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bucketsorbueckers · 2 days ago

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No Hard Feelings - Chapter 2

Paige x Azzi

Warnings: language, alcohol, dumb sapphics not communicating

Dual POV - 7K words

A/N: holyyy ??? thank u sm for reading the first chapter!! legit thought i was gonna post into the void so if you saw this, i’m kissing your forehead through the screen <3 next one’s longer. messier. high in yearning. sorry in advance (but also. not at all.) would love to know what you think!! little comments keep me going fr so just know i appreciate youuu 🫶

Paige POV

Paige sat on the edge of the couch, one sneaker still half-on, fingers tangled in the laces like she’d forgotten what they were for. Her head spun—half from the alcohol, half from everything else.

The room was quiet, save for the dull hum of the fridge and the yellow light over the stove casting long shadows across the floor. Her phone buzzed somewhere across the room. She didn’t check it.

She was still in the same pants Azzi had seen her in. That mattered for no good reason.

She pressed her palms to her eyes until stars bloomed behind her lids. She didn’t cry. Paige never cried. But the ache had settled deep—familiar now—and she wondered if she even remembered how. If it might help. If it might do anything at all.

She groaned and fell back into the couch, the room spinning slightly with the motion. So she closed her eyes. And that was the mistake. Because her mind didn’t go to the party, or the noise, or the laughter she hadn’t really listened to. It went where it always did: straight to Azzi.

Not the Azzi from tonight. But the Azzi who used to sit cross-legged on her bed, eating cereal out of a mug, one sock on, one sock off, looking at Paige like she wasn’t something to admire but something to keep.

If she were here, she’d be telling Paige to get water. To wash her face. To change out of her jeans. She’d braid Paige’s hair so it wouldn’t be a disaster in the morning. Probably force her to eat something.

But Azzi wasn’t here. So Paige did none of that. She doesn’t move. Doesn’t reach for her phone. Doesn’t untie the sneaker still half-dangling from her foot.

Her mouth is dry. Her head hurts. And still, nothing feels as hollow as the space Azzi used to fill without trying.

She can still see her, clear as day: curled up at the end of the bed, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, twisting the drawstrings into little knots while Paige rambled about something that didn’t matter. A game. A play. A headline she hated. And Azzi would listen, always.

There was one night. Paige doesn’t remember what led to it—what they’d talked about, if anything at all. Just the way Azzi sat behind her on the floor, legs wrapped loosely around her waist, fingers moving slowly through her hair. No music. No talking. Just touch. And the safety of being known.

And for once, Paige didn’t feel like she had to fill the silence. Azzi never asked her to be anything but there. She hadn’t realized what a luxury that was. Back then, it felt inevitable. Automatic.

Now, silence feels different. Sharper. Meaner. Azzi would’ve known what to do with it. Would’ve filled it without trying. Would’ve made the air feel less heavy just by being in the room. But Azzi’s not here. So Paige just sinks deeper into the couch, lets the ache stretch wider across her chest, and tries not to wonder what Azzi’s doing.

If she’s curled up in that baseball player’s bed. Wearing his hoodie. Making him mac and cheese like it means nothing. Like she hasn’t done all of that before, for someone else.

And then—like punishment—a memory surfaces.

Her bedroom. After a loss Paige had claimed like it was hers to carry—because that’s what leaders did, right? They absorbed the blame. They held it so no one else had to.

She’d sat with her knees pulled to her chest, back against the headboard, arms wrapped so tight around her legs it hurt. The room was dark. She hadn’t turned the lights on when she came in, hadn’t taken off her sneakers. Sweat clung to her skin, dried cold and uncomfortable, but she couldn’t make herself move.

The door creaked open. Azzi didn’t say anything.

She stepped in barefoot, silent, already in one of Paige’s sweatshirts—too big, the hem brushing her thighs, sleeves half-swallowed. She didn’t hesitate. Just crossed the room like she knew the floor plan of Paige’s grief.

She climbed onto the bed, moved slowly and knelt beside Paige. For a second, she didn’t touch her. Just looked. And then, gently, she reached out and cupped Paige’s arm.

“Come here,” she murmured.

Paige didn’t resist.

Azzi guided her down like she was something fragile, easing her back against the mattress until Paige was lying flat, stiff at first, eyes wide and blinking toward the ceiling.

Then Azzi lay down beside her. She pressed their bodies together, slid an arm beneath Paige’s head like a pillow, the other curling around her waist. Their legs tangled like instinct.

And she said nothing.

Not you played fine. Not you did everything you could. Not I’m proud of you.

She just stayed.

And Paige—who didn’t cry, who never let herself fall apart, who carried the weight of every game like it was stitched into her jersey— let herself lean in. Just a little. Just enough.

She remembered thinking: Azzi loved her even at her worst and never once asked her to be anything else.

She’d been so dumb. So fucking ungrateful for it—whatever “it” had been. She groaned as her phone buzzed again.

Dragging herself upright, she blinked at the screen. Sixty-something texts from Nika, letting her know she’d be staying elsewhere tonight. Paige gave the last one a thumbs up. No words. She didn’t have any left.

She retreated to her room like it might offer some kind of silence that would actually stick. She tried to sleep. Really tried. Stared at the ceiling. Flipped her pillow. Closed her eyes. Counted her breaths. None of it worked.

Eventually, with a sigh sharp enough to count as surrender, she reached for her phone again.

The group chat had finally calmed down. Just a few heart emojis and someone’s blurry selfie from the kitchen. Most of her teammates were probably asleep. She could’ve left it there. Should have. But her thumb kept scrolling. Down past Liv. Past Jana. Past everyone. Until she found Azzi’s name.

Her stomach twisted at the “last sent” date. Had it really been a month? She tapped into the thread. And winced. The screen was all Azzi. A wall of quiet, one-sided effort.

Azzi: hey. just checking in.

Azzi: you left your sweatshirt in the locker room btw

Azzi: i know you’re busy. just wanted to say good luck on your exam today.

Azzi: saw you in the gym this morning. you looked tired.

Azzi: i miss you

Azzi: forget it. Sorry.

Azzi: i know we’re not really talking right now. but you’re still my best friend. that hasn’t changed.

Azzi: i’ll stop bothering you.

She stared at the final message a beat too long, then tore her eyes away.

It wasn’t like she had intentionally ignored them. She hadn’t meant to shut Azzi out. She just didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to bridge the space between who they used to be and whatever they were now.

Because the thing was, it wasn’t not knowing how she felt. That had never been the issue.

Loving Azzi had never been the problem. That part had always been easy. Natural. A constant in a world that changed too fast and asked too much. And if it had just been them—no cameras, no noise, no one else pulling—maybe things would’ve stayed simple.

Paige would’ve stayed. She knows that much. She would’ve chosen Azzi. She wouldn’t have given up. But somewhere along the way, it all got tangled. Messy. It wasn’t on purpose.

She just kept running out of space. Out of time. Too many people. Too many eyes. Always something to prove, someone to answer to.

Azzi usually understood. She always had. She knew there was a version of Paige that didn’t belong to herself. The one in postgame interviews, in highlight reels, on social media. She never seemed to resent it. Never made her feel guilty for the things she couldn’t control. Which is why Paige didn’t understand when it shifted. Didn’t know what changed.

The first crack happened quietly. Azzi had said something once, soft, but sharp in that way she always was when she didn’t want to start a fight but couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“Sometimes, I just wish I was your first choice.”

It made her feel like a villain in a story she didn’t know she was in. Like she’d missed a moment where something shifted, and now she was paying for it without ever understanding the rules.

And from there, the fissures in their existence began to splinter. Quiet, invisible hairline fractures but there, cracking outward from the very fault line of who they were. Moments that used to feel easy began to catch. Silences stretched longer than they used to. Texts went unanswered a little too long. Jokes didn’t always land the way they once did.

Nothing big. Nothing loud. Just a slow, soft shift. And then, all at once, the space between them stopped feeling like a pause and started feeling like distance. Like something had shifted beneath them, and neither of them had the words to name it.

And Paige hadn’t asked. Hadn’t said, are we okay? Because she thought they were.

Because Azzi still braided her hair on road trips. Still sat beside her during film. Still laughed at her dumb jokes, even when they barely made sense. But there was something in her eyes that had started to fade. Some warmth that flickered a little too low.

And now Paige couldn’t stop thinking about it, how Azzi had kept showing up, softer and softer, until eventually, she disappeared entirely.

Her phone buzzed again on the pillow beside her. Not Azzi. It never was anymore. She blinked away the sharp-edged memories and looked back at her phone. Her thumbs hovered over the screen, the thread still open—Azzi’s name at the top.

She typed:

i miss you too.

Stared at it. Deleted it. Typed again:

are you still up?

Backspaced. Studied the rhythm of the blinking cursor. She sat there a moment longer, the silence pressing in from every side, the ache spreading like a bruise she didn’t want to touch.

Then she tried again. Slower this time.

i don’t know how to do this.

She stared at the words like they might rearrange themselves into something braver. Then she deleted them too and turned off her phone. Because reaching out meant admitting something had broken. And Paige wasn’t ready to know if it couldn’t be fixed.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡⌦ .｡.:*♡❁۪۪ ཻུ♡˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

The sun filtered through her half-closed blinds too early, nearly cracking her skull in two. Paige groaned, throwing an arm over her eyes like that might block out the damage. Her head pounded. Her mouth tasted like shitty vodka.

She didn’t remember falling asleep. Didn’t remember turning off her phone. But it was there on the nightstand, face-down like she’d been trying to forget something. She stared at it for a long time before reaching.

Just one swipe. Just a glance. Azzi hadn’t texted. Paige let the phone fall back against the sheets and rolled onto her side, eyes squeezed shut.

Last night clawed at the edges of her memory. Blurry, uneven, softened by too much cheap liquor and not enough food. There’d been laughter, music, the low hum of voices bleeding together. But even through the haze, she remembered those moments.

Azzi looking at her. And then not. Azzi’s skin brushing up against hers in the photo—too warm, too familiar. Azzi glancing sideways, just for a second, before pretending she hadn’t. Azzi. Everywhere. All at once. And also not at all.

In the room. In her mind. In the silence of a phone that hadn’t lit up all night. Haunting her in the softest, sharpest ways.

Paige sat up, her joints stiff, mouth still dry, heart beating just a little too loud for how early it was. She didn’t bother with a text. Or a real breakfast. Just pulled on yesterday’s hoodie, tied her sneakers, and grabbed her keys like muscle memory had taken over.

The world outside was too bright, too loud. The sky an offensive kind of blue. But the gym– the gym was still dark when she walked in. Still cold. Still quiet.

Just the echo of her footsteps and the soft hum of overhead lights flickering on.

She liked it better this way. Before the noise. Before the crowds.

She set a ball down at half court, took a breath, and started to shoot. One after another. Each shot a little too hard. A little too fast. Each one missing just slightly left.

She kept going. Kept moving. Sweat beading at her hairline like she could outrun the night before. Sweat it out, burn it off, leave it behind. As if sheer effort could scrub her thoughts clean of brown eyes and perfect curls. And that damn look in the photo.

“You’re a freak.” Paige stopped the ball with her foot, chest still rising and falling, and turned to find Nika leaning against the wall like she hadn’t just caught her in the middle of a silent spiral.“I fed you enough alcohol to give you a three-day hangover.”

Paige grinned. “Some of us are just built different, I guess.”

Nika rolled her eyes and strolled to the middle of the court. She sat down, legs stretched out in front of her, and watched as Paige kept shooting—thud after thud echoing through the empty gym.

Then came the throat-clearing.

Once. Twice. Three times. Paige exhaled hard, let the ball roll to a stop, and dropped down beside her.

“How nice of you to join me,” Nika said sweetly, not looking at her.

Paige shook her head, eyes drifting toward the championship banners swaying faintly in the rafters. Nika didn’t hesitate.

“You text her?”

“What?” Paige muttered. “Who?”

Nika scoffed, waving her off. “I’m way too hungover to play this game with you.” She turned to face her now, voice flat. “Last night—when I walked your wobbly ass home—you said, and I quote, ‘I’m gonna text Azzi and fix all of this.’”

Paige didn’t answer right away. She picked at the edge of her sock, eyes still fixed on the rafters like they held better questions.

“I thought about it,” she said finally, quiet.

“Would call that progress for progress’s sake,” Nika muttered, “but I’m not a liar.” She exhaled, slow. “It’s been a month, P.”

Paige shrugged. “I thought we were doing an okay job with it. The team doesn’t seem to notice.”

Nika groaned, but this time it was softer. Less theatrical.

“Paige,” she said, quieter now. “Not everything is about the team.” She paused, studying her. “You’re not doing well. You think we don’t notice, but we do.” Paige didn’t move.“You’re quieter. You’re in the gym at all hours. You barely talk unless it’s about basketball.”

“I’m just… focused,” Paige muttered. “With the season coming up.”

Nika frowned, gentle but sure.

“I know I’m not Azzi,” she said, “but you don’t have to lie to me.”

Paige’s jaw clenched. She didn’t look at her. The silence stretched, filled only by the hum of the gym lights overhead. Then, so quiet it almost wasn’t there:

“I don’t know what to say, Nika.” She exhaled shakily, like the truth hurt to hold. “I’m scared that if I say it out loud—if I admit she walked away—then that means she’s really gone.” Her throat tightened. “And I don’t know how to live with that. I don’t think I can.”

Beside her, Nika swallowed, then shifted closer—close enough for their knees to touch, for the silence to feel less overwhelming. She wrapped her arms around Paige and tugged her in, firm but gentle. Like she wasn’t going to let her fall apart alone.

“It’s Azzi, P,” she murmured.“You and her—you're not just some on-again, off-again thing. You’re Paige and Azzi. That’s been a fact as long as I can remember. Even now, when everything’s messy and sideways, that doesn’t just disappear. You’re not cut off. Just out of sync. That’s not the same as losing her.”

Paige, in a rare moment of surrender, let herself lean in and buried her face in Nika’s shoulder like she could hide from the truth inside it.

“Then why,” she whispered, voice splintering, “does it fucking feel like I have?”

Nika didn’t answer right away. She just held her tighter, arms secure around her like she wasn’t going to let her fall any further.

“Because you love her.” She felt Paige stiffen just slightly, like the words landed somewhere too deep. “That’s why it hurts like this,” Nika added, voice gentler now. “Because it’s real. And because it’s her.”

Paige didn’t have the energy to argue. Because Nika was right.

She loved Azzi. Not in the loud, all-consuming way people always talked about. Not fireworks or grand gestures. It was quieter than that. Slower.

The kind of love that snuck in when she wasn’t looking and made itself at home. The kind that curled up in the passenger seat on long road trips and pressed in close after late-night losses. The kind that didn’t demand attention, didn’t ask to be named because it was already stitched into everything.

She loved her in the way her body remembered, in the pause before a joke, in the instinct to reach for her hand without thinking. In the way she looked for her in every room before realizing she wasn't there.

Azzi was the quiet in the chaos. The place her soul went to rest. The thing that ever felt like hers, even when nothing else did.

And maybe that was the problem. Because when you love someone like that—so completely, so unconditionally—you start to believe they’re part of you.

You forget they’re allowed to leave. You forget they don’t have to stay. Even if you would’ve.

Azzi POV

Azzi woke up slow.

The sun filtered through the blinds, soft and gold, warming the edge of her pillow. The weight of the blanket pressed gently over her shoulders, and the mattress dipped slightly behind her. Someone was beside her. Still half-asleep, Azzi smiled.

She didn’t open her eyes. Just breathed in and let herself sink closer—muscle memory guiding her, like it always had. The shape was right. The warmth. The way their knee bumped gently against hers. For half a second, she thought, Paige.

She hummed, content, pressing herself into the comfort like it might last.

“No time for snuggles,” someone muttered. “I’m hungry.”

Azzi’s eyes flew open to find Caroline. Her best friend is lying on her side, scrolling through her phone like she didn’t just shatter a perfectly good morning.

Azzi groans. “Why are you in my bed?”

“You fell asleep on mine. You stole my blanket. I followed my blanket.”

Azzi buries her face in the pillow. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet, here I am. A gift.”

Caroline sits up and stretches, already tossing the blankets back with no regard for Azzi’s fragile morning peace.

“You promised me breakfast,” she says. “Don’t think I won’t hold you to it.”

Caroline jumps off the bed, heading towards the door.

“Five minutes or I’m leaving without you,” she called over her shoulder, already halfway to the kitchen. “And I swear I’ll eat your leftovers out of spite.”

The door clicked shut. And just like that, the space beside Azzi was empty again. She didn’t move. Just stared at the mattress, the faint dent where someone had been.

It wasn’t the same shape. Wasn’t the same warmth. But for a second, she’d believed it.

For a second, her body had reached for something it used to know by heart. She curled her fingers into the sheets, pressed her face into the pillow like it might still smell like her. Like Paige.

It didn’t.

She kicked the covers off and swung her legs over the side of the bed like she could shake it all loose. Moved too fast for a Sunday morning, pulling on jeans, shoving her arms through an old hoodie, twisting her curls into a bun without so much as a glance in the mirror.

She didn’t check her phone. Didn’t need to. She already knew Paige hadn’t texted.

By the time she stepped outside, Caroline was already on the sidewalk, sunglasses on, coffee in hand, looking annoyingly well-rested for someone who’d hijacked Azzi’s bed.

She held out the cup with a little smile. “You always forget your caffeine when you’re in a mood. You know the student centers is terrible.”

Azzi took it without arguing. They started down the block in silence, the morning quiet except for the soft scuff of their sneakers on the pavement. After a while, Caroline glanced over.

“You okay?”

Azzi shrugged, eyes on the sidewalk. “Yeah. Just tired.”

Caroline didn’t call her out. Didn’t push. She just nodded like she believed her. Or at least understood why she didn’t want to talk about it.

Then, gently:

“Whenever you’re ready, I’m here.”

Azzi didn’t reply. But her fingers curled tighter around the coffee cup. And Caroline didn’t say anything else.

The student café was warm and buzzing, sunlight pooling across the tiled floors and clattering dishes. The line moved slow, but Azzi didn’t mind. She liked places like this—too loud to think, too small to fall apart in.

Caroline pointed to a table in the back while Azzi ordered for both of them, and by the time she slid into the booth, Caroline already had her phone out and a croissant torn in half between them. Cam arrived a few minutes later, all easy charm and windblown hair.

“You two look like you’re recovering from something,” Cam said, sliding into the seat across from Azzi.

Caroline didn’t look up from her phone. Just gestured lazily in Azzi’s direction. “She is.”

Cam raised a brow but didn’t push. Just slid a pastry toward her like it might solve something. Azzi offered a grateful smile.

Caroline didn’t dislike Cam. She just didn’t buy the whole “he’s good for me” campaign Azzi had been running lately.

I can tell you’re not happy, she’d said one night. Azzi had shut it down before it could bloom into something messier. Because she needed Cam. Needed the steadiness, the ease, the way he never asked for more than she offered.

He was warm. Present. Simple. A safe place to land after limping her way across the scorched battlefield that was being touched—then abandoned—by Paige Bueckers.

It had been almost two weeks. And Cam really was a good guy. She figured if she told herself that enough, one day, it might matter.

They made small talk. Caroline filled the silence. Cam laughed at something she said. Azzi tried to stay tethered to the moment, to the clink of forks and the smell of coffee and the way Cam looked at her like she was still whole.

Jana appeared halfway through the conversation, sliding into the booth beside Caroline with a groan and a dramatic yawn.

“I know,” She says. “The coffee is shit but I’m desperate.”

They all laughed. Even Azzi. She was halfway through a sentence when the bell over the café door chimed again. Caroline stilled across from her. Eyes tracking the door.

“Shit,” she murmured, just loud enough for Azzi to hear.

Azzi didn’t have to look. Not at first. She didn’t need to. Some people enter a room quietly. Some crash. Paige didn’t do either. She just shifted the gravity.

Azzi’s spine straightened. Her breath caught. Something deep in her chest tightened—like muscle memory reawakening after too long asleep. And when she finally let herself look toward the door, she nearly flinched. There was Paige. Framed in the doorway like the morning light didn’t quite know how to hold her.

Hair still damp, hoodie too big, sleeves shoved past her wrists like she’d gotten dressed without thinking. Like maybe she hadn’t slept. She looked like something Azzi had dreamed about too many times to admit.

Across from her, Cam glanced toward the door.

“Is that Paige?” he asked, voice quiet, almost casual.

Caroline didn’t look up. “Yup.”

Cam nodded, eyes following her for a beat too long. “Weird,” he murmured. “Being that recognizable. Having people clock you everywhere.” He shook his head a little. “I don’t think I’d know how to be normal.”

Azzi didn’t answer right away.

“She doesn’t really get to be,” she said finally.

Cam didn’t respond, still watching. Just for a second. And that’s when Azzi saw it. Not awe, exactly but something adjacent. That flicker of recognition. That quiet pull. The same look she’d seen a hundred times in other people. On sidewalks. At games. In locker rooms and airports and campus dining halls. The look that said: That’s her.

Azzi had memorized it since they were sixteen. It was always the same…like the air shifted when Paige walked through it. Like something about her demanded to be noticed, even when she wasn’t trying. Especially then. She just had that effect on people. Impossible to ignore. Impossible not to want.

And Azzi had spent years pretending she was the only person in the world immune to it. But she wasn’t. Not really.

Because she understood the awe. She understood the pull. The quiet hunger to know Paige. To unravel her. To be the exception in a world full of admirers. Azzi had felt it too. Still felt it, low and constant in her stomach. Sharp. Stupid. Unrelenting.

Loving Paige hadn’t protected her from wanting her. It had only taught her how impossible it was to ever truly have her.

And now she was here—walking past them, coffee in hand, eyes fixed on her phone like the rest of the world didn’t exist. Azzi caught her in the blur of her peripheral vision—still didn’t look, not really—until Jana’s voice cut through the quiet:

“Paigey! Don’t be rude. Say hi.”

Azzi stiffened. Caroline froze mid-sip. Paige paused. She didn’t look up right away. Just tapped once more on her screen, like she was taking care of something important. Then, finally, she lifted her gaze.

“Hey,” she said, quiet but pointed. Her gaze swept across the table, barely grazing Azzi, landing instead on the boy beside her.

Cam straightened, offering a hand. “I’m Cam.”

Paige looked at it for a moment too long before shaking it once.

“So I’ve heard,” She said. “Paige. Nice to meet you.”

But it wasn’t. Not really. Not for anyone at the table.

Paige didn’t sit. She didn’t even shift her weight like she might. Just stood there, coffee in hand, gaze flicking back to her phone like she was already halfway out the door.

Cam cleared his throat, trying to recover. “You hit the gym this morning?”

Paige nodded once. “Early workout.”

“Respect,” he said, with a small laugh. “I can barely get myself out of bed before ten.”

She didn’t laugh. Didn’t even pretend to. Azzi hadn’t moved. She was still staring at the spot just past Paige’s shoulder, like if she looked directly at her, she might combust.

“Are you going to sit down?” Jana asked, proving once again her innate ability to never sense the tension.

Paige’s lips twitched, not a smile, but something close to it. Tired.

“I actually can’t stay,” she said, eyes shifting to her phone. “Meetings.”

“Oh yes, our very own superstar,” Jana teased. “What endorsement are we chatting about today? Gatorade? Nike? Can you get me new shoes?”

That actually made Paige laugh. Short and real and gone too fast.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Paige lingered just a second longer, thumb tapping the edge of her coffee cup. Then, like it was nothing, she held out a small brown bag to Azzi.

“They had the cherry thing today,” she said, not quite meeting her eyes. “You always miss it.”

Azzi froze.

Jana blinked. “The cherry tart? I literally just asked and they told me they were out.”

Paige shrugged, “Guess they just think I’m special.”

She set the bag on the table in front of Azzi, casual as anything. Then turned, already stepping back.

“I’ll see you guys at practice.”

The door chimed behind her. And Azzi still hadn’t moved.

Jana sighed dramatically, breaking the silence. “Must be nice being Paige Bueckers. A god among mortals.”

Cam chuckled, reaching for levity like it could stitch the moment back together. He slid an arm around Azzi’s shoulders.

“You alright?” he asked softly.

Azzi’s throat bobbed. Her eyes drifted from the untouched pastry bag to Caroline, who was already watching her. Not curious. Not surprised. Just steady. Soft in that way Caroline always was when she already knew the answer. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to.

Her gaze said it all: You thought she wasn’t looking. But she was.

Azzi swallowed again, the ache rising higher now. Cam’s arm was still draped over her shoulders, his thumb brushing back and forth—like comfort could be that simple. But it wasn’t.

It was too much. Too close. Too easy. And somehow still not even close to what she needed.

Her skin buzzed with it. This gentle, well-meaning touch that felt like the wrong language spoken fluently. Carefully, she shifted out from under it.

“I need to make a call,” she said, barely above a whisper.

Then she stood, the pastry still untouched on the table, and stepped out into the morning light.

When the fresh air hit her lungs, Azzi sucked in a sharp breath, like she could force the panic back into place. But it didn’t work. Because across the street, Paige was still there. Still lingering.

Hands in her pockets, eyes half-lowered, like she was waiting for someone. Their eyes met. Paige tilted her head. Observant. Measured. Like she was trying to read something in Azzi’s face she no longer had permission to name.

And something hot surged up in Azzi’s chest. Not heartbreak. Not quite. Anger. Sharp and clean and useful. It almost felt good because it had an edge. Because it gave her something to hold. The urge to move buzzed in her limbs. To cross the street. To do something. To shove her hands against Paige’s chest and say you don’t get to do that. You don’t get to show up and act like you still see me. Still know me. Still care.

She imagined saying, I’m not yours to be generous with anymore.

But she didn’t move. Not an inch. She just stood there. And across the street, Paige didn’t either. For a few suspended seconds, they just existed. Two people who used to share a world. Now standing on opposite sides of it.

And despite everything, Azzi let herself think about it. Let herself remember who Paige had been once. Not to the world, not to the cameras or the crowds or the girls who lined up to take pictures after games but her Paige.

The one who always found her first in a room, no matter how loud it was. Who could spot her from across a court full of chaos and send a look that said, You okay? without ever saying a word.

The one who unraveled quietly in her dorm room. Kicking off her shoes, hoodie tugged over her head, lying backwards across Azzi’s bed with her legs dangling off the side, eyes closed like the silence was the only thing keeping her together.The one who said I’m tired only to Azzi because she didn’t trust the world to know she wasn’t always strong.

The one who touched her like the world wasn’t watching because when it was just them, it never felt like it was. Fingers brushing her wrist under the dinner table. Knees knocking together during film. A hand lingering at the small of her back as they wove through post-game crowds.

Paige had never been soft for many people. She couldn’t be. But with Azzi—god, with Azzi, the edges always fell away. Her voice would go quieter. Her gaze would linger longer. She’d lean her head on Azzi’s shoulder like it was second nature, like she forgot she wasn’t supposed to need anyone.

She’d reserved that softness like it was something sacred. A secret Azzi never had to ask for, because it was just… offered. Freely. Quietly.

And Azzi—foolishly, selfishly, with both hands and her whole heart—had believed it would always be hers.

Because when Paige looked at her like that, all edges gone, all pretense stripped away, it felt like forever. But maybe it never was. Maybe Paige had just been handing her borrowed things. Little pieces of gentleness, of trust, of a love too soft for the world to see and Azzi mistook them for promises.

Maybe she’d been holding something that was only ever meant to pass through her fingers. And now, standing in the echo of that quiet, Azzi couldn’t stop wondering:

What if the most devastating part of loving Paige Bueckers was never losing her but realizing she was never really hers to begin with?

Paige’s POV

Practice was hell. Sweat-drenched, leg-aching, breath-in-her-throat hell.

Season was approaching and Geno was one bad pass away from a full-scale meltdown. Paige wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and narrowed her focus.

Ball. Feet. Breath. Because basketball—basketball still made sense.

It was the one place she could still breathe without thinking. The one place where everything stayed exactly where it was supposed to be. Even now. Even after.

Across the court, Azzi moved like a second heartbeat. They didn’t speak. Didn’t need to. Azzi cut left, and Paige was already pivoting. A no-look pass, seamless and clean. A catch in stride. A shot. Net. They didn’t miss a beat. Not one.

Their bodies remembered: the rhythm, the weight, the pull of each other’s gravity. It was muscle memory. It was chemistry. It was grief, dressed up in a perfect assist.

Paige wasn’t sure how she felt about it. She was a professional, first and always.The game came first. The team came first. So mostly, she was grateful. Grateful that whatever had splintered between them hadn’t followed them here…that on the court, they still fit. Still moved like they were breathing the same air.

But there was still that ache. A pinprick under her ribs that she couldn’t shake.

The damning knowledge that she could still find Azzi in motion. Still trust her without hesitation, without a word. But once the buzzer went off, once the world came rushing back in, she didn’t know how to reach her anymore. Didn’t know where to stand. Didn’t know if she was still welcome.

Geno’s whistle cut through the air, sharp and final, knocking her out of the thought. Practice was over. Just like that. And all at once, the noise returned, sneakers squeaking, water bottles snapping open, the hum of voices rising back into the space she’d carved out for silence.

Paige blinked, wiped her face with the hem of her shirt, and told herself to move.

But everything felt off—like the world was half a step ahead of her, and she couldn’t quite catch up. She moved slowly through the locker room. Slow to pack her bag. Slow to drift toward a conversation she would’ve once led without thinking. Like her body remembered how to be there, but not how to belong.

Her eyes flicked around the room, not looking for anything, until they landed on Caroline. Who was already watching her.

Caroline: Azzi’s best friend. Loyal, soft-spoken, sharper than she let on.

Paige had no idea what she knew. If Azzi had ever told her. If she’d shared any of it…them. Or if Paige had just been erased from the story.

She felt the thought creep in, uninvited and sharp: Maybe Azzi was embarrassed. Embarrassed that it had happened.

They held eye contact for one suspended second. Not hostile. Not soft. Just long enough for something to pass between them—something Paige couldn’t name. Then Caroline looked away. And so did she.

Eventually, Paige tugged her bag over her shoulder. The locker room had long since emptied out, and for a moment, she let the silence linger like it might settle something inside her. It didn’t. She stepped out into the hallway, footsteps echoing down the linoleum.

Outside, the sun had already dipped past the horizon, leaving campus washed in a dusky, dull glow. She shoved the door open and stepped into the chill, her body flinching instinctively against the wind. Her phone buzzed. She glanced down. Some email from her agent about scheduling. She didn’t read it, not really.

But then she felt it. Not a sound. Not a movement. Just a shift. The air changed. Like something important had entered the space. A whiff of vanilla. Her head snapped up.

Azzi stood a few feet away, haloed by the dim orange spill of the streetlamp. Hoodie sleeves swallowed her hands. Curls tied up in a way that made Paige’s ribcage feel too tight for her lungs.

She looked like a memory Paige wasn’t allowed to touch anymore.

Azzi’s head turned then, like she’d felt Paige’s stare tugging at her spine. For a second, Paige braced for her to walk away. She looked like someone on the edge of it. But she didn’t.

“You’re leaving late,” Azzi said, voice soft.

Paige shrugged, because that’s what she did when she had too many feelings and no idea where to put them. “Didn’t really have anywhere to be.”

Azzi nodded, gaze drifting to the parking lot behind them like she was trying to pretend this was normal.

“Your shots looked good today.”

Paige rubbed the back of her neck, shifting her weight. Her body couldn’t take stillness in moments like this.

“Thanks,” she said, barely. “Yours too.”

Azzi smiled, if you could call it that. It didn’t reach anything. Polite and close lipped.

“Thanks.”

And that was it.

But Paige could feel the words rising anyway, pressing against her throat like they might claw their way out if she didn’t let them. The messy ones. The ones she’d swallowed whole every day since Azzi left. Apologies that didn’t have a shape yet. Questions she wasn’t sure she wanted the answers to. Explanations that felt like too much but not enough. Anything to pull Azzi closer. Even just an inch. Even just long enough to believe that gravity hadn’t let go of them completely.

Paige had never been the kind of girl who begged. She worked. She pushed. She earned. But pleading? That was foreign. That was weakness.

And yet—For Azzi, she would.

She would get on her hands and knees. Crawl across the asphalt if that’s what it took. She would press her forehead to the ground like it was holy. Like this was devotion. Like her humiliation could be translated into worth.

She’d offer it all: every last bit of pride she hadn’t already chipped away. The ache in her chest that hadn’t stopped since Azzi stopped being hers. The soft, aching pieces of her that still pulsed like an old bruise she kept pressing on, just to check if it still hurt.

(It did. It always did.)

She’d lay herself bare in that quiet, ugly way—the kind of vulnerability that doesn’t transform you or teach you a lesson. It just leaves you exposed. Skin peeled back. Chest split wide.

If there was even the faintest chance that Azzi might look at her and think, Maybe she’s worth it. Even if she never said it. Even if she just stood there in the dark, hoodie sleeves swallowing her hands, eyes flicking somewhere far away like Paige was too much to look at directly.

Paige would still do it.

Because that’s what you do when someone’s name lives in your mouth like a secret. You ruin yourself for the chance that they might whisper it back.

Azzi was still watching her—closely, unbearably—and Paige felt the sting behind her eyes before she could stop it. That helpless, traitorous burn.

“Azzi,” she said. Barely. A whisper shaped like a sob, like a plea she didn’t know how to finish.

And then headlights cut through the quiet.

A car Paige didn’t recognize pulled into the lot behind them, flooding the space with too much light. And without thinking, she stepped closer to Azzi. Instinctive. Stupid. Like her body still hadn’t gotten the memo that they weren’t them anymore. That Azzi didn’t need her like that.

But Azzi didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Just turned like she already knew. Like some part of her had been waiting.

“Babe!” The word hit like a slap, soft and smiling. Cam leaned out the window, eyes finding Azzi first. Like she was his to look at. “Sorry I’m late. Practice ran over.”

Then his gaze shifted. Landed on Paige. And lingered. On their closeness. The silence that hadn’t quite scattered yet.

“Oh,” he added, a beat too light. “Hey, Paige. Sorry—did I interrupt something?”

Paige rolled her shoulders back, spine straightening. She inhaled like she could breathe the ache out of her body, make her voice clear again.

“Nothing important,” she said, cool and sharp around the edges. The kind of cool that cost her something.

And she swore, for just a second, something flickered in Azzi’s eyes. But Paige had lost her map to Azzi Fudd, and now every look felt like a dead language. Beautiful. Incomprehensible.

Azzi blinked, gaze steady. “Were you going to say something?”

Paige’s throat burned. She swallowed hard. “Nah. Don’t keep your boyfriend waiting.”

Azzi’s eyes widened, startled. “He’s not—”

“See you later.”

It came out too fast, too final. But she didn’t take it back. Didn’t wait for the explanation. Just turned, walking away before her knees could betray her. Before she did something stupid. Like stay.

#pazzi fics #azzi x paige #paige x azzi #pazzi

196 notes · View notes

cocastyle · 2 days ago

Text

I See You Pt. 3

Pairing — Bob Reynolds x reader

Word Count — 5.5k

Warning — SPOILER WARNING FOR THE THUNDERBOLTS* MOVIE I REPEAT SPOILER WARNING FOR THE THUNDERBOLTS* MOVIE!!

A/N — I can’t thank you all enough for the love on this series. It literally means the world to me and because of that I want to apologize for how sad this part is going to be. BUT I promise the fourth and final part is going to be good, so you just have to hold out until then ahah.

Please let me know if you all have any requests for the Thunderbolts* or any other Marvel movie really. I’m on such a Marvel kick right now that my inbox is open for requests :))

Part One Part Two Part Three

SPOILER WARNING FOR THE THUNDERBOLTS* MOVIE! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!

Breaking out of the void was disorienting to say the least. Y/N almost wasn't sure where she was, her mind barely processing that she had gone from seeing Bob in front of her to suddenly being back in her living room within the span of a second.

The tv hummed in front of her, some show playing low enough that she couldn't hear the voices but loud enough that there was still noise. Y/N blinked and glanced down at her hand which was gripping onto a bottle of vodka. She had been moments away from opening it when the darkness had surrounded her and the distant memory of how empty she had felt made her heart ache.

She stared at the bottle colder, Void's words whispering in her ear, "Y/N L/N. The one who got half the universe killed and then tried to find herself at the bottom of a bottle."

Her eyes stung as she realized how right his words had been. Swallowing thickly, she hesitantly reached out and placed it down on the table in front of her. Her fingers trembled as she let it go, her old habits screaming at her to do the only thing she knew how to do now that she was alone once more.

But this wasn't like before. The void had changed her. Bob had changed her.

I'll find you, she had told the boy before everything had disappeared. But how?

Her phone let out a loud ding in that moment and after grudgingly throwing her pillows on the couch around in an attempt to find it, her hands latched onto the small device and flipped it over to see a notification from one of the local news channels.

BREAKING NEWS

NEW AVENGERS SAVE MANHATTAN

The girl was opening her phone in an instant, her fingers rapidly swiping through screens before she was grabbing onto the remote to the TV to change the channel to the current press release that was going on outside of Avengers Tower.

And there he was, standing next to everyone else who had been there when they defeated Void. Valentina de Fontaine stood at a podium, a huge smile on her face as she glanced at her assistant before turning to the crowd.

"For years I've been working in secret to develop a new era of protection. Today, the citizens of the United States needed that protection, and thanks to my hard work, they got it. Ladies and gentlemen, meet the new Avengers."

On the screen, there was visible confusion from almost half the team while Bob was clapping his hands for his friends and still not realizing he was apart of this new group. Y/N would never see what came next because she was out the door before Valentina had even finished speaking.

Her heart was beating frantically in her chest and she scrambled to lock the door behind her. She had just managed to get her keys into her pocket and had barely turned around completely when she was bumping into her neighbor who had just stumbled out the door looking just as crazed as she did.

Y/N took a step back in surprise, her eyes flickering over the man in front of her as she let out a rushed, "Sorry, Matt. I wasn't looking where I was going."

Matt Murdock gave her a weak smile, his hand reaching up to adjust his glasses as he stared in the direction of the sound of her voice. "No, no, that's my bad. I was in a rush and was too distracted by what had—" he hesitated slightly, his head titling to the side before he asked. "It happened to you too, huh? Whatever that... void was?"

Y/N stilled slightly and nodded before realizing that was stupid because Matt was a blind man. "Yeah," she quickly recovered, her voice soft despite the utter anxiety she was feeling each moment she wasn't with Bob.

She really hoped he remembered her. She wouldn't know what she would do if he didn't.

"You okay?" Matt asked, his shoulders relaxing a bit and some of the strain in his voice leaving as he frowned towards her. "It might just be everything that happened but you seem a little anxious."

Y/N never understood how he did that. She had been neighbors with him for a little while now, the man having moved in beside her after an "incident" with his last apartment had left it a mess. Ever since the day she had met him it was like he could read into her more than she thought was possible. If she didn't know any better, she would've guessed he wasn't blind. But that was crazy and she did know better.

"I'm fine," she insisted, but the hurriedness of the answer made Matt raise an eyebrow.

"Okay," Matt said gently, thankfully not pressing further. "I was about to go down to Josie's after...well, everything. You want to join?"

"I thought Josie's was closed?"

Matt flashed her a smile that she knew melted many hearts, "Let's just say I know the owner."

Y/N hesitated slightly at the offer, surprised that he had even attempted to be there for her after she had clearly shut him down. After everything that had just happened, she knew that under any other circumstance she probably would've said yes. But all she could think about was Bob and the fact that she knew where he was. If she waited any longer, there was no telling where he would be or when she would find him next.

"I'm sorry," she said, letting out a soft sigh. "I...I have somewhere I need to be." She braced herself for the disappointment that Matt was sure to show, but the man simply gave her a soft smile and a nod.

"Some other time then?" he suggested.

Y/N swallowed thickly at those words, tears pricking her eyes for just a second as she realized that she truly had been pushing everyone away for so long that even a small gesture like Matt's was enough to get to her.

"Some other time."

- - -

The press release went on for a while. After all, everyone wanted a chance to speak to these "New Avengers" and learn everything that they could. It wasn't until about halfway through the questions when one had been directed at Bob and inquired into what his powers were that Bob finally realized that he was also an Avenger.

That thought alone had made him almost short circuit and Yelena had thankfully brushed off the question and directed the interviewers to start wrapping everything up while Bucky gently pulled Bob off to the side as the boy attempted to process it all.

"How?" Bob asked, his eyes locking with Bucky who was still giving him that confused look that the whole team had been giving him ever since the blank in his mind had finished.

"How what?" Bucky asked.

"How am I an Avenger? What did I even do?" Bob asked, getting more confused by the second.

"You really don't remember, do you?" Bucky raised an eyebrow and Bob shook his head. The man let out a soft sigh and just pat his shoulder with his metal hand making the boy wince slightly. "It's a long story, buddy. Let's get through this and then I can explain it all to you, okay?"

Bob numbly nodded and Bucky left his side to go help Yelena control the crowd and Alexei who had gotten over his shock and was pushing for more questions to be asked.

The boy merely watched them from the sidelines, still trying to piece together all that had happened long after the crowd had dispersed.

Just when Bob was about to go back to Bucky and start questioning him again, he felt a small pull on his heart that had him stopping in his tracks. His hand slowly reached up to rest against his chest, his eyebrows furrowing as he felt that small tug again that seemed to be pulling him back the way he had just come.

There was something familiar about this feeling. Something like—

Bob slowly turned around, his eyes instantly locking on a girl who stood a little ways away. She had frozen mid step, her gaze solely on him while her mouth dropped open slightly in surprise.

He barely had time to register what was happening before she was running towards him, her body slamming into his as she pulled him into a fierce hug. Her arms wrapped around his neck and she held onto him tightly as she whispered through a small laugh, "I found you."

Bob blinked in surprise, his eyes frantically searching around him before locking onto the others who had all stopped short in their conversations upon seeing what was in front of them. Bucky instantly broke off from the group, his strides hurried, but the girl was already pulling away to look at Bob again.

The smile on her face made his heart skip a beat and his cheeks reddened as she reached up to place her hand on his cheek as she asked, "Are you okay? You didn't get hurt, did you?" Her hand fell away as she began to scan him for injuries. "I was lucky enough to still be on my couch, but I wasn't sure where you would end up. You seem to be fine though, so that's good."

She let out a shaky breath and shook her head slightly as she turned her gaze up to him in amusement. "Sorry, I'm rambling. I was just afraid I wouldn't see you again and after—" she paused as she finally took note of Bob's wide eyed gaze. "What's wrong?"

Bob's mouth opened and closed a couple of times while he tried to figure out what was going on, but after a moment of silence that only made her smile disappear more and more by the second, he knew she had connected the dots.

"You...you don't remember me, do you?" she asked, but before Bob could answer, Bucky had reached them and was quickly pulling the girl away. Bob didn't know why he did it, but he subconsciously reached out for her, his hand briefly brushing against her own before Yelena was gently pulling him away in the opposite direction.

"Who is that?" Bob asked, craning his head to watch the girl even as Yelena pulled him away and back over to the others. When he got no response, he turned to look at his friends who all seemed to be trying to come up with an answer. Their eyes all flickered to Yelena who glared back in response before looking to Bob with a sort of gentleness that made him take a small step back.

"I forgot her, didn't I? She was a part of the blank," he said and Yelena let out a small sigh and nodded. Bob gritted his teeth, his gaze falling back on the girl who was talking to Bucky a little ways away. There were tears in her eyes as she argued with the man and she shook her head in disbelief, taking a step back as Bucky reached for her. The sight was enough to make his heart ache.

The girl looked his way, their eyes locking. He felt a gentle caress around his mind and he didn't know how he knew it, but he knew that it was Y/N doing it. Her eyes searched his own, a sadness seeping into them as she failed to find whatever she was looking for. The look she gave him was one he knew he would never forget. That look of realization that you had lost someone you hadn't even realized you had a chance of losing.

A look of heartbreak.

She shook her head slightly as Bucky said something to her and frantically wiped her tears away before spinning on her heels and walking away.

Bob was rushing forward before he could stop himself, but she was gone before he had even reached Bucky.

"Who was that?" Bob asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Bucky turned to him and gave the boy a sad smile as he said, "Y/N."

Y/N...

The name sounded so familiar to him yet so foreign at the same time. The way his heart skipped a beat told him that he knew her, but he couldn't recall a single memory with the girl.

Bucky watched him for a moment before looking in the direction Y/N had gone, his voice soft as he muttered, "Don’t worry. She'll be back."

Bob couldn't tell who that was supposed to reassure more, but he really hoped Bucky was right.

Come back. Please don’t leave.

- - -

FOUR WEEKS LATER. . .

Y/N was quiet from her spot on the ground, her fingers mindlessly twisting blades of grass while her eyes stared blankly at the stone in front of her.

MAY PARKER

WHEN YOU HELP SOMEONE,

YOU HELP EVERYONE

Her heart squeezed in her chest every time she reread the words, but she continued to read them over and over like some sort of mantra. She was hoping they would help her, that being here would make it feel like she had May with her once again.

All she wanted was for the woman to hold her in her arms and tell her that everything was going to be okay. May would know what to say to her to stop this downward spiral she had been in since she left Bob standing there in the aftermath of the Void. May would’ve told her what to do and could’ve helped her understand why she was feeling everything so much worse than she had expected to.

Why looking Bob in the eye and feeling that blank in his mind where she should’ve been made her feel like she was losing someone all over again. She barely knew Bob, she kept reminding herself. She had only known him for a couple hours after all. So why did this feel so familiar?

Why did she feel like she was losing someone who meant something to her all over again?

Her heart ached in a way that reminded her of what she had felt briefly in the void. She couldn’t remember what Void had shown her in that black room, the memory nothing but a blurred image in her head, but she remembered that feeling and that was exactly what she was feeling now.

She shouldn’t have left Bob the way that she did. It wasn’t his fault he couldn’t remember. Yet something about knowing that she had lost the part of him that she had connected with had scared her so much that she hadn’t known what to except to run. All she ever did was screw everything up anyways. Bob was better off without her.

But the way he had looked at her. . .

Y/N quickly shook those thoughts away. None of this should have mattered so much. She had never been good with people. Not since before the Blip anyways.

Bob not remembering her was just her way out of a situation she hadn’t realized she needed out of. Or at least that’s what she had been trying to convince herself for four weeks now especially whenever she felt that familiar tug calling out to him.

It was always that tug.

“I wish you were here,” Y/N whispered to the grave, her voice cracking slightly as tears pricked her eyes. Her fingers numbly pulled a blade of grass from the ground and she closed her eyes, overcome with grief for so many different reasons.

The soft shuffling of shoes along the grass was the thing that finally pulled her from her thoughts and she briefly glanced up to see a boy a couple years younger than herself come to a stop before the grave. He knelt down quietly beside her, his hands reaching out to gently set down a bouquet of white flowers amongst the others.

Y/N watched him for a moment, her eyes flickering over his face in slight confusion for she swore she knew him from somewhere before she turned and looked back at the grave. The two were silent for a long time before his voice finally filled the air.

“Did you know her?”

Something scratched at the back of her mind at the sound of his voice, but it was gone before she could think too much into it. “Yeah,” she whispered. “I don’t quite remember how we met cause it was so long ago, but she. . .she meant a lot to me.” She glanced towards the boy, his eyes flickering up to lock with her own. “I’m assuming you knew her too?”

He gave her a sad smile before muttering in a strained voice, “Yeah. She used to watch me some when I was a kid.”

Y/N hummed and gave a nod as she looked back at the grave. A comfortable silence fell between the two as they both obviously thought back to their time with May.

“I was there when it happened,” Y/N whispered. She hadn’t meant to tell him, but something about the boy had her telling him before she even knew she was going to. He sat up at that and glanced her way in soft surprise, but she refused to meet his gaze. She hesitated slightly, plucking another blade of grass from the ground. “I could’ve saved her.”

The boy was quiet for a moment before he finally asked, “Y-You were there?”

“Yeah, I—“ Y/N hesitated slightly, a small frown appearing on her face before she shook her head and let out a sigh. “Sorry, I get these blanks in my memory sometimes. Kind of like someone took a sponge to half of my brain and scrubbed it clean. I don’t exactly remember the details of what happened but there was a fight and. . .and all I remember is this feeling of guilt. This feeling of knowing that I could’ve done something to stop her from dying, but I didn’t. I might’ve been too slow to react? I can’t exactly remember, but the guilt, that’s still there. It might be the reason for the blanks if I’m being completely honest.”

The boy deflated a little at her words, his gaze dropping as he said, “If you don’t remember, then how do you know you did something wrong? Maybe someone else was to blame?”

“When have I not done something wrong?” she scoffed. “I always manage to ruin everything, this would be no different. I guess that’s why I’m all alone. All I do is push everyone away and ruin everything that I touch.”

“That’s not true—“ the boy began, but Y/N was already cutting him off, the words spilling out of her now that she had already started.

“No, it is. And I’m doing it again,” she sighed and closed her eyes tightly as she bowed her head. Her thoughts drifted to Bob and she felt the tears prick her eyes once again. “There’s this guy and he might be the first person who has ever understood me more than I understand myself and now that’s it getting real, now that it’s getting hard, I’m ruining everything all over again and running away just because I’m scared of losing him like I have everyone else in my life.”

She shifted her weight so that her knees were now in front of her and tucked close to her body, her forehead resting against her knees while her lip trembled. She did her best to try and steady her breath, not wanting to cry in front of this boy she had only just met, but that’s when another memory of Bob filled her head.

She could practically feel the phantom touch of his lips brushing against her ear and the way his breath had been shaky as he whispered to her, “I would’ve liked to be your friend.”

Y/N sniffled at that and opened her eyes, letting a couple of tears fall as she stared at the grave in front of her. The boy didn’t speak as he sat beside her and she honestly expected him to leave after she dumped all of that onto him, but he simply sat there, contemplating her words.

“There was this girl that I knew,” he finally said and her tear filled eyes flickered his way but he was staring down at the ground in full concentration as though this story he was about to tell was too painful to even think about. “We. . .we grew up together and one thing led to another and we eventually started dating. She was my best friend and knew me in ways no one else did.”

“I loved her with everything I had,” he admitted, a sad smile on his face as tears began to fill his eyes. “But then the Blip happened and I disappeared while she got left behind. By the time I came back, she was five years older and everything had changed too much. We couldn’t be together anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, but the boy merely shrugged.

“It didn’t stop me from loving her,” he told her. “I think I’ll always love her…even in those moments where she doesn’t love herself.”

Y/N wiped away her tears, her gaze now locked onto the boy and not pulling away. “What happened to you guys?” she asked.

“Our relationship changed,” he answered. “She was still my best friend, but things were different. We actually ended up growing closer in the ways that mattered. She helped me after I lost some people I cared about even though she was dealing with her own problems and her own grief in the process. I wouldn’t have gotten through it all without having her there, without having someone who saw me and was there to remind me that I didn’t have to be alone just because I had lost some people and made some mistakes. She actually even helped me find a new girlfriend in the process funnily enough.”

“And where is she now?”

The boy hesitated at those words and for the first time during his whole story, he finally looked her way. His eyes locked with her own and he was quiet as he stared at her. It was only when he hadn’t responded for a moment too long that she felt her powers start to reach out for him. She hadn’t used them the whole time they had been talking, but she couldn’t help it in that moment.

But right when her powers were just beginning to touch the outskirts of his mind, the boy whispered, “You kind of remind me of her.”

Y/N froze at those words, her powers instantly pulling away as she stared at the boy in surprise. For a brief second, there was a flicker in the back of her mind, but it was gone faster than it appeared and already long forgotten by the girl.

The boy looked back at the grave, his face full of contemplation before he finally said, “I think if May were still around, she wouldn’t want you to give up on this friend of yours. I think she’d want you to be happy. You’re the type of person who deserves it.”

Tears filled her eyes as she watched the boy and she swallowed thickly before muttering, “You think?”

“I do.”

Y/N smiled at that, her voice a bit shaky as she said, “Thank you.”

The boy let his own smile cross his face at her words and she almost missed the way he quickly wiped at his eyes to get rid of some tears that had escaped as he pulled himself onto his feet.

“I should get going,” he said, his gaze falling back on the girl once more. He stared at her for a moment as though he were trying to memorize what she looked like before his smile softened. “Yeah, I think you’re going to be just fine.”

Y/N blinked at those words, her mouth dropping open as she failed to find the right words to say, but the boy had already turned on his heels to start walking out of the graveyard. He held a hand up in the air in farewell, his voice calling out to her as he left, “I'll see you around, Y/N."

"Wait, I didn't get your name!” she called after him, but the boy was already gone.

It wouldn't be until later that she realized the boy had called her by her name, but she had never given to him in the first place.

- - -

You would think after defeating your inner darkness and finally finding friends that had turned into family that he would've been better or at least on the road to being better, but that wasn't the case for Bob. Something was missing. Something so pivotal that he felt that absence in his heart, an emptiness different from what he had felt before the events that had taken place in Manhattan weeks prior.

Bob wasn't himself and this emptiness he felt? It all had to do with Y/N.

Bob didn't know what it meant or why he felt this way. He still had no recollection of what had transpired the day Void had taken over and he had met Y/N for the first time. All he had were the words of his friends who had gently explained everything to him after Y/N had disappeared that day and this feeling like something was pulling at his heart, desperately wishing he would remember.

And he did want to remember. He really did.

The guilt was practically turning into agony at this point especially since Y/N had failed to show up after finding out that he had forgotten everything that had happened between them. That look on her face was still permanently engraved in his mind. That utter sadness that had flickered through her eyes still making his throat constrict in that way it always did right before he felt the urge to cry.

He had tried to find her at first. He had done everything really. It had gotten to the point where even the others had all stepped in to try and help, but she still reminded no where to be seen.

Bob had been asking Bucky every day if there were any updates, but the man always gave him that same sad smile and placed a hand on his shoulder in comfort as he whispered, "Sorry, buddy."

"Y/N has a way of being able to stay hidden when she wants to be," Yelena had told him one day when the two had been sitting on the balcony staring out at the city below. "She won't be found unless she wants to be found."

That had been discouraging to say the least, but Bob still hadn't given up hope. "Just give her time," Bucky had told him and that's what Bob had been trying to do.

He kept himself as busy as he could, instead picking up reading once again, a hobby he hadn't invested time in since before his time in the trials. But his thoughts never failed to eventually drift to the topic of Y/N just as they had since the moment he laid eyes on her.

Even now his head was stuck in the clouds as he sat in one of the chairs of the living room of Avengers Tower. The team had all left to go pick up some shawarma from a place down the street that Bucky had told them his best friend and the former Captain America, Steve Rogers, had said was the best place to eat. They had invited Bob along, but he had declined and was now stuck spiraling into his own thoughts.

There was just something about Y/N that called to him, that made him want so desperately to remember that he would spend hours just sitting and trying his very hardest to remember even the smallest detail from that day.

Bob let out a small frustrated sigh as he ran a hand through his hair to push it away from his eyes. He was just about to start another futile attempt at reading when a beep from the tablet on the table filled the air signaling that someone was at the front door.

Frowning, Bob reached forward to grab the tablet, clicking a couple of buttons like Yelena had showed him in order to get a glimpse at who was there.

The breath practically left his lungs at the sight, his body promptly falling off the chair in surprise before he was scrambling to his feet and running towards the elevator, his book and tablet long forgotten. He was at the front door in an instant, his hand shakily wrapping around the door handle before he pulled it open to reveal Y/N L/N standing there with her hand raised to knock again.

Y/N stilled as the door flew open and her eyes widened slightly as she stared at Bob, the two both not saying anything as they simply stared at each other in shock.

Bob's eyes quickly scanned the girl, desperately trying to piece together if this was a dream or the real thing. After a moment of reassuring himself that this was in fact real, he let out a shaky breath.

He was unable to speak, but the thought flashed through his mind regardless, You found me.

I'll always find you, her voice replied, but it sounded distant like a memory whispering to him and reminding him that she had found him before and would find him time and time again.

"Hi," she finally whispered, her voice coming out shaky. He could tell she was preparing herself for rejection, for the knowledge that he had no clue who she was and probably would never remember. He should say something. But she was here and she was here for him and that was all Bob could focus on.

"H-Hi," he stuttered out.

Her eyes flickered over his face and she gave him a small, unsure smile as she said, "I'm Y/N."

"Bob," he replied, still shocked by the fact that she was standing before him.

"I know," she said before groaning slightly at her words and shaking her head. "I mean. . .Sorry, this is hard."

Bob relaxed at those words, offering her a sad smile as he said, "I know. The team. . .they told me about what happened. I'm sorry I can't remember."

Y/N looked down at that, her breath shaky as she stuffed her hands further into her jacket pockets.

"I want to remember," Bob rushed out, wanting nothing more than for her to look back up at him. The confession was enough to do just that and before he knew it, their eyes were locking once more.

She stared at him in silence before finally whispering, "Maybe we can try to help you remember." She paused for a brief second before adding, "Together."

Bob stilled at that, something flickering in the back of his head, an image of Y/N standing before him just like this as those same words had passed between them.

"Together," he muttered, his eyes squinting slightly in confusion as he tried to grasp onto that wisp of a memory. He smiled softly and let his gaze fall on the girl once more. "As long as you're okay being friends with the guy who does nothing but screw everything up."

Bob might've not remembered anything, but that smile that appeared on Y/N's face even as tears pricked her eyes was the kind of smile that made him want to remember it all just so he could keep seeing her like that.

"I think I can manage that," she told him, reaching up to lightly wipe at her eyes before any tears could fall. Bob gave her a small smile in response before stepping out of the way so Y/N could step inside.

Their hands briefly brushed against one another as she passed and there was that tug again, the same one that had been pulling on him since he first saw her, the same one that was constantly pulling them into each other's orbit. And it was in that moment that Bob finally knew what it meant.

After all, the body remembers what the mind forgets.

I see you, he heard her whisper into his mind, her eyes flickering to lock with his as he closed the door and joined her by her side.

His shoulder brushed against her own and she pressed slightly into it, each of them being a steady presence for the other as they stared at each other and prepared to step into the unknown.

I see you too.

______________

Tag List:

@jsprien213 @leeleecats @bimboshaggy

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literaryslapshot · 2 days ago

Text

perv | s. crosby

summary: you keep showing up at the neighborhood pool, sidney keeps taking his evening walk. he's thankful the new iphone has a great zoom-in effect.

warnings: this is pretty freaky and dirty! no smut but 18+ ONLY.

retired!sidney crosby x younger!fem reader

at the sight of a bright red bikini- he stops dead in his tracks. airpods in, sunglasses on, sweat on his chest he stops mid-stride. he's never seen her before, who is she?

every evening at 6 pm he takes a walk. he changes the route every now and then, but he still walks 3 miles. retirement has given him new chances to get out into the world in a different way. he isn't on such a tight schedule anymore, he's not too constricted with his time. he's discovered that he's really enjoyed being out in nature, not just when fishing or hunting.

anyway- he's taken this walk at least 4 times a week for the last three weeks. it's been over 80+ degrees and he's never seen her before. but she has his attention, all of it. he finds a bench to sit on in the park, keeping his airpods in and sunglasses on while he pulls out his phone.

no. no, i can't do that.

he stares at her through the dark shades, with his phone tight in his hand. watching the sun hit her skin making it shine like gold. studying how the bright red bikini looks on her body, matching her skin tone perfectly. she's sunbathing, skin shiny from sunscreen.

no- that's fucking creepy.

he checks his surroundings once, hoping nobody is watching him stare at this young girl. he doesn't even know who she is. he doesn't even know how old she is. his vision is also getting bad, he can't even tell if she's with anyone from this far away.

fuck it.

after making sure there wasn't anyone around, the faint sounds from the gated off pool just a couple hundred feet in front of him, he pulls out his phone and opens the camera. he's never done anything like this before. at first he feels gross. turns it off, but then turns it back on again after he sees the girl prop her chair up a little bit more to get more sun on her chest.

shit.

he zooms in, all the way to 16x then stops. he's got a good view of the creases in the bikini, how it curves around her body so tight and perfect. now his mind is racing- what does her skin feel like? does she smell like the cheap or expensive sunscreen? does her hair smell like chlorine or did she even get her hair wet and it's still soft?

he moves his phone up a little more, and zooms in to 19x. from this far away he sees the top of her swimsuit making dips into her breasts. and if he pays attention he can see that just barely her nipple is slightly peeking out. click.

fuck. her body is perfect, tight too. i want her in my bed, my couch, my house. i bet she feels like heaven and tastes like it too.

he nearly crawls out of his skin when she sits up and moves the back of the chair to adjust to her new position. he glares as she adjusts the straps and cups on her bikini, watching her play with her tits has him hard as a rock in these walking shorts.

i'm gonna have to sit here a while, i can't walk back home looking like this.

she picks up her book and flips it open- but she spreads her legs. she spreads her fucking legs like she's in the privacy of her own home and not out in broad daylight. he zooms a little further in, and because of the thin fabric he gets a perfect little outline of what her pussy must look like. he can see the mound, where her clit would be, where her tight little hole would be.

he almost cums in his pants when he notices the small damp spot on the fabric.

shit, i gotta leave.

he snaps a few more pictures, then he stands up. he almost faints when he sees her get up too. she packs her bag back up, stuffing inside her book, phone, towel. she puts on her shoes and starts to walk out of the gates of the barricaded area.

she's fucking walking home?

sidney contemplates for a moment. taking the longer way home, walking off this erection he has, but then decides...why not. why not walk behind her, get a good look at a perfect tight ass. with his luck she would just be a couple houses down and he would be able to walk the two more blocks before walking in his front door.

he had no luck today.

and he especially had no luck when he saw that her bikini strap was coming undone, just like he was about to. but he was a decent man- well maybe not after taking pictures of this woman he saw at the pool and decided to take inappropriate pictures- but he wasn't going to let her walk home and have her top fall off.

"'scuse me, ma'am," he said loudly as he was still a ways behind her. she stopped in her tracks turning around, giving him a kind smile. "yes?"

"i really don't want to sound like a creep- but you're swim top is untied in the back," yeah but you are a fucking creep.

her cheeks got a few shades darker and her eyes went wide, hand covering her mouth. "omg, thank you for telling me! how embarrassing- can you tie it back for me?"

you've gotta be kidding me.

"y-yeah, i can do that." she turns around and holds up her hair. he sees a tattoo on the back of her neck and he takes a small sigh of relief. at least she's over eighteen. "too tight?" he asked, pulling the thin strings. she shakes her head, and he ties the string into a bow for her.

"there ya go, should be able to get you home." she turns around and gives him a smile, holding her bag tight. he does a quick glance down to her chest, but then up to look back at her eyes. they're gorgeous. "where is home for you? i'll walk you."

she purses her lips, "oh, no you don't have to. besides it's kinda...far." he looks her up and down.

"nah, lemme walk you. it's almost dark, don't want anything to happen to you." she nervously laughs and he can tell she's uncomfortable. "i promise i'm not weird or anything," you're such a liar, "but i just want to make sure you get home safe. how old are you anyway? 18?"

something about his demeanor and his tone made her feel at ease. she felt comfortable when she saw his soft smile and hazel eyes.

"well um, don't get mad or anything, but i actually don't live in this neighborhood. my ex boyfriends family does and i still know the code to the pool," he laughs, "gotta work on my tan y'know? and i'm actually 21, i just have a baby face."

they start to walk down the sidewalk together, "let's do this- i'll walk you to my house. just around the corner, and i'll drive you home. s'that okay?"

she bites her lip and walks next to him- really closely. "yeah, that's good. um, what's your name? i'm y/n." she gives him the sweetest smile.

"sidney, nice to meet you."

in just a few short minutes they make it to sidney's house. a beautiful two story house, green lawn, and a front porch. what looks to be a home meant for a family, is a home for a single man in his early forties. he thought by now he'd have at least a wife, but he's too much of a homebody he keeps telling himself.

"i'm gonna go to the bathroom, can i get you anything before we leave?" she shakes her head no before sitting on his couch. she looks around his house and it's clear just who he is.

she didn't recognize him at first, her eyes were a little hazy from being in the sun for three hours straight, and plus he's changed a bit since his playing days ended. she feels this sudden wave of confidence wash over her when he walks out.

"um, sidney, can i ask a question?" she steps closer to him, leaving her bag on the couch behind her. he perks up, humming in response putting his hands on her hips. she takes a deep breath.

"were you, taking pics of me in the park?"

immediately his cheeks turned rose red. he bites his lip, "i don't care. i know, i've got the type of body men like, but," she reaches behind her without breaking eye contact.

he feels like he's in some porno movie.

she takes her hair out of her clip, and pulling at the strings he previously tied for her, "i was wondering if you'd wanna see the real thing?" she lets the top fall off her chest and onto the floor.

fuck me.

feedback | masterlist

#txt.#sidney crosby #sidney crosby imagine #sidney crosby x reader #sindey crosby smut #sindey crosby blurb #nhl imagine #nhl x reader #nhl smut #hockey imagine #hockey smut #hockey x reader #j's writing

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myinaru · 2 days ago

Text

Childhood Best Friend Complex - Part 3

You and Heeseung have been best friends forever. Emphasis on forever. Like, learned-how-to-walk-together type of forever. But college throws a wrench into your usual routine: one night blurs a line that was never supposed to move, and suddenly, everything feels different. Now there’s weird tension, awkward silences, and unspoken things you’re both too stubborn to say out loud. You don’t know what’s worse, pretending nothing’s changed or admitting everything has. Because staying friends? That was always the plan. Wanting more? That was never supposed to happen.

Pairing: Lee Heeseung x Fem!Reader

Genre: College AU, Childhood Best Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Smut, Angst, Fluff

Word Count: 39.6k Total (13.4k - Part 3)

Warnings: Dry humping (hell yeah), Corny maybe idc, Lots of misunderstanding, Mentions of multiple kpop idols, Cursing, Cunnilingus, Unprotected sex (pls don't), Praising, Heeseung is a yearner, Lmk if I missed anything lol

Author's Note: First time uploading here lol. This fic was heavily inspired by the manhwa/webtoon Childhood Friend Complex. I'll be splitting it into three parts since Tumblr won't let me post it in one go. Hope y'all enjoy T-T

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

It’s late.

The hallway outside your apartment is quiet except for the distant hum of a fluorescent light buzzing overhead.

Heeseung’s been standing in front of your door for five minutes.

He’s already raised his fist to knock twice—stopped himself both times.

He’s not sure if he even should be here. What if you didn’t mean it? What if you only said it because the elevator was too small and the air too thick and his words too much?

He shifts the weight between his feet, about to turn around- But the door opens.

Heeseung startles.

And there you are, framed in warm light.

Wearing his hoodie. The old gray one with the frayed sleeves and stretched cuffs. The one he left at your place a year ago claiming it was already too small anyway, but secretly hoping you’d wear it one day.

You blink at each other for a few seconds.

“You came,” you say, voice small, like maybe you didn’t think he actually would.

“Yeah,” he answers. “…You told me to.”

“I did,” you murmur. Then step aside. “Come in.” He steps in.

Takes off his shoes.

You both walk to the living room like you’re strangers in your own bodies.

No music. No movie playing in the background. No excuses. Just the couch.

Just you and him.

Heeseung sits on the far end. You sit on the other. Like there’s a wall between you, made of the things you didn’t say for weeks. The silence is thick, unbearable. You pull your knees up to your chest.

You tuck your knees up onto the couch, facing him. Heeseung’s wringing his hands in his lap. He looks like he’s been overthinking this conversation since forever.

“You look tired,” you finally say.

“You look warm,” he replies, nodding to the hoodie.

You both almost smile.

But then the quiet returns.

And this time, it demands more than small talk.

He leans forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped. “So,” he says softly, voice tentative, “this is the part where we actually talk, huh?” You let out a quiet, humorless laugh. “Guess so.” You both stare at the table for a beat.

And then, “Why didn’t you tell me it was you?” you blurt out.

He looks at you, startled.

“The notes. The photo. The stupid banana milk. Why didn’t you just say?”

He shifts uncomfortably. “I didn’t know how. After everything… I didn’t think I had the right to just show up in your life again like nothing happened.” You hug your knees tighter.

“So you left anonymous gifts like some messed up secret admirer?”

“I was trying to apologize.”

“By haunting me?”

“I thought you’d know it was me,” he says quietly. “I thought… I hoped it’d be obvious.”

You shake your head, bitterly. “No. It wasn’t obvious. It was terrifying.” Your voice breaks, but you keep going.

“You don’t know what it felt like, reading those notes and thinking it was her.”

He blinks. “Her…?”

“Yeri,” you admit, almost ashamed to say it. “I thought it was her. Trying to get in my head. I… I saw the handwriting and thought it looked like hers, and the weird phrasing in the notes, the way they kept showing up when I was alone. I thought she was trying to mess with me. To get to me through you.”

You look down, fingers curling into the sleeves of his hoodie.

“And I thought… maybe you let her.” The air sucks out of the room.

Heeseung goes completely still.

“What?” he breathes.

You finally meet his eyes. “You were always with her. At rehearsals. Talking. Laughing. I thought… I thought maybe she knew something I didn’t. Maybe she knew you better than I did.”

“No,” he says firmly, almost too fast. “Y/n, no. That’s not- no.”

He runs a hand through his hair, like he wants to tear something apart.

“She was just a partner. That’s it. She was nice to me, yeah, but… it wasn’t like that. It was never like that.”

“It felt like it,” you whisper.

He leans back, exhaling hard. “I didn’t know you thought that,” he says quietly. “I didn’t know you got scared. “Why didn’t you ask me?” You glance at him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He swallows hard. That question stops him cold.

“Why didn’t you just talk to me, Heeseung?”

“Because I thought if I opened my mouth, I’d tell you I loved you.” Your breath catches. The words hang in the air like smoke. He smiles, bitterly. “And I didn’t think you wanted to hear that.” You stare at him. And something inside you cracks.

“You idiot,” you say, voice wobbling.

“I know.”

“We’ve known each other our whole lives.”

“I know.”

“And you thought anonymous banana milk was the move?”

He gives you a sheepish look. “I panicked.”

“Clearly.” You laugh softly, the kind that’s half-sob, half-hysterical. Then you look at him again. Your eyes sting. “I hated seeing you with her,” you admit. “I felt crazy for it. Like I wasn’t allowed to be upset because we were just… friends.”

“We were never just friends.” Heeseung looks at you like he wants to say more, but he stops himself.

And that hesitation breaks your heart a little. “What?” you ask gently. “What are you thinking?” He hesitates again. “I want to kiss you.” You blink.

“But I’m scared if I do… I’ll mess everything up all over again.” Heeseung stares at you like he’s searching your face for an answer he already knows but doesn’t believe. “I don’t want to take more than what you’re willing to give,” he adds.

“Heeseung…”

He sits back a little. Tries to play it off with a small, pained smile. “It’s fine. We can just talk. I mean, it’s been weeks of not talking. Talking is already a miracle.” But you don’t want to talk anymore. Not right now.

You lean in.

And you kiss him.

Your hands grip his jaw like you’re grounding yourself in him, like if you don’t, you’ll fly right off the earth. And he kisses you back like he’s been holding his breath for months and only now gets to exhale.

It’s not gentle. Not clean. It’s emotional. A little overwhelming.

It’s you saying I missed you.

It’s him saying I’m still yours, if you’ll have me.

His hands find your waist, tugging you closer. Your fingers thread through his hair. He gasps softly into your mouth, like he can’t believe this is happening.

But you both keep going.

No more silence.

No more pretending.

Only breathless kisses and shaky hands.

You finally pull back, both of you panting, foreheads pressed together.

Heeseung whispers, “You kissed me first.”

“It’s not the first time.” You whisper back, “Don’t make it weird.”

He smiles, wide and shaky. “You can’t disappear on me again.”

“I won’t.”

“Promise?”

“I swear.”

You're now straddling his lap, the air between you heavy and buzzing, like everything that happened before this had been leading right here. His lips are red, kiss-swollen, breath uneven. Your fingers are still curled in the collar of his shirt, and his hands haven’t left your waist. Not since you pulled him in like he was the only real thing left in the world.

Heeseung looks at you like he’s trying to memorize everything. His thumbs are tracing slow, grounding circles against your sides, like he's afraid that if he stops, you'll vanish.

“Are you sure?” he breathes, voice low, wrecked, forehead still resting against yours. “Tell me now if you want to stop. I’ll listen, I’ll stop, I swear.”

You shake your head slowly, eyes locked onto his. You don't pull back. You don’t hesitate.

Your voice is soft, but sure. “I want you, Hee.”

You don’t even remember who moved first. All you know is, one second you were looking into Heeseung’s eyes, chest heaving and heart racing, and the next, his lips were crashing into yours with a kind of hunger that tasted like years of holding back.

He kissed you like a man starved, like he needed to memorize the shape of your mouth to survive. His hands came up to cradle your face, gentle and reverent even through the desperate press of his lips. When he finally pulled away, just far enough to breathe, his forehead stayed pressed against yours, his breath warm and ragged between you.

“You don’t know,” he panted, voice gravelly and thick with emotion, “how long I’ve waited to hear you say that.”

His thumbs brushed along your cheekbones as if grounding himself, as if making sure you were real. “How many nights I’ve stayed awake thinking about this… about you,” he whispered, lips brushing yours again. “Imagining what it would be like to touch you again. To have you like this…”

Your breath caught as his hands slid down, firm and possessive, settling on your hips before tugging you flush against him. The hard line of his arousal pressed hotly against your stomach, and it made your pulse spike. His voice dropped to a whisper as his lips brushed your neck.

“I want you too,” he murmured. Lazy kisses followed his words, dancing along the curve of your collarbone. “So please… please let me be yours. I want to be yours again. I’m all yours, just tell me you’re mine. Just say it, and I’ll be yours. No one else’s.”

Your voice came out low, breathless, trembling. “You’re mine… and I’m yours. Only yours. For as long as you want me, Hee.”

The effect was instant. Heeseung’s whole body shuddered at your words, a guttural moan escaping his throat as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. “Fuck, Y/n,” he groaned, voice raw. “You have no idea how much I needed to hear that.”

When he looked up again, his eyes were darker, glassy with lust and something else, something deeper. Yearning.

He slowly descended, lips never straying far from your skin. You felt the hem of your hoodie lift, his teeth gently tugging at the fabric. His hands traced slow patterns along your waist, fingers warm and careful as he slid the hoodie up. Your breath caught as he pulled it over your head, revealing more of yourself to him.

Heeseung stared like he was trying to burn the image into his brain. He cupped your breasts, thumbs brushing over your bra. “I want to explore every inch of you,” he whispered, voice low and reverent. “Worship you like you deserve.”

You felt a sharp nip at your shoulder, followed by the soothing warmth of his tongue. Your skin was on fire everywhere he touched.

“Can I please touch you more?” he asked, his hands sliding lower, fingers teasing at the waistband of your pants. “Taste you everywhere?”

You barely managed to whisper, “Yes… please.”

Heeseung didn’t need anything more. He started pressing open-mouthed kisses along your stomach, tongue flicking out between each one. He dropped to his knees in front of you like it was instinct, like this was where he always belonged.

“Fuck, look at you…” he murmured, his hands smoothing up your thighs before cupping your ass with reverence. “You’re perfect.”

You gasped when his lips brushed your inner thigh.

“Tell me what you want, baby,” he said against your skin. “Tell me how to make you feel good.”

Your hand found his hair, fingers tangling into the soft strands. “Please… I need you.”

He growled softly at your words, hands gripping tighter. But you paused, blinking down at him.

“Wait… You're being unfair. I’m completely naked, and you’re still in every piece of clothing.”

You tugged lightly at his shirt, giving him a playful pout. “Take it off. Let me see you.”

Heeseung let out a shaky breath, the corners of his lips twitching into a smirk as he stood up.

“Yes ma’am.”

He stripped slowly, teasingly. First, his shirt, he pulled it off in one smooth motion, revealing his toned chest and abs. You couldn’t help but let your eyes roam, drinking him in. Then came his jeans, unbuttoned and pushed down with deliberate slowness until he was left in nothing but tight black boxers that barely concealed how hard he was.

He stepped back into your space, pulling you against him again.

“Now the odds are even,” he murmured, voice rough as his lips brushed your ear.

You chuckled nervously, eyes flicking up to meet his. “If someone told me months ago I’d be laying naked with my best friend on my couch, I wouldn’t have believed it.”

His laugh rumbled against your chest as his hands slid up your back. “Believe it now?” he teased, trailing kisses along your jaw.

You couldn’t answer. Not when his hips started rocking into yours, slow and deliberate, the heat between you overwhelming.

“You feel that, baby?” he growled, voice thick. “That’s all for you. Because of you.”

Your eyes raked down his body, fingers twitching with need. You trailed your hand over his abdomen, marveling at the way he twitched under your touch, before slipping your hand beneath the waistband of his boxers.

Heeseung groaned, head falling back as your hand palmed his arousal. “Fuck, Y/n… your hands feel so good.”

And then he was tugging your bra down, exposing your chest before taking one nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it until you were arching into him. He gave the same attention to your other breast, his teeth grazing gently before sucking, leaving you trembling beneath him.

“I want to taste every inch of you,” he murmured, voice raspy with longing. “May I?”

You gave him the faintest nod, still hesitant as your fingers clutched the waistband of his boxers.

That was all he needed. He trailed wet kisses down your torso, stopping at your hips to nibble before he hooked his fingers into your panties and tugged them off, exposing you completely.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmured, eyes raking over you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

You tried to cover your face, but Heeseung gently pried your hand away.

“No hiding,” he whispered. “You’re perfect.”

His mouth found your inner thighs again, leaving a trail of fire as he kissed closer and closer to where you needed him.

"Are you ready for me, baby?"

You barely breathed out, "Just do it, Hee." And then his mouth was on you.

You barely had time to brace yourself before the first slow, deliberate stroke of his tongue parted your folds, dragging from your entrance up to your clit with maddening precision. Your entire body jolted, a breathy gasp spilling from your lips as he did it again—slower this time, like he was savoring you. His lips closed around the sensitive bundle of nerves, and he sucked, just softly, just enough to make your hips twitch and your thighs instinctively clamp around his head.

“Hee—” you gasped, the sound cracking in your throat.

He groaned against you, the vibration sending a fresh wave of heat up your spine. “Fuck, you taste so good,” he murmured, his voice thick, gravelly. “So wet for me already... I missed this so much, baby. Missed you.”

Before you could even process his words, his fingers joined the mix, slipping into your drenched heat with practiced ease, curling just enough to make you arch. His tongue kept up its relentless pace, licking and flicking at your clit with growing desperation, as if he couldn't get enough, like he’d been starved for you.

Your hand tangled in his hair, pulling, needing something to hold onto. “Feels so good…” you whimpered, hips lifting toward his mouth without even realizing. “Even I can’t make myself feel this good…”

He chuckled against you, the sound muffled and cocky and soaked in affection. “Damn right you can’t,” he said, lips brushing your slick skin. “No one else could ever touch you like this, baby. Only me. Only I get to have you like this.”

Your breath hitched. Your stomach tightened. Your eyes fluttered shut as his fingers curled just right inside you, hitting that perfect spot that made your whole body tense with need. “Right there..! Fuck… Heeseung, stop or else I’ll- He didn’t.

He didn’t even hesitate.

He doubled down. His fingers pumped faster, stronger, filling you with just the right amount of pressure while his tongue latched onto your clit, flicking mercilessly. You could feel the wet heat of his mouth, the way he groaned every time you clenched around his fingers like your pleasure was his oxygen.

His voice was a growl, low and ragged against your core. “Come for me,” he murmured, sounding like a man on the edge. “Come all over my tongue like a good girl, baby. I wanna feel it.”

You tried to hold on. You really did.

You bit your lip so hard you thought it might bleed, legs shaking uncontrollably as the pleasure built to a breaking point. Your hand tugged desperately at his hair, but he didn’t let up. If anything, he worked you harder, chasing your orgasm like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

And then you broke.

It hit you like a wave, sharp, hot, overwhelming. Your hips lifted from the couch, your back arched, and a loud, breathless cry of his name tore from your throat. You came undone against his mouth, your entire body trembling as your orgasm washed over you in blinding, white-hot pulses.

But even then… Heeseung didn’t stop.

He kept licking, gentle now, savoring every last drop of you like you were the most decadent thing he'd ever tasted. His hands stroked your thighs as you trembled around him, soothing you through the aftershocks, his lips pressing soft kisses along your inner thighs and hipbones.

“God,” he whispered, voice reverent as he rested his cheek against your leg, looking up at you with eyes dark with lust and adoration. “You’re even more beautiful like this… completely wrecked because of me.”

Your chest heaved, and you tried to catch your breath, but the look on his face, and the way his fingers still traced lazy circles along your inner thigh, told you he wasn’t done. Not even close.

He crawled back up your body, hovering over you with a smirk that was both wicked and loving. His lips brushed yours, and you could taste yourself on his tongue.

“You okay, baby?” he murmured, nuzzling your cheek, his hands never leaving your body.

Still breathless, your voice came out low and shaky as you stared at him with hooded eyes. “I need more of you, Hee…” you whispered. “I want all of you.”

Heeseung’s breath hitched the moment the words left your mouth, your quiet demand lighting a fire behind his dark eyes. He swallowed hard, gaze dropping briefly before he reached down, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers.

"You sure?" he asked, voice raspier now, thick with anticipation. "You say that, and I'm never gonna be able to hold back again."

Your response was a breathless nod, and that was all he needed.

He shoved the fabric down his legs and kicked it off without ceremony. Fully bare now, he climbed back over you, settling between your legs, where your warmth met the underside of his cock. You felt the way he trembled slightly, how his hips rocked forward slowly, coating himself in your arousal.

"You want this?" he asked, voice rough and hushed, like he was scared to wake from a dream. His eyes stayed locked on yours. "You want me to fill this pretty pussy with my cock?"

You swallowed thickly. Your brows furrowed, not from hesitation, but sheer arousal.

Heeseung’s cock was pretty, damn near angelic for how filthy the moment felt. Long and pale, with delicate veins tracing up to the flushed pink tip that throbbed against your entrance. You couldn’t help the shaky exhale that slipped out as your eyes flicked back to meet his.

“So bad,” you whispered, and he visibly twitched at your words.

“Fuck,” he muttered, half in disbelief.

Then he leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss that left no space between you, heated, needy, full of everything never spoken. You felt the way he lined himself up with you, the tip pressing at your folds.

"You sure you can handle me, baby?" he murmured against your mouth, nipping gently at your lower lip. "Because once I start... I won't be able to stop."

Your only answer was another kiss, hands threading into his hair, pulling him closer.

With that, he pushed in.

One long, slow thrust. No warning, no easing in, just the smooth, agonizing stretch of him filling you in one go. Your breath caught. Your back arched. Your eyes rolled.

“Heeseung- fuck.”

He groaned deep in his throat, forehead resting against yours as he stilled inside you, giving your body time to adjust. You felt how hard he was trying not to move, how his arms trembled under the weight of his restraint.

“God, Y/n…” he whispered, voice trembling. “You feel so fucking good. So tight. So wet for me.”

He began peppering kisses along your jaw, down your neck, murmuring praises between each soft press of his lips.

“That’s it, baby,” he cooed, thumbs stroking the sides of your waist. “You’re taking me so well. You’re perfect for me, you know that?”

You whimpered under him, your body already trembling, your arms winding tighter around his back like you could anchor yourself to him. “Move, Hee. Please.”

Your voice was small. Wrecked. And maybe that was what undid him.

Heeseung let out a shaky breath, chest rising and falling against yours, his forehead pressing down against your shoulder. "Fuck," he whispered, almost to himself, like he was still trying to get a grip. His hips shifted slightly, cock twitching where it rested inside you, still unmoving, teasing. "You’re so warm, baby... So tight. I could stay like this forever."

You writhed beneath him, the tease of it too much, especially after the orgasm he'd already drawn out of you with nothing but his mouth and his stupidly perfect hands. You needed him to move. To take.

And he finally did.

Slowly, achingly slowly, he pulled back. You felt every inch of him drag against your walls, every ridge, every curve, slick and thick and perfect, before he pushed back in again. Smooth, deep, like he was trying to mold himself to the shape of you.

Your breath hitched. Your legs locked around his waist.

Heeseung moaned. Whimpered. A soft, cracked sound that tumbled out of his mouth like he couldn’t hold it in. He moved again. Another long, steady stroke that had your toes curling and your head tipping back. The rhythm was unhurried, hypnotic. He was savoring it. Savoring you.

“You feel that?” he gasped, voice trembling. “Fucking hell, Y/n... this pussy- God, you were made for me.”

His lips brushed your throat, then your collarbone, damp with sweat and hot breath. His body was tense over yours, muscles taut, every thrust deep and deliberate. He angled his hips just right, and-

You cried out, back arching. Heeseung groaned in response, his pace faltering just a little.

“Right there?” he murmured, dazed. “God, you’re clenching so hard, baby. You’re gonna make me lose it.”

You laughed breathily, trying to hold yourself together, but your body was already buzzing, oversensitive from before. “You make me feel so full,” you whispered, nails dragging down his back without a second thought. “So good. No one- no one ever makes me feel like this, Heeseung.”

And that broke him.

He stuttered in his rhythm, almost like he forgot how to breathe, and his face crumpled as if he physically couldn’t take hearing that. He dove down and kissed you, messy, desperate, all tongue and teeth and emotion. His hips stalled completely, cock twitching inside you while he got lost in the taste of your mouth.

“I’ll always make you feel good,” he breathed against your lips. “I need to. You're mine now, Y/n. Mine to love. Mine to protect. Mine to-” his voice cracked, “-fuck until you can’t remember anything else but me.”

You whimpered. You’d never felt so seen.

And then he started moving again, harder this time. Faster. No longer gentle. His thrusts turned sharp, snappy, claiming, each one punching a moan from your throat. His grip on your hips tightened, rough fingers digging into soft skin like he couldn’t bear to let you slip away.

The sound of skin against skin echoed around you. Wet, fast, heated. His name spilled from your mouth over and over again, “Heeseung, Heeseung, Heeseung,” like a prayer you didn’t know you were chanting.

“You hear that?” he panted, voice hoarse. “This is what happens when you tease me. When you look at me like I’m the only thing you want. When you say my name like it’s the only word you know.”

You gasped, mind spinning. You couldn’t think. Couldn't breathe.

“You’re driving me crazy,” you whispered. “I can't even- Hee, I can’t think.”

“Good,” he growled, and then, with a desperate, broken noise, “Fuck, baby, you’re driving me crazy too.”

You clawed at his back, arms hooked under his, pulling him closer until your bodies were flush. Your nails raked across his shoulder blades and he cried out, loud and choked and so needy, the sound raw in his throat.

“That’s it,” he whimpered. “Mark me up. Let everyone see. Let them know I’m yours.”

He surged forward, kissing you again, rougher this time, tongue plunging past your lips as his cock drove deeper and deeper, rhythm unraveling with each thrust. One hand slid to your throat, fingers wrapping gently around the column of your neck, just enough to remind you that you were his. Not hurting. Just holding. His.

“You’re squeezing me so tight,” he groaned, hips stuttering. “I’m- I can’t- fuck, Y/n-”

You couldn’t speak anymore. You could only gasp, body trembling, thighs shaking around his waist. “Hee, baby… I’m gonna- ohmygod… I’m cumming-”

That did it.

Heeseung let out the most devastated whimper, his whole body going taut above you as you clamped down around him, your orgasm crashing over you in waves that had your vision white and your ears ringing.

“Fuck, fuck, Y/n-” he sobbed, pulling out just enough before his hips bucked helplessly. His hand wrapped around his cock, and with one, two more strokes, he came, hard, spilling hot and thick across your stomach with a long, strangled moan.

His whole body shuddered.

He collapsed above you, catching himself on shaking elbows as his head dropped against your shoulder, his breath coming in ragged, shuddering pants. “Shit,” he mumbled, voice cracking.

“You... You ruin me.”

You giggled through the haze, looking down at the mess he made, cum sticky and warm on your skin. “You always make a mess,” you teased softly.

Heeseung laughed, breathless and still trembling, lips pressing against your neck.

“Only for you, baby,” he murmured. “Only ever for you.”

You looked down to face him, cupping his cheek, and for a moment all the heat faded into softness. He leaned into your touch, his eyes full of something deeper than lust.

“Was that okay?” he asked quietly, almost shy now. “Did I… satisfy you?”

You nodded, smiling up at him through the haze. “You were amazing. Like, ruin-me-forever amazing. But…” You looked down pointedly. “I do need a towel, though.”

His lips twitched, and he kissed your palm before slipping out of bed. “You don’t need to ask,” he murmured over his shoulder as he padded to the bathroom. “I’ll always take care of you.”

He returned a minute later with a warm, damp cloth, and you stayed quiet as he cleaned you up with gentle, careful hands, tender in a way that made your heart ache.

“There,” he said, tossing the cloth aside and lying down next to you. His arms wrapped around you tightly, his mouth pressing a kiss to your temple. “Let’s cuddle for a bit. And then I’ll cook us something. Sound good?”

“I’d like that,” you murmured. “Stay over for the night?”

Heeseung froze. His breath hitched like your words had plucked a string deep inside his chest. His eyes flicked down to yours slowly, searching your face as if to confirm what he heard was real. There was a softness in his gaze now, the kind that made your stomach do a slow, fluttering turn.

“Are you sure?” he asked, voice almost too gentle. His thumb traced along your cheek, lingering like he didn’t want to let the moment go. “I don’t want to push or… rush anything. Not if you’re not ready.”

You rolled your eyes at him, the playful smirk tugging at your lips undercutting the thudding of your heart. “Come on. It’s not like it’s the first time we’ve spent the night together.”

That made him laugh, quiet and breathy. “Yeah. I know. But… it feels different this time, doesn’t it?” His voice cracked just the tiniest bit as he spoke, like he wasn’t sure if it was okay to be this honest. “I’m yours now… aren’t I?”

And just like that, your walls softened again. You nestled against his chest, nuzzling into the slope of his neck as your fingers toyed with the hem of his hair. “Yeah,” you whispered into his skin. “You’re mine.”

He rested his chin on top of your head, holding you like he never wanted to let go. “Well, since you’re sure,” he whispered, “then yeah. I’d love nothing more than to stay and hold you all night long.”

You sighed, then giggled softly, your breath brushing against his skin. “I know I love you and shit, but we both seriously need a bath.”

Heeseung burst out laughing, his whole chest shaking as he pulled back to grin at you. “Okay, okay, I can agree with that. We probably smell like-”

“Don’t say it.”

“-like sex.”

You smacked his shoulder lightly. “Gross, Lee.”

He only grinned harder, eyes sparkling. “What? It’s true.”

His eyes lit up with that familiar spark, amusement evident in them. “How about we take that bath together?” he offered, voice dropping lower. “I’ll be good. Promise. Well, mostly.”

He winked as he stood and reached a hand out to you. You took it, fingers wrapping around his, and he gave you a little squeeze, grounding you as always.

He led you to the bathroom, still completely bare and unbothered about it. Heeseung reached over to turn the taps, adjusting the temperature just right, then poured in a capful of lavender bubble bath like it was second nature.

“Want me to throw on clothes for this,” he said over his shoulder, glancing back at you with that boyish smile, “or stay like this? For the vibes.”

You arched a brow. “Who the hell takes a bath fully clothed?”

“Oh, thank god,” he said with mock relief, walking over and looping his arms around your waist. “Because I was really hoping you’d say that. I like it better when you look at me like that.”

He kissed your neck, slow, almost reverent. You felt his smile curve against your skin as he added, “I’m all yours, remember?”

“You’re so dramatic,” you said, chuckling, even as your arms came up to wrap around him. “Come on, Romeo. Let’s get in before the water gets cold.”

Heeseung didn’t need to be told twice. He lifted you easily, stepping into the bath with you in his arms. He sat back against the tub’s edge and settled you into his lap, the warm water wrapping around both your bodies.

“How’s this?” he murmured, his hands settling at your waist. “Comfy?”

“Yeah… just don’t get hard on me. I’m still sore.”

Heeseung made a wounded sound. “You say that like I have control over it.” He leaned in, whispering against your ear. “You’re naked. You’re on my lap. I’m only human, Y/n.”

You smacked his shoulder playfully, but the mood stayed light. A little intimate bubble where everything outside this bathroom felt far away. He massaged your sides gently, letting his thumbs trace lazy circles against your damp skin.

“Oh shit.” You pulled back slightly, eyes going wide. “Is your back okay? I might’ve scratched it up pretty bad earlier…”

He turned so you could see, and yeah, there were definitely a few angry red lines trailing down his skin. But Heeseung? He just looked proud.

“You kidding?” he said with a grin. “I love that. Seeing your marks on me? It’s… I don’t know. It reminds me that it was real.”

You traced one of the marks softly, guilt and something warmer curling in your stomach. He reached behind to tug you close, guiding your arms around his torso, until your chest was flush to his back and your cheek pressed between his shoulder blades.

“Besides,” he murmured, “I gave as good as I got.”

You laughed, heart thudding as the soft scent of the bubbles mixed with the warmth of his skin. “I still can’t believe we basically gave each other all our firsts.”

Heeseung’s breath caught. You felt it. A subtle hitch in his chest before he answered.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “First best friend, first crush, first…” He trailed off, a blush blooming high on his cheeks.

He turned to face you again, cupping your waist, and then your face. “None of it would’ve meant half as much if it wasn’t with you. Everything with you, it just feels right.”

You leaned into his touch, your fingers curling over his wrist. “God, you’re so cheesy when you’re soft.”

“Shut up,” he mumbled, lips twitching into a shy smile. “You like it.” You did. God, you really did.

“I do,” you admitted.

He rested his forehead against yours, eyes fluttering shut as his hands held you gently beneath the water. For a moment, everything was still, the rising steam, the fading lavender, the warmth of him around you like home.

“We should probably get out,” he said eventually, reluctant. “Before we drain all the hot water.”

You groaned dramatically. “I wanna stay like this forever. Or whatever. Don’t make me move.”

Heeseung’s arms tightened around you. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Me too.” He reached for the soap, starting to gently wash you, each touch careful, as if he thought you might break if he pressed too hard. But when he got to your more sensitive areas, his hands lingered just a little too long.

“But if you’re up for it,” he murmured teasingly, lips brushing your ear, “maybe I can show you more ways to make you feel good.”

“Heeseung-!” you gasped, bolting upright and sloshing water everywhere as you climbed out.

“We just talked about this!”

He was laughing again, standing up after you and grabbing towels. “I said maybe!” You wrapped one around yourself, grumbling, while he held out the other like a gentleman.

“Come here, let me dry you off,” he said.

He was gentle. He always was with you. He started at your shoulders and worked his way down, never once crossing a line, even though the flush in his cheeks said he was thinking about it. Once he was satisfied, he pressed a kiss to your shoulder, still dripping slightly from the bath.

“There we go. Let’s get dressed and I’ll make you something to eat.”

“Make your iconic ramen,” you said with a smirk. “Oh, and I actually bought you a hoodie and pants I was gonna give you as a gift. Totally forgot. You can wear them tonight.”

Heeseung paused, lips twitching into something between a smile and a soft expression you couldn’t name. His voice was quiet when he replied.

“Really?” he said, looking at you like you’d just given him something sacred. “You bought me clothes?”

You nodded.

He walked over, took your face between his hands, and kissed your forehead like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Okay then,” he whispered. “I’d love to wear what you picked for me.”

You don’t know how long he stood there that morning.

Heeseung hovered just outside the dentistry building like he had any business being there.

Hands shoved deep in the pockets of his hoodie, hood up like that’d somehow make him less noticeable. The path was still quiet, just a few students walking past, either half-awake or halflate.

He glanced at the time. 7:43 AM.

The first class usually started at 8 for you. He remembered that detail, not because he’d ever asked, but because of all the times your text replies stopped around then. It was stupid how much he noticed things like that now.

He waited until the hallway cleared before slipping in. The smell hit him first, formalin, minty hand soap, and a faint tinge of coffee grounds. Your department had a different scent than his. More sterile. Sharper. Like the pressure hung heavier in the air.

Heeseung moved fast, walking like he belonged even though the pounding of his heart made everything feel off. He passed by the row of lockers outside the pathology lab, scanning until he found yours. Fourth from the end, top row, tiny sticker of a cartoon molar on the handle. Still there.

He reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out the candy, your favorite brand, the one he used to tease you for hoarding in high school. The packaging was slightly crushed from how long he’d been holding it, the edges a little wrinkled from second-guessing. It looked stupid now. Childish. But it was too late to back out.

The tape didn’t want to stick to the metal surface, he had to smooth it over twice, then tilt the packet a bit so it wouldn’t fall. It looked rushed. Sloppy. He cursed under his breath.

Then footsteps echoed down the hall.

Heeseung panicked, retreating around the corner near the stairwell, crouching low like a criminal instead of a lovesick idiot. He stayed there, hands on his knees, trying to breathe quietly. Then he heard it.

Footsteps. Familiar ones.

You.

He dared a glance.

You were walking toward your locker with that sluggish, already-exhausted gait you had on bad mornings. Hair pulled back in a loose claw clip. Backpack half-zipped. You looked like you hadn't slept properly, and you hadn’t even noticed the candy yet,your hand was already on the lock.

But then you paused.

You looked at it.

And he held his breath like the world was made of glass.

You didn’t smile. You didn’t gasp or turn around dramatically. You just stared at it, brow furrowing like you weren’t sure what you were looking at. He watched your hand hover in the air for a second before peeling the candy off carefully, like it might be a mistake.

You didn’t throw it away.

You pocketed it.

And just like that, Heeseung felt the tension that had clung to his chest for the last three days ease by an inch. He bit back a grin.

She knows. She remembers. She gets it. That was me.

You didn’t look around. Didn’t try to find him.

But hey, maybe you were just playing it cool.

Tuesday morning, Heeseung got there earlier this time.

Not stupidly early, but early enough that the corridors of the Life Sciences building were still half-lit and smelled like floor polish. He didn’t even go to this department. He was in media, technically, but he’d memorized the back way into your lab building the way someone might memorize the lyrics to a song that hurt too much to sing out loud.

He wasn’t dressed to be sneaky today. No hoodie. No hat. Just a grey T-shirt, jeans, and nerves.

The drink was cold when he pulled it from his tote, a banana milk with a bright yellow cap. Not the kind you get in vending machines. The kind you’d once argued tasted better “because it had childhood memories built in.”

He didn’t have a big plan. Just a sticky note. Pale pink, from the pack he usually used to mark film theories in his notebooks. The message was simple, scrawled in his regular handwriting, no effort to change it.

Hope today goes easy on you. Drink this.

He stuck the note gently to the bottle, smoothing it down once, then set it carefully on the desk you always claimed during morning lab. Second row from the front, right side, beside the wall. Far enough to avoid the air conditioner draft, close enough to the projector screen.

He didn’t linger. Just turned and walked back toward the exit, down the corridor toward his department’s building, where his own classes would start an hour later. But curiosity was a disease he’d never recovered from, especially when it came to you.

So he doubled back.

Stood half-tucked behind the door frame to one of the faculty lounges across the hall, pretending to scroll through his phone. The view was imperfect, your desk partially blocked by a standing whiteboard, but he could see the back of your head when you walked in. Hair pulled back again, different clip today. Slightly hunched shoulders. You were talking to someone, but your tone was quiet, clipped. Tired?

Then you reached your seat.

He watched you pause, then slow down.

You picked up the drink, looked at it like it was some kind of puzzle. Read the note. Held it in both hands like you were weighing its meaning more than its weight.

And then, there it was.

The smallest thing. A flicker of a smile. Your lips barely twitching. The kind of smile that you used to save for inside jokes and stupid text messages at 2 AM.

You didn’t laugh. Didn’t panic. Didn’t bolt. You didn’t search for whoever left it.

You just quietly tucked the drink beside your laptop and began pulling your lab coat on like nothing had happened.

And that was worse, in some way. More haunting.

Heeseung’s pulse jumped. For a second, he almost walked in. Almost said your name.

But something held him back.

Maybe you were playing it cool again. Maybe you weren’t ready.

Or maybe you weren’t mad anymore, just… done.

Still, he clung to the version of the story that hurt less.

She knows. She’s just waiting. Still pissed, yeah. But she knows it’s me.

The next day, Heeseung hadn’t planned on using the photo.

It was something he’d kept by accident, shoved in the back of a drawer with old receipts and a dried-out highlighter. He only found it when looking for spare batteries two nights ago. But the moment he saw it, slightly bent, colors faded at the corners, he felt everything all at once. The smell of wet pavement. The croissant you both joked had the texture of a brick. Your laugh echoing off the café's foggy glass window, turning an ordinary rainy day into something stupidly unforgettable.

And the worst part? You weren’t even doing anything in the photo. Just sitting there, looking out the window, half smiling at something he’d said. The camera must’ve caught it by accident when he was fiddling with his phone, probably trying to adjust a filter.

Still, he printed it out. Just one copy. From the convenience store kiosk near campus. The print was blurrier than he remembered, the colors washed out and uneven, but the memory was sharp. He couldn’t not leave it.

This time, he didn’t head for your lab or the locker areas. He didn’t think you’d see it in the morning rush. Instead, he found your lecture room in the Prostho department after asking one of your batchmates under the excuse of “trying to return something.” They didn’t question him. Just gave him the number of the classroom like it was no big deal.

He waited until the room emptied out after the previous class.

It looked like all the other lecture rooms, rows of seats with tiny, squeaky arm tables, fluorescent lights humming above. A faint smell of ethanol and marker ink lingered in the air. It was colder than it should’ve been. He hated how sterile it felt.

He walked straight to your usual seat and placed the photo gently across the chair’s table. No envelope. No post-it this time. No cutesy handwriting or cryptic messages.

Just the photo.

A silent Hey. Remember us?

Then he left. Quickly. Before your class could trickle in.

He didn’t wait in the hall this time. Didn’t try to sneak a peek through the glass panel in the door. He just went back to his department building, tried to focus on his own work, editing clips for a short film he no longer cared about, but his foot kept tapping restlessly under the desk.

Later that afternoon, someone from your year posted a blurry group selfie in your class’ shared drive, and he scanned the background, hoping to spot a hint of your expression. But nothing.

It wasn’t until much later, when he walked past your department’s side entrance on his way to the station, that he saw you through the window.

You were alone in a study nook. A folder open on the desk. You flipped through pages, then paused.

The photo. Tucked into the back sleeve like it was something you hadn’t decided what to do with yet.

You hadn’t thrown it away.

You kept it.

That should’ve made him feel better.

But your face didn’t look comforted. It looked… tired. Distant. And for the first time, the doubt started to creep in.

What if she doesn’t know it’s me?

What if this wasn’t her being guarded, or mad, or waiting?

What if she genuinely had no idea who was leaving these behind—and instead of making her feel seen, it was making her feel cornered?

Heeseung bit the inside of his cheek until it stung.

This one felt riskier.

The day after, Heeseung hesitated even before printing the photo, his thumb hovering over the kiosk button for what felt like minutes. The screen flickered under the harsh light of the convenience store, offering him three glossy options and a slightly overpriced polaroid-style print. He picked the polaroid. It just felt more... right. More them.

The photo itself was blurry, faded at the edges, slightly underexposed. Probably because it had been taken on his old phone, back in sophomore year. A rainy afternoon. The kind that soaked your socks and made your bones feel like they belonged to someone older.

He remembered that day like it was frozen in amber.

They’d skipped out on a department event, claiming a headache and a broken charger. Ended up tucked in the corner booth of a hole-in-the-wall café near campus. The croissants were burnt, the cocoa watery. The rain had come down so hard it made the windows fog. But Y/n had leaned into the seat, eyes sleepy, telling him something stupid about how that kind of day should be bottled up and sold like medicine.

He'd taken the photo without thinking.

Just her fingers wrapped around a chipped cup. The corner of the café sign half-visible through the steamed-up glass. A memory disguised as nothing.

And now he was placing it on her seat.

No note this time. No pink sticky reassurance. Just the picture. Quiet and daring. He hoped she’d recognize it. He hoped she'd see it and understand exactly what he was trying to say without him having to say it.

Hey. Remember us?

Heeseung didn't linger this time. He had a group shoot to help set up at the AV hall, and someone from his team was already calling about misplaced backdrops. Still, he made the short detour, third floor of the Dentistry building, just before prostho class began. The room was mostly empty, students trickling in late, hauling their models and groaning about occlusal reduction.

He didn’t expect her to catch him.

So when he later walked past the open lecture hall door, ten minutes into class, hair still damp from stress, he slowed.

Y/n was there.

He recognized the slump of her shoulders even before he saw her face. She was sitting at the back today. Alone. Unusual for her. She was normally the type to take the third row, close enough to catch the prof’s tone, far enough to avoid accidental eye contact.

But now she sat against the wall.

And the photo was in her hand.

Heeseung’s stomach twisted. She wasn’t smiling. She wasn’t fidgeting or biting her pen cap like she used to do when something made her feel shy or flustered.

She was just... staring.

Frozen.

Lips parted slightly. Brows pulled together like she was trying to make sense of what she was holding. Not like it was nostalgic.

Like it was a problem.

He ducked out of view before she, or anyone else, could spot him.

His chest felt tight. Like maybe he'd gone too far.

But she didn’t crumple it. Didn’t throw it away. Didn’t shove it under the desk with a scoff. Instead, she slid it into the side pocket of her folder, gently, like it still meant something. And that had to count for something. Right?

Maybe she’s overwhelmed.

But she gets it.

She knows it’s me.

He told himself that again.

He had to.

Thursday morning. This was supposed to be the lowkey confession.

Heeseung sat on the floor of the small media lounge in his department’s building, legs crossed, shoulders hunched, staring at the scrap of paper like it might catch fire. He’d rewritten the same sentence three times on three different pieces, all crumpled now in the corner of his bag.

He wanted this one to land right. Softly. Honestly. Like when you finally say something that’s been in your chest for years and hope, just hope, the other person has room to hear it. “Maybe you’ll notice me again one day.” No “please.” No name. Just that.

It wasn’t bitter. Not like the first two drafts, anyway. It was... shy. Hopeful. Not desperate. Just human. It read like a whisper, like a question someone’s too scared to ask out loud.

When he finally slipped the folded note into the inside cover of your private notebook. The one with the coffee stain on the spine and your name written inside the flap. He felt a weird stillness settle in his chest. Not calm. Not relief. Just stillness.

You always carried that notebook with you, even when you didn’t use it. He’d seen you pull it out between labs, flipping to a half-filled page of margin notes and doodles. It felt like a part of you, intimate but not off-limits.

He didn’t want to invade.

He just wanted to be close again.

Just... maybe close enough that this time, you’d turn around for him.

It’s now Friday.

No gift today.

Not because he gave up. He hadn’t.

But because he was scared.

Heeseung stood by the vending machine outside his department’s practice hall, half-watching the condensation drip down a bottle of green tea he didn’t even want. His mind wasn’t here, not really. He kept replaying yesterday. The notebook. Your expression. The way you dropped the note like it had teeth.

He hadn’t meant for it to feel invasive.

He just wanted you to feel seen. Like maybe if he whispered gently enough through these small things, you'd recognize him. But yesterday? You looked like someone who’d been cornered.

And that terrified him.

He didn’t leave anything today, not in your bag, not on your seat, not tucked into your folder like a secret. Not because he was out of things to say, but because... he didn’t know how to say them anymore.

He needed time to think. To recalibrate.

Maybe he’d try again tomorrow. Maybe he'd just say it straight next time: It's me. It's always been me.

But even that felt risky now.

Because during rehearsal, you barely looked at him.

Not in the shy, sweet way that used to make his chest go light. Not even in the cold, awkward way it had been after the fallout. This was something else entirely.

Your eyes flickered toward him once, maybe twice, but each time, they darted away like he was something sharp. Something you didn’t want to touch again. Something you used to know and now regretted knowing.

Heeseung tried not to show it. Tried to focus on the counts. The blocking. The choreography they’d run a dozen times before. But his rhythm kept slipping. He kept missing his marks. Not because of the steps, but because of you. Because you were there and not there at the same time.

And then Yeri passed you in the hallway.

He was behind her, a few steps away. Just grabbing water. Just walking back from a short break. He didn’t mean to overhear.

But the second she said it, he stopped walking.

"You look tired lately," she said, soft and casual. "Are you okay?"

He watched the way your shoulders tightened. The way your mouth opened fast, like your brain was scrambling for words.

“I’m fine.”

Too fast. Too hard.

Heeseung swallowed thickly. Something twisted in his chest. Like stepping into a room that smelled like home but looked like a stranger’s place.

That wasn’t how you used to sound. Not even when you were mad at him.

You weren’t just tired. You weren’t just annoyed.

You were scared.

And for the first time, Heeseung let the possibility emerge in his mind, one not even thought of until now:

“She thinks I’m someone else.”

And if she thinks that, if she doesn’t know it’s me, Then everything I’ve done might not feel like a comfort. It might have felt like a threat.

The note was supposed to fix everything.

It was his last card. His final shot at getting through to you without saying it out loud.

He’d spent Saturday afternoon in the corner booth of a café near his dorm, his untouched drink going cold while he stared at three different versions of the same quote. None of them felt right. Too stiff. Too on-the-nose. Too desperate. He wasn’t trying to beg. He just wanted you to remember.

In the end, he settled on the line you used to repeat under your breath while watching that old cartoon on his iPad in middle school, the one with the slow-burn enemies-to-lovers arc before you even knew what that meant. You used to giggle every time the main girl insulted the guy, because deep down, you knew she was in love with him.

It wasn’t just a quote.

It was yours.

“If I hated you, I wouldn’t know your favorite ice cream or where you hide when you’re overwhelmed.”

He copied it slowly. On smooth cream-colored stationery that looked like it came from the campus bookstore. Not too cheesy. Not too plain.

He folded it neatly. Wrote nothing else. No initials. No heart. No flourish. Just the words.

Because you’d know.

You had to know.

You needed to know.

He waited for a moment between rehearsals, after you'd left your bag on the bench and headed toward the vending machine. The hallway was empty except for the hum of the old aircon unit and a couple of tired dancers flopped on the floor by the studio doors.

Heeseung slid the note beneath your water bottle, glanced once over his shoulder, and walked away before anyone could see.

But as he walked across the quad minutes later, the air felt wrong. Heavy. Still.

Like something had been said, but no one had heard it right.

And maybe that’s what broke him a little, because for the first time since he started leaving those notes, he didn’t feel excited. He didn’t feel hope. He just felt tired.

Not because he thought you'd hate it. But because he still wasn’t sure if you'd even read it. If you'd recognize it. If you’d know it was him.

And if you didn’t… what then?

He doesn’t know when the doubt started exactly. Just that by Sunday night, he was staring at his ceiling with an ache in his chest that didn’t have a name. Not heartbreak. Not guilt. Just that hollow, miserable what if.

What if you were slipping away?

And what if he never even got the chance to ask why?

You wake to the soft sound of sheets rustling and the smell of something warm, linen and lavender and him. The light is creeping in through the curtains, soft and filtered, and for a second, you think you're still dreaming. Until you feel a hand lazily tracing circles on the bare skin of your back.

"Morning," Heeseung murmurs, voice husky and thick with sleep. He nuzzles the back of your neck, and you can feel the slow grin spreading across his lips when you stir.

"You're clingy in the morning," you mumble, not even bothering to hide your smile as you stretch, your body sore in places you’re both too shy and too smug to talk about just yet.

"You didn’t seem to mind last night," he says into your skin, his arms tightening around your waist.

You let out a small laugh, swatting at his arm without much strength. “I still don’t.”

You stay like that for a while, just wrapped around each other in the quiet. There’s no pressure to move, no rush to face the world outside this room. Just the steady rise and fall of your breathing, the warmth of his body against yours, and that stupid fond look on his face every time you steal a glance at him.

Eventually, you drag yourself out of bed, half-heartedly muttering about needing to brush your teeth. Heeseung only watches you go with a dazed smile, one hand folded beneath his cheek like he’s still half-asleep. But by the time you’ve finished at the sink and returned to the bedroom to grab fresh clothes, he’s gone, his side of the bed messy but empty.

You hear the clatter of pots in the kitchen.

Curious, and a little suspicious, you wander out barefoot. And there he is, shirtless in the hoodie you gave him last night, sleeves rolled up as he expertly stirs something in a pan like he’s auditioning for a cooking show. His hair is a mess. There’s a light sheen of sweat on his temples. But he’s humming under his breath and smiling to himself like this is the most natural thing in the world: making a ridiculous breakfast for two on a random Thursday morning after… whatever that night was.

You lean against the doorframe and cross your arms. “You’re being suspiciously domestic right now.”

He turns around, brandishing a spatula. “You’re welcome.”

You raise an eyebrow, eyeing the fluffy-looking pancakes, the scrambled eggs, the plate of fruit. “Okay, but why are you cooking like we’re on a honeymoon?”

Heeseung shrugs, but there’s a blush rising on his cheeks. “Dunno. Thought you deserved a good breakfast. You know… maybe this morning could be special.”

You walk over and pluck a grape from the bowl. “It is special,” you say softly, not quite looking at him.

Heeseung’s gaze lingers on you for a moment too long before he clears his throat and turns back to flip a pancake. “Good. That’s… good.”

You sit at the table, and he joins you a few minutes later with two plates, a glass of orange juice, and a sort of hesitant energy buzzing around him. Like he’s not sure where the line is now. Like he’s trying not to assume anything.

And you feel it too, this new kind of tension. But not the bad kind. It’s slow and syrupy. Tender. You’ve slept next to him before, but never like this. You’ve eaten breakfast with him before, but never with this much softness in the air.

Your phone buzzes against the table, breaking the comfortable silence between you and Heeseung.

You don’t move right away. The light from the window is soft. His plate is nearly empty. Yours has a single pancake left, already cold, but you don’t mind. Something about the silence between you two feels full instead of empty.

Another buzz. Then another.

Heeseung lifts his fork lazily, glancing up with a knowing look. “Group chat?”

You groan as you reach for your phone. “Yup. They’re already panicking.”

You scroll through the notifications, eyes scanning line after line of frantic typing in [FestiCoord - Death Penalty].

VICKY:

where tf is everyone?? i’m not carrying this arch alone

SUNOO: where’s y/n??? weren’t u on supplies and leftover booth duty??

JAEMIN:

bro i thought she was leading the backroom sort lol

YERI:

where’s HEESEUNG. he’s supposed to be helping with the prop van

SUNOO:

oh yeah lol. is he even alive?? didn’t see him leave the plaza last night

VICKY:

wait weren’t y/n and heeseung like… friends? can someone tag her to wake her up and drag his ass here

HAYI:

pretty sure they don’t talk anymore??

JAEMIN:

damn that’s awkward lmao

SUNOO:

still. if anyone knows where that guy is, it’s probably y/n

VICKY:

ugh just tag both of them i’m dying here

You read that last message and feel your breath catch in your throat for a second, not because they’re on to you. More because they aren’t.

“They’re looking for us,” you say, voice low, scrolling with your thumb. “Well… mostly you.”

Heeseung leans closer, peeking at the screen. “Oh, so I’m the favorite now?”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Yeri literally name-dropped you. No one even remembered we were friends.”

He pauses, blinking. “Ouch.”

You shrug. “We kinda gave them nothing to work with.”

He leans back again, thoughtful. “Still weird, though. Like… they just forgot?”

You glance at him, something bittersweet tugging at your chest. “We were both ghosts for a while. Everyone just filled in the blanks.”

He nods, slow. “Guess that worked out for us.”

You shoot him a look. “Worked out how, exactly?”

He grins. “Now we’re a surprise.”

You roll your eyes, but your lips tug up anyway. You start typing, keeping your tone casual.

YOU: yo chill i’m awake!! on the way soon. don’t collapse without me pls

Almost immediately:

VICKY: FINALLY y/n do u know where heeseung is too??

SUNOO:

can u text him?? we need him like… yesterday

JAEMIN: he’s on prop van duty. he’ll understand once he sees the disaster

YERI:

just tell him to be here in 15. i don’t care how we’re behind schedule

You hold out your phone toward Heeseung like you're offering him a cursed object.

“Congratulations. You’re officially being summoned.”

Heeseung blinks, leans in, and squints at the screen. “Wow. She really typed all that?” He clicks his tongue, reading the string of texts again. “Yeri’s… not subtle, huh.”

“She doesn’t even care that I’m late,” you mutter, slipping your shoes on. “Just you.”

“Must be the Heeseung effect,” he says, tossing you a smug grin. “Not everyone can handle it.”

You scoff. “Please. The only effect you have is delayed group rehearsals and unreturned messages.”

“Ouch,” he says with a hand on his chest. “You wound me.”

You glance at him, raising a brow. “You'll live. Probably.”

Heeseung grabs his jacket off the back of a chair and slings it over his shoulder with mock drama. “Well, since I’m public enemy number one now, guess I better go report in before she sends out a search party.”

You laugh under your breath. “You’re oddly calm about facing your death.”

He grins. “Because I’m dragging you down with me. Misery loves company.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling now as you reach for your own coat. “Cool. If she throws a punch, I’m stepping aside.”

“Noted,” he says, giving you a mock-salute. “I’ll be sure to shield you with my reputation.”

“Your reputation is what got us into this mess.”

“Exactly,” he says proudly. “Might as well let it work for something.” There’s a moment as the back-and-forth fades away.

He straightens up, standing close enough that the warmth between you feels intentional.

“So…”

You glance up. “So?”

Heeseung looks at you, not teasing now. Not backing away. “Wanna go together?”

You pause, caught off guard, not by the words, but by the softness in them. “Like…” You fidget with your zipper. “Together together?”

His gaze doesn’t waver. “Like you and me,” he says, a little quieter. “No pretending it’s just coincidence anymore.”

He lifts a hand and brushes his thumb gently across the back of yours, his touch light like he’s asking permission.

You don’t answer right away. You let the moment breathe. Then, slowly, your fingers wrap around his.

You give his hand a tiny squeeze. “Okay,” you say, smiling, but not too big. Just enough for him to see it’s genuine. “Let’s figure it out.”

Heeseung lets out a breath like he’s been holding it in for days. The smile that spreads across his face is a little crooked, a little shy, and completely Heeseung.

“Well,” he says, bumping his shoulder into yours as you head for the door. “If we get scolded, I’m blaming you.”

“Typical,” you say, pretending to be annoyed. “Drag me into your chaos, then point fingers.” He just laughs, the kind that makes your stomach flutter.

“We’re in this together now, aren’t we?”

You glance sideways at him. “Yeah,” you say, heart kicking just a little harder. “We are.”

He smiles at that. A little crooked. A little shy. The kind of smile he only gives when it’s just you two and the world feels like background noise.

Then he tilts his head, lips twitching. “You’re gonna be annoying about it, aren’t you?”

You blink, laughing. “About what?”

“This whole ‘figuring it out’ thing.” He leans in, mock whispering, “You’re totally gonna make spreadsheets.”

You gasp, shoving his shoulder lightly. “I do not make spreadsheets for everything!”

He raises his brows. “Okay. Sure. Says the girl who color-coded our ramen stash.”

“That was strategic,” you defend, proud. “And you benefitted from it, mister I-eat-three-of-thespicy-ones-in-one-sitting.”

Heeseung just grins, tugging your hand gently toward the door. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Project Manager-nim.”

“You’re the worst,” you grumble.

“And yet,” he says, fingers interlacing with yours, “here we are.”

Both of you drop by at Heeseung’s for a bit to let him change into more proper clothes. As he finishes, you finally grab your things and head for the door, he reaches for your hand again, threading his fingers with yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

He doesn’t let go when you walk outside. Neither do you.

You haven’t told anyone yet.

It’s not like you don’t have to.

Because this, whatever it is between you and Heeseung, it’s yours. And after everything, you’re finally letting yourselves have it.

Even if no one else sees it yet.

Especially because no one else sees it yet.

Well, that’s kind of your favorite part.

The sun’s already high by the time you and Heeseung arrive at the venue, the air was warm and loud with leftover mess. Folding chairs clatter somewhere behind the stage. Someone yells about duct tape from the storage tent. From the road, the campus plaza looks half-dismantled, half tired, half weirdly festive.

You're walking side by side, fingers interlocked from habit, but as the crowd comes into view, your hands loosen, instinctively mutual. No one says anything. You just… let go.

Your palm feels colder almost immediately.

Heeseung adjusts the strap of the tote bag on his shoulder and glances at you. You meet his gaze for a second, then quickly look away, heart doing something traitorous.

Neither of you says a word about it.

Instead, you push your sleeves up and stretch your arms with a dramatic sigh. “Guess it’s time to suffer.”

Heeseung snorts. “Wow. What a glowing endorsement of volunteer work.”

You grin. “I was promised iced coffee and minimal lifting.”

“You weren’t promised anything,” he says, nudging your elbow as you both step over a tangle of cords near the sound booth. “You got guilt-tripped.”

“You watched me get guilt-tripped!”

“And I didn’t stop it.”

You shoot him a faux glare. “Saboteur.”

He doesn’t apologize. Just smiles again and pulls your water bottle from his bag, your bottle, not his, and hands it to you. No words, just a simple gesture. You take it, trying not to smile like an idiot.

When you arrived further, the storage room was cramped, the kind of space that felt like it hadn’t been properly reorganized in years. Cardboard boxes labeled in fading Sharpie, dusty extension cords hanging like noodles from plastic hooks, and half-collapsed folding chairs all piled in chaotic corners. The Interdisciplinary Festival’s official cleanup was in full swing, and naturally, everyone was tired, mildly cranky, and running on convenience store bread and barley tea.

You were crouched next to a shelf, organizing leftover promotional flyers into plastic folders, when Vicky called from the back.

"Can someone help me with this speaker? It’s heavier than it looks!"

Heeseung, who’d been quietly stacking folding tables near the entrance, was the first to respond. “Coming.”

You didn’t even have to glance to know he’d shoot you a look before stepping away, like: Don’t move. I got this. It had become second nature again, this language between you. You hadn’t had it in a while, but now it was back in full force, like muscle memory.

A while after, you're crouched on the floor, sorting name tags by department, even though no one will probably reuse these again. Your hoodie sleeves are rolled to your elbows, and you keep flicking bits of lint off your pants. Across from you, Heeseung’s refolding a banner that refuses to behave, his expression focused and mildly annoyed, which is honestly just his default face when he’s pretending not to be paying attention to you.

Every so often, your knees bump. Neither of you says anything about it.

Everyone else is scattered around the room, split into pairs and trios, folding, taping, listing inventory. It's productive chaos, like always.

“Lunch break in ten!” someone yells, which is met by a mix of groans and grateful sighs.

Fast forward ten minutes and the group is now collapsed in a messy circle on the scuffed linoleum floor of the student lounge next door, sharing trays of gimbap, tteokbokki, fried chicken, and convenience store sandwiches. No one bothered setting up tables. Everyone’s sitting cross-legged or sprawled halfway onto their backpacks.

You’re squeezed between Sunoo and Vicky, your paper cup of soda already sweating onto your thigh. Heeseung’s across from you, biting into a half-wrapped sandwich, glancing up every now and then, but not too often.

Conversation flows like it always does, with light teasing, half-bantering arguments, just typical chaos.

“Yo, I seriously thought Heeseung ghosted all of us,” Jaemin says, dramatically tossing his chopsticks into his empty tteokbokki container.

“Same,” Hayi agrees. “Dude pulled a classic ‘fade out post-festival’.”

Sunoo smirks. “Was kinda mysterious though. Not a single text in the GC? Not even a meme?”

Yeri, who’s been lounging with her chin resting in her hand, smiles. It’s casual, but just a little too casual. “Well, not everyone. He’s always had a soft spot for… unexpected people.” Her eyes flit over to you for half a second.

You don’t react fast enough. It hits late.

Someone, probably Vicky, blinks. “Wait… what does that mean?”

Yeri shrugs, still with that faint smile. “Just saying. Some people pull away from the crowd but still stay close to certain… familiar faces.”

There’s a pause. Small. Barely noticeable. But your throat tightens just a bit.

Jaemin, in a half-whisper he thinks is quiet but absolutely isn't, leans toward Sunoo: “Wait, is she talking about Y/N?”

Sunoo whispers back, just as loud, and zero subtlety:

“Duh. Who else is ‘familiar faces’? They’ve been stuck together since birth.”

Everyone hears it. And suddenly, the laughter dips a notch. Still present, but thinner now. The air tenses. You shift, too, just slightly, just enough to look down at your tray and pretend your rice ball is the most interesting thing in the world.

You feel the weight of eyes. Not just Yeri’s. Everyone’s.

Then, without any change in tone or posture, Heeseung sets down his sandwich, wipes his hands on a napkin, and speaks.

“Actually,” he says, not loudly, but it cuts through the chitter. “I’ve always had a soft spot for her.”

You blink. Hard.

Someone half-chokes on their drink.

Heeseung continues. “We’ve been stuck together since diapers. I’ve basically memorized her snack preferences and sleep schedule. Kinda hard not to have a soft spot when she used to steal my crayons and cry when I didn’t want to marry her at age six.” A ripple of laughter breaks the tension, but Heeseung’s not done.

“I just… forgot how to show it, I guess,” he says, almost sheepishly now, but still holding the room. “Which was dumb, obviously.”

Yeri’s smile thins, falters for a blink, but she tucks her hair behind her ear and stays silent.

You slowly lift your eyes to look at him, Heeseung, your best friend, who hasn’t said this out loud before. And not like this.

And then he adds, voice dropping just a notch, still deadpan but warm in that dry way only he can pull off:

“And honestly… I don’t think I wanna hide that anymore. I’m too tired. Hiding’s annoying. It takes too much effort.”

Someone, probably Hayi, gasps. The subtle kind. The "wait is this real?" kind.

Even Yeri’s expression twitches for a moment. She covers it with another sip of her drink.

You, meanwhile, are frozen with your mouth half open, trying to decide between dying of embarrassment or teleporting into another timeline.

But before your brain can short-circuit entirely, Vicky pipes up.

“Well… it’s about damn time.” That breaks it.

The room lets out a collective breath. Some people laugh, some shake their heads, others just smirk knowingly.

Jaemin nudges Heeseung from the side. “So you weren’t just lurking at booths alone for no reason, huh?”

Hayi leans toward you, her tone mock-suspicious. “Y/n… you’ve been awfully quiet. You knew this was coming?”

You scoff, trying to act unbothered. “I’ve been quiet because I was trying not to choke on my rice ball.”

“Sure,” she says, but she’s smiling. “You look… weirdly happy.”

“Must be the rice ball,” you mutter, but your cheeks burn anyway.

Sunoo grins. “Honestly, I was getting so tired of pretending I didn’t see the longing stares.” “You guys are dramatic,” you say, rolling your eyes.

“You're dramatic,” Jaemin fires back. “The tension during cleanup day? I thought I was watching a K-drama.”

Vicky, ever the level-headed one, raises a hand mock-formally. “Okay, okay. Real talk though, whatever happened between you two before... not our business.”

“But we will be discussing the missed signals in private later,” Hayi adds, pointing at you with her chopsticks.

“What matters,” Vicky continues, “is you guys found your way back. Eventually.”

Heeseung smirks. “Found our way back? We were literally five minutes apart at all times.”

“Still managed to be emotionally three cities apart,” Sunoo says under his breath, earning a laugh.

You want to say something. You think maybe you should. But you don’t know where to start. Thankfully, you don’t have to.

Heeseung shifts beside you and, without a word hooks his pinky finger around yours.

It’s not loud. Not some big announcement. Just something that feels like home.

You don’t let go.

Yeri stands.

She doesn’t say anything. No dramatic sigh. No parting shot. Just gathers her drink, brushes invisible lint off her skirt, and walks out of the lounge with her head high.

No one calls after her. No one comments.

She just… leaves. Quietly. No victory. No audience.

Later that afternoon, when everyone’s out by the fountain hauling trash bags and wiping down booth panels, someone, maybe Hyejin, snaps a candid photo from behind.

You and Heeseung are side by side, backs to the camera, arms brushing. His hand is laced with yours, and both of you are looking at something off-frame, smiling faintly. Like there’s something only the two of you are in on.

It gets posted to the group chat with a caption: “Okay, NOW it makes sense.”

No replies. Just a string of heart emojis.

And a single sticker of a smug cartoon cat holding a rose.

You don’t say anything when you see it.

But Heeseung leans in close beside you, voice low, playful. “Think they’ll start taking bets on when we made it official?”

You don’t look at him. “They’re too late.”

“True,” he says, nudging your arm. “We’ve been official since age six, remember?”

You roll your eyes. “Still mad about the crayon thing?”

“I’m still traumatized.”

You laugh. And pretend you didn’t squeeze his hand a little tighter.

It’s late afternoon by the time cleanup wraps. The sun’s dipping low behind the dorms, creating long shadows across the pavement. The group’s scattered now, some folding tables, some sweeping the area, others just loitering around, exhausted and full and running on pure postevent vibes.

You and Heeseung end up near the curb where someone dumped all the empty drink cups in a sagging trash bag. You’re holding a broom, he’s got a bottle of leftover iced tea he didn’t even finish.

You lean on the broom, watching him swat lazily at a mosquito. “I can’t believe you actually said all that earlier.”

Heeseung raises an eyebrow, lips quirking. “What, that I have a soft spot for you?”

You nudge his leg with the broom bristles. “That, and the whole ‘not hiding it anymore’ thing. You said it like we were in a K-drama or something.”

He grins, tilting his head. “Well, maybe I was going for the climactic confession scene.”

You snort. “You skipped the dramatic rain and background music.”

“I can hum something, if that helps,” he offers, deadpan, then starts humming the “Reply 1988” OST surprisingly off-key.

You laugh, swatting at him. He ducks and holds up his hands in mock surrender, but then the laughter fades a little, replaced by a different kind of quiet.

He takes a step closer, just enough for his shoulder to brush yours.

“You remember that stupid pact we made in middle school?” he asks casually, like he’s not been holding onto it for years.

You blink. “The one where we promised to marry each other at thirty if we were still single?”

He nods, smiling a little. “For the tax benefits, obviously.”

You scoff. “Yeah, clearly nothing to do with lifelong emotional support and shared trauma from high school group projects.”

He laughs, then quiets. You feel it before you see it, his eyes on you, really on you.

“…Wouldn’t be the worst thing,” he says softly.

Your heart stutters. You look up at him, and he’s not joking anymore.

And then, almost shyly but with that same confident lilt in his voice he always uses when teasing you,

“So, does this mean we don’t have to wait until thirty to marry each other?”

You raise an eyebrow, lips twitching. “That was a legally binding contract, Lee Heeseung. I didn’t sign up for early commitment.”

He chuckles, then leans a little closer, voice low and playful: “Okay, counter-offer: we date now, and if it sucks, we just… circle back at thirty like we planned.”

You pretend to consider it. “Tempting.”

He bumps your shoulder. “Admit it. You just don’t wanna give up the tax benefits.”

You smile, shaking your head. “Fine. But only if you promise to keep teasing me for the rest of our lives.”

He grins. “Deal. But only if you keep pretending you don’t like it.”

You roll your eyes, cheeks warm. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

You don’t argue.

He slips his fingers between yours again, not just the pinky this time, full-on hand-holding, and it just feels so right. No dramatics. No big, sweeping music. Just the noise of the campus winding down and the feel of him beside you, like he always has been.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

135 notes · View notes

melwnst · 9 hours ago

Text

────── ⋆⋅☆ JET BLACK HEART, ROBERT ‘BOB’ REYNOLDS

summary. You walk into the void to try and save Bob, and for once, danger might help you more than harm you.

now playing ↬ jet black heart- 5 seconds of summer

⭑.ᐟokay I know I said I was gonna go back to Dean but I had this idea and I needed to post it lol. He drives me insane. Spoilers for thunderbolts*. Please send requests if u have any and interact :)

Word count. 983

my masterlist

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The second time is heavy. It’s full of fear, uncertainty. Chills run up your spine, your body goes cold, almost frozen because you just stepped into what could be death. You’re not sure why- maybe you didn’t mind. Or maybe you’re hopeful this doesn’t mean death, this means saving Bob from himself, saving New York, and saving yourself.

You don’t want to be here. You’ve been in the void once, although it was quick, that was enough for you. But Bob needs you. You didn’t think- you don’t think. You could’ve told them, made a plan, but you knew the moment he needed you, there was no stopping you, so you walked. You walked with such force it almost pushed the void back like it didn’t want you- like it was scared of you.

The moment the darkness engulfs you though, you know that you’re surrounded by your worst fears, your worst nightmares.

You waltz through the rooms, you know exactly what’s around you, who’s around you, but you don’t pay attention. You don’t look around, you’re determined to just find Bob.

When you walk into an unknown bathroom, you make the mistake to look into the mirror.

Your reflection makes your heart break. Because it’s not you. Rather it’s the old version- the broken one. The one who thought she’d be better off dead- gone. The one whose heart was so broken she barely had one anymore.

It’s only then that you truly realize it’s not a reflection.

It is her.

‘Not even a hello? That’s a bit rude don’t you think?’ She smiles at you. It’s psychotic almost- it’s a sinister smile that tells you everything you need to know.

‘He’s not here.’ She speaks again, as if she knows exactly who you’re looking for.

‘it doesn’t matter, you know? You’re here now. And if you think you can save each other from the pain, you’re deluded.’ She tilts her head, still wearing the smile.

You close your eyes and sink into the floor. Except after just a few seconds- it’s not just a metaphor. You feel the floor beneath your crumble- slowly. You’re actually sinking.

The moment you open your eyes, you see him.

It’s Bob.

‘You shouldn’t have come.’ He speaks but his voice is barely audible. Like he’s afraid- like he’s about to crumble completely, because the darkness has swallowed him whole.

He doesn’t look up at you though. His eyes burn holes on the ground while he plays nervously with his hands.

‘I’m here to bring you back Bob. You have so much out there and I’m sorry that you don’t see it but I can’t let you do this to yourself.’ You slide yourself to rest right next to him.

When you go to lay your hand on his, his demeanor changes. He flinches- like he’s afraid you’ll disappear completely if he dares touching you.

‘It’s so dark here. I can’t get out.’ His voice breaks a little.

That’s when you hear the shouting. The smashing. And you know exactly what it is.

You look at him, and he knows he doesn’t have to explain.

‘It’s been like this for hours. I can’t seem to leave this room.’ He laughs humorously like he can’t believe this is happening.

‘Look at me. I’m right here. I’m gonna get you out of here.’ Your hand touches his still after knowing it might hurt you, but this time he doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t move. He just looks at you. Tears in his eyes, hands shaky, heart beating out of his chest for you.

Then the room starts to shake. Before you have time to think, objects starts flying around, and soon enough you find yourself entangled in curtains, not the romantic way. The way that chokes the life out of you. Both you and Bob stare at each other in fear while the curtain wraps around your neck.

It feels like hours before someone cuts the sheets and saves you.

The thunderbolts.

It’s a long time before you end up finding the real source. You fight against whatever’s in bob’s void, you even fight against his old self.

Then you get to it.

Him.

The void.

Bob’s worst enemy.

It’s only after long minutes of being stuck against the wall and watching Bob losing it and taking the darkness that your body finds a force it’s never had before and you manage to get free and run to him.

‘It’s okay, I’m here.’ You hold him, trying to make him stop, the darkness swallowing his figure.

‘We’re here.’ Hands latch to your arms, to bobs.

Maybe they know it’s not just him they’re saving.

It’s you too.

The air’s thick. It’s scary, it’s tears falling out of everyone’s eyes.

Then the floor swallows you again.

Except when you open your eyes, the darkness quickly fades, your hand still latching to him desperately, yelena’s hand on your stomach. Everyone grunts, and you soon realize you’re back in New York. The void isn’t there.

The city’s regaining its sunlight, and apparently so is Bob.

You’re on your feet in seconds, everyone is.

And Bob’s smiling.

He’s looking around like he doesn’t have a single clue what just happened.

‘What happened?’ He speaks up the moment his eyes lay on you. His hand finds itself in your forehead gracing the gash.

‘I’m okay.’

You hear the others whisper.

Maybe him not remembering it isn’t such a bad thing.

He’ll just have to know that you were there for him.

When the team hears Valentina speaking on the phone, they’re after her in seconds.

‘C’mon’ you don’t hesitate to grab his hand and pull him along with you.

Bob’s confused.

Bob’s always confused.

He doesn’t know where this affection is coming from but he’d be lying if he said his stomach didn’t flutter the moment your hand touched his.

Bob’s confused, but he’s very, very happy.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

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#imagine #fanfic #bob reynolds x you #bob reynolds x y/n #bob reynolds x reader #bob thunderbolts #bob reynolds #robert reynolds x you #robert reynolds x reader #robert reynolds #tunderbolts #mcu x you #mcu x reader #mcu fandom #mcu #marvel x you #marvel x y/n #marvel x reader #marvel

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finchyclarkemd · 2 days ago

Text

Things you don’t remember

~Angst/fluff~

The first time you see him, he's leaning against the hospital doorframe like he’s holding up the whole damn world with one shoulder. He doesn’t speak right away. Just stares.

You study him, trying to place the dark circles under his eyes, the tired set of his jaw, the way his hands stay clenched at his sides like he’s holding something back- grief, maybe. Or worse: hope.

The nurse clears her throat behind him. “Mr. Clarke… she’s awake.”

He walks in like the floor might shatter beneath him.

“You don’t remember me,” he says, voice rough.

You blink. The name sounds vaguely familiar, but so does your own, and neither comes with a face. You try to find something in his eyes that stirs recognition, some warmth or flicker of home, but there’s just… blank space.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “Should I?”

He exhales, and it’s the saddest sound you’ve ever heard. Like a man mourning something still alive.

“I’m George,” he says. “George Clarke. I-” He swallows. “We were engaged.”

Your breath catches. You glance down at your hands instinctively, searching for a ring. It’s not there. Of course it’s not. You don't even remember what love feels like. But when he steps closer, voice low, he says your name like a secret only he knows. Like someone who’s said it a thousand times, through laughter, through tears, through every version of you that you've forgotten. And in that moment, though your mind doesn't recognise him- your heart clenches like maybe, just maybe, it still does.

You stare at George like maybe if you look long enough, something will click into place. It doesn’t.

“I don’t feel anything,” you say quietly, and immediately regret the words. His expression doesn’t change, but something in his posture does, like he’s been punched in the chest but refuses to fall.

He nods once, like he’s been preparing for this.

“That’s okay,” he says. “I didn’t come here expecting a miracle.”

You look down at the blanket on your lap, fingers fidgeting with the edge. “Then why did you come?”

He hesitates. Then: “Because I made you a promise. And you don’t remember it, but I do.”

Your eyes lift slowly. “What promise?”

George steps closer, then pulls a small, weathered notebook from his coat pocket. It’s old, edges frayed, the pages inside bent and loved. He holds it out to you, but doesn’t let go when you take it.

“You told me,” he says, voice like gravel, “if anything ever happened to you, if you ever forgot, you wanted me to bring this. You said it had the truth in it. Not just facts, but... the way things felt.”

You gently tug it free from his hand. On the front, in your own handwriting, are the words: “Just in case.”

You open it.

Page one is a sketch of a coffee mug. His, you think. The caption underneath reads: He drinks it black and complains every time, but won’t admit he likes it that way.

Page two is a scribbled quote: "I think I could love him forever. Maybe I already do."

You look up at him. His jaw is tight, eyes unreadable.

“How long were we together?” you ask.

He swallows. “Four years.”

“And I don’t remember any of it?”

“No.” His voice is barely audible now. “But I do. Every day.”

You flip through the pages- doodles, ticket stubs, half-finished thoughts. Every one of them proof that something real existed between you. That it wasn’t just his memory holding you here. It was yours, too, tucked into paper and ink.

“Do you want me to stay?” he asks. “I won’t push. But I’ll stay as long as you let me.”

You look at him, and even though your mind is still a fog, there’s something grounding about his presence. Like gravity, pulling you toward something you don’t understand but maybe want to.

You nod.

“Stay.”

George visits the hospital every day. He doesn’t bring flowers or balloons like the others. Instead, he brings pieces of the life you used to share. The first day, it’s a playlist.

“Your favourite songs,” he says, setting his phone gently on your bedside table. “You said music made you feel things faster than memory ever could.”

You don’t say anything. But when he leaves, you press play. By the third song, your chest aches with a feeling you can’t name.

The next day, he brings your cat.

“He hated me at first,” he admits as the nurse raises an eyebrow, “but I bribed him with tuna and dignity.”

The cat, Garfield, is unimpressed by the sterile room but curls instantly into your lap like he knows exactly where he belongs. Like he knows you. And maybe, for a moment, you believe you know you, too.

Each day, George brings another puzzle piece.

A Polaroid of the two of you at a winter market, noses red, hot chocolate in hand.

A chipped ceramic mug with your initials and a tiny heart carved in the bottom.

A dog-eared copy of Jane Eyre with sarcastic notes scribbled in the margins.

“We used to argue about whether Rochester deserved redemption,” he says one evening. “You said he didn’t. I said he was just a man who made mistakes.”

You pause, gaze drifting over his face.

“And now?” you ask softly.

George smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Now I think maybe we both were right.”

You start to ask more questions. Not big ones. Just quiet, everyday things.

“How did we meet?” “At a bookshop. You made fun of my Hemingway pick. I pretended not to care.”

“What was our first fight?” “You were convinced I didn’t like your cooking. I was just scared I’d mess things up if I admitted I did.”

“What did I say when I told you I loved you?” George looks down at his hands. “You didn’t say it. You wrote it. On a napkin. Slid it across the table like a secret.”

You feel the echo of it, just a tremor, but it’s there.

One afternoon, as the sun spills gold across the hospital floor, George sits beside you, close but not touching. His hand hovers near yours, respectful of the distance between the past and the now.

“Do you ever… resent me for forgetting?” you ask quietly.

His gaze doesn’t waver. “Never. Losing you once was enough. I’d rather have the pieces than nothing at all.”

Your throat tightens. And then, for the first time, you reach for his hand. Not because you remember. But because something inside you wants to.

It happens on a Tuesday. The sky is grey, the kind of heavy-clouded quiet that feels like it’s waiting for something. You and George sit on a bench just outside the hospital’s rehab wing. It’s your first real time outdoors since the accident. Everything feels too sharp. The air, the light, the smell of wet pavement.

George unwraps a sandwich but doesn’t eat it. He’s watching you again. He always does when you’re not looking. Like if he stares hard enough, he can will your memories back. You don’t mind. You’re starting to look at him, too.

He says something about a coffee shop you both used to visit Cedar’s describes it with the kind of affection that feels like a prayer: mismatched chairs, cinnamon in the air, the table by the window you always stole because you liked the light. You blink. Your fingers tighten around the Styrofoam cup in your hands. The cold coffee sloshes.

“Wait,” you say, voice suddenly thin.

George freezes. “What?”

You close your eyes. There’s something. Cinnamon. Wood polish. A squeaky chair. A sound. Your laugh? His. A moment: his hand brushing yours across a chipped table. The curve of his smile when he looked at you like you were the only thing that made sense.

“I remember… that table,” you whisper. “Just for a second. You… you spilled something. I think it was tea? I made fun of you.”

He doesn’t speak. You open your eyes and see the look on his face, pure disbelief, breaking slowly into something softer, something wild with hope.

His voice is hushed. “You always made fun of me when I spilled tea. You said I held the cup like it owed me money.”

You let out a breathy laugh, startled by the sound of it. There’s no full scene. No name. No clarity. Just a flicker. A sensation. But it’s yours. And it’s real.

You glance at him. “It was chamomile.”

George nods once. His throat moves like he’s swallowing something sharp.

“Yeah,” he says, smiling like a man who’s been holding his breath for weeks. “It was.”

You don’t reach for him this time. But you lean just slightly in his direction. And that’s enough, for now.

It’s raining again. A cold, slanting drizzle that turns the sidewalks into mirrors and blurs the world into greyscale. You’re back in the hospital lounge, curled under a too-thin blanket, flipping through the memory notebook George gave you. You’ve read the same five pages for days now, waiting for something else to surface.

He stands at the window, arms folded, jaw tight. Silent. You can feel the storm in him before he says a word.

“George?”

He doesn’t turn around.

You set the notebook down, uneasy. “Is something wrong?”

He laughs, but it’s brittle. “Wrong? No. Not at all. I’m just watching it rain on the day that should’ve been our wedding anniversary. So, no… nothing’s wrong.”

The words land like stones in your chest.

You sit up, slowly. “I didn’t know…”

“I know,” he says sharply, then softens. “Of course you didn’t. That’s the point, isn’t it?”

He finally turns. His eyes are tired. Not angry. Just… tired. The kind of tired that lives in the bones.

“I’ve been trying not to say this,” he murmurs. “I’ve told myself over and over that it’s selfish, that you’ve been through enough. But it’s killing me, watching you look at me like I’m a stranger.”

You flinch. Not because of his tone, but because he’s right.

“I never wanted to make you feel like-”

“Like I don’t exist anymore?” he finishes. “Like the last four years of my life evaporated the moment your head hit the dashboard?”

You look down at your hands. Shame rises hot in your throat.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

George exhales, dragging his hand through his hair. “I’m not mad at you,” he says, quieter now. “God, I’m not. I’m mad at fate, or the universe, or the idiot who ran that red light. I just… I don’t know how much longer I can keep pretending this doesn’t hurt.”

You meet his gaze. And for the first time, you really see it. The cracks behind his calm, the way love and grief have been eating him alive in silence.

“I remember chamomile tea,” you say suddenly. “And the cinnamon. And you… smiling at me, that way you do.”

His breath catches.

“I know it’s not much,” you add. “But it’s something, isn’t it?”

He walks over slowly, kneels in front of your chair like you might disappear if he moves too fast.

“It’s everything,” he says.

And then, for the first time, you reach for him. Not out of obligation, or guilt, or the faint echo of who you were, but because you want to. And maybe that’s the beginning of a new memory.

Spring comes softly. It creeps in through the windows of your new apartment. Smells like rain on warm pavement and the hint of lilacs blooming somewhere unseen. The air hums with quiet promise.

George is in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, brow furrowed in deep concentration over an omelet that’s probably going to fall apart. He still can’t cook. You’ve confirmed that much.

You lean against the doorway, watching him with a warmth you can’t explain. Or maybe you can. You just don’t have all the pieces yet.

“I remember something new,” you say.

He freezes. Slowly turns.

“Oh?” he says carefully. Hope flickers in his eyes, but it’s guarded now. He’s learned not to expect too much. You walk over to the table, where a familiar mug waits. Chipped. Painted blue. You pick it up.

“You used to bring me tea in this,” you say. “You’d pretend you didn’t know which one I liked, but you always got it right.”

George says nothing for a long moment.

Then he smiles. Not the broken, uncertain kind you saw in the hospital, but something real. Full. Alive.

“I never forgot you,” he says softly. “Not even for a second.”

You take the mug in both hands. It feels like yours again. Like home.

“I think…” you pause, feeling your heartbeat rise. “I think I want to fall in love with you. All over again. From the beginning.”

George crosses the room in two steps, but he doesn’t rush. He touches your face gently, like you’re fragile porcelain. Like you’re sacred.

“You don’t have to fall,” he whispers. “You can choose me. Every day. I’ll do the same.”

You nod.

“I choose you.”

And that’s the truth of it, in the end: The memories may come back. They may not. But love isn’t always something you remember. Sometimes, it’s something you decide to build, again. Together.

——————————————————————————————————

First time writing again in a while! I hope you enjoyed! I will try and post a little more now university has finished.

Tags

@themdera

@tyna-19

@smzyyx

#george clarke fics #george clarke fluff #george clarke angst #george clarke x reader #george clarke #arthur hill #arthur frederick #harrylewis #willne #w2s #james marriott #harry lewis #uk youtubers #wroetoshaw

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rowdyluv · 3 days ago

Text

𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐞 ʲʰ⁸⁶

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: cherry and bubba give their momma the scare of her life in the middle of prudential on a game day. who else but Jack to be the one to find them?

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.4k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: missing kids, panicked mom, not much of a x reader, filler/starter

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: ^ as said this is more of a starter piece for the au. also please remember that this 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐢𝐜𝐞 @capquinn @star2fishmeg @crumpledcat @bewaryofpity (we miss aimes in this house she’s still mentioned because she started this!! the og bug is also alluded too in this 🥺)

Y/n had brought her twins, Cherry and Bubba, to the bustling Prudential Center for an exciting afternoon. They had just settled into one of the quieter staff areas, a brief respite from the chaos outside. The air had the smell of fresh popcorn and the distant murmur of eager fans filtering through the walls. The twins' eyes sparkled with excitement as they took in their surroundings, they definitely fit right in with their tiny devils jerseys on. Bubba sporting a ‘hat’ hat, while Cherry bad the cutest bows in her hair.

“You two sit right here and play, okay?” Y/n directed her two year olds handing them their favorite plushies before turning her attention towards her camera.

Her eyes narrowed as she fiddled with the camera lens, her mind racing through the shots she could have missed because of the foggy filter. Its the first home game with her new job as the media director of the New Jersey Devils. The nerves she felt about potentially messing it all up were astronomical. She was so self asorbed in her thoughts and changing her lens she hadnt notice the silence that had taken over the room.

Her head whipped around to face where she had sat the twins down.

Empty.

No Cherry.

No Bubba.

Her heart skipped a beat, the room spinning as panic set in. The plushies lie discarded on the floor, as if the twins had been whisked away by a gust of wind.

"Cherry? Bubba?" she called out, her voice echoing in the empty space. The silence was deafening, broken only by the distant thud of a door slamming shut somewhere in the haze of corridors outside. The color drained from her face as she scanned the room, desperation clawing at her chest. She knew Prudential Center was vast and filled with thousands of fans, but she never thought she'd have to navigate its labyrinth in a heart-stopping search for her babies.

Her eyes darted to the door as a security guard ambled by. "Oh, thank God," she gasped, sprinting towards him. The guard, an older, burly man with a kind smile, looked surprised but immediately stood erect and alert as she reached him, panting. "I-I can't find my twins. They were just here. A little girl with two ponytails and bows and a little boy in one of the team ‘hat’ hats. Both wearing the black jersey. They..They’re only two! They don’t usually wander off…"

The guard's smile faded, replaced by a stern expression. "Ma'am, please calm down. We'll find them," he reassured her, his radio crackling to life as he called in the missing children. "What's your name and the kids' names?"

“My name is Y/n, and I call my babies by their nicknames. My babygirl is Cherry and my babyboy is Bubba or Bubs.” She went on to tell him their legal names as well, but asked that his team approach them by their nicknames.

The security guard , who wore a name badge labeled ‘Mike’ nodded, scribbled the information down on his notepad, and spoke into his radio. "All guards please be on the look out. Two missing children. Toddlers, twins, a girl and a boy. Last seen down in the media room, both wearing New Jersey Devils jerseys..." The message was met with a series of acknowledgments as the search began to unfold across the sprawling complex. “Ms. Y/n, you and I will linger closer to the media staff room that way if they wander back we will see them.”

Y/n nodded, her heart pounding so loudly in her chest that she feared it might drown out any distant cries from her babies. She felt like she was moving through a fog, the corridors stretching out before her like a never-ending nightmare. She tried to keep her voice steady as she called out their names, her eyes scanning every corner and crevice for a glimpse of their tiny figures. Her mind raced with fearful questions, regretful questions: why did I dress them in black? Why did I turn my back? Why had they left? Were they lost? Had someone taken them?

Mike, kept up a calm and reassuring demeanor. He led her through the back hallways, checking in with other staff members and security personnel as they walked around the surrounding area. Mike opening different rooms and checking while Y/n stayed out in the open hall. Y/n felt the weight of every second ticking by, each one heavier than the last. Her eyes stung with the threat of tears, blurring her vision as they moved from room to room. “I thought we were staying near the staff room?” She asked more to herself, not outwardly to Mike for answer. He was doing his job, and for her.

His radio spit to life once again and they both halted, awaiting any news.

“Sir, I have the twins.” A sweet young woman’s voice cracks through Mike’s radio. “They won’t leave Mr. Hughes, so all four if us will meet you in the staff room.”

Relief flooded through Y/n’s body so suddenly it felt like she might collapse. Her knees buckled in a sense of relief, her babies were found. But who did she say? She clutched the guard’s arm. Many of the same questions still ran through her mind. Why?

They rushed down the corridor, the sound of laughter growing louder, more distinct. Finally, they arrived at the staff room, where the young woman on the radio was waiting. She looked flustered but had a gentle smile on her face. "They're in here," she said, pointing to the open doorway.

Y/n pushed past her, heart in her throat, and there they were: Cherry, her cheeks flushed with excitement, giggling as she tried to climb onto Jack Hughes' broad shoulders, and Bubba, clutching Jack's hand with a wide grin that revealed his tiny baby teeth. The star player looked a bit bewildered but was clearly enjoying the twins' attention.

Y/n was blinded by pure joy her babies were safe that she wrapped Jack in a hug. A million thank yous falling from her lips.

Jack, taken aback by the sudden embrace, felt a warmth spread through him. He hadn’t expected this reaction from the usually composed Y/n, but he couldn’t deny the way her desperation and gratitude made his chest tighten.

“No biggy. I think its safe to say little bit here likes me.” He chuckles nodding his head at cherry who has successfully made it on to his shoulders.

Y/n can't help but laugh nervously as she gently takes cherry from his shoulders and holds her close. "How did you find them?"

Jack's eyes twinkle as he recounts the bizarre encounter. "Well, I walked in to get changed for warm ups, and there was Cherry sitting in my stall, with my jersey like it was a blanket. And Bubba, he was with Nico, playing some game." The twins looked up at them with their wide, innocent eyes, clearly enjoying their unexpected playtime with the towering athletes. "We didn't have a clue who they belonged to, but they were having the time of their lives, so we just kept playing. They had us wrapped around their little fingers," he admits, a touch of fondness in his voice. Jack looked at Cherry as she made grabee hands at him. “Cherry reminds me of my brother’s little girl.” He gently rubbed her cheek and she giggled. “I dont get to see Bug often enough so i loved having a moment to play with her. Bubs here would love to meet my younger brother’s boy.” Jack nudged Bubba’s hat down a bit, resulting in a huff accompanied by a stomp from Bubba.

Nico poked his head into the room, his expression a mix of relief and amusement. "Jack, Keefe is looking for you. Oh! Glad to see you found who the littles belong too," he said with a chuckle, nodding at the twins. Y/n couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt for interrupting their pre-game routine. "I'm sorry, guys. I don't know how they even got down there. They hardly ever do things like that and when they do its at home!”

Jack, shrugged it off with a smile. "It's all good. They're pretty great little fans. I better go see what Coach needs," he said in a heavy sigh. Almost as if he didn’t want to leave just yet.

“Wait, Jack! If playing with the twins for that bit of time really made you happy…if you want we could..” She let her words stop when she caught the look he was giving her. His eyes full of hope, a small, soft smile gracing his lips. “Maybe, we.. uhm maybe we could set up a day for you to play with them? I mean since you miss your brother’s kid and all, not like to try and replace them or anything of course.” Y/n rambled nervously. Suddenly unsure why she started offering up her kids as a playdate to a professional athlete.

“Thanks Y/n. I can get Luke to bring Bud around too. How about we chat after the game?” Jack’s smile grew as he walked backwards towards the door but he ducked out before she could properly answer him. He left her standing there, holding Cherry and Bubba clinging to her pant leg, feeling entirely bewildered by what all just happened.

Because what the hell did just happen?

#cay writes #jack hughes #dad!jack hughes #dad!jack #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes x y/n #jack hughes x you #uncle!quinn Hughes #uncle!luke hughes #nj devils fic #nhl fic #jack hughes fic #queued #!Stepping Up

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f1daydreamer · 2 days ago

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All These Years

♡••••°°°°••••°°°°••••°°°°••••°°°°••••°°°°♡

SHE didn't expect the memories to come back so vividly, so suddenly. But they did. One by one. Like raindrops against glass, soft at first, then louder, unstoppable. Memories of fourteen. Of when everything started.

She had just moved to Italy that summer, the kind of move that tore you from everything familiar. New city, new school, new language. Her parents insisted it was for the best. "A fresh start," they called it. It didn't feel that way, not until the first day at the local karting track.

That’s where she met him.

He had his helmet off, hair slightly damp with sweat, fire in his eyes even at that age. He noticed her standing alone by the fence, arms crossed, unsure whether she was supposed to be there.

"You like karting?" he asked in English, his accent faint but there.

"I think I could," she answered.

He smiled then, bright and confident. "Then come on. I'll show you around."

That was the beginning.

They grew closer with every lap she took, every afternoon they spent laughing under the sun, every stupid joke she told that made him roll his eyes but secretly smile. She brought lightness to his focused world. He brought adventure into her quiet one.

He used to walk her home after training. Once, as they passed the old bookstore near the square, she asked him if he ever got nervous before races.

"Sometimes," he admitted. "But when you're there watching, it's easier."

Weeks passed. Summer became autumn, and the cold never seemed to bite when he was around. Then came the confession.

It was one of those slow, golden evenings when everything felt still. They were sitting on a low wall by the track after hours, his knee bouncing nervously.

"I think I like you," he said without looking at her.

She turned to him, heart in her throat.

"You do?"

He finally looked at her, eyes serious. "Yeah. More than just a friend."

Relief and something warmer spread through her chest. She reached out, touching his hand.

"I like you too."

They were fourteen, young and unsure, but the feeling was real.

Their first date was innocent and awkward in the sweetest way. He took her to the little gelato shop in town, even though it was the middle of October. They sat outside anyway, shivering slightly but refusing to move because it was theirs. They talked about everything and nothing. He got pistachio, she got strawberry. He offered her a bite and she wrinkled her nose. "You like that flavor?" He smirked. "You'll learn to love it."

Their first kiss happened two weeks later behind the pit garage. They had just finished a race weekend, her hands still smudged with grease from helping him with the kart. He looked at her for a long time, then leaned in. It was clumsy, a little too fast, but they laughed right after and kissed again, slower this time.

A week after that, he asked her to be his girlfriend. He didn’t do it with flowers or a big gesture. Just pulled her aside before class and said, "Would it be okay if you were mine? Officially, I mean."

She nodded, trying not to beam. "I already am."

They grew up together in quiet ways. She was always in the stands, arms folded with nerves, eyes never leaving him on the track. He’d look for her every time he crossed the finish line.

He introduced her to his family one winter evening. His mom was warm, kind, his dad a little sterner but respectful. His sister was curious and asked questions in rapid Italian, and even though she only understood half of them, she answered with a smile.

Later, when he met her family, he brought flowers for her mom and shook her dad’s hand firmly. They weren’t sure about the whole “racing boy” thing at first. But when they saw how he looked at their daughter, they softened.

Years passed. Their love matured in stolen weekends, late night video calls when he was traveling, and early morning texts before practice.

Then came the moment that changed everything.

He called her one night, breathless, as if he had just run five miles.

"I signed it."

"Signed what?"

"The contract. With Mercedes. It’s official."

She couldn’t speak. Her eyes filled instantly.

"You’re the first person I’ve told," he added softly.

Pride exploded in her chest. "Kimi, that’s... that’s incredible. I’m so proud of you."

They cried together that night. He was chasing his dream, and she was right there with him.

Eventually, they moved in together. It was a tiny flat in Bologna, barely big enough for two. But it was theirs. She would cook him breakfast when he came home late from training, and he’d fall asleep with his head on her shoulder, still in his hoodie and socks.

It wasn’t always perfect.

There were moments of frustration. Missed calls. Long trips. Silence when it hurt the most.

The worst fight happened after a long weekend away. He came home late. She had cooked, lit candles, tried to make the apartment feel warm. But he was exhausted, distracted, barely said two words before disappearing into the bedroom.

She followed him in.

"Can we talk?" she asked.

"Not now," he muttered.

"That’s the thing, Kimi. It’s never now."

He looked up, startled.

"You’ve changed," she said quietly.

"I’m working for everything we dreamed of."

"And I’m here! I’ve always been here. But lately, it feels like I’m just… waiting."

Silence stretched like a crack in glass.

"You don’t understand what it’s like," he finally said. "The pressure. The expectations. Every move I make is under a microscope."

"And you think I don’t feel that too? I’ve given up so much to support you, Kimi. I chose you."

They both stood there, words still echoing in the room.

Then, softly, he said, "Don’t leave."

"I wasn’t going to. But you need to let me in."

He crossed the space between them and pulled her into his arms.

"I’m sorry. I don’t want to shut you out. I just… I don’t always know how to handle it all."

She pressed her forehead to his. "You don’t have to do it alone."

They sat on the floor for hours that night, arms wrapped around each other like they were afraid to let go. No more pride, no more distance.

Just them.

Now, she stands by the window, watching him laugh in the kitchen as he burns toast. He's taller now, broader, sharper around the edges. But his eyes still crinkle the same when he smiles. He catches her looking and walks over, looping his arms around her waist.

"Hey."

"Hey yourself."

"What are you thinking about?"

She leans into him. "The day we met."

He smiles softly. "You were wearing that ridiculous hoodie."

"It was not ridiculous. It was oversized and cool."

"You looked like you were drowning in it."

They both laugh.

"Thank you for staying," he whispers.

"Always."

He leans in and kisses her, slow and certain.

They made it. Through years and noise and doubt.

All those memories at fourteen?

They were just the beginning.

♡••••°°°°••••°°°°••••°°°°••••°°°°••••°°°°♡

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afroslacks · 22 hours ago

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Don't Copy My Work 😐

Excuse any grammar mistakes and spelling I will fix it later.

I Luv Your Girl - The Dream

Modern! Elijah "Smoke" Moore x Black! Reader

Elijah has always been the quiet, calm, cool, and collected type. Whether that's its actual personality or a trauma response to adolescene he endured. He's been good keeping a poker face. But, when he met you it all changed.

You're his best friend's girl. His best friend being a man named Darius. They've know each other since their early 20's and been tight ever since. Smoke has always respected and love Darius like he was his own until he fell for you.

Right now he's watching you and Darius cuddle up on the couch as everyone watches some dumb ass horror movie. He's not even paying attention to the movie but instead he sitting at the end of couch watching y'all like some stalker. "I can't look" explain as out your hands over eyes only to slowly peek from behing your hands. Darius laughs deep from within his chest to pull you closer under his shoulder "it's okay baby I know you're a scaredy cat."

At his insenstive comment you smack your lips "boy shut up you know I don't like scary movies." Smoke has always liked your honesty and fired and he considers them some the best qualities about you. He never liked women who just sat there and took anything, to him they didn't have boundaries. He wanted woman who show him something and prove him wrong.

But he also knew Darius wanted to break you down in someone nobody would recognize. He had this belief that you needed to soften up a bit and follow a man's lead to make your life easier. Maybe even smile more so you would look so angry. That's exactly why he picked this lame ass movie.

Smoke then clears his throat to let the couple know he's still here. "My bad man we forgot you were here" Darius admits as he looks over his shoulder. "Speak for yourself" You cut in "Smoke are we annoying you?" Not wanting to inapporpiate. After all he is a guess. Elijah chuckles a little bit "nah you good."

He really appreciate that you're one of the few people who refuses to allow him to fall to waist side. Because of quiet nature people often move around because he doesn't make himself known. So to know that you'll always acknowledge him at his most silent makes him want you more. He knows its wrong to want your friend but he know he can treat you better.

He clears his throat stands uo clutching his bowl of popcorn. As screams from the televison fill the room along with the sound of chainsaw. "Well it's getting late looks like I gotta bounce." He admits

It causes you to smack your lips in disappointment as you push away Darius. "What? You don't have to go I gotta spare bedroom." You suggest while Darius raises a brow as your caring nature. "Since when you have such a caring spirit?" He jokes looking between his best friend and girlfriend. "I'm not heartless its too late for him to drive." You insists holding eye contact with Smoke who hasn't looked away since.

"I don't want to interrupt" Smoke confesses don't wanting to cause a fight. You shake your head the claim if their was a fight it started because Darius was annoying the hell out her. "No you're good plus it's my house" insisting

¤¤¤¤¤

Later that night You crawl out bed leaving Darius to snore loudly in bed heaving like a dog. Since he is such a heavy sleeper.Slowly shutting the door behind you make it to the spare bedroom. You gently open the door stepping inside for closing and locking it behind you.

Elijah already awake stares at you as he sleeps shirtless with gold chain gleaming in the night from the moonlight. "Came back for more?" He asks as the blankets falls from hips exposing his abs. You exclaim heavily "I'm just making sure that we agree we aren't going to tell him anything. Smoke then climbs out of bed walks over to ypu then peers down "now why would I do that?" He rhetorrically asks he knows why but, he wants to truth to spills from your lips.

"Because it shouldn't have happened don't play dumb it ain't cute." You snap turning your nose at him with anger flaring in your eyes. Smoke scoffs nodding along "So you didn't ride me or my face until 3am a week ago." He sarcastically agrees wanting to rub it in her face. "So we didn't spend time outside of sex enjoying each other company and you didn't confess you wanted to leave him?" Your face burns as he brings up some of the best memories that you've had in a long time. The memories that you're forcing yourself to push away to be safe.

"I'm with Darius, Smoke you know you're bestfriend." Pointed out "You don't have to be, let me take care of it and you." He suggest wrapping his strong arms around your waist. You heart beating faster as you feel yourself falling again.

Smokes leans his forehead again yours. Heavy breathing between you both and you haven't done anything yet. "I want to treat you like the amazing woman that you are. Don't you want that?" He inqures staring into your eyes. Your lip quivers as you think of wonderful treatment he provided for you before "Yes." You shakily admit breathing him in.

You're of Darius and honestly you can't stand him. He does everything in his power to try to control you. He's boring and his sex game weak too. You stayed simply because you've been there for a certain amount of time.

Elijah places his hands on your cheeks pulling you into his addicting kiss. It starts innocent with a press of his lips. Then he proceeds to open you up demanding for your tongue to play.

Your hands starts towards his large back and then makes its way up to his neck. Wanting to craddle his head to yours not wanting to let go of his touch. Moments later you break apart for air and he plants kisses on your neck. Grabbing a handful of your bottom to cop a good feel of what's his.

¤¤¤¤¤

Anyways let me know what you think. Should I make part 2? I'm sorry I didn't write more its 1am and bad bitch gotta work. Bye🫠

#sinners x reader #michael b jordan x reader #smoke x reader #elijah moore #x black reader #elijah moore x reader #elijah smoke moore #sinners x black reader

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bullet-prooflove · 2 days ago

Text

His Fucked Up Wang: John Shen x Reader (feat: Jack Abbot)

Tagging: @kmc1989 @miraclesabound @cannonindeez @fadeinsol @nommingonfood

Summary: John's forced to treat your ex when he's rolled into the ED.

Companion piece to:

Ashes - You take revenge on the first man your parents sold you to.

The Choice - In the wake of his brother’s suicide John goes against his parents’ wishes and makes a choice about his residency.

You Should See Me In A Crown - A chance encounter sparks the beginning of something special for John.

Dick Pics - You and John discuss your dating life in the ambulance bay during a rare shift break.

Brunch - John refuses to give up when you miss brunch with him.

Silly Little Boys (NSFW) - John's not like the other men you've been with.

In The Summer - You discover John's secret.

Tiger, Tiger - John reveals the truth between his engagement and his history.

Jack - John's mother opens up old wounds by giving John a copy of your DCFS file.

Bare (NSFW) - John and you commit to each other in a special way.

The Shirt - Jack realises that you're wearing a boyfriend shirt.

Tradition - Mrs Shen makes a decision regarding the wedding.

Daywalker - You and John discuss something that could cause a big change in your relationship.

The Wedding Gift - John’s dad brings out the worst in him.

Pandora’s Box - John realises he’s opened up Pandora’s Box when his brother pays a visit.

Fucked Up - You take care of John when he starts to have doubts.

A Few Weeks More (NSFW) - You and John find a moment to reconnect amidst the busyness of your lives.

John hates his patient.

It’s not a dislike or an annoyance, it’s a strong visceral feeling that he has deep down in his bones, a residual effect from an event that occurred six months ago.

“I can’t deal with this motherfucker. I’m not supposed to be within 100 feet of him.” Jack huffs when he saw the name on the patient chart he’d been given. He shoves the tablet into John’s hands and John sighs because he doesn’t want to deal with the asshole either.

“So you’re gonna make me handle Pharma Bro?” John mutters, casting a glare at the man being wheeled in on the gurney, a bandage wrapped around his head. He’s chatting up a storm as you push it down the corridor, trying your best to feign interest because you have such a kind soul.

“Attending.” Jack says pointing at his chest before jabbing his finger at John. “Resident.”

The message is clear. I’m the boss, deal with it.

The thing is John doesn’t blame Jack for slashing this guy’s tires. That man is fiercely protective of you and the fact Pharma Bro tried to fuck around on you with one of your friends, especially after everything you’ve been through. It’s unforgivable in his eyes.

“You know I’m gonna have to look at his wang right? Make sure it’s not neurosyphilis that caused the fall.”

It’s definitely neurosyphilis that caused that fall. They all saw the pictures you and Ivy put on that board on the breakroom at the time, the legions on his cock. They all know he has syphilis, that an asshole like that probably didn’t get it treated.

The left side of Jack’s mouth tips up into a knowing smirk. “Sounds like a you problem.”

“Sounds like you enjoy torturing your future son in law.” John shoots back.

Jack’s head snaps up and it’s John’s turn to smirk.

“Not yet Doctor Abbot.” John informs him, turning his attention back to the chart. “But there’s going to be a point when I ask and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t slash my tires when the time comes.”

“That’s fair.” Jack says tilting his head from side to side as if weighing up the pros and cons of having John as a son in law. “Just don’t fuck it up and get her something gaudy. She likes simple things, and no flash mobs.” - Jack shudders - “She’d fucking hate that.”

“I’d fucking hate that.” John tells him, snatching up a fresh pair of latex gloves and pulling them on. “Wish me luck, because it’s going to require every single ounce of patience not to murder this douche.”

“Good luck with his fucked up wang.” Jack calls after him and John walks away shooting him the middle finger over his shoulder.

Love John? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Before you join the taglist make sure to read the rules here as you otherwise you won’t be added.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#dr shen #john shen #john shen x reader #dr shen x reader #the pitt #the pitt max #the pitt hbo #the pitt 2025 #the pitt fanfiction

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claramelooo · 12 hours ago

Text

Checkmate (2/20)

What about this chapter... tell me you hehe....

MINORS MUST NOT INTERACT

Warning: +18, humiliation and degradation, angst, and sexual assault. (Proceed with caution.)

Pairing: Governor!Agatha Harkness x Fem Reader

Summary: An opportunity arises that will change your life.

Promotion

noun

It is the process in which a pawn that reaches the last row of the board is replaced by another piece, usually a queen.

You got to the dorm without remembering how. All you knew was that your feet hurt, your heart hurt more, and that bitter taste in your mouth wasn’t just from the tequila — it was pure humiliation.

The doorknob creaked when you pushed the door open. The room was bathed in the bluish gloom of streetlights filtered through crooked blinds. Everything was in its place — except you.

You were different now.

A little dirtier.

A little more used.

You kicked off your shoes into a corner, your bag slipped off your shoulder with a dull thud against the floor, you stripped off your clothes angrily—piece by piece, as if they were burning your skin.

In the shower, the hot water tried —and failed, surely—to wash her scent off your body. Her woody perfume still clung to your pores, mixed with sweat, desire, and shame.

You lay down with your hair still wet, not caring. The pillow smelled like lavender, your weak attempt to keep something in place.

You opened your laptop and, almost on autopilot, picked The Office—the diversity day episode. You used to love that stupid crap, but your mind couldn’t follow.

You wanted to laugh, you wanted to cry, you wanted to disappear.

Before the scene where Michael gathers everyone in the conference room, you were out.

And you dreamed.

You dreamed of the weight on your chest. Of hot, wet kisses, of a strict tongue stealing yours, long fingers, chilled by Seattle’s cold, gripping your hips.

A touch you tattooed into your memory, one you might recognize even in another life.

Her image came back like a blade—the blue-green eyes glowing in the bar’s dim light; lips claiming yours; stifled, hoarse moans muffled against your mouth.

The way her body fit against yours like it had been made for it. The way her warm, soft insides clenched around your fingers.

You moaned in your sleep—too loud. Hands gripping the sheets, trying to hold onto the memory.

But then you felt it.

Hair.

Blonde hair.

Your eyes flew open, heart pounding.

“Carol?” you whispered, your voice a mix of disbelief and shock.

She looked at you with that same smile from before—crooked, reckless. Her body half over yours, her fingers already roaming your skin with the familiarity of someone who held a master key.

It wasn’t the woman with the unforgettable eyes.

And the disappointment hit you like a flipped chessboard to the face.

Because it wasn’t her.

It was just... Carol.

Again.

Like an endless loop of wrong choices.

The blonde looked at you with teary eyes, creating a wrinkle of concern on your forehead.

“Carol, what happened?”

“He couldn’t.” She said it softly, still clinging to you.

“'He' who? 'Couldn't' what?”

“He couldn’t make me come.” Ah, that guy from the club.

Honestly, you didn’t know how to respond.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, stroking her blonde hair.

“He only cared about his own pleasure!” she whimpered. “They’re all like that.”

She pouted again, her teary eyes recreating that fake wrinkle of concern on your forehead.

You were so uncomfortable, you could barely move.

“Except you,” she whispered, and there it was: the trap snapping shut.

Her eyes darkened, and you recognized that look. The same as always—hunger disguised as need.

She rubbed against you, already anticipating the surrender that always came.

But this time, something jammed inside you.

“I don’t want to, Carol.”

“I'm sorry?! What did you just say?” She laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. It was the laugh of someone who couldn’t believe you dared.

You tried to pull away, but she held you tighter. Her hand found your neck, fingers pressing against the spot where your racing pulse betrayed your fear.

“I don’t want this. You just fucked some guy, and I wouldn’t feel comfortable…”

The blonde laughed hysterically, making you flinch. You squirmed, trying to break free, but Danvers only tightened her grip.

“You don’t reject me. Got it?” Her whisper was sweet like poison. “Now make me come like the pathetic little slut I know you are.”

It was humiliating. It was disgusting.

It was familiar.

You cried—like you always did. But the tears weren’t just from rage or shame. They were from recognition.

Because deep down, you knew: Carol wasn’t your master.

She was your reflection.

The part of you that believed crumbs of affection were all you deserved that confused possession with love, that always went back to what hurt because at least it felt real.

And when she finally kissed you... you didn’t resist.

[...]

Your class schedule was an organized mess—just the way you always operated. Public Administration first, then Political Behavior, and ending the day with Anthropology.

Meh... could be worse.

You re read the schedule while walking across the university courtyard, sipping from your iced coffee.

Choosing Political Science was never exactly a coincidence.

You grew up watching Barack Obama’s speeches with wide eyes, like you were witnessing magic.

The way he spoke to everyone—whether a president or a janitor—made it feel like everyone mattered.

He was powerful, yet approachable.

A hero walking among us.

He was different from the rest because he didn’t feel untouchable. He didn’t point from above—he reached out, and that, more than anything, was what captivated you.

What inspired you.

But it was your father who lit the first match.

He would sit on the living room couch during election season, remote in one hand, sharp eyes glued to the screen. He would dissect every point, analyze every comma in the debates like he was watching a championship football match.

You, holding a cup of chocolate milk, didn’t understand everything—but you felt it.

You knew it mattered. That decisions were being made. Decisions that would affect nations, that could change the world—and that somehow, you could be a part of it.

That’s where the obsession began.

Not with the positions.

Not with the power.

But with the possibility of change.

By thirteen, you were already joining mini-debates in class. By fifteen, you joined the student council. At seventeen, you became student council president and volunteered during that year’s campaign. At eighteen, you entered university with the clarity of someone who knew exactly what she wanted and with the pent up anger of someone who’d seen too many people wronged by the country’s politics.

And now, here you were.

First class of the day about to begin, backpack slung over your shoulder, and your head still pounding with the ghosts of last night.

But politics teaches you one thing: the game never stops. You just have to learn to play better—or die trying.

“You’re really not going to Maria’s party tonight?” Billy asked as you dropped into the seat beside him.

He already had his notebook open and a pencil in his mouth, like it was possible to study and gossip at the same time.

Spoiler: he always managed.

“Billy, I barely managed to get out of bed. And you want me to go watch drunk people dance to some college DJ?”

He shrugged.

“I thought that was kind of the point. Distraction. Chaos. Maybe a random girl kiss to forget a certain someone…”

You took a deep breath.

You knew Billy was talking about Carol, but your mind insisted on dragging you back to the bar. Back to the arms of that blue-green-eyed stranger.

“Didn’t work so well last time,” you muttered, avoiding his gaze.

You’d already tried forgetting Carol that way and all it got you was a punishment you’d rather not remember.

“Touché,” he murmured. Then, after a beat: “At least help me pick out an outfit?”

You glanced at him.

Hair slightly messy, black nail polish chipping, and a t-shirt with the anarchy symbol.

“What are you talking about? I know you’re going to wear that shirt again.” You shrugged.

“It’s my signature look.” He grinned. “I want to cause an identity crisis in some Trump supporter at the party.” He winked.

You laughed—even if you didn’t want to. With Billy, it was almost impossible not to.

The professor walked in, and the conversation fell quiet for a few seconds. You opened your laptop, more out of habit than intent, and caught Billy glancing sideways at you.

“You okay?”

You hesitated, just for a second, but it was enough for him to notice.

Billy knew.

He knew about Carol, about the emotional mess, the sleepless nights, and the almost childish desperation to fix something that came broken from the start.

He knew how deeply you threw yourself into everything and how often you drowned in the process.

“No. But I will be.”

Billy didn’t say anything.

He didn’t try to fix it.

He just leaned his shoulder lightly against yours, a quiet gesture of presence, of someone who understood without needing to ask.

And finally, the weight on your chest felt bearable—at least in the morning.

The professor spun on his heels staring the class, a tiny worn notebook in hand.

He cleared his throat twice before speaking:

“The list of students approved for the internship with Jennifer Barkley is out.” His voice echoed through the room, stirring a wave of murmurs.

Jennifer Barkley was one of the best political strategists in the country.

Pure political warfare, raw intelligence, and a razor-sharp tongue.

The woman was a beast.

Every candidate who’d hired her had won.

It made her a living legend and an arrogant one.

Whoever had hired Barkley that year was already seen as the next winner.

The professor put on his glasses to read better. “Attention. Sharon Carter… Peter Parker, Billy Maximoff and…” Your mind froze the moment your own name left the man’s mouth.

“Sorry, Mr. Heartfield. But I didn’t apply for this…” you began, the words tripping over each other.

All eyes turned to you like blades. Cold, curious, judging.

What the hell was this?

You would never work for her. Not for anyone with conservative leanings—or even just dubious ones.

“Miss, Ms. Barkley’s office personally reviewed your academic record. Are you insinuating Jennifer Barkley makes mistakes?” the man said, raising a eyebrow.

Beside you, Billy just shook his head in disbelief.

You narrowed your eyes.

“Well, mistakes happen, and…” your attempt to take control was cut off.

“Miss, I suggest you show up at the time and date required for the internship you applied for. Understood?” He emphasized the word, looking at you over his glasses.

There was no room for argument at that moment and you felt small.

“Yes, sir,” you said, head lowered.

Billy was already mid-celebration, silently clapping and beaming.

“This is amazing! You and me in politics, side by side! Just imagine the possibilities!” he whispered with restrained excitement.

“I’m not so sure…”

“What? Come on! Working in politics is your dream.”

“Do you even know the kind of monster Barkley is? She doesn’t care about ideology, Billy. She cares about winning. She’s run campaigns for Republicans, oil tycoons… She’s like the Voldemort of politics.”

Billy rolled his eyes.

“Okay, maybe she is a conniving bitch. But she’s also a door. And doors are meant to be walked through. That’s all that matters right now. We both know nobody gets ahead in this game based on merit. It’s about connections. About risk. And you’ve got a talent you don’t even see in yourself.”

You sighed.

He was right.

That’s politics. It’s not a field of flowers—it’s mud, stumbles, sweat. The kind of dirt that’s hard to wash off.

You were just a pawn, but you’d read enough to know that, when the time is right, even a pawn can become any piece.

Even a queen.

The professor cleared his throat, snapping everyone back to the present.

“Take this opportunity seriously, those of you who were selected. It’s impressive that any of you even got the chance, considering how young you are. Please read the email sent out for all details. It’s confidential, so refrain from sharing any information. Next week, the university will be hosting the gubernatorial candidates for Washington, interested students may attend.”

The room buzzed again while Billy was furiously typing something on his phone. You, on the other hand, just stared at your laptop’s blank screen.

And for the first time, you couldn’t tell if you’d been given a chance or signed your own sentence.

[...]

You threw your backpack onto the couch and melted into it. Lying there, your mind started to drift to the same place again and it had sapphire-blue eyes that, in certain light, shimmered green like shattered glass under the sun.

The fine wrinkles around them—they were maps of stories you would never know, creases from smiles and maybe from cries you’d never shared.

Your heart was restless.

Her name.

Fuck, her name.

You’d give anything for it now.

A name to whisper in the dark, to moan when your fingers weren’t enough. But all you had was her ghost and God, how that burned.

Your eyes closed, betraying you again.

Fuck.

You could still smell her, taste her on your fingers. The heat first in your thoughts, then between your thighs, then at your fingertips, already slipping under your clothes with the urgency of someone drowning.

You didn’t want to touch yourself thinking about her. Not after the way she treated you, rejected you like you were nothing.

It was humiliating, pathetic, and so so predictable, even for you.

But your body didn’t seem to care.

God.

In fact, your body remembered that night with cruel precision.

It remembered her hands—older woman’s hands, veiny, with cold rings tapping against your skin—pulling your hair while you pushed inside her.

How could you forget a woman like that moaning for you?

Your fingers moved faster now, fully possessed by the memory. Remembering her cold eyes as she rejected you.

Nothing.

That’s what you were.

Fuck!

You moaned so loudly and so lonely in an empty apartment.

So needy.

And when the orgasm came, it came like a sob—you choked on your own madness.

No matter how hard you tried to recreate the feeling, no matter how tightly you shut your eyes and relived every detail of that night—the smell, the sounds, the touch—it would never be her with you.

That same silence that always came back to echo Carol’s voice.

Just your fingers, your sweat and that fucked lonely silence.

You laughed.

A weak, dry, defeated laugh.

Yeah...

Carol was right.

You were just a pathetic slut.

The click of the door echoed through the apartment.

You immediately straightened your body, pulling on the loose shirt, hardening your expression. The scent still lingered in the air, but you hoped she wouldn’t notice.

“Hello, little Bear,” she sang, walking in with the lightness of someone who had no idea what she did to you. That damn nickname… “I brought pizza.”

“Pizza?” You cleared your throat, your voice still hoarse from the orgasm.

“Yeah, I got an internship at Stark Industries.” she said casually, placing the box on the table without even looking at you.

You got up quickly, heading to the sink as an excuse, washing hands that still carried traces of a desire that no longer belonged to her.

“Seriously? Congratulations, Carol!” you forced enthusiasm, hoping the running water would hide the shake in your voice.

She finally turned, leaning against the sink beside you. Arms crossed against her chest, that clinical gaze—Predator watching prey. So very Carol.

“Why are you so red?”

You froze for half a second, just enough for her to notice.

“Am I?” you tried to sound casual, turning back to the cabinet, pulling out two glasses. “I think the shower was too hot.”

Shit.

You hadn’t even showered yet.

The waistband of your back still sweaty.

Carol didn’t answer right away. She just watched you, like someone sniffing out a lie.

“Or maybe you were thinking about someone?” her voice now lower, more suggestive. “Maybe about me?”

You gave a nervous smile, turning your head like you hadn’t heard.

“Carol…”

“Relax, little Bear.” She got too close. “I know the effect I have on you.”

Her words were warm poison dripping down your neck.

You had to endure this. Had to play it off, but you smiled—deeply.

Because, for the first time, Carol was wrong. For the first time, she hadn’t been the epicenter of your desire.

“But don’t forget…” her fingers brushed your waist like a disguised warning, “attention and affection are currency.”

You took a deep breath, feeling your heart pound in your chest. But it didn’t beat for her.

For the first time, you felt something like freedom stretch inside you.

A snap. A subtle break.

“So, shall we celebrate?” you offered, opening the pizza box again. Your voice was firmer now, and Carol seemed didn’t notice.

She grabbed the wine bottle and started to open it, as if nothing had happened, as if she still controlled you.

But there, between the scent of fresh dough and the still-warm memory on your fingers…

You felt the shackles begin to loosen.

And that alone was reason enough to celebrate.

After dinner—or better, after watching Carol devour three slices of pizza while talking about her own ego at full volume—you finally had a moment of peace.

You were lying on the bed, lights dimmed, phone in hand scrolling through TikTok felt good, but your stomach still churning from everything the day had thrown at you.

The weight of the internship news was still pulsing in your head like a distant alarm.

You opened your browser.

Jennifer Barkley.

If you were going to work for this woman—even against your will—you might as well know who you were dealing with.

The first thing that came up was a TIME article. Then one from The Atlantic. “The strategist who turns numbers into wins,” read the headline.

The woman really was a political shark—sharp, ruthless, and above all, successful. Her track record was practically untouchable.

But what really caught your attention was her Instagram.

@JenniferBarkleyOfficial.

The feed was pure prestige: selfies with senators, speeches in packed auditoriums, flashes beside celebrities at charity dinners.

You recognized some faces. Oprah. Kamala Harris. An old photo with Obama.

Not bad, Barkley, you thought, tilting your phone, turning up the brightness.

And that’s when she appeared.

A woman, in the corner of a picture taken during what looked like the launch of a campaign.

Tall and poised.

Long brown hair, perfectly styled. Intense eyes, cold as glass. A sharp jawline, commanding nose—the kind of beauty that looked hand-carved by some inspired Renaissance sculptor.

You stopped breathing.

Fuck.

The tachycardia hit before the confirmation.

The woman from the bar.

The stranger.

The unforgettable fuck.

The woman you had just masturbated thinking about.

No.

It wasn’t just that.

Agatha Harkness, gubernatorial candidate for the state of Washington.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Oh my God, you fucked her!

Literally.

You fucked her so hard. You could still feel her legs trembling around you.

The woman you touched like she was yours.

And now, you knew she would be working by your side.

Or worse,

Above you.

~*~

Uhhh... Look who got a super internship... Congratulatios!!

Tag List <3

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al-1-na · 2 days ago

Text

𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐚𝐲 𝟏𝟑 ~ 𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞 (req.)

⋆｡‧˚ʚ🧸ɞ˚‧｡⋆

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Rafe x Reader

𝐂𝐖: anal, explicit sexual content, rough, MDNI

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: After a fight, Rafe wants to try something entirely new with his girl. Reminding her who she belongs to.

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭; 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

⋆｡‧˚ʚ🧸ɞ˚‧｡⋆

It started with a fight.

You didn’t even remember what it was about now��something small, something stupid. But Rafe’s temper had a way of lighting up fast and burning everything in its path, and tonight, you didn’t back down. Words were thrown, doors slammed, hearts clawed open.

But now he was in front of you—chest rising fast, jaw clenched, pupils blown—and you knew exactly where this was going.

“I hate when you talk like that,” he muttered, stepping closer. “Like you’re not mine.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to.

His mouth crashed onto yours, and everything blurred—heat, breath, desperation. His hands were already on your waist, dragging you backwards until your thighs hit the bed. He pushed you down, stripped you without a word, and you let him. You always let him.

Because no one made you feel the way Rafe did—like you belonged to him. Body, mind, soul. Even when it hurt. Especially when it hurt.

“You gonna behave tonight?” he growled, sliding his hand between your legs. You were soaked already. His fingers dipped in, teasing you open, pressing your thighs apart with his knee. “Or do I have to remind you who this fckking body belongs to?”

You moaned, hips lifting instinctively.

He slapped your inner thigh—not hard, but enough to sting. “Answer me.”

“I’ll behave,” you whispered.

“Too late for that.”

He flipped you onto your stomach in one quick move, pressing his chest to your back as he grabbed your wrists and pinned them to the mattress. His cock was hard against your ass, already leaking, already twitching.

You felt the shift the second he leaned in, voice lower, darker.

“You trust me?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” he whispered. “Because I’m gonna take you somewhere I know you’ve never been.”

Your breath caught.

You’d done a lot with him—he’d taken you rough, soft, fast, slow—but you’d never gone there. Never let him have that part of you.

Tonight, that changed.

Rafe reached for the lube in the drawer. He kissed your shoulder softly as he poured some between your cheeks, fingers parting you gently, working it in. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he said. “But don’t lie just to please me.”

You nodded, trembling. His fingers were slick, slow at first—teasing your rim, circling, pressing the tip in until it burned. You hissed, clutching the sheets.

“Shhh,” he cooed. “Breathe through it. Just let me in.”

He worked one finger in fully, then two, scissoring them gently. It hurt—but not the kind that made you want to stop. It was pressure. Fullness. The edge of something filthy that made your stomach twist and your core pulse with need.

“You’re doing so good,” he murmured. “Taking me so well already.”

When he finally lined himself up, your breath hitched. His cock pressed against your entrance—hot, thick, stretching you in a way that made your eyes water.

“Relax for me,” he said. “Let me claim every part of you.”

And he pushed in.

Slow. Painful. Unrelenting.

Your body clenched around him, the stretch bordering on too much. You buried your face into the mattress, gasping, trying not to cry from how raw it felt. But Rafe didn’t stop. He didn’t force it, either. He held you—arms around your waist, lips on your neck, breath shaky.

“You’re mine,” he whispered. “Even here. Especially here.”

Once he was all the way in, he paused, letting you adjust. His hands rubbed your hips gently, grounding you.

Then he started to move.

The pain didn’t fade completely—it blended with the pleasure, creating something messy, something primal. Each slow thrust made you groan, body rocked forward as he filled you over and over. You felt so owned. So completely claimed.

“You feel that?” he growled. “No one else gets this. No one ever will.”

You moaned, trembling, pushing back onto him despite the ache.

“Say it,” he snapped, snapping his hips harder now.

“I’m yours,” you gasped. “Only yours.”

He groaned—loud, guttural—and reached between your legs to rub your clit, fast and desperate. The pressure exploded fast, the pain tipping you over the edge as you clenched around him, crying out into the mattress.

Rafe followed with a broken moan, emptying into the condom, collapsing over you as his arms wrapped tight around your body.

Neither of you moved for a while.

The burn lingered, but so did the way he held you after. Fingers stroking your sides, mouth pressing soft kisses into your hair.

“You okay?” he whispered.

“Yeah,” you breathed. “That was… intense.”

“You took it all for me.”

You turned to look at him, cheek against the sheets. “I’d give you anything.”

And Rafe—ruthless, possessive, angry Rafe—smiled like you’d just handed him the world.

⋆｡‧˚ʚ🧸ɞ˚‧｡⋆

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @notkiaralol @rcsbabydoll @cokewithcameron @psychocitylights @favzcarpentr @fatheriimaginedyoutaller @alwaysherother @mavericksice @daryldixon83

#𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐚𝐲 #𝐚𝐥 𝟏 𝐧𝐚 #drew starkey #fanfic #drew x reader #rafe #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe imagine #rafe cameron one shot #rafe cameron

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psformybss · 1 day ago

Text

You’re Losing Me

based on this ask

warnings: heartbreak, emotional distance, long-distance tension, unresolved feelings, lost of angst

It didn’t begin with a blowout.

It began with little things.

A few unread texts.

A handful of missed calls.

An “I miss you” that started to feel like habit, not heartbeat.

Drew was in Serbia filming Hellraiser. She was in LA. Trying not to notice how each sunset left her a little colder. A little quieter.

Like her heart was fading from red to gray.

At first, she blamed time zones. Schedules. Life.

They’d done long distance before. They knew this game.

But this time, love felt like a song slowly fading out—

⸻

He missed two FaceTimes. The first came with a late text: Sorry babe. Long day. Love you.

The second? Nothing.

She sat in bed, screen lighting up with missed calls, his hoodie wrapped around her like false comfort. The soft lamplight—the one he said made her look like gold—cast shadows on her quiet tears.

She told herself not to spiral.

People get busy. People forget.

Drew loved her. He had to.

Still, she kept refreshing Instagram.

He hadn’t posted. But fan pages had.

Photos of him and Odessa between takes. Her hand grazing his chest. His head tilted, like he hung on her every word.

It wasn’t evidence. It wasn’t proof.

But it felt like watching someone else dance to a song she used to call theirs.

⸻

The articles came fast.

“Drew Starkey and Odessa A’zion: Off-Screen Chemistry?”

“New Flame on Set?”

She bit her tongue. Didn’t want to seem jealous.

Didn’t want to be the problem.

But doubt is sneaky. And once it plants itself, it grows through every crack.

She brought it up gently, testing the waters.

“People are bored,” Drew muttered through spotty FaceTime. “They want a story.”

“Yeah,” she said, “but they’re writing ours.”

He looked tired. Distant. Like her voice was a sound he didn’t recognize anymore.

“Are we really doing this now?”

Her throat tightened.

“I just want to know why you haven’t called in three days.”

“I told you—I’ve been slammed.”

“I know. I’m not accusing you, I just… I feel like I’m yelling across a canyon.”

He rubbed his eyes. “Well, you are far away.”

And that? That line stayed with her like a bruise under skin.

⸻

He said “I love you” like a reflex.

Not a promise. Not a plea.

The long, late-night calls turned into dry texts.

No voice notes. No interest in her work.

No “tell me everything.”

Not anymore.

When she said “I miss you,” all she got was “I know.”

Still, she tried. God, she tried.

Sent photos from set. Left sleepy voicemails.

Mailed him a hoodie scented with her perfume—like a lifeline.

He replied: You’re the sweetest. Miss you too.

That night, she curled on the bathroom floor, sobbing into a towel.

Not because he stopped loving her…

But because he didn’t seem to notice she was slipping through the cracks.

⸻

A new video surfaced. Odessa, laughing in the passenger seat of Drew’s car.

Her head tilted. His eyes locked on her like gravity.

He wasn’t touching her. But he didn’t have to.

She recognized that look.

It was the same one he used to give her.

She didn’t mention it for three days. But the silence blistered.

“I saw that video,” she finally said. “Of you and Odessa.”

“Jesus—”

“I’m not accusing you. I just… I need to know if something changed.”

“There’s nothing going on.”

“Then why does it feel like I’m the one holding this relationship up by myself?”

“Because you’re letting a bunch of online strangers mess with your head.”

She went quiet.

And he let the silence linger like a dare.

⸻

The lie she fed herself was that things would get better. That this version of him wasn’t permanent.

But the truth was sharper:

She was begging.

Begging for attention.

Begging for scraps of affection.

Begging for the boy who once crossed oceans to make her laugh.

Now all she got were fragments.

A half-hearted “good morning.”

A “Can’t talk, sorry.”

Another tagged photo of him and Odessa, shoulder to shoulder. Always so damn close.

She tried not to ask, “Why her and not me?”

Tried not to wonder if Odessa was now the song stuck in his head while she’d faded to static.

She used to glow in his spotlight.

Now she sat in the wings, waiting for her cue. Waiting for him to look back.

⸻

She asked to talk. Really talk.

He agreed. “Give me five.”

When he called, she was already crying.

“I’m tired,” she said, voice cracked.

“I know. Me too.”

“No,” she whispered. “I’m tired of holding onto something that already let go of me.”

He blinked. “I’m not gone.”

“You don’t ask about my life. You don’t tell me about yours. You say ‘I love you’ like it’s punctuation—not a vow.”

He looked away. “Is that what you think?”

“I don’t know what to think,” she choked out. “Because every time I tell you I’m hurting, you make me feel like I’m making it up.”

His eyes closed.

“I’ve been losing you,” she said, “but what breaks me is how you didn’t even try to stop it.”

⸻

Two weeks later, he showed up at her door.

She opened it because hope is stubborn.

Because a part of her still wished he’d fight.

He brought red tulips. Her favorite.

He cried. Said he’d been lost. That he never meant to make her feel alone. That he thought he was doing the right thing by holding everything in.

“I just didn’t want to lose you,” he said.

“But you did,” she replied. “Not all at once. Just… little by little.”

She looked at him—his face, his eyes, the home she once found in them.

And for the first time, she felt nothing but exhaustion.

“I think I’ve been grieving you for months,” she whispered. “I just didn’t know it.”

He reached for her hand.

She stepped back.

“I love you,” he said.

“I loved you,” she corrected gently. And meant it.

She closed the door.

#drew starkey x reader #drew starkey x female reader #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey x oc #drew starkey x you #drew starkey #drew starkey one shot #drew starkey angst #drew starkey outer banks #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey obx #drew starkey blurb #drew starkey fanfiction #drew starkey fanfic #drew starkey fic #drew starkey imagines

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loves-n-kisses · 3 days ago

Text

Because I liked a Hero - ProHero!Bakugou x ProHero!Reader

TW: Vandalism, Curse words/slurs (Slut, Whore, Gold digger, Homewrecker, etc.)

A story where Pro Hero Dynamight is in a fake relationship with Illusionist Pro Hero, Camie Utsushimi, but you're the one he really has feelings for. Things take a turn when the press catches bakugou and you kissing, and the media completely turns on you--in the worst way possible.

Inspired by "because i liked a boy" by Sabrina Carpenter <3

"I'm a home wrecker, I'm a slut

I got death threats filling up semi-trucks

Tell me who I am, guess I don't have a choice

All because I liked a boy"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The city skyline glittered under the twilight, but for you, the world was a blur of adrenaline and light. As Luminara, a rising pro hero with the quirk Radiance—the ability to manipulate and weaponize light into blinding beams or solid constructs—you were used to the spotlight. But nothing prepared you for the chaos of falling for Katsuki Bakugou, the explosive Dynamight, whose temper was as volatile as his blasts.

You and Bakugou had been colleagues for years, both climbing the hero ranks with relentless determination. Your quirks complemented each other: his fiery explosions paired with your precise light constructs made you a formidable team. Late-night patrols turned into banter, then trust, and somewhere along the line, you caught yourself staring at his sharp crimson eyes a little too long.

But Bakugou was untouchable—or so the media thought. For months, he’d been in a high-profile “relationship” with Illusionist, the pro hero Camie Utsushimi, whose quirk let her create vivid mirages. The public ate it up: the bad-boy hero and the glamorous illusionist, a perfect tabloid romance. You knew it was fake, a PR stunt to boost their agencies’ visibility after a joint mission went viral. Bakugou grumbled about it constantly, but he played along, posing for photos with Camie’s arm looped through his.

You tried to ignore the pang in your chest every time you saw them together, but working with Bakugou made it impossible. He’d bark orders, then soften when it was just you two, his voice low as he asked, “You good, Sparkles?”—his nickname for you, mocking your glowing quirk. One night, after a grueling battle against a sludge villain, you collapsed beside him on a rooftop, catching your breath. The city hummed below, and he muttered, “You’re not half bad, you know.”

Your heart raced, but you laughed it off. “High praise from the great Dynamight.”

He smirked, but his eyes lingered. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

The tension grew over weeks—stolen glances, brushes of hands, late-night talks about everything but the fake romance plastered across headlines. You knew he felt it too, but neither of you dared cross that line. Until one mission changed everything.

A villain ambush left you and Bakugou pinned in an alley, your light shields barely holding against a tremor of projectiles. He shielded you from a blast, his body pressed close, and in the chaos, he growled, “I’m not losing you, idiot.” The words hit harder than any explosion. When the dust settled, you were both alive, panting, and too close. Without thinking, you kissed him, and to your shock, he kissed back, fierce and desperate.

It was a stolen moment—until a civilian’s phone flash caught you. The photo hit the internet within hours: Dynamight Kisses Luminara in Steamy Alley Smooch! The headlines screamed betrayal. Homewrecker! Luminara Steals Dynamight from Illusionist! Fan forums exploded, and your social media drowned in vitriol. “Slut,” “gold-digger,” “whore”—the words stung like venom. Physical letters arrived at your agency, some with death threats scrawled in red ink: “Stay away from him or you’ll regret it.”

You tried to stay strong, but the hate wore you down. Your apartment was vandalized—windows smashed, “HOMEWRECKER” spray-painted across your door. Stalkers lingered outside, snapping photos. You barely slept, jumping at every sound. Bakugou noticed, his jaw tight as he cornered you after a patrol. “Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?”

You shrugged, voice hollow. “Didn’t want to bother you. You’ve got enough with the media circus.”

He grabbed your shoulders, eyes blazing. “Don’t be stupid. I—” He stopped, then softer, “I care about you, damn it.”

The confession cracked something in you. You admitted your feelings, the fear, the guilt. He pulled you close, promising, “I’ll fix this.”

The breaking point came during a live interview. The host, a smug woman with a shark’s smile, leaned forward. “Luminara, how does it feel to be seen as a homewrecker? Breaking up Japan’s favorite hero couple?”

You froze, the studio lights burning. The audience’s stares felt like knives. But you lifted your chin, voice steady. “I didn’t break anything. I fell for someone I work with, someone I respect. I’m not the villain here.”

The clip went viral, splitting the internet. Some praised your courage; others doubled down, calling you delusional. The threats escalated, and one night, a brick crashed through your window with a note: “You’ll pay for this.”

Bakugou had enough. He called Camie, and they devised a plan. At a press conference, the room buzzed with reporters, cameras flashing like a storm. You stood beside Bakugou, your heart pounding. He stepped to the mic, his presence commanding, voice cutting through the noise like a blade.

“Listen up, because I’m only saying this once,” Bakugou began, his crimson eyes scanning the crowd. “The relationship with Illusionist was never real. It was a publicity stunt cooked up by our agencies after that viral mission last year. You know the one—where we took down that giant mech villain in downtown Tokyo? The media went nuts, and our teams saw a chance to boost our rankings. They pushed us into this fake romance to keep the hype going—photo ops, staged dates, the whole damn circus. I went along with it because I thought it’d help my career, but it was a mistake. I never had feelings for Camie, and she knew it. The only person I’ve ever wanted is Luminara. She’s not a homewrecker—she’s the one who’s been caught in the crossfire of this mess. So if you’re sending her hate, you’re not just wrong, you’re pathetic.”

He stepped back, jaw tight, as Camie took the mic. Her usual carefree vibe was gone, replaced by a steely resolve. “Y’all got it twisted,” she said, her voice clear. “Like Katsuki said, this was all fake. Our agencies set it up after that mission because our quirks—my illusions and his explosions—made for a flashy combo that got tons of views. They thought a ‘power couple’ narrative would keep us trending, bring in sponsors, and raise our profiles. We signed contracts, had scripted appearances, even practiced how to look cozy for the cameras. But it was all an act. I never dated Katsuki, and I’m not heartbroken. Honestly, I’m pissed that Luminara’s getting trashed for this. She’s a badass hero who’s been saving lives while dealing with your garbage threats. Katsuki and I agreed to come clean because this has gone too far. The vandalism, the stalking—it’s not just unfair, it’s dangerous. So cut it out and let them be happy.”

The room erupted in questions, but Bakugou and Camie stood firm, their detailed accounts leaving no room for doubt. The truth hit the airwaves like a shockwave. Reporters scrambled to rewrite their stories, and social media shifted. Fans posted apologies, trending hashtags like #SorryLuminara and #TeamDynamara. Your agency bolstered security, and the police cracked down on the stalkers. The hate began to fade, drowned out by the next news cycle.

Weeks later, you and Bakugou sat on your balcony, the city quiet for once. He slung an arm around you, grumbling, “Tch, told you I’d fix it.”

You smiled, leaning into him. “Yeah, you did.”

He tilted your chin up, kissing you softly, no cameras or chaos to ruin it. The world had tried to tear you apart, but you were still here, glowing brighter than ever—all because you liked a boy.

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fandomlit · 3 days ago

Text

haunted by the living (sirius black x reader)

requested by anon "hello! can you please write for older!sirius? it’s hard for his wife to be comfortable in his presence again after so long so she kind of ignore him because she just doesn’t know how to act, and during a meeting with the order, he saw her talking with everyone expect him. like she’s even close to severus and he gets jealous."

summary when sirius returned from azkaban, the idea of seeing you was his greatest motivator. but when you don't know how to interact with him, he's left to wallow until remus convinces sirius to show you the man he's been all along; the man you fell in love with.

warnings ANGSTT, pure angst so much of it, swearing, drinking

a/n okay so maybe i got carried away w this one but im obsessed with this idea

gif cred belongs to @peaceseller

it was hard to get back into normal life after spending so long is azkaban. sirius was finding different ways to adjust every day--from the amount of his appetite, to even feeling like the days were faster. there were many things different from before his time in prison to the modern day. but there was one thing in particular that he hadn't expected to change to much:

you.

you and sirius had been married for two years when he was arrested, but had been pining lovers in hogwarts for three years before that. he dreamed of you nearly every day in his azkaban delusions and the moment he first saw you again brought sweet, sweet relief to his heart. that is, until you completely turned away from him and resumed talking with a confused molly.

he felt like he's been walking on eggshells ever since.

you still stopped by grimmauld place nearly every day like every member of the order, but it was always in the company of someone else and never did you offer more than a few glances at sirius throughout the evening. if his cabin fever in the old, traumatic home wasn't already driving him mad, your interactions surely would. but he had no idea what to do.

he confided in remus one evening after everyone else had left. they sat in the kitchen, a warm butterbeer in remus's grasp with a glass of firewhisky rested in sirius's.

"it breaks my heart, moony," sirius spoke gravely, gaze trained furiously on the table as he thought about the mere glimpse he had gotten of you that day before you turned away from him. "i don't know what to do."

remus was silent for a long moment, nodding minutely to himself. "i think she's just scared, sirius."

sirius's head snapped up and he was less than surprised to feel a tear shake loose and roll down his cheek from the movement. "scared? of me?"

remus's lips pursed. "no," he said softly. "not of you, i don't think." he let out a sigh and tilted his head back, looking somewhere faraway as he considered his words. "i think she just spent so long thinking of you in a certain image, in a certain sense of betrayal, that it's hard for her just to go back from those thoughts. she can't just rewire her brain all in a month, you know. i imagine she's just struggling to grasp that you, this entire time, have just been you.'' though his heart panged harshly in his chest, sirius watched remus's expression carefully as he continued, "y/n was completely broken after you were taken, sirius. she didn't want to believe a word the press was saying, because she knew you better than anyone else, but sitting there in denial hurt her.

"after a while, i think it was easier for her to believe what they were saying rather than sit there knowing that you were innocent and there was nothing that she could do."

they were both silent for a long time after that, drinking thoughtfully.

"do i just wait it out?" sirius asked quietly. "wait until she comes to me?"

remus let out another long sigh, raising his mug to his lips again. "it's hard to say." sirius nodded, looking down at the near-empty glass in his hands. "but if i were you.." his gaze raised again. remus gave him a smile that was half-amused and half-pitying, "i would start to try to make her see that you're the same as you've always been. stop the moping, start becoming someone who can't be ignored. you know--start being more.. you."

sirius contemplated that for a moment before letting out a short laugh. "you were always the schemer of us, moony." he smiled at his friend, to which they both laughed and clinked their glasses, downing the rest of their drinks before they began to delve into ideas.

it was three days later that you made your next appearance at grimmauld place for their weekly reports over dinner. sirius and remus lingered by the doorway, helping everyone with their coats and making sure mrs. black stayed quiet as they entered.

when you arrived with tonks, you gave remus a hello and him a brief nod before you began to remove your coat. sirius slid behind you swiftly and grasped your collar before your hands could even get near.

he felt you stiffen for a minute as he muttered a gentle, "allow me." keeping a respectable distance and touching anything other than the thick material of your coat as little as possible, he helped you slip your arms out and then take it into his hands to hang up.

"thank you," you spoke softly, not making eye contact as your head inclined in his direction. before he could even breathe, you whisked into the kitchen with tonks following behind with a grin on her face. she turned and flashed sirius a thumbs up before disappearing around the corner.

sirius didn't realize that he still wasn't breathing until remus clapped him on the back. he grinned, his heart fluttering like he was a pining student all over again for you. "she spoke to me!"

"it's a small start," remus nodded, laughing as if he was just as relieved as sirius was, "but it's a start!"

sirius rode that high for the rest of the evening, despite having no other opportunity to directly interact with you again. but the few glances you stole at him that evening had him feeling especially prideful when he went to bed that night. it was the most hopeful he had felt since he first saw you.

a few nights later there was no regular order meeting, but many of the members ended up in grimmauld place anyway. it was a less serious evening than usual; there was little news to work with that week, and so there was a jovial, casual dinner that ensued. it wasn't the first time that such an occasion occurred, but it was the first time you had attended an evening like this.

sirius, as per usual, had made some grumble about being cooped up in the dusty home, which was received with better spirits than usual. many of the order teased him as they downed their meals and drinks.

remus nearly choked as a tipsy tonks pointed at sirius with her fork, "maybe if you looked less like a criminal you'd be more fit for the public, eh? lose the facial hair, i say!" the table burst into laughter, even kingsley tipping his head back to let out a deep laugh.

sirius threw his hands up. "no razors in azkaban, you know!" the laughter only continued, and sirius couldn't keep the grin off of his face as he saw you laughing along. "you stay a certain way for ten years and you find it hard to go back!" he saw something flicker in your eyes for a moment when he glanced over, but his attention was grabbed again before he could decipher it.

"i think it'd help if you didn't have that mischievous look about you," bill grinned, leaning back in his chair. "you've got that look that fred and george always do--you always look like you're up to something." the table chuckled again.

"should've seen him when that mischief was at work," remus mused. "could never keep a secret when him and james had some new scheme forming. right, y/n?"

there was a collective intake of breath--or maybe that was just me, sirius thought to himself--as the attention of the table shifted to you. you had a wary look in your eyes as your cheeks went adorably red, but you still smiled with a chuckled, "don't i know it." your gaze turned to sirius for the briefest of moments, but that short second where your eyes met had his entire body feeling electrified.

"so, y/n," tonks piped up as everyone had nearly finished their plates. there was several conversations going at once now; kingsley and moody were muttering to each other about something more serious than the tone at the table, while bill and remus chuckled to each other. but the second your name was spoke, he was zoned into your expression. "what have you been up to? i feel like i never see you outside of this place anymore!"

"yes, i'm sorry, dora," you smiled guiltily. "work and order duties have been keeping me plenty busy lately. we're getting closer to winter, which means people somehow get more reckless."

sirius couldn't help but smile at that little implication--you were still working as a healer, then. his mind flashed with memories of you patching him and the other boys up back in the hogwarts dormitories and the hell you would give them for their recklessness on nights other than the full moon. that helping, passionate y/n was still sitting in front of him, even if she was more reserved in present company. his heart sank when he acknowledged that it was mostly his presence tampering down your energy.

".. seems to happen every year!"

you suddenly let out a loud laugh at whatever anecdote tonks had just finished, and sirius snapped out his brooding mind. you held a hand to your mouth as the uncontrollable laughter spilled out, your friend looking positively self-satisfied as she shot a pointed look at sirius. he raised his glass minutely to her when he took a sip.

"you never fail to entertain, dora," you sighed and sirius found his eyes glued to your bright features; the flush on your happy face and the unconscious curve of your lips were so familiar to him that his heart ached. he knew he had to be smiling himself.

eventually, moody stood up to go and rest of the group followed. remus stayed behind, saying something about having a drink before turning in, but sirius's gaze was too focused on your retreating form and he found himself following the group to see them out.

they all gathered their coats and began to step out one by one, waving their tipsy and happy goodbyes to sirius as they went. you were the last of the group, and shockingly you offered him a wave and wary smile before turning around. he gave you a nod before turning, not wanting to press his luck with you any further this evening--he already had plenty of dream fuel for that night.

"by the way," you offered, and sirius immediately spun back around to see you gazing at him, but with a less cautious smile on your face, "i like the facial hair." you turned and left before sirius could even think to react. he let out a laugh when he could breathe again, grinning like a maniac to himself.

"what's got you kicking your feet?" remus questioned, nudging a glass of firewhisky toward sirius, who immediately took a swig before throwing his hands dramatically out.

"i'm never shaving again."

sirius noticed a serious increase in efforts to interact from you after that evening. it was never anything major--just more smiles and looks and you seemed to get more and more comfortable every time you returned to grimmauld place.

but it was two weeks later when it at all came together.

it had been a quiet day around the house, and sirius had just accepted that it was going to be a day without a visit from an order member when the front door opened. moments later, you stood in the kitchen doorway and his heart stopped.

you seemed taken aback to only see sirius standing there. "hello, sirius." his heart hammered as you placed a gentle hand on the doorframe. "sorry if i'm interrupting your evening.. has severus stopped by at all today?"

he couldn't help the burn of jealous that instinctively sparked in his chest at the idea of you seeking out severus instead of him. "no, not today." you nodded, still hesitating in the doorway. "why?"

you shrugged. "just checking in on hogwarts mostly. and harry." his lips quirked at that. a few moments of silence passed where he couldn't decide what to say, but knew that he would say anything to get you to stay at least a little longer. but just then, kreacher set down a dinner plate at the table and you broke the silence with a soft, "well, i'll let you get to your dinner, sorry if i interrupted your evening." you began to lean away and sirius couldn't let it happen.

"you should stay." the words came out quickly, and probably more desperately than he would have liked, but they made you pause. "for dinner," he clarified, and nearly immediately kreacher set another plate at the table. sirius had never felt a deeper appreciation for the house elf than in that moment.

you seemed to grapple with yourself internally for a moment, eyes locked on the plate of food and what it could possibly mean to you. residing it as his last effort, sirius spoke sincerely, "please." your eyes drifted to meet his and he couldn't read your expression, but you finally stepped into the kitchen.

"you've always been very convincing, sirius." he didn't bother to suppress his grin as he stepped over to help you remove your coat and pull out your chair for you. he scrambled to sit as you spoke your thanks, noticing how intensely his hands were shaking as you took a long sip of your water.

you both had barely began to eat when sirius couldn't hold his tongue any longer--not with you finally sitting alone with him. "how have you been, y/n?"

you nodded as you swallowed your bite of food. "good. things have been hectic lately, but i've been known to handle chaos well." you looked up at him to see him smiling knowingly and nodding along. a small smile crept to your lips as you spoke softly, "how have you been, sirius?"

hearing his name on your lips, so casually, was like a breath of fresh air and heaven all in one. he forgot his cabin fever for a moment. "fine enough."

"i'm glad," you spoke gently. he realized his gaze was heavily locked on you and rushed to look away, picking at his plate for a moment so as to not make you uncomfortable. he would never forgive himself if he ruined this night by being too eager.

there were a few minutes of silence where he tried to mentally dig up any casual conversation starter that wasn't ,"how's the weather?" or, "what did i miss?". but you put a stop to those thoughts when he heard you take a quiet, shaky breath.

"i'm sorry, sirius." your voice was no louder than a whisper, but his gaze snapped to you in an instant. you were staring down at your plate of food, fork trembling in your hand. "i-i know i've been terrible. i've been avoidant and distant and-and everything a wife shouldn't be." his heart broke at the tears that slipped down your cheeks. he bit his tongue and resisted the urge to wipe them away for you--this was your moment of truth, not his. "i've just had a hard time believing any of this is.." you lifted your head and wiped the tears from your cheeks, but your eyes still didn't meet his. "real."

sirius nodded. when it seemed you weren't going to speak again, he said quietly, "i know. me either, honestly." your gaze finally turned to him and you seemed less than surprised to find his already burning into yours. "from my imprisonment to my release, all of this has been unbelievable. and truly.." his hand inched toward yours on the table. he took it as a small victory when you didn't flinch away. "i don't blame you one bit for your reaction."

your gaze flicked between his hand, so close to yours, and his solemn face. "you don't?"

"no," he whispered seriously. "at first, i was hurt. remus heard me blubber about it for weeks." his heart swelled with a small bit of pride when your lips quirked at that. "but he helped me understand your perspective, and i see why you would be hesitant. you thought you were lied to, and after so many years you found out that that was a lie. it's hard to live like that."

you shook your head. "i'm so sorry, sirius." once again, his name was bliss on your lips. and he nearly ascended when your hand was the one that reached to his, fitting your palm perfectly into his grasp. he squeezed tight, feeling like a schoolboy again at the way such a small touch made his heart pound. "i never wanted to believe any of the lies, but.. when no one's around to tell you they're lies, it's so hard. and then to find out that i was right all along, it was such a shock, i.." you frowned at him. "i didn't know what to do. who to trust. it took me back to all of those years ago when you were taken from me and i could barely breathe, let alone think."

his heart ached for that past version of you that he couldn't comfort. but it swelled for the version of you that bared the truth to him now. "i know. and i swear, y/n, i will never give you a reason to doubt me again. i-if you choose to give me another chance."

he was worried he had jumped the gun when more tears slid down your cheeks. "sirius black, do you seriously think i would leave you now?"

sirius couldn't help the joy that forced him out of his chair. his arms wrapped around you, forcing you to stand with his embrace. you immediately clung to him and he never in his life had felt something so inherently right.

he pressed his lips to your hair and whispered, "i love you so much, y/n." at first he thought it was too quiet to hear until your face turned out of his chest and toward his.

"i love you, too, sirius," you spoke, and leaned in to kiss him. he instantly melted into you and realized his earlier thought was far too soon: this was right. this was everything.

sirius kissed you as delicately and as passionately as he could all at once; like he was trying to tell you about all of the thoughts he'd had of you over the years, of how he dreamed of this very moment, while at the same time praying that if this were a dream, he wouldn't shatter the illusion.

you kissed each other breathless, until you couldn't stand it. but standing in that cool kitchen with your foreheads pressed to each other, faces flushed and eyes hooded, it felt just as intimate as anything else.

"please, y/n," sirius whispered, "stay with me."

you pressed another long kiss to his lips. "i don't think there's any chance of getting me to go now." sirius couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. before either of you could say another word, he scooped you into his arms as you gasped. you laid a hand on his still-pounding heart as he carried you away to the stairs.

and as you lay in bed together, your eyes memorizing every feature of the face you hadn't gazed upon in far too long, you muttered to him one last apology, "i'm sorry. i had something so wonderful taken away from me once.. i couldn't bear if that same thing was taken again."

sirius's moonlit eyes turned to you, and the adoration in them stole your breath. you weren't sure your heart was going to survive this evening. he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. "i'm not going anywhere, my love."

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