the whole world is against you, you know that your person is there by your side. I'm sensing that Pile 1 have had to deal with a lot of B.S. as far as romance goes; giving your heart fully, only to have it stomped on repeatedly. The person that is coming in for your next significant relationship, is coming in like a knight on a white horse. This person is such a flirt, and they want to make you feel wanted and special all the time. I feel like it's their goal to always make you feel sexy and good in general.

This might be a bit niche as far as this pile goes, but I feel that pile 1 has met this person and maybe even had a fling with this because I'm hearing, "I don't want to kiss anyone else; no one feels like you."

Thank you so much for participating in this pick a pile reading; if you want a more personal reading, you can see this post and you can see this post if you would like to see more about my Alice In Wonderland Sale.

If you would like to leave a tip, you can on CashApp ($oddlycozycottage), PayPal (@/oddlycozycottage), or Ko-fi (@/oddlycozycottage)

♡ p i l e 2 ♡

The Sun (Reversed), Page of Swords, King of Pentacles, Two of Wands

Before even pulling your cards, Pile 2, I just felt a wave of calm wash over me. It kind of felt like, "finally." Either, finally, you see me or finally you're here.

I'm also hearing that this isn't a case of confirmation bias. I can't confirm or deny if that's true for you, only you can. listen to your intuition/gut/heart, whatever you want to call it.

Getting into the cards, I feel that with Pile Three, there is distance between you and your person and a lot of you even know this person. You may not be together right now mainly because the distance is too much for the both of you but it makes you both really unhappy. The two are going to come together because you can't take being apart and not in a relationship anymore. There will be travel and for some of you, it will be a case of choosing this person or another path. It could be related to your career or choosing another person. The main thing right now, is to be patient. Everything will happen when it's supposed to happen, how it's supposed to happen. Taking your time and letting the chips fall where they may will be rewarded. You will be with your person.

Channeled Song: Long Distance by Brandy

I wish that you were here with me // but we're stuck where we are // It's so hard // so far //

Thank you so much for participating in this pick a pile reading; if you want a more personal reading, you can see this post and you can see this post if you would like to see more about my Alice In Wonderland Sale.

If you would like to leave a tip, you can on CashApp ($oddlycozycottage), PayPal (@/oddlycozycottage), or Ko-fi (@/oddlycozycottage)

♡ p i l e 3 ♡

Seven of Cups (Reversed), Five of Swords, Eight of Cups, Six of Wands

"You are a badass being, full of life, love and possibilities. Through this deck, may you find a path to your best self". - Lisa Sterle, Modern Witch Tarot Deck

I feel so out of my element all of a sudden; like I don't know what I'm doing even though I've done two other piles before this one and have done other PAP readings before and that may be something that you can relate to. You may feel out of your element or alien to something that you are usually so familiar with.

Don't shoot the messenger but, what I'm seeing is that you need to accept change before you can even worry about your next significant relationship. Learning to let go and when to walk away are things that Spirit is asking of you. In a way, they are saying that your next significant relationship needs to be with yourself. Your head is too wrapped up in all the things that you do wrong, you don't focus enough on all the things that you do right. You don't see how amazing and beautiful you are. You don't see yourself as worthy enough for love. You don't see your value and all of the wonderful things that you deserve. At this time, it should only be about you and your happiness. That doesn't mean to neglect your responsibilities, but it does mean that you matter, too, especially in your own life. It doesn't matter if your person comes in and tells you how amazing and beautiful, they believe you are if you don't even believe it. You are a masterpiece in progress but a masterpiece, still. You are so magical, and you have to take the time so that you can believe that and know that in your own heart. You should not rely on others to validate that for you. You should already know it and when someone else says it, it's seen as a plus or a bonus.

Channeled Song: Anklebiters by Paramore

Fall in love with yourself // oh, again // fall in love with yourself // Because // Someday you're gonna be the only one you got // Someday you're gonna be the only one you got // Why you wanna please the world to let yourself drop dead? // Someday you're gonna be the only one you got //

Channeled Song: Last Hope by Paramore

It's just a spark // But, it's enough/ to keep me going // and when it's dark out // noone's around // And it keeps going //

Thank you so much for participating in this pick a pile reading; if you want a more personal reading, you can see this post and you can see this post if you would like to see more about my Alice In Wonderland Sale.

If you would like to leave a tip, you can on CashApp ($oddlycozycottage), PayPal (@/oddlycozycottage), or Ko-fi (@/oddlycozycottage)

LEGAL DISCLAIMER: FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY. THESE READINGS ARE FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY. no guarantees are implied. These readings are not a substitute or replacement for any professional help or services. My readings are not a substitute for any form of professional legal, medical/psychiatric, relationship, religious/spiritual or financial/ business advice nor consultations. You should always see a professional legal/trained adviser for help in any matter. I am not responsible for any decisions/ actions you take.

#pink amethyst #pink amethyst tarot #tarot #tarot community #tarot reading #free tarot reading #tarotblr #collective message #collective reading #free tarot #spirituality #divination #tarot cards #tarot deck #tarotcommunity #pick a card #pick a pile #pick a picture #pick a photo #pick an image #pac #pap #pac reading #pap reading #212 #222 #777 #111 #555 #999

[causenessus]

Loving You. | Haikyuu

inc. akaashi, bokuto, oikawa, iwaizumi, atsumu

written in 2nd pov (female reader implied)

song recc: help they all have a song AND/or a quote anyway hatachi no koi by lamp <3

word count: 1884 words

summary: "they love you. how do they show it?"

hello hyperspecific examples? hopefully they're fun to read and make sense!! shoutout to the boy whose bokuto's is based off of <3 also first time writing for atsumu so hopefully i did ok!!!!!

they love you. how do they show it?

hello hyperspecific examples?

akaashi

“have you eaten? (i love you). did you get enough sleep last night? (i love you). how do you feel today? (i love you). did you have a nice day? (i love you). will you come on a walk with me? (i love you). here’s some fruit i cut up for you. (i love you) (i love you) (i love you).” "you're my everything"

although he’s quiet i just think he’s so expressive

like he has no trouble saying “i love you” but also says it in so many other ways than just that

he cares so much about you you’re not even able to doubt it for one second. it’s like every question is just his way of saying “i love you”

“did you eat today? do you want something to eat?” “how was your sleep? did you get enough sleep?” all his way of saying i love you

he’s always randomly coming into the room you’re currently in, gently grabbing both sides of your head and just kissing you all over, no words, just adoration <3

again I don’t think he’d have any trouble saying that he love you but it just feels so much more intimate, easier, and meaningful for him to find ways to show/say it instead

he’s such a big fan of the three taps to say i love you (link to an image post about the original person who did this)

he’s always holding your hand in public, giving it three squeezes, he’ll be playing with your fingers when you guys are sitting together and suddenly he’s giving your skin three taps. he’ll kiss your forehead three times, he’s always telling you that he loves you <3

he just loves to be around you and he’s always looking out for you

if you guys have a class together and you unexpectedly don’t show up to class, he’s texting you immediately to make sure everything’s okay

and he’s always keeping you company while you’re doing things, from homework to cooking to just reading

if you need help or will let him help with anything, he’s more than happy to but he also just loves chilling

from the beginning of your relationship and even before when you guys were just friends, hangouts often went on way longer than they were supposed to and you often stay over at each others’ houses because neither of you can bear to leave the presence of the other <3

bokuto

“love is not an everlasting performance in which you attempt to retain the attention of your significant other but rather a release of control and putting faith into them and trusting them to choose to stay with you no matter what you have to offer.  to love and be loved is to rest.”

he trusts you so much

like yes this precious baby has definitely put his entire trust into a lot of people but you’re so so much more to him and it’s different <3

he feels so safe with you and he know he can trust you with literally anything, he does not hesitate to share or tell you anything

he’s following you around all the time like a lost puppy

guaranteed there’s been at least one time where he had to navigate an arena away from home without you and akaashi

he did not show up to warm ups

someone had to come find him huddled in a corner, alone and lost

that random fact about how you feel sleepy around the people you trust?

he can be so energetic with you but other times he can’t even keep his eyes open around you

he’s always falling asleep, his head lulling to the side and resting on your shoulder on train rides back home

sometimes he’ll be telling you stories and suddenly letting out the biggest yawn ever

he'll forget that he's talking because suddenly all he wants to do is spend his time curled up with you <3

he loves to lean against you or be in contact with you in someway, whether that be holding your hand (or just a finger <3) or a hand on your thigh, it makes him feel so sleepy but so safe

murmurs so many “I love you”s before falling asleep

because he trusts you he’s also so good at listening to you too

from the silliest of things to actual requests <3

this is about to get so hyperspecific bear w me pls

you’d just finished redesigning a profile for a social media account and in a passing thought, as you guys were laying with each other in bed, you happen to say, “you should change your profile picture at some point, kou. you've had it for years.”

you didn’t mean it anyway bad, just something you suggested since you had just reorganized your own profile but you still loved his current profile picture <3

but the next time you happened to see his account, you noticed it was a mirror pic from before you two had dressed up to go out a few months ago

“when did you change your profile picture, love? it’s adorable,” you smiled as you kissed his head while he was laying on you

“like 10 minutes after you told me to, i just had to find the right photo,” he mumbled, his voice muffled from your shirt that he had buried his face into

other times it’s things like helping around the house, asking him to wash the dishes while you’re cooking for example

he’s so willing to help but in the beginning, he was lost

he was so ready to wash them but darling could not find the soap

but he loves you so much he’s always working so hard to do what you ask of him so he’ll make sure he learns more about chores to help out more and ofc there’s always more to learn so he’ll always be following your lead <3

oikawa

“when you like the spotlight as much as i do, it’s quite an adjustment to realize that the real reason you might be here is to shine it on someone else.” "she looks just like a dream / the prettiest girl i've ever seen."

man has been living with a spotlight shining on him his whole life

but once he met you, he completely fell in love and he moves the spotlight to be on you <3

literally just completely worships you must i say more

he does not let insecurities slide he’s your #1 hypeman and will fight anyone who disagrees

people around you both have noticed that since you guys started dating, you’ve grown more confident as a result of his love <33333

it doesn’t have to be big changes, literally just things like you’re able to talk louder, voice opinions, or try new things because he’s always there to encourage you along the way

take it you’re a little shy and don’t usually talk very loud but you have to if you’re going to get everyone’s attention in a setting such as trying to manage seijoh’s volleyball team (good luck with that 💔)

you raised your voice and it worked so that you could quiet the boys down in order to explain a change in plans for practice

afterwards, tooru’s coming up to you with a big smile on his face as he rests his forehead against yours

“i don’t think i’ve ever heard you yell, princess,” he says, looking into your eyes but you can’t help but take what he says in a bad way, looking away

“i didn’t mean to yell at you guys, i just didn’t know what else to do,” you mumble back with a frown

he kisses it away with a small laugh, “no, don’t feel bad, pretty. we were all surprised but so proud of you. you never would have done that at the start of the school year.”

he’s so happy whenever you try something new and he’s always there to tell you how well you’re doing even if you don’t feel like it

if you show that you love him by supporting him in his passions and all that he does, he shows his love by supporting you 1000% back

iwaizumi

“there’s nothing softer and more gentle than loving someone with your whole heart and never once holding back when it comes to them.” "think i'm gonna love you 'til i'm dead / i can't wait to buy you things / a brand new diamond ring / this is more than just a fling"

man loves so hard

i cannot see him in a short-term or commitment-free relationship

if he loves someone, he loves them wholly and completely. he’s all in, giving you everything

even before you guys started dating he was always checking in, making sure you were doing okay and offering hugs if you ever needed them

you cannot tell me that he doesn’t give the best hugs ever <33

now that you are dating though it’s just an excuse to love you more and show it in so many ways <3

as i say every single time, i just know he loves buying you gifts

you’re always on his mind, in every situation, whether he’s walking around and sees something in the window of a store that he knows you would like, or when he’s going to go pick something up to eat, he’ll always buy you something as well <3

he’ll really do anything for you, too. ask and it’s almost guaranteed

“iwa, can i draw on u”

“anything you want, princess”

“can we go get ice cream?” (it’s midnight)

“yea, are you ready to go now, love?”

all he needs in return is your love

adores getting to take naps with you or just laying in bed with you and in public, he always has an arm around your waist or should, keeping you close

with him it’s a complete all-all 100% relationship from both sides, that's what love is to him

everything is shared between you guys from money to items to secrets, you guys have complete trust in each other there’s not even a question about it he’s so good at communicating and keeping everything clear

everything he has is yours if you’ll be his <3

atsumu

“the one that loves, does he come back? the one that loves never leaves, my dear.”

he just completely softens around you

in fact i could see him getting worse around other people because you’re just the only one that matters to him

you know those videos about gym bros with girlfriends who act all misogynistic and stinky at the gym so that girls don’t approach them? that’s him. (i tried so hard to find a video as an example but i could not pls tell me u know what i’m talking about)

if any girl other than you tries to approach him literally anywhere they’re about to be absolutely obliterated when he flat out ignores him. or, if they don’t get the hint and he finally acknowledges them, he gives them the dirtiest, coldest look known to man, his nose wrinkling as he turns to them

“huh? yer talking to me? why? piss off.”

everyone knows that if they have to give him bad news, it’s best to do it when you’re in his general proximity or he’s just talked to you because that’s when he’ll receive it best

it’s nearly impossible to anger him when you’re around, and even if he gets upset, he won’t blow up, he’s just too enamored by you <3

loves to hold your hand in his lap or have a hand on your thigh and he’s content with life

his voice always lowers and softens when he’s around you, and he gives you the sweetest heart eyes

he’s always looking at you and he’ll tease you a lot just because he adores your reactions but they’re all just playful jokes

“ya know, if you ever wanted to cheer for me when everyone goes silent during games, I’d let ya,” he told you once while he was keeping you company before a game on a bench

“what? I could never do that,” your face heated at the thought, “it’d just be me and everyone would look at me. someone would probably even get mad.”

he chuckled, shaking his head as he brought your knuckles to his lips, “that’s the point. you’d sound so cute, and they’d know yer mine.” 

if you ever had a problem with how he treats other people, he’d try to work on it if you talk to him about it

no promises, but he’ll do his best for his princess <3

#akaashi x reader #bokuto x reader #oikawa x reader #iwaizumi x reader #atsumu x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu headcannons

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Bring Me to Life

Sam and Dean Winchester x little sister!reader

Requested by Anonymous

Synopsis: a fic about being the Winchester’s little sister inspired by the song Bring Me to Life by Evanescence. (Reader age isn’t specified but I was thinking like 10-13 ish?)

How can you see into my eyes like open doors?

“Y/N? Baby look at me, look right here. It’s Dean, I’m here.”

Leading you down into my core

Where I’ve become so numb

You’d been taken to hell by Lucifer over a month ago, and this was certainly not the first “Dean” that he had sent just to toy with you. He would get your hopes up only to reveal that it was just a fake; and then when you were almost out of hell, that’s when the fake would turn on you.

That’s when the pain would begin.

So when this Dean ran to you and grabbed hold of your shoulders, claiming to be here to take you home, you just stared at him, unable to find the energy to tell him to go away.

Without a soul, my spirit’s sleeping somewhere cold

Your vacant eyes stared right past Dean, and one look into your deadened features told Dean all he needed to know about your time in hell.

Until you find it there and lead it back home

“It’s ok N/N, it’s gonna be okay. I’m gonna take you home, I’m gonna protect you.”

You didn’t even acknowledge your big brother. That is, until he reached down to lift you into his arms. As soon as his arms were around you, you went absolutely feral.

“No!” You sobbed as you pounded your fists against Dean’s chest. “No, don’t take me!”

“Dean!” Sam’s voice came from the doorway to Lucifer’s throne room, where you were being held. “What’s going on? Someone’s gonna hear!”

“I-I don’t know!” Dean grabbed your hands to keep you from hitting him. “She-she’s just fighting me!”

“Don’t hurt me,” you begged. “Please, please, just tell Lucifer I won’t try to escape anymore, I won’t I promise!” You were hyperventilating now, still squirming to try to free yourself from Dean’s hold, but he could tell your malnourished body was starting to give out.

“Y/N, what are you talking about? It’s Dean, I’d never hurt you!”

“Wait,” Sam spoke up. “A few years ago, when I came here to get Bobby to take him to heaven, he told me that they kept sending in look-a-likes of you and me, just to torture him. She doesn’t know it’s you, Dean.”

“Baby, it’s me I promise,” Dean pleaded. “Just come with me, I—“

“Dean, we don’t have time for this,” Sam hissed. “I’m sorry, we just have to take her.”

Dean was torn for a moment, but he knew Sam was right. If they stayed here any longer, they’d be found out. Scaring you was better than leaving you here.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” Dean whispered as he lifted you into his arms.

“No,” you whimpered. “No, I don’t wanna go, tell him! Tell Lucifer I’ll be good, I promise!”

“Shh, shh,” Dean hushed you as he followed Sam out of the room. “You’ve gotta keep it down little sister.”

Wake me up inside,

Call my name and save me from the dark

You stopped yelling as Dean carried you through the hallways, but he could feel you shaking in his arms the closer he got to the exit.

“We’re taking you home, kid,” he told you over and over, but it had no effect.

Bid my blood to run, before I come undone

Save me from the nothing I’ve become.

You didn’t seem to know what to do once the three of you made it outside. Dean felt your whole body curl in on itself when the sunlight hit you, and he found himself holding you tighter as he brought you to the Impala.

Now that I know what I’m without, you can’t just leave me

Setting you down into the Impala seemed to snap some life into you. Dean could see it in your eyes—those look-a-likes had never taken it this far, but you still didn’t trust it.

Once he’d set you down in the back, he moved to get in the driver’s seat, but your small hands clenched around his arm, your terrified eyes snapping up to him.

“Hey, it’s ok. You’re safe now.”

But you just held on tighter, like you were afraid he would disappear if you let go.

Breathe into me and make me real.

“Ok, ok.” Dean tossed Sam the keys before gently pushing you further into the Impala so that he could sit next to you. “I’m not going anywhere sweetheart, I promise.”

Bring me to life

Wake me up inside.

You flinched as the Impala roared to life, and Dean held you when you leaned closer to him. You didn’t speak, and Dean watched as your eyes darted around, like you thought all of this was an illusion and you were just waiting for Lucifer to drag you out of it and back to hell.

“We’re taking you back to the bunker, Y/N,” Sam said, making sure that you knew what was coming next so that you weren’t any more uncertain than you already seemed to be. “You’re gonna be safe there, I promise.”

Bring me to life

I’ve been living a lie

There’s nothing inside

Bring me to life

Once you reached the bunker, Dean stepped out of the Impala and just waited. After a moment’s hesitation, you climbed out after him, still looking around warily.

You held onto Dean’s hand as he led you into the bunker, and Sam trailed right behind you so that you didn’t have to worry about anything coming up behind you.

I’ve been sleeping a thousand years it seems

Got to open my eyes to everything

“Honey, do you want me to take you to your room?” Sam asked, leaning down to your eye level.

You looked around the bunker for a moment, taking it all in before nodding to Sam.

“Ok.” He smiled when you reached up and wrapped your arms around his neck. Sam carried you into your room and set you down on your bed.

“Sammy?”

“There she is.” Sam grinned at the sound of your voice. “You ok, honey?”

“Is,” your voice cracked, and you gripped into Sam’s hands. “Is this real?”

“Hey.” Sam pulled you into his arms, rubbing your back as you clung to him. “Of course it’s real. We got you out, your safe now. Nobody’s ever going to hurt you again, I promise.”

Without a thought, without a voice, without a soul

Don’t let me die here, there must be something more

Dean was just thinking that he should check on you and Sammy when he heard your scream from across the bunker. He made it to your room in record time, shoving the door open to reveal Sam shaking you awake as you thrashed around in your sleep, still screaming.

“Y/N, hey!” Dean stepped up next to his little brother and grabbed hold of your shoulder. You bolted upright with a cry, your head whipping back and forth as you took in your surroundings.

“Hey, hey it’s ok,” Sam soothed. “You’re in the bunker, you’re ok.”

“I’m right here,” Dean added, grabbing your hand. “You ok?”

You struggled to breathe, your breaths coming out as whimpers as you cried.

“Dean?” You called out finally after a minute.

“Yeah, hey baby I’m right here.”

“De, I’m-I’m all wet,” you mumbled, still crying.

Sam turned on the small lamp next to your bed, and sure enough your hair was plastered to your face with sweat, your dirty top soaked through. But it was more than that—the sheets under you were soaked—you had wet the bed.

“I’m sorry,” you whimpered.

“Hey, don’t apologize,” Dean soothed. “It’s not your fault, let’s get you cleaned up baby.”

Bring me to life

Wake me up inside,

Call my name and save me from the dark

Sam switched your sheets out with clean ones while you got into the shower, cleaning off all the sweat and blood that you’d been too exhausted to clean off when you first arrived.

As soon as you were out, Dean was waiting outside to help you dry off and change into your pajamas.

“That’s better.” Dean smiled reassuringly at you as he dabbed at your face with a towel, drying off some of the spots you’d missed. “You’re safe now, kiddo. I promise you.”

“Will you sleep with me?” You asked, holding onto Dean’s shoulders for stability as you swayed a little from exhaustion.

“Of course.” Dean lifted you into his arms and carried you over to your bed.

“It’s all clean now,” Sam said as he helped Dean tuck you in. “Sweetheart, I’m gonna go make us some food for when you wake up, but Dean’s gonna stay here with you. Is that ok?”

You nodded, your eyes drooping from sleep.

Sam left to make you some food as Dean pulled you gently into his arms. You rested your head against his chest, falling asleep to the gentle thump of his heart.

You’d been through a lot, but with some overbearing TLC of your big brothers, you would be ok.

Bring me to life.

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy

@mrvlxgrl

#dean winchester #dean and sam #dean winchester x reader #supernatural dean #the winchesters #dean winchester x you #winchesters x reader #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #winchesters x sister #spn sam winchester #winchester x sister!reader #dean winchester x sister #dean winchester x sister!reader #winchester x sister #dean x sister #sam x sister!reader

[kvtie444]

°•★ SOLO .1

A/N: luv this sm and it's gonna be a slow burn! so excited for this!! couldn’t pick a song for the first chapter so i did this lolz cool name n that

Summary: reader moves to LA for work and becomes the sturniolos editor, but what happens when she falls for chris..

Warnings: swearing, mentions of sex and drinking

・₊✧⋆⭒˚｡⋆

I've achieved a major milestone at the age of 19 – relocating from my hometown to Los Angeles. While my current residence is a modest yet comfortable apartment, I aspire to upgrade once my income starts flowing. Thanks to some connections my mum, I landed an opportunity to showcase my photography and cinematography skills. My mums friend Laura manages the Sturniolo triplets, a prominent group in the YouTube community.

“Y/n?”, the barista interrupts with my drink. Smiling, I grab my beverage and head outside, taking in a deep breath. A sense of responsibility to make a good impression washes over me as I stroll, catching glimpses of myself in passing windows. The anticipation and nervousness fuel my journey to Laura's home office.

Arriving at her house, I ring the doorbell. Laura opens the door with a warm smile, “Hi dear! You look just like your mum” she says. Pulling me into a hug. “Lovely to meet you” I smile back. We exchange greetings, and she guides me upstairs. Seated in her office, she briefs me on the tasks ahead – editing their weekly podcast, vlog, and car video, along with organizing a photoshoot for an upcoming merch drop.

Midway through our conversation, a knock at the door interrupts us. Laura's daughter, Madi, "Nick's outside, I'm leaving now," she informs Laura, who interjects, "Actually, Madi, would you mind taking y/n here with you? She can actually meet them." "Oh, I don't want to intrude," I say, but Madi reassures me, "No, it's fine! I mentioned you had this meeting earlier, and Nick saw your page. We were both obsessed with your work." I agree with a smile, bid farewell to Laura, and follow Madi for a casual chat on the move and work.

At the front door, we find a minivan, and I open the back door, greeted by Nick. "It's so nice to meet you! I'm Nick, sorry for picking you up so last minute," he apologizes with a smile. "It's fine, no worries," I respond with a laugh. The driver, Matt, turns around, and I smile and wave. "You alright?" he asks, focusing on pulling out of the parking spot. "Yeah," I reply with a smile. “Is Chris still home?” Madi inquires, and Nick nods. The car ride is accompanied by quiet music and small talk, centered around getting to know each other.

Upon reaching the Sturniolo's house, we let ourselves in and head up the stairs to their living room. I drop my bag onto the couch. Madi, Nick, and I sit around the couch, with me in the middle, as Matt heads to the fridge. "Y/n, want anything to drink?" he asks, turning to me. "No, it's fine. I'm good," I shake my head. He places four Pepsis on the coffee table before taking a seat between me and Nick. I smile to myself, cute.

Nick is incredibly friendly, and we bond over our shared interests in photography. Matt is also sweet, ensuring I'm not left out in any conversation and keeping me entertained. Madi already feels like a sister vibe. The three of us are currently laughing at Nick's tangent about some driver on the journey to Laura's. "I mean, this dumb fuck shouldn't be allowed on the road, didn't even know how to use a fucking indicator," he practically yells. I laugh, my head falling back.

My attention shifts to the stairs as I hear someone walking up them. It's Chris - he practically ignores us all as he walks to the fridge, opening it. Our conversation dies down, and the room becomes dead silent; you could hear a pin drop. "Who the fuck took the last Pepsi?" he grumbles, basically slamming the fridge shut. "Chris," Nick scolds. Chris turns to look at us all on the sofa. "Oh, hey," he nonchalantly nods at me. I shoot a quick, small smile before dropping it. What the fuck.

"We can pick up another pack when we go out to film the car video tonight," Chris starts but is quickly cut off. "Chris, this is the editor, Y/n," Madi speaks up, furrowing her brows at him. "Oh shit, my bad. Just thought it was some girl Matt brought back," he chuckles, motioning to Matt's arm behind my head on the sofa. We all just stare at him in disbelief. He hums to himself before walking over, picking up my Pepsi in front of me that I had already had half of, holding eye contact with me. He downs it and drops it back on the table, the can rolling away. "Dude," Nick scolds him. "Later," Chris mumbles before going back to his room. My jaw is slack from slight shock at him. "I'm so sorry about him," Matt begins. "It's fine, don't worry about it," I smile, lying at him; in truth, it did bother me because, it was out of order. I mean, I'm going to be working for this absolute dick.

We're snapped out of our thoughts again by someone walking upstairs, but this time it's some blonde Instagram model girl from Chris's room. She simply walks past us and leaves the house. Lovely.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Nick added you to a groupchat

I read the notification before unlocking my phone, it was a group chat of me and the triplets, just titled “📸”

I go on the chat, the only message being from nick.

From Nick

Hey girl, videos coming out in 2 days, I've got the SD card if you wanna come pick it up!

I smile and respond, agreeing to the plans. Nick and Matt like the message, while Chris leaves it on read. The noise from my upstairs neighbours is getting louder, prompting me to sigh and pinch my nose. I quickly pack a bag with my laptop and other essentials. Thankfully, the weather in LA is never cold, so I leave in my comfy outfit of sweatpants and a crop top.

I arrive at the house and knock on the door. Matt opens it, greets me, and pulls me into a side hug. "Hey, is Nick in?" I inquire. "Yeah, he's making lunch. You want any?" Matt offers. Despite not wanting to be a burden, my rumbling stomach speaks for itself. "If you don't mind," I smile at him. "Not at all," he says before heading upstairs.

Nick is busy cooking pasta, and Chris is lounging on the sofa, scrolling on his phone. He looks up at me as I quickly avert my gaze. "Hey, food's ready now if you want a plate," Nick smiles at me as I slide my bag off my shoulder onto the dining table and sit down. "Yeah, that's great. Um, would you mind if I edit here? My neighbours are driving me crazy," I ask nervously, sticking my tongue in my cheek. "Of course! Stay as long as you like," Nick offers a warm smile, serving the pasta.

"Just letting you know, Chris is having people over later, so you can edit in my room upstairs," he continues, placing my plate in front of me with a fork. I stab the pasta, blow on it, smile, and nod. Matt takes his plate and goes to his room to stream, while Nick leaves a plate out for Chris as he goes to shower. shit, it's just us in the room now.

As I eat my pasta, I hear Chris get up from the couch, then the chair next to me scratching the floor. He sits next to me, pulling his plate of pasta toward him as he begins eating. It's awkward, with his legs obnoxiously spread so our knees are touching. The only sounds are the slight chewing and our forks scraping the plate until Chris speaks up, "You drink?" he asks me. "I guess," I reply, considering I only drink socially. "I was gonna invite you to my thing tonight, but not if you're dressed like that," he says, stabbing pasta with his fork. Thanks. "I'm busy editing tonight anyway," I mumble, playing with my food slightly on my plate. He sighs before breaking the silence again. "I've got a fresh love drop, need you on the set for photos, can you take them like this?" he asks sounding more like an order than a question, as he shows me my own Instagram post with photos taken from a digital camera. "Yeah," I reply, my eyes still on his phone as I eat. He swipes off Instagram, and as he does, I catch a glimpse of what I assume to be his designs in his camera roll. I have to admit; he has a good vision.

I eventually finish my meal, wash up after myself, grab a drink, and head upstairs to Nick's room. He's playing Fortnite on his TV with Matt on the other end of the headset, presumably still streaming. We exchange silent smiles before I sit on his desk and pull out my laptop. He left the SD card out for me, so I slot it in and begin working on it. While watching the unedited video, I can't help but stare at Chris. As much as I hate to admit it, he looks good - the way his black tee hugs his biceps, how blue his eyes are. Focus, Y/n.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

I've just finished the video, and Nick and I are currently sitting on his bed, sharing headphones. It's hard to pay attention due to the obnoxiously loud people downstairs and the booming music. It's now 2 am, and the party seems to be ending as the music stops, and the muffled voices get quieter. He laughs as the video ends, clapping his hands together in amusement. "Honestly, y/n, that's amazing," he smiles at me. I save the video and hand the SD card back to him, ready for upload.

"Tomorrow, we're going out to film another 'come eat with us' video. I'll let you know when we're ready for editing," he explains, and I nod in agreement. "I should get going," I say, looking out the window at the night sky. "Let me ask Matt to drop you off," he suggests. I nod and hug him before heading downstairs with my bag alone.

The scene downstairs is chaotic, with red solo cups everywhere, spilt drinks on the now sticky floor, and chairs moved around. Chris is by the kitchen alone, drinking Bacardi straight from the bottle. I sigh as I attempt to walk past, but he calls my name. I turn to look at him, and he waves me over with his middle and index finger. As I step towards him, I can smell the alcohol on his breath; he's clearly drunk.

"Drink with me," he slurs. I shake my head no, but it doesn't stop him. He shoves the glass bottle in my face. "Chris, I'm good," I assert, but he doesn't stop. He continues, and I try to push the bottle away, but it ends up dropping, shattering on the floor. I groan as I bend down, picking up the large pieces of glass.

"Y/n," he groans, but I ignore him. I wince as a shard cuts my hand, and blood quickly starts coming out. "Shit," I mutter, dropping the glass I was holding and standing up. "Let me see," Chris mumbles, grabbing my wrist. I let him, and he examines the cut, almost snapping out of his drunken state. His warm hand sends jolts through my body as he holds me. He walks me over to the sink, turning it on and rinsing my hand under it. I wince at the feeling, causing him to soothingly rub his thumb over my wrist. "Shh, it's okay, you're fine," he mumbles. He grabs a bandage from a drawer while still holding onto my wrist, gently placing it on my palm and rubbing it down.

"Pretty sure you're meant to disinfect it," I look up at him. "Pretty sure you're the sober one, and somehow I'm the one helping you," he smirks to himself. I breathe out a laugh as he looks up at me and away from my hand. We stare at each other for a second, the tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. We hear a door open, and he's quick to drop my wrist, turning away, making me frown slightly. "Yo, y/n, let's go—what the fuck?" Matt says, coming from his room and seeing the glass on the floor. He looks up at my bandaged hand. "What happened?" he asks, concerned. "Don't worry about it, let's go," I mumble, walking around the glass and to him. I look back for a second and see Chris leaning against the counter, eyes glued to his phone.

I get in the front seat of Matt's car and feel my phone buzz.

From Chris

sorry

・₊✧⋆⭒˚｡⋆

tag list !!

@iloveneilperry @bernardenjoyer

@daddyslilchickenfingers

@mbbsgf @sturnvilmed @sturnphilia @s1urnioloslvr

@mattsbratt @mangoposts @christinarowie332

@recklesssturniolo @bluesturniolo333

@flowerxbunnie @kenzieiskoolaid @pepsiskiess

@poopydroopt @byechristopher @solarsturniolo

@m6ttsturniolo @lustfulslxt @stardustmf444

@thankyounextt @glossyfx @bellasturniolo @justurniolos @cl0esblogg @strumbolisworld @strniolosworld @chrisloyalgf @aliyahsbody

#chris sturniolo x reader #angst #matt sturniolo x reader #imagine #matt sturniolo #fluff #chris sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #smut #nick sturniolo #Spotify

[ghost-proofbaby]

SO SCARLET (IT WAS MAROON)

CHAPTER FOUR: CASTLES CRUMBLING

AND HERE I SIT ALONE, BEHIND WALLS OF REGRET. FALLING DOWN LIKE PROMISES I NEVER KEPT.

☆ pairings: rockstar!eddie munson x fem!reader

☆ warnings: no use of y/n, strong language, angst, mentions of RUMORS of workplace sex scandal, minors dni

☆ WC: 5.4K+

☆ A/N: if you would like to listen to the song that eddie is recording at the end - it is an actual, real life song. :-) it is called "blood sport" by sleep token (one of my favorite bands i get to see live next week!!), and i highly recommend listening to it during your reading. especially the latter half of this chapter.

thank you to my love @hellfire--cult for the divider!

masterlist

“Alright, so – anyone care to fill me in on what the Hell that was?” 

Matt stands like a disapproving father figure as the band lines up opposite of him just outside the building. Eddie had hoped nothing would be mentioned until they were in the car, but the driver was clearly running a few minutes late.

Three of the boys glance at each other, worried expressions immediately giving up the hoax even as Eddie only shrugs and says, “What do you mean?” 

“Cut the shit, Munson,” Matt had never appeared so livid, so undone by irritation. His usual patience with Eddie is nonexistent, “What’s going on between you and that girl? Is she a past groupie?”

The insinuation gets a scoff out of Gareth. Jeff side-eyes him in warning, but Eddie couldn’t care less, “No, she’s not a past groupie. This was the first time I’d ever-”

“Don’t lie to me,” Matt points an accusatory finger at Eddie, narrowing his eyes, “I am your manager. If you have any unsavory connections with that girl, I need to know so I can decide if we need someone else to organize the event. We are not having another repeat of the Lewinsky scandal.” 

“I knew it! I fucking knew you called it that, too!” Gareth cheers, but he’s quieted by one look from their furious manager.

The Lewinsky scandal had been their code-word for when the tabloids had become convinced that Eddie was fucking an assistant at the label. A girl had even come forward and claimed to have had sexual relations with Eddie, and he had taken heat for it for a full month before the buzzing novelty worn off.

Eddie had only spoken three words to the girl. No, thank you when she’d offered him a mug of coffee during a late night at the studio. He wishes now he’d been less polite. 

And he also finds himself wishing that’s all this was. He wishes you were just another scandal, another terrible rumor spread around. If all the accusations between you two were false, if all the hatred was based on misconstrued circumstances, it would be so much easier. He can talk himself out of that. He can confess to those sins and get off with no more than the order of one hail mary from Matt. 

But you? The reality of all that had happened, both all those years ago and just thirty minutes ago? He can’t find the words. They choke him up, unwilling to leave the cavern of his chest and enter the world, just like all the songs gathering dust as demos. 

“It’s not going to be another Lewinsky scandal,” Eddie scowls, feet shuffling against the concrete below him. Can’t be another Lewinsky scandal if she wants nothing to do with me anymore, “Maybe she just doesn’t like me. I am allegedly a very polarizing public figu-”

The car pulls up, and Matt is quick to grab Eddie’s shoulder before glaring at the boys, “Get in, I’m not finished with our polarizing public figure yet.” 

Grant and Gareth only let out low whistles, following instruction without lingering as they clamber into the back row of seats in the SUV. Jeff takes his time, though, going as far to pause beside Eddie and place a hand on his back.

“Just tell him the truth, Eds.” 

It’s the final nail in his coffin. Eddie is cursing Jeff’s retreating figure as he climbs into the vehicle and shuts the door, leaving him alone with Matt. 

“Explain,” Matt demands, “Now.” 

Eddie’s eyes focus on a gaping crack in the sidewalk, jagged and uneven, right down the center. 

He has two options. He could continue to lie, insist he knows nothing about you until Matt just gets bored of not being offered the truth. Or he could admit it all, reveal the muse behind the art he had been fiercely protecting over these last few months. Every line, every chord, every broken note that had left his lungs during those witching hours in the studio. 

On one hand, it’ll rip away the opportunity that has been offered to him on a silver platter – the opportunity for closure. Selfish, bloody closure that neither of you had gotten, it seemed. But on the other hand, it might grant him some sympathy. Matt, the label, the producers – they had all grown tired of the dance Eddie led them in every time they’d inquire about the music. But if Matt knew-

It’s a dead end trail of thought. He knows he won’t admit to the worst of his atrocities he’s committed. No scandal, no late night ending with him in handcuffs, no fraudulent headline is going to compare to what he did to you. What you did to him.

It’s a little too late for damage control, anyways.

“I went to high school with her,” the lie works well enough, easing some of Matt’s frustration, “I was just shocked to see her. All of us were shocked to see her. No big deal.” 

Eddie knows the people around him have come to learn that they must pick and choose the battles they engage in with him. And he can see that decision flash across Matt’s face as he decides that this is not a battle necessary to the war.

“Alright. But if you’re lying to me-“

“I’m not lying.”

“If you are, that’ll be one of my last straws, Munson.”

It won’t be. Eddie knows it won’t be. Everyone, every single goddamn person in this world it seems, is capable of giving Eddie Munson unlimited chances — except you. You, it seemed, were the only person who had come to their senses. 

You always were smarter than people gave you credit for.

—

“Run the track again.” 

They’d spent a few hours in the studio already. It was an odd hour for them to be haunting the space, more used to visiting in the dead of night rather than the middle of a weekday, but it was down to the wire now. Vocals needed to be recorded, instrumentals fine-tuned, tracks properly mastered. Eddie could no longer hide in the night when it came to recording the haunting melodies stained with the blood of his past — no matter how wrong it felt to see a sliver of sunlight breaking through one of the windows, just through the top of the blackout curtains.

“I really think that was the one, man-“ the producer starts, probably just tired after repeatedly running in circles with Eddie’s perfectionism.

He doesn’t care. He’s paying them, they can stand to let him re-record as many times as necessary to satisfy Eddie, “Run it again.” 

The silence only continues to buzz in Eddie’s headphones. He’s ready to cuss out the producer as he angrily shoves them down, off his ears and hanging loosely around his neck, the wire a leash as he whips to face the one-way glass wall. The lights are off at the main board, guaranteeing that they can see Eddie but Eddie can’t see them.

Until suddenly, the light comes back on, and the reason for the absence of the repeated track Eddie had requested becomes obvious.

Gareth.

He stands at the center of it all, a few paces from the seated producer with a deep scowl on his face. 

“What the fuck?” Eddie says, mouth just close enough to the mic for them to catch his overflowing annoyance, “I said-“

“We heard what you said, Eddie,” Gareth interrupts, his voice just loud enough to be faintly heard even as the headphones curl around the nape of Eddie’s neck, “But I need to talk to you.” 

It’s the strictest tone that Gareth has used on their lead singer in an unfathomably measure of time. Probably because it’s the most words he’s said to Eddie in a very long time, as well.

Eddie finally removes the headphones, hanging them carelessly on the mic stand and moving towards the door — surprisingly, without putting up a resistance.

The control room is warmer than the fairly large area that served as a ‘booth’. Smaller, as well. Cramped with a low couch and one too many chairs available to trip over, the control board spanses the entire wall that holds the oversized window into the recording room. A plethora of small lights twinkle like stars, and numerous switches that Eddie had come to know better than the back of his hand alternate positions to guarantee the clearest sound. Only Gareth and the producer occupy the room, the rest of the band having taken off around the fifth time Eddie had requested a redo of his vocal tracking.

“This better be good,” Eddie complains, furrowing his brows, agitated at the interruption. 

But Gareth shows no remorse, “We need to talk.” 

“Yeah, you said that already.”

“We need to talk,” Gareth repeats, eyes flickering to the poor soul still seated at the controls, “Alone.” 

Eddie hardly has to open his mouth, the man jumping out of his seat the moment the lead singer flicks his wrist to signal for him to leave.

Whatever Gareth was about to say had to be important, and it’s that thought rather than the difference in temperatures that has sweat building on Eddie’s brows.

Is he about to quit the band? Is he about to tell me he’s had enough? Maybe he’s done with my bullshit — I would be.

“Speak, Emerson,” Eddie flatly insists, grabbing a small water bottle out of one of the mini fridges in the room before he throws himself onto the worn leather of the couch, “And make it quick. We’re on a time limit, you kno-“

“We’ve gotta talk about her, man.” 

Her as in you. 

For a moment, Gareth sounds like a friend again. He’s dropped all the persistent perturbation he’s taken to defending himself with when it comes to  Eddie, his voice pleading as he stands before the distant man. All the rueful power plays that had developed over the last year vanish. It’s just Eddie and Gareth, bandmates who started out in the latter’s garage in some small Indiana town. Not Eddie Munson, infamous rockstar with a chip on his shoulder. Not Gareth Emerson, passionate drummer overshadowed by the ego of his lead singer. Just Eddie and Gareth.

 “We all know you didn’t tell Matt the truth.” 

“I did tell him the truth-“ 

“Not the whole truth, then. There’s no way he’d let it slide if he knew that she was your ex-girlfriend.” 

The defiance vacates Eddie’s body quickly. He doesn’t even attempt to prowl his mind for a quick quip in response. All he does at the words is drop his shoulders, the defeat creeping up on him as he deflates. 

Ex-girlfriend. The title feels so pitiful to truly describe what you were to him. 

But to be fair, even when he had been in your good graces, girlfriend had also never felt significant enough.

“Did-“ Gareth starts after a beat of silence, noting the way Eddie couldn’t quite hide his wounds on the topic, “What did you guys talk about? When you went after her, what did she say?” 

“Nothing important.”

Eddie turns into a shell, a zombie as he stares straight ahead and tries to compartmentalize. That always worked; with meetings, with arguments, with lectures. Even before the fame, it worked.

It doesn’t work quite as quickly when it comes to you. His brain, it seems, is incapable of uncrossing all the wires you twist within his brain.

“You two were alone for, what, ten minutes? And you’re telling me she didn’t say anything important?” 

“What the fuck is there to say?” Eddie laughs soullessly, “Oh, hey, stranger! Remember me? The guy you up and left without a word?” 

“Yes!” Gareth shouts unexpectedly, “Yes, that’s exactly what you should have done! She left. Not just you, but all of us. We never even really knew why. And now- what? Are we just supposed to pretend we don’t know her?” 

Eddie knew why. She’d never had to say it, and that was the issue. He always thought about all the answers he swore he craved, and always let every question he claimed to have haunt him during the waking hours. But when the day turned to night, when he was left to nothing but his own devices in a dark and empty apartment during the witching hours, he knew. The question of why had been answered since the first phone call cut short with you during that goddamn tour.

The songs knew, too. He supposes it had been an arrogant assumption to believe the band had read into his lyrics and put the pieces together. 

“That’s exactly what we’re going to do,” Eddie nearly whispers, throat tightening and fighting him on the words. It’s the opposite of what he wants and needs — but it’s what you want and what you need. And so he plays the messenger, even as it kills him, “We are going to completely disregard my past with her. We are going to treat this entire situation as professionally as possible. I’m talking the full nine yards: you will not mention the fact that we know her, you will not question her about anything from the past, and you will not, under any circumstances, ask her why.” 

His own set of rules he’d privately set for himself in his own mind during the car ride over. 

Gareth squints his eyes in disbelief, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Are you serious?”

“Deathly so.”

“This isn’t just about your past with her,” the boy nearly passes, starts to reach up to tug on his hair before he thinks better of it, “This is about the way she left all of us. Not just you. She was a friend to all of us. She was the one who taught me how to tape my drums when I’d bust a hole in them, she was the one who helped us design our first merch, she was the only person any of us would let be in the room during practices. And not just the band stuff, either,” Eddie watches tears form in Gareth’s eyes, “She was the only one who had the patience to help me with my fucking math homework back in school, man. She was the one who nearly curb stomped Jason Carver the week he sent Grant home with a black eye. She was the first person Jeff called when his parents broke news of their divorce, for fucks sake. Not me, not you, not any of us — her,” Gareth’s breaths come out as pants as he stops his pacing and stands before Eddie. The tears continue to lace his bottom lash line as he heaved silently at the end of his rant, his pained expression completely unexpected to Eddie. 

This is the part Eddie chooses to forget. He’ll let himself swim in the memory of you late at night, he’ll indulge in vices that always amplify his pain rather than succeeding in his attempt to numb it, he’ll stare down the mirror each morning and curse the reflection he finds with all the blame in the world he is capable of holding in the palms of his hands. But in all the ruptures of his own old scars, he fails to consider that he is not the only one burdened with loss. 

They all lost you. When Eddie lost you, so did the band. You’d become a ghost to more than just your abandoned lover — you’d become a tired haunt to boys you’d known, boys you’d befriended and burrowed your way into the lives of, just as well. 

“She was our friend,” Gareth chokes out, fists curling at his sides, “Jesus Christ, I- I get it. She was everything to you. Whatever. But she meant a lot to the rest of us, too. Whatever happened wasn’t just some isolated event — you two didn’t just hurt each other. You set off whatever bomb erased her from our lives, but it left the rest of us with some damage, too. Don’t forget that.” 

This is the part where Eddie should apologize. This is the part where, once upon a blissful time, he would have said his repentance. 

He doesn’t.

“I don’t care how hurt anyone is,” he lowly responds, eyes unable to meet Gareth’s any longer, “I’ve told you the rules, we’re going to follow them. End of discussion.” 

Gareth throws back his head, and Eddie winces at his scoff, “She’s not your fucking property, Eddie! She isn’t solely yours to keep or whatever the fuck you think you’re doing!” 

Eddie can’t even deny the action of keeping you. All the demos, all the songs laid to the grave because he couldn’t stomach the thought of releasing them for others to experience. 

But that’s not what this was. This, the cataclysm that was sending Gareth to finally release all this pent up frustration, was him following your rules. You’d made your wishes for this project very clear, and he needed to at least try to respect them. They all did. 

So he takes on the role of the bad guy. He lets them paint him as the villain if it means no red will stain your ledger. 

“Oh, I think she’s made it very clear that she isn’t mine,” the mask slips on far too easily for Eddie. Cool demeanor, compartmentalizing. Not you, but his emotions towards his friends, if he could even still call them that. His bandmates that he had once seen as brothers. “Doesn’t change what I said. Don’t push it, Emerson, or there’ll be Hell to pay.” 

“What are you going to do? Disappear on us?” Eddie finally looks back up to meet Gareth’s fiery gaze as he spits out hateful words, “Hate to break it to you, but you already left this band behind two years ago. And if you ask me, you should start leaving the vanishing act to her. At least she doesn’t make us pay for her mistakes.” 

Eddie is by no means done with the conversation, more than willing to continue fighting with Gareth, but the other boy clearly feels differently. He leaves his words hanging in the air as he spins away, storming out of the door, the air in the studio now several degrees hotter now with the irate fuel of the fight.  

It was all a blood sport. All of it. It didn’t matter if Eddie was fighting with the band, the management, with you. It was all bloody and fruitless, and it all left him the same awful type of hollow in the end. 

He stares blankly at the wall as he makes a silent decision.

By the time the producer has timidly returned to the room, Eddie has already set up his laptop to connect to the studio's system, prepped so that any recording would automatically copy into his personal hard drive. A way for him to listen and ruminate in the privacy of his own apartment. 

The sheet music torn from his notebook already lays at the table besides the entrance to the booth. 

“Do you… want to run the track again?” the man, the stranger, asks. He clearly heard the fight. Eddie and Gareth hadn’t been exactly quiet in their screaming match. At least, Gareth hadn’t been. 

Is it really a screaming match if only one side fights back? 

“I want to lay a new track,” Eddie’s voice is deadpan as he clicks a few buttons, finalizing everything. He only needs the man to click record, “A raw piano and vocal demo. We can add the rest of the band later.” 

“I-“

One look from Eddie, hardly passed over his shoulder with a glimmer of unbridled determination, and the man quiets as he takes his seat. 

Eddie storms into the booth without another word, fist curled around the page of lyrics and terribly hand-drawn music clefts. 

She isn’t yours to keep.

Eddie was aware of that. Painfully, painfully aware. But it had never been about his claim to you. 

Gareth was right. Eddie never wanted to own you. Keeping you, however, had been something he should have taken more care with.

The chill of the small room to record in does little to lessen the flames eating Eddie up as he bypasses the assembly of various instruments all crowded in the space. Gareth’s drum set, Jeff’s guitar, Grant’s bass — he storms right past them, eyes locked on the grand piano in the fair corner. It took up the most space, far too large to have been forced to be contained within this compact room. 

Eddie drags the mic from where it had been stationed previously with him, quickly and recklessly resetting it at the piano. 

Once he’s seated on the bench, crumpled pages thrown up onto the music desk of the piano and headphones snug over his ears again, the producer finally clicks on his mic to speak.

“Hey, uh… Does this demo have a name by chance? Or do you just want to label it as an unknown for now?”

It certainly does have a name.

“Blood Sport,” Eddie spits out. “Just name the file Blood Sport.” 

The hum that would indicate to Eddie when those on the other side of that glass window were speaking clicks off, and he takes it as his cue.

He’d written the song a while before. There were some gaps in the lyrics, some notes he’d played with on his personal piano scribbled over and never replaced. He’d never played it in its entirety before. 

It starts slow. His fingers hold the ivory keys delicately, arranging for the first opening notes as if he were slotting his knuckles against your own for the first time over again.

She isn’t yours to solely keep. 

Were you ever his to keep, ever? 

Even the ivory keys of the Steinway are more solid than you ever were. You were nothing more than water, than blood, destined to slip between Eddie’s fingers. He never stood a chance in having you, in holding you, in keeping you. 

Not just now, but before all the blood shed, as well. He should have recognized Cassandra’s curse the first day he looked into your eyes. He should have known the twist in his stomach was only Fate sinking its claws into the two of you. 

A tale fit for a Shakespearean stage — a tragedy always meant to be.

“I want to roll the numbers, I want to feel my stars align again.” 

Eddie’s voice is soft to match the steady beat of piano notes that emit from the crooked curl of his hand against the keys. A soft thump, a gentle lull. And instead of losing himself in the music, he finds himself wrapped up in one of the many memories he’d chosen to lock away for the last two years.

Something was off. 

Eddie’s stomach had twisted with anxiety of something being wrong for weeks. You stopped answering his calls, his texts, every form of connection with him. But as he stood in front of the door to your shared apartment, the bile rose even higher in his throat. 

He smelt the decay of what he had done before his key had even entered the lock. 

“Would you invite me again? Won’t you pay for your arrogance? Won’t you show me your weakness?” 

You were never his to keep. 

His voice nearly cracks as he approaches the first chorus, not finding the strength behind the vocals he’d always envisioned for the song.

The click of the door opening echoed through the apartment. It felt empty the moment he’d crossed the threshold – you could have just been tucked away in the bedroom, or even in the bathroom, but he knew. 

You hadn’t been returning his phone calls. You hadn’t been returning his texts. He knew something had happened, something had changed. Irreversible damage had been done, and he would now have to face the mess he’d created to return home to. 

“I made loving you a blood sport.” 

He repeats the line until it rings in his head, over and over. Until he swears the words could crack his bones, and the stars that will show in the night sky will do nothing but mock him for the self-inflicted pain.

At first, he convinced himself you just weren’t home. You’d gone to the store or to see friends. You’d be home soon enough and then, the two of you could scream at each other all you wanted. You were angry with him, rightfully so, but he’d rather you yell and scrap with him than the alternative. He didn’t care. Because he was here, back in the flesh and willing to take any and all cruel words you had sharpened for him. The two of you would fight, yes, but at least that meant there was still something there worth fighting for.

After the first three hours, he realized with a sinking stomach that the alternative might just be his reality. 

“I want to be forgiven.” 

He recalls the look on your face when you’d first seen him today. The fall of your act, the discarding of grace and composure.

The look that told him that he can want all he’s capable of. He can want, he can crave, he can yearn, he can tear himself apart bit by bit with his feeble yet shattering cravings — it won’t change a thing. 

You were never his to keep.

After the clock struck the fifth hour of his return, he started his calling.

Over and over and over, he was met with your voicemail. Endless messages spoken and sent alike. Every single one trying to be gentle as they inquired where you were. Letting you know he was back. Going as far as to ask you if the two of you could talk. 

He wanted to fight. He wanted to fight, because it meant you still saw something worthy within him.  

But even more than Eddie wanted a fight, he wanted you to come home. He wanted you to be there, to welcome him into your safety and remind him he was human again. It was selfish – he was so goddamn selfish – but he needed to feel your skin against his and remind him that he was still a person beneath it all. Beneath the demand, beneath the unwarranted adoration from strangers, beneath all the fractures the sudden traction had left him with – he was still a breathing, living person. He was still your person. 

Eddie’s fingers begin to slam against the keys with increasing urgency as his chest heaves out with every syllable. Repeating, and repeating, and repeating the chorus as if it changes a single thing. He loses himself in it all; in the music ringing in his ears and the memories now drowning him as he confesses all his sins to the microphone. 

You never came home. 

There was no fight, and after the hours reached double digits right along with his ignored phone calls, he had to accept the truth.

You weren’t just at a friend’s, or the store. You were gone. Truly, truly gone.

The drawers once filled with your belongings were vacant. The smell of your perfume was nothing more than a whisper across the pillows. Eddie scoured the entire apartment for signs of you, turning every single piece of furniture over looking for clues. He never thought to check the counter until he’d already ruined the space, terrorizing it in a frenzy before his eyes landed on the letter and the key.

He had approached them both hesitantly. All his denial drained from his body, like the blood pumping through his veins, as his fingers pinched that silver key so gingerly.

A past he can never return to. A home he will never hold the key to again. 

The joints of his fingers ache and his lungs begin to burn for all that he lost — all that they all lost — because of him. His  own foolishness, his own downfall. He did this. 

The aftermath is blurry.

He read the first few words of your letter before promptly crumbling it with his tortured fist, knowing exactly what it said without needing to fully swallow all the words just yet.

He never fully read the letter. He skimmed it, a week later, but not that night. 

Then came the flashes of the pain. The way he’d swung his fists at air and menial objects alike. A vase holding wilted carnations met its demise on the kitchen floor, a hole in the wall appeared that he later had to patch up, one of the coffee tables ended up across the living room with a leg splintered half off. 

He never dropped the key. 

Even as he dropped to his knees in the center of the broken glass, bleeding shins to match his bruising knuckles, he still held that small piece of silver fiercely. He pressed it so tightly, dug it so deeply into his palm that it later left a scar. And not even the way he had grabbed at the broken glass surrounding him had the capability to mar it away as he let it slice his skin, crying out, hopeless and devastated. 

You were gone. He had lost you, and he had been arrogant enough to never even notice it.

“You say it doesn’t matter.” 

The headphones had long since slipped off his head, and he makes no move to adjust them. He hadn’t even noticed that his body had begun to fall forward and curl into the piano until he’s weakly choking out the final lyric that he hadn’t even written down onto the page. 

He hadn’t noticed the tears falling, either.

What were meant to be gasps for air as his fingers fly across the keys in a haunting melody are only sobs. Cries of pain as he no longer can see mere inches ahead of him, a scar of the center of his palm stinging as if brand new, his heart and head pounding in sync. He isn’t even sure if the producer he’s forgotten the name of is still recording. He lets the sobs slip out as he continues to play. 

He can’t quite end the song yet. The moment he does, he’s terrified of the version of him that he will have to face once more. All those surface blemishes from the beginning of the end had run deeper beneath his skin. He was nothing more than rubble and fractures now, splintered every which way until he had become unrecognizable. When he looked in the mirror, all he could see was a creature of destruction.

“You set off whatever bomb erased her from our lives, but it left the rest of us with some damage, too. Don’t forget that,” Gareth’s voice echoes in the silence beginning to gather between the notes.

Another wrecked sob leaves Eddie as he finally finishes off the melody, playing entirely unaffected up until that point. Reality crashes down. His body shakes, shoulders hunched as his forehead connects against the freezing wood of the piano and he pinches his eyes shut tightly enough to be left in total blackness. 

He couldn’t play another note if his life depended upon it.

The memory fades with the final note before his head rattles with a new image. The smile, the grimace, you had offered him before you two parted ways today. An effort at professionalism that Eddie had seen right through. 

Pain. That’s what had twitched in the corners of your mouth. The same pain, if not worse, as the one that now radiated through every atom of Eddie’s broken figure on the piano bench. 

He can’t fix it. Not your pain, not Gareth’s pain, not his own pain. The time for damage control, for sincere apologies and any reconciliation has passed. Just like watered-down blood through his fingertips. 

Eddie hopes that the producer has had half the mind to stop the recording when he stands and slams the drumset behind him into the wall. Destructive, just as he had been the night he returned to an empty apartment. Just as he had been when he’d been the one to rot and wither away all that you two had once held between you. 

They can replace the drum set. Surely, he has a person for that. 

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @hideoutside @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin @ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87 @thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @gagasbee @d64d-n0t-sl66p1ng @aysheashea @kellsck @cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975 @eddiesxangel @siriuslysmoking @witchwolflea @tlclick73 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @mizzfizz @nanaminswhore @mikiepeach @ali-r3n

join my taglist!

#ghost's writing #eddie munson #maroon #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson angst #rockstar eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fic #finally long enough tag lists to separate lol #voila! corroded coffin is sleep token! wahoo! #i recommend everyone listen to the discography of that band #just sayin #(dial tone is the only non sleep token song that is canon here) #i just can't let go of the death grip i have on that song when it comes to this fic #it was either gonna be catch your breath sleep token or bad omens #and sleep token captures the yearning #Spotify

[storiesforallfandoms]

not used to normal ~ chris evans

word count: 2533

request?: yes!

@vrittivsanghavi​

“Hey! I love your imagines!

Would you be up for writing one with chris x reader? Something similar to this song?

Love youuu”

description: in which she struggles to adjust to normal after a toxic relationship, but he’s willing to help her figure it out

pairing: chris evans x female!reader

warnings: swearing, mentions of a toxic relationship, rpf

masterlist (one, two, three)

You and Chris could not be more different. Your entire life was chaos and mess, from your family to your past relationships. Your definition of “normal” was leagues different than most people’s. Then there was Chris, who had the healthiest family out of anyone you had ever known and, for the most part, he didn’t have anything bad to say about his exes and their relationships. He just said the relationships came to an amicable end.

You were just out of a particularly toxic relationship when you met Chris. You weren’t looking for another serious relationship and were instead just hooking up for some rebounds. Chris was very sweet, but you couldn’t let yourself fall for him. You weren't ready to let someone in, even if they were sweet and incredibly handsome. You were a little surprised when Chris was so understanding of your rejection, and something told you to give him your number anyway to keep in touch.

That was a few months ago, and now you were going on your first date.

He hadn’t pushed for it to happen. He had been very respectful and hadn’t once brought up going out again since your initial meeting. To your surprise, you were the one who asked him about getting dinner. You found yourself falling for him with every passing day and eventually you just couldn’t stand being only friends. And thus, you asked him out for dinner and he happily agreed.

You were mere minutes away from Chris coming to pick you up and you were still struggling to find an outfit. Everything in your closet gelt wrong. Jeans and a blouse? Too casual. A long, elegant dress? Too fancy. A maroon cocktail dress that was just above the knee, had spaghetti straps, and showed off a little cleavage? Well, you really liked that one actually. You thought with the right makeup and maybe a cardigan just in case, that it could be the perfect first date dress.

But you couldn’t stop the nagging voice in your head. It sounded like your ex, and he was snapping at you for wearing something so short and revealing. You  could hear the insulting names he had called you so vividly, as if he were still there yelling.

You had to remind yourself that your ex wasn’t here anymore. Even if he was, he had no control over what you wore. No one did, besides you. But even reminding yourself of that didn’t do anything to ease the memory of his voice. Before you knew it, so much time had passed and you were still staring at yourself in the mirror. Chris would be here any minute and you still didn’t have your hair or makeup done.

You were just finishing your hair when a knock came at your front door. You cursed under your breath as you raced to answer it. Chris was stood there, looking handsome as ever. You couldn’t help but smile upon seeing him.

“Hey,” you said. “You look great.”

“So do you,” he said.

You shook your head. “Ah, I’m not fully ready yet. I don’t have my makeup on or anything.”

You were stunned into silence at his comment. You were almost tempted to call his bluff on it; to say you didn’t believe that he actually meant it and was just saying it for your sake. But you knew Chris was an honest man. He genuinely thought you were beautiful without makeup.

There wasn’t any time for you to try and do your makeup anyways, so you grabbed your purse and followed Chris out to his car. Like a gentleman, he held the door open for you as you got in. The ride to the restaurant was mostly some small talk. Since you two had been talking for months, you had already gotten past the getting to know each other phase, which was good because you usually hated that phase, but it made first date conversation incredibly awkward.

He opened the door for you again and even offered you a hand to help you out of his car. You were continuously shocked by how much of a gentleman he was. You made a mental note to send his mom a bouquet of her favorite flowers.

The restaurant was one of the most fancy places you had ever been to. You had been to a number of fine dining places before, but nothing as upscale as this. Looking at the prices on the menu almost made you nauseous. It was the one moment you were grateful for Chris’ celebrity status.

He ordered a bottle of wine for the two of you to share. After pouring up two glasses, he raised his glass towards you.

“What are we toasting to?” you asked.

“You decide,” he said.

You thought for a moment before saying, “To finally giving this a chance.”

His smile was like a child on Christmas morning.

You ordered an appetizer and your entrees. When the appetizers came out first, Chris started digging in right away. You hesitated, another unwelcome memory coming up in your mind: your ex telling you how gross you looked when you ate. He had told you it was his biggest pet peeve about you. You tried so many times to fix the problem, but it never worked and he just continued to complain.

“Are you okay?” Chris asked, bringing you back to reality.

“Oh, yeah,” you said. “Just zoned out, sorry.”

You took some of the appetizer onto your small plate and began eating, being mindful of taking small bites and covering your mouth as you chewed. When your main course came, you repeated the process.

“I’m not used to knowing so much about someone before the first date,” Chris said at some point after the two of you had been silent for a while. “It kind of takes away every talking point I had.”

You chuckled. “I was thinking the same thing. Like, what do people who know each other even talk about on first dates? The weather?”

“Well, you’ve never told me much about your family. Maybe we could talk about that, if you want.”

Your smile faltered, but only a little. You hoped Chris didn’t notice.

It wasn’t that you didn’t love your family. You did, very much so. And they weren’t bad people or anything. They were just messier than Chris’ family, so to speak. Your parents had gone through a messy divorce, the kind where they still hated each other’s guts to that day. They couldn’t even stand to be in the same room as one another. When you graduated, you had to have them sit on complete opposite ends of the auditorium for your cap and gown ceremony. You were an only child, and you had a good connection with both of your parents. There was just always some sort of crisis between them, and they always managed to drag you into the middle of it.

“It’s just me, no siblings,” you started. “My parents got divorced when I was a kid.”

“How young?”

“I was like, five or six I think?”

Chris whistled. “That’s rough. I thought it was hard when mine got divorced when I was 18.”

There was some comfort in knowing that Chris was also a child of divorce. At least his home life wasn’t as picture perfect.

“Do they get along, at least?” he asked.

You laughed, humorlessly. “Yeah, they get along about as well as cats and dogs. Actually, that’s giving them too much credit. They get along as well as cats and mice.”

“Jesus. I can’t imagine having to deal with that at such a young age.”

“Be lucky you didn’t have to.”

You tried not to sound too bitter, but you also couldn’t help but stab your food with your fork as if it had personally offended you.

“I think their divorce must have something to do with why I usually date such shitty men,” you said before you could stop yourself. Your eyes widened as you looked back up at Chris. “Ignore that. I don’t even know where that came from.”

But he didn’t seem offended or weirded out by what you said. Instead, he responded, “It’s alright. You mentioned you had a bad breakup when we first met. I assume he was also a bad person in general.”

You nodded. “You have no idea.”

You thought back every time you heard your ex’s voice in your head. Not just tonight, but in general. Even when you were just trying to go about your day to day life, you could hear the way he criticized and berated you. You had always known while you were in your relationship that he wasn’t a good guy, but you turned a blind eye to the red flags for so long that it just felt like a normal relationship. It took a lot to get you to finally come to your senses and dump his sorry ass, but by that point the damage had been done. He gave you trauma that you would be carrying around for a very long time.

You glanced up at Chris, who was still looking at you as well. You wondered if he really deserved to be with someone with so much baggage. Sure, he liked you now, but how much would he like you once he knew what he was dealing with? He was such a nice guy, he deserved to be with someone else who was just as nice and not damaged as he was.

The thought brought tears to your eyes and you quickly looked away from him. Not quick enough, though, as his hand quickly reached over to take hold of yours and he said, “Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you upset.”

A noise came out of you that was half laugh and half sob. You shook your head. “You didn’t make me upset. Trust me, you’ve made me very happy in the few months that we’ve known one another. You are one of the most genuinely good people I think I have ever met.”

“Thanks, I pride myself on not being an asshole.”

When you laughed this time, it was definitely just a laugh. “I just worry that...if things go further with us, that it won’t be good for you.”

He furrowed his brows. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, my last relationship went on for a long time. Far too long. To a point where the only thing I knew was a toxic and shitty relationship. I have a lot of bad hardwiring in my brain right now around relationships. That’s why I turned you down when we first met. I wasn’t ready to get back into anything serious because I was too afraid. But I really like you, so I wanted to give this a try, and now I’m worried that my baggage is going to be too much for you to handle and you don’t deserve that.”

He squeezed your hand, which caused you to stop talking. You realized you had been rambling, and you weren’t really sure if you were making any sense.

“Listen, I understand,” he said. “When something like that happens, it fucks with your mind for a long time. I never wanted to rush you into something you weren’t ready for, but I also don’t want you to push me away because you think it will be better for me. Whether you want me to be a friend or a boyfriend, I’ll be here for you. I’ll help you through whatever you’re going through. I really like you, too.”

You tried to blink back the new tears that were forming in your eyes, but it was nearly impossible. To try and lighten the mood, you joked, “Stop being such a good guy. Seriously, have one flaw please.”

He laughed, and the mood was successfully lightened.

You continued on with your date and it went very well from there on. You were so full from your appetizer and meal, but Chris insisted on ordering a dessert to take with you. He said it was some of the best dessert he had ever had, and if you didn’t eat it now you had to have it later on (his words).

He paid for your meal and the two of you left. It had gotten a bit colder while you were inside, and you only then realized that you forgot to bring a cardigan like you planned. You shivered as the cold air touched your bare shoulders and legs, and wrapped your arms around yourself to try and retain any heat you had left from being in the restaurant.

“Are you cold?” Chris asked.

“Yeah, I forgot to bring a jacket or anything,” you responded. He started to shrug out of his jacket. “You don’t have to give me yours! Your car isn’t parked that far away.”

“Once you catch a chill, it’s hard to get rid of,” he explained. “Here, just wear it till we get to the car at least.”

He wrapped his jacket around your shoulders. You pulled it close to you, letting the heat from it warm you up. You took a moment to breathe in the scent of him that was on the jacket.

The ride home was more lively than before. You had managed to finally find a good conversational stride that hadn’t died down since you had been eating. At some point while driving you home, Chris reached over to take your hand in his. He held it the rest of the way back to your place. You hoped he couldn’t feel the fact that your body was on fire just from his touch.

He insisted on walking you to your front door once he had reached your house. You weren’t about to say no. You almost didn’t want the night to end and any amount of extra time you could get you were going to take.

“I had a great time tonight,” you told him once you had reached your door.

“So great that you’d like to do it again?” he asked, a hopeful look on his face.

You smiled and nodded. “I would very much like to do this again, yes.”

“Great. Okay. Yeah, great.”

You giggled. The two of you lingered for a moment. You wondered which of you was going to break and leave first.

“Can I kiss you?” he finally asked after some time.

Instead of responding, you moved to kiss him first. It wasn’t perfect, you kind of lunged at him at first. You both stumbled and laughed about it. Once you had regained yourselves, Chris kissed you again. This one was definitely better than the first, but now it also made it difficult to want to stop kissing.

When Chris finally pulled away, you tried to follow him, but he laughed and held you back.

“If I don’t stop, I won’t leave,” he said.

“That doesn’t sound too terrible, though.”

He shook his head, but had an amused smile on his face. He kissed your forehead and took a step back. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

You couldn’t stop smiling until you fell asleep.

#chris evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans imagine #imagine #one shot #request #fanfiction #fanfic #fandom #rpf

[shesjustanothergeek]

His Love

|Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader|

Part Three

Master List of Series

Summary: Being a bastard born in the slums of Flea Bottom was all you were known for. Not the streak of white you had in your dark hair, the violet ring around your pupils, or how your sharp tongue and skills with the blade resembled your father, Daemon Targaryen. You were just a bastard, nothing more, but to him, to Aegon Targaryen, you were everything. You were his love.

Author's Note: Before you read this chapter, I want to tell y'all I am perfectly aware of how messed up this is. But if the male writers of Game of Thrones can show graphic depictions of sexual assault and get away with it, why can't I show something messed up but empowering? They literally showed sexual assault as a good thing because the trauma can "empower" a woman. How about a girl finding strength in her body and pleasure? Now, let's traumatize these men back. >:}

Also, I find it a bit humorous that the reader is wearing something like this during this entire chapter. Also, I made a playlist of songs that I listened to while writing this story. 

Chapter Warnings: minor x minor sexual situations, CNC, we do not follow SSC here, folks. (safe, sane, and consensual.)

Aegon led you up a dark sandstone staircase worn from thousands of years of use, turning his head back periodically with a wide grin. You knew he was leading you to the Streets of Silk, where the high-end brothels were, not the type Ma ran. It was something interesting you found with Aegon, how he chose to forgo the upscaled silken sheets with finely dressed whores that most of the High Born frequented. But he, the first-born son of King Viserys Targaryen, First of Men, King of the Andals, and Protector of the Realms, choose to sink his royal cock into the cunts of lice-ridden women. You did not mind Aegon choosing something as malapropos as that, for if his tastes were better, you would have never met him.

"Come, little one, we are nearly there," he encouraged, squeezing your hand briefly and kissing it. The simple act made your cheeks hot, a hue of red blooming from your nose to your ears as your short legs struggled to stay in step.

You felt giddy with a man's affection, a feeling you had not experienced in many years. Ma had never let you grow close to a person near your age, always promptly snatching you away and telling your acquaintances to "get lost" or deal with the consequences. No child had ever dared to become friends after that. You had only Madam and the Ladies of the House until the unsightly curly, white-haired prince made his appearance.

Aegon led you down sharp turns and uneven ground, squeezing your fist every moment he felt you got too far behind. Despite the fast walking, his legs were shaking, his knees nearly buckling under him when his shoe got caught on a loose rock. You chuckled when you helped him up. His excitement was contagious. You could not help but feel the same, your cloaks billowing out behind you.

"Where are we going, my Prince?" You asked sweetly, biting your lip in anticipation. Aegon noticed you didn't use the title as an insult this time but as a... flirtation. Were you flirting with him, he wondered.

"Have patience, little one; we are only fifty paces away," he chortled, stopping for a moment and patting your hand in reassurance.

"I find it peculiar that you know the precise distance," you jested.

Jested? Jested! Aegon nearly died from happiness at the realization. Someone, who had no incentive to be kind to him, was treating him like a friend. Like he was not the royal cunt drunk fuck-up everyone claimed he was. You were so beautiful, kind, and innocent. And best of all, you were his. None of the other Targaryen knew of your existence, other than Daemon. Perhaps if his family had known about you, bastard or not, Aegon could have been betrothed to you and not that half-wit bug-obsessed sister he now called wife.

Aegon supposed things did happen for a purpose, though. If you had been raised as part of your actual family, you would most likely feel the same as all of them about him. You were too perfect, sent from the Gods, plucked from the very clouds he prayed to and placed into his wanting, needing lap. An angel finally leading him out of the purgatory he called life.

"We're here," he stated in finality, gesturing for you to look at the building.

It was much larger than Ma's. Whereas hers was built from solid oak wood and a straw-thatched roof, this was constructed from a smooth stone. Burnt steel braziers with yellow-orange flames lit the dark entrance, dancing off of Aegon's pale, veiny hand as he knocked. A woman with deep midnight hair cascading down her exposed tanned skin opened the door, hugging the frame as her golden dress did to her curves. You could see Aegon's purple eyes blown with lust as he drank her in, unabashedly wetting his lips.

She smiled, perfectly white teeth showing through her painted lips as she did the same to Aegon. More likely sizing up the potential profit in her head rather than his appearance. Then she looked at you, her smile dropping and full black eyebrows furrowing. You didn't know whether she was displeased at another woman being here, somehow seeing you as competition, or because you seemed so young. Being sized up as if you were any predator unnerved you. You were just a daughter of a whore, raised on moldy bread and stolen apples, not someone to be seen as a rival. You hid behind Aegon, intimidated by the beautiful woman's stare, and tightened your grip on his hand.

He chuckled, more at the fact you were so intimidated by an older woman's disapproving glance you sought him for protection as if he wasn't the very thing that brought you into this situation.

"Do not worry, sweet thing; Mila will not hurt you. The bitch's bark is worse than her bite." You were surprised by his brazen disrespect for the woman who might service him tonight, but she didn't seem fazed.

"This is not the first time you have brought another with you here, your grace, but never one so young, so..." Mila sucked her teeth in disapproval, raking her eyes over what she could see, "so inexperienced." Her insults upset you, and you moved from behind Aegon.

"Do not take age as a lack of experience, woman. I grew up with the sounds of women moaning and men begging to cum. It was my lullaby."

You brushed past her, deliberately bumping your shoulder into hers as you entered the brothel. You didn't need to look at her face to know you got a reaction from her—Aegon's snickering as he followed in after you were assurance enough. He knew that small demeanor could not last long, not in his hatchling.

Music filled the brothel, and the soft murmurs of people chatting amongst themselves melted into the songs, creating a gentle hum in the air. All you could see was gold. Gold walls, chairs, lounge seats, gold pitchers, and chalices of Arbor Red and green liquid as people flited along the main room. Shiny curtain dividers of the same palette divided private rooms as you entered further, the moans and pants becoming louder. Three more women came up, all dressed in varying shades of cream, tan, and gold, taking your cloaks and giving you and Aegon goblets.

It was nice. You could understand the appeal of a man such as Aegon devoting their time to a place like this. They treated you like royalty even when you were not. You were not used to being the one dotted on, usually watching from afar before Madam snatched you away and locked you in your room.

"My Prince," the lithe blonde one said, eyes a stormy grey as she bowed. "It is a pleasure to see you again. It has been so long." She took his hand, leading him to an empty bench as the second girl ushered you close behind. "And I see you have brought a guest with you." Her voice was tight as she addressed you, pursing her lips in an almost pity-like emotion.

Aegon released a breathy laugh, moving his fingers to lace with yours, smiling. "Yes, she is my companion for the evening. I expect her to receive the same treatments you would give me, as she is an extension of my crown tonight."

The girls shared a look, expressions, and wordless conversations thrown at each other before they decided to nod and smile.

"Of course. Whatever our Prince desires shall be given," the brunette nodded. "What shall we get you started tonight, your grace? Wine, mead?" She asked.

Aegon grinned to himself, flipping through all the options of alcohol he could choose for his hatchling, then let out a puff of air with his decision. "The Green Fairy, I would like to start with that, wench."

This time, you could understand the expressions on the ladies' faces. They looked shocked, worried, and scared, even for you, at his drink of choice. They both nodded, not protesting his request, as they got the drink. When they returned, they were holding a different set of glasses. They were crystal, intricate designs that blew into the stem as they set the supplies down. The pitcher was also transparent, and you could see a deep emerald liquid. It was unfamiliar to you, having grown up with mainly bottomless red and purple drinks.

"What is The Green Fairy," you questioned Aegon, leaning closer to him so the girls couldn't hear.

"That is the common name for it, little one. It is called Absinthe, and it is absolutely delightful," he assured you. You hummed, shifting your body centimeters away from him, still nervous.

You continued to watch as the whores sorted the supplies. It was entrancing, a ritualistic setup for something as simple as a drink, gathering ornate spoons with holes in them and pouring the green contents into the cup. It seemed like something a High-Born would drink, so you were not surprised that Aegon chose it. The blonde gathered another pitcher, this one not from the same set, and asked Aegon how he would like it.

"You know how I like it, Carmilla," he retorted, and she gave a slight nod, getting a small wooden stick and lighting the tip on it with a candle flame.

She brought the stick to the Absinthe, creating a burst of fire before it disappeared as Aegon put his palm over it. You stared in awe, your mouth agape as he brought the glass to his nose, removing his hand and inhaling the vapors with a moan before swinging it back. He slammed the empty cup on the wooden table, grinning like a madman at the burn in his throat. You could tell he loved the feeling, a blush creeping up his neck to his ears from the heat.

"And how would the lady like it?" Carmilla asked, gesturing to you.

"I-" you began to stutter, but Aegon came to your rescue.

"The classic way. We would not want to scare my sweetling off from the drink, now, would we? She is not as well versed in The Fairy as I am." He playfully nudged your shoulder, making you giggle. You were sure your skin matched Aegon's, heat covering your entire face and ears with embarrassment. After you just went and said something to Mila, he said something like that.

The brunette grabbed the fancy silver spoon, placing a sugar cube as she poured the Absinthe over it, the liquid running through the holes and into the glass. She repeated the same process as she did with Aegon, grabbing a wood stick but lighting the sugar cube instead of the drink. You watched it carmelize, burning the alcohol off for a few seconds as she slowly poured water over it, careful not to go too fast. It was so beautiful, so mesmerizing, watching the browned sugar slowly melt into the cup. Drip, drip, dripping down until it was dissolved.

Aegon paid no mind to the show before him, staring intently at your whole face. Watching your mouth, brows, and nose scrunch up as your eyes danced across the scene, taking in the unfamiliar experience.

Once all the sugar was gone, you looked at Aegon expectantly, waiting for him to tell you what to do. The realization that you were looking to him-- him to guide you, made his cock harden.

Oh, his little dragon. The things he could show you.

"Drink it, little one," he urged, eyeing you with a jerk of his head. You gave him a half-hearted grin, unsure about the drink. You've, of course, had alcohol before. Most of the time, water was unsafe to drink unless collected from wells or the skies. You had it for almost every meal. Still so young, you did not like the taste but knew the necessity of it. You brought it to your nose, taking a whiff and recoiling your head in disgust, grimacing.

Aegon studied your face, watching your thoughts show themselves. It smelled like madness, reckless abandonment traveling inside your nostrils and bursting into your head, yet it was cool, calming, like the steel of a blade unsheathing from its scabbard. It is... an extraordinary thing.

Adorable.

He repeated the same motion, wordlessly telling you to try it anyways. Well, if Aegon could drink it without so much as a reaction, you could, too... probably.

You took a deep breath, bracing yourself as you flung the glass into your mouth, gripping the stem as the alcohol burned your tongue and throat. At first, it wasn't bad, a savory flavor hitting your taste buds, like the herbs a tavern would smell of, but then, everything else came crashing, nearly making you spit out the liquid. Your body heated in embarrassment, tucking your chin to your chest as you tried to hide. Everyone at the table laughed, the two women who were less than enthused about your presence shrieking, gaining the attention of the other patrons in the main room.

Aegon refused to let you wallow in shame as he grabbed your wrist, yanking you up as he cheered. "She's done it," he yelled, looking at the several dozen pairs of eyes trained on you. "Well done, little one!"

The others couldn't help but gather in the celebration, walking closer to the group of you and congratulating you on whatever. Most were too drunk to care, just happy to be around the excitement. You could not help but laugh along, enjoying the attention, something you never got with Madam.

"Another," Aegon shouted as the women repeated the same ritual.

What felt like moments later, you found yourself lying between Aegon's legs on a private bed, your back to his chest, his fingers playing with your frizzy hair and tracing up and down your arm. The room was hazy, but you didn't care. You were too far down in the feeling of his touch. You sighed into him, your glass replaced by some Dornish wine instead of The Green Fairy. You could not feel the burn anymore, tipping back the red drink, some slipping past your lips and down your throat. Your motor skills were sluggish, but your senses were heightened, hearing, feeling every sound and touch, nerves of fire through your body.

Serval women lay next to you, sleepy from the festivities or drunk like you were. Aegon had the tolerance of ten men. You found out after ignorantly challenging him to a duel of cups, which of course, you lost, much to your chagrin.

You hummed softly as Aegon slid his fingertips up your bicep to the base of your throat, wrapping them like a necklace. It tickled that area of your body unfamiliar with touch as you leaned your head back on his shoulder. The whites of his eyes were nearly bloodshot, staring down at your face with blown pupils. You had not realized how attractive he was until now, the yellow light from the torches shining behind him like a halo. He looked ever the prince. You lifted your arm sluggishly, trying to reach for the crown of light but stroking your fingers through his short curly hair instead. It was an acceptable replacement, you decided, closing your eyes to feel the strands between your digits.

Aegon leaned his head closer, resting his forehead on your furthest cheek, his nose poking into the other. You were content with the connection, nearly falling asleep until you felt his hand slide up your neck, gripping your jaw to be level with his. Your lips parted, struggling to breathe through your nose at this angle. His eyes flickered at the movement, then back to yours as you blinked slowly.

You realized too late that he was kissing you, his wet mouth pressed against yours, his tongue feeling it. It felt so lovely, a pleasant tingle traveling to your stomach as you slid your hand further into his hair. Aegon could feel the hot air leaving your nose faster, tightening his grip on your jaw. You whimpered into his mouth, the slight pinching uncomfortable but not unwelcomed.

Everything felt... heavenly. Aegon's touch was a gift from the Gods, one you accepted with open arms as he trailed his free hand down the front of your dress, pressing into the small space the fabric dipped between your legs. A jolt of ecstasy went through your body, causing you to part from him as you hiccuped a moan. He repeated the motion, pressing what felt like a button harder, making your eyes roll back into your head.

You knew there were ways to pleasure a woman other than penetration but did not understand the anatomy of it; perhaps this was what they were talking about?

Aegon continued pressing, now rubbing in tight circles as your humid breath covered the vellus hairs on his face, moving your hips to seek more friction. You were raised in a brothel. You knew about sex, practically an expert by the time you were ten and one, but the logistics were lost. As a child, you had a curious mind like any other, sneaking peaks through keyholes at the working girls at Madam's before she would grab you by your ear and haul you to your room. It was natural how your body reacted to Aegon, and you did not mind it.

"Aegon," you breathed against his skin, your eyes half-lidded as he kissed your neck. He hummed, nipping at the skin as you squeaked.

"You sound heavenly," he whispered, rubbing himself against your back.

"It feels..." You trailed off, losing yourself in the pleasure.

"Tell me, little one, tell me how you feel." Your back arched as a loud moan filled the small room, causing some guests to stir.

"It feels so... so good," you cried, rutting your core onto his fingers. He chuckled into your shoulder, nipping your collarbone as his free hand laced with yours.

A woman opened her eyes, disturbed by your loud noises, but she didn't seem to care, rolling onto her other side and going to sleep. You bit your lip, embarrassed that something so intimate, which was supposed to be done in the privacy of only two people, was in the middle of an audience.

"Do not silence yourself, my little dragon. Let them hear you roar."

You were lost, lost in the sea of alcohol and ecstasy Aegon had rowed you out too. The brackish waters pulled you under, and you struggled to fight them, running out of the will to do so. A tear leaked from the corner of your eye, running down your temple and into your hairline. He kissed it away, licking his lips and groaning at the salty taste.

Gods, he wanted to come so badly. He wanted to sink into your virgin cunt, tearing your maidenhead as your blood coated him, spilling his seed inside you. But despite what his family said about him-- despite what everyone said about him, he could be a good man—a good man for you.

"A-Aegon, it is happening." You knew what was coming, but not the name for it, not what this little death was called. "It-it's happening."

"Shh, shh," he brushed the strands of your dark hair sticking to your sweaty forehead, squeezing your hand in reassurance. "Let it happen," Aegon soothed, "let it happen."

You shrieked, allowing the waves to drag you under, consuming every fiber of your being with pure, unfiltered pleasure. Your crushed his grip, your hips moving wildly and burying your face in his neck while you cried. Having your senses heightened and stoked simultaneously was too much to handle. Aegon held you the entire time, pulling you out from under the ocean as air finally filled your lungs.

Your body shook, soft mewls escaping as the aftershocks wore off. You hated it but loved it. You wanted it again. You finally understood Aegon, why he sought out pleasure the way he did, for if it always felt like this, you would too.

"How are you, sweet thing," he asked, moving his hand between your legs and your face, cupping your cheek.

You couldn't respond, only groaning as your eyes closed. Aegon laughed, pulling your body on top of him as he laid back down on the sheets, head resting on the pillow. You felt yourself falling asleep.

"Thank you," he spoke quietly. You had never heard a man thank a woman for giving her pleasure. You turned your head, questioning his gratitude. He gently placed your head back on his chest, and you did not protest, too exhausted from everything that had happened.

Aegon's cock was in pain from the denial of your touch, silently begging for you. It had been problematic throughout the entire day, never ceasing the constant pumping as you explored the city. He had no idea how he managed to control himself for so long. Self-restraint was not his strong suit, but you changed him. You made him different. Aegon wanted to defile you when he saw your sticky fingers steal a bracelet off a noblewoman's wrist. 

But you were precious, his little dragon, and you could not force a bond with a dragon no matter how much one willed it. It must be the dragon's choice. 

Master List of Series

I hope y'all don't hate me for this chapter...

Thank you for reading!

Tagged Peeps: @zeennnnnnn, @malfoytargaryen, @targaryencore, @justasmallbean, @alexandra-001, @buckysmainhxe, @omgsuperstarg, @sommornyte, @minttea07, @silverslive, @unclecrunkle, @prettykinkysoul, @duesobabe, @djlexi, @ynbutbetter, @honestlyka, @graykageyama, @legolas017, @iiamthehybrid

#aegon x you #aegon the usurper #aegon the second #aegon ii #hotd aegon #aegon x reader #aegon targaryen #aegon x y/n #aegon the elder #aegon ii x you #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii fanfic #aegon ii fic #aegon ii smut #aegon targaryen smut #aegon targaryen fanfic #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon the drunk #aegon targaryen ii #hotd x reader #house targaryen #house of the dragon #game of thrones #aegon targaryen II smut #fanfic #aegon targaryen II x reader #daemon targaryen #dad daemon #hotd fanfic

[loveywon]

♡𓂃 BREAK MY HEART AGAIN !

part 2 here!

pairing: jungwon x (gn) reader x niki

wc: 3.3k+

synopsis: you cant help but let jungwon break your heart. again. (inspired by let you break my heart again by laufey!)

warnings: ANGST, high school au, cursing i think i cant remember, sullyoon (nmixx) mentioned, not proofread, ANGST AGAIN BIG WARNING SRSLY, niki loves reader so bad, jungwon is kinda mean but not intentionally, reader needs to open their eyes srsly

a/n: everyone say thank u laufey for putting out one of the best songs ever!!! also this fic did NOT turn out the way i planned it.. niki wasnt even supposed to be in here😭 and the ending was also not planned PLS

“I’m sorry, Y/n, I can’t date you right now…” Jungwon says awkwardly, his hand rubbing the nape of his neck as he avoids eye contact with you. You should have expected this, really. The evidence was all right in front of you, but you chose to ignore it. 

“That’s fine! I know that you can’t…I just wanted to let you know,” you smiled up at him, despite his avoidant eyes. Jungwon nods at you, his kind and soft eyes meeting yours. He knows you, and he knows that your smile doesn’t reach your eyes like they normally do whenever he would crack a lame joke or when he would do something affectionate towards you. 

His lips curve into a slight smile, although the corner of his eyes don’t crinkle up. “Maybe in a few years, yeah? We’ll still be friends, Y/n. I could never leave you.” He promises, he promised. So why, three years later, you’re standing in the hallway while you see Jungwon mess with some girl’s hair that’s not your own? 

Niki jogs up to you, not reading the full situation since he arrived at school late (again). “Y/n! Did you see the fight out..side…” his eyes follow where your own are staring at, and he frowns. He doesn’t say anything, but instead he decides to direct your attention to something else. “Y/n! We’re gonna be late to history, c’mon!” He ushers, though he could care less about being late to history.

You met Niki a year after Jungwon rejected you, and you immediately introduced him to your friend group after. You never told him about your feelings for Jungwon, although you didn’t need to. Niki knew – after all, it was quite obvious with the way you swooned and giggled whenever Jungwon would do literally anything. 

Niki tugs on your arm like a little kid until you get annoyed, finally tearing your gaze away from Jungwon and the other girl talking. He smiles at you, but you don’t return it. You keep your head down, walking side by side with your friend as you look over your shoulder, still wishing that it was you with Jungwon instead of her. 

You weren’t the one three years ago, and you’re not the one now. 

Your hands ball into a fist after you were too far down the hall to see Jungwon clearly, and Niki is still rambling about something mindlessly while you’re buried in your own thoughts. You almost bump into another student and Niki has to drag your arm closer to him so you don’t crash into someone. 

“Y/n,” he whines out in a drag, wanting you to pay attention to him. You reply with a hum, not in the mood to say much after seeing Jungwon with someone else that isn’t you. 

The frown finds its way back onto his features, swinging your arm with his hand that’s gripped onto your forearm. “Wanna come over tonight? My mom let me buy this new game after saving up and I wanna show you!” He replaces the frown with a smile when you finally look at him. You give him a slight grin which makes him beam, but your following words cause his eyes to drop.

“I can’t, me and Jungwon are studying for bio tonight at my place. Maybe tomorrow? And we can go to that cafe you wanted to bring me last week too,” you offer with a tilt of your head.

It’s always like this. It’s always Jungwon first to you. At this point, Niki’s used to it and he almost expects you to hang out with him the next day. He supposes that next time, he’ll just have to ask you earlier before Jungwon does. 

Niki nods, giving a smaller smile this time before the both of you walk into your class. 

“Jungwon, hey!” You wave excitedly down the hall where Jungwon awaits by his locker for you. He leans off his locker, his head looking up from his phone as he spots you. He waves back at you, a smile gracing his features. Niki is following close behind you, but he’s too busy on his phone and doesn’t give Jungwon a form of greeting before he’s actually face to face with him.

“Okay, I’m gonna go, see you tomorrow, Y/n,” Niki says goodbye to you and gives Jungwon a nod before leaving.

“Ready to spend five hours reading a textbook?” You try to joke, nudging Jungwon lightly with your elbow, but instead of giving a lighthearted laugh and returning your joke, he’s glancing at his phone and smiles down at the screen.

You look away, your bottom lip in between your teeth. This was so awkward. After Jungwon rejected you, he actually never did get with anyone else, but he has been talking to a few people here and there throughout your high school career, so you were used to this routine. But he’s never smiled at a text before. 

“Huh? Sorry, what did you say?” Jungwon asked after putting his phone in his back pocket. You know he doesn’t do this on purpose – there is no mean bone in Jungwon for him to ever do something like this to purposely and intentionally hurt you. It’s one of the many reasons why you love him, you suppose. 

“Oh, nothing,” you mumble as you look away, the two of you walking down the sidewalk. You don’t notice this, but you always have to match his pace to walk side by side as his legs naturally walk fast because of his busy schedule, being in multiple sports and clubs. “Are you prepared for this week’s test?”

“What? We have a test this week?!” Jungwon panics, almost halting in his steps to look at you as you struggle to catch up with him. “Yeah! It’s on Friday…it’s literally in three days. You didn’t know?” You ask. This is the first. Normally Jungwon is the one to remind you of a test in your one shared class together.

“Shit,” he curses, running a hand through his hair. You two continue walking to your house and you laugh a little to ease up his sudden stressed mood. “It’s okay! That’s why we’re studying today, right? I’ll help you,” you smile, giving him a reassuring thumbs up, “but this is the first time you don’t know of a test, are you feeling okay?” You chuckle in a joking manner, turning the lock on the door and letting him enter first inside your home.

“Yeah…guess I got distracted,” he muttered. He makes his way straight to your room, knowing where it is as he’s been over more than enough times. You follow behind him, closing your door as you drop your backpack onto the floor.

“Distracted? From what?” You expect his answer to be something like ‘Oh, just sports’, so his answer knocks the wind out of you.

“I’m planning to ask out Sullyoon…” he trails off, not wanting to meet your eyes. He didn’t want to hide anything from you, you were his best friend! But when he takes a slight peek at you, and notices that your jaw is agape and your eyes no longer twinkling like they normally do whenever you look at him, why does he feel guilty? Was that even the right word to describe the ache in his heart when he sees your smile falter, eyes gazing down at your hands? Look at me, please, he thinks to himself, but he’s not sure if he really wants to see your sad eyes look at him like he was the worst thing that has ever happened to you.

You think, in a way, he is. But you know yourself well enough to know that you’d let Jungwon in your heart no matter how many times he breaks it.

He wants to change the subject, maybe back to biology because he actually wants to get a good score, but his first priority will always be you, and he doesn’t want to belittle your feelings just because of a silly little test grade that will barely affect his overall percentage, anyway. 

“Is…is that okay?” He asks after some silence, unsure on how to approach this. You blink, eyes still staring at the ground, but you quickly look at him after he speaks.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” You say, which catches him off-guard. “Jungwon…you can date whoever you want. Why are you asking me as if you’re asking permission or something,” you laugh it off, but you feel like you’re really more fighting your inner demons rather than seeing it as no big deal.

You’re too nice, Jungwon thinks. He doesn’t deserve you, he really doesn’t. A smile appears on his face, dimples and all showing on his cheeks. “Really?” He says excitedly, and it hurts you even more to see that he’s so excited to ask out Sullyoon. “So, you’ll help me ask her out? Cause I don’t really know what to do, honestly.” He asks, and you feel like you’ve been stabbed in the heart a million times.

You can’t say no. Not to Jungwon. And you hate him for that. 

“Sure.” You smile. 

The following day, you keep your promise to Niki and go to the café he wanted to show you and to see his new game. Although your mood is obviously deflated after last night’s study session with Jungwon, Niki decides to make it his life mission to make you smile and laugh. 

“Oh my gosh, this strawberry croissant looks so good,” you gasp, bending down slightly as you look through the clear glass that showcases many different pastries. 

“I know! When I came here a few weeks ago, I knew you would like it. We can get it and share, if you want!” Niki offers, giving a smile as you point and admire every pastry. 

“Really??” You look up at him, toothy smile and all, and he nods in response. He pays, because he would buy the moon for you if it meant seeing you smile. He thinks Jungwon wouldn’t do the same for you. 

You two enjoy the pastry, giggling about whatever happened at school that day or complaining about the overwhelming amount of homework your teachers assigned before walking to his home to check out his game. 

Niki thinks he successfully distracted you from whatever was bugging you since last night (he already has a hunch that it’s because of Jungwon), but you’re walking slower than you usually do and your head is slightly lowered. It’s probably not obvious to others that you’re in a sour mood, but it’s definitely obvious to Niki. 

“Y/n,” he starts, but you cut him off before he says anything else. 

“Jungwon wants to ask Sullyoon out,” you blurt, looking up at him with your bottom lip jutted out like you’re about to cry, and you feel like you are. Niki thinks he’s never felt his emotions affected by someone before. 

“Oh,” is all he says, because what exactly can he say? He’s mad, yes. He’s mad at Jungwon, because he can’t seem to understand why Jungwon would ever choose anyone over you. 

“And I’m helping him by asking her,” you breathe out, like it's the hardest thing you’ve ever said in your entire life. Scratch that — confessing to Jungwon was the hardest thing. 

“Oh.” Niki’s not good at comforting, but he wants to, so bad, for you, he would learn every language in the world. 

“He’s never…Jungwon’s never liked someone enough to ask them out. But I—“ your voice breaks and Niki swears a part of him breaks as well. You guys finally reach his house, and he gestures for you to enter first with a tilt of his head. You enter, walking straight to his room because you know his house like the back of his hand. 

You then realize; Jungwon’s always over at yours, but you’ve been in his house once and it was only to drop off homework from when he was feeling sick and you didn’t even go in. You have no idea what his house looks like, but you know every knick knack about Niki’s. 

As you two enter his room, he sits on the edge of his bed and pats the spot next to him. He may not be good at words, but he can offer a comforting shoulder. You give a slight, but weak, smile in appreciation and you sit next to him and instantly lean your head on his shoulder like it’s nature. 

This isn’t the first time, and Niki knows this won’t be the last time that you use him as comfort whenever Jungwon talks to someone new. He’s okay with that. He’ll wait for you like you wait for Jungwon. 

“Niki,” you say his name for the first time the entire day. You’re not crying, you already wasted enough tears on Jungwon. 

“Hm?” Niki hums, his fingers playing with your own, and it’s a little too intimate for Niki’s usual liking, but he’s willing to step out of his boundaries for you. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, and even though you don’t clarify what you’re thanking him for, Niki knows. He knows that you’re thanking him for being with you for two years, pining after Jungwon and using Niki as a shoulder to cry on. 

His eyes droop down, and he’s upset that he met you. He’s upset he met you in this universe, where you’re hung up on your crush on Jungwon, and not another where you two can live happily ever after, without Jungwon plaguing your mind. 

Niki vividly remembers the time you two met. It was in ceramics class, and you were there because you genuinely liked pottery and he was there because he just had to fulfill his visual arts credit. He struggled on the wheel, the clay always never staying up because he made it too thin every time. You noticed him struggling after observing for a week straight, and decided to finally lend a helping hand. 

After that, he followed you around school and walked with you to your classes (with Jungwon, of course, he’s always with you), and now you’re just used to his presence and he’s used to yours. What started off as a mere friendship, he’s now attached to you, despite knowing that you will never see him the same way you see Jungwon. 

A week later after helping Jungwon with a plan to ask Sullyoon out, it was unfolding right in front of you. With Jungwon’s back facing you, and seeing Sullyoon’s face beam with light when Jungwon asked her if she wanted to be his girlfriend, you visibly cringe. 

You just didn’t understand. What did she have that you didn’t, and why did Jungwon want her, and not you, who has been by his side ever since fifth grade? It’s been three years since you’ve confessed – you thought you’d get over it by now, but seeing them hug affectionately in front of you, made your eyes drop to the ground, hands balled up into a fist as you fight against any bitter emotions bubbling in your chest. 

You don’t notice that Niki is watching from afar. He had just gotten out of detention, and didn’t expect to see you in the school halls an hour after school had ended. He almost got excited, perhaps you were waiting for him to get out of detention so you could go to the cafe together again, or maybe you wanted to see his video game that you didn’t see last week!

But then, he sees Jungwon and Sullyoon hugging and your still figure watching them. He frowns deeply. Why do you still stick around? He supposes he should know the answer. He sticks around for you, so there’s no difference between you and him, really. 

You turn on your heel and leave the school, not saying goodbye to Jungwon or Sullyoon. You think if you see Jungwon turning to you with a bright smile that you know is not from you, you’ll start crying. 

Niki follows behind silently, not wanting Jungwon to notice him as he follows you out of the school. He catches up to you, despite your rushed pace because you want to get far away from where the love of your life and his now girlfriend is. 

“Y/n! Hey…” He says, jogging up to you and matching your pace when he’s side by side with you. 

You looked up at him, shocked. You forgot he had detention, so he must’ve gotten out right when Jungwon had asked Sullyoon out. You turn away, hair falling forward to cover your eyes. “Hi.”

He frowns again. “You want my shoulder?” He offers.

You smile slightly, it’s such a weak smile, and Niki knows that, but he appreciates your efforts. “If that’s okay with you.” 

You find yourself in your living room with Niki, head buried into his shoulder as you cry, because you just can’t wrap your head around the fact that Jungwon said he’d date you in a few years. He promised! He never broke promises. He promised in fifth grade when you two met that he’d never leave your side and that you’d always be first to him. You suppose he broke two promises now. 

Niki’s softly playing with your hair, not looking at you. He can’t look at you in this state, because when you cry, he wants to cry too. He wishes you could see that he’s been here, and maybe not as long as Jungwon, but he thinks that he knows you more than Jungwon does. 

You know that you’ll let Jungwon break your heart again. 

You think that one day, you’ll find someone who will like you like you like Jungwon.

Niki thinks that one day, you’ll realize that he sees you more than a friend and a shoulder to cry on.

Someday, one day, you’ll let Jungwon stop breaking your heart, but Niki knows that he’ll follow closely behind you, picking up every small piece and treasure it like his life depends on it. 

You end up falling asleep on Niki’s shoulder after crying on it for what feels like hours. Niki knows his shirt is slightly damp, but he doesn’t mind. You’re softly snoring, your body leaned against him. He knows you must’ve been exhausted. He knows you helped Jungwon the best you could, despite the fact that you’re hopelessly in love with him, and he hates that you did that, but he also loves you for it.

Jungwon is excitedly opening your front door, because he knows he’s welcomed into your home any time he pleases, but as he’s going towards your room, he finds Niki on your couch. He’s confused, but he doesn’t question until he spots pieces of your hair from over the couch. 

Niki doesn’t say anything because he doesn’t want to wake you, but he looks at Jungwon with a pointed expression, and Jungwon knows immediately what Niki was trying to express. He frowns, not at Niki, but at himself. He didn’t realize that he affected you this much, he had a feeling that you didn’t move on from him but he also didn’t think that you were still this caught up on him.

He feels terrible, he feels like absolute shit, because he also realizes that he broke two of his promises. Then, something else swirls in his gut as you shift in your sleep, head burying into Niki’s neck. He doesn’t understand this feeling, and a part of him doesn’t want to. 

He’s with Sullyoon now, isn’t he? So why, is he standing in the middle of your home, with jealousy stirring in his chest? 

part 2 is here!

taglist!: @hafsa-hoofsa-heefs

#enhypen #enhypen x reader #enhypen drabbles #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen imagines #jungwon x reader #jungwon drabbles #jungwon fanfic #niki x reader #niki drabbles #niki fanfic #enhypen x y/n #enhypen oneshots #jungwon x y/n #jungwon oneshots #enhypen scenarios #jungwon angst #niki angst #niki x y/n #niki oneshots #Spotify #enhypenfanfic #loveywonenha