#Even if he didn't call her his best friend or say he loves her in his farewell letter. you'd know it from every other sentence | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

simpurnatural · 2 days ago

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"Feelings" || Requested Oneshot

XO, Kitty - Min Ho Moon x Fem!Reader

Note from Nat: "I received this oneshot request from @plutoOooO! And this is also how I'm announcing that requests are finally open again! *fireworks and confetti* Enjoy loves <3"

Warning(s): Cussing, Smut, Overstimulation,

Kitty plays Matchmaker once again while everyone's preparing for Chuseok at KISS. This leads to both yours's and Min Ho's untold feelings to step into the spotlight once and for all. Feelings quite stronger than just a crush

"I've brought the shopping!" you called out as you stepped into the boys' dorm room. "Q? Kitty?" you say, kicking off your sneakers and heading into the kitchen.

"Hey Y/n!" Kitty greeted after stepping out of her bedroom. "Thanks so much for wanting to help with Chuseok." she smiled as she gave you a hug.

"Of course! I had no idea that so many of us were staying in town for the holiday," you replied, pulling away from the hug. "So, what exactly are we making? Because all I did was follow the list," you said with a little laugh.

"It isn't exactly me and you cooking but rather you and Min Ho," Kitty explained with a knowing grin, which made you heartbeat quicken.

"Me and-"

"-Yep," she nodded, "You guys will be able to spend proper one on one time, totally undisturbed,".

Your lips formed a thin line as you turned to the kitchen sink, “I think I’m going to be sick,” you coughed.

“You’ll be fine, and plus-this is the perfect time to clear the air,” Kitty reminded, patting your back gently.

You and Min Ho had been friends for years. And for half that time, you’ve had feelings for the playboy. And what came with being a playboy? Countless girls, random or never seen again after a few days spent with the friend group.

You always felt as if Min Ho would never want something serious, let alone possible ruin such a good friendship with you. So, for such a long time, you pushed your thoughts and feelings for him away.

No one realized how deep your feelings for Min Ho were til Kitty showed up. She made it her mission as a self-proclaimed Matchmaker to get you two together. She says that “There is definitely some chemistry between you guys.”

“Hey Y/n,” a voice said cheerfully, that voice belonged to Min Ho. “Thanks for getting the shopping,” he beamed as he walked towards you.

“Okay I gotta get going,” Kitty said quickly, dismissing herself from the conversation and the front door shut behind her.

“Hi,” you said with a tight smile, awkwardly moving to grab a couple pans and pots. “What’s on the menu today?” you ask, trying your best to not act weird.

“Well, I do have a method, so I’ll just need you either chop or stir stuff,” Min Ho said as he got closer and placed an arm around your shoulders. “I deem you, my sous chef,” he joked but you couldn’t even find anything he said humorous.

Your stomach felt as if it was flipped upside down. And maybe you were sweating? Maybe you were turning pale? Who knows. But all you knew was that you had no escape and no backup.

“Y/n?”

You snapped out of your nervous daze and looked back up at Min Ho. His face flashed with concern, catching on to your lack of attentiveness.

"Ah yes, I'll just be stirring and chopping away," you say, hands motioning both actions before you quickly dropping them-feeling like a proper idiot.

"Right, let's get to it." Min Ho says, migrating all the veggies and herbs on the counter to the sink. "How come you didn't go visit family Chuseok?" he asks.

"It's quite the journey just to be there for 48 hours or less," you shrugged, clearing the counter of any shopping bags and trash. "What about you?" you questioned.

"As you know, my mom and I usually celebrate Chuseok together, but she couldn't this year. So, she sent me a basket." Min Ho explains, pointing to the gift basket that sat on one of the bar stools.

"That's sweet of her," you commented, glancing over at the present.

Yeah, but my dad? Not so much," he chuckled, drying all the veggies and placing them next to the cutting board. "Can you get started on these?" he requested with a smile.

"Of course," you nodded, absent-mindedly reaching for the onion that was still in Min Ho's hands. "Oh-I"m sorry," you said quickly; after watching it drop to the ground.

"Are you alright Y/n? If you're not up to it, I can get figure this out on my own," he said as he plucked the onion from the floor, wiping it down with a paper towel.

"I'm okay, it's just-" you paused.

"It's what exactly?" Min Ho asks curiously, looking deep into your eyes with his coal black ones.

You took a deep breath before saying, "Okay, Kitty left me here with you so that I could confess my feelings for you". Minho merely blinked so you continued to ramble on. "But clearly, the pressure of me explaining how I fell in love you but also don't want to risk our friendship literally eats my alive!"

"-And I totally understand that you don't feel the same way about me because of that blank look on your face. I just don't know how to stop feeling the way I do about you. I've tried talking to other people and even going on dates but always realized it's you who I wanted to be with." you sigh, and Min Ho squinted slightly with his head tilted to the side.

"-Don't even get me started on the total tens you bring to our hangouts," you add, referring to the girls he brings around. "You're out of my league and such a catch. So honestly, I seem pretty stupid for thinking you might even as much as like me back." you groan as you stormed out of the kitchen and began putting your shoes back on.

"-I just can't do this. I'll just leave." you say, your face feeling hot as you reached for the door.

"Do I not get a say in this?" Min Ho asked, grab hold of your wrist gently.

"I don't feel like hearing you shut me down right now," you grumbled as you turned back to face him.

"Y/n, I'm not going to," he replied with a smile, making your eyes widen.

"What?" you said quickly.

"Why would I? I've fallen for you so hard; a lot, not a little bit." he confessed. "I always thought you were too good for me," he said, now taking proper hold of your hand in his. "You are just so perfect and I'm just me," he shrugged.

You stood in the entryway in disbelief. Min Ho had felt the same way this whole time and you had not a single clue about it.

"If I had known sooner, I would've already done something about it," he said with a smile as he stepped forward and cupped your cheek.

"L-like what exactly?" you stuttered, your breathing hitched as your nose brushed against each other.

"This." Min Ho muttered, pulling you in for a kiss.

Min Ho's soft lips pressed gently against yours and it felt as if they moved in sink. Your arms were slung around his neck as his found their place at the small of your back.

The world felt still but also as if it were spinning, with your eyes shut-all you could focus on was on close Min Ho had pulled you in. It was like he didn't want to ever let you go or move on from this moment. Perhaps you both became the center of gravity, and everything was being put into place.

Both of you pulled away instinctively for some air and your eyes fluttered open, settling on Min Ho's gaze. Your faces remained merely a few centimeters apart, sharing the same breath before leaning once again.

This time, there was a certain kind of passion in the way your kiss felt. Your heart was pounding as your hands ran through Min Ho's well-kept hair. His lips left yours's and began a trail to your jawline, down to your neck.

A gasp escaped your lips as he began suckling on your skin. Quickly being able to identify your sweet spots. Your knees felt as if they were going to give out as he pulled your blouse down for more access. His lips felt like a heaven, you could only imagine how the rest of him was going to feel.

"Oh my-" you moaned as Min Ho worked his way around, leaving marks wherever possible.

"Yes?" he mumbled against your skin, watching how your thighs shifted against each other. "Tell me what you want," he said as he pulled away from your neck.

"You, I want you," you sighed as your chest rose and fell heavily.

Min Ho's hands drifted to the hem of your trousers, his fingers pulling the zipper down. You held breath as he pulled them down nice and slow.

“Is this, okay?” he questioned, his hand hovering over your clothed pussy. “Y/n?” He said as he looked up and into your eyes.

“Y-yes,” you nodded as he also pulled down your underwear, helping you take completely remove any clothing from your lower half.

Min Ho then stood up and led you around the kitchen and motioned for you to sit at one of the barstools. You wordlessly complied, getting comfortable in your seat just for Min Ho to pull you in. Both literally and mentally, you were on the edge of your seat.

He then placed himself between your legs, his face directly in front of your dripping cunt and your legs over his shoulder. Min began kissing your inner thighs, teasingly getting a bit closer every time.

“I wish I knew sooner how wet I get you,” he smirked before brushing his fingers against your fold. “How badly you wanted me,” he says, beginning to rub your clit gently.

In a repetitive circular motion, his finger worked your pussy. His eyes darkened with lust, watched as your chest rose and shuddered with every breath. Your head thrown back, but he could still hear you heavy breathing and soft moans.

He then pushed a finger through your fold and slowly. You gasped as you felt him slid into your pussy with ease. Min Ho chuckled due to the noises that escaped your lips, provoking him to insert a second finger.

Curving his finger slightly against your walls, your own hands were holding your position steady on the stool. Just then your phone rang, you and Min Ho both froze for a second.

“I think that might be Kitty,” you sighed as Min Ho pulled from you. “Hey,” you say after grabbing your phone and answering the call.

“How’s everything going?” She asks excitedly, unaware of the literal position you were in.

“Everything’s going just fine,” you reply as Min Ho pulled you away from the counter, guiding you to the couch. “What’s up Kitty?” you question.

“Well, I just wanted to know what the status was on the food,” she replied as you watched Min Ho take off his pants and boxers. “We are just setting up a couple more decorations,” she adds, while you both sat down.

It was difficult to focus on the call when the guy who just fingered was stripping down. His toned abs were where your attention was at. Your eyes noticeably widened and focused down south.

“Yeah, we’re a little behind but can definitely get things done in 20-30 minutes?” you guesstimated. “I sort of did forget a few things, so we ordered for them to be delivered,” you lied, Min Ho moving you into a laying down position and your legs in the air.

“Are you okay?” Kitty questioned with worry in her tone, “Your breathing is a little heavy,” she reasons while Min Ho took his position on top of you.

“I’m f-fine,” you tried to assure as he caressed the tip of cock against your folds. “Just a bit peckish,” you add.

“Well did you guys talk it out yet?” She asks, you could visualize the giddy smile on her face.

“Yeah, and you know-“ you began before the phone was taken out of your grasp.

“Now’s not a good time Covey,” Min Ho huffed, tossing his head back to remove his sweat gelled hair back. “I need Y/n-“ he blanked, “-For pot stirring.” He blabbered quickly before hanging up.

“Pot stirring?” You snorted as Min Ho placed your phone on the coffee table.

“What? Did you want me to tell her what were really up?” He asked with a brow lifted.

“No,” you replied, your face turning bright red.

“Better be quick,” he sighed, “Hope you can take it,” he smirked as he finally pushed his cock deep inside your cunt.

With one of your legs over his shoulder, Min Ho began slamming his hips against yours. A rush of cold air hit your chest as Min Ho lifted up your top along with your bra.

You were a moaning mess as Min Ho continuously drilled into your walls. Every thrust becoming rougher and quicker than the previous one.

“So bloody wet for me,” Min Ho smiled smugly, “You can’t even say anything back-too busy taking this dick?” He wondered before slowing down.

“Why’d you stop?” You muttered almost incoherently, being able to lay still.

“Turn around,” he instructed, and you did as you were told. “I just wanna feel you come for me,” he grunted, shoving his cock back in your cunt.

Min ho propped you up against his chest. His hands greedily squeezing your tits. Your hands found their way reaching and gliding through his hair.

“You are so sexy,” Min Ho whispered in your ear. “Your pussy feels so good around me,” he says, placing kisses along your neck.

“Fuck,” you gasp, feeling a knot begin to form in your stomach.

“You’re close huh?” He muttered as you feel his hand trail down to your clit.

Min Ho started rubbing your clit and the blissful feeling that overcame you sent you into overdrive. You moans became increasingly pornographic as he hastened the speed of his hips.

“F-feels too good,” you slurred, “Min Ho-fuck it’s too good,” you said again.

“Well, I’m not gonna stop,” he murmured, looking down and watching your ass bounce on his dick. “Not til you cum,” he huffs.

“Stop,” you moaned, your cunt squeezing around his length, “Oh God,”

“Cum for me,” he said, the speed of his hand and his hips not wavering.

Your body shivered as a wave of ecstasy hit you, but Min Ho didn’t stop. This time, he bent you over and got his dick slamming into your sweet spot.

“Cum with me,” Min Ho huffed, his hands pulling you in repeatedly by the waste

“I c-can’t,” you whined, your vision becoming blurry.

“You pussy squeezing around my cock shows otherwise,” he moans, the clapping sound of your hips echoing through the dorm.

You felt like you were gonna pass out, everything felt too good. The way he kept fucking into you made you begin to shake.

“That’s it,” you hear Min Ho say, your cunt tightly entrapping his length again. “Don’t let me leave this pussy til you cum,”

As if on que, you came once more right as Min Ho pulled out and covered your back in his hot seed. You finally slumped onto the couch, eyes shut and breathing hot.

“I don’t think we’ll never not do that’s,” he chuckled, going to grab a towel.

Gently, Min Ho wiped you down and due to you lack leg function, he helped you put your clothes back on.

He also quickly threw a meal together, enough to cater for everyone meeting for Chuseok. You admired him from the couch, since he insisted you rest while he cooked.

Still shirtless, he prepared everything for the trek back to main campus. Since you were going to have to walk, Min Ho decided to carry everything.

“Where have you guys been?” Q questioned; everyone was already finding their seats.

“Busy whipping up a good meal,” Min Ho replied as he handed off the food to Kitty. “Sit with me?” He asked as he turned to you.

“Of course,” you smiled as you both went to sit with your group of friends.

When everyone was finally seated and Kitty gave a little speech, Min Ho held your hand. Looking over at him, he gave a cheeky grin.

“I’m glad to have spent it with you,” he smiled.

“So sappy,” you joked as Kitty sat across from you before eating the dinner on your plate.

“You guys look like you did more than talked,” she whispered, and your eyes widened.

“And what exactly did they do Ms. Covey?” Lee questioned between bites.

“Made-uh such a delicious meal,” Kitty said quickly. “Chuseok really brings people together,” she laughed forcefully.

“Right,” Professor Lee muttered.

JAN 2025

#xo kitty #minho fanfic #minho moon smut #minho moon x reader #minho oneshot #to all the boys i've loved before #min ho moon #min ho x reader #tatbilb

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iamquiantrelle · 1 day ago

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VIRGIN TERRITORY (chapter 6) ────── iamquaintrelle

# pairing: aurelien tchouameni x black oc (☔️✨💕) # wc: 7.8k

# tags: @whoevenisthiz @irishmanwhore @lettersofgold @sucredreamer @leighjadeclimbedmtkilimanjaro @rougereds @f1-football-fiend @judectrl @ayeshami @greyishbach @haartemis @goldenngt @solidbrii @sailurmewn @rainbowsparkelsunshine @lbchi @bbgkoo @mauvecherie-writes

# summary: she's been his pa for almost a year and every day is a struggle to function around him, but he'll never see her more than that...will he? and what will happen if he finds out she's also a virgin? masterlist.

Her apartment in Madrid feels smaller somehow, like two weeks away expanded her world just enough to make everything feel tight. Leila drops her bags by the door, too exhausted from travel and emotions to properly unpack.

The last two weeks play through her mind like a highlight reel: Seeing her parents and friends back home in Atlanta, chilling with them. William in London, treating her like she's precious, making her laugh even when her heart felt heavy. His kisses that made her forget, at least for a moment. The way he held her in that hotel room, patient and sweet, telling her she didn't have to choose right now.

Then Aurélien's texts. That letter that felt like someone reached into her chest and squeezed. "I don't know how to say it — words always fail me when it matters most..."

She pulls out her phone, rereading messages from both of them:

William: Landed safely? Already miss you x

Aurélien: Sarah's contract ends tomorrow. Please come back.

Her girls back home were right – William is proving to be a rebound, and that knowledge sits heavy in her chest. Because she does like him. Maybe in another universe, in another timeline where her heart wasn't already tied up in knots over his teammate, she could love him properly.

But Yolanda's voice echoes in her head: "Baby, you can't build something new on a foundation of 'what if.'"

Still.

Before anything else happens, she needs Aurélien to explain himself. Needs to hear him say out loud why he called her "okay" like it wasn't a bullet to the chest. Needs more than pretty words in a letter.

Her phone buzzes again – both of them, like they're coordinated:

William: No pressure, but Arsenal's playing Newcastle next week...would love to have you back 😉

Aurélien: Ma puce, s'il te plaît.

She turns her phone off.

Some decisions need sleep first.

And maybe a proper explanation. And definitely an apology. Face to face this time.

The Madrid night seeps through her windows when she finally woke up, city lights casting shadows that feel unfamiliar after two weeks away. She should unpack. Should shower off the airplane feeling. Should do anything except sit here on her couch staring at her phone like it holds the answers to the universe.

A text from Jules breaks through her spiral:

You back?

Auré's been impossible

Like, worse than when someone eats his protein bars

She starts typing several responses, deletes them all. What do you say to your boss's best friend when you're caught between said boss and his teammate?

Jude: You better be back tomorrow. He's proper lost the plot. Even Carlo's noticed. Man's not even celebrating goals properly

Rodrygo: Lei, he's impossible. Made the kit man cry 😭 Something about the wrong socks?? Please come back before he starts a civil war in the locker room

Her doorbell rings, making her jump. For a wild moment she thinks – hopes? fears? – it might be Aurélien. But it's just her neighbor Marina with a stack of mail.

"Welcome back!" Marina hands over the envelopes. "I kept your plants alive."

Plants. Right. She has responsibilities here. A life here. Can't just hide in her apartment forever avoiding difficult conversations.

Her schedule app pings – tomorrow's agenda already filling up. Training at 10, marketing meeting at 2, press conference prep at 4. She'll have to face him eventually, see him in that familiar Real Madrid training kit, probably looking unfairly good despite apparently terrorizing half the staff.

Her mama's voice echoes in her head: "Baby, you can't avoid your feelings forever. Even if you're really good at it."

She finally responds to Jules: Back tomorrow. Tell him not to get his hopes up

Jules replies immediately: Too late for that ma belle. He's already planned his apology speech. Practiced it on me and everything. Even Zizou called to check what's wrong with him

Her heart does a complicated flip.

A key card for Ciudad Real Madrid sits on her counter – the one she almost left behind two weeks ago. Tomorrow she'll have to use it. Tomorrow she'll have to face him.

But tonight?

Tonight she's going to order pizza, unpack her luggage, and try to remember why she took this job in the first place.

Before boys with accents complicated everything. Before letters and confessions and choices. Before her heart decided to make everything messy.

First day back and Leila's already falling into old rhythms like muscle memory. Their usual café knows exactly what she means when she asks for "the usual”. His dry cleaning's waiting at the place that probably pays their rent solely off his designer everything.

The drive to his house feels both foreign and familiar, her hands remembering every turn while her heart tries to remember how to beat normally. She sits in his driveway for a full minute, actually tempted to use the intercom button like a stranger.

But she doesn't.

Can't.

Won't.

The house is quiet when she lets herself in, morning sun streaming through those ridiculous floor-to-ceiling windows. Ocho's excited barking breaks the silence as he comes tearing around the corner like she's been gone for years instead of weeks.

"Hush," she whispers, dropping to her knees to accept his kisses. "You're gonna wake your daddy up."

"I'm already up, ma puce."

The nickname hits her chest like a physical thing. She's spent two weeks trying to forget how it sounds in his morning voice, all rough edges and soft intentions. Her resolution to stay indifferent cracks just a little.

She clears her throat, standing and brushing dog hair off her pants. "Back to ma puce already? What happened to Leila?"

And then she actually looks at him and – oh.

He's dressed. Actually dressed. Not his usual morning shirtless situation that tests her professional resolve, but a vintage Wu-Tang shirt and Rhude basketball shorts. Even his feet are covered in socks, like he's been up waiting, like he made an effort.

For her.

The thought makes something warm bloom in her chest that she quickly tries to squash.

She's supposed to be indifferent.

She headed to the kitchen trying not to notice how good he looks in actual clothes for once, settling the coffee and dry cleaning on the island, and then busies herself with his protein shake, a task her hands remember even if her heart's trying to forget its job.

"About what I said," Aurélien starts, voice careful like he's handling something fragile. "The 'okay' comment..."

"Ah, that." She keeps her back turned, pretending to be very interested in shake prep. "Your stellar review of my existence?"

"I panicked." The admission comes soft, almost shy. "Noah asked that question and I just... all I could think was how inappropriate it would be to say what I really thought."

She turns then, can't help it. "Which was?"

"That you're extraordinary." His eyes meet hers, steady and sure. "That you're the first person I want to tell things to. That watching you with William made me want to break things. That your smile makes me forget plays I've known since I was five."

"Oh." It comes out smaller than she intended.

"The letter was real," he continues, taking a step closer. "Everything in it. And I'm done fighting wrong. Done taking it out on William when I should have been fighting for you instead."

Her heart's doing gymnastics in her chest. "For me?"

"For you." Another step. "The right way this time. However long it takes."

It's good. It's really good. But...

"Are you really sorry?" She puts weight on the word, watches him catch it.

He nods, something vulnerable crossing his face.

"Prove it."

"What?"

"Prove to me that you're sorry," she says, and maybe she's half-joking but also? She's never been in this situation before. Never had someone like Aurélien practically begging for forgiveness. Might as well milk it a little.

What she's not prepared for is him closing the distance between them, all six-foot-two of him towering over her with an intensity that makes her forget how to breathe proper. And she's definitely not prepared for him to sink to his knees in front of her, taking her free hand in his like it's something precious.

"I'm sorry," he says, voice rough with sincerity. "For calling you okay when you're everything. For walking away when I should have run toward you. For letting fear make me stupid."

His lips brush her knuckles and – lord, is this what romance novels feel like?

"Would you like me to kiss your feet too?" The corner of his mouth quirks up, but his eyes stay serious.

"What is happening right now?" She means it to come out teasing but it sounds breathless instead.

"I'm proving it." His thumb traces patterns on her palm. "Is it working?"

And really, what is her life? Standing in this ridiculously expensive kitchen while one of football's finest is literally on his knees apologizing? While he's looking at her like she's art, like she's precious, like she's everything he said in that letter and more?

"Maybe," she manages. "But you're going to have to do better than just words."

"Tell me how."

"Figure it out." She gently pulls her hand free, trying to remember how to be professional when all she wants to do is push his curls back. "You're smart when you want to be."

He stays on his knees even as she steps around him, watching her with those eyes. "I won't mess it up this time."

"We'll see."

Leila goes to the sink to wash her hands and the apples for his breakfast shake, trying to regain some semblance of professionalism. Except Aurélien's still on his knees, scooting across the expensive kitchen tiles like some oversized puppy, designer shorts probably getting scuffed beyond repair.

"Boy, get up!" She laughs awkwardly because what in the world is happening right now? Like yes, she's enjoying watching him humble himself a little, but also? Those shorts probably cost more than her car payment and she's the one who has to deal with the dry cleaners judging her life choices.

But he doesn't move. Just stays there looking up at her with those eyes that should come with a warning label. "I'm serious."

She rolls her eyes, focusing on washing the apples because it's easier than dealing with whatever this energy is. "Aurélien please... I just said we'll see. Don't get your panties in a bunch."

Lord, he's really out here acting like one of those girls on Twitter who lose their minds every time he winks at the camera during interviews. Which, honestly? She gets it now. She really does. But her inexperienced self isn't equipped to handle this kind of attention. This man who usually has models throwing themselves at him is literally on his knees in his own kitchen looking at her like she hung the moon or something.

The quiet stretches between them as she starts slicing apples on the cutting board, trying to remember how to be a professional PA and not a woman whose body is very aware of how close he is.

And then – sweet baby Jesus – his arms wrap around her waist, face burying into her stomach, and she nearly drops the knife because he's practically eye-level with parts of her that have never had this kind of attention and—

"I mean it, ma puce. Dead ass."

The fact that he's using Atlanta slang while basically nuzzling her stomach should be funny. Would be funny if she wasn't trying really hard to remember how to breathe properly.

"What the hell is going on here?"

Uncle Bertrand's voice makes her jump, but Aurélien doesn't move an inch. Just stays there with his face pressed against her blouse while his uncle walks in with Ocho trotting behind him like he's backup security or something.

Bertrand takes in the scene – his nephew on his knees, face buried in his PA's stomach, said PA holding a knife and looking like she's contemplating several life choices – and raises an eyebrow that speaks volumes.

"Aurélien Djani Tchouaméni, why is your face in her stomach? What did I walk in on?"

Leila bites back a laugh because she's never heard anyone use Aurélien's full name like that except his mama.

"I'm apologizing for being a dick," comes Aurélien's muffled response, still not moving from his position.

"My god, is this you begging?" Bertrand sucks his teeth, his voice carries that special kind of amusement reserved for embarrassing family members. "You have to kiss her feet."

"First of all, yuck — no feet kissing," Leila protests, trying to pry Aurélien's arms loose. "And can you please get him off of me?"

"Non," Aurélien tightens his hold. "Not until you believe me."

"Believe what?" Bertrand asks, already reaching for coffee like this is a normal morning occurrence.

"That I'm sorry. That I meant everything in the letter. That I–"

"Letter?" Bertrand's eyebrows shoot up. "What letter? When did you learn to write feelings?"

"Uncle–"

"No, no, this is fascinating. My nephew, who once told a girl 'thanks' when she said she loved him, wrote a letter?"

"Can we not?" Aurélien finally lifts his head to glare at his uncle, but his arms stay locked around Leila's waist.

"We absolutely can," Bertrand grins. "Right after you explain why you're harassing your best PA on company time."

"I'm not harassing–"

"Your face is in her stomach, nephew. She's holding a knife. This looks like harassment."

"It's... complicated," Leila manages to say, still trying to figure out how this became her life.

"Mhm." Bertrand eyes them both over his coffee cup. "As complicated as you flying to Georgia? As complicated as William calling me to ask about transfer policies?"

That makes Aurélien's head snap up. "William did what?"

"Oh, now he pays attention," Bertrand mutters. "Leila, dear, would you like me to remove my nephew from your person? He seems to have forgotten his manners."

"I haven't forgotten anything," Aurélien protests. "I'm trying to fix what I broke."

"By becoming a human koala?"

"By whatever it takes."

The sincerity in his voice makes something in Leila's chest squeeze. Even Bertrand's expression softens.

"Well," he says finally, "at least you're fully dressed this time. Progress."

Leila chokes on air while Aurélien groans. "Uncle–"

"What? I've seen the security footage. You really need to learn about shirts, nephew."

And just like that, any tension breaks. Because how can it not when your boss's uncle is roasting him about his clothing choices while said boss is still wrapped around you like an expensive octopus?

What even is her life anymore?

After Aurélien finally releases her to get dressed, Leila continues his protein shake – the one she's perfected over months of trial and error. Two scoops of the vanilla one (never chocolate, no matter how much Cama tries to convert him), banana, that secret dash of spinach she pretends not to add but he definitely knows about, and a surprising twist with some sliced apple.

Uncle Bertrand watches her work with that knowing look that must run in the family.

"I told you, you know," he says finally, "that he needs someone like you."

Her hands pause on the blender. "You know what this is about then?"

"His father told me bits and pieces." Bertrand's voice goes soft with affection. "I'm happy he's being serious with a girl again. Lord knows he's not cut out for this bachelor life."

"The models weren't enough?" She tries for humor but it comes out a bit sharp.

"You've seen them," he chuckles. "Different girl every other day, running through here like it's Paris Fashion Week. It was... concerning."

The blender whirs to life, giving her a moment to collect her thoughts.

"You need to deal with William soon," Bertrand says when the noise dies down. "Before this gets messier."

"I know." She pours the shake into Aurélien's favorite shaker bottle – the matte black one, never the clear ones. "I feel terrible about that actually. Using him as a rebound when he's been nothing but sweet."

"But?"

"But he still has to prove it to me," she says, and they both know who she means. "Make an effort. Show me it's real."

Bertrand nods, understanding lighting his features. "He will. You know how determined he can get."

"Like a dog with a bone," she agrees, just as footsteps announce Aurélien's return.

He's in his training gear now, all Real Madrid logos and compression wear that does things to her concentration. She hands him his shake without meeting his eyes – some habits are safer than others right now.

"Ready?" He asks, voice soft like it's just for her.

She grabs their coffees, professional mask sliding back into place. "Your car or mine?"

"Mine." The way he says it leaves no room for argument. "Always mine."

Uncle Bertrand's knowing laugh follows them out to where the Urus waits in the driveway, morning sun making everything look a little too much like possibility.

Just another day at the office.

Except nothing about this feels like just anything anymore.

Lucky Daye's voice fills the Urus while Aurélien drives one-handed through Madrid traffic, his other hand draped over the gearshift in that casual way that still does things to her concentration. Some things haven't changed in two weeks – like how he still looks unfairly good doing the most basic tasks, or how his Spotify playlist seems determined to test her emotional stability with all these R&B songs about complicated love.

She needs to call William soon. Has to be honest with him in a way Aurélien never was with her. Has to tell him she's weighing her options (a first for her inexperienced self) and that he shouldn't put all his eggs in her complicated basket. It's not fair to him, not when he's been nothing but sweet and patient while she sorts through her feelings.

"The letter," Aurélien starts, eyes on the road. "I really meant every word."

"Funny timing though." She sips her coffee, watching the city blur past. "Almost like seeing me with William made you realize something."

"It wasn't just that–"

"Wasn't it?" Her voice stays even despite her heart doing gymnastics. "Because before William, I was just 'okay', remember? Before he started showing interest, before he started treating me like I mattered, I was just your PA."

He sucks his teeth, that familiar sound of frustration. "I want you to be mine."

"No."

"No?"

"No," she confirms. "You have to work for it. And I still need to talk to William. Need to be honest with him, unlike some people."

The jab lands – she sees his fingers tighten on the wheel.

"Work for it?" The concept seems to genuinely puzzle him. "Why? Isn’t my apology enough?"

"Didn’t the girls you've fucked make you work for it?"

His silence at the red light speaks volumes.

"No, they don't," he finally admits. "Pretty much just gave in to anything I want."

"Well, there you go. You're spoiled."

"I'm not spoiled," he argues, but his dramatic eye roll undermines his point.

"You are. And I'm not doing it." She shakes her head. "I still don't believe you. Not when this could just be jealousy because William's occupying my time. Actions speak louder than words, Aurélien." She claps with each word for emphasis. "I. Want. To. See. Action. Steps. Taken."

He stares at her for a long moment before the light turns green. His jaw sets in that way that usually means someone's about to have a very difficult match.

"Bet."

The word carries weight, promise, challenge. Like he's accepting terms to a contract that could change everything.

She pretends her heart doesn't skip at the sound.

Pretends she doesn't care that Giveon's now singing about trust and integrity through the speakers.

Pretends she's not already wondering what Aurélien considers "action."

But she's definitely calling William tonight.

Some conversations need to happen before others can begin.

The training ground feels different when your boss is trying to prove something. Aurélien's been all "please" and "thank you" and "I appreciate you" all day, to the point where Jude and Cama keep exchanging looks like they're watching a nature documentary about rare behavior.

Like when she brings out the water bottles, he actually stops practice to help her carry them. When she hands him his post-training protein shake, his "merci, ma puce" is soft enough to make several teammates raise eyebrows.

"What is happening?" Jude whispers to her as she passes. "He's being… really nice?"

"It's creeping me out," Cama adds. "He said 'thank you' three times in ten minutes."

And don't get her wrong – Leila likes this version of him. Likes how he's actually showing gratitude instead of just expecting things. Likes how his eyes follow her around the training ground like he's memorizing her movements. But William's already set that bar pretty high with his constant thoughtfulness, his way of making her feel precious without trying.

A thank you can only do so much when you're competing with someone who treats you like you hung the moon.

Back at her apartment now, after Aurélien hugged her goodbye at his house (a proper hug, not those casual touches from before) with promises of "see you tomorrow" that somehow felt loaded. That twinkle in his eyes spelled trouble – the good kind, maybe, but trouble nonetheless.

Her phone feels heavy as she pulls up William's contact. This conversation needs to happen, even if it might hurt.

"Hey beautiful," his voice comes warm through the speaker. "I was just thinking about you."

They chat easily for a few minutes – about his day, about that Nigerian restaurant he still wants to take her to, about Arsenal's upcoming match that he's hoping she'll attend. His voice feels like comfort, like something she could sink into if her heart wasn't so complicated.

"Will," she finally says, heart heavy. "We need to talk."

The slight pause on his end speaks volumes.

"About Aurélien?"

"About everything." She takes a deep breath. "You deserve honesty."

"I appreciate that." His voice stays gentle, even now, and something in her chest aches.

"I'm… keeping my options open. For both of you. Seeing where things lead." The words come out in a rush. "And I think you should do the same. It's only fair."

His uncomfortable chuckle makes her chest tight. "Can't say I'm surprised. The way he looks at you…"

"Will–"

"No, it's okay. Really." Another pause, heavier this time. "I knew what I was getting into. Knew there was history there."

"Not history exactly–"

"Feelings then." His smile is audible even through the phone. "Strong ones, on both sides."

"I really like you," she says, because he deserves to hear it. Because it's true.

"But you might love him?"

The question hangs between them like smoke.

"I don't know what I feel anymore," she admits. "That's why I need time. Why you should keep your options open too."

"Leila," his voice goes soft, gentle in that way that made her choose him that night at the club. "You're worth waiting for. But I understand what you're saying."

"I'm sorry–"

"Don't be. Your honesty? That's one of the things I like most about you."

They talk a bit more – lighter topics, easier words – before hanging up. Her heart feels both heavier and lighter somehow, like setting down a weight only to pick up a different one.

At least now everything's on the table. At least now everyone knows where they stand.

Her phone buzzes with a text from Aurélien: Sleep well, ma puce. Tomorrow's a new day.

Something about the message makes her nervous in the best way. Whatever he's planning, whatever that twinkle in his eyes meant, she's about to find out.

Because Aurélien Tchouaméni doesn't do anything halfway. And apparently that includes trying to win her heart.

******************************************

The past few days have been a weird mix of text messages. William's responses are still sweet but decidedly shorter since The Talk. He's still nice – still sends her "good morning beautiful" and checks if she's doing okay – but there's a new distance there. Their usual paragraphs have been shortened to quick exchanges:

Will: Match tonight against Newcastle Leila: Good luck! Will: Thanks x

That's it. Which, honestly? What did she expect after telling him to keep his options open? Can't be mad that he's taking a step back, even if it stings a little.

Meanwhile, Aurélien's been playing games with her head all week, sending these cryptic messages that probably make sense to him: When stars align, music speaks What's black and white and red all over? Some dreams happen under open skies

Like sir, are you having a stroke or…?

But he insisted she "dress sexy" for whatever this is, which prompted an emergency FaceTime session with her girls:

"The House of CB dress," Yolanda had declared. "The black one." "That's a size too small," Leila protested. "Exactly."

And looking in the mirror now? Her girls were right. The ruched dress might require slightly shallow breathing, but the way it hugs every curve like it's getting paid to? Worth it. She even put in her contacts and strapped on kitten heels because whatever he's planning clearly required effort.

When she pulls up to his house, Ocho greets her at the door like usual, but everything else feels different. The house is dimmed, rose petals scattered across the floor like some romance novel come to life, and – is that a violin playing?

Following the trail leads her to the open sliding doors, and sweet baby Jesus.

The backyard's been transformed – more rose petals, twinkling lights, a table set for two that looks straight out of a movie. And Aurélien…

Lord have mercy.

He's wearing actual pants – not ripped jeans or basketball shorts – and a button-down with the sleeves rolled to his forearms like he's trying to kill her specifically. The undone buttons giving her a peek at his chest and that Cuban link chain, his wrists glinting with his watch and bracelets.

"You look beautiful," he says softly, and she ducks her head because the way he's looking at her is too much.

His fingers catch her chin, tilting her face up to his, and he's so close she can count his eyelashes. Thank god for contacts because her glasses would've fogged up three seconds ago.

"Did you figure it out?" His voice is low, intimate.

"What?"

"The riddles, ma puce. The violin?" He gestures to the musician. "Stars under open skies?" His hand sweeps toward the clear night above them. "Black and white and red all over?" A nod to his outfit and the roses everywhere.

"You're ridiculous," she says, but she's smiling.

"Maybe." He bites his lip in that way that probably makes models sign NDAs. "Is it working?"

"Good job, Capitaine," she manages with a giggle, and his answering wink definitely made her whole body tingle.

He leads her to the table, pulling out her chair like a proper gentleman, and she pretends her heart isn't doing backflips.

Sundays are supposed to be her day off – no early morning protein shakes, no training ground chaos, no schedule managing. But here she is anyway, sitting at a table while a professional violinist plays in the background.

"You didn't have to do all this," she says as he pours her wine. "Especially on a Sunday."

"Had to prove I was serious." He settles into his chair across from her. "Show you I can do more than just words."

The candlelight catches his cheekbones in a way that should be criminal, and she has to remind herself to play it cool. "So this is what Aurélien Tchouaméni considers romance?"

"This is just the beginning." His smile holds promises. "Wait until you see what's for dinner."

Right on cue, his personal chef appears with appetizers that look like art. Everything's perfectly plated, portions actually sized for humans instead of athletes, and she realizes he's really thought this through.

"I remembered you mentioned liking seafood," he says, watching her reaction. "When you were telling that story about your daddy taking you fishing."

The fact that he remembered that random conversation from months ago does something to her chest.

"And the violin?" She gestures to where the musician is playing what sounds like a classical version of a Drake song.

"You said classical music helps you focus." His eyes hold hers. "I pay attention, ma puce. To everything about you."

And really, what is she supposed to do with that?

She takes a bite of perfectly cooked scallops, trying not to show how much his words affect her. "So you orchestrated all this just to prove a point?"

"To prove I can change." His eyes haven't left her face. "That I can be what you deserve."

The wine feels warm in her system, making everything soft around the edges. "And what do you think I deserve?"

"Everything." He reaches across the table, fingers brushing hers. "Someone who notices when you push up your glasses because you're nervous. Who knows you take your coffee with two sugars but pretend it's one because your mama would disapprove. Who remembers that you hum Anita Baker when you're happy."

"You notice all that?"

"I notice everything about you, ma puce." His thumb traces circles on her palm. "Even when I was pretending not to. Like how you tap your pen three times before writing something important. How you always save the best bite for last. How you scrunch your nose when you're trying not to laugh at something inappropriate."

The violin shifts to what sounds like a classical version of "Essence". "Did you give him a specific playlist?"

"I might’ve," he smiles. "You like it?"

"A little." But she's smiling too. "Points for creativity."

"I can do subtle," he offers. "If that's what you want."

"Since when do you do subtle?"

"Since a certain PA made me work for her attention."

The way he says it – fond but serious – makes her pause. "Is that what all this is? Working for my attention?"

"This is me showing you I can be more." His fingers tangle with hers properly now. "That I can be what you need."

"And what if what I need is time?"

"Then I'll wait." He lifts her hand to his lips. "But I'll wait while showing you exactly what you're waiting for."

The kiss he presses to her knuckles shouldn't feel this intimate. Shouldn't make her skin tingle like this.

"You're dangerous when you try," she manages.

His smile is pure sin. "Good thing I'm trying then."

The chef appears with the main course – some kind of fish that probably has a fancy French name but just tastes like heaven. Aurélien watches her take the first bite, satisfaction clear on his face when she can't hold back a sound of appreciation.

"The chef asked about your allergens," he says casually. "Your favorite spices. Whether you prefer your food spicy or mild."

"You did research?"

"I did everything." He takes a sip of wine, eyes holding hers over the rim of his glass. "Even called your mama about dessert."

"You did not–"

"Peach cobbler," he cuts her off with a grin. "Your grandma's recipe. Though the chef says it won't be as good as hers."

Something warm blooms in her chest. "You really are trying."

"I told you." His voice goes soft. "I'm not messing up this time."

The violin switches to what sounds like a classical version of "Love" by Keyshia Cole and she has to laugh. "Okay, now you're just showing off."

"You like it though?"

She pretends to think about it, taking another bite of perfectly cooked fish. "Maybe."

"Maybe is better than no."

"Don't get cocky."

"Never." But his smile says otherwise. "Though I did have other plans if dinner didn't impress you."

"Oh?"

"Mhm. Backup plans. Several of them."

"Care to share?"

He leans forward, voice dropping low. "And ruin the surprise? Non. You'll just have to wait and see."

"More riddles?"

"Perhaps." His fingers find hers again. "Though this time I might make them easier. Since you clearly struggled with these ones."

She tries to look offended but can't quite manage it. Not when he's looking at her like that, not when everything feels warm and soft and possible.

"You're trouble," she tells him.

"For you?" His thumb traces her pulse point. "Always."

She's in trouble.

So much trouble.

But watching him in the candlelight, seeing how much effort he's put into every detail, feeling the weight of his attention like a physical thing...

Maybe some trouble is worth it.

Maybe this trouble specifically.

Dinner was delicious and Leila never laughed so much in her life. With the chef and violinist now gone, the house feels different – more intimate somehow as they enjoyed dessert. Leila's curled up on his ridiculous designer couch, feet finally free of those torture devices called heels, while Aurélien sits close enough that she can feel his body heat.

"I can rub them if you want?" he offers, eyeing her feet with too much interest.

She squints at him. "Do you have a secret foot fetish or something?" His expression answers before his words do. "Oh my goodness, you do!"

"You have nice feet," he says like he's telling her his favorite color (it's blue by the way). "Your toes are always done. They're nice."

She shakes her head, laughing. "Wow, we're learning a lot about each other."

"You're telling me you don't have any things you like?" His voice drops lower, suggestive, as he moves closer – though how that's possible when they're already practically sharing space, she's not sure.

Her virgin brain short circuits for a moment. Because maybe… that one time she stumbled across exhibition videos on PornHub… but that's definitely not something she's ready to discuss over wine and peach cobbler.

"Uh… how are you feeling about the match against Milan?" Real smooth, Leila. His laugh is warm against her skin. "What?"

"Are you really changing the subject?" His eyes are dancing with amusement. "I asked you a question."

"And… I'm not answering that question."

"Leila," he says her name like it's honey in his mouth.

"Aurélien," she counters, trying to look stern.

They sit there at an impasse, the tension thick enough to cut, before he finally looks away and takes another sip of wine. "Fine, we won't talk about it."

"Thanks."

But the way he's still looking at her suggests this conversation isn't over.

Just postponed.

Leila takes another bite of cobbler, pretending she can't feel his eyes on her.

"You know," he says, "this isn't how I thought tonight would go."

"No?"

"Non." He shifts even closer. "Thought you'd be harder to impress."

"Who says I'm impressed?"

His smile is dangerous in the dim light. "The way you reacted to the food. The violin. The roses."

"Maybe I was just being polite."

"Ma puce," his voice drops low, "you're many things, but polite isn't one of them."

"Excuse me?"

"You tell me exactly what you think. Always." His fingers find a strand of her hair, twirling it absently. "It's one of the things I like about you."

"Only one?"

"Want to hear the others?"

The way he says it makes her pulse jump. "I don't know, do I?"

"I could show you instead."

And oh – the look in his eyes suggests he means business.

"Aurélien..."

"Just a taste," he murmurs, leaning closer. "To prove a point."

Leila doesn't move, not at first. She wants to — feels her body urge her to lean back into the softness of the couch and let the tension drain away, but there's something magnetic about him. Something that makes her blood hum, makes her pulse quicken, even as she tries to ignore it.

She forces herself to look at him, really look. His jawline is sharp, his lips slightly parted like he's already anticipating her next move. And those eyes are burning with something fierce, almost as if he's daring her to stop him.

"I—" Her throat feels dry. "Aurélien... what are you—"

"Shhh," he cuts her off gently, placing a finger over her lips. "Don’t talk, ma puce. Just listen. Let me show you."

Her heart slams in her chest, her mind screaming at her to back away, to call it a night, to leave before things go too far. But the way he's looking at her pulls her in, and suddenly, every rational thought is slipping through her fingers.

"Just a taste," he repeats, his voice thick with promise, his finger trailing lightly down her chin, her neck. She sucks in a breath as his touch lingers at the base of her throat, then slides lower, closer to the curve of her collarbone.

Her eyes flicker to his lips again, and before she can stop herself, she finds her hand reaching up, fingers grazing the side of his face. It's a simple gesture, but it's a signal. A question.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asks, his voice quieter now, almost teasing. But the way his gaze rakes over her, dark and hungry, tells her he doesn't want her to answer that. Not really.

Leila swallows, her heart racing in her chest, her body betraying her with every passing second. She shouldn't. She knows she shouldn't. But instead of pulling away, she inches closer, her lips barely brushing his.

"No," she breathes against his mouth.

Aurélien smiles, the kind of smile that’s more predatory than anything else. "I’d rather show you how good it can feel." And then, before she can say another word, his mouth captures hers.

He’s guiding her, pulling her closer, his hands smoothing over her hips. The kiss is everything — a mix of softness and heat, of slow-burning desire that’s impossible to resist.

Leila’s head spins, her breath shallow, hands running up the back of his neck, fingers threading through his hair. She can feel him, all of him — how much he wants her, how much he’s holding back. Her body moves toward his instinctively, her heart races with every beat.

His hands slide lower, his fingers brushing her waist, and she can feel the heat pooling between her legs. She can’t help it. She presses closer, needy and unashamed.

"Ma puce," he whispers, his voice like velvet, "let me show you just how much I’ve been wanting this."

She doesn't answer. She doesn't need to. She knows. And when his hands cup her breast, her breath catches, anticipation and excitement clashing within her. The kiss deepens, slow and deliberate. Leila feels him pull her closer, his lips moving with purpose, like he’s trying to claim her. She feels the heat of his body pressed against hers, but....not yet. Not tonight.

Leila finds strength to pull back, her lips curling into a teasing smile as she looks him up and down. "That’s all you’re getting," she says, her voice low, but definitely sure of herself.

Aurélien raises an eyebrow, lips still curved into that half-smile of his, eyes dark with intent. But before he can protest, she spots the clear evidence of his arousal — yeah, she sees that tent in his pants. The man’s not subtle, but she’s not here to make things too easy for him.

She stands, straightening herself up, smoothing down her dress. "You’ve still got work to do, remember?" she adds, as if reminding him of the tasks ahead. "I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He sighs, frustration and something else flickering across his face, but he doesn’t try to stop her. "Tomorrow," he echoes, voice low, and there’s that challenge in his eyes that makes her pulse race.

She gives him one last glance before turning toward the door, her smile sly. "'Night," she says, her tone promising something more, something to keep him on edge.

The door closes behind her with a soft click, and she lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.

Holy shit.

***************************************

Leila's hands are definitely not shaking as she punches in Aurélien's gate code. And if they are, it's definitely from the coffee she's carrying and not from flashbacks of last night. Not from remembering how "just a taste" turned into his hands in her hair, her fingers clutching his shirt, that sound he made when she accidentally bit his bottom lip...

Lord.

Her virgin self really got caught up last night. One minute she was eating cobbler and dodging questions about her kinks (which, thank god they got distracted before that conversation continued), and the next minute his "let me show you" turned into the kind of kiss romance novels try to describe.

The texts they exchanged after she finally made herself leave (before her inexperience could catch up with her courage) don't help:

Aurélien: Already miss your taste

Leila: Go to sleep

Aurélien: Can't. Still thinking about how you sound when...

She had to turn her phone off before she did something crazy like drive back to his house.

Now here she is, walking up to his door trying to act professional while her body remembers exactly how his hands felt on her waist, how his voice got rough when she tugged his hair, how he...

"Ma puce."

Sweet baby Jesus.

He's standing in the doorway looking like every bad decision she wants to make, wearing just basketball shorts and that smirk that started all this trouble in the first place.

Just another Monday morning.

Except nothing about this feels like just anything anymore. Especially not the way he's looking at her like he's remembering too.

She walks in as he moves aside, following her closely as she makes her way into the kitchen to start his breakfast. Her phone buzzes while she's making his protein shake, William's name lighting up the screen:

You okay? Haven't heard from you since yesterday

She should answer. Needs to answer. Should probably tell him about the kiss that's still making her lips tingle. About how–

Warm arms wrap around her waist from behind, and Aurélien's lips find that spot on her neck that she didn't even know was sensitive until last night.

"You're thinking too loud," he murmurs against her skin.

"I'm working," she tries to sound professional but it comes out breathless. "Some of us have actual jobs to do."

"Mhm." His lips trace up to that spot behind her ear that made her gasp last night. "Important jobs."

"Aurélien..."

"Ma puce?" His voice is all innocent but his hands definitely aren't, drawing patterns on her hips that make it hard to remember why she's supposed to be resisting this.

Her phone buzzes again but she can't focus on it. Not when he's pressed against her like this, all warm skin and morning voice and–

"I have to answer that."

"Do you though?"

And that's the problem isn't it? She should. She needs to. But with Aurélien's mouth doing things to her neck that should be illegal in at least twelve countries...

William's text can wait.

Her self-control apparently can't.

Leila manages to slip out of his grasp, heading to the fridge for eggs because somebody needs to maintain some professionalism around here. She's bent over, searching for the organic ones he likes, when she feels him press against her back, his "morning happiness" making itself very known.

"I think I like you like this. Bent over."

The eggs are immediately forgotten as she straightens up, turning to give him a look that clearly says "are you for real right now?"

"Aurélien–"

"Yes, ma puce?" His innocent tone doesn't match his eyes at all.

"You're still on thin ice, Capitaine. So all this little freaky stuff is not gonna get you what you want..."

"I know," he smiles, and something in it makes her eyes widen. "I know you're not just going to give in to anything I want so easily, but I don't know if I could ever stop touching you."

And that's the thing about him – if quality time is her love language, physical touch is definitely his. At least in private. He might keep his distance in public, but alone? Man's like a human koala, especially with her.

"I got you something," he says suddenly, and she tries not to look too excited. A gift? For her?

He disappears down the hall, returning with a pristine white bag that definitely came from somewhere expensive. When he hands it to her, she peers inside and – oh.

It's a new planner. But not just any planner. It's the one she's been eyeing for months, the ridiculously expensive one with the butter-soft leather cover and gold monogramming. The one she'd mentioned exactly once, in passing, while organizing his schedule.

"I noticed yours is almost full," he says softly. "And you said this one had the best layout for managing multiple schedules."

The fact that he remembered that random conversation, that he noticed her current planner getting full...

"You didn't have to–"

"I wanted to." His fingers brush hers as she lifts it out. "Look inside."

She opens it to find he's already filled in important dates – his matches, his family's birthdays, even her mama's birthday that she definitely didn't tell him about.

"How did you–"

"Called your mama again." He looks slightly sheepish. "She had a lot to say about my timing."

Of course she did.

"Thank you," she manages, trying not to show how much this means. That he noticed. That he remembered. That he put in effort.

"There's more," he says, reaching for the bag. "But first..."

His lips find hers, soft and sure, and she forgets about the rest of the gifts. There's something different about this kiss – softer than last night's heated exchanges but somehow more intense. His hands cup her face like she's precious while his mouth does things that make her knees weak. She finds herself clutching the planner to her chest with one hand while the other grabs his shoulder for balance, and he makes that sound again – the one from last night that lives rent-free in her head now. When his tongue traces her bottom lip, she opens for him without thinking, and lord... for someone who's never done this before, she's learning quick. Maybe too quick, judging by the way he groans when she experiments with a gentle bite to his lip. She's definitely going to need Jesus after this, but right now? Right now she just needs him closer.

When she finally manages to pull away from his kiss (which takes more willpower than she wants to admit), he's got that satisfied look that makes her want to smack him and kiss him at the same time.

"The rest?" she prompts, trying to sound composed even though her lips are still tingling.

He reaches into the bag again, pulling out a smaller box. Inside is a pen that probably costs more than her first car – all sleek rose gold and clean lines.

"Because you keep stealing mine," he explains with a grin.

"I do not–"

"Ma puce, I've bought six pens this month."

She wants to argue but... yeah, okay, maybe she has a habit of walking off with his pens. But in her defense, they write really nice and–

"One more thing."

The last box is smaller, and when she opens it, her heart actually stops for a second. It's a delicate gold chain with a tiny diamond 'A' pendant.

"Before you overthink," he says quickly, "it's not... I know we're not... it's just..."

Seeing Aurélien Tchouaméni stumble over words is definitely new.

"It's just what?"

"A reminder," he finally manages. "That I'm serious. About you. About us. About earning your trust back."

She stares at the necklace, at this man who's apparently determined to make her heart malfunction, at the way he's watching her like her reaction means everything.

"Help me put it on?"

The smile that breaks across his face is worth any overthinking she might do later. His fingers brush her neck as he fastens the chain, and then his lips follow, pressing soft kisses along her skin.

"Aurélien..."

"Mhm?"

"We're going to be late for training."

"Worth it."

His lips are still on her neck, making it very hard to remember why being on time matters, when her phone buzzes again. This time it's Jude: Ancelotti's asking where you two are.

She jumps back like she's been shocked. "We're really late."

"And?" His smile is pure sin, eyes dark with promise.

"And Carlo will actually kill me this time."

"Fine," he sighs dramatically, but he's already heading upstairs to change. "Give me five minutes."

She takes those five minutes to try and compose herself, to remember how to be professional, to definitely not think about how his lips felt against her skin or how the 'A' pendant sits perfectly in the hollow of her throat or–

"Ready?"

He's back, properly dressed for training this time, but his eyes still hold promises that make her nervous in the best way.

"Keys?" she manages.

He dangles them with a smirk. "One condition."

"What?"

"Let me take you to dinner tonight. Another date."

Her heart definitely skips. "Wasn't last night enough?"

"Never enough with you." He steps closer, fingers brushing the pendant at her throat. "And I promise - no riddles this time."

"You sure? No cryptic messages about stars and violins?"

"Well, maybe one small riddle..." At her look, he laughs. "I'm joking. Just dinner. Just us."

And really, what is she supposed to say to that?

"We'll see," is what comes out, but they both hear the 'yes' in it.

His answering smile could power all of Madrid.

Sunday night….with Wilo…..

Wilo sits at the small corner table of the Nigerian spot he loves, the smell of jollof rice and suya filling the air around him. It’s a quiet evening after his match against Newcastle, a hard-fought win that left his body aching in all the right ways.

A few days have passed since that conversation with Leila, but the words still linger, the distance between them now palpable in a way it hadn’t been before. He thought it would be easier, that the space she’d given him would allow things to settle, to let him move on from the uncertainty. But instead, he feels like he’s stuck in the same place, unable to shake the feeling that he’s losing her, even if she’s not quite his to lose yet.

His phone buzzes, dragging him from his thoughts. He looks down at it, then back at the half-empty plate in front of him. The jollof rice and plantains are still warm, but he’s lost his appetite. The food is just a distraction now, nothing more than a reminder of the dinner he’d been trying to enjoy alone.

He picks up his phone again, unlocking it without thinking, his fingers hovering over the screen for a moment before he sends a message to Leila.

"Hey. Just checking in. Hope you’re doing okay."

It’s simple. A text that doesn’t demand anything, that gives her space. It’s all he can do, really, considering where things stand. After a few minutes, he sees the three little dots appear, then disappear. And for a moment, he holds his breath, wondering if she’ll reply.

But instead, his phone goes silent. No message.

Wilo sighs, putting the phone back down. He shouldn’t have expected anything different. She’s still figuring things out. And he has to respect that. He leans back in his chair, trying to push away the feeling of helplessness creeping in. He doesn’t want to rush her, doesn’t want to pressure her into something she’s not ready for. But damn, it’s hard.

The waiter comes by, refilling his drink, and Wilo forces a smile, nodding his thanks. He’s been here enough to know the staff, but tonight, he feels a little out of place, like he’s only going through the motions.

Wilo takes another bite of the jollof rice, the spice lingering on his tongue, but it doesn’t hit the same tonight. He pushes it around the plate, chewing slowly, the rhythm of eating providing little relief to the weight he feels on his chest.

He's still poking at the rice, when a voice interrupts him.

"So, is the jollof rice not living up to your expectations?"

Wilo looks up, surprised to find a woman standing next to his table. She’s dark-skinned, with a pixie cut that frames her face perfectly, highlighting the sharp angles of her jaw and the soft curve of her full lips. She’s got that effortless coolness about her that catches his attention immediately.

"Nah, it’s good," he responds, his voice a little more clipped than usual as he tries to refocus. "Just... not hungry, I guess."

She tilts her head, clearly noticing the distraction in his tone. "You sure?" She steps closer, her gaze flicking to the plate and then back to him. "I know it’s hard to find good jollof, especially when you’re used to a certain standard."

Wilo raises an eyebrow at the sudden shift in conversation, not quite sure where this is going. "Yeah, I know what you mean. But... this spot's good. Nothing beats my mom’s though," he says with a small, genuine smile.

She grins, as though she’s been waiting for that answer. "What would you rate it, then? Like... on a scale from one to ten?"

Wilo blinks, a little confused, before he notices the notebook tucked between her fingers. It clicks, and he chuckles softly. "Wait, you’re a journalist?"

Her smile widens, and she nods. "Food and culture." She pulls out a pen and begins scribbling in her notebook. "So, one to ten. Be honest."

Wilo laughs, rubbing the back of his neck, trying to shake the weird feeling of being put on the spot. "Okay, okay... probably an eight. It’s solid, but, you know, not like my mom's."

She scribbles quickly, her eyes glinting with amusement. "An eight? I’ll take that. How about the plantains? Better than the rice?"

Wilo laughs again, this time with a little more ease. "The plantains are solid too. I’ll give those a nine. Can't go wrong with them."

She jots it down, looking up from her notes, locking eyes with him. "And are you a regular here, or just popping in for some comfort food?"

"A bit of both, I guess," Wilo replies, leaning back in his chair. "It’s one of my go-tos."

"Good choice," she says, making a note of it. "Do you think the food here captures the essence of Nigerian cuisine for people who might not be familiar with it?"

Wilo pauses, thinking. "I’d say it’s a decent intro. It’s definitely a good version of what you’d get from a home-cooked meal."

She nods, scribbling that down too. Then she glances up at him, a playful glint in her eye. "So, would you want to be quoted on the record? Or should I keep this between us?"

Wilo smirks, leaning forward. "If it’s going on the record, I might have to revise my answers." He’s joking, but the flirty undertone is clear. He can't help but enjoy the back-and-forth, the way she’s been teasing him all along.

"Noted," she says, her lips curving into a smile. "But I can make it unofficial if you want. Just let me know."

Wilo chuckles. "Yeah, you can quote me. Why not?"

"Great," she says, flipping her notebook shut and pulling out a business card. "I’m Kemi, by the way."

Wilo takes the card with a raised brow. "Wilo."

She grins, her eyes scanning him for a second before she teases, "Your French accent’s really thick, huh?"

Wilo laughs, giving a slight shrug. "Yeah, I know."

They share a brief, amused silence, and just then, the waiter comes by with her bill. She takes it without hesitation, signing it quickly and handing it back to him with a polite nod.

"Well, it was nice meeting you, Wilo," Kemi says as she fastens her coat. "And I’ll make sure to quote you if I use this in the article."

"Yeah, sounds good," Wilo replies, watching her with a half-smile. "Take care."

She gives him a final, lingering look, and then she turns and walks toward the door, leaving him watching her retreating figure.

Wilo leans back in his seat again, the jollof rice now cold, and the absence of Kemi lingering more than he expected. It’s only then that the weight of the conversation with Leila starts to hit him again. She said to keep his options open, but that doesn’t make it easier. He lets out a slow breath, feeling like he's caught between two worlds — one that’s still unsure, and another that wants to take that leap.

..........................tbd

#quainwritings #quain’s masterlist #aurelien tchouameni #footballer x oc #footballer x reader #aurelien tchouameni x black oc #aurelien tchouameni fanfiction #aurelien tchouameni x reader #aurelien tchouameni fic #aurelien tchouameni fanfic #real madrid fanfic #virgin territory

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elene78-blog · 3 days ago

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Hey... I've read a lot of things about Kevin and Jean's interview, and I don't think they're ever good things. I understand. Nora said she wouldn't be too careful with Kevin and Jean, and saying TGR will be just as sad as the first one doesn't give us hope.

Because of this, we think that this interview will go wrong, but... Let's think about another possibility that is also very plausible due to the title of the book and so as not to repeat dynamics that already occurred in TFC.

And the interview goes well. It comes out damn well.

This would make a lot of sense if you think about it, because it's Kevin who will be handling the interview, and he's an expert at this. Kevin knows how to act. Kevin will know exactly what to say to get what he wants: for Jean's image to improve.

In fact, Kevin will just have to tell the truth.

Kevin will explain, with his press smile, that Jean was his best friend at The Nest. Riko was his brother, but Jean was his best friend forever. Kevin will explain that they grew up together and that it was Jean who taught him French. The two speak in French for the press to show closeness. Kevin says good things about his life with Jean. Things we may not even know and that Jean barely remembers, but Jean relives them in surprise when Kevin mentions them.

Kevin says that when he left The Nest, Jean was the only one who supported him (which is half true) because he knew that Kevin wanted to meet his father. Kevin says that he always gave Jean gifts from his trips and Jean says that he still keeps them, even though they didn't hold up well in the move.

Kevin says that Jean was with the Foxes after The Nest for a while, along with him and Neil (bombshell, here it is revealed that Neil and Jean are childhood friends and that Neil went to The Nest last Christmas to be with Jean) . Kevin says Jean went to Palmetto after getting injured at The Nest, so he wouldn't be able to continue playing that season. This caused Jean to have a minor crisis about her career and the Ravens to become very angry at the extreme pressure they were put under, which also affected Riko.

Neil and Kevin took Jean in to get some rest from the Ravens environment. This was when Kevin proposed to Jean to move to the Trojans, as Kevin and Jeremy are great friends and Kevin felt that this step would be better for Jean's career.

Jean appears in the interview as a man with a tough guy appearance, very direct and sarcastic, but with a big heart and kindness (the truth, basically).

And then comes the incredible.

Kevin tells Jean's age when they entered The Nest. He says it anecdotally, but there is a clear intention behind it. Kevin says it was always amazing to play with Jean, because Jean was 16 when they came into The Nest, and yet he was so much better than the other defensemen. Kevin says Jean was very little then, and that only made it more impressive to see him play.

The interviewer is a little worried, so she doesn't mention anything about the rumors. She just says, "So, you're 19 now?"

Jean confirms this and says he'll be 20 in a few weeks/months, and then the interview ends.

Jean ends up being loved by fans almost immediately (and others start to wonder if the rumors are false or there is something very shady going on at The Nest) but Jean and Kevin argue after this interview (for some reason, there are too many to venture).

And then comes the anguish. The anguish of the fight, of knowing what happens with Jeremy, about Jean's parents, maybe Elodie, more topics about The Nest, the Trojans (because I'm sure there will be dramas with them)...

But that interview will turn out well, and that would be the big surprise. Because in that interview people really see Jean Moreau for the first time, and... they adore him.

Contrary to what they always said, Jean Moreau is loved almost immediately.

And after this... They start calling Jean The Golden Raven.

HEY, THAT'S A GREAT POSSIBILITY!

#jean moreau #the sunshine court #all for the game #the golden raven #jeremy knox #tsc #tgr #aftg #kevin day

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verchante · 2 days ago

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Chaand Baaliyan - LN4

cw: fluff, desi!reader, iitian reader, curse words, this is based of of me missing delhi and my frnds who are in kota rn, thinking of making this into a series smth like iitian diaries even tho i'm a commerce student 💀

lando norris was not the smartest person. it's a known fact. his girlfriend, however, was one of the smartest people he knew. she could do tough math questions within minutes! and that too without a calculator. afterall she graduated from iit-delhi, computer science branch. boosting an air of 4th (it's the red string of fate he believes).

however, she cursed alot, like alot to point even caught on her and incorporated into his vocabulary. words like bhenchod, bhen ke laude were just her regulars.

"it's because i graduated from iit delhi," she justifies. and there are instances even his fans caught him saying those words leaving the entire desi f1 community in a fenzy.

"i'm literally the best at this," lando says. he was on stream with max and his other friends. "mate shut the fuck up. we all know you're dyslexic. there's no way you're good at a maths game," max fewtrell rolls his eyes.

"no, i'm literally the best at this! i swear," he argued. "wanna check?" his girlfriend was sitting next to him, out of camera but the others didn't know that!

"you're on mate," max says at the game loaded. "79×66," lando reads out loud. "oh yeah what's the answer huh?" max asks. "let me calculate!" lando exclaimed.

"5,214," his girlfriend whispered. she was away from mic but perfectly close enough for only lando to hear her. he clicked on the correct mcq. "beginner's luck," a comment read.

as the game went on the calculations became harder than the previous one. I = ∫[0, ∞] (x^3 / (e^x - 1)) dx was one of the question, intergal calculus.

"mate you either you're googling it or you have a calculator. there's no way you can do that!" max exclaimed. "see even the chat agrees that you can't do .... intergal calculus. holy shit i didn't even know it was called intergal calculus," he said.

lando was just glad that max was buying time, it gave his girlfriend time to do the calculations. "I = π^4 / 15," lando answered, with a smug look. "bhenchod there's no way he's doing this," lando read one of the comment.

"jhand fakir behen ke laude, shut up," he replied equally agitated. and that's his girlfriend burst out laughing. the chat and max heard her laugh. "see there was someone else!" max pointed. "oh god," she mumbled between her laughs.

lando pulled her into the frame, showing off his girlfriend. "where'd you learnt that?" she asked. "from you," he shrugged, letting her sit onto his lap. "okay but i never taught you jhand fakir and all," she chuckled. "yeah what was that movie we were watching the other day? that's where i heard," he says.

"tamasha?" she asked as he just nodded, latching himself onto her. "we're practically one person at this point, it doesn't matter if she's doing the calc or i am doing it," he spoke to the chat. "don't insult her smart brain," max scoffed. "i genuinely don't know how you were doing all the tough calculations so quickly," he added.

"actually my girl went to kota to study for jee and she was taught how to do all the calculations within three minutes. you have the pick up the pen only when you're done solving in your mind. plus she scored 358/360 and an air 4 despite the advanced paper being the toughest that year," lando answered for her.

"she also taught me hindi," he bragged. "yeah and you got me in trouble for it," she rolled her eyes at him. "babe i didn't know bhenchod was a curse word. you say it often," he looked at her.

"weird indian parents logic that you can crack iit-d with air 4 and still can't curse 💀," read one of the comments. "behenchod i know right!" she agreed. "look at you! how will i not catch on these words," he says making her roll her eyes.

the game was long forgotten as the trio kept on talking to the chat. max left stream to the love brids. "di career tension, downfall and dperession ho raha hai what do i do?" she read. "bakchodi," lando asnwers. "look downfall mein bhi bakchodi nahi rukhni chaiye," he added.

making his girlfriend laugh. "it's the accent for me," she says, wiping her tears. "chup," he mimicked her. "you know you're completely desified at this point," she says. "reverse colonization," the couple laughed at his words.

the rest of the stream was filled with laughter, talks about latent and lando being more desi than his actual desi girlfriend.

#lando norris #f1 #formula one #ln4 #f1 imagine #lando norris imagine #f1 x reader #lando norris x reader #lando x reader #lando norris fluff #ln4 x reader #ln4 fluff #ln4 imagine #desi!reader #lando x desi!reader #f1 x desi!reader

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queen-of-hawkins-why-ler · 2 days ago

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When you bring up the lack of attraction that Mike demonstrates towards women, the Milkvans of reddit will say shit like, "Mike is Elsexual," "Mike chose El from the very beginning," "Mike loved El from the moment he saw her" etc. etc. and I just have to laugh bc even Mike himself says that this isn't true lmfao. "It wasn't fate. It wasn't destiny. It was simple dumb luck."

The difference between Mike's relationship with El and his relationship with Will is CHOICE. Mike chose alright, and he chose WILL and continues to choose Will again and again. What makes Mike and El's relationship special is that Mike didn't choose El. El showed up at his doorstep at a time when she was vulnerable and endangered, and Mike took her in and loved and accepted her unconditionally. Will, on the other hand, didn't stumble into Mike's life. From the very beginning, he was hand-picked: "So I asked. I asked if you wanted to be my friend. And you said yes. You said yes. It was the best thing I've ever done."

There has yet to be a time in the series when Mike chooses El over Will for more than a temporary amount of time. In s1, Mike cares for El, but his priority is always finding Will, even to the point at which he is willing to defame El and decimate his relationship with her when he believes her to be responsible for bad things happening to Will. In s2, Mike is always at Will's side, even sleeping next to him and constantly wanting to protect Will from the harm others are trying to cause him. In s3, Max says that Mike will "come crawling back" to El after the fight, but Mike actually ends up ignoring his conflict with El so that he can go apologize to and mend his relationship with Will. Similar thing happens in s4. He seems to "choose" El initially in Lenora, but he spends the rest of the season rekindling and nurturing his relationship with Will. Will Will Will. It's always been Will for him and it will always be Will.

Milkvans really have an easier time believing that Mike is a heterosexual boy who magically, whimsically, mysteriously is only attracted to one girl he met when he was twelve years old than that he MIGHT be not be 100% straight. It's bizarre bc what they're proposing would be so much more unusual than Mike just being queer. Like, us Bylers, we believe that Mike is in love with Will, but we don't deny Mike his sexuality and pretend that he's only ever been allowed to feel attraction for Will lmao. Take one look at that boy in s4 and it's so easy to tell that he is a gay disaster who likes putting posters of muscly men on his walls and watching men get sweaty and wrestle each other. That little shit is GAYYYYY as hell, in love with Will or not. But you expect me to believe that Mike is a HETEROSEXUAL boy who does not experience any feelings or attraction to any girl besides El??? Now THAT would be infinitely more of a stretch and more unusual than Mike just being gay or bi. Allo cisheterosexual men aren't exactly known for displaying a lack of attraction or horniness towards women. Even if El WERE the only person Mike ever experiences attraction towards, it would be a stretch atp to call Mike allo and cishet. He'd be ace-spec or demisexual and probably still roped into the queer umbrella lmao. But that's a narrative that the Milkvans are equally uncomfortable with bc they'd rather leap over the moon to conjecture that Mike, against all odds, logic, evidence, and reasoning, is an allo cisheterosexual man than admit that he is queer. Make it make sense.

But by all means, if y'all redditors want to push the ace-spec Mike agenda, please do so, I will support it. But something tells me that's not quite the case and that you'd rather live in this fantasy world where your perfectly good, perfectly allo cishet, perfectly conforming version of Mike Wheeler is exclusively, only attracted to El Hopper. In reality, Mike doesn't choose El and never did. He chooses and is demonstrably attracted to Will throughout the entire show.

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deans-baby-momma · 13 hours ago

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Chapter 2

Summary: When Jensen admits to going home with someone else, will his and Y/N's marriage survive?

Warnings: Angst, heartbreak, smut, language

Jensen walks into their room with tears flowing down his face. He is devastated.

Y/N - his wife, his best friend, his everything - is kicking him out. And deep down, he knows she has every right but he couldn't consider that for the pain he felt.

If only she'd let him explain, but what would he tell her? He is the one who fucked up. It is his fault!

Jensen quickly packs a duffel bag of his belongings before heading back downstairs.

Y/N is still standing in the destroyed kitchen, her back to him with her arms across her chest.

He takes one last look at her and says, “I love you” before he walks out the door.

Jensen has nowhere to go; he is miles and miles away from his family -in another country- and he doesn't want to go to Jared's.

He can't bear more of the judgmental looks his friend had given him when it all happened. So he heads to his home away from home, away from home.

Jensen unlocks and opens the trailer before walking up the steps and closing the door.

He sits the bag he had hastily packed on the counter before heading to the fridge to get a bottle of water.

He is swearing off all alcohol. Booze is the crux of his problems. His willingness to imbibe in a nightcap with his friends is what led him here; staying in his trailer on set and his marriage over.

As he lay in his bed that night, alone and secluded, he let his feelings show. He cries for how his life has turned out, he cries because he hurt Y/N and he cries because he knows there is no fixing it.

The next morning, he showers and is heading out the door when he sees Jared approaching.

“Dude, you got here early,” the tall man jests.

“Yep,” is all Jensen replies.

Jared falls into pace with Jensen as they head towards set, completely unaware of the turmoil in his friend's life.

“Gen wants to have a cookout the weekend after next, when we go back to Texas. You and Y/N are invited of course.”

Jensen just hums in acknowledgement. He isn't in the mood to tell his coworker that there would be no more him and Y/N.

The minutes turn into hours, hours into days, and days into weeks yet Jensen doesn't try to contact Y/N and he continues to sleep in his trailer on set.

At first, he was upset. Upset with himself for being so naive and trusting, then upset because Y/N didn't give him a chance to explain. That turned into disgust at himself for allowing himself to even be put in the situation he's in.

Next came anger. He was mad. If Y/N had just listened and let him tell her that he had quickly come to his senses and realized what a mistake he'd made, maybe she would've been more understanding and they would still be together.

After not hearing from his wife for two weeks, he knew their marriage was over. He expected to receive divorce papers any day. She was done. Done with him, done with the life they'd built. Just done.

One month since that fateful night when he confessed his biggest screw-up and his wife kicked him out, he had come to terms with his new life.

He was miserable though and he knew people were beginning to take notice.

Jared had caught on pretty quickly that his friend- his brother- was sleeping at the lot and had asked.

Jensen had explained about what happened; from stupidly trusting a fan, to coming clean to Y/N, to the reason he was practically living in his trailer.

Knowing the whole story, Jared had offered to call Y/N and try to smooth it out but Jensen had refused.

He was in the guilt stage at this point. He had wronged her and no one could fix it.

On set, he morphed into his character of Dean Winchester easily. Dean had a good hold on the pensive and broody aspect. And acting out as his character helped him take his mind off the turmoil of his life.

So Jensen put all his emotion into his character and gave some of his best performances. Still it didn't help. He still felt tainted.

“Mom. Mom. Mom!” Jensen demands into the phone, halting his mother's speech. “Just leave Y/N alone. It's not her fault. She did nothing wrong. I messed it up okay?”

He rolls his eyes as his Mom continues berating him and begging him to do whatever it took to repair his marriage.

“If I promise to try, will you and Mack please leave Y/N alone? No more calling to tell her how I'm doing. No more checking in to see if we've talked. Please Mom? I'm begging here,” he pleads again.

He sighs as he hears her reluctantly agree. “Thank you. I love you. Tell dad I love him too. Bye.”

Jensen hangs the phone up and places it on the coffee table as the door opens and Jared walks in with Cliff, their bodyguard/driver/friend.

The look of apprehension on both of their faces alarmed Jensen. He can tell whatever it is, it isn't good news.

“What?” he inquires, mentally preparing for whatever they're here to tell him.

But no amount of preparedness would suffice as Jared hands him a magazine. Jensen flips it over to see the cover and he feels as if the floor has opened up and his stomach swooped, dipped and dived as if he were on the world’s most deadly roller-coaster.

‘I'm pregnant with Jensen Ackles’ baby’.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

NEXT CHAPTER PREVIEW:

“What the hell are you doing here? How did you get in?”

Jensen lifts his head and looks at Y/N despondent.

“I used my key,” he whispers. “We need to talk.”

“No, we don't,” she replies, flippantly. “Go talk to the mother of your unborn child.”

If you would like to be tagged, please interact with me in some way: message, ask, comment.

Tagging my FOREVERS: @spnbaby-67 @sea040561 @delightfullykrispypeach @larajadeschmidt13 @atc74 @vicariouslythruspn @squirrelnotsam @sandlee44 @blacktithe7 @hoboal87 @mogaruke @supraveng @@lyarr24 @kazsrm67 @chriszgirl92 @deanwithscissors @raisinggray @fanfic-n-tabulous @hobby27 @stoneyggirl2 @purpleeclipseeggsland @kmc1989 @leigh70 @nancymcl @muhahaha303 @justwhisperingfantasies @jackles010378 @monkey-d-hoshizora98 @deanna45 @ozwriterchick

#jensen ackles #supernatural rpf #spn rpf #jensen x wife!reader #angst #heartbreak #language #jared padalecki #misha collins #cliff kosterman #smut

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mr-payjay · 1 day ago

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An essay on Clover :)

after having rewatched s3 in full again, i find that i finally understand the details of clover that had confounded me since forever. i didn't go in trying to study her, but a lot of my nickel analysis actually led me around back to understanding clover. she has a lovely story to her about kindness, generosity, and doing good things with purpose. i am pleased to have finally caught it (i have a few criticisms on the execution of it though, which i will address too). this isn’t a fancy essay, i’d say (i’ve been calling it a “freestyle essay”), but im just trying to summarize what i've talked about with friends and to put together some of my thoughts to present here.

Overview

so, an overview of her development. clover comes into the show, and she is… oblivious! she is self-centred and unaware of her surroundings (mind you, “self-centred” might sound like a negative word, but this is a neutral statement). she walks away from cabby’s presentation in snapshot showdown in the middle of it, not listening to her. in the same episode, she falls into some of nickel’s traps without even noticing, lost in her thoughts. she isnt a particular help to her team for a while. clover doesn't really think about other people or really get them, even thinking that nickel must've been following her around to admire her (self-centred, assuming only positive intent and a positive idea of her). only in tragedy at 60 feet, after box dies, does clover start to feel very self-conscious of her role in people’s lives. nickel specifically blames her, telling her that “what's lucky for her is painful for others”, and she Believes this. in try not to laugh challenge (the next episode), clover is trying to avoid people. she has realized how she can affect others and does not Wish to hurt anyone. nickel only makes this worse by continuing to remind her of it (“awful box-killer”). she refuses to look at the funny note at the beginning and gets awkward when [bow]bot tries to make her laugh, saying she doesn't deserve it. in the episode after that, best served cold, we see clover feeling guilty again after goo saves her when she falls, thinking that the luck had forced him to do it. for whatever reason candle agrees with this (kind of funny. why are you making it worse candle). through all of this, she does retain some of her classic optimism, but it is still very dampened by the guilt and discomfort shes going through now. and out of body experience is where this arc ends. clover starts off happy, telling nickel to stand next to her for a picture (he responds by saying her luck will knock him down a hill, and leaves). she idly goes to wish for an award, before silver spoon stops her, saying he wishes she wasn’t like this. she agrees (“Me too, Silver… Me too.”). and though we only find this out later, that’s what kickstarts the death of all the contestants and the subsequent bodyswaps. clover is overjoyed at losing her luck once she swaps with test tube! she tests out lots of things she could do before, reveling in losing her privilege. she’s comfortable again for once. she isn’t afraid of hurting others anymore and can go back to her regular, self-centred, oblivious mindset. no more Worrying. but then nickel realizes later on that the bridge collapse happened because of her and her wish to be “not like this” (to not have luck), so her luck, ironically, is what gave her this lucklessness. he blames clover for everyone dying, calling her a murderer as he yells about his frustration with her luck. as hurting people like this was clover’s worst fear—something she had been Vigorously avoiding for the past few episodes—she breaks down crying in guilt and runs away. there’s only one more scene before clover is eliminated. it’s when test tube goes to confront bot at the beach, where clover is.

she has calmed down on her own by now, but it’s only when she listens to test tube telling bot she’ll give them whatever she can offer to help that clover finally learns the lesson she was meant to. she forgives herself and finally lets go of that comfortable self-centred world she was living in. once we get to elimination, clover directly allows herself to be eliminated, now having realized she is in control of her luck. she has choices! she knows that now. nickel, still feeling remorseful from earlier, tells clover that her luck is the problem, not her. she responds by saying that the problem with her luck was that she was the only one benefiting from it. now, she realizes that she should put goodness into action, instead of trying to avoid doing something Bad. and she gives nickel the luck. she also tries to give everyone luck after that, but he stops her, insisting in a panic that it’s a curse. i think it’s interesting that she chose nickel for this first before anyone else, such a miserable, self-centred person. im surprised she figured it out so quickly, but they really do have their similarities, living in a self-centred mindset and pushing everyone away. though their situations are quite different, they both need to learn the value of community and supporting others to take the next step. she isn’t afraid of nickel. she isn’t angry at him. she wants him to learn the same lesson she did, which is why she tells him he’ll learn to “share the wealth” too, even after he freaks out on her again. and she remains this way, generous and kind, for the rest of the season. this was her arc.

Critique (constructive!)

i do have some criticisms on how her arc was executed. i think that her storyline is a wonderful lesson to teach children (as inanimate insanity IS a show for kids), and that once you can grasp it, it’s really beautiful to watch her mature. However. i do not think it is particularly clear. i think my biggest issue with it lies in out of body experience, after she runs away when nickel says it’s her luck who killed everyone. we only see one more scene with her before the elimination, where she is silently listening to test tube talk to bot while making little expressions about it. it is not clear what she is getting from this unless you sit down and Think about it. multiple of my friends actually said they thought clover was a stand-in for test tube because they had bodyswapped and that she was just reacting in general, not to signify anything about her story. i didn’t even remember her being here at ALL until i rewatched this episode specifically to find clover scenes. and ive watched s3 multiple times!! i should know she's there! i think the problem is that she is entirely quiet and that there are a ton of other scenes playing between her running away and the scene at the beach, which sort of fill your head and make you forget why she’s even here. bot really overshadows her too, their story reaching a very important point in this episode. and i think (with input from friends) that it would’ve made for a more harmonious episode, solid storyline, and well-rounded character relationships for clover to have been friends with bot. clover only has one interaction with bot before this (as far as i remember) while they are still very much bowbot, in try not to laugh challenge. if we had had an actual friendship between the two of them, their stories could’ve converged smoothly in out of body experience, instead of bot accidentally taking the spotlight and clover being relegated to a silent bystander listening to test tube’s speech. it could’ve led to them comforting each other (which fits into clover’s story as it’s about learning to help others) and providing clover with a connection to another character that isn’t nickel. clover and nickel’s stories are very interesting together, but the fact is that nickel isn’t really a friend to clover, even now. he’s her miserable therapy patient now, which is not friendship. i believe clover deserves someone who is truly her friend in canon to have helped her development come to light (ie a scene with her talking to someone would be much more memorable and comprehensible than her smiling at test tube and bot). it wouldn’t have to take away from her self-isolation either, it could add to it. bot trying to cheer her up and her awkwardly declining it in try not to laugh challenge is a great example of that. i’d love to have seen more of that. i can’t say for sure if this would be a flawless idea (as i do not know the process of writing the other storylines either), but i think it’s fun to ponder either way.

Clover’s perspective on Nickel

so i did learn how clover worked through understanding nickel first, as once i got what was going on with him, i could see through her eyes. for ages, i could not fathom WHY clover is so nice to him after he hurts her over and over, WHY she chooses to give him the luck, WHY she gets him to open up in blue buried and gives him advice. but now that i know him, i get why she has no hard feelings towards him. i lost all resentment towards nickel after analyzing him (even as a long time nickel fan, he still used to make me mad sometimes!). once you really grasp him, you realize that he is just… sad and scared! he acts like he’s constantly trying to survive. like a typical very traumatized and mentally ill person, in fact. clover, after learning that she can make her own choices and that she can Choose to help others, matured enough to understand him. she is not afraid of him or upset with him because she realizes that he feels helpless and like he isn’t able to change, like she used to worry about. he is self-centred like she used to be until she understood that she can make the choice to help. so she sympathizes. she tries to help him learn the same lesson. nickel never apologizes to clover, but she forgives him anyway without resentment, because she is above this now (note: completely different situation for suitcase, im not saying anyone and everyone should forgive nickel otherwise they’re immature, im just highlighting clover’s agency when making this choice). she recognizes that he is emotionally immature and approaches him with gentleness. i really love her persistence in trying to help him (even if i have qualms about the therapy thing). after nickel gains and loses her luck without learning the lesson she hoped for, clover doesn’t give up on him! she pushes further in blue buried, really trying to get him to understand this. she continues to give, to be kind, to help. she’s dedicated to her cause. it’s sweet.

going back to the therapy thing, my issue with it is mostly the part in the interview where nickel implies he’s having continuous therapy with her. i would’ve preferred if it was a one-time thing in the episode itself, though i think it should’ve been presented a different way. as i don’t… really like that she’s a girl giving therapy to a boy and taking on his emotional issues as a whole job. rather than just someone helping another who’s in need. you know. a random act of kindness. and when it becomes a continuous thing (as mentioned in the interview), it feels like the wrong connection for them to have. they can be friends, but not a therapist and patient. that changes things a lot. i also don’t like the way it reduces clover to being a Literal therapist taking care of the emotions of someone who’s hurt her over and over in the past. yes, she is allowed to choose to help him even with what he’s done to her, but once it’s repetitive… it does feel kind of exploitative, if that’s the right word for it. more than a therapist friend, an actual therapist to someone you have personal experience with (which is also an issue for the therapeutic relationship, as you are Not supposed to take on a client you already know personally, even casually). i may be taking a one-off line a bit too seriously here, but where would i be without driving myself crazy over every single little detail in inanimate insanity that i could possibly notice? i sure wouldn’t be writing this essay!

i did start writing more about nickel and the luck and how clover affects him, but im going to put that into a nickel essay. this is about clover. and i love her! she is someone who started off with no bad intentions but a lack of awareness, who learned how she affects others around her and decided to use that power to be Good. putting Effort into being good, Choosing to be good. she is intelligent, kind, optimistic, and has shown great maturity through her development. i think she is a wonderful gem of a character.

#clover ii #ii clover #inanimate insanity #ii nickel #nickel ii #osc #juice.txt #juice ramble #here she is #i love you clover 🍀

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kazwritesthings · 3 days ago

Text

your smile

peeta mellark x fem! reader

summary: peeta mellark has been your best friend for as long as you can remember. yet not once has he ever mentioned the dark haired girl he is now claiming to be in love with. did you read his signals wrong? did he not trust you enough to tell you about his crush? more importantly, why do some of the stories he’s telling about her sound… oddly familiar?

word count: 8.1k (yikes)

(note: hello!! i haven’t written in yearssss so please be nice about any spelling or grammar errors you find lol)

_________________

you've had three near death experiences in your lifetime.

the first was when peeta's older brother, jayce, had taken you out to the lake not too far from the edge of district 12. he had been bragging about how beautiful the ice looked early in the morning to try and make little peeta jealous since he wasn't allowed to go see it. being the stubborn thing you were, you bribed him to take you and peeta with him one morning. you were only tiny, barely 6 years old, so even though he caught you before you fell completely through a cracked section of the ice, it was enough to soak you up to your waist. you developed a terrible fever that you only survived because your mother sold most of her belongings to pay for the best doctor she could.

the second near death experience you had was when you were a little older. when you were 11, you had wanted to explore the woods past the fence on the outskirts of 12. you'd tried to convince peeta to come with you, but he did want to get in trouble. you didn't make it very far anyway since you fell backwards when you tried to climb the first tree you came across . your head landed inches away from a large rock which definitely would have caved your skull in had you landed on it. luckily you escaped with a bruised butt and even more bruised ego.

as for the third near death experience... you're living through it now

"the male tribute for the 74th hunger games is... peeta mellark!"

physically, you’re fine. your name wasn’t called; you get to go home once this is all over. but your soul. your other half isn’t so lucky.

hot tears stream down your face as you watch peeta make his way through the crowd of boys. you look around at his brothers, praying above anything that one of them would volunteer for him, take his place like the female tribute had done for her sister moments ago. but when you see them, their faces are solum, staring at the floor as peeta walks past their rows.

peeta looks as shellshocked as you feel as he walks up the stairs and stands next to the woman with the crazy outfit and weird hat. his eyes dart around the crowd of girls until they land on you. you’ve never seen him look so scared before, and it causes you to cry harder.

“go on! shake hands!” the crazy capitol lady says, moving out the way so peeta and the other girl, katniss, can do as she says. peeta is barely able to rip his eyes off you when he does, still staring out into the crowd when he takes katniss’ calloused hand into his own.

you don’t really register what happens next, your brain foggy with the hellish news that’s just been forced upon you. before you know it, your stood outside a room in the town hall, waiting for peeta’s family to say goodbye. the heat of anger you had directed at his brothers has cooled to an almost debilitating fear. all you can taste is blood from biting the inside of your cheek to try and calm yourself - it doesn’t work.

after five minuets, the peacekeeper next to the door opens it and calls that their time with peeta is up. he then turns to you and nods his head towards the door. you push past his mother in your rush to get to him, making her curse at you under her breath. she never liked you, calling you a bad influence on peeta, but you never really cared.

you stand across the room from him, waiting until the door shuts behind you and you can finally be alone. peetas eyes are red as if he has been crying, yet his face is dry. it’s clear he’s been holding back his tears, letting them build up like a dam moments from bursting. the damn breaks the second he sees you.

“y/n,” peeta mutters, his entire body collapsing in on itself. he would have fallen to the floor if you hadn’t ran to him in time. your arms wrap around his waist to hold him up while his loop around your neck, pulling you to him faster and closer than he ever has before. his tears are hot against your neck, soaking into your one nice shirt. you don’t care.

“oh god… this isn’t fair” you cry into his neck, trying your best to hold yourself together. one of you needs to be strong, and it definitely shouldn’t be peeta right now.

and yet it is. he pulls away and takes you by the shoulders. his big brown eyes, always so warm and full of life, have grown sad and watery. you hate it.

“you’ll be okay. i made my brothers swear that they’ll look after you and your mom when i’m gone, discounted bread and everything. mother wasn’t happy about it but i made it my dying request” his chuckle has your blood boiling because of how calm he sounds. how accepting he sounds.

you slap him gently on the shoulder, glaring up at him with a look that usually has him taking back his teasing jokes. “shut the fuck up, peeta. you’re not dying in there. you’re strong, the strongest person i know,” you hiss, slapping him again when he rolls his eyes.

“y/n it’s no use-” he starts, but you’re quick to cut him off.

“yes it is! you’re strong, so you could wrestle any of the other tributes if it comes to it. you’re charming, so you can win sponsors before you go in and make allies with other strong tributes. and i’ll work my ass off out here so i can send you things when you need,” you ramble, squeezing his hands on your shoulder as you try to think.

“y/n i’m not making it out,” peeta tries to cut you off, which is what finally pushes you off the edge.

“STOP SAYING THAT!” you yell, cutting off his depressing words. he stares at you, surprised. you very rarely raise your voice, let alone at him. “you can’t give up before you’ve gone in! you can’t…” your voice cracks before it trails off. you begin to cry again, leaning your forehead against his shoulder as you hold onto him again. “i can’t lose you.”

the room is silent for a moment, the only sound being the muffled voices coming from next door where you can only assume katniss is saying goodbye to her family. it is broken again by peeta’s gentle voice.

“did i ever tell you how beautiful you are?” he mutters against your ear, sending shockwaves down your spine. your head shoots back to look him in the eyes, your mind suddenly blank.

“w…what?” you stutter breathlessly, not sure you heard him right.

peeta gives you a smile you’ve only ever seen him aim at you. it’s fond and warm, with an unspoken, uncertain glint in his eyes. he opens his mouth, to repeat himself or explain himself you don’t get to find out. the peacekeeper that was outside barges in and storms across the room faster than you can think.

his hand roughly grips your arm and drags you away from peeta. panic floods you as you yell and reach out for peeta. “no! no! i need more time! please!” you scream, your fingers barely linked in peeta’s before you’re violently pulled apart.

“hey! let her go,” peeta tries to run after you, yelling at the peacekeeper who is dragging you across the room, but is stopped by another peacekeeper grabbing his shoulder and throwing him backwards.

everything is happening too fast. there was so much more you had to say to him, do with him. this was never the way you wanted to tell him, yet this may be the last chance you will ever have.

“peeta! peeta i love you!” you call as the peacekeeper gives you one final push and throws you out of the room. you stumble into the chest of one of his brothers, and quickly spin around to get one final look at him.

for a moment, the colour is back in his face. his eyes are bright in the way they used to be, crinkled in the corner as he smiles at you again.

“y/n i-” a door slams in your face, cutting peeta off and leaving you a husk of your former self.

——————

the following days are agony. peeta’s brothers kept their word, checking in on you once a day with a loaf of your favourite bread. you mainily spent your days helping your mother at her stall in the hob or picking up little jobs wherever you can to put towards helping peeta.

the only time you felt any semblance or relief was when peeta was on the television. your heart soared when you saw him in the chariot during the opening ceremony. he looked so different: his usually messy hair slicked back, dark makeup around his eyes and a black suit that’s literally on fire making you wince out of nervousness for him. he looks incredible. and so does katniss next to him.

you can’t help but frown when you see him reach for her hand and hold them in the air. it’s stupid to be possessive over him at a time like this, yet you can’t help it. its a gross, sticky sensation that claws at your chest and stops you from fully filling your lungs with air. and it only gets worse with time.

you don’t see peeta for a while since the tributes have started their training, so you continue working in the hob. people give you saddened looks when you walk past them in the streets, since anyone who had visited the bakery at least once would have known how close the two of you are. it is probably why you’ve been able to find so many tasks and errands to do over the past few days. people pity you.

you and your mother watch the training scores together, cheering out of joy when you see peeta receive an 8. it’s high enough that sponsors will notice him yet low enough for the careers to not see him as a threat. it takes the weight off your shoulders for a moment.

the days continue to drag by until it’s the day before the games begin, meaning it’s interview day. the only thing that’s been keeping you going is the fact that you get to hear his voice, see him properly speak today. there aren’t enough words in the english language to describe how difficult it is to go from being with the person you love all day, every day, to not being able to see him at all.

your skin tingles with nerves as you take a seat at your kitchen table and turn on the interviews. most go by slowly, the tributes all doing their best to make themselves stand out and more likeable. your heart bleeds for the young girl from district 11, rue.

katniss does amazing in her interview. while she is very clearly nervous, she’s able to make people laugh at her accidental jokes, cry at her love for her sister and awe at her beautiful dress that bursts into flames. you had only briefly spoken to her before, a word or two when you would buy game from her. still, you are proud of her for doing well.

peeta does even better. he’s just as charming as you knew he would be, maybe even more. he cracks jokes left and right making you grin.

when laughter calms down, the host ceaser flickerman, gives him a serious look that he jokingly mimics.

“now peeta, tell me. is there a special girl waiting for you at home?” ceaser asks. my heart pounds in my chest as i wait for his answer.

peeta opens his mouth to speak when he pauses. a look of sadness appears on his face for a moment and disappears even faster. the only reason why you’re able to catch it is because you’ve spent years analysing every face he’s ever made.

“well… there’s this one girl that i’ve had a crush on forever,” peeta says shyly.

your breath hitches. could he be talking about you? he looked happy when you said you loved him. you bite your lip anxiously, curling your legs into your chest.

ceaser grins, showing off his overly white teeth. “ahh… i’ll tell you what, peeta. you go out there and you win this thing. when you get home she’ll have to go out with you”

once again, peeta’s face changes for a fraction of a second. for just a moment, he smiles. he smiles your smile. the one he reserves for you and you only. it makes you heart lurch and a smile appear on your face.

your smile disappears off his face as fast as it came, and your nerves return.

“thanks, but i don’t think winnings gonna help me at all” he mutters, looking away from ceaser and the audience.

ceaser frowns, his tanned skin folding until it looks like crumpled orange peel. “why not?”

peeta takes a deep breath before speaking.

“because she came here with me.”

you feel like the floor has disappeared underneath you, and you’re free falling into darkness. your chest burns with every breath you take. there’s a ringing in your hears that you’ve never heard before, and all you can think about is… how?

is there any way that you could have missed that? not once had peeta ever spoken about katniss, in the romantic sense or otherwise. sure, he’d come with you to buy game from her occasionally, but that’s the only time you’d ever seen them interact. could it be possible that he just didn’t tell you?

you don’t even realise that you’re crying until your mom reaches over and wipes your tears. you choke back a sob as your grip the table tightly, blurry vision fixed on the screen. you need to know more.

the look ceaser gives him makes my skin crawl. a look of pity that’s clear to anyone who has eyes. “ahh. well that’s bad luck.”

peeta nods, and looks back at ceaser. “yea it is. i’ve liked her for as long as i can remember,” he smiles fondly, a far off look in his eyes. it makes you want to scream.

“would you mind telling me when you first started liking her?” ceaser asks, leaning closer to peeta as he begins to push the conversation further than you want to hear.

another micro expression that only you could see flashes on his face. panic.

he quickly covers it and nods, sitting up in the chair uncomfortably. “uh yea. we were both in school together. one time in class our teacher asked if anyone knew the valley song, and she raised her hand so fast,” he laughs, covering his face slightly to hide a blush that was slowly growing on his cheeks.

ceaser laughs in a way that you can’t tell his happy or sad. “and i’m guessing that this girl,” he looks knowingly at the audience, “was a good singer, no?”

“the best,” peeta nods, the blush reaching up to his ears and down his neck now. “i’ve gotta admit something kinda weird. i watched her go home every day after that. i was desperate to get closer to her.”

that’s throws your for a loop and sends your mind spinning even more. you and peeta walked home together every day since you first began school. there is no way you could have missed him watching her, right? your head throbs with unanswered questions and more emotions than you can comprehend. you shut off interview when you realise that peeta is finished, walking past your mom to your bedroom.

you cry yourself to sleep that night. not just because of what you witnessed today, but because it may just be the last night that the love of your life is also alive.

——————

you could count on one hand the amount of times that you have watched the hunger games from start to finish. you’d never had much of a stomach for violence in the first place, but you had to stomach it to make sure that peeta was still alive.

it was easy to push down your messed up feelings about peeta and katniss when all you were focusing on whether he was alive or not. you watched as peeta joined the careers, only to betray them and get attacked by cato. you were nearly inconsolable when he was injured and forced to hide out by the river. you were so scared for him that you didn’t sleep until they finally showed him being reunited with katniss.

you had never been so relieved when they announced that two victors from the same district could win. katniss obviously was attached to peeta, so she’d do anything to keep him alive so that they could win together.

you were grateful beyond words to her for looking after him. she cleaned his wound to the best of her ability and hid him in a cave. however, this is when it started to become harder to ignore the ache in your chest when you see them together.

the longer they spent together the more your heart hurt. you tried to distract yourself by working, yet you couldn’t get the image of them in the cave out of your mind. the only good thing that came about because of your work is that you finally had made enough to send peeta some medicine.

after collecting all the money you had, you ran to the town centre. you quickly filled out the application on what you wanted to send him and gave them everything you had. originally you had been saving the money to one day buy a cow that you could sell milk with. peeta was more important than that.

when you arrive at the section of the form that allows you to write a message to your chosen tribute, you feel slightly stumped. this may be the last thing you get the chance to say to him. you wrack your brain for something to say, but all that comes to your head is the lyrics to your favourite song. it makes you smile. they sum up how you feel about him perfectly, so you scribble down the words as quickly as you can.

once you finished the form and handed him the money the peacekeeper said that the medicine should be sent shortly, so you rush back home as fast as you can.

you arrive back just in time to see a parachute land just outside of the cave. katniss walks over and opens it, frowning when she sees the message that you had written for peeta inside. anger bubbles up inside you when she frowns. what the hell is her problem?

you watch as she walks inside and holds out the pot.

“someone sent you medicine,” she tells him, kneeling by his side.

“oh really? who?” peeta shuffles to sit up slightly, wincing as the pain flares in his leg.

you sit with baited breath, waiting for her to tell him the truth.

“haymitch,” is all she says as she begins to gently apply it to his leg.

the anger from before simmers up into a white hot rage. how fucking dare she. who the fuck does she think she is? katniss must recognise your name, she has to know how close you two are. why wouldn’t she tell him?

you smack the table in front of you, tears flooding your vision as someone else takes credit for your effort. however you pause when you look back at the screen, your bottom lip wobbling. the relief that spreads across peeta’s face forces you to take a deep breath. he got the help that he needed, and you were able to give that to him. that’s all that matters.

a few tears escape from your eyes as you watch the two of them. there’s an aching in your chest that you can’t seem to escape from, one that’s separate from the jealousy you’re feeling. a nagging sensation, like you’re missing something.

“why are you doing this?” peeta asks, staring up at her with his big eyes that make you swoon every time you see them, and he knows that. you hate that he’s using them on her.

“you helped me once,” katniss responds.

a silence lingers over them for a moment before peeta practically bursts to life. “i think about that day all the time how i tossed you that bread.”

“peeta,” katniss sighs.

“i should have gone to you. i should have just gone out in the rain and…” he trails off, using those big eyes of his to wear down her defences. and it works. she leans down and kisses him softly, cupping his face in her hands.

you hate how you look away from the screen. the amazing mic quality picks up on the sound of their lips locking together so there’s no escaping what they’re doing in front of the entire country.

everything makes sense now. you remember peeta telling you about the time that he burnt bread to feed katniss. he never mentioned it again, so you assumed at the time that it didn’t mean anything. how wrong you were.

when she pulls away from him, peeta begins to mumble. “i remember one time i followed you into the woods. i was terrified of getting in trouble, but i was so desperate to keep an eye on you. i watched as you climbed a tree not too far from the edge, then watched as you fell like fifteen feet to the ground when one of the branches snapped. i was so scared for you… but you stood up and carried on like nothing had happened. that’s the first time i saw how strong you are,” he smiles softly up at her.

you frown again, a small voice nagging in the back of your mind. he followed her to the woods. the only time you went, you had begged him to come with you and he had refused. yet he went with her? it made bile rise to your throat. when you finally look back at the screen, what you see breaks you.

your smile. being aimed at her.

you turn the screen off and it stays off for the rest of the night.

——————

“attention. attention, tributes. there has been a slight rule change. the previous revision, allowing for two victors from the same district, has been revoked. only one victor may be crowned. good luck. and may the odds be ever in your favour.”

only moments ago you had been crying tears of joy. peeta and katniss had made it. they were coming home. he was coming home.

not anymore it seems.

a terrifying sound echoes throughout your kitchen, and it takes a moment for you to realise that the sound is coming from you. desperate, wet sobs wrack your body as you dig your nails into your wooden table in front to ground yourself. you watch, horrified, as katniss takes out the nightlock berries from earlier. are you really about to see the love of your life kill himself on live television, just so that he doesn't have to live without the love of his?

your body is numb, eyes glassy, tears and snot running down your face as you watch them stand inches from each other, raising the poison to their lips. you don't realise it but your mother is gently running her hands along your back to try and calm you, it clearly having no effect.

you look at those eyes. that smile that he has on his face as he raises the berries. it's your smile again. it makes you wonder, just for a moment, if you could be his last thought.

"stop! stop! ladies and gentlemen, may I present the winners of the of the 74th annual hunger games," a voice booms loud and clear over the speaker.

air floods your lungs once more, and you can breath again. he's coming home. your peeta is coming home.

you choke out a laugh, reaching over to hug your mom tighter than you ever have before. the two of you laugh and scream in delight, and everything is right in the world again.

when you finally let go, you turn back to look at the screen. peeta and katniss are locked in an embrace similar to the one the two of you had shared just before he had left. and once again, your smile is on his face, aimed at her.

he is coming home. but he might not be yours anymore.

——————

its another week of interviews and celebrations before peeta and katniss are finally on their way home. on the way to the capitol, peeta couldn't really pay attention to much other than the look on your face when you told him that you loved him. he wasted so many years being terrified that you didn't feel the same way, only to find out days before he died that he had a chance after all.

now that he's on his way home, he doesn't plan on wasting anymore time.

he has to admit, his idea was a stroke of genius. when he first brought up the idea of pretending to be in love to receive sponsors, katniss had laughed in his face. she refused to be seen as weak, and didn't want to spend what could be her last days alive pretending to be someone she wasn't. haymitch, on the other hand, loved it.

as much as he hates to admit it, pretending to be in love with katniss came to him easier than he was expecting it to be. it was a thousand times easier since he was already in love. with you.

every time he had to talk to her, about her; when he had to hold her or kiss her, he was always picturing you. even the stories he told, the ones about the woods and the valley song. they were some of his favourite memories with you.

he had warned katniss before they went in how he felt about you, and she was more than happy to be a place for him to project his feelings for you as long as it kept them both alive. and it did.

he had just hoped that you had been able to see through the stories he was telling and understand that none of it was real, that it was all an illusion to keep them alive. and he'd never forget the sense of relief he felt what katniss showed him the message you had sent him along with the medicine.

"roses are red, love, violets are blue. birds in the heavens know i love you." - y/n

it was the lyrics to your favourite song. the valley song. you knew he was waiting for you.

——————

you waited with baited breath as the train pulls into the station. the crowd of people surrounding waiting with you are honestly pissing you off. they didn't care about peeta before they left for the games, so why are you having to fight your way through strangers to get to him now?

it's only when the doors to the train open and he finally steps onto the platform that you feel alive again. he looks the same as he did the day he left you, and it takes your breath away. the crowd erupts in applause as he takes katniss' hand and holds it in the air, the same way that he did in the opening ceremony. your breath hitches when you remember that he isn't yours anymore. it has slipped your mind in the excitement of getting to see him. a deep heat spreads from your chest down to your stomach, and you feel like you might throw up.

that's when your eyes meet his. and time stands still. for the first time in what feels like a lifetime, he smiles at you. he gives you your katniss' smile, and for a moment everything is okay again.

peeta and katniss are ushered off the platform before you get a chance to do more than stare at him. as they rush off you begin to push your way out of the crowd. you push past katniss' family, prim and her mother and her best friend gale. they give you a small smile as you pass, one that you return tenfold. nothing can bring you down in this moment. despite the fact that peeta isn't yours anymore, he's alive. it will take some time to adjust, but you can learn to live with that. as long as he's okay.

——————

scratch that. this fucking sucks.

not once have you ever been nervous to see peeta. despite the fact that you're hopelessly in love with him, talking to him always came easy. but now that you're stood here in front of him, who you can only assume his girlfriend stood feet away, and it's like you fell out of that tree all over again. you're winded despite the fact that nothing hit you. you can't catch your breath despite how hard you inhale.

you don't even know how you got here. one moment you were at home, the next peeta's brother was dragging you here, throwing you in and shutting the door behind him with a smile on your face that you completely didn't trust.

you try to focus on him and this moment, but all you can see is the room you're in. peeta's new house in victors village is more grand than anywhere you've been before. the each of the rooms are at least the size of your entire house with enough space to fit everything from your mothers stall at the hob tenfold. you wonder what peeta is going to use the space for since he doesn't have many possessions.

you're able to snap out of it seconds before he reaches you. everything feels like its stuck in fast-forward as his arms loop around your waist and pull you straight into his chest. despite his jokes in the interviews before the games, he smells the same. somehow he still smells like flour and that scent that you can't place that's just so him.

"hey," he whispers in your ear, and it feels like you are hearing his voice for the first time ever. it breaks something inside of you that has your knees buckling and your eyes watering.

"i told you you could win," you whisper back, seconds away from breaking down. he barks a laugh that has you choking back a sob. your hands shake as you grip onto his shirt, desperate to pull him closer to you. he's here. he's really here.

"you're really going to have the first thing you say to me be 'i told you so?'" peeta laughs, pulling back so he can look you in the eyes. he holds your cheek in his hand as he scans your face. you feel exposed in a way you never have before, and it makes you blush.

someone else in the room laughs at his joke too, and you're instantly aware of how bad this looks. you pull out of his grasp as fast as he pulled you into it, your eyes flickering to where the laughter came from. of course, it was his girlfriend.

you've never felt so embarrassed in your life. here you are getting all touchy feely with him when his girlfriend, the reason he is still alive, is standing right next to you. you cough awkwardly, scratching the back of your neck as you let out a nervous laugh.

"yea, well you know me. i'd never pass up a chance to say it, especially since you're always wrong" you laugh, looking anywhere but him. if you had been you would have seen the confusion, and the hurt, written on his face as clear as day.

you turn to katniss and fight back anger rising when you remember how she had hid the message you had sent him with the medicine. she had let their mentor take credit for your entire life savings. but she had also looked after him and saved his life more times than you can count. it's a debt you'll never be able to repay.

as quickly as peeta ran to you, you ran to her. you hugged her tightly, surprising everyone in the room.

"thank you for keeping him alive," you say, surprising her even more.

katniss hesitantly wraps her arms around you in response. she's clearly confused, though you're not too sure why. "y-you're welcome. he saved me too," she responds and you fight back a wince.

once you let her go, you look back and forth between the two. you suppose there is a way that you can repay the debt you owe her. you can let him go.

you sniffle and wipe your eyes with the back of your sleeve. "i suppose i should let you two get comfortable in your new house! it's really nice," you look around the room, avoiding not only peeta's gaze, but katniss' as well.

quickly, you walk back over and give him another hug. "i've got to get back to work, but i'll see you later, okay?" the smile you give him doesn't reach your eyes, and he can see that.

"hey, wait-" peeta goes to call after you, but it's too late. you're already out the door and off into the cool evening air of district 12.

——————

why are you doing this?

you'd spent every waking moment while he was in the capitol wishing that peeta was by your side. yet here you are, running between your mother's stall and your home just to avoid seeing him. every time you start to question yourself, you get a flash of them in the cave. he deserves to be happy, and if katniss makes him happy, then you'll step back.

it's pathetic honestly. running between houses, hiding behind walls every time you go out just so you won't accidentally run into him. the only time you've ever been grateful for how small your house is was the other day when you jumped out the window to avoid him when he dropped by to see you. you hid by the the side of the house until you saw him walk away and deemed it safe to climb back inside.

your mother isn't happy with you. she says your punishing him for something that wasn't his fault. but you're not punishing him. you're trying to help him.

you press yourself against the cool painted wall of one of the buildings near the hob. the good thing about peeta being famous now is that wherever he goes, chatter follows him, which is usually enough to warn you that he's nearby.

it's not enough today though. just as you're about to make a run for it to the next building, a firm hand grips your upper forearm. without looking you know who it is, and you flinch. there is no way you can possibly talk your way out of this.

you slowly turn to face peeta. the look on his face stops your heart and kills any excuses you had on your tongue. he looks just as pale as the day that his name was called on that stage. his brows are furrowed, and a heartbreaking frown pulls down his face. he looks older like this, so much like his mother that it puts you on edge more than you already had been.

"hey peet. what's wrong?" you ask once you finally get your breath back.

without a word, peeta turns and pulls you off of the wall and down the street the way that you had just came from. anxiety builds in your stomach. part of the reason why you'd avoided him for as long as you have was to put off the conversation on why you're avoiding him in the first place. the urge to rip your arm out of his grasp and flee to the woods and spend the rest of your days living in a tree consumes you. but he deserves more than that.

by the time you arrive at peeta's new house in victors village, the humiliation that comes with your recent actions had finally sunk in. you walk into his house with your head hanging low; if you had a tail it defiantly would be between your legs.

the two of you stop in his kitchen. its uncomfortably quiet since victors village is so separate from the rest of the district. you're not used to this level of silence, especially when your with peeta.

"peet?" you hesitantly call his name. he's not facing you. instead, he's bent over a table, his palms pressed flat against the wood with his back facing you.

"i don't understand," his voice comes out quiet, hoarse. has he been crying?

you take a hesitant step towards him, your hand hanging in the air as you debate reaching out to touch his back. "you don't understand what?"

your words seem to have woken something in him. he spins around so fast scares you. he doesn't look like his mother anymore, but the doesn't mean he looks any less angry.

"i don't understand you. i don't get it. you tell me you love me, then you ignore me for a week?" he hisses. you'd heard peeta get angry before, but it had never been aimed at you. you flinch when he yells, but then you register what he said.

"i thought i was helping you adjust to your new life," you frown, chewing at the inside of your cheek as you look at him. you knew he would be angry at you for avoiding him, but you didn't think he'd bring up what you said before he went to the games.

peeta scoffs and leans back against the table. "how the hell would that help me? and what do you mean my new life?"

"your new life with katniss," you say like its the most obvious thing in the world.

that is clearly not what he was expecting. it's almost like his body does a full reset. his face relaxes into neutral and his body relaxes so he's sat on the table.

"what does katniss have to this?" he asks, confused.

you tilt your head at his question. "well... i assume that you and katniss are going to be together now, and i thought that you would't want to be around someone who has a crush... who is in love with you while you have a girlfriend. so i gave you some space," you explain.

just like his first ever interview, micro expressions flash across his face, except this time they pass too fast for you to clearly work out what they are. he falls back to neutral, but this time his eyes are softer.

"i thought you understood... the parachute letter..." he trails off.

it's your turn to be surprised now. "you knew about that? i thought katniss told you haymitch sent the medicine."

peeta lets out a laugh, and you swear your knees could give in there and then. the atmosphere in the room is different now and you can't place it. its not as soft as it was when he first told you that you were beautiful, nor is it as tense as it was when you were reunited.

"that was just for the camera's, she showed me the card later. haymitch said that it wouldn't be a good idea to let the capitol know that i had someone waiting at home for me when i'm supposed to be in love with my fellow tribute," peeta takes a step towards you, a fond smile spreading across his face.

his words make you pause as you look at him confused. you blink slowly as you try to absorb what he just said.

"wait... what do you mean 'supposed to be?'" you breath out.

peeta pulls a face that this time you recognise, mainly because you've been on the receiving end more times than you would like to admit. it's a fond look, one that you would give a cat runs into a wall while playing with a laser or a child when it falls over doing something you told it not to do. it's his nice way of telling you that you're being an idiot.

he slowly reaches up and tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear. "did you really think that after hearing the girl i've hopelessly pined over for my entire life say that she loves me i would turn around and date someone else? let alone someone who i'd interactd with maybe three times maximum."

his touch sends a spark that shoots through the rest of your body, setting you ablaze. you're still confused beyond belief, but your heart feels like it might burst. did you really hear that right?

"y... you what? your whole life?" you sound no better than a toddler learning to speak, and it makes peeta laugh once again.

you shake your head in attempt to clear your mind and get your thoughts in order. "i don't understand. you told those stories about when you first saw katniss and when you started liking her? the bread, peeta! i remember you telling me about the bread!" you ramble, stepping back slightly to get a better look at him. you're so all over the place that you barely hear his reponse.

"well, yes. the bread thing actually happened. so did everything else, to be completely truthful. but they didn't happen with katniss. i was talking about you," he grins, taking another step closer and reaching out to take your hand in his. "i mean seriously. how did you not realise i was talking about you? do you not remember singing the valley song when we were little? and when i said i watched 'her'," he uses air quotes around the word, "walk home every day after that. i did! i watched you walk home because i would walk you to your house! every single time i had to kiss her, touch her, god even just look at her... i was thinking of you," he sounds exasperated by the time he finishes.

you feel like smacking yourself in the face. that's why the story felt so familiar and why you had that nagging feeling in the back of your mind. you remember it so clearly now you feel like you could scream. your first day of the first grade. you had been incredibly nervous up until the moment that the teacher asked if anyone knew the valley song. it was your fathers favourite song to sing to you before he passed away, so your hand immediately shot up. singing your father's favourite song instantly calmed you down, and it had been your favourite ever since. you used to sing it to peeta when he would come to you crying after an especially harsh beating from his mother.

your entire body slumps as the embarrassment you were feeling returns tenfold. "oh."

peeta grins at you and it's so bright you can hardly stand to look at it. "oh," he repeats. he gives you a few more moments to collect your thoughts before he continues. "i though you had realised that i was talking about you when you sent me the lyrics to the valley song with the medicine."

the urge to slap yourself silly comes back so hard that your hand twitches at your side. "oh," you say again, closing your eyes and grimace.

"why did you send the lyrics then? it's clear now that you didn't catch on to what i was trying to say, so why?"

your silence has peeta taking another step towards you. he slowly reaches up to cup your cheek and gently nudge your face up to look at him. his brows are raised curiously, but his eyes are as patent as always. and that smile. that fucking smile. he gave it to katniss so many times in the arena because he was thinking about you. it was never hers, in the same was he wasn't. the thought alone has your knees moments away from buckling. almost as if he can tell, his free arm snakes around your waist and pulls you against him. his grip is featherlight, yet you've never felt so secure.

you lean into his touch as you speak, relaxing in his hold for the first time since before his name was reaped.

"i didn't know what to say at first. it felt like the only right thing to say. it's what i would sing to you when you were in pain, and i can't even begin to imagine the amount of pain you were in when you were in the arena. also, the lyrics summarise how i feel about you pretty well," you trail off at the end, suddenly feeling shy once more. your eyes wander away from him, only for peeta to draw them straight back by guiding your face once more.

he looks moments away from crying, bottom lip trembling as he leans his forehead down against yours. the two of you stand there for a moment, bodies pressed against each other so hard that each can feel the others heartbeat pounding against their chest. your hands hesitantly trail up until one is holding the hand against your face and the other rests on his arm.

“you know, i never actually heard your response to me telling you that i love you,” you mutter, your eyes darting back and forth between his eyes and his lips. the tension in the room is so thick you are about to choke on it.

a tear slip from from his eye as he lets out a wet laugh. “if you think there is any way that you could say things like that and i wouldn’t fall head over heels in love with you then you’re crazy. i love you y/n,” the words flow out of him so smoothly that it’s almost like he’s told you this a million times before. it feels so right that it pushes you to do something you have always wanted to; always been to scared to do.

it’s horrifyingly cliche, but the moment you push forward and press your lips to his, fireworks explode throughout your body, setting you alight like peeta had been in the opening ceremony. he pushes back against you just as intensely, the desperation he's feeling as clear through the kiss.

time slips away as you kiss your best friend, the two of you only parting when you run out of air. you pull away slowly, heart leaping when peeta's lips chase yours to give you another short kiss before backing away.

you both stand still, foreheads pressed against one another as you process what just happened. a breathy laugh escapes peeta as he gently rub a thumb against your cheek.

"we could have done that a week ago if you hadn't been so insistent with avoiding me," he laughs. you groan and shake your head.

"i was upset! i thought you had gone after another girl days after i told you that i loved you!" you whine.

"i had to do it! it save my life, didn't it?"

"i guess so, but-" you go to joke back, but peeta shuts you up with a kiss that wipes your mind of anything you were about to say.

when he pulls back he laughs at the stunned look on your face. "i'm going to look forward to shutting you up like that," he teases, snapping you out of the trance he had put you in enough for you to slap his arm.

"shut up!"

he laughs again, pulling you into a tight hug. the two of you rock back and forth. a peace that you have never felt before fills you, and for a moment you wonder if you're dreaming.

"what are you and katniss going to do about the capitol? they believe you're in love," you speak before you think, and you're terrified that you've broken the bubble that the two of had been living in. peeta tenses for a moment before leaning his head against yours.

"i don't know. but whatever happens, i'm not leaving you. never again," he whispers, his breath tingling across your forehead. you can feel his lips against your skin, and without even looking you can tell he's smiling your smile.

you relax back into him, smiling harder than you ever have before. your peeta made it home. and he'd never going to leave you again.

——————

thank you so much for reading!! i can't work out if i like the ending or not, but still i'm pretty happy with this considering i haven't written in years!!

#peeta x reader #katniss and peeta #peeta mellark x reader #the hunger games #the hunger games x reader #peeta mellark x fem!reader #thg #thg fanfiction #peeta mellark angst #peeta mellark fluff #thg x reader #peeta mellark x you

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weregonnaneedabiggerboat · 1 day ago

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Okay so I really wanna talk more about this scene because it really hit me hard after what Kinger said in episode 3, so prepare for a LOOONNNNGGGG rant of me being a supreme Jax apologist again 💜 ^w^

CW: Mentions of isolation, depression, and suicidal ideation. If you like Gangle I suggest scrolling because I'm going to be very critical of her here 😅 especially towards the end.

☆—

Okay. First of all,

Look at this.

This shot in particular.

It's shot from his point of view, over the shoulder. Ragatha and Zooble are inviting Pomni to join them for Kaufmo's funeral.

And nobody is looking at him.

Nobody even acknowledges his presence.

A POV shot from Jax's perspective, showing the characters not paying attention to him, then switching to him to show that he's upset before he walks away? Yeah, that wasn't by accident.

I think Ragatha maybe glanced for half a second, but the fact she didn't even bother to say anything to him in this moment just really brings home how isolated he must feel emotionally. People really seem to overlook these shots when they judge Jax's character too, and it almost feels like the fandom treats Jax exactly the way the others treat him too.

No wonder he stormed off, they are LITERALLY FACING HIM, STARING DIRECTLY AT HIM, and decided that y'know what? It's actually not important at all to invite this guy who's been stuck here for years with us and also knew Kaufmo, and who, might I add, has very likely been really close with Kaufmo because both love to joke around and pull pranks. Jax called him "Kauffy" in the first episode so that told me they're for sure friends, and this moment just solidified it for me.

But essentially? Jax's best friend basically committed suicide. And nobody even asks him if he wants to go to the funeral. Like holy shit.

And Pomni, bless her sweet little heart, she's totally innocent in this!! Because like, she literally just got here, she has no idea about the relationships between anybody! And Kinger has the excuse of being crazy/demented so we can't say for sure that these things cross his mind between all the fog

But... Zooble? Gangle? Ragatha...?

None of you... None of you decided that, well, maybe you should check to see how jax is doing...?

Like, even if you think he doesn't care... Wouldn't you at least want to double check...? Just in case he does...?

And in episode 4 with Gangle as manager, I think Jax had a moment of realization after that torture scene that Gangle genuinely hates him، and for the rest of the episode he seeme pretty disconnected and almost confused, as if in his head, the adventures are just fun silly things to do because they're in a video game and the goal is to play the game

He didn't know people took them seriously, and when everyone is suddenly playing the fast food shift adventure seriously, you can see how increasingly frustrated he becomes with everyone else, because everyone is just letting gangle boss them around and assert her fake authority over them

And the thing is, he's probably so mad that everyone would rather please Gangle and feed into her delusions of authority, DESPITE HOW CRUEL SHE'S BEING TO HER FRIENDS, rather than actually have a fun and silly adventure. He only wants to mess around, because it's a video game for fuck's sake!!

Not only that, but the fact gangle focused more on punishing Jax rather than, oh I don't know, helping Ragatha out of the fucking deep fryer maybe, purposefully illustrated to me how selfish Gangle really is. She just told Jax his list of tasks, and then left. She didn't even check on Ragatha or anything, so obviously this wasn't about Ragatha, but about being in control.

But she hides behind her tearful mask and plays victim so that people feel bad for her and defend her. She said she used to be a shift manager in her previous life, so it's no doubt she used to treat people the way she treated her own friends in episode 4.

And for those saying Jax always breaks her mask, he's literally only done it once (and a half? lol)

In episode 1, Pomni was the one who knocked everyone over and broke the comedy mask. In episode 2, it was an NPC. In episode 3... Yeah sorry Jax, can't defend ya buddy. And in episode 4, it was an accident, and you can tell because Jax didn't show any signs of actually wanting to aim the ball at Gangle. He doesn't pick on Gangle any more than he does the others, she just cries about it more.

At the end of episode 4, Gangle tells Zooble she "doesn't deserve a friend like her", and honestly, that gave me the BIGGEST ick, because she just reminded me of those people that are constantly like "I'm so useless, I should just die, you should leave, I don't deserve anything" and suck all the emotional life out of you without ever even bothering to listen to your needs. Because when has Gangle actually tried to help console anyone?

And I'm gonna be honest, I really can't think of any moment where Jax was doing something particularly evil. In episode 2, presumably his "worst episode", he was just acting like... Someone playing a video game. Like a guy who's dicking around in Grand Theft Auto or Minecraft. He's aware the NPCs reset and all and he didn't stick around to actually watch any of that "violence" that he inflicted in the end, it's kind of like when people decide to just bomb villages in Minecraft or run over the pedestrians in GTA, because they're just code, not people.

The only dickish thing I can think of was when Jax threw Pomni out of the truck, but it didn't look like Pomni was in pain, just scared and frustrated at the sudden action. He was also pretty rude-mouthed to Gangle and Ragatha, but it struck me more as teasing, not genuinely wanting to make them upset.

Anyway... Sorry for rambling and getting mad lmao, I had a lot to say, especially with everyone saying "Jax deserved it" and saying that Gangle was "acting reasonably", because in my opinion she really wasn't.

This is my two cents, I just wanted to throw my thoughts out there and see what everyone else thinks lolz

At the end of the day they're just fictional characters and my thoughts won't affect the show, please remember this if you're planning on replying with hate :')

Love you guys!

"In this world, the worst thing you can do is make someone think they're not wanted or loved." — Kinger

#jax #the amazing digital circus #tadc #bibi yaps #the amazing digital circus theory #jax the amazing digital circus #gangle #gangle tadc #jax tadc #gangle the amazing digital circus #tadc headcanons

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scoobydoodean · 1 year ago

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I see this held up as major proof of Dean's badness, but couldn't it also be proof of Cas having faith Dean can get past anything without Cas having to change his behavior? The way it's structured the onus is on DEAN to work through it, not others to change or make amends. ---- CASTIEL: You know, Dean, he – he feels things more acutely than any human I've ever known. So it's possible he could work through this. One day, he may explode and let it all out and breathe deeply and move on.

I see what you mean in a general sense, and it's extremely possible that Cas is thinking about his own past fights with Dean and Dean forgiving him, and from the perspective of the critique you have in mind that you're refuting, I agree. But of course deancrit casgirls will forever insist that Cas has never in his life done anything harmful to Dean either accidentally or on purpose, so any time Dean might dare try to hold him accountable for anything, he's actually just making shit up and being toxic and controlling, so here Cas is just apologizing for his own abusive relationship. You can only get their take by being deliberately obtuse/disingenuous.

That said, the context of that line (from 15.13 "Destinty's Child") is Cas answering soulless Jack's question about whether Dean will eventually forgive him for murdering Mary.

CASTIEL: Hey, Jack. JACK: Cas, you know what's good about being dead? CASTIEL: Uh, as I recall, very little. JACK: Well, when you come back, you – you really get into all that life is. Hot, cold, sweet, spicy, funny, scary. CASTIEL: And are you? "Into it"? JACK: I want to be. But I don't... feel things the way I used to. Before I lost my... CASTIEL: Your soul. JACK: I used to feel things. In my bones. It was glorious, and sometimes unbearable. But I felt them. Now, I understand joy or sadness, but... I know those things aren't in me. I understand why Sam and Dean were angered by what happened to Mary... CASTIEL: By what you did to Mary. JACK: Yes. I see that I've caused them pain. And it's clear that things have changed. Especially with – with Dean. Will he ever forgive me? CASTIEL: You know, Dean, he – he feels things more acutely than any human I've ever known. So it's possible he could work through this. One day, he may explode and let it all out and breathe deeply and move on. JACK: How long will that take? CASTIEL: I don't know.

And yeah—I have seen people refer to Cas's little speech here as "condoning child abuse" and other bullshit. Because how DARE Dean not forgive soulless Jack for murdering his mother (something soulless Jack is unable to actually really acknowledge he did). I mean clearly any time someone murders your mom because she made them mad and threatened their sense of security by asking if they're okay and saying their concerning actions can’t stay a secret… That’s just natural understandable stuff! You need to forgive the person who murdered her instantly and if you don’t idk you’re kinda overreacting don’t you think? :/ I mean your mom probably deserved it kind of anyway for reading the room so wrong and talking about getting a person help. And I mean if you don't forgive the person who killed your mom or do anything trying to stop them from hurting more people you're really a child abuser... toward an adult... who murdered your mother in cold blood and is unable to even understand why it was wrong in any sense other than an intellectual one like he read it from a book... preferring to refer to it as "What happened to Mary" instead of acknowledge it as something he himself did because he was mad and felt threatened—which is what he circled back to in "Jack In The Box" too. It's only when Jack gets his soul back that he's able to actually feel true empathy, acknowledge his real actions and the gravity of them, and give an actual sincere apology. Because his soul is actually important—something this fandom refuses, by and large, to notice.

Anyway, this fandom's take on Mary's murder and soulless Jack vs. regular Jack is overwhelmingly a bag of wet third grader vomit and feces so what can one expect?

#mail #soulless jack killing mary is popularly regarded as an accident... but it's pretty transparent that it wasn't?#or rather it was on purpose but he regretted it the second after it happened. but that is still. Something he chose to do. Not an accident.#He saw her as a threat to his relationship with Sam and Dean and he acted.#This is indicated right before he kills her. He admits it outright also right before calling it an accident which unravels that whole idea.#It wasn’t pre-meditated but in that moment he wanted her to die. She was going to tell everyone there was something wrong with him.#And he did not want that.#It wasn't an accident and he can't handle his own culpability because it threatens his belief that he can make things be the way they were #before it happened. Which is why he killed her to begin with! He didn't want anyone to know/think anything was wrong with him!#And just like soulless Jack just wants everyone to forget about it and act like nothing happened and he's fine...#Many fans want Dean to forget about it. They want Dean to believe and say and feel and think that Mary did not matter.#And that being upset at her literal murder (even if it was an accident—which it was not) is bad and evil.#And Sam's great capacity for numbness (which we already saw in season 13) strengthen's their own lack of empathy for Dean #in a situation that in real life they would understand unless they're actual psychopaths.#It's only because Dean is a character in a narrative representing the need/capacity to be loved and accepted at all #that these demands that his thoughts and feelings bend to everyone else's emotional needs become so disturbingly intrusive #dont feed the stans after midnight #and cas is my best friend #hot girl cas

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oveliagirlhaditright · 1 year ago

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So... this is an idea that I don't know if many will agree with, but I'm putting it out there, anyway.

I feel like, for obvious reasons, Buffy and Angel would always have trauma with the idea of him calling her "Buff."

(Unless, in the future, they managed to talk it out and eventually managed to heal from that, so that eventually he could. That's a great option, too.)

But nicknames are adorable. And while usually I'm opposed to someone in fanon calling a character something they didn't in canon (except in the Kingdom Heart fandom, Sora calling Kairi "Kai," but there's a tiny bit of precedent for that), what if way in the future (after a lot of character development and them having a life together, of course, and them being super comfortable with each other) he called her "Fy" for short some times? (Pronounced like the last part of Buffy's name is pronounced, of course. Or how people sometimes might call a "Fiona" "Fi" for short, for example.)

It might be cute. Especially if it's a special nickname that only he calls her, since if anyone else wants to shorten her name, they just use "Buff". I don't know.

#buffy the vampire slayer #bangel #if anyone's curious at all... the tiny bit of precedent for sora calling kairi 'kai' even though. to be honest. he's never truly called her #that in canon is this:#in kingdom hearts canon at one point memory shenanigans happened and he lost all of his memories of kairi. and as his memories of her were #being restored at one point he didn't remember her whole name yet but remembered the 'kai' part #also. kairi's name is derived from the japanese word 'kai' that means sea. tetsuya nomura. the game's director just added the 'r' and 'i' t #it to make it sound more feminine. and 'sora' means sky. and their best friend riku's name means 'land' so there's a whole theming thing #going on there #so for those two reasons... even though sora's never called kairi 'kai' in canon. i would be okay with/could maybe see him calling her that #for short in the future or something #it also helps to try and show how close they're supposed to be (the three of them have been best friends since they were around the four an #five ages). and (i love the kingdom hearts fandom and always will). but sometimes it's more 'tell' than 'show' (like how i'd love flashback #to actually SEE these three's closeness. but alas). so in fanfiction i'm always doing what i can to somewhat fix that. like adding #flashbacks. or say having sora (and even riku) call kairi 'kai' to really hint at that closeness #-literally no one cared about the kh thing of course (in being here for bangel and buffy). and yet the ocd i swear i have made me put it #here anyway. oops.-

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inbabylontheywept · 6 months ago

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bad dating stories time: the shoe incident

so in highschool, my best friend wasnt allowed to go on dates unless there was another couple there to keep an eye on him. part of this was his parents being insane, but also, part of it was him being insane. in a problem with no reasonable parties, there are no reasonable solutions.

at some point in my junior year, my sorta-gf broke up with me, and i just wasnt feeling dating, which was bad for my friend, because he had a good thing going with a girl he met in court.

he kind of hounded me about it. kept pushing me to just put me feet back in the dating pool and i wasnt real thrilled about it, because i knew he was pushing me for his own benefit, not mine, so i kept telling him to fuck off, and after a few weeks of being told that i would date when i was damn well ready, he eventually said: okay. what if i paid for the date AND found you a blind date AND all you had to do was show up?

and i shouldve said no, i know, but i let him wear me down, and i will own my fault in that. a date starting on such a stupid premise could never have gone well.

but he still managed to find a way to make it worse.

i dont know how long he tried to set a blind date up. it couldve been multiple attempts. he couldve stooped to this immediately. but what happened in the end was that he called a girl from the ward he attended - a girl that he knew had a giant, mushy crush on him - and he said: hey! how would you feel about going on a date this weekend?

(you know, implying it was with him, but never actually saying it.)

and she said YES WOW I WOULD LOVE TO and he said great! and then he called me up and said he found me a date.

i did not learn about his crimes until several weeks later. i will die swearing before god almighty that i would never have allowed this travesty to happen if i had known.

that was on a monday. the date of the date rolled around that friday evening, and im sorry to confess, i really phoned the whole thing in. i showed up in my favorite comfy outfit, which was also a fashion crime: basketball shorts and flipflops and a baja hoodie. it was super comfy but it made me look kind of crazy. i picked him up first, and then i picked up his date next, and then we went to pick up my date, and thats where you're gonna get the play by play.

i arrived, walked across the yard, and knocked on the front door. she opened it almost immediately, like shed been waiting right by it, and i could see her expression go from OMG IM SO EXCITED to super disappointed, then disgusted and finally pissed. and because i didn't know about my friends sins, i thought it was from my outfit. which seemed... harsh. like, hey, im allowed to be quirky, fuck you. also its a blind date, i thought the deal was that we were both going to be sad broken sacks of mortality.

anyway, we looked at each other for several seconds before she slammed the door in my face.

i looked back at my friend. he was sweating bullets. i dont know what he expected from this, but there was this big long pause where we both tried to figure out what to do, and then the door opened up, and her dad invited me in, and he said she was gonna need a few minutes to finish getting ready, and that in the meantime we could sit and talk.

we did not talk. we did sit. i sat down on the couch, and he sat down in a chair across the couch, and then instead of talking he cleaned his pistol on the coffee table. i wasnt actually sure if it was a threat, or if it was just a fidget thing for 40+ year old republican men, but when i tried to help he got snappy so i just watched him put a pistol back together.

he was okay at it.

eventually my date came downstairs, still mad as hell for reasons beyond my ken, and i felt pretty guilty for being such a mess because i thought that was why she was so angry. i tried to make up for by walking her to the car and getting the door for her, just generally trying to be extra polite, but before i could make it back to the drivers side, her dad called me back to the door. so i flipped around, went to the door, and immediately regreted my decision.

soon as i was within range, her dad got waaaay too close to me, leaned in, and said "whatever you do to her, i will do to you," and my brain went into overdrive making three consecutive realizations.

realization one was, damn, the pistol thing was a threat. that sucks. what an asshole. realization two was, wait, im autistic and even i know theres a 0% chance me and my date even hold hands, least of all boink. does this guy actually think there's even a 1% chance of anyone in that car getting laid tonight? is he an idiot? and then realization three went through, which was wait, is this guy threatening to fuck me? and unfortunately, with my brain doing so much processing, my mouth was left to run amok, so somewhere between realization 2 and 3, i said:

"i can't get pregnant"

which, i swear, wasn't actually me trying to be a smartass, it was just me pointing out that he couldn't actually follow up on that threat. it just wasn't possible. we do not live in the omegaverse and im not scared of you.

still, it was an insanely catastrophic thing to say, and the moment we both heard it, we bluescreened. that single sentence obliterated both of our momentary streams of consciousness like a saltine in front of a sand blaster. problem was, he'd probably gone his whole life not even realizing someone could say something that stupid, and making that realization was going to cost him a lot of thinking time. me though? i had been saying shit like that for 17 years, i didnt have to rewrite my expectations of human nature, i just had to plan an exit and start striding. so i was already halfway back to the car before i heard "hey. hey come back. Hey. Hey. HEY. HEY WAIT. HEY GET BACK HERE. HEY-"

and then i was in my car, and i drove away.

if this happened today, he'd have called her, and the whole thing wouldve imploded then and there, but back then, there were still a decent number of teenagers without cell phones. especially the teenagers of insane, gun toting parents. so she just said: whoa what was that all about? and i said: dont worry about it, he'll tell you about it when you get home.

and she said: ok and went back to staring daggers at me and my friend.

WHICH SURPRISINGLY isnt even how the story ends.

we went to an improv comedy show, and it was a disaster. it shouldve been like, 7/10 tops, but between my date being mad, and my friend having a good time, and me having the existential terror of knowing that a guy with a pistol was probably waiting outside his house for me to come back, it was easily 11/10. i laughed way too hard at everything. especially the jokes that flopped. id sit there in this mostly silent room and laugh until i dry heaved a little, and my date was absolutely disgusted, and even my friend was a little embarrassed, which would just make me laugh harder. i laughed so hard that night i could barely talk the next day. and then the show ended, and my friend said, you know, that was a good time, but i think we should maybe do something a little chiller? who wants to walk around the park? and his date said yeah, and my date said no, and i finally had mercy on the poor woman so i said, look, im gonna drop you off. and i am so, so sorry about this, but im dropping you off like a block away. super duper sorry.

do talk to your dad about the pistols thing if you dont want this happening more in the future tho.

and she said: okay. so i dropped her off, and she walked a block down, and that was that.

then i drove my friend and his date to a park that was good for wandering. i figured they wanted something more private, so instead of following them around point blank, i chose a park with this 30 foot rope tower, and i climbed to the top and i said: hey i can see you anywhere from up here, you are officially chaperoned from a distance. get panopticoned idiot. except my friend really is an idiot, and he didnt really get the whole 'now i dont have to third wheel so insanely hard with you guys' thing so he climbed up the tower too, and then his date followed behind him, so there are three people basically sitting together on top of a telephone pole.

and then they started making out.

i was close enough to hear it.

i didnt really know what to do so i was just kind of sitting there, dissociating, when some college kids came around and started shaking the tower. my friend's date went aaaaaaaaaa im afraid of heights :( and my friend went oh, dont worry, ill hold you tight ;) and i went hey, im gonna climb down and ask them to stop.

so i did climb down, and i did ask them to stop, and they flipped me off, which i wasnt even mad about. at that point i was i was like yeah, it would be weirder if this wasnt a mess. gods plan has been to fly this day like a 747 into my metaphorical twin towers and brother he is close enough for me to see him grinning through the cockpit window. still, eventually the college students got bored, so they climbed up the tower, which gave my friend and his date a window to climb down, and together we walked back to my car.

now, i cant explain why this is, but sitting back in the drivers seat was my carriage-back-into-a-pumpkin moment. i'd been chill about all the chaos, just rolling with the punches, but sitting down made me realize how much of a shitshow the day had been, and while i couldnt go back and fix all of it, i could go back and fix one thing.

so i told my friend and his date, hey, you two, stay here and don't do anything weird. don't. then i walked back to the rope tower, and i started picking up the shoes the college students had left at the base in order to climb.

about halfway through this, i realized that if i took all their shoes, they might think i was in it for the money, and i actually wanted them to know i was in it specifically to spite them. fuck those guys. so i put all the right shoes back, gave myself a 100 foot headstart, yelled "nice shoes, assholes", did a little jig, and started running.

my advice to everyone is that college students are faster than you think. even with the headstart, and the whole climb down the tower thing, i was still only fivish seconds ahead of them by the time i got to my car. i flung the door open, looked in the backseat, didnt see anyone, flung the stolen shoes in the backseat, heard two "ow"s, took that as proof of presence, jumped in and pealed out of the lot.

my friend and his date popped up a few seconds later. they were, uh, doing something weird in the back seat. my one request - obliterated.

they climbed up to ask where the hell all the shoes had come from, and i was like yeah i stole them from the college students, and they were like oh. cool. hope you had fun. and i was like, i did. i did. but speaking of fun, what were you doing back there?

and for the first time in my buddies life, i think he was actually embarassed.

#dating stories #anecdotes #long post #funny story #babylon #im really bad at dating #like i can do a lot better than this but also it just was kind of a nightmare for me #shit like this did make the whole thing easier tho #like #every date after this i could go you know ive seen how bad it can get #and i lived #didnt even get shot #writing

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chahnniesroom · 3 months ago

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night again

pairing: bang chan x female reader

summary: in hindsight, visiting chan's studio right before a comeback isn't one of your best ideas. what was supposed to be a pleasant surprise leaves you spiraling into self-doubt, wondering if chan even wants to be in a relationship with you at all.

word count: 6.4k

tags/warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, misunderstandings, insecurities, reader not eating due to stress

a/n: the long awaited 'he calls you clingy' fic! title is from the english translation of 또 다시 밤 (twilight)

read it on ao3 | masterlist

You love your job. It's challenging for sure and the expectations from upper management are often unforgiving, but you’re proud of how hard you've worked and everything that you've accomplished in the past few years at your company.

As you've gained experience, you've slowly been given more and more responsibility. You've grown out of your junior role and though you're thrilled by the pay raise and prospect of being a team lead rather than being led by one, it's also daunting.

When you and your new team are assigned an important project with tight deadlines, you're determined to prove yourself. It's implied that you're going to have to have to dedicate a significant amount of time to finish it and while you're no stranger to long hours, it means that any plans you have of seeing your boyfriend, Chan, are out the window.

The timing is not terrible, Stray Kids has a comeback scheduled in about a week so you didn't think that you would be able to spend that much time with Chan anyway, but you usually try to surprise the boys at one of the music shows with a cake and some home cooked food.

Luckily, you've already been planning for this. Although nothing had been confirmed, you had expected that this project would be awarded to your company and you've already been trying to spend more time with Chan than usual in preparation for the busy season ahead for both of you.

Still, you can't help but agree with your best friend at work after she complains how little she's going to see her partner this month. Jinjoo doesn't know who your boyfriend is, but the two of you are close enough that you’ve shared that you have one and that work takes up a lot of his time. You've gushed to her about the sweet things that Chan has done for you and you've admitted that you think he's the one.

“You should bring him dinner sometime!” she exclaims when you mention you're not sure when the next time you'll be able to see Chan will be.

“Well, he’s really busy-” you start to say.

“That’s the beauty of it. I’m sure he would appreciate if you brought him food at work, especially if he’s anything like my partner and gets so caught up with work that they forget to eat sometimes,” she insists.

“That’s true.”

“Just trust me, Y/n. I wouldn’t be telling you this if I wasn’t sure that it’d work. My partner loves when I do this. It’s literally the perfect way to take some time for each other before you’re both too busy. Even if he's super busy, his work can't be bad enough that he’s not allowed to eat, right?”

You agree somewhat reluctantly. You're still unsure about whether or not Chan would appreciate you barging in unannounced, but it is a cute idea and Jinjoo's confidence is enough to convince you.

The next day after work, you head to the company and order takeout for a late dinner for you and Chan, picking it up along the way. It reminds you of earlier in your relationship before you had gotten your current position and when Stray Kids were just gaining popularity. Both of you enjoyed having more casual date nights that provided more privacy as opposed to going out to fancy places and it makes you even more excited to see his reaction.

About a year after you started dating Chan, he insisted that you get a pass to get into JYP Entertainment without having to fill out a visitor's form and have someone pick you up. It has definitely come in handy more than a few times, although you try to limit the number of visits you make. Even though you're allowed to be there, it still feels intimidating to be in the building, like someone is going to recognize that you're not an employee and accuse you of being a sasaeng.

Luckily the late hour means that you make it to Chan's studio without having to interact with anybody except the security at the door, who had waved you through without a second thought. You had double checked with Felix earlier in the day to make sure that Chan didn't have any schedules or dinner plans, so you directly knock on his door without texting or calling him beforehand.

“Y/n?” he asks, a bit baffled when he sees you. “Did we- Did I forget that we had plans tonight?”

“No,” you say, a little nervous for some reason. It's just Chan, you tell yourself, but it doesn't make you feel any better. “I didn't think that you had dinner yet and wanted to see you.”

“Oh, I see. Come in,” Chan responds slowly, still processing your sudden appearance. “I just have something that I need to finish up-”

“It's fine! You can work,” you assure him quickly. “I don't want to interrupt you too much, I just wanted to drop by since I don't have plans and wanted to make sure that you're eating well.”

Chan’s studio isn’t messy at all, but he still gets up to clear some space on a side table for you, before returning back to where he has Cubase opened up. You pass over his food and feel relieved when he immediately digs in, but your appetite seems to have vanished, you can only get yourself to pick at your meal.

Chan is short with his responses all evening and continues to work on his laptop, even while eating. It throws you off a bit, you thought that he would be able to get to a stopping point and at least make a bit of time for you, but you did tell him that he could. Even so, you're determined to make the most of the last time that you’re going to see them for a while. You know they’ve been super busy the past few days, or more like the past few weeks, but still you had thought he would be a little bit more engaged or at the very least seem happy to see you.

Finally, after half an hour of eating with minimal conversation, you decide to broach the subject that’s been on your mind this entire time. Chan’s finished his food and you know that you won’t be able to get yourself to eat anymore, so you shuffle everything off to the side and inch closer to Chan.

“You know that client we’ve been trying to work with for a while?” you start tentatively.

Chan hums noncommittally, continuing to type on his computer. Not quite the reaction that you're hoping for, but you forge on anyway.

“We got awarded the job! It’s a great opportunity for the company and everyone is really excited, but-”

“Y/n,” he interrupts. “I’m sorry, that’s amazing and all, but you know that it’s not a good time for me right now. I have something I really need to work on and now that you’ve finished eating, can we please not bother with the small talk?”

“Oh,” you say, a bit caught off guard. Chan has never been the type to cut you off when you're speaking. “No, yeah, I get it. Uhm. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, just-” he sighs, sounding frustrated. “Next time can you please ask me when you want to visit in advance so this doesn’t happen again? You chose the worst timing to come by. I just need some space, from all of… this,” he says, waving a hand between the two of you.

“Sorry, I know it’s a busy time, but I just wanted to see-”

At that moment, an alarm on Chan's phone goes off, interrupting you. When he turns it off and notices the time, he swears lowly, unlocking his phone and typing out a message to somebody. You’re scared to break the silence. Less than a minute later, someone knocks on the door.

“Come in,” Chan calls. When Changbin and Jisung step into the room, they eye you curiously. You keep your head down and try to prevent your hands from shaking as you stand and start to haphazardly shove away all your belongings and the garbage from your dinner into bags.

“Noona, it's good to see you!” Jisung says brightly, although his smile dims when you make eye contact and can only manage to weakly return the smile. “Sorry for interrupting you two.”

“Hi Hannie,” you reply quietly, not wanting to make conversation, but not wanting to be rude.

“It’s okay, Y/n was just leaving,” Chan says, his obvious annoyance making things even more awkward.

You say bye to the boys quietly and apologise as you shuffle past them to the door.

The handles of the bag from your dinner are digging into your hand painfully and your purse can’t close with the way that you’ve thrown everything into it. You only take a few steps before you have to stop for a moment to save a container from falling and decide to put down everything and reorganise it all.

When you crouch down, you take a second to mentally berate yourself. Everything you had worried about had come true. Instead of being a pleasant surprise, you had come across as a nuisance.

In your rush, you hadn't fully closed the studio door behind you and you're close enough that you can just barely pick up the conversation that happens inside.

“Sorry,” you hear Chan say faintly. “I don't know what's been going on, but Y/n has been… really clingy these days. She just showed up today without asking and I hate-”

You leave before he has the chance to say anything else. You look like a mess for sure, you had just grabbed all the empty containers without bothering to put them back into the plastic bag, your jacket is partially dragging on the ground, and your purse is hanging off your elbow, having slipped off your shoulder. You're pretty sure you hear an empty drink bottle clatter to the floor behind you, but you don't look back to check.

You don't have it in you to care, you just need to leave.

Even waiting for the elevator feels humiliating, so you bypass it and stumble down the stairs. You dump the garbage into a bin on the first floor, not bothering to sort it properly, and step out onto the street, bee-lining to the nearest subway station.

The ride home passes by in a blur.

It hurts, of course it hurts.

Honestly the reason that your relationship had worked out so far was because you weren’t the kind of person that needed a lot of attention. You understood that both of you were busy and were content to just exchange messages every couple of days because you knew how important Stray Kids was to Chan. Of course you did, they were just as important to you.

If Chan wanted space, well. You were more than capable of giving it to him.

In fact, your upcoming schedule had been the reason that you had wanted to meet up in the first place, the source of your so-called clinginess. You’d never been called that before. You were hyper-independent and tended to get lost in your own mind, easily distracted by different thoughts. It had gotten to a point that most of your exes had complained at least once about you being distant or inattentive.

With Chan, you had been determined not to be the same. It had been difficult at first, to make the effort to send messages throughout the day. You had to convince yourself not to spend too long drafting replies in your head and try not to worry that you were bothering him, especially if you knew that he had schedules at the same time that you were texting.

By the time that you make it to your apartment, your pain has faded into a mixture of resignation and numbness. You don't want to talk to Chan about how you feel, it's your clinginess that he didn't like in the first place, and you don't think you'll have time or the energy for a long, emotional conversation in the next few weeks anyway. If you keep your distance for a while, it just benefits both of you, you tell yourself. You won’t be a distraction to Chan as Stray Kids has their comeback and he won’t be one to you as you take on this new project.

As much as you want to spend the rest of your night overthinking- something you’ve done more than you’d like to admit- you know that you have a busy day at work tomorrow. Feeling a bit like a zombie, you force yourself to shuffle through your usual nighttime routine, swallowing a melatonin pill before climbing into bed.

Normally, you would send Chan a good night message. Actually, normally you would have sent him a message the second that you arrived home. It was something that he was insistent on starting from early on in your relationship, wanting to make sure that you were safe.

Tonight, you just turn off your phone, plug it into its charger, and sleep.

—

In the morning, you allow yourself to wallow in bed for 5 minutes, before you get ready for work. You’ve never been good at eating breakfast and today’s no exception. Your stomach turns uneasily at the thought of food so you only force yourself to drink some water before you leave.

Your team at work has agreed to get to work earlier than usual just to get a headstart on everything. Though you’re more of a night owl, you’re grateful to find that deviating from your usual routine means that the subway is empty enough that you can find an empty seat, a luxury that you’ve rarely experienced.

It feels eerie to walk through the streets of Seoul when the sun has just started to rise and you’re relieved when you finally make it to your office.

Unsurprisingly, you’re one of the first to arrive. You’re grateful for the time that you have to unpack your things and make a much needed coffee before the rest of your team shows up.

“How did it go last night?” Jinjoo asks you excitedly when she comes in.

“Uhm, it was okay,” you reply noncommittally. “He was definitely surprised.”

“Oh,” Jinjoo pouts at your lack of enthusiasm.

“I mean, it wasn’t bad,” you backtrack, hating to see her disappointed. “It was just so short, he was kind of… busy. But that’s what I expected anyway so that's fine I guess. Thanks for suggesting it to me though! I really appreciate it.”

“That’s good,” Jinjoo brightens. “At least you got to see him one last time.”

“Oh yeah for sure! I think that after seeing him yesterday, it’ll be easier to deal with how busy we’re going to be for the next few weeks,” you say truthfully.

It’s not a lie, you justify. For the first time since you started dating, you’re not looking forward to the next time that you’re going to see Chan.

You know that your communication is about to reduce to an all time low for the next few weeks, and while you had originally been worried about how Chan would react, now you’re thinking that he’s just going to be relieved not to hear from you. You’ve never thought yourself to have been overly chatty with Chan during the day though, preferring in-person conversation over texting and knowing that he’s generally not available to read your messages anyway, much less send you a reply. It seemed that you were wrong.

Luckily your team now has to use a shared box that you’re required to put your personal phones into during working hours and only have a little bit of time during lunch and dinner breaks, if you take them, to fish them out. It’s a policy that your company enforces when teams are working on confidential projects and you can’t blame them due to past litigation that they’ve been involved in after a former employee leaked sensitive information.

For once, you're glad for this excuse to not look at your phone, even if you feel a little bit naked to look at the side of your desk or reach into your pocket and not have your phone there. You’re relieved to bury yourself in your work and forget all about your personal life. Even though your project is just starting, you feel like you're already behind.

When you're finished work for the day and take back your phone, you find yourself reluctant to check your notifications. It's only when you're waiting for the subway to arrive at your station that you finally force yourself to take a look.

No new messages or calls from Chan.

You’re not sure what you expected, but somehow you’re still disappointed.

You get back to your apartment late, you had wanted to finish a couple of things before you left the office and it had led to you being one of the last to leave. You had also stopped by the convenience store closest to your place, not having the energy to cook anything for yourself.

You pick at your dinner half-heartedly. You're used to eating alone, Chan often had his meals at odd times due to his schedules, but tonight the silence feels more oppressive.

It haunts you, the tail end of the overheard conversation. You have no idea how Chan was going to complete the sentence, but your mind unhelpfully fills in the blanks with worse and worse suggestions.

He hates the timing of your visit.

He hates that you visited at all.

He hates that he has such a clingy girlfriend.

He hates that you are his clingy, annoying, bothersome girlfriend.

He hates you.

In moments of clarity, you can recognize that it's not true. That's not the Chan that you know and he would never say something like that about anybody, least of all you. It's just hard when a small part of you has never really been able to believe that someone as talented and amazing as Chan would want to date someone as unremarkable as you.

You find yourself falling into a new routine, waking early, working overtime, and trying not to cry yourself to sleep. You succeed most of the time, you keep yourself occupied by thinking about work and you're so physically exhausted by your long hours that you fall asleep the second that you get into bed. Luckily, your coworkers are just as overworked as you are and it’s easy to blame your declining condition on the project. Weekends don't help you rest at all, you've committed to your manager that you can work on Saturdays and Sundays are spent completing the chores that you've neglected during the week.

You still talk to Chan sometimes, either right when you wake up or on the way home after work. The conversation is stilted though, both because of the long delays between messages when you text and the limited time that you have when you call. It's enough of a difference that Chan asks you multiple times if everything is okay. Even though you try your best to assure him that you're fine, just busy, you're sure he knows that something is off, although he doesn't question you further.

Most exciting is the day that the new Stray Kids album releases. You've already heard most of the songs for this comeback, perks of dating the member that's the most involved in the writing and production of the album, but it's different now that they're available to the public too. You make sure to organise your schedule so that you're on break when the music video drops and you send a number of messages in the group chat that you have with the group cheering them on. Usually, you try to take a day off to deliver some food to them at the music shows, but you've had to settle for arranging with one of their managers to treat them to a meal.

You can tell when they get breaks because when you check your phone after work, notifications from the members are all in the same blocks of time. It's mostly them thanking you, taking pictures of the food you sent, flowers that they've been gifted, and letters from fans. They have a short promotion period this comeback, but it's packed with different interviews, performances, and fanmeets. At one point, Felix even sends you a picture of Chan sleeping slumped over on one of the waiting room couches. As much as you're relieved to see that he's able to get some rest, the picture has your stomach twisting uncomfortably.

You're proud of Chan, of all of the boys. They've worked so hard and each comeback seems to be more and more successful. Even if you're not confident in what's going to happen with you and Chan in the future, you want to celebrate with them while you still can.

—

After almost four weeks, your project is nearing completion and you've never been more grateful to have a deadline arrive.

You only have a couple more days left until your last submittal is due and after getting off work, you want nothing more than to collapse into bed even though your stomach has been growling the whole walk from the bus to your building. You had caught a significant mistake in a document right before it was going to be sent to a client and the whole afternoon had been spent trying to fix it in time. Your team had just barely managed it, but your head has been pounding for hours and your whole body is tight with stress.

You’re not quite sure how you make it to your apartment, your exhaustion has made you clumsy. You struggle a couple times to enter in the code to unlock your door and trip over a pair of shoes that are scattered in the entryway.

You manage to catch yourself before you fall, then squint back. Yes, you haven’t had the chance to tidy your apartment in a couple weeks, but you’ve never been the type to leave your shoes on the walking path.

A light is on, further in your apartment. You know for a fact it wasn’t like that when you left this morning, it would have been obvious since you've been leaving before the sun rises. Someone else is here.

You stare at the light for a few seconds in disbelief, then slowly reach to grab something, anything that you might be able to use to defend yourself. Your shaking hands close around a full sized umbrella that you keep beside your closet.

You’ve already made enough commotion that there’s no way the intruder didn’t hear, but you try to keep your footsteps light as you creep down the hall to where your kitchen is. It’s stupid to try and confront them, but the idea of someone in your space, potentially taking your things, is enough to inspire a sudden bout of bravery.

You hold your breath as you turn the corner, launching forward to attack the second that you see someone. You recognise the figure halfway through your swing, and though it’s too late to fully stop, you manage to pull back enough that they’re able to easily catch the umbrella before it hits them.

Chan wraps his arms around you then eases the umbrella out of your hands, resting it against the wall. You sag into his embrace, adrenaline draining away, leaving you exhausted again.

“Chan?”

You've missed this. His warmth, his comforting scent, the reassuring steadiness that he always provides. You can almost pretend that everything is fine.

“Sorry for scaring you,” he says, sounding more amused than apologetic.

“You should be,” you grumble into his shirt. “I could have seriously injured you if I didn't realise it was you!”

“I don't think that was going to be a problem.” Even though you can't see Chan, you can hear the grin in his voice.

“Hey!” You lightly smack his arm. “You take that back!”

“Fine, fine,” Chan acquiesces, holding up both his hands in surrender. “I'm very glad that I didn't have to experience the full power of your self defence.”

“Yeah yeah,” you huff. “What are you doing here anyway? Other than trying to give me a heart attack, that is.”

“I made you dinner,” Chan says shyly, turning pink.

“For what?” you ask suspiciously. It's easy to fall back into the banter that you typically exchange with Chan, but you can't help but be a bit wary these days.

“No reason. I uh, just haven't seen you in a while,” Chan says sheepishly, scratching at the back of his neck where it’s now flushed red. “We had so much preparation to do and then all our schedules… Anyway, I wanted to surprise you, so I thought I could cook for us.”

Now that he's mentioned it, you can see that he's set your tiny kitchen table and that there's a couple of pots on the stove. Chan doesn’t cook often, but he’s expressed a desire to learn before and you’ve taught him how to make a few of your favourite recipes.

You stare at him for a moment, lost for words.

It's only been a few weeks, but you feel like you've forgotten how to act around Chan. Instead of a comfortable silence, it's almost awkward, neither of you knowing what to say.

“Oh,” you say finally, touched and still a little shocked that he's actually here. “That's- that's so nice, I just- is it okay if I wash up a bit quickly first?”

“No, yeah, of course. I'm sure you had a long day,” Chan says. “Go ahead, I’ll- the food should be reheated anyway so I’ll get on that. Take your time.”

You skirt around him to go to the bathroom, taking a moment to splash yourself with water. This feels like a bizarre dream and you wonder for a moment if you’re making this all up. But when you leave to go to your bedroom, Chan’s still there, puttering around in front of your kitchenette. You change your clothes slowly, mind racing as you try to puzzle together why Chan has decided to visit all of a sudden.

You eventually settle on the most logical reason that you can think of.

He’s finally decided to break up with you.

You’ve figured that this was coming for weeks by now, but somehow it still hurts. Instead of feeling resigned, it feels like you’re shattering into little pieces. You twist your work blouse into a tiny ball as you try not to cry, even though you know the fabric is going to wrinkle terribly. You finish cleaning up in a daze, already drafting what you're going to have to message your manager later. There's no way that you're going to be in any shape to work tomorrow if you’re right.

“Y/n?” Chan calls eventually. You know you're procrastinating leaving your room, but you want to put this off for as long as possible even though you know it’s just delaying the inevitable. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you reply with a heavy heart. “I’m fine. I'll just be another second.”

You can tell that Chan doesn’t quite believe you. He hovers around you when you emerge from your bedroom, knocking away your hand when you try to pull out your own chair from the table.

He's set the table, going so far as to fold little napkins under your utensils. There's even a tiny vase with your favourite flowers as a centrepiece. All this effort just hurts more.

“You look exhausted. You got home so late. Where were you?” he asks.

“I was at work,” you reply stiffly. You know that if you try and say any more, your emotions are going to spill over and you're either going to scream or cry. Maybe both.

“So late?” Chan's forehead creases with some sort of emotion. You can't quite tell if it's concern or scepticism.

“You're not the only one that has a demanding job.”

“Y/n, you know that's not what I meant-”

“Sure,” you say. “Whatever, let's just eat. Thank you for the food.”

You don't want to deal with this. You're so tired.

You have no idea why Chan’s dragging this out longer than it needs to be. Why he’s forcing you to sit through a meal with him like he’s not about to break your heart. Chan is one of the kindest people you know, he’s probably trying to make this easier for you, giving you one last nice memory, but it just feels cruel.

Chan reaches out, stopping you before you can pick up your chopsticks. He stares at the way his fingers overlap each other around your wrist.

“You’ve lost weight,” he says quietly. You look away, watching steam curl from the bowl of rice that has been set in front of you instead of returning eye contact.

“I’ve been busy.” Is all you can say in response.

You don’t want to tell him that you’ve been basically subsisting on iced americanos and various convenience store meals in part because of your work schedule, but mostly because of your lack of appetite. Every time you thought of Chan, it made your stomach turn and well, everything reminded you of him. You hadn’t realised how much it had actually affected your physical condition until now though.

“You're not taking care of yourself,” he scolds you. You can feel yourself bristle at his comment even though you know it’s true. “I haven't been around to take care of you either. I'm sorry.”

“Chan,” you protest. It has been weeks since you last saw him in person and you’ve spent more time that you’d like to admit micro analysing your relationship, but you still can’t make sense of his behaviour, especially how he keeps switching between criticism and tenderness.

“What?” he asks in genuine confusion.

“Why are you here?”

“I missed you,” Chan says, sounding hurt and confused. “I haven’t seen you in so long.”

“I just- I don’t understand what you want from me!” You run your hands through your hair in frustration. “One day you don’t want me around, we go weeks without seeing each other, then you’re at my place cooking me dinner? You said you needed space, I gave you space."

“Woah woah woah, what do you mean I don’t want you around?” Chan asks, alarmed. “When have I ever said that?”

“You made it pretty clear that you didn’t appreciate it when I went to bring you dinner that day,” you start.

“No, baby!” Chan stands up abruptly before you can say anything else. He falters when the loud scrape of his chair causes you to flinch back. He slowly walks towards you and kneels in front of you, reaching out to hold your hands in his. His eyes are wide with earnestness. “Of course I wanted to spend time with you. I always want to be with you.”

“So why did you call me clingy?” you ask in a small voice. Gone is your anger, replaced with a self-consciousness that you can’t hide. You look away as tears prickle your eyes.

Gently, Chan lets go of your hands and cups your cheeks instead, turning your face so that he can see you better. His thumbs swipe under your eyes, brushing away the tears that have managed to escape.

“Baby,” he says, sounding even more upset and angry than you feel. “I'm sorry. Did someone tell you I said that?”

“Nobody had to tell me, I heard you say it myself!” you burst out, pushing Chan away. You know that you’re being dramatic, that you keep oscillating between different emotions, but you don’t care. “That day, in your studio, you told Han and Changbin that I was really clingy.”

“You heard me talking to Binnie and Hannie?” Chan asks slowly.

“I didn't mean to eavesdrop,” you sniffle. One of Chan's hands shifts and he carefully tucks behind a lock of hair that has fallen in front of your face. The gentleness makes even more tears well up.

“It's okay, I think I know what you overheard now. It must have hurt, right?”

You can't muster up a response, choosing instead to just nod slightly.

“I’m sorry, I'm sorry,” he soothes you. “Can I explain myself?”

You pause for a moment, then slowly nod again.

“I don't mind that you're clingy, actually, I like it. I shouldn't have used that word. I like that you want to spend time with me, Y/n,” Chan says carefully. “I like that you take time to visit me, even though I know that your work is busy too. I think that it's cute and thoughtful that you think of me and try to take care of me by bringing me food. I know that you intentionally take the time out of your day to text me because you know that I like hearing from you, even though I might not see it or respond right away.”

Chan pauses for a second and you use it as an opportunity to pull away slightly. His hands tighten briefly, before he lets them fall away, giving you the space to process.

It's not that you don't like what Chan is saying, it's just hard to reconcile it with the thoughts that have been eating away at you for the past few weeks. You still don't understand what you overheard though, how it fits into all of this. When you voice your concerns to Chan, he sighs, before continuing to speak.

“I don't know what I did to have someone as caring and thoughtful as you in my life.” You want to protest, but Chan carries on before you can say anything. “It's just that- you visited me without notice and were the sweetest person in the world. I wanted to spend time with you, believe me, I did, but I can't just ignore my deadlines when the rest of the members are relying on me. It makes me feel like garbage when I can’t give you all my attention. That's the thing I hate the most. That I can't be the boyfriend that you deserve. That I can't show you how much you mean to me the way that I want to.”

It makes sense, in some sort of twisted way. You know that similarly to you, Chan often feels insecure. It had taken a while before you had been able to convince him that you really did want to be in a relationship with him even with all of the difficulties that were associated with being an idol. You hadn't realised that your visit had fed into his worries that he wasn’t enough.

“I didn't know,” you say quietly. “I'm sorry.”

“Hey, I didn't tell you how I was feeling and that's on me. I’m the one that’s sorry, you have no reason to be. I should have been clearer about what was going through my mind and it wasn't any excuse for the way that spoke to you. Even if I wasn't at my best, I can't believe that I made you feel like I didn't want you to be around.” Chan shakes his head and you can tell that he's beating himself up about it. This time, you're the one that reaches out to him, grabbing one of his hands in both of yours.

“I am sorry that I put you into that position, though. I got caught up in the idea of how fun and romantic it might be, that I didn't give enough consideration to your schedule. Even though I wanted to surprise you, it would have been better to check with you beforehand. I don't ever want you to have to feel like you have to choose between me and work.”

“It was a really nice surprise,” Chan agrees. “I wish that I hadn't been so wrapped up that I wasn't able to enjoy spending time with you. I really hated not being able to see you these past few weeks.”

“It was really hard for me too,” you admit.

“I missed you so much. I missed your beautiful voice, hearing your laugh, seeing your smile. I missed all the texts that you usually send, they make me feel like I'm not as far away, that I'm a part of your day too. You kept saying that everything was fine and- I know it's hard for you, especially during comeback periods when I'm not as responsive. I didn't want to pressure you into messaging me more often if I'm not able to do the same.”

“No, it's not that. It doesn't bother me. Work was, is still really busy for me,” you explain. “I was trying to tell you that day, but-”

“But I basically shut you down,” Chan realises. He laughs bitterly. “I’m just the worst, aren't I? No wonder you were so confused by why I was here.”

“I thought you were going to break up with me tonight,” you whisper. Chan looks devastated by your statement.

“No- you know I wouldn't-” Chan stumbles on his words in his haste to correct you.

“I don't think that anymore,” you reassure him. “I understand everything now, it was just that we didn't communicate well and I assumed… It's okay, we're together now, this won't happen again.”

“I promise that I will make it up to you. I love you and I will prove it to you in every way possible. And I'm going to start right now. You still haven't eaten yet, please go ahead.” Chan moves back to his abandoned chair and doles out a portion of the stew from the pot that's on the table.

“I am really hungry,” you confess. Your stomach chooses that exact moment to growl loudly and the two of you can’t help but burst into laughter.

Just like that, it feels like things are back to normal.

You know that there's still more that you and Chan have to talk about. The two of you have only scratched the surface on your insecurities, communication, and how those things led to such a significant misunderstanding.

But tonight, it's enough that you get to share a meal with the man that you love.

read it on ao3 | masterlist

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harrysfolklore · 7 months ago

Text

lando norris being down bad for his girlfriend: a compilation

summary: lando norris can’t help but talk about his girlfriend whenever he cans, fans make compilation videos about it

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

Lando Norris could be described as someone who's not scared of saying whatever crossed his mind.

And that's why he never, ever, missed the opportunity to talk about his girlfriend whenever he had the chance.

He mentioned her during interviews, press conferences, social media post and even fan interactions. To the point where fans started making compilation videos with all the moments he publicly obsessed over his girlfriend.

The most popular one gathered millions of views on YouTube, showing multiple occasions Lando couldn't help but be down bad for her.

The video started with a clip from Q&A with fans, someone asked him about his favorite way to relax after a race. Without missing a beat, Lando replied, "Cuddling up with my girlfriend, of course. Nothing beats that."

"You're really whipped man, It's embarrassing," Oscar, his teammate, teased beside him, making the audience laugh.

"It's not, really." Lando shrugged proudly.

The next clip was taken from McLaren's Tiktok account, their content creator tried to do the "Can you watch my ___ for a second" prank on Lando.

"Oh my girlfriend already did this prank to me," Lando said, laughing at the camera, "Baby, If you're watching this, I miss you. Your pranks are way better than McLaren's"

The video moved to show Lando during a post-qualifying interview, his suit hanging by his waist and his fireproofs showing, when asked about his strategy for the race, he cheekily replied, "Well, first I'm going to call my girlfriend for some good luck wishes. Then, I'll focus on getting to the front."

"Zak Brown should hire your girlfriend as your strategist then," the interviewer joked.

"That would be great but I don't think we would be getting any job done. You know what they say about mixing business with pleasure."

The next clip showed Lando with his friend and fellow driver Max Fewtrell, playing a trivia game about how well did they knew each other. Max had to answer what was Lando's worst habit.

"I'm going to say leaving dirty plates around the house," he said, showing his board, "You do mate, admit it."

"My girlfriend would agree on that," he admitted, "She's always complaining about it."

"I don't know how she's still living with you."

"Because she loves me, and I would die if she leaves me."

On the same note, a video of Oscar teasing Lando followed right after.

"Who's most likely to snore?" Lando read the question, and Oscar quickly put ut the cutout with Lando's face, "How are you so sure? You didn't even hesitate."

"Mate, I've heard you, plus your girlfriend literally complained about not being able to sleep properly last night because you kept snoring."

"I did keep her up last night, but it wasn't just because of the snoring," Lando said, a cheeky grin on his face.

"Put the not safe for work disclaimer at the beginning of this video please."

The next segment was from Lando's own Youtube channel, he was doing a little vlog in Miami before the race weekend.

"Hi everyone," he said, filming himself in the mirror with his camera, "Today I'm back with another LandoLog, I'm going to be filming some behind the scenes of this Miami weekend, so without further ado, let's go," he moved the camera around, focusing on his girlfriend who was putting some mascara on her eyelashes, "Here's my beautiful girl, who takes ages to get ready. Say hi baby."

"Hi everyone," his girlfriend waved, laughing, "I'm not taking ages, I'm just making sure I look good."

"You always look good for me," Lando said, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek before turning the camera back to himself, "See, I told you she's the best."

The next clip showed Lando and Oscar together once again, this time they were giving a tour around the McLaren hub.

"This is my driver's room," Lando said as he opened the door, "It's cleaner than Oscar's, clearly, and looks like I have a bed."

Lando moved to put together the small bed that was behind the door, "This is an upgrade from last year, we didn't have this. I'll be definitely giving it some good use, to nap or with my girlfriend."

"Can we have a video where you're not a horndog please?" Oscar said, putting his hands on his hips.

"You're the horndog, I never said what we were going to use it for, we're just going to cuddle."

The video moved to show one of Lando's post race interviews after winning the Miami GP, he had been asked ho would be the most excited person about this win besides him.

"My girlfriend, definitely. I couldn't have done it without her," Lando said, his voice filled with emotion, "She's been my biggest supporter, my inspiration, and my motivation. This win is as much hers as it is mine."

The video then cut to a scene from Lando's gaming stream with Max Verstappen. The two drivers were deep into a game of Call of Duty, their banter and laughter filling the screen. Lando was focused, his eyes glued to the monitor as he coordinated with Max.

Just then, Lando's phone buzzed on the table beside him. He glanced at the screen and his expression softened, the comment section noticing, "Hey, mate, I need to go. My girl needs me for something," he said, setting down his controller.

"Lando! Are you serious right now?" Max said, his eyes still glued to the screen.

"I am, see ya," he turned to the camera, smiling not so apologetically "Sorry, guys, duty calls. See you next time."

The last scene was a snippet from an interview, Lando had been asked what he saw in his future.

He paused, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Honestly? I see a lot of racing, hopefully some championships," he laughed, "but most importantly, I see her. I can't imagine my life without her."

The screen faded to black, showing a text that read: Get you a man who is as down for you as Lando Norris is for his girlfriend.

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purplecoffee13 · 1 month ago

Text

Cross The Line*

Summary: “Harry and Y/N have always had a great professional relationship, all based on one rule; a line they drew the first time they met. But when one day that line accidentally blurs, Harry finds that he doesn’t want it to go back to the way it was…”

Wc: 13k

Tropes: Boss!rry x Secretary!Y/N

Warnings: A LOT of back and forth (this is what Katy Perry wrote hot and cold about), arguing, curse words, smut, dirty talk, degradation, light ch0king, dom/sub dynamics, edging, b0ndage, and recording while… yk🤗

A/N: I’m terribly sorry to have been testing your patience so much the second half of this year, here is a long one shot to say I’m sorry🥲 and I appreciate all of you and I hope you are happy and healthy and will get everything you want in the new year xx💘💘

General Masterlist

HEADER = POV change

Harry's relationship with his secretary is completely normal.

At least, he’s always thought it is.

Sure, it may have seemed more friendly than the usual boss/secretary relationship, but that was only because Y/N was special. She was one of the kind. Smart, stealthy, and sneaky if need be. She did everything he asked for, sometimes before he even realized he should ask her, and was always ready to do more.

Of course, she was attractive as well. Shit, attractive may have even been an understatement. Y/N was drop dead gorgeous and Harry was entirely aware of it. Her ambition made her even sexier, and it's one of the reasons he hired her in the first place.

When Y/N walked through his office door that first time three years ago, he couldn't believe his eyes.

He remembers it like it was yesterday, those wide eyes staring back at him as she froze a couple feet away from him. She was quick to regain herself, though—he had to give her that. But she was nervous as she sat down, even though her movements were calm and the tone of her voice stern. He saw the slightest shake of those hands of her.

Because that job interview hadn't been the first time Harry and Y/N came across each other. It was actually a Halloween party at some high end secretive club in New York one month prior. A night that ended with them hooking up in one of the private lounges.

Even back then, when he never thought he'd see her again, he knew that he would never forget that night, nor the way her face scrunched up as she clenched around him, or the sounds that she made as he drove into her.

He could see that she remembered it as well as she sat across from him that day, but Y/N had quickly made it clear that she was serious about pursuing a career in the film industry. She said she could prove what a great secretary she could be for him, as long as they could put that Halloween night behind them and pretend it never happened. She wouldn't make him regret it, she had told him. He took the chance.

And she had been absolutely right.

Three years had passed and Harry was still thankful to himself for hiring Y/N. She was the best around; fiercely loyal as well. Y/N had been offered jobs by other companies, but she turned down every last one of them. Harry liked to think their relationship played a bit of a part in that as well.

They had become friends—if that's what you could call it—over the years. They had a playful dynamic filled with flirty jokes and random phone calls and favors that blurred that line they had drawn so carefully during Y/N's job interview.

No matter what, Y/N would be the first Harry would call, every time. Whether it was bad business news or a drunken phone call, her number was most likely to be at the top of his last calls. And she always answered, even though she didn't have to. It was a special bond, and while they always danced on it—especially Harry—they never crossed that one line.

Not that Harry needed to. As a matter of a fact, he had quite the adventurous love life. With plenty of people on speed dial and a charming smile that could make anyone's panties drop, Harry wasn't short on romantic escapades. The one thing they all had in common, though, was that it'd never last longer than a few days, and they were rarely ever repeated.

The same couldn't be said for Y/N. In fact, Harry had never seen her with anyone outside of her work, and he never heard her mentioning anything about it...

He didn't know why, but somehow, that thought popped up into his head last Friday as they sat in his office with a drink, celebrating the outstanding reviews that critics had given the newest produced film that was set to premiere next week. Before Harry knew it, he was asking about it.

"Why are you rubbing your temples?" He questioned, watching Y/N massage the side of her head with her eyes closed. He was leaned back in his seat, whiskey in hand as he observed the woman across from him.

"Tension headache." She groaned in response. Despite her grumpiness, Harry couldn't help but grin. What could he say? She was cute when she was grumpy.

"We are literally celebrating, Y/N. What could you possibly be so tense about right now?" He teased, and felt his stomach swirl as a smile painted her lips. She might have rolled her eyes, but she still thought he was funny.

"Oh you have no idea." She mumbled, grabbing her glass and leaning back into her chair. She took a big gulp, her face pulling at the strong taste of the liquor. Harry chuckled.

"You should relax more. Maybe get a hot date to take care of some of that stress for you." He suggested jokingly. Y/N scoffed at the insinuation.

Shaking her head, she said: "I get taken care of just fine, thank you very much."

The equally teasing tone in which she responded caught Harry seriously off guard. Her slight grin pressed down on his chest, and despite having started this joking banter himself, he suddenly didn't find the topic very funny anymore.

"When?"

Y/N locked eyes with her boss. “What?”

"You're here 24/7, when do you even have time to hook up with someone?"

"You know there's this thing called weekends." She joked, but the amusement faded when Harry's mouth didn't even quirk upwards in the slightest bit. It fell quiet for a second or two, and just when Y/N opened her mouth to say something else, someone knocked on the office door.

"Come in."

Harry had said, and soon enough Robin, one of the managers walked in, telling them everyone was going to the pub down the street to celebrate, and if they wanted to come along.

Harry didn't even have the chance to reject the offer—he'd rather spend his nights with his secretary—before Y/N agreed to go along. Feeling obligated, Harry reluctantly gave in as well.

He ended up going home quite early that night, not even properly saying goodbye to Y/N like he normally would before leaving, and he couldn't get the image of her wrapped around another man out of his head the entire ride home. He didn't know why it bothered him so much. Maybe it was the fact that it shouldn't, and more importantly, couldn't bother him, which made it even less bearable.

Whichever reason there may have been for it, he decided to drown out his thoughts by inviting one of his old hook-ups to his house. But even as he drove himself into her as she kept screaming his name, he couldn't stop thinking of Y/N. When she had reached her climax and he began to chase his own high—Harry was caught off guard by Y/N's face flashing through his mind, and extremely embarrassed when those images triggered his orgasm.

The next week is awkward, to say the least. It started out Monday, when Harry could barely look Y/N in the eye. She had received the sudden cold shoulder pretty well, but Harry still felt horrible about it. His attitude got less stiff throughout the week, but it was still bad.

By the time Thursday rolls around again, Harry still hasn't had the chance to get that weird feeling out of his system. So when he approaches his office and spots Y/N behind her desk smiling at him, a wave of guilt washes over him.

He curses himself as he sinks into his desk chair, absentmindedly turning on his laptop. What is he doing? Y/N is his assistant. He shouldn't let his protectiveness of her get the best of him. He does not want to lose her in any way.

Harry flinches when there is a knock on his door. He looks up, finding Y/N standing in his doorway. Immediately, he signals for her to come in. She seems a bit nervous as she nears him, and considering she's never been nervous around him, his heart sinks at the idea that the cold shoulder he's been giving her the other night might have affected her way more than he thought.

He just doesn't know how to behave instead.

"You have a meeting in conference room C in five minutes. It's the banker's son who's been proposing his script for the past year. I know your schedule is tight, especially with the premiere coming up, but I thought you might as well get it over with." She says, putting a stack of papers on the table that Harry can only assume is the script. He nods, quirking up the corner of his mouth.

"Thank you, smart thinking." The praise falls from his lips in a casual manner, and he doesn't miss the way she physically relaxes at the positive reinforcement. She nods at him, and turns back to the door. Right before she is about to leave the office, she turns around again. Harry leans back in his seat, waiting to hear what she'll say.

"I'm sorry if I overstepped last week." She says, and Harry frowns at the apology.

"What?"

"I clearly said something that ticked you off." She explains,her shoulders slumping slightly. "I know we joke around, but I was afraid that maybe I'd accidentally crossed a line—“

"Y/N, stop it." Harry interrupts her, getting up from his seat. Her lips are locked within a second, and she stares at her boss with wide eyes. His stomach twists at the sight of it. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"But— if I said something inappropriate then I want to apologize for it." She says, straightening her posture again, biting her bottom lip so he won't see it quiver. As if he doesn't know the way her body works. As if he hasn't known for three years.

Putting his hands inside his pockets, Harry walks around his desk and stands in front of her. A little closer than he needs to, and yet not as close he would like.

"Let me ask you this: How many times have you declined booty calls for me?" He asks, tilting his head a bit. A slight smile appears on Y/N's face, and she pretends to think it over.

"Twenty-seven." Her smile crinkles her eyes, making them even more glassy. Harry quite literally feels his hand itch to touch her face, but he keeps it sternly in his pocket. "I kept track so I could count all the reasons you definitely won't get into heaven."

At that, he lets out a snort. Y/N can't help but chuckle too, and slowly but surely the weirdness dissolves from the room. When the laughter has died down, she speaks up again.

"So... we're good?"

"We're good." Harry smiles at his secretary, and his chest heats up when he spots the faint blush that appears on her cheeks. Jesus Christ, did she become even more beautiful than she was yesterday or was he just too stupid to notice earlier? Probably the latter.

"Well in that case you need to leave because your meeting is like, right now." She reminds him, and he hums in agreement as he gets up from his seat and walks towards the door with Y/N.

"Already gone, love." He winks at her, walking out the door with a lot more confidence in his relationship with Y/N. Maybe everything can go back to normal again. Maybe he was just exaggerating when he couldn't get her out of his head this weekend. Perhaps it was just a glitch, a temporary error in his brain that had come and gone in a flash.

That must've been it, he tells himself as he makes his way to conference room C. He takes a deep breath, musters a polite smile, and opens the door to the room. Harry already knows this guy is going to be wasting his time, but he made a promise to hear him out, so he will.

The guy sitting at the table is the stereotypical spoiled rich son. When John Longwell—a long-time business partner of Harry's— asked him to revise his son's script as a favor, Harry told him he'd do it if he ever found the time. He always hoped John's son would lose interest and forget about the script by the time Harry could find a free space in his agenda, but unfortunately that hadn't been the case.

And although the arc of the story had sounded absolutely horrendous— something about zombies fueled by a brainwashing radio song, which didn't even make sense to Harry because zombies don't have brains—he couldn't back out anymore. So he needs to get it over with, starting now.

Harry loudly shuts the door.

The guy—whose name he can't really remember at the moment—flinches and turns around, a big grin on his face as he gets up from his seat.

"Mr. Styles, it's a pleasure to see you." The man says, extending his hand, which Harry, in turn, takes. He only gives a slight nod before heading over to the other side of the table and sitting down.

"So, where's your script?" Harry asks, eyeing the empty table. The guy looks flustered, opening his mouth to say something, but the opening of the door interrupts that. Harry leans back in his seat when he spots his secretary walk through it, not even eyeing the other guy as she struts over to him and lays the printed out script on the glass table.

"Sorry, you forgot this. It was still on your desk." She says, finally turning to the man to throw him an innocent smile. His sheepish grin satisfies her enough to turn back to her boss and focus all her attention on him. "I also forgot to ask you— do you want to move up lunch today?"

The corner of Harry's mouth tugs up. Over the last three years, the concept of 'moving up lunch' has become a code for 'should I get you out of this early?'. Y/N came up with it a long time ago, and it has stuck ever since.

"Yes, I would very much like that. Thank you, Y/N." He says, and the way a smirk slowly creeps onto her face makes the hairs on his body rise.

"It's my pleasure, Mr. Styles." She gives one final nod before walking out of the room and closing the door behind her. Harry would lie if he said he didn't let his eyes fall onto the way her hips moved as she strolled away.

Unfortunately the fun doesn't last long, and with the slam of the door Harry is reminded that he still has to sit through this meeting a little longer. He looks down at the script.

"A Thousand Zombies

By Jason Longwell."

Right, Jason, that was his name.

"Jesus Christ, if that were my secretary I'd have her bent over my desk all day. How do you get any work done?" Jason breathed out, grinning like a stupid fucking schoolboy. Harry quite literally felt the storm cloud that came floating right above his head the second he heard that incompetent loser say those words. His hands balled up into fists at the suggestive comment, knuckles getting whiter by the second.

"Get out." Harry growls. John raises his eyebrows, looking around him as if Harry couldn't have possibly been addressing it to him.

"W— what?" He stumbles.

"I don't do business with insolent idiots. Get out." Harry repeats, getting up from his seat and buttoning his suit jacket. John follows his movements, anger starting to cloud on his face.

"What the fuck did you just call me?" He exclaims in a failed attempt to sound intimidating. At least, Harry assumes that's what he's trying to do.

"I called you an idiot. Now, get the hell out of my face before I boot your sorry ass right to the front door." With one brow raised, he waits as John tries to muster a response until he eventually gives up and storms out of the room. Harry throws the script into the trash as he walks out of the conference room half a minute later. Y/N is immediately by his side.

"That was quick, I didn't even have time to think of an emergency." She jokes as they walk back to Harry's office together. He raises a brow.

"Yes you did. What was it this time? Food poisoning?" He guesses, holding the door to his office open once they've reached it. Y/N grins as she walks past him and takes a seat at one of the chairs in front of his desk.

"Actually, your car was going to get stolen in about five minutes." She responds, the blush of her cheeks revealing the slight embarrassment of having to voice this excuse out loud. Harry's eyes widen as he walks over to his desk, feeling his assistant watching his every move. He quite likes the feeling.

"No way." He laughs. "You just get more creative by the day."

"What can I say, I'm good at crisis management." She shrugs, crossing her legs and getting into a more comfortable position on the chair. Harry tries his best to not let his eyes float to her legs.

"That you are." He murmurs, the huskier sound of his voice giving a different ambiance to the conversation. As Harry feels the mood switch, he curses himself. Why did he have to ruin it?

Y/N clears her throat. "Anyway— why'd the meeting end early?"

"It ended early because Jason Longwell is a sleazy douchebag." He responds shortly, straightening in his seat in an attempt to gain control of the situation again. He can't let himself slip like this again, and she can't know the real reason he kicked out Jason. But there is no denying the sheer rage that boils his blood when that comment flashes through his memory. He hates that the asshole thought he could just speak about Y/N like that.

"Ooh, what did he say when you kicked him out?" Y/N asks eagerly, still in a playful mood. "You did kick him out right?"

"I don't have time to get into this right now. I need to sign those contracts that were sent in yesterday before I go home." Harry says sternly, avoiding eye contact with Y/N as he speaks, but he still sees the slump in her shoulders at his sudden shift in attitude.

"Right, of course." She immediately returns to the responsible secretary she always is, getting up from her seat. He hears her exit the room, heels clacking against the wooden floor. As soon as the door has shut, Harry throws his head back in frustration.

So much for going back to normal.

Playing into the teasing will only rope him further into that forbidden fantasy, and he clearly won't be able to stop himself from resisting her if he does. But he's the one who started all the playfulness, massively screwing himself over he realizes now. If he shifts his behavior, she's always going to think he's mad at her because of something. But he's going to have to, because Harry can't go back to normal anymore.

Deciding he needs to clear his head, Harry grabs his coat and heads for the elevators without so much as a word. He pretends not to notice the way people's eyes widen when he walks by, suddenly on their best behavior, and although it used to give him an ego boost back when he started, nowadays he just prefers it if people aren't scared of him.

It turns out to be a particularly nice outside for a winter day in London. Not to get it twisted— it's still freakishly cold. It's just that the sun has replaced the endless rain of this entire month. Harry suppresses a chuckle at the irony of the sun finally being out at the very first moment where he's felt so shitty in a long time.

He doesn't know how long he's outside, so he knows it's not fair to be frustrated when he comes back and Y/N isn't at her desk, but he can't help the slight distress that washes over him at the empty seat.

"It's just a date—"

"Your second date!"

Harry creased brows don't do much to hide his feelings when he turns around to see his secretary with a co-worker. The shy smile on her face—accompanied with that blush on her cheeks she always gets when she's secretly giddy about something—disappears at the sight of her boss looking at her like she just killed a puppy.

"Ha— Mr. Styles." She is quick to catch her almost error. Her wide eyes bore into his, filled with confusion and worry. But Harry's frown doesn't give away much, aside. From the fact that he is obviously annoyed.

"I was looking for you." He states stoically, not even acknowledging the employee that is standing next to her. The woman takes the hint and gives Y/N and Harry a small nod before walking away. As soon as she does, Harry turns around and walks towards his own office. He can hear her footsteps following him inside, and with the inconsistent clacking against the floor he can tell she's having a hard time keeping up with his long strides. Still, he doesn't slow his pace.

"I need the papers for the donations printed out and on my desk. And I'll need you to move the meeting with the director of the romance movie to Tuesday evening."

"Yes, of course." The breathy response falls from Y/N's lips the second he finishes his sentence, and by the time he enters his office, she is long gone to do exactly what he asked. Harry shuts the door a little louder than intending to, accidentally shaking the framed artwork on the wall.

Y/N isn't very talkative for the rest of the day, that usual spark of hers seemingly having dimmed. Harry's chest is heavy, knowing his cold attitude was the catalyst for that, but he keeps it up nonetheless. He can't help himself from falling back into it every time he sees her face.

A date. She's going on a date. A second one at that. He can't believe it. Is this who she referred to when she said she gets taken care of? His stomach churns at the possibility.

He tries not to, but Harry still gets warped into the spiral of overthinking about 'date' Y/N has tonight. So much, in fact, that he almost doesn't notice the time flying by until Y/N knocks on his door at 6PM. Harry spots the coat that hangs over her desk chair, and he realizes the work day is over.

"Everything is done for the day and ready for next week. I also sent the papers about the donations with a courier who owed me a favor, so the documents are signed on both parts and the donations will be officially registered by Monday." She explains, hands behind her back. Her new shy behavior—while quite endearing—is excruciating to see. She had always been comfortable around Harry, until now. Until he had to ruin it for the both of them.

"Thank you." Harry gives her a firm nod.

"No problem." She responds a bit awkwardly. "So... I'm going to clock out for the day."

Y/N has already turned around by them time Harry's voice croaks out a 'no'. She whips her head towards her boss, head tilted as she awaited whatever it was that he was going to say.

"I need those contracts for that romance movie." He says before he can even comprehend his words.

"But you won't be negotiating that deal for another two weeks." Y/N retorts, her tone more stern than usual. He can tell she's tired.

"I don't care. I want them on my desk tonight." He holds his head high, despite knowing damn well what he's doing.

He's stalling. Long enough for... he doesn't know actually. For her to cancel her date? It sounds ridiculous now that he really thinks about it.

"Harry, I have an appointment tonight—"

"I said I don't care. I pay you to do as I ask. This is not something you can argue me on." He grumbles. With how Y/N's jaw is clenched, he can't say the same for her attitude. Without another word, she leaves the office.

Harry's worry begins to grow every minute that passes with Y/N out of sight. But when she returns with a stack of papers in her hand after a bit—seven minutes to be exact—that worry evolves into surprise. Walking over to his desk, she plops the papers on them a bit carelessly before speaking up.

"I had them made on Monday because I like to be a few steps ahead." She elaborates. "Now, if that's all, I'm going home."

Y/N doesn't even say goodbye when she grabs her coat and walks to the elevators. Harry sighs to himself, not knowing how the hell he should handle this. It takes him a few seconds before he realizes he really can't do this anymore. He needs to talk to her, if only just to clear the air.

And so, he gets up from his seat and hurries after his assistant.

He catches her just as she walks into an empty elevator, and he joins just before the doors close. Her knitted brows make it clear that she is not in the mood to talk to him.

"I'm sorry... about the documents." Harry confesses, but she doesn't face him. It stays quiet between them for a bit, until the biting sentence falls from Y/N's lips.

"You said we were good."

His heart cracks at her wobbly voice. He can't believe he made her feel this way. If any other person would've brought her to tears, he would've beaten the shit out of them. He reaches for her arm.

"W— we are." He lies. It's the biggest lie he's ever told her, and she knows it, because she immediately turns around.

"No we're not! I said I was sorry if I did something wrong, and you told me it was okay, and now all of a sudden you're being so... cold. I don't understand—" her eyes become glassy. "I don't understand what I did wrong."

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Harry opens his mouth, ready to spout out his apologies, when Y/N's phone starts to ring. It takes them out of their little trance, and Y/N fumbles around her jacket for a bit until she's finally found her phone. He can't see who's calling her, but it can't be an expected call if he has to judge by the expression on her face.

"Marco, why are you—" her eyes widen at whatever the voice on the other side of the line is telling her, and Harry subconsciously finds himself leaning in a bit in the hope to find out what's wrong.

"What?" Y/N breathes. Her voice is small, and it sounds defeated, tired. The elevator dings, signaling they're downstairs, but Y/N doesn't move, so Harry doesn't either. She seems to notice and lets out a huff before storming out of the confined space and pacing around the lobby.

"You said we had a green light! That was months ago, Marco! Did you even—" She growls, clutching at her phone so hard Harry is afraid she's going to break it. "You know what, never mind. Give me his number."

The Marco guy seems to say something that he really shouldn't have said, because with the way Y/N's face twists Harry swears he can see steam coming out of her ears

"I don't care that they're not answering, I'll make them answer. Give me their numbers and then go find them." She orders before ending the call. And although the thought really shouldn't be crossing his mind right now, Harry can't help but notice how attractive Y/N is when she's mad. He shakes off the thought, telling himself that's the last thing he should be paying attention to right now.

Y/N paces around one more time, cursing under her breath, before striding past Harry and pushing the elevator buttons like a maniac.

"What's going on?"

Y/N shakes her head. "N— nothing. Just a little hiccup that could've easily been prevented. I won't be long."

Harry raises a skeptical brow, but she doesn't dare to meet his eye. She's lying through her teeth.

"Y/N—"

"Harry, really, it's nothing. I'm taking care of it." She tries to convince him, but he notices the way her hands are slightly trembling. "I'm sorry I was unprofessional. You're my boss. It's my job to take your orders, not question them."

Wait, no.

That aching feeling fills his stomach. His entire body, for that matter. He doesn't want her to be a silent and compliant assistant. That's not why he hired her. He needs someone to push back, to joke around with. Shit— what has he done?

Harry finds himself speechless as she enters the elevator and pushes the button of the seventh floor; the office. His brain isn't fast enough to think of what to say before the doors shut and the elevator ascends.

His feet stay glued to the ground as he ponders, his mind reeling like a rollercoaster. Frustration fills his body to his every finger tip. Everything has gone wrong, and he has no idea how to make it better.

At least ten minutes must've gone by by the time that a concierge taps Harry on the shoulder to ask him if he's okay. Still a bit wary, he nods before excusing himself and leaving the building.

Everything is going wrong.

Leaning over the desk with her face buried between her arms, Y/N is unable to hold back the tears that glide over her cheeks.

First, her boss gets mad at her, and she has no idea why. Then, just when they seemed to be okay again, he changed his attitude up again. And what does she do instead of letting it go? She starts a fight. And now Marco drops a disastrous bomb in her lap that could entirely ruin the movie premiere on Sunday. And if that wasn't enough—and she really thinks it was—this sudden crisis caused her to cancel her date of tonight.

It wasn't anything special, really. Y/N had met Jamie a few weeks ago, and they went out last week. He was a nice guy, handsome too, and she thought he was perfect for a short lived affair. Besides, her vibrator just couldn't live up to her fantasies. She was human, she needed to get off every now and then too. It was like Y/N had this itch in need of scratching, one she hadn't been able to reach in what felt like years.

But that wasn't going to happen now. In fact, she was risking being fired if she didn't solve this problem as soon as possible.

Damn! She really thought she had kept it all together, despite the extreme business this year. She thought she'd done a good job.

But that was a lie, because if she had done a good job, Marco wouldn't have ever gotten into the position where an artist on the soundtrack could manipulate the contract they signed. Y/N had told Marco to make it airtight, already having been suspicious of the artists' integrity from the moment they became part of the soundtrack. She assumed that they would try something.

'Chain' was an up and coming band known for their indie sound, but Y/N would just describe them as two pricks. Not only had they been subtly demeaning to her when Harry met with them, barely acknowledging her existence, they were arrogant as well. They came in expecting a lot more money than Harry and the rest of the company were willing to give them. It was absurd that they expected such a big number, but their cocky attitude didn't fade throughout the meeting.

It was truly a favor to the director, why Harry worked so hard to compromise with Chain. The director had been so passionate about the movie, and he had really wanted the song. If one thing was important to Harry, it's that there went passion onto the projects he produced and invested in. So, he decided to help, and eventually managed to struck a deal with the singers. It was still way above the pay grade they should've got—in Y/N's opinion—but they agreed.

Having seen first hand how greedy those two were, she had told Marco—the guy who handled all the legal documents—to make that contract airtight. She demanded to look it over, but because of her busy schedule, she let Marco have another lawyer look at it before sending the contract.

And now, because of a lazy mistake Chain's lawyer found, they are demanding more money or they'll waive their rights to the music. Something which would be absolutely detrimental because the entire climax of the movie, the cinematography and timing are all tuned to the song.

If she doesn't find a way to solve this problem, this entire premiere could fall apart, and it would all be her fault. She gave the green light to Harry, who gave it to the director. It's all her fault.

She should've fucking read that contract herself, then this would've never happened.

Between Harry being mad at her, the fact that she was in her luteal phase, and this sudden disaster, the tears began streaming down her face, and the soft crying only turned into full on sobs the more she tries to calm herself down.

She allows herself the mental breakdown, but when she begins to regain control of her breath again after a few minutes, Y/N decides that it's enough. She has a job to get done, and no one was going to swoop in and save her.

So, she starts making call after call, ringing everyone in the immediate vicinity of the two arrogant bastards. It's crucial she reaches them before the night is over. Only forty minutes have passed by the time she is on the seventh person, but it feels like an eternity nonetheless.

She flinches when, while trying to reach Chain's tour manager, the elevator door dings and a shadow nears. Her tense shoulders sink a little bit at the sight of Harry, glad it's not some creep. Her brows crease as she watches him walk towards her. He's carrying a couple of bags with... is that food? It sure smells like it.

When the call goes to voicemail—for the third time—Y/N puts down the phone and gets up from her seat, hurrying over to her boss and stopping him before he could reach her desk.

"What are you doing here?!" She asks, blocking his way. He lifts the bags, a subtle, apologetic smile on his face.

"I brought food—" He looks up at her, and his eyes darken as soon as he takes in her face. "Have you been crying?"

Y/N raises her hands to her face, quickly glancing at the ground while she wipes her cheeks before meeting his eyes again. Harry puts the bags down, and it feels like her heart skips a beat or two when his thumbs stroke the skin under both her eyes. He leaves his hand around her face, cupping her jaw while he stares at her with such a piercing pain in his eyes that it makes Y/N's eyes water altogether again.

"What's wrong?" His voice is soft, and the feel of his big, warm hands holding her is comforting her in a way she hasn't experienced in a quite some time. Y/N only focused on his chest, afraid that the welled up water in her eyes will spill out again the second she looks at her boss. She told herself the crying was over, so why wasn't she able to control herself?

A few seconds pass, and silence runs between the thick air that makes it nearly impossible to breathe normally. Then, Y/N feels the slight pressure of Harry's hands, inching her head upwards. Automatically, her gaze flicks to that of her boss, and when she sees the worry on his face, a tear escapes her eye. His thumb catches it before it has the chance to roll down all the way down her cheek.

"I messed up." She only says, closing her eyes in shame. Harry says nothing, only letting out a sigh as he continues to caress her cheek.

Suddenly, the phone rings. Y/N reluctantly backs away from Harry's touch, and runs over to her desk to pick up the phone.

"Hello?" She says, her voice laced with such desperation that she internally cringes at it.

"Y/N? It's Marco. I found them, they're at a studio just outside the city."

She hums, grabbing a pen. "Give me the address."

"No, I'm going. This is my mess, Y/N, I'm not going to let you clean it up." Marco croaks from the other side of the line, and Y/N feels his voice tug at her heartstrings.

"Marco, listen to me. This is as much my fault as it is yours. I should've read the damn thing and notice the mistake." She replies, leaning over her desk to grab her coat.

"Y/N, I'll take care of it, okay? I found a fault in their loophole, they're stuck. Let me handle this. You just go home and enjoy what's left of your evening I ruined—" Marco tells her. "Wait, didn't you have a date tonight? Oh my god, did I ruin your date?"

"I did... but it's alright. It probably wouldn't have worked out with him anyway." Y/N chuckled awkwardly and glanced towards Harry, who looked weirdly annoyed at what she said.

"I'm so sorry, I promise I'll make it up to you." Marco shares the desperate plea.

"You can make it up to me by giving me the address of the studio." Y/N tells him cheekily.

"Y/N..." he warns.

"What? I promise I'm going home. It's just so I know where you are." She lies. Y/N is a good liar, except in front of Harry. Having a tendency to get nervous, she always betrays herself. She's lucky that this is a phone call, otherwise Marco would've known she wasn't planning on going home at all.

Hesitantly, he gives her the address, which she immediately writes down on her hand.

"Okay, thank you Marco. Good luck." She says, hanging up the phone with a lot more confidence than ten minutes ago. She can feel Harry staring her down as she puts on her coat, clearly waiting for an explanation for this whiplash-like behavior.

"I really have to go."

Harry shrugs. "I'll give you a ride. You can explain everything to me on the way to your house."

Y/N shakes her head, walking towards her boss. "No, really, you don't have to."

"Yes I do." Harry argues.

"You really don't."

"Do you have a problem with me bringing you home, Y/N?" He asks as if he's dumb, as if he doesn't know she's secretly trying to go to that studio.

"No!" She is quick to protest.

"Or does it have anything to do with the address of that mysterious studio you've written on your hand?" He teases, and Y/N clenches her jaw in frustration.

"I just— I need to make sure it's handled." She sputters. Harry shrugs.

"From what I heard it's being handled just fine." He points out. "You've got to learn to let things go sometimes, Y/N."

She shakes her head, looking the floor. "I can't. Not with this."

Harry lowers his head, trying to get on the same eye-level as her and searching for her eyes. "Why not?"

"I told you; I messed up." Her voice quivers as she tells Harry the truth. "There was a mistake in the contract with Chain. Somehow they found a loophole, and now they want more money or they'll waive the rights to their song."

"What?!" Harry growls, exactly like Y/N anticipated he'd react. God, he's going to fire her any moment.

"It's my fault. It was a reference mistake I could've easily spotted if I had taken the time to revise it." She admits, feeling extremely shameful of her lazy actions.

"What are you talking about? This is the legal team's fault, they should've seen that damned mistake! It's not in your job description to revise a contract, it's not your responsibility. It's not your fault, Y/N." He explains. She sucks in a breath, his words hitting her harder than she expected. Heart aching, the one sentence rings in her head.

It's not your fault.

That couldn't be true, could it? She was responsible for this deal, and for Harry. She should've seen this coming, even though she couldn't have possibly known. Did she not always pride herself in having this sixth sense, in being ahead of everyone else? What was she without that? What was she if not the best at the one thing that made her special, that set her apart from the crowd. What was she worth without that invincibility?

"You revise every contract, don't you?"

Her eyes flick towards her boss. She doesn't say anything, but the answer is hidden in her pupils. And it seems Harry can read them like an open book. "How long have you been doing that?"

"Two years." Y/N stammers, her arms crossed as if it will keep her body from revealing whatever her mouth won't. Harry just lets out a breathy chuckle before pulling her into his arms, taking her into a sweet embrace. With his chin leaning on her head, Y/N takes the opportunity to bury her face in his chest, trying not to bask too much in the heavenly scent of his cologne.

"Remind me to give you a raise." He jokes in a soft whisper, earning a sniff of laughter from Y/N.

For a while it seems like everything that tore her down, including what went down between her and Harry, didn't exist anymore. There was just him and her, their embrace and a distant ticking clock, the only indicator of time passing. Yet it felt like the world stopped, or slowed down at least, being in Harry's arms like that. And suddenly, that itch that she hadn't been able to scratch in so long, it felt like it was soothed by a stroking hand instead, and in a way it fulfilled her. It just so happened to be a way she did not expect.

The initial shock at the realization—this puzzle piece that suddenly clicked—made Y/N back away. She clears her throat, fiddling with her hands.

"They're supposed to be at this studio right outside the city. It's only twenty minutes away by car. I just need to be sure." She announces. Harry grabs the bags of food he put down before placing his hand on her lower back and guiding the both of them back to the elevator.

"We'll take my car." He states, and although Y/N can tell by his tone that Harry expects there to be no talking back, but she just can't help herself.

"Harry, I told you I can take a cab." She suggests as they wait for the elevator door to open. Harry doesn't respond as he guides them both into the small space and pushes the button for the ground floor. When the door closes, he turns to her, looking down at her with such an intimidating stare that Y/N feels like she's shrinking.

"And I told you: we're taking my car." He says sternly, his low voice twisting her stomach in an interesting way. When Y/N goes to open her mouth again, Harry lays his finger on her lips. He hums in disapproval, shaking his head.

"I was being clear, right?" He asks rhetorically. His gaze sweeps over her mouth before settling on her eyes again. Not daring to speak another word, let alone breathe, Y/N only nods in response.

"Good." Harry responds, a cocky smirk framing his face as he strolls out of the elevator, leaving Y/N breathless and in a slight trance. Blinking a few times, she comes back to her sense and hurries after her boss.

Richard has always been a master at reading people, and this time is no exception. The second he began driving, he raised the partition, leaving Harry and Y/N with some privacy.

Harry really has a knack for hiring the right people.

The first few minutes of the car ride are silent, and Harry spends it observing Y/N as she picked at her nail beds, frantically looking at of the window as if it would make the car move faster. She has so much tension inside that little body of hers; she is clearly in need of a distraction.

"I think I'm jealous."

Y/N's head whips to him, brows raised at the sudden confession. Her body turns with her, knees now in Harry's direction as she leans back into the seat, getting comfortable as she lays close attention.

"Of me?" She asks, utterly confused. She seems very lost, not really connecting the dots. Harry doesn't blame her; that confession was quite out of the blue.

"Of whoever gets to take care of you."

Pure silence. Harry swears he could hear a pin drop. Y/N stares at him like a deer in headlights, probably having no idea what to say or do or think. She gulps.

"What?" Her voice is so soft that he almost doesn't hear her, but since all his focus is on her, he doesn't miss it. Letting out a breath, he leans forward, placing a hand on her thigh. His face inches closer and closer until their mouths are mere inches away from each other. Checking for her reaction with every small movement, he can't help but notice how she doesn't stray away from him. In fact, she leans in, causing their lips to brush against each other.

"The idea of another man touching you, having you, it makes my fucking blood boil." He says, voice hoarse. Her eyes frantically search every last inch of his face, looking for something she seemingly can't find. Perhaps she's attempting to find the usual playfulness that always accompanies any conversation that blurs that line between them. In that case, she could keep looking forever and ever, because he is dead serious. Fuck how it used to be and fuck whatever's right or wrong.

And most of all, fuck that line, because he's crossing it.

Harry closes the small gap between them, trying to suppress the moan that threatens to work up his throat at the sole feeling of her lips against his. What a fucking idiot he was for ever agreeing to forget about that Halloween night. Not that he ever truly did forget about it. Besides her obvious competencies, hiring Y/N was a way of keeping her where he seemed to like her best from the moment they met; close to him.

With that thought in mind, he wraps his hand around her face and pulls her closer. She complies, clicking her seatbelt free to move further towards Harry when he slips his tongue inside.

Their mouths move against each other like it's both the first time and the hundredth time they've done this. So familiar and yet it's like nothing he ever felt before. A sensation so different from three years ago, one so heavy and laced with a detail his brain can't quite seem to grasp. Deep down, he knows what it is, he just can't quite lay his finger on it.

But his body can, and it does, and so does Y/N's, because her grinding against him is exactly what he needs. His hand sneaks around her neck, lips curling into a smile at the familiarity of the curves of her neck and the identical moan that falls from her lips just as it did three years ago.

Harry groans when the car suddenly stops and Y/N falls forward a little bit, the friction against his trousers being a bit too much to bear at the moment. Slowly, the partition lowers, and without so much looking at them through the mirror, Richard speaks up.

"We've arrived."

Wrong. Harry clearly hasn't.

Before Harry can catch his breath, Y/N can get off his lap, and either one can even answer, the partition rises again. Immediately, Y/N throws her face into Harry's neck.

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god." She wheezes out in pure, utter shame. Harry shakes his head, a faint grin on his face. He would have been laughing his ass off if he wasn't so painfully hard right now. Instead, he only pats Y/N's back, telling her it's fine. She groans and opens the car door.

"No it's not! God, I will never be able to look him in the eye again!" She says, punching the bridge of her nose. Harry shuts the door and grabs Y/N's waist, pulling her towards him. She stumbles into his chest. He lifts her face with his fingers, forcing her to look up at him.

"You're going to have to, because I don't want to fire him." He jokes, and Y/N bites her lip to keep her smile from growing too wide. Not wanting to give Harry the satisfaction that he made her laugh, she looks to the side, but her face expression falls quickly.

"This is not my apartment." She notes, looking at the huge building next to her. "This is yours."

Harry nods.

"I can't be at your apartment, I have to—" Y/N stops herself before she can say more. But Harry already knew what she was going to say. Playfully, he raises a brow.

"You have to... what?"

"To... I have to—"

"Sneak out to that studio?" He finishes her sentence, and her eyes widen. She tries to regain herself but her cheeks are flushed and there is nothing she can do anymore. He's got her. "Yeah, that's not going to happen."

With that, he places a hand on her lower back and guides her towards his building. She stumbles a bit, but eventually catches onto the pace. But her body language is apprehensive, looking back at the road where Richard is standing. Or well, was standing. Harry ordered him to drive away as soon as they got out of the car.

Still, she turns around in a quick motion, trying to get to a cab. Harry's arm catches her, however, and he pulls her back against his chest. Along with his other hand, he turns her around, catching sight of her big eyes boring into his.

"Don't try me." He speaks slowly, dipping his head down until he finds himself inches away from Y/N. "You know what happens if you try me."

His voice is lower than before, having flipped a switch now that her mouth has been on his. He got a taste for the first time in years, he wasn't going to let her get away now. Y/N's breath hitches, eyes flicking down to his mouth.

Knowing he's got her right where he wants her, Harry pulls back and strolls toward the entrance of his apartment building. Soon enough, he hears those heels behind him and he smirks.

It's silent when they step in the elevator, and for the first few seconds, as Harry leans agains't the wall and observes his secretary, it stays that way. She eyes him a couple of times, her ears getting redder.

"What?" She breathes out, looking down at her body like there must be something wrong if he's looking at her for so long. He simply shrugs.

"Nothing. Just admiring you."

At that, Y/N vigorously shakes her head and crosses her arms. A soft scoff leaves her mouth, one she didn't think Harry would hear, but he did. He takes a few steps towards Y/N, inching her against the wall.

"You have no idea how beautiful you are, do you?" He asks sincerely, searching for her eyes. When she finally looks up at him, the nervous smile on her face fades a bit.

Harry doesn't like that look on her face. Needing to fix it, he leans forward and plants his lips on hers again, grabbing her face and pulling her into him. It only takes a matter of seconds before her arms are wrapped around his neck and their bodies are impossibly close to each other again.

Tongues delving deeper into each other's mouth, Harry feels himself floating on some sort of feeling. Despite not being able to define it, he is absolutely positive that he doesn't ever want it to stop. And since kissing Y/N causes this specific feeling, the only feasible option is to never stop kissing her. It's the best plan he's had in ages.

It doesn't take long before the situation gets heated, much like it did before, and Harry's hands trail to Y/N's hips to pull her against him. Desperate for any sort of relief, Harry's hips automatically start to move, and Y/N immediately responds. His body feels like it's on fire, and he tries not to let out any sounds as his strained cock rubs against his tight pants.

Harry takes his lips off Y/N's mouth, peppering kisses to her jaw instead. Slowly, he works his way towards her ear, where he stops to whisper in her ear.

"I'm going to remind you how fucking beautiful you are." The hot breath that left his mouth had her shuddering against him, a slight whine escaping her lips. As he leaves sloppy kisses on Y/N's neck, Harry's free hand slowly travels under her shirt, finding her bra.

She gasps softly when his hand starts to massage her breast, the sensitivity of both spots leaving her hot and bothered under Harry. Fuck, she is so fucking stunning, how did she not see it herself?

Suddenly, the elevator stops, and the door opened. Taking a step back, Harry only winks at Y/N before he turns around and strolls out as if it's a casual Friday. As if he doesn't have his secretary, whom he left high and dry, trailing behind him like a lost puppy.

"Would you like something to drink?" He asks when they enter his home, Harry immediately going into the kitchen.

"Absinthe." Y/N breathes out, leaning over the kitchen island. Harry peeks inside his fridge.

"I only have white wine."

Y/N shrugs. "I'm sure it'll have the same effect if I just keep drinking."

Harry chuckles, grabbing the bottle of wine and placing it on the counter. He walks to a cabinet and takes two wine glasses out of it. Placing one in front of Y/N and the other in front of himself, he opens the bottle and starts pouring, not stopping until the glasses are halfway full. Y/N laughs at the ridiculously full wine glass that he pushes her way, but takes it gladly. He doesn't miss the way her breasts nearly spill out of her top as she leans forward a bit further than intended to in order to grab the glass.

"To the unexpected." She says it like it's a dare. Amused, Harry decides to entertain it, and nods his head.

"To the unexpected."

They raise the glasses before both taking a long sip. Y/N rests her arms on the table, giving a perfect view of her tits right in Harry's frame. She smirks when his eyes accidentally fall on it, and Harry's stomach swirls with excitement. She's trying to play.

"Crazy, how fast life can change, isn't it?" She asks rhetorically, and Harry just hums, waiting patiently for her to reveal what she's trying to do. "I mean, I got up today thinking I'd end the day in another man's bed."

There it is.

She's always been smart, and she knows how to push Harry's buttons. Though his fingers grip the kitchen counter tightly, so much that his knuckles turn white, Harry keeps the corners of his mouth lifted.

"And now you're here." He says, head tilting just a bit. She hums in agreement, taking another sip from her wine.

"Yeah, but just crazy to think that I went into the day thinking I'd hook up with someone else." She tells it so innocently, as if she's mostly talking to herself. Harry's jaw clenches as he stalks around the kitchen island and nears Y/N.

"But you're not, though." Harry notes, falling right into the trap. He knows what she's trying to do but he just can't help himself. He doesn't like the idea of her being with another man. He waits for her answer, hearing his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

"I know, but I could have—"

Before the sentence has entirely left Y/N's mouth, Harry's hand flies to her neck. The amused look on Y/N's face tells him enough, but he doesn't care.

"You're not. You're in my bed tonight, and any night after that as far as I'm concerned, so I don't want to hear another fucking word about it."

Her eyes twinkle with amusement as she stares up at him. "You really are jealous."

The corner of his mouth tilts upwards, "And you've gotten feisty over the years."

Y/N bites her bottom lip, humming in agreement to his observation. Harry lets out a soft chuckle, tightening the grip on her neck. Y/N gasps in surprise.

"But do you still like to be put in your place?" He asks, inching his face close to hers. The answer is written in her eyes, and yet Y/N doesn't respond. When it's clear that she won't anytime soon, Harry's free hand sneaks around the waist of her pants. She shivers at the touch.

"Well? Do you?" He repeats himself, and slowly but surely, Y/N nods her head. Harry lets out a disapproving noise. "That's not a proper answer."

Closing her eyes, Y/N lets out a deep breath. "Yes, I like to be put in my place."

"That's what I thought." Harry laughs, taking his hands off of her entirely. She frowns, but her eyes widen when he barks out a demand. "Take off your clothes."

He watches carefully as she follows his orders, and she clearly takes her time stripping down to her underwear. When she has, she looks to him for some sign of approval, but Harry just raises his brows. His hands are sunk into his pockets as Y/N lets out a little breath and takes off her bra and panties.

His eyes trail down her body, his cock hurting at the sight of her. God, she's beautiful. He feels like an absolute idiot for not having fought for her earlier, but he reminds himself that he can't change the past and that she is here now, stark naked in his kitchen. A grin spread across his face.

"Do you remember how you addressed me all those years ago?" He asks. It takes a few seconds before Y/N answers, but she gives him a firm nod.

"I called you sir."

Harry nods. "Rules haven't changed. Now, get on the counter."

Her eyes flick to the marble countertop, shock flashing through her eyes. "But Har—"

His right brow lifts ever so slightly. Catching the hint, Y/N stops herself before she can finish the sentence and hoists herself on to the cold countertop. It must not be very pleasant to lay your naked body on that freezing surface, but it was an uncomfortable temporary obstacle. The results would be great, and in about thirty seconds, she'd forget all about that cold touch against her skin.

Harry pulls out one of the bar stools and sat directly in front of Y/N. Spreading her legs apart, he catches sight of that perfect pussy he has been waiting three years to taste again. Like a starved man sat in front of a feast, the urge to dive right in is almost too strong to bear. But before he has her writhing under him, he wants to make her shiver.

"Can't believe it took us so long to get here." Harry hums, tracing his fingers up her thigh, carefully observing the way Y/N tries to control her breathing. Her fists are balled up into curls, attempting to send her concentration to anything else than Harry. He tries not to let his smugness show too much, but he has to say he likes seeing her struggle a bit. A bit of payback for trying to toy with him just now.

"You've always been stubborn." Y/N jokes, a gasp strangling out of her when Harry's fingers ghost over her clit. He chuckles, the tone of his voice so low that it could almost be considered evil.

"If I remember correctly, you're the one who wanted to forget about that Halloween night." He notes. Y/N hums.

"I also made the condition to act professionally, but we didn't do that either." Her eyes gaze into his, catching the fond smile with which he stares at her. A faint blush erupts on her cheeks.

"You drew the line." Harry retorted, and Y/N scoffed.

"You crossed it about a hundred times." She argues in response. He only hums, that cocky smirk on his face.

"I did, and consider this hundredth and first time to be the last, because I'm not getting behind that line again."

Y/N has never been so turned on her in her entire life. Harry’s words are the epitome of determination, and the way his fingers slip inside her so easily the second he finishes his sentence only solidifies that notion. The gasp that leaves her mouth is cut short and evolves into a low moan as Harry’s lips latch onto her clit.

Sensitive would be an understatement for her current state. She is aching, and the way Harry is ravishing her almost hurt. But any pain dwells in comparison to her desire she was overcome with at the situation she currently finds herself in. She is on Harry's kitchen counter, legs spread wide open and letting him do all the things that slipped into her dreams over the past three years.

Harry sucks in all the ways that made her squirm, moving his fingers with such ease that made it seem like he has fingered her a thousand times already. As if he knows her like the back of his hand, as if he knows all her secrets, even ones she doesn't know herself.

Y/N's hand buries itself in Harry's hair when he begins to kitten lick her clit, and she feels that inevitable climax inching closer and closer. She wonders how she had been able to keep herself composed for so long, because the high that creeps up on her feels like it was long overdue.

Unfortunately, the sensation comes to a grinding halt when Harry backs away from Y/N. Her head shoots up, and finds him leaning over her body, wearing boyish half-smile that is now glimmering with her juices.

Wrapping one arm around her waist and the other one under her legs, he picks her up bridal style. She holds onto his shoulders, burying her face into his neck as he carried her to his bedroom. When she begins unbuttoning his shirt, he throws her on his bed. She lets out a soft yelp, bouncing onto the bed.

"So greedy..." Harry tuts in disapproval, but Y/N doesn't quite care. She wants him, bad, and now that she's had a preview of what's to come she doesn't want to wait any longer. She needs him and she needs that orgasm.

She pulls him closer by his pants and starts to unbuckle his belt. "You're taking too long."

Y/N is about halfway done when Harry's firm hand wraps around her neck and pulls her closer to his face. Inching down, he growls: "You'll take what I give you."

"Then give me something." She spits back, and Harry's eyes turn five shades darker at her invitation to a challenge. He slowly leans back, Y/N watching his every movement in anticipation.

"On your stomach."

Y/N stomach swirls at the command, and she obeys as quick as she can. It stays silent for a little bit, and she awaits his further actions eagerly.

"Hands behind your back."

Again, she does what he says. Y/N doesn't dare to turn her head as she hears Harry walking around his room. When she feels a silky material around her wrists, she knows enough. He's tying her up.

Knowing better than to do otherwise, Y/N keeps her mouth shuts as Harry makes an impenetrable knot with his tie. She moves her wrists, assessing how tight it really is, and gets interrupted by a punishing slap on her ass. The sting remains for a couple of seconds, and she is sure there is now a red print the size of Harry's hand on her right cheek.

"Ass up." He barks out his final order, no doubt smirking as she changes her position, slightly struggling now that her arms are of no use.

Y/N bites her lip in anticipation when Harry's hand grabs onto her hips, steadying himself behind her. She slightly flinches forward when the tip of his cock teases her entrance, and attempts to speed up the process by leaning backwards a bit. She's rewarded with another slap on her ass.

But then Harry finally sinks in, and that dreadful itch that plagued Y/N for such a long time is finally scratched, over and over again as he begins to pound into her with long, slow strokes.

"Fucking hell..." Harry murmurs, his cock suctioning into Y/N's tight, clenching pussy. He is so big, and it bruises her in all the right ways.

"Oh baby... thaaat's it." He groans when Y/N begins to bounce back on his cock, aiming to get it even deeper inside of her. She is ruthless in her movements, groaning at the overwhelming sensations. When Harry gropes her ass— and his nails bite into her skin—she loses control.

Burying her face into the mattress, Y/N screams as she reaches her peak. The sound of Harry's moans at her pussy convulsing around his cock only strengthens her orgasm. Her mind goes entirely blank as the shattering release ripples through her like an earthquake. The only thing she can think of is Harry's name, and it's the only thing she cries out as the dizzying explosion settles all over her body.

"You really are desperate, aren't you?" Harry sneers as he pulls his cock out of Y/N, letting go of her hips. She nearly falls over, her tied up hands making it difficult to catch herself. This orgasm was so intense, she could feel the three years of pent up tension as it washed over her. Her cheeks are burning red and her teary eyes makes her vision somewhat blurry.

Y/N is thrown off when Harry suddenly turns her around and she finds herself lying on her back. The way he towers over her would have been intimidating had it not been extremely hot.

"Came on my cock so fast..." he mumbles cockily, corner of his mouth pulled up like the arrogant bastard he is. "Such a slut for it."

Y/N wants to give him some snappy comeback, but her brain is still fried from the orgasm and she's always liked to be degraded in bed, so she decides to only glare at Harry while he speaks. He catches it, and his grin only widens.

"You know it's true, baby." He tells her, bringing your legs over each of his shoulders. That deviant smirk is the last thing Y/N sees before her eyes roll into the back of her head at the feeling of Harry's cock stretching her out again.

He leans forward, almost folding her in two, and reaches deeper. He stays there for a few seconds—as if he is catching his breath—then slowly backs out of her before slamming right back in. Y/N lets out a screech that, if it hadn't been for the desperation laced in its tone, would've sounded like someone was trying to murder her.

Trying to keep her own moans at a minimum, Y/N closes her eyes and listens to the harsh slaps of Harry's skin against hers, and the groans that escape his mouth with each thrust. The strength behind each movement makes her clench around Harry, who in turn hisses her name as if it were a curse word. It only causes her to clench more.

"Fuck, such a pretty little whore." Harry praises as he drives into her. Y/N can only whine, her tits bouncing uncontrollably at the impact of his motions. She must look fucking helpless. Opening her eyes, she catches the way Harry looks at her; like she's a dream. Like she's his dream.

"My pretty little whore." He growls, leaning back and holding one of her legs with his arm while the other reaches for her breasts.

"Yes..." Y/N breathes as he begins squeezing her breasts, getting lost in the sensations of him. Somehow it feels like Harry is everywhere. As if he has latched onto a part of her soul and she feels him coming to claim that every time his cock sinks into her.

"Such a tight fucking fit." He groans, taking her nipple between his fingers. "You should see how perfectly your pussy sucks in every inch of my cock..."

Y/N bites her lip as Harry talks, trying not too get too overwhelmed by the filthy things he's telling her as he plunges in and out of her. Her eyes catch the flex of his muscles that occur with every thrust, and she wonders how she got a man so perfect to fuck her stupid like this.

"Should record it... make a little video for just the two of us. What do you think?"

Oh my god.

"Don't you want to see how perfect we fit together?" He taunts, thrusting his hips harsher than before, hitting a spot that had been untouched for quite a while now. Y/N's face scrunches up.

"F—fuck! Yes, yes..." She responds when Harry stills inside of her to await an answer. He chuckles at the apparent hurry in her voice and reaches for—what Y/N assumes to be—his phone, on the bed. His motions are slow and soft, determined to keep Y/N satisfied at least a bit while he logs into his phone and searches for the camera app. She notices the start of his recording by the sudden change of pace and force of his movements.

His camera is pointed right at her pussy as he begins thrusting deep inside of her, and Y/N screams out Harry's name. The concentration on his face as he captures how she takes him proves too much to bear, and she shuts her eyes tightly, head flopping to the side.

She can hear his ragged breathing over all the other sounds that their bodies are making. The small grunts he makes in an effort not to moan too loudly is all she can focus on, and the tension in her belly grows exponentially with each vibrations of his voice that reaches her ears.

Harry slows his pace, putting more emphasis on the impact of his moves. It allows him to bring his free hand down to touch Y/N's clit. Her legs begin to shake the second he does.

"Are you gonna come again for me? I'm so close, baby. I can tell you are too." The softness in the delivery of his words have Y/N's ovaries rattle. She can only nod, a whine that was an attempt at a 'yes' falling from her rosy lips. Harry grins, his eyes flicking from his phone to her face. Everything feels so hazy, much like a daydream.

"Please don't stop." She squeals in such a high pitch that surprises even herself. Y/N had no idea she could go that high. Harry's bringing out an entirely new side of her.

"I'll never stop, baby." Harry rasps, pressing down on her clit in such a way that Y/N becomes cross-eyed for a second. Her nails grip into the bedsheets, the second release rippling through her like a hurricane. She never quite understood the word bliss, until now. This must be it; this feeling of... pure ecstasy.

Like a blank canvas splattered on with all the bright colors that exist in the world; fresh and exciting and psychedelic in a way. Impossible to define yet such a specific feeling. Y/N let all of it tingle from her head down to her toes, wanting to remember it forever.

The continuous pounding Y/N through her orgasm comes to a grinding halt when Harry reaches his own, pulling out just in time for his sperm to coat her puffy clit and swollen tits. His camera is focused on her frame, recording every spurt that paints her. She's the canvas, he's the colors, Y/N realizes. Harry is her definition of bliss.

The words shared between the two are scarce as Harry unties Y/N's hands, picks her up and carries her to the bathroom to clean her up. But the smiles on their faces says enough, both knowing what they feel is rare, and beautiful. Y/N assesses Harry's face, concluding that the soft edges of it makes him look like a proper angel.

When he's dressed her in one of his shirts, he takes her back to the bedroom, where he pulls her against his frame. Y/N wraps one leg around his torso, hugging him from the side with her head buried into his neck. The way his chest rises and lowers fills her with pure ease, and she leaves a few soft kisses in his neck as a silent thank you. Harry only hums in satisfaction, his arm only tightening around you, as if he's afraid you might let go.

"I'm never gonna let you go now." You tell him before you can even fully comprehend your words. Your heart starts racing, afraid that might've been too soon to say.

"Promise?"

Your racing heart is now melting as you turn your head and see Harry holding up his pinky. You are quick to interlock it with your own.

"Promise." You say with a smile.

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