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liveyun · 5 months ago

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EYES LIKE STARS | 1

banner by the amazing @itaeewon 🌧️

summary. “He was everything you were not. He was perfect—too perfect. Always kind, always excelling, always loved by everyone, even your own parents, like a reminder of everything you weren’t. And you hated this. You hated him. You hated the way he always included you, the way he tried to help, as if you ever needed his pity. He was always there, almost like a shadow you could never escape.

Returning to the town that holds both your earliest memories and silent secrets, you’re forced to confront not only the unsolved knots you’d left behind all those years ago, but the boy who was always at the center of your pain. Whose eyes have always seen right through you : Jungkook.”

title. Eyes like Stars

pairing. Jeon Jungkook x afab reader/oc

status. ongoing

rating. M (18+)

genre. e2f2e2L (you get it), angst, drama, romance, boy next door sorta situation, emotional baggage, slow burn, eventual smut

wc. 9.5k +

warnings. (for this chapter) coarse language, OC being in denial and this is just the beginning LOL , parental negligence / toxic parenting , flashbacks, slight mention injuries (knee scraping) and crying , panic attack :( , oc is kinda.. eh, SOMEONE is introduced 😵‍💫, this is it for the first part, lmk if i missed any other warnings, “english isnt my first language” so can contain grammatical errors, not proof read + the last part omfg

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Some doors, no matter how tightly shut, always find a way to open.

The sun was up after the drizzle, which bathed the town in a subtle golden haze, the kind that made everything feel a little too warm, a little too nostalgic. You walked slowly, almost as if your feet were dragging against the weight of the years you’d left behind. A part of you did not really want to be here, but a greater part of you knew you cannot continue to run away from everything like you always have.

Such a coward.

Your home stood at the end of a narrow lane, tucked away like a secret that had been kept for far too long, to the point you felt like it maybe didn’t exist anymore. The house looked the same, yet different, almost as if it had aged in your absence - funny, because although it looked pretty worn out, nothing really felt off. Or did it? The paint was chipped, the garden overgrown, the lawn and grass both destroyed.

But it was still the place you’d once called home—a place that had witnessed more arguments than apologies, more silence than understanding. You pause, staring at the old, browned door as if it’s a portal to another world— always has been— to a world where you were always second best, always compared, always found wanting, longing, no— yearning for the bare minimum. Your own once called home which always felt like a far distant place for you.

It still does.

The windows stare back at you, blank and lifeless, just like the eyes that used to watch you so closely, judging every move, every breath. You don’t want to go inside, but you know you have to. You cannot keep on running away anymore. You are tired, but you dont exactly know if doing something which has your gut churning with disdain can be exactly considered as rest or relaxation.

You notice that the shabby WELCOME door mat which was once a home for mites is no longer at the front door anymore.

As you drew closer, your eyes involuntarily flickered to the house next door. The garden was well-tended, prettiest of the flowers scattered in the greenery in full bloom, just like how you’d remembered.

As always.

The house stood as if nothing had changed there— as if time had preserved that house and all its memories in a neat little bubble. Always so full of life, always so welcoming. You bite down the bitterness which floats up your chest at the thought. Push down the small voice in the back of your head which insists that you will never be welcomed the way a static house makes you feel.

A part of you, the part you’d tried to bury, kick away— wondered if he still lived there. If his parents still looked out from the same windows, waiting for their golden boy to come home.

Who cares.

You quickly turned your gaze away, focusing on the worn steps leading up to her own front door. Your hand trembles as you reach for the doorknob, the cold metal biting into your skin. You’d previously informed your mum through a text message that you will be visiting them, which you didn’t bother or have the energy to check if she’d actually seen.

Your hand on the knob stills, and you purse your lips in thought. You’d decided it’d be a bit courteous to knock instead of just barging in — perhaps some basic decency to spare — although if it was your own home — as if it ever was. You raise your fists to knock— and the door creaked open before you could really.

There she stood.

The same face that had greeted you with tired smiles and even more tired expectations, back in the days when her face was devoid of wrinkles, and full of youthful beauty. The same person who’d cradled you on her bosom and cherished you; the same person who at least tried to make an effort to mend some broken ties, although when she was very well aware it was way too late.

“You’re back,” your mother said, her voice heavy with something that wasn’t quite disappointment but wasn’t quite relief either. She sounded tired— and your mind partially thought if it was because of you. You really felt overwhelmed by emotions, you really did.

You felt the back of your eyes burn with tears — that familiar feeling which you’d remembered was a staple one when you used to live here back in your teenage days. You wanted to engulf her in a hug and just cry, hoping that you could just, for once, forget about whatever had ever happened, and truly be a child once again.

“I’m back,” you reply, deciding to push aside any fleeting emotions which dared to threaten you. You stepped inside as soon as your mom moved aside and let the familiar scent of home—of old furniture — of broken communication — of forgotten dreams —wash over you.

— — —

Inside, the house was just as you’d remembered it. The wallpaper was still peeling in the corners, the furniture still arranged the way it had been since you were a child. It smelled like old wood, dust, the old sandalwood diffuser — and something bitter that lingered in the air, like the remnants of a fight that never really ended.

The walls seem closer than you remember, the space smaller, suffocating. Everything is the same, yet different, distorted by the journey of time and the weight of all that’s been left unsaid. Was any of the furniture ever even moved ever since you’d left? You’re in doubt.

However, the air was thick with unspoken tension, a tension that had always existed— but was now more prominent, more suffocating. You could feel the weight of your mother’s gaze on you, as if she were waiting for her to say something, anything, to break the silence that had settled between them like thick snow.

Although it’s been so long, surprisingly, you didnt really have anything to break the ice with.

Or even if you did, you didn’t want to.

You move through the house on autopilot, your feet carrying you to the living room where you remember the echoes of your parents’ voices being the loudest. You felt disgruntled — upset, at how memories of your parents fighting are the only prominent thing you can remember vividly inside this house. You wanted to laugh ; you can almost see them standing there, locked in yet another battle of wills, their words sharp and cutting, slicing through the air like knives, and you— you ?

Perhaps standing in some corner with your favorite old teddy bear, covering your ears the best you could, trembling with sobs, wondering if this would ever stop. Their words, though, are like a very vague memory to you. Almost as if someone is tingling a metal glass in the back of your head, far away, and the echoes which reach you are the only thing audible.

They were always fighting, always tearing each other apart, and you were always caught in the crossfire, collateral damage in a war that wasn’t even yours to fight.

But it was you who paid the price, every single time.

You hear footsteps, and your throat goes dry. The realization that you recognize the footsteps is beyond disturbing to you, as the fact that you even know who the owner of the footsteps is.

From recognising footsteps to vehicle horns, you grew up, and this would never not be able to turn on a switch in the back of your head. You knew the footsteps, their urgency, or even their tone, may you be called crazy. And you perhaps are delusional to think that maybe these steps are rather relaxed and slow. . .

perks of growing in a strict family, you guess.

Your father emerged from the kitchen, his steps slow and deliberate. His eyes, now very much lacking of the light they used to radiate, widen ever so slightly, but then again, come back to their usual resting form. Almost as if he tried to mask his. . . disappointment?

You weren’t sure, and his expression wasn’t one of happiness, either.

He looked older, more worn, but his eyes held the same disapproval you had seen so many times before. The kind of disapproval that was never voiced but was always felt.

A kind of disapproval you felt in your veins even before you were faced to force it, almost as if it was imprinted deep in your veins, that no matter what you’d do, you’re going to get this stamp of resentment passed onto you.

“Long time,” he muttered, his eyes flicking over yours as if assessing the damage of the years. The silence which has stretched all over these years. You were surprised that he even decided to speak up, remembering the time when you departed.. wasn’t exactly as serene as a teary goodbye sounded like, but that was a memory you refused to unlock.

“Yeah,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

You grimace at how dry you sounded, but you couldn’t help it. Maybe because it’s partially the fact that you didn't know what to answer, or maybe because..

Well.

You stood there, the three of you, now, in the cramped living room that had never felt like a home to you. You wonder if it did to them too, or was it just the forced idea of it being a home to rest their heads in made them used to the idea that it was a home. Misunderstandings which haunt you, as their child, you sure are to know that they must haunt them too.

You were someone who tried fixing them, who never once tried to do that themselves, right in the place where it all began, pretending it was home, when all it ever felt like was a place they were too tired to leave.

The silence in the room felt heavy, oppressive, broken only by the faint ticking of the old clock on the wall which seemed to drag time over and over.

It once again felt like their eyes pierced your very own soul, trying to burn you with their gaze.

“I’ll get dinner started,” your mother echoed, turning away before anyone could respond. It was easier, you supposed, to keep busy than to confront the reality of your return.

Or her expectations. Who knows.

You nodded, more to yourself than to anyone else, and followed your mother into the kitchen. You weren’t surprised that your father opted to go outside — a habit you’d recall which was so frequent back in the olden days when everything was a frenzied mess. Either he used to be out puffing out nicotine, or simply. . . didn’t return home until he felt like it.

— — —

The kitchen was smaller than you’d remembered, or maybe you’d just grown up. The shelves were no longer as tall as Burj Khalifa to you, and neither were the long random cabinets— who were the same dull brown, the countertops cluttered with the same appliances that had seen better days.

Your breath stuttered at how even the products you’d seen were the same, not a single new thing filled there— from the good ol’ crunchy cereal cornflakes (which was barely even consumed for breakfast,) or the chilli crisp you’d loved to drizzle on top of nearly any dish you’d had.

Truly, nothing really had changed.

“You’ve been gone a long time,” your mother’s voice reached out to you as you nearly flinched, not having expected her to begin a conversation. She was diligent in her chore; her question was like a soft command which demanded an answer, not looking up from where she was peeling potatoes, with that same old lilac handled peeler.

“Yeah,” you repeat, this time truly not knowing what else to say. To say you felt like a dumbass was an understatement; because truly, after so long, you seem to have lost the spark to even think to answer.

However , you didn’t want to explain yourself, didn’t want to justify why you’d stayed away for so long. You didn’t owe them that. You didn’t owe them anything.

At least, that’s what you told yourself. It felt better that way.

The silence returned, heavy and uncomfortable. You found yourself staring out the small kitchen window, your gaze drifting to the house next door. You could see the top of the garden wall, the vibrant green of the plants that lined it.

It was strange how one small thing could hold so many memories, how one small thing could make you feel so much. Much more than being inside of your own house ever did, or ever could.

Yet, something about it feels different now, like a memory you’ve revisited too many times, its edges blurred with the weight of all you’ve carried inside you for decades.

You can almost see him there, in the yard, surrounded by laughter that wasn’t just his—it was a magnet, he was like a magnet, pulling everyone into its orbit, everyone except you. You were always on the outside looking in, (and it’s nearly ironic how you are now too,) your heart a silent witness to the joy you could never touch, never reach.

Even when he reached out, trying to pull you into that magnetic circle of warmth, you resisted. Your pride was too wounded, your envy was too sharp. How could you join in when every smile of his was a reminder of everything you could never be?

.....

Fuck.

You quickly look away, focusing on the mundane task of setting the table, very well knowing that your mom is gonna do that again. But the curiosity lingered, like a small fucking bug, a small, nagging feeling that you couldn’t quite shake out of you.

You did not want to think about him. You did not come here all the way to remember someone who has always just,. . . you sigh, gritting your teeth. Here were you again, fretting and sweating. Your mind whirred, not wanting to remember the way his smile had once made you feel both seen and invisible at the same time.

— — —

You decide you could take a walk around to fuck around and.. uh, find out, maybe? (You weren’t sure what exactly, though.)

As you maneuver through the hallway, your gaze drifts to the old family photos hanging on the wall. They seem. . out of place, like relics from a time that never really existed, or more like pieces on . . a museum? A museum where no one cared for its content , and everything was just randomly added to make something out of nothing.

You were always smiling in those pictures, but it was a smile that never reached your eyes—a smile that hid the exhaustion inside you. And there, in the corner of every photo, was him.

Even in those memories, those old photos, he was perfect. The golden boy with the bright eyes and the easy smile. His eyes were so bright and full of a happiness that seemed to come so naturally, would crinkle at the corners when he smiled—an easy, effortless smile that lit up his entire face.

His hair, always a little tousled from running around, caught the sunlight in a way that made it glow, adding to the image of him as the golden boy. You remember the way his front teeth, slightly larger and giving him that bunny-like appearance, would peek out when he grinned, adding a touch of innocence to his already charming features. He’s grinning widely in this picture, his nose crinkled up and his fingers poised in a victory sign, aligned to his face, right above his eyes, a smile so infectious that you feel your lips stretch to a smile even before you know it.

Your heart drops to your ass.

You’re smiling.

You can still hear their voices,though. Dripping with disappointment every time they said his name, their expectations pressing down on you like a weight you could never lift. You were expected to be someone’s walking copy— perfect and what not. You were the one who couldn’t measure up, the one who always fell short, who always came last in the race.

You take a deep breath, but it feels like you’re inhaling shards of glass, each breath painful, deep and cutting. The silence in the house is deafening, only the distant noise of your mother chopping up vegetables with that same dull thud against the chop board audible.

It doesn’t take you long to realize that the absence of your parents’ voices is more suffocating than their arguments ever were. You had always wished for the fighting to stop, but now that it has, you find yourself wishing for the noise, the chaos—anything to drown out the silence that presses in on you from all sides.

Maybe you had finally gone insane.

You had run away from it all. From the piercing noises, comparison, disdain, disappointment, everything. You were so young back then, with no knowledge of the outside world or its secrets.

You’d try to settle in different parts of the world, failing miserably each time because that feeling of something missing in your soul— that deep longing and yearning for anything that wasn’t as quick as getting a quick whiff of dopamine.. never quite left following you.

And now, here you are, back where it all began, and nothing has changed. Except, perhaps, you. You’re not the same girl who left this place. You’ve seen too much, been through too much. The world has carved its mark on you, left you scarred and weary, and you’re not sure if there’s anything left of the girl you used to be.

But as you stand there, looking out at the endless pictures which hang on the old plastered walls where the past that still haunts you, you realize something.

You’re not just angry anymore.

You’re tired.

Tired of carrying this weight, this burden of resentment and hurt. Tired of blaming all the misunderstandings that were woven into the delicate fabric of your mind as you grew up, to someone who perhaps wasn't even slightly related to your pain.

Perhaps, just perhaps, it wasn’t really him you despised, but the circumstances that had pushed you to see him as the source of your pain, which had settled like dust in the chambers of your heart. The misunderstandings that had tangled themselves into the delicate fabric of your mind as you grew up, weaving him into the narrative of your suffering, were unfair to you both.

It felt easier to blame him than to confront the truth—that your pain had roots far deeper than just one boy with a bright smile and kind heart.

And maybe, just maybe, you’re ready to let go.

The thought surprises you, shakes you to your core. Where the fuck did that come from?

The thought not only surprises you, but mostly, scares you. You take a cautious step back. It comes with a dozen questions which you fear that you don’t know the answers to, or are way too confused to even think about them.

You’ve held onto this anger for so long, let it define you, shape you. Who will you be without it? Can you really let go of something that has been a part of you for so long?

Did it really take you this long to realise this, all that, too in the place where you desperately ran away from?

You don’t have the answers, not yet. But standing here, in this place where it all began, you think that maybe you’re ready to start looking for them.

And that scares you more than anything else.

You find yourself staring at a sketchbook, after dinner, which was all just . . . once again, all silence. You remember how you realised that the food tasted bland, despite having a home cooked meal after nearly a decade. You tried adding salt till it was way too salty, and you had to gulp down each morsel because it became too bitter for your taste. The suffocating silence was broken when the bubbling hot stew burnt your tongue, as you yelped in pain. The only relief you got was gulping down a whole bottle of iced water from the fridge.

Your tongue feels numb now. Great.

Your eyes roam over the sketchbook again, its once pristine pages now yellowed with age. It was a relic from your childhood, buried deep in the attic with dust for years until your return home unearthed it. As you trace the lines of the drawing on the first page, you remember the day you made it—a simple scene of a house on a hill, surrounded by trees and bathed in the warm glow of a sunset, and those huge “V” shaped birds marked randomly near the sun.

You remember that you were so proud of that drawing, each line and color carefully chosen by your younger self, an attempt to capture a world that felt safe and beautiful.

An imaginary place where you’d even thought of making stick figures to show you and your parents, a world where they lived happily, but the vague pencil traces underneath the pastel scribbling show that you’d decided it was better without it.

But the memory of showing it to your parents is what lingers most. You remember how your excitement had bubbled over as you presented the drawing to your parents, your young heart brimming with pride. You’d spent hours on that piece, the house on the hill, the yellow-ish hues of the sunset, the trees swaying gently in the imaginary breeze. You thought it was the best thing you’d ever created.

But when you placed the sketchbook in front of them, eager for their approval, their reactions were far from what you had hoped.

Your mother’s eyes had flickered over the page, her lips pressing into a thin line. She didn’t say anything at first, just handed the sketchbook over to your father, who barely glanced at it before returning to his newspaper. It was your mother who finally broke the silence, her voice flat and dismissive. “It’s… fine,” she’d said, and that single word was like a bucket of cold water on your excitement, your hard work.

You remember vividly, how your heart sank, how the colours of your drawing seemed to dull right before your eyes. How hours of scribbling felt like it’d all been to waste. The pride you’d felt moments before quickly evaporated, replaced by a hollow ache in your chest. You were too young to understand why her words stung so much, but old enough to know they did.

But then your mother’s tone shifted, a hint of something sharper creeping into her voice. Her eyes, dark and clear, were on you. “You know,” she’d continued, “Jungkook showed us a drawing he did just last week. It was a landscape too, but he added so much detail. The way he captured the mountains and the way the light reflected on the water… It was really impressive. His technique is really improving.”

Your father chimed in, not even looking up. “Yes, he’s always had a good eye for these things, hah. Natural talent, I suppose.”

You’d just stood there in the corner, your limbs feeling way too weak and shaky to hold you up.

You’d tried to keep your expression neutral, tried to swallow the hollow pain in your chest, but it was no use. The resentment boiled inside you, twisting something in your chest until all you could feel was the unfairness of it all. You had wanted to create something beautiful, to show them what you were capable of, that you could do better, but instead, your drawing had become just another reminder of how you didn’t measure up.

The sting of their words burned hot behind your eyes, and before you knew it, tears were blurring your vision. You didn’t want to cry in front of them, didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of seeing how deeply they had hurt you. So you bolted from the yard, the sound of their conversation fading behind you as you ran, feeling even hurt that none of your parents bothered to ask about where you were going.

But your vision was too clouded by tears, and as you reached the stairs, you’d feel your foot catch on the edge of a step. You stumbled forward, eyes widening, your arms flailing as you tried to catch yourself, but it was too late. You’d fallen, hard, the impact of your knee against the hardwood sending a sharp jolt of pain through your leg.

You remember the way your mother had smiled when she talked about Jungkook’s drawing, a soft, admiring smile that she rarely directed at you. It wasn’t just the critique of your work that hurt—it was the realization that, in their eyes, Jungkook would always outshine you. No matter how hard you tried, how much effort you put in, he was the golden child, the one who could do no wrong, while you were just… there.

The tears you’d been holding back spilled over, partly from the pain, but mostly from the overwhelming sense of rejection and inadequacy. You sat there on the stairs, your knee scraped and bleeding, the ache in your chest even worse than the one on your knee. The drawing that had once filled you with pride now felt like a cruel joke, a reminder of how you would always fall short, no matter how hard you tried.

You wiped at your eyes with the back of your hand, angry at yourself for crying, angry at them for making you feel this way, and angry at Jungkook for being the perfect son they never had. The resentment grew deeper, and with it, so did the belief that you were never going to be good enough for them, no matter what you did.

— — —

The moon is full overhead when you finally change into some comfortable PJs and finally feel sleep knock on the back of your eyelids and exhaustion making its way to move gradually along your body. Today wasn’t exactly eventful, but rather a concoction of memories which tickled and stung you like a thousand bees over and over.

You’ve decided to keep the windows open, . . .for tonight, atleast, because you do not dare sleep without feeling suffocated here. It sounds silly, but having nice ventilation feels. . . fresh, or more so.

You were around fourteen, you think, as you remember sitting on the edge of the playground, kicking at the dirt with the toes of your worn sneakers. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the field, and you could hear the other kids shouting and playing, their voices mingling with the distant hum of traffic.

You weren’t interested in joining them. Your eyes were fixed on a figure in the distance, one you knew all too well.

Jungkook.

He was standing by the swings, laughing with a group of boys who seemed to hang on his every word. His dark hair fell into his eyes as he pushed it back, and his smile—God, that smile—was so bright, so beautiful, it almost hurt to look at. You hated that smile. You hated how perfect he seemed, how effortless everything was for him. And you hated how, no matter what you did, you could never seem to escape his shadow. No wonder the girls were so hung up on him, even the class president— it was ridiculous.

That day had started like any other, with your parents reminding you how you should be more like Jungkook. They praised his grades, his athletic abilities, and his charm. Either a direct implication of “Why can’t you be more like him?” or something like “You know, Jungkook— blah blah blah, all that bullshit about how he was better than you in every aspect. Even if it was the topic of increasing acne on your face, not realising—or maybe not caring—how their words cut you down. You knew they meant well, or maybe not, but each comparison felt like a knife to your heart, a reminder that you would never be good enough.

That you’ll never be him.

You were lost in your thoughts when you felt a presence beside you. You didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

“Hey,” Jungkook said, his voice soft, almost hesitant. “Why are you sitting here alone?” His voice was always so soft. So gentle.

You hated his voice. Why did he sound so. . . sweet ? so smooth, almost with a slight undertone of a rasp. Why did it make you want to surrender and break down into the frustration which was pent up inside you since ages?

You shrugged, not trusting yourself to speak. Your throat felt tight, your chest heavy. You wanted to tell him to go away, to leave you alone, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. Because as much as you resented him, wanted him away from you, you somehow wanted him near you, a feeling which was hugely perplexing to you. It was a twisted, painful contradiction that you didn’t fully understand, nor you’d ever wanted to.

Jungkook sat down beside you, right on the dusty ground, his knee brushing against yours. The contact sent a jolt, a feeling of fleeting emotions through you, but you didn’t move away. Instead, you kept your eyes fixed on the ground, hoping he wouldn’t notice the tears that were threatening to spill over.

“Are you okay?” he asked, concern lacing his voice.

Of course he’s gonna be concerned.

And that was the thing about Jungkook—he was always so kind, so considerate, even when you didn’t want him to be. It only made you feel worse. It only made you feel like utter shit, like you were not meant for anything, not even basic human compassion.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to keep your emotions in check. “I’m fine,” you lied, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jungkook didn’t seem convinced. He shifted closer, his shoulder pressing against yours. He smelled like baby powder mixed with sweat. Irritating. “You know you can talk to me, right? If something’s bothering you.”

You almost laughed at the irony. How could you talk to him when he was the source of so much of your pain? When everyday you had to just, suffer because of him? How could you tell him that every time you looked at him, you felt like you were drowning in your own inadequacy? That every time he succeeded, it felt like another reminder of your failures? While he was always praised, always encouraged, while you were left to wonder why your efforts never seemed to measure up?

But instead of saying any of that, you just nodded, giving him the answer he wanted. Because you couldn’t bear the thought of him seeing you as weak, as vulnerable. You couldn’t let him know how deeply he had affected you.

There was a long silence between you, the kind that felt like it was stretching out forever. You could hear your own heartbeat pounding in your ears, feel the tension in your chest building with every passing second. And then, just when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, Jungkook spoke again.

“You know, you’re really talented,” he said, his voice slightly higher than usual, a habit you hate to have noticed when he gets excited about something. “I just saw your abstract sketches the other day. Holy shit dude, they’re amazing!”

You didn’t know if your heart hammering in your chest sounded more or the silence after his praise did. He, however, didn’t stop there.

“You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself.”

His words were meant to be comforting, but they only served to twist the knife deeper. Because at that moment, you realised that he didn’t understand. He couldn’t. To him, everything came so easily—success, praise, admiration. But for you, it was a constant struggle, a battle you fought every day just to keep your head above water.

You turned to look at him then, really look at him, not caring if your eyes are brimming with unshed tears or if your nose is runny with snot and tears.

And for the first time, you saw the boy behind the perfect image. There was a softness in his eyes, a sincerity that made your heart ache. And for a fleeting moment, you wanted to believe him, to believe that maybe, just maybe, you were more than the sum of your insecurities.

But then reality came crashing back, and the bitterness you had tried so hard to suppress bubbled to the surface.

“Thanks,” you said, your voice flat, on the verge of cracking, devoid of the warmth you knew he was expecting. “But I don’t need your pity.”

Jungkook blinked, his doe eyes widening, taken aback by your sudden harshness. “It’s not—”

“Just leave me alone,” you’d hissed, standing up abruptly. You didn’t give him a chance to respond before you turned and walked away, your heart pounding in your chest, your blood rushing onto your face. You could feel his eyes on your back, but you didn’t dare look back. Because if you did, you knew you would see the hurt in his expression, and you couldn’t handle that. Not when you were already so close to breaking.

And so you ran. Ran so fast, so hard, that you felt your chest constrict and gulp for air— the static breeze feeling like wind on your face as you ran, ran, ran. Ran till your limbs gave away and your head hurt, till you feel your insides eat you up with a strange mix of emotions—anger, regret, sadness.

But most of all, you felt an overwhelming sense of loneliness, even if you felt like you did the right thing. Because in pushing Jungkook away, you had also pushed away the one person who might have understood, who might have been able to help you. . . only if you hadn’t pushed him away.

But it was too late now. The damage was done, and you were left to pick up the pieces alone.

But as you stare at the sketchbook now, under the glowing moonlight, running your fingers over the faded lines of the drawing, the sketches you’d made again — you see it with different eyes—eyes that can appreciate the innocence in those lines, the earnestness of a child who only wanted to create something beautiful. The proportions might not be perfect, almost nothing in those sketches were — but there’s a charm in their simplicity, a warmth in the colors that you hadn’t noticed before. They were all good drawings, you think, not because of their technical skill, but because they were a reflection of who you were back then—hopeful, imaginative, and full of dreams.

And maybe, just maybe, you had been a little too hard on yourself all those years ago.

You hadn’t even planned to be here.

The moment your father casually mentioned that the Jeons still lived next door, you felt that familiar, uncomfortable pressure building in your chest. You didn’t absolutely know why that information passed on, especially when after a heavy restless night of feeling like crap, your muscles aching from exhaustion , your brain unable to process every thought which you’d thought, you were finally up to join your parents for an early evening tea.

His voice was cheerful, like he had no idea the gravity of what he was suggesting, but you felt it immediately. Every time the conversation veered toward your neighbors, it dredged up feelings you weren’t ready to confront. The Jeons—his parents—meant one thing, and ultimately, one thing only: Jungkook.

The mention of their name was enough to send your mind into overdrive, painting images of polite conversation and awkward laughter, images that twisted into something far more unbearable—seeing him. You could already hear the follow-up conversation in your mother’s saccharine sweet voice, “Why don’t you come over and say hello? Catch up with the Jeons?” And worst of all, they’d ask about you. You felt despondent to even think of the conversation, if it ever took place.

You weren’t used to the warmth which Mr. and Mrs. Jeon had shown you throughout the years, which only made you doubt if they ever knew the thick wall of ash between their son and you. They were so copacetically well humored, it almost hurt to be in a conversation with them.

Almost as if you never were used to this form of decency, that it shocked you to your core.

Jungkook’s parents would definitely ask, and you'd be expected to stand there and smile like you hadn't left everything behind. You know they definitely wouldn’t mean anything hurtful, but you do not believe your mind.

Not yet, atleast.

Before your parents could suggest anything more, before they could casually lead you down that path of small talk and forced interactions, you’d mumbled a vague excuse. Something about needing to stretch your legs, or needing some air.

You really did, though.

You’d slipped out the front door like you were running away, and you shook away the bitterness forming in your throat. You weren’t sure where you were going, only that it had to be away from that conversation, away from the chance of seeing him.

As your feet carried you through the familiar streets, your mind raced faster than your heart. The narrow, winding streets were the same, the faded signs on shop windows were the same, but the memories that clung to the air—they were suffocating.

You’d always thought coming back would be simple. Walk down memory lane, see familiar faces, and pretend you were someone new. But the weight of those memories hung over you, each one sharper than the last. With every corner you turned, you felt the tug of your past, a pull you couldn’t quite shake away, no matter how hard you’d tried to shrug it off.

— — —

You found yourself slipping into a small café you hadn’t noticed before, just off the main road, desperate for a reprieve.

What’s the name— 134340? Quite strange, you think, but shrug it off once again. People are creative with their business requirements, even if that means that you probably make out nothing from eyeing the café from outside. except the fact that. . . it’s possibly space themed?

Now that is strange for a coffee shop.

You think that it’s quite new. Or, who even knows. It stands out from the dull shops lit nearby, and there’s quite a buzz which attracts you here, although you’d prefer a quiet café over a bustling one any day.

Well, fuck it.

The smell of roasted coffee beans and fresh pastries greeted you as you stepped inside, the hum of quiet conversation and the soft clink of mugs providing a much-needed escape. It’s surprisingly cozy, something you’d never guessed from the odd name and the theme previously. The café is small, actually smaller than most you’ve been to. Though, it’s nice, there are fewer people here, and you quite find yourself at peace already. You chose a table near the back, away from the windows, trying to create some distance from the life outside.

You hadn’t planned to stay long, but the peaceful atmosphere lulled you into a false sense of security. You let out a long breath, allowing the tension to ease from your shoulders as you sipped your coffee. Ha, thisfelt nice. For a few blissful moments, you felt like you could breathe again. Almost like. . . maybe you could handle this return to your hometown after all.

And then, the door chimes.

You barely looked up at first—just another customer, maybe a loner like you, someone else in this quiet café. But then the barista’s voice cut through the room, clear and distinct.

“Macchiato for Jungkook!”

Huh?

Your hand froze halfway to your cup. The familiar sound of his name hit you like a punch to the gut, making your breath hitch.

No fucking way.

Your gaze shot up, almost instinctively, and that’s when you saw him. There, standing by the counter, picking up his drink like it was the most casual thing in the world. Him.

Your heart seemed to lurch into your throat. It couldn’t be him—it couldn’t. And yet, there he was, right in front of you, a few inches away.

The room seemed to shrink around you, your pulse quickening as your eyes locked onto him. You felt yourself gasping for air, your peace long broken. Your body felt suddenly too warm, your chest tightening painfully as every nerve in your body screamed for you to look away.

But you just couldn’t.

He had changed.

The boy you left behind had grown into someone you barely recognized. His back was visible to you— his frame was broader, more solid than you remembered, and his shoulders— God, what the fuck? they seemed to stretch forever beneath the dark jacket he wore. His hair, slightly tousled, deep raven — as you’d remembered— framed his face in that familiar, careless way, but it was sharper now. Defined. There was no mistaking the confidence in the way he carried himself, something he hadn't fully grown into back then.

But what stood out most—what nearly knocked the breath from your lungs—were those— were those. . . tattoos peeking underneath his jacket?

Jungkook's arm, the one that used to be bare, now carried intricate black ink that snaked from his wrist to his elbow, disappearing under the sleeve of his jacket. The lines were bold, winding and curling, and you felt your jaw drop, even if he was standing at a distance. The tattoos seemed to catch the light as he reached for his drink, each motion of his arm drawing your attention like a magnet.

You couldn’t stop staring. The boy you remembered—the one who had always been so kind, so open—had become someone else entirely.

One who stood in stark contrast to the memories you had clung to.

And he was alone.

Jungkook had always been surrounded by people. He was known to be the crowd attractor, always having his admirers petting him by his neck. He was never the type to go anywhere without friends trailing behind him, their laughter filling the spaces around him. But here, now, in this café—he was by himself. There was a stillness about him that you didn’t remember, something quiet and self-assured.

Now, it almost felt like he didn’t need anyone around him to validate his presence. He was comfortable in his own skin, by himself.

That realisation hit you harder than you expected. He had changed in ways you hadn’t anticipated, ways that made your chest tighten with emotions you couldn’t even begin to name.

And then, just as you thought your heart might explode from your chest, Jungkook turned slightly, his eyes sweeping across the café—casually, as if he were taking in his surroundings—and your stomach dropped.

Fuck, fuck. The coffee was so strong, you feel it lurching up your stomach now.

You flinched, ducking your head quickly, heart pounding so loud you thought he might hear it across the room. Did he see you? Could he have recognized you after all these years? Your breath was shallow, uneven, panic rising in your throat as you wrestled with the urge to bolt from your seat.

You weren’t ready for this.

You weren’t ready to face him. Not here, not now. Not when you were still so caught up in your own thoughts, still trying to piece together the fragments of what your brain showed you. You’d come here for a cup of coffee— some peace— and seeing him again, after all this time, felt too much, and too little at once. It was like a bomb, or a bucket of ice cold water thrown directly at you.

It was overwhelming.

Your fingers trembled as you reached for your bag, your movements jerky and uncoordinated. Your heart was racing, and every instinct in your body was telling you to run. But you hesitated, torn between the undeniable urge to leave and the part of you that wanted to look at him just once more. Just to see if he had really changed as much as you thought. Just to see if he, unlike this town, your home, had changed.

But you knew better. You couldn’t stay. Not with your emotions so close to the surface, threatening to spill over. If he saw you, if he recognized you—if he spoke to you— you didn’t know if you could handle that.

Because you know you can’t.

The café, once so peaceful, now felt stifling, the walls closing in on you as your breath quickened. You couldn’t breathe. You needed to get out of here, needed to escape before everything came crashing down.

With one final glance at his figure, standing there by the counter, you pushed your chair back, the screeching sound drawing more attention than you would have liked. But you didn’t care. You grabbed your things and bolted for the door, your pulse pounding in your ears, your steps quick and uneven.

You’d nearly made it. The door was just a few steps away, and all you had to do was keep your head down and walk.

Your heart was still hammering in your chest, the anxiety twisting your insides as you tried to steady your breathing. Jungkook hadn’t seen you—or at least you hoped he hadn’t. You prayed to heavens and hells that he hadn’t. But just as you reached for the door, you saw him lean against the counter, much closer now. Far closer than you had anticipated.

Fuck. Fuck!

The café’s single door was right beside where he stood, and there was no way out without passing directly by him.

Oh no.

You shouldn’t have chosen this café. Was there no other cafés for you to try? Did HE necessarily have to be in the same café as you?

Your stomach churned, your pulse thudding in your ears, drowning out everything else. He was right there. Right there. And you could feel the heat radiating off him even from where you stood. Panic crawled up your spine, making your movements sluggish and jerky. You just needed to keep your head down and walk—walk past him without glancing his way, without catching his eye. But he was so close, and as you stepped forward, trying to make yourself as small as possible, you caught it—his scent.

That familiar scent, one that had changed just as much as he had. He no longer smelled like baby powder. It was manly now, deeper, some sort of an expensive cologne, which was strong on its own— yet soft, almost comforting in a way that made your chest constrict painfully. The scent wrapped around you, making your knees feel weak, and for a second, you nearly lost your footing. You fought the instinct to look at him—to take one glance and confirm that yes, this is the Jungkook you left behind, the one who had grown into a man. But you couldn’t. If you looked at him, you’d be done.

You were beyond cooked.

Your legs carried you forward, faster than they should have, your mind racing with every step. You felt your arm brush something—him, the edge of his jacket maybe, or his hand on the counter—and your pulse spiked violently.

Don’t look. Don’t look.

You shoved the door open, your breath coming in shallow, ragged bursts as you stumbled outside, the cool air hitting your face like a hard slap back to reality.

You were outside. You’d made it. But the world around you was spinning, the street and the sky blurring together as your heart continued to pound in your chest. You leaned against the wall just outside the café, your hand pressed to your chest, trying to catch your breath, trying to calm the storm raging inside you.

Your palms felt uncomfortably clammy and you felt a sweat head run down your temple. Your thoughts were a mess—disjointed. Everything was hitting you at once; you had run away again. You had seen him, been close enough to touch him, and you had run. Just like before.

You squeezed your eyes shut, the ache in your chest spreading as you tried to pull yourself together. It was stupid. So stupid. Stupid, Stupid, Stupid ! You were an adult now, one with full responsibilities for your actions, and yet here you were, fleeing like a scared child.

You took a deep breath, forcing the air into your lungs. Maybe you could handle this. Yeah, you needed to clear your head. It’s just the coffee messing with you. Maybe you could—

“Excuse me?”

Your entire body froze at the voice directed at you.

That voice.

Deep. Smooth. Rich. The sound of it sent a shiver down your spine, catching you off guard, wrapping itself around you like a tether, pulling you back toward the very thing you were trying to escape.

It wasn’t the voice you remembered—but it also very much was— heavier, weighted with a kind of maturity that made your breath catch. The boy you once knew had never sounded like this. This voice was deeper, more assured, like it had weathered years of life since you last heard it. The softness which his voice held in your memory still was back somewhere, but you couldn’t find it. And that hit you hard. He wasn’t that same boy anymore. The boy who used to tease you, who laughed with that bright, carefree chuckle—he was gone.

And now, that very voice was speaking to you.

You slowly turned to face him, your heart thudding violently in your chest as your eyes locked onto his face.

Yeah, this was your end.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Jungkook.

He was right there, just a few feet away. And this close, you could see everything.

The sharpness of his jawline hit you first, carved out and more defined than you ever remembered. It was strong, angular, like someone had taken the softness he once had and sculpted it into something more. . . commanding. His lips, parted slightly as he waited for you to respond, were full and soft, but even they held a sense of control, like every movement was deliberate. Fuck, was that a piercing at the corner ? His nose—perfectly straight, leading up to those eyes.

Those eyes.

Dark, deep, and searching. They hadn’t changed much in shape, but the way they looked at you was different now—more intense, more aware. His gaze wasn’t filled with youthful curiosity or mischief anymore. It was deeper. Grounded. Like he saw more, understood more.

He was a man now.

Your stomach twisted violently, and you had to force yourself to breathe.

Your gaze traveled up, noting the way his thick brows framed his face, darker and more defined than you remembered. They furrowed slightly as he watched you, as if trying to figure out why you were staring, why you hadn’t taken the phone from his hand yet. The small furrow in his brows only made his expression more serious, more focused. He was looking at you—not just glancing, but looking.

His dark, inky black hair brushed just above his brows, a few strands falling forward in that effortless, tousled way. It was longer now, framing his face, giving him an edge that made your chest tighten.

But it wasn’t just his face. Your eyes flickered down for just a second, barely able to handle it. His neck—strong and sinewy, leading to broad shoulders that seemed even broader now in the fitted jacket he wore. He’d filled out—a lot. His arms were no longer just lean muscle from teenage years of sports. Now, they were thicker, more muscular, straining against the fabric of his sleeve. Oh my God.

Your mind raced, every detail crashing into you at once, overwhelming your senses. Your chest felt tight, and you felt like your hands were shaking by your sides.

The more you looked, the more you realized how much had changed. How much you had missed. How much you had run away from?

It felt like the world was tilting, spinning, and you couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t stop the flood of memories, the weight of time lost, the realization that Jungkook had grown into someone you barely recognized—yet you knew it was still him.

He was still him.

You were losing yourself in it, in all of it, your thoughts spiraling out of control, unable to process the fact that he was standing here, holding something that belonged to you, waiting for you to take it from him.

Your eyes flickered back to his face, your heart clenching painfully. He was watching you, studying you in a way that made your skin prickle with awareness. And yet, as much as he was looking at you, he didn’t know you. Didn’t recognize you. Not yet, anyway.

That hit you harder than you could’ve expected. How could he not know who you were? How could he not see it in your face, in the way you were trembling, in the panic written all over you?

But then again, why would he?

You were no longer the same girl he once knew.

And as his eyes narrowed in mild confusion, his brow furrowing just a little deeper, it became clear—he didn’t see you as the person who had disappeared from his life. Not yet.

“Hey, are you alright?” he asked softly, his voice sending a tremor down your spine. You couldn’t miss the concern in his tone, the slight edge of worry that made your throat tighten even more.

Fuck. Of course he’d be concerned.

You blinked, the world rushing back into focus, feeling like your pupils zoomed like crazy— and suddenly, you realized you had been standing there for far too long, staring at him like a deer caught in headlights. Standing there like a damn weirdo.

Your phone. He is holding your phone.

For a split second, your eyes met his, and time seemed to freeze.

His gaze locked onto yours, and for the briefest of moments, something flickered there—something like recognition. You feel your eyes widening, bells ringing at the back of your head. His eyes softened, just slightly, as if he was searching your face for something familiar, something from the past. But then, just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by that same polite curiosity.

For a moment, you couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Your eyes flickered between his face and the phone in his hand, your chest tightening with each passing second. What should you do? He was right there, right in front of you. He was close enough for yoh to reach out and take back what was yours.

But you couldn’t.

Your hand now actually trembled at your side, your body frozen in place. The air felt too thick for you to gulp in, and your heart was pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.

“I—” Your voice cracked, and you swallowed hard, trying to force the words out, trying to make your body move. But you couldn’t.

You just couldn’t.

He tilted his head slightly, concern flickering across his face as he waited for you to take the phone. Why is he so concerned!? But you just stood there, rooted to the spot, like your feet had been glued to the ground. You felt the panic rising inside you again, the walls closing in as your chest tightened painfully, slowly.

“I—” you tried again, but your throat was too tight, and the word came out as nothing more than a strangled sound, like a muffled voice.

He took a step closer, and that was it. That was it.

Your body went into overdrive. Without thinking, without even trying to reason with yourself, you turned on your heel and bolted down the street, not caring if people stopped to look at you, thinking if you possibly were either a lunatic or someone who just won a lottery.

You didn’t care. You ran, ran, feeling your breath coming in short, sharp gasps as you ran. Your legs felt shaky beneath you, your pulse pounding in your ears as you darted around the corner, as far away from him as possible.

You couldn’t do this.

Your heart was hammering so violently you thought it might burst right out of your chest, and all you could think about was getting away. Far, far away.

You ran till you feel your chest burn, you ran till you felt like your limbs would give up. You ran till you feel like nothing again, you ran till your mind was empty.

When you finally slowed, your breath came in harsh, ragged bursts, and your vision blurred with tears you hadn’t realized were there. You collapsed onto a bench, your whole body trembling violently as the weight of everything crashed down on you.

You had run away.

Again.

And this time, you didn’t even have an excuse.

a/n : phew.. 😵‍💫 if you’ve made this far, thank you for reading 💜 what do we think? i’d be very glad if you let me know your thoughts 🫶🏾 if you want, there’s an anonymous feedback box where you can drop your thoughts anonymously 💌

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starkeyslibrary · 3 months ago

Text

That's So True

Inspired by That's so True by Gracie Abrams

pairing: reader x drew starkey

a/n: i just realized that i've never formally introduced myself on here! my bad, my name is rhodee, 21 years old, living in europe and currently studying law. i love writing imagines that'll hopefully make you laugh, swoon or cry (sorry not sorry) a little too hard <3

stick around if you’re into dreamy characters, plot twists, or just want to scream about Drew with me!

hope i'll get to know so many of y'all on here!! okay that's all, enjoy <3

The night Drew had left for the premiere, you told yourself it was just another event, like all the others. You even tried to convince yourself you didn't mind staying home, avoiding the chaos of the red carpet. It's his night, you thought, forcing a smile as he kissed you goodbye, his cologne lingering in the air long after the door closed.

But as the hours stretched on, the gnawing sense of isolation grew. It wasn't just tonight - it had been building for months. Drew's career was skyrocketing, and with every interview, press tour and glamorous event, it felt like he was slipping further away from you. He'd promised that things would calm down after this movie, that he'd have more time. But those promises were always vague, like a finish line that kept moving further out of reach.

The photos hit social media just before midnight. Drew, looking devastatingly handsome in his suit, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with his co-star, Odessa A’ Zion. The fan comments flooded in, gushing about how perfect they looked together, how the chemistry was undeniable.

You slammed your laptop shut. It wasn't jealousy - not exactly. You trusted him, but trust didn't erase the ache of feeling invisible.

The sound of Drew's keys jingling at the door pulled you from your spiralling thoughts. The clock on the wall read 1:47 a.m. You hadn't realized how late it had gotten. The door opened, and Drew stepped inside, his movements slow and careful, like he didn't want to disturb you. He probably thought you were asleep.

"Hey," you called out, your voice sharp in the quiet apartment. You couldn't hide the edge of frustration.

He paused, caught off guard, then gave a tired smile. "Hey, babe. Didn't think you'd still be up."

"Well, I am," you said, standing from the couch. "Thought you said you'd be home hours ago."

"The afterparty ran late," he explained, shrugging off his jacket. "I texted you."

"That's not the point, Drew," you snapped, your tone harsher than you intended. “This isn’t just about tonight. Do you even realize how little I see you anymore?”

His brows furrowed, and he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s my job, you know how crazy things get during press tour. This isn’t new.”

“That doesn’t make it easier,” you shot back. “You’re always out there, Drew. With her, with them – whoever. And I’m just .... here. Alone. Waiting for whatever scraps of time you have left.”

Drew exhaled sharply, clearly tired, and not in the mood for an argument. “This again?” he muttered, his tone clipped. “I can’t keep apologizing for doing my job.”

You flinched at his words. “I’m not asking you to apologize for working. I’m asking you to make me feel like I matter.”

“You do matter,” he said, raising his voice slightly. “But you’re acting like I can just drop everything. This is how it is y/n. This is how it’s always been.”

“No, it hasn’t,” you countered. “It’s different now. You’re different. You barely talk to me anymore. Half the time, I don’t even know what’s going on in your life. But everyone else does. The fans, the press – they all get pieces of you that I don’t.”

“That’s not true,” Drew said, shaking his head. “You’re making this a bigger deal than it is.”

Your eyes burned with unshed tears. “You don’t get it, do you? You don’t see how lonely this is for me. You’re so caught up in your world that you don’t even notice.”

Drew’s frustration boiled over. “What do you want me to do, y/n? Quit? Stop taking jobs? Would that make you happy?”

His words felt like a slap, and the tears you’d been holding back finally spilled over. “I want you to fight for this – for us. But instead, you’re treating me like a burden.”

Drew froze, his anger dissipating as he saw the pain in your expression. “Y/N,” he started, his tone softer, “You’re not a burden. I love you. You know that.”

“Do I?” you whispered. “Because it doesn’t feel like it anymore.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Drew looked at you, his face a mix of regret and helplessness. “I don’t know what to say,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Then don’t say anything,” you said, retreating to the bedroom before your emotions could completely overwhelm you.

You shut the door behind you, leaning against it as sobs wracked your body. You hated this – hated feeling like you were losing him. But you didn’t know how to bridge the growing distance between you.

Drew stood in the living room, staring at the closed door. He felt like the worst person in the world. He wanted to fix it; to make you understand how much you meant to him. But he was so tired – tired of the constant pull between his career and personal life, tired of feeling like he was failing at both.

He sat on the couch, his head in his hands. The apartment felt unbearably quiet without you. The fight replayed in his mind, your words cutting deeper with each pass. I want you to fight for this – for us.

He realized then how distant he’d been, how much he’d taken your support for granted. You’d been his anchor through everything, and he’d been too caught up in his own world to see how much you were struggling.

When you woke up, the sun was streaming through the curtains, but the weight in your chest hadn’t lifted. You found Drew in the kitchen, already dressed and nursing a cup of coffee. His face lit up when he saw you, but it quickly fell when he noticed your guarded expression.

“Morning,” he said softly, hesitant.

You nodded, not trusting your voice.

“I, uh, I thought about what you said last night,” he began, setting his coffee down. “And you’re right. I haven’t been fair to you.”

You looked at him, surprised. “Drew – “

“Let me finish,” he interrupted gently. “I’ve been so focused on my career that I forgot what matters most – you. Us. I don’t want you to feel like you’re not part of my life, because you are. You’re everything to me, Y/N. And I know I haven’t shown that enough.”

Tears filled your eyes, and this time, you didn’t fight them. “I just... I miss you, Drew. I miss us.”

He crossed the room in a few strides, pulling you into his arms. “I miss us, too,” he said, his voice breaking. “And I’m going to do better. I promise.”

For the first time in weeks, you felt a glimmer of hope. The road ahead wouldn’t be easy, but for the first time, it felt like you were on the same page.

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cameronspecial · 1 year ago

Text

Good Terms With The In-Laws

Pairing: Drew Starkey x Reader

Warnings: N/A

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.6K

Summary: Y/N and Drew broke up a long time ago, so why does he still go to movie night with her parents every Friday?

A/N: This is inspired by this post.

Masterlist

Y/N and Drew broke up six months ago. It was a mutual decision between the pair; they just felt like it wasn’t working out anymore. He is always away at work and this leaves her at home by herself. After the breakup, she moved in with her parents for moral support and because she couldn’t find anywhere else to live yet. It would be hard for her to go back to living by herself after four years of living with Drew. They had been dating since they both graduated from university, so the breakup was a big change in their lives. Yet one thing doesn’t change in their life and that is Drew’s weekly hang out with her father and mother, which becomes more weekly because of the SAG strike. He’ll bring over dinner and watch a movie with her parents every Friday. When they were dating, she used to join the tradition, but the split has made it awkward. Now, she goes over to a friend’s house until he leaves. This week, she has nowhere to go so she’ll just stay locked up in her room. She is watching TV when she gets a notification on her phone.

Your dad isn’t picking up his phone so let your parents know that I am going to be there in about ten minutes with the wings. She rolls her eyes at his text. We broke up six months ago. Why are you still doing this? When is it going to end? She watches as the three dots get replaced by a text. It’s just a dude having dinner and watching a movie with a married couple. That’s not a crime, Y/N. She leaves him without a response and goes back to her show. Around eight minutes later, the doorbell rings. She waits for her parents to answer it, but swears up a storm when she remembers that they went out to get some drinks for tonight.

She opens the door to find Drew. His gaze is on the empty driveway and he turns toward her. “Your parents aren’t home,” he states, stepping in and going to the living room to set the food on the coffee table. She shrugs, “They’ll be back soon. They went to get drinks.” She is stopped from going back to her room by Drew. “We haven’t seen each other in months and that’s all we are going to say to each other,” he questions. She turns to him with furrowed brows, “We broke up a long time ago, Drew. What do you want me to say? I don’t understand why you are still doing movie night with my parents?”

“Because it’s good to be on good terms with your in-laws.”

“Good terms with your in-laws? Drew, did you hit your head? We broke up.”

“I know, but we both know that that isn’t permanent.”

He closes the distance between them so she feels his breath on her face. Her neck cranes to look up at him, “What are you talking about?” “Let’s be honest. You broke up with me and I went along with it because I could see you needed space. But eventually, I was going to make you realize that although my work takes me all over the world, I’m going to do everything in my power to not make you feel alone,” he tells her, taking her hand in his. “Because my heart was made for you, so only you can have it. You take as much time as you need and when you are ready to get back together, I’ll be here waiting for you.” Her parents come back home at that moment, which means she can make her exit back to her room without Drew’s knowledge. Her heart is pounding like a race track. She can’t believe what he just said, but what if he is right?

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @victory-in-the-llama @drewsmusee @starkowswife

#drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey fanfiction #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey fic #drew starkey one shot #drew starkey oneshot #drew starkey x female reader #drew starkey x you

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anaconamor · 7 months ago

Note

ex-bf!trent who doesn’t want u to leave after having sex

so what - taa blurb.

psa 🗣️: something small before i post dad! trent… also not proofread so im sorry 🙂‍↕️🤗

trent exhaled a sigh, his hand brushing up and down your bare arm, tucking you closer. you felt him rest his cheek on your temple, as you drew shapes along his bare chest, not knowing what to say but having to urge to say so much. the white thin sheets not covering you both entirely or what you had just done.

it’s like you could sense it, you knew trent from the back of your hand. his likes, dislikes, his pleasure, hobbies, emotions, everything. and now wasn’t any different than from when you were together. just now it felt like the past and you hated it because now it was different and so much damage was done.

it was a week ago when he put all his ego and hidden feelings aside. manning up and showing up to your doorstep just to be surprised you had just gone on a date. elegant makeup and hair. your outfit. it felt like a fever dream. though you allowed him to come in, for him letting to seek and pour out his feelings to you because you were the only person he felt safe and comfortable doing that with.

a week since you set boundaries with him and agreed on just sex with him. that it was all you could offer each other no matter the price tag it carried. was it wrong? yes. did it feel right? more than you could imagine.

“stay with me tonight,” he murmured kissing your forehead, lips longing on the spot. you smiled tiredly, knowing you could stay but it didn’t feel right. you would be up the entire night overthinking about what had happened and you couldn’t trust yourself entirely if you did stay with him.

“i can’t trent, i have to work…” you lied and sighed deeply, pushing yourself a bit though it felt impossible when all you wanted and felt was to sink into his embrace and not look back. for him to protect and keep you safe like he once had and promised.

“just work? or are you gonna avoid me,” he said making you roll your eyes at his tone. “i don’t owe you any explanations on what i do or don’t. we agreed on just sex,” you pointed looking up where his face softened. “don’t do that trent,” you pushed yourself up, hearing trent groan before pulling you back down to his chest.

“why can’t i just hold you like this. just for tonight,” he offered but you shook your head. “because that would mean something more than what we promised. we’re not together anymore, you don’t have to pretend to care,” you said directly, your words stinging trent’s heart. when had you become so cold?

“but i do care.”

“but you don’t. not when i needed you to anyway. there’s no point of trying to fix what’s already broken,” you say with no emotion. you learned that the hard way. you were used to the disappointment but when it came from trent that was just the tip of the iceberg. you didn’t want to be vulnerable anymore. you didn’t deserve it because you had so much more to live up to. trent couldn’t live up to the standards even after how much you begged and pleaded.

“that’s not fair, you haven’t given me a chance to show we aren’t like how you think, y/n.”

“i’m not doing this again trent. i gave you so much time for you to explain and prove yourself when i gave you the chance but you refused because you weren’t ready. that’s not my problem anymore, you knew how i felt when coming into this. no feelings just sex.”

“how am i supposed not to feel anything, y/n? you’re my ex girlfriend!”

you scoffed pushing away the sheets and grabbing your clothes to dress yourself again. this was the cons to what you agreed. you knew and felt that it wasn’t quite over with the two of you just yet. but this felt better than actually being together. you still had him but there was no label to it, this time things were different and you were gonna stand on that for your sake.

though all you longed and wished was to be back how it was when you first met. the late night dates, his lips brushing and kissing over your knuckles, trent’s shy smiles when you complimented him, making ever longing memories and promises for one day. those that now won’t be able to come true when you had the courage to put your foot down and end it.

it was all going down hill. you never saw him anymore, he treated you like a plate for a second table, trent was there physically but not mentally. you tried and fought, the many late night tears and seeking of advice, but there was so much you could and have done but in the end you gave up and called it quits. to protect yourself from further damage.

“i knew this was gonna happen,” you blurted to yourself, trying to calm the ache in your head yet also the nerves that built in your veins. you heard trent shuffle around the bed then looking at him with his black calvin’s on. “y/n wait, let’s talk this out.”

why was he fighting for you now? why did he bother when this was all you asked for in the past? for him to communicate his thoughts and feelings.

“no trent, i’m done talking. i did that all before and im not here to do again just because you want me to stay,” you said while putting on your shirt. “it’s not just about staying. i finally have you to myself and want to protect that. i just want to be with you right now,” trent pleaded, coming over to your side where you hid your face away from him. knowing if stared into him it was capable of you to stay.

“we made a promise,” your voice broke, just like trent’s hopes were as you continued to speak. “i just want to have control of one thing in my life and heart. i can’t do this again if it mean the same outcome trent. we don’t deserve that. we fought so hard, and we’d be repeating history again.”

“but isn’t that the point? for us not to repeat it because we have full control of that? of our thoughts and feelings? of our love for each other? i wasn’t ready then. the night of our breakup or a week ago when this all began. i can’t lie to you, when i saw you again i made a promise to you and myself y/n… i just want you… i’m ready now,” his brown eyes bore into yours making it so difficult, every bone in your body wanting to give it.

“trent-” you warned sadly.

“you said you did all the talking, now it’s my turn, but i can’t do that if you don’t allow me to baby,” trent was ready to get on his knees and beg you. to beg you to stay, to beg you to hear him out, to beg you to love him like you once did. he was ready to risk it all just for you. doing the utterly most to show you.

“stay with me tonight, it’s a start for a new us…”

#trenty thoughts 💭#trent alexander arnold #trent alexander arnold blurb #trent alexander arnold x reader #trent alexander arnold imagine

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pholla-jm · 1 year ago

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So Close, Yet So Far

IMAGINE: SO CLOSE, YET SO FAR ~ LUFFY X READER GENRE: FLUFF Mizpah- the deep emotional bond between people, especially those separated by distance. ********************

Luffy could have swore he saw something familiar.

Something so familiar that it made his heartbeat increase and excitement fill his body. He would recognize that form anywhere.

That’s why he didn’t hesitate to run after the familiar figure. Ignoring the calls from his nakama. Their shouts for him fell on deaf ears.

“Ugh,” Nami groans while pinching the bridge of her nose, “I swear, those ears are just for decoration.”

Luffy ran all around town, asking if they had seen this figure he saw earlier. He described this person with perfect precision, yet no one had seen them. It confused him, frustrated him even more.

He could have sworn he saw you. The hope that filled him, just from the thought of seeing you, was too great. He wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around you multiple times and take in your familiar scent that he grew to love. But you were too far away from him.

Now that the feeling of hope was starting to fade away, another feeling replaced it. Longing filled his heart. It felt like you were just arms reach from him, but you weren’t. You were miles away, seas away even.

Luffy laughs to himself. It’s not possible that you were here. You were home, at Dawn island.

“Luffy! What are you doing?” The ship’s cook shouts at him. Luffy was silent, not really hearing his question. Sanji was quick to notice this. “Luffy, is everything alright?”

Luffy blinks a couple times, finally hearing Sanji’s voice.

“Yeah. Just thought I saw someone.” “Oh, who?”

Luffy grins widely, “don’t worry about it.”

Luffy turns around and walks the other direction.

Sanji doesn’t push it, but he thought it to be very for him to be acting this way. Maybe he was hungry? Yeah, that has to be it.

Many, many hours later, the crew was heading back to the ship. Some were drunk and half awake. Some, taking care of each other. Luffy stayed silent the whole time. Something that the whole crew found weird, but decided not to bring it up. They didn’t want to jinx their luck.

All Luffy wanted to do was head to his quarters and look at some of the things you gave him before leaving.

“I was beginning to think that no one was going to return to the ship.” An unknown voice calls out once the crew is back on the ship- well mostly unknown.

An unknown person leaned against the railing of the ship, flipping through pages of one of Robin’s books.

While everyone either drew out a weapon, ready to fight if needed. However, Luffy’s reaction was opposite. His eyes widened, mouth forming into a huge smile. He could feel his heart start to beat faster like it used to.

It was you.

The same you he was looking for just hours ago.

You looked different though. You hair styled differently, and you had a bit more muscle on you. But your voice sounded exactly the same.

A deep inhale entered Luffy’s lungs as he couldn’t contain his excitement anymore. “(Y/N)!” He shouts happily and throws himself at you.

“(y/n)?” The crew questions. Why would Luffy know this person?

Laughter fell from your lips as you wrapped your arms around Luffy’s body. His arms wrapping around you multiple times. As much as he could, just enough to let you breathe, but enough to feel you as close as possible.

“Luffy.” You breathe out with a happy smile on your face. It was surreal seeing him again. “I’m so happy that you’re here!” Luffy voices your thoughts as well. “Me too.”

“OH!” Luffy says pulling away from you, “I want you to meet my crew!” He says, pulling you towards the confused crew members.

“Who are you?” Nami questions. “This is (y/n), they’re from Dawn Island.”

“Ooh, so is this another one of your siblings?” The blonde asks.

Your face scrunches up at his words and Luffy laughs, “nah. They’re more special than that.”

“Eh??!” The crew shouts at this revolution.

“So wait… wait. What are you doing here then?” One of them asks. “Well, I got bored of waiting on the island so I went on an adventure of my own.”

You turn to Luffy with a small pout on your face. You had told Luffy that you would wait for him when he first left the island. But you couldn’t wait any longer. You were itching to leave the island, have an adventure of your own. And then find Luffy on your own.

“I hope you don’t mind, Luffy. I know I said I would wait.”

Luffy’s grin doesn’t falter, “I don’t mind! You found your way back to me!” You laugh, “of course. I’ll always find you.”

“Are you going to stay?” Nami asks. “If you don’t mind.”

“Of course you’re staying!” Luffy says and relief floods you. You really didn’t want to leave Luffy again. And Luffy really didn’t want to leave you again.

You were finally here, with him. Within arms length.

#oneshot #one piece #one piece x reader #one piece x you #monkey d. luffy x reader #luffy x reader #luffy x you #luffy x y/n #op x reader

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wokeupchrisbrezy · 4 months ago

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Don't Save me.

Lando Norris

Warnings: Smut and angst (the usual obvi.)

Time and time again, he proved he was a horrible lover. Emotionally, that is. Playing with your feelings was his favorite game. He could be an olympian.

Countless tears spilled and love lost.

He did care but it was just the way your glossy eyes looked up at him that made his stomach swirl with excitement. The crystal clear tears that ran over your blushed cheeks made him proud. His ego stroked that he made you so pretty. So beautiful and grief stricken.

The fact that he can control your emotions gave him a sense of power. It all became too much around six months ago. You spent more time sad and sorry over him than you were happy with him. Your friends made you block him. Made you get rid of his gifts. His pictures, polaroids and digital, all down the drain. You forced yourself not to care. Not even a second glance at his desperate messages. All the missed calls piled up in your inbox as you watched his name pop up on your phone. All that progress took up most of your days. It all officially ended about four months ago.

You tried to go on dates and find someone to fill that void that he left behind but no one could compare. The amount of times your friends pounded into your head that he wasn’t good enough never worked. The small voice in your head overshadowed the loud ones of your friends.

Was it surprising that he was in your bed again, hanging onto you like a lifeline, making you feel warm? Definitely not.

Your body rested against the soft plush of your bed, covers engulfing your presence as he did the same. The soft smell of his lingering cologne after a long day filled the soft ambiance. Moonlight spilling from the window in your bedroom. His arms wrapped around your waist as his head found comfort on your chest. His eyes stared into the somewhat dark abyss and his fingers drew soft oblong shapes on your side. The silence was comfortable only because speaking would be the opposite.

The prolonged minutes ticked by, second after second. The feeling of his skin on yours quickly became irritating as your mind left the love filled haze. He felt it too. He made that abundantly clear once he turned over, away from you, with the maximum space your bed allowed. You were thinking with your head for once and not your heart. What the fuck. All the love songs and long lectures from your friends should’ve convinced you not to let this man into your home again.

But it felt like an obligation.

All the nights you and him spent just laughing and having a good time. Along with the nights filled with screaming matches and lingering anger. Some of that anger was still there. It was left at a simmer but now it was boiling. Your mind was deciding between loving him, physically at least, or making him leave. Was it really love anymore or are you just aching to feel something? You heard the jingle of his keys in his hands and your head snapped towards him.

Is he really leaving now? You haven’t even done anything yet. Asshole.

“What are you doing?” Your voice broke the silence.

“Leaving.” He murmured as if he was scared to break the silence even more.

“Why?”

“Do you want me to stay?” He inquired.

No… maybe… yes.

“Would that change anything?” You asked.

“Maybe we’ll be out of breath later but other than that… not really.” He spoke.

“Then take these with you, I’m not gonna use them.” You threw a box of unopened Trojans at him.

He caught and inspected it. “Why not? Don’t tell me you’re just rolling the dice now. I’ll be disappointed.” He said.

His tone almost made your expression falter. “No… I just don’t need them.”

He stood up and slipped his shoes on. His keys slipped into his back pocket before he adjusted his belt. His expression was dull. Almost lifeless. “Hey…” He whispered with an exhale of a breath. “Be careful and take care of yourself, alright?”

You’d probably get permanent wrinkles with how hard your furrowed your eyebrows. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, I just–,” He let out a sigh. “Forget it.”

You watched as he neared your bedroom door. His shoes scraped against the wood flooring that wasn’t covered in a rug. His eyes lingered on your expression, the same expression he relished in previously but this time it did nothing. Not an ounce of pride that once filled him when you were hurt. He just looked shallow.

You stood from your bed. “What is up with you?” You sneered. The tone was harsh but you didn’t regret it this time. “Seriously, you’re acting like a weirdo.”

His expression grew annoyed, a small flourish of your heart with it. “What are you talking about?”

“Nothing, forget it.” You mocked his previous remark.

Minutes ticked by faster now. More insults and innuendos were flying through the air. Lord knows your neighbors would be pissed the next morning with the amount the yelling had grown. The thought of leaving left both of your minds for the time being.

You wound up in your bed again under different circumstances. The so-called ‘right’ circumstances. Clothes were at the foot of your bed along with his shoes and keys.

“You just had to open your mouth, huh?” He sneered as he pulled your hips up, forcing your back into a deep arch that felt so good with an ounce of discomfort. He pulled a condom from the box you threw at him early. “Looks like you’re gonna be using them after all.”

“Shut up already.” You said. All quippy remarks left your mind for the time being. The cool night air caused goosebumps on your flushed skin.

You heard the wrapper tear open and the sound of rubber sliding against his skin. The texture against the curve of your ass as you felt his hands pushing and pulling the fat of it. “Taking your sweet time, aren’t ya?”

“Let me enjoy this without your annoying voice.’’ He shot back before slipping inside your core, a soft groan left his lips as he savored you like his last fulfilling meal. A muted breath was pushed into the covers as his hand tipped your head down. He gained the will to move ever so slightly. So slow and tantalizing.

You managed to tilt your head to the side so you could breathe and demand. “Oh my god, move already.” You hissed. You caught a glimpse of his hardened expression before your eyes closed from the harsh push of his hips, finally giving you the feeling you’ve ached for months. Sure, you’ve been in this position before, quite literally, but that was with an irrelevant man who managed to get to the finish line after minutes of short strokes with the aid of your own hand.

His tempo became consistent as his hands grabbed at the squish of your hips and ass, the skin on skin contact harmonizing with the soft thump of your headboard against the wall. His quivering breaths revealed that he was feeling the same.

“Fuck…” He drawled out, his fingers gripped your hips. “That’s it.” He murmured as his chest laid on your back. His ears filled with your moans like Beethoven’s classical music.

You were in a daze before you felt the loss of connection. He manhandled you to straddle his lap. Your centers connected again. He wanted to see your faces, maybe your tits too. “Come on, get moving.” He laughed slightly. Normally, you would’ve smart mouthed him but you were too busy chasing that release you needed.

Your muscles work in unison to achieve it. His head tilted back as he closed his eyes so he could just feel. Feel. Feelings. This is what all this is about. Not emotional feelings but physical.

Your thighs get that lactic burn after a while, movements slowing before your breath becomes labored. How embarrassing on your behalf.

“Come on, baby. I didn’t come here for a pity fuck.” His smile was devious as he smacked your ass, feeling the ripples underneath his fingers for a split second. “Come on, honey, you can do it. I believe in you.” He mocked.

The feeling of heat in your eyes was familiar. The warning signs of tears. You kept going just to please him. Like you did time and time again. “That’s my girl.” He murmured in satisfaction. A little roll of his hips as a little reward.

He noticed the glassy aspect of your eyes and he felt that pride again. His hands rubbed soothing circles on your hips as he helped you move. He felt your tightness increased and he let a little air through his teeth. The bit of your lip and look of clouded concentration on your face was scrumptious to him. He could eat it, and you, everyday if he could.

A raspy moan left your lips as your peak heightened. The tie unraveling in your lower abdomen as your legs finally gave out with an extra bounce of steam. He moved you back as he didn’t care about your peak anymore since you oh so obediently found it yourself. His hips brutally attacked yours as he lifted one of your legs on his shoulder, his nails digging into your calf. You were squirming and writhing from the sharp spikes of pleasure. A soft sheen on his body that made him look amazing.

His free hand grasped yours as he reached his own release. Spilling into the condom as he slowed to a stop. His chest rising and falling with each beat of his rapid heart rate. He pulled his hand away and gave you a soft pat on the thigh before leaning back on his thighs.

He stood up and ran a hand through his hair before discarding the condom. His weight shifted the mattress as he pulled you over again. The air was humid and skin on skin contact was almost unbearable before he planted a soft kiss on your forehead.

Has he changed? Why is he doing this? Questions filled your head before he answered them.

“I’m not saying it.” He said firmly before turning his head away from you but still had you in his arms.

‘I love you’ were words he’d never dare to utter.

So much for change.

#f1 smut #f1 x reader #formula 1 #lando norris #writing #don't let this flop #f1 #lando norris smut #late night post #f1 fic #ln4 #ln4 smut

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world-of-aus · 2 years ago

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Safe With Me

Pairing: Bodyguard!Bucky x MobDaughter!Reader

Warnings: hints of previous domestic abuse (very small hints), angsty, protective bucky (he's a warning folks).

Author's Note: I've been wanting bodyguard!bucky for a hot minute and here is part one of a two part installment. He's my grumpy turned sunshine I never new I needed till now! I also want to thank @winterwitch-trash for constantly sending me into the afterlife with her inspirations for this piece. Happy Readings Buns <3

Boisterous laughter fills your ears as you step a heeled foot into the extravagant hall. The room is filled with business suits and dazzling dresses.

His hand tap yours where it’s wrapped tightly around his bicep, your gaze meets his, a warm reassuring smile on his lips. A tilt to your head and he’s leading you further into the room, pulling you into the pool of suits and dresses, the laughter all consuming as he pulls you further in to the masses.

You slip into your role as he guides you, a warm pleasant smile on your lips, a tilt to your head as you greet the bigheaded business suit and his dazzling dress. He leads the two of you till your face to face with your father and his company. The men of the group can barely spare you a glance much less a proper greeting as they take to the man who holds you on his arm. You find the women are kinder acknowledging your presence with a nod of their head, it was the most you had found they were allowed to do at these events.

Caught up in a conversation your father takes the time to acknowledge you, his voice low as he leans in. “You are to stay with him at all times tonight, where you go, he goes, is that understood?” You want to ask if he’s here, there’s no other reason your dad would abide you caution if there wasn’t a threat involved. He leans back, eyes trained on yours, “do as I say.” A finality to his somewhat cryptic statement. You offer a tight-lipped nod, watching as he throws himself into the conversation.

Unlike the other women of the group, you don’t grow bored, your nerves on edge as you glance 9around the hall. Eyes scanning the business suits for him, you knew he was here. He had been set to take over the business when you hung off his arm, you had no doubt with the time that passed that he had already claimed the title.

So intent on finding his eyes you don’t feel Bucky lean in till he’s whispering into your ear, “let’s go dance.” He breaks your trance, head tilting to look at him but he’s turned to your fathers group dismissing the two of you with a promise to the men to grab a drink later. Your father catches him before he can whisk the two of you off, whispering something into his ear, it’s when the two separate eye to eye that you catch your fathers look, it was enough for you.

With a pat to Bucky’s arm, he sends the two of you off, your grip on his bicep tightening as you part through the group. His hand lays over yours squeezing, thumb brushing over your skin soothing. Bucky had grown so attune to you over the months, learning to read you better than most in your life could. There was nothing you could hide from the broad-shouldered brunette, not anymore.

You break onto the dance floor, his body turning into yours as he molds you to him, your hand clasped tightly in his. It’s quiet for a moment between you two as you let him take the lead, body pressing further into his as he takes you around the floor. He leans into you, “you’re safe with me, he’ll never lay another hand on you as long as I’m around.”

You want to ask him how long that looks like, want to ask him about the contract your father drew up and had him sign that fateful morning in his office months ago. You had no part in it despite it being drawn up for you and your safety. “What troubles you,” he breathes into your hair.

You lean into the motion, “you won’t be able to keep me safe forever,” your murmur into the black velvet of his suit. “What will happen when the contract you signed with my father is up? Surely there will be other jobs needing you, once your time here is done.” Your feet slow, the hand that rests on your back squeezes, “you need not worry about that, to worry about what your future holds, stay here in the present with me.”

You can’t help but to think of the future; a future without Bucky Barnes in it. He wraps you closer, your head finding his shoulder as he sways the two of you amongst the mass. The question of how long you had left with him sitting on your tongue. You don’t ask, not wanting to break the moment you share with ‘what ifs’. You wondered if you had held your walls as high as Bucky had when you were first introduced to him all those months ago if you might have saved your heart from the pain that would come when his time was up.

The hand that held yours finds your cheek, beckoning you from your spot on his shoulder. Your eyes find his, the question wants to fall of your tongue but a voice that has your blood running cold stops it altogether. Bucky’s form goes rigid when you freeze in his arms, fear clouding your features at the man that has appeared from the masses behind you.

“For claiming to be so devoted you move on rather quick, petal,” he spits.

Your eyes slip shut, breathing in deep as you steel yourself, you would not let yourself live in fear over this man. It’s what he wanted, wanting to keep you down when you were already in the dirt. You had lived it enough when you were with him, no more would you allow him to have you cowering before him. Enough was enough. There would be a time where the man that held you, the man who made you feel safe wouldn’t be there, and you needed to be ready to face things alone. Steeling yourself, you compose your features, throwing on a smile as you turn on your heel Bucky’s hand still on you offering you a sense of comfort as you turn to face them.

Your stomach drops at the sight, but your smile remains, “what a pleasant surprise Rumlow,” you greet, your eyes flicking over to his mistress, the one he had in your bed far too many times to count. “Elizabeth, you look radiant, you’re glowing,” you add as you allow your eyes to drift down to her swollen belly. It would have only been a matter of time before she fell pregnant with his child, you’re just glad it hadn’t happened with you there.

“Not sure we can say the same for you,” Rumlow throws in smugly. He wants a fight, wants you to bark back so he can find a way to put you in your place, like he did when you were under him. Bucky can sense his intentions as he presses into you, the hand that laid at your back now curled into a fist.

“Well surely you can’t say the same, because we’re not the same.”

Despite the lack of venom in your tone, Rumlow bites, “He’ll grow tired of you as well,” he murmurs eyes flickering to Bucky, “don’t lock yourself down with this one pal,” he finds your eyes again, “she isn’t worth it.” Bucky should have stepped in sooner but the feel of you shaking form in his arms draws the line. “Rumlow is it?” he questions as he steps forward, his form shadowing yours as he puts himself between you and the man you once called your fiancé “listen pal I don’t appreciate the way you’ve been talking down to my girl, now I’ve tried to respect her wishes of being on my best behavior tonight but I think it’d be best if you and your partner here walked away now, were trying to enjoy ourselves, surely there are others around that you can get your ego stroked with that isn’t mine.”

Rumlow looks visibly ticked by Bucky, his hand clenched at his side, but he knew better than to start anything tonight, no one ever dared to start a fight on a night like this. The dark haired brunette clears his throat as he steps forward towards you. No regard for Bucky he gets as close as he can voice low and menacing as he speaks directly at you, “your daddy’s little guard dog can’t protect you forever,” he steps back smirk on his lips as he takes the two of you in, “pleasure seeing the two of you, and y/n ill see you soon.” he says over his shoulder as he walks past the two of you.

Bucky’s eyes follow the man as he goes but your frozen on his words, heart pounding in your chest, a ringing in your ears that screams its all too much. You suck in a shaky breath, the need to run all but suffocating, you’re slipping from Buckys hold as you move forward, smile pressed on your lips despite the dread consuming you whole. You squeeze through the business suit and dazzling dress, slipping your way through the crowd the exit at the forefront of your mind.

His voice is a light buzz in your ear but you can hear him call for you, telling you to wait, slow down, but your feet won’t allow it, your racing heart making it harder to breathe the longer you’re in here. You make it out past the grand doors, feet barely just meeting the edge of the first stair before you’re being pulled back into a broad chest. His hands are on you, turning you in his hold muffling the first cry that tears from your lips. “It’s okay,” he breathes into your hair, “I’ve got you, you’re safe with me.”

Your fingers clutch at the lapels of his suit, “he’s never going to stop, and you won’t be here forever, I – I can’t do this anymore, I'm not strong enough to do this."

Bucky prays you don’t feel the way he tenses up at your words, the way his heart skips a beat, he pulls you into his arms tighter, lips finding your head, “you're stronger than anyone I've ever had the privilege of working under y/n, we're going to figure this out, I've got you, I promise you I've got you." You want to scream into the night air but settle on the choked sob that makes it past your lips instead.

"It's just so unfair," you whisper into his jacket. You weren't sure what you found more unfair though.

The situation with Rumlow, or your newfound situation with Bucky.

#bodyguard!bucky #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes au

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mistydeyes · 1 year ago

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Hey, Hope you're having a good day or night wherever you are.

Can I request a headcanon about 141 with a female reader who likes to draw and sketch a lot? Platonic ofc.

thanks anon, hope you have a good ____ as well <3 i used to be a sketch/artist girl so this was so cute to write :)

an artist’s touch

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

summary: When you aren’t on the field, you are an avid artist of multiple mediums. It isn’t brought up much but once it is, the 141 has plenty of questions (and even some requests).

pairing: Taskforce 141 x platonic!fem!reader

warnings: swearing, mentions of blood/violence

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

tbh when you first joined, they didn’t know much about your hobby (being part of a specialized task force is busy yk?)

but it was revealed when you finally were granted leave and you discussed your plan upon your return home

“my first stop is going to be to cass art :)”

immediate cacophony of “you draw?” “you’re an artist?” “have you ever drawn us before!”

after a few minutes you quelled all of their questions (“yes, yes, and i literally joined 4 months ago and haven’t had access to a pencil”)

ghost comments, “make sense why you’re so good at stabbing people”

“god you’re so morbid ghost”

when back on base, you were shy to show you’re talents but you eventually relaxed the more you were with your teammates

eventually you began to bring out your sketchbook or paints out when you were relaxing after a mission or training session

once in a while, someone will tell you your work is amazing but if you’re in the zone, they’ll leave you alone

one time price accidentally left his mug too close to your paint cup and you ended up swirling your brush into it

queue a long lecture about how you should pay more attention (but who am i kidding that coffee is so strong he probably didn’t notice)

you humored soap and drew what you thought the real simon riley looked like

ghost snuck a peek and one of the drawings was surprisingly accurate

speaking of which, you may or may not have used your teammates as drawing references but you’ll never tell

gaz just has such angular features which makes drawing his figure so easy

mans looks like a walking drawing figure

it’s relaxing to let your mind wander and hands do the work as you fill a page or canvas

painting at home in your studio helps you to unwind from the grueling job

once, you sketched a few designs for gaz when he mentioned wanting to get a tattoo

“i don’t know gaz this is permanent” “i’ve seen your sketches and they’re amazing! just send me a few designs”

he landed on a cool watercolor piece you had made months ago

after your design, you would all joke about how you would redesign ghost’s tattoo

“Lt. that shit is heinous, just let me draw you a coverup” “no.”

while you don’t accept commissions anymore, you did gift your captain a painting of his favorite secluded lake scenery

he has it hanging in the foyer of his elegant flat

while you don’t really exchange gifts, everyone knows what they would get you

ghost has taken special attention to the brand of pencil you use and the gouache paintings that litter your quarters

everyone likes to joke w you on the comms

“hey do you think you could paint a picture with the blood of your enemies?” “jesus! soap…but yes i could”

#task force 141 x reader #task force 141 #cod x reader #call of duty modern warfare #cod mwii #modern warfare 2 #simon ghost riley #call of duty #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #madebyizzie #141 headcanons #mw2 headcanons #mw2 #izzie is writing

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peachhcs · 1 month ago

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i love your wonder years works!! i feel like you write young and pining will and samy sooooooo welll 🫶🏽 would love more of them and their friends in highschool they are so cute - (i just reread the jealousy blurbs). you are so talented 😊!!

aww wait i’m so happy to hear that bc i loveeeee writing the wonder years so much and i always feel like people don’t like it as much 🥹🥹 anyways you ask and you shall receive!!

i feel like most of the pining happens senior year because that’s when both of them have feelings for one another so here’s new year’s eve 2022 in samy’s basement where she has a bunch of people over to celebrate and her breakup with kevin is still somewhat fresh but will’s feelings are at an all time high (and so are samy’s!!)

warnings??: underage drinking, will lowkey being a perv by looking at samy constantly but like not because he’s also a 17 year old with a huge fat crush on his best friend

au masterlist

will seriously shouldn’t have come to this because how was he supposed to stay away from samy on new year’s eve with alcohol in his system knowing how good she looked standing five feet away from him, but she just broke up with kevin not that long ago and will was pretty sure it was really wrong to drunkingly make out with her like they sometimes did because she just went through a breakup.

he was so fucked.

the blonde tried keeping his eyes on gabe and drew where he stood with them talking in their small circle, but the urge to look over at the brunette was so much stronger. too strong. he peaked a glimpse and every time his breath hitched in his throat and his brain short circuited for a good five seconds when his eyes traveled the expanse of her outfit. her, marcie, lauren, and riley had a mix of similar outfits on, something they planned. will’s gaze was trained on her black mini skirt that was reused from halloween and her shiny, sequined long sleeve top where he could totally see her black bralette underneath.

he needed to stop looking. he was being weird and creepy and someone was definitely going to clock him on it if he didn’t quit it, so the blonde tore his gaze away again and tried focusing on the words leaving drew’s mouth.

“honestly, i think we’re gonna win the whole thing,” the taller brunette mumbled taking another sip of his drink.

will was pretty sure they were talking about u18 worlds in may. “i mean why wouldn’t we? we’ve got the best lines, the best defense, the best players. we’ve got nothing on them,” gabe listed off on his fingers.

the other thing will couldn’t shake from his mind was that kevin was here. samy still invited him since they were still friends and will knew he didn’t really have anything to worry about with him anymore, but he just couldn’t really shake the feeling of all three of them being in the same room knowing how tense things used to be. kevin was on the other end of the room talking with his soccer friends, very oblivious to will’s erratic heart beat and racing thoughts.

“i need another drink,” will muttered because he couldn’t focus on what his friends were talking about and he also just wanted another excuse to walk past samy and check her out without being too obvious.

he squeezed past her and she happened to look at him as he passed. she flashed a wide smile at the blonde and his knees almost gave out seeing that smile directed at him.

“you having fun?” she turned to talk to him for a second.

“yeah, this is great,” will nodded, forcing his eyes to stay on her face.

“i’m glad!” she turned back to her friends leaving will to continue to the drink table.

he mulled over his options when he got there wondering which one would maybe help him forget the feelings he had and make him remember that samy was strictly his best friend and would never see him as something more than that.

he hoped the high noon would do the trick.

“hey,” the voice snapped the hockey player from his thoughts. kevin stood beside him, eyeing the drinks too.

“hey?” will wondered what he wanted.

“maybe i just see it more now that samy and i aren’t together, but you’re really obvious,” kevin said.

“what?” the blonde was caught off guard.

“come on, man. it’s so obvious you have a thing for her. you’ve been staring at her for the past like..hour,” kevin laughed and will’s face flushed hot with embarrassment. was he really that obvious?

“well she doesn’t like me. she never will,” will took a large sip of the high noon to wash that thought away. he didn’t notice the way kevin grimaced because he actually did know how the soccer player felt, but he wasn’t that shitty to tell her secret.

“i mean how do you know that? you’ve never asked,” kevin said instead.

“you really think i’m gonna go up to her and ask? real funny, man,” never in a million years would will put everything on the line to ask samy if she liked him the way he did.

“i dunno. what’s it gonna hurt?”

“our friendship?” that felt like a given, but kevin just shrugged.

“all i’m saying is that i think everyone at this party knows you like her.”

“why are you being so nice to me? i thought you hated me,” will found this interaction weird because him and kevin have never been able to talk to each other like this.

“i’m just trying to make up for being shitty to you. trying to help is all,” the brunette mumbled and walked away before will could respond. he pinched his eyebrows together, watching as kevin went back to his friends in the corner.

what he didn’t know was that samy had been watching their entire interaction. as soon as kevin approached, her eyes were on the two like a hawk. she knew her and kevin were fine and he promised to leave will alone, but she still worried he’d get set off and do something stupid again. surprisingly, nothing happened and maybe kevin was gonna chill out from now on.

“you’re staring again,” marcie mumbled when she caught her friend’s eyes on will’s back. samy quickly snapped her attention back to the group.

“sorry,” the youngest hughes blushed.

“this is totally your chance. he’s been staring at you all night,” riley poked.

“no he hasn’t. you’re delusional,” the brunette shook her head, never believing her friends when they started saying stuff like that.

“i’m being serious! he totally thinks you look hot at least,” riley continued meaning samy’s outfit. all the soccer play did though was shake her head.

“he’ll never see me like that.”

“what about all that shit him and kevin argued about? wasn’t that about you?” lauren piped up.

“kevin says a lot of shit. will and i are just friends,” samy mumbled, drinking the rest of her “tropical, fruity” punch as marcie liked to call it that was just a huge mix of different chasers and vodka.

“i could not be friends with someone that i kiss when i’m drunk,” lauren shook her head, but samy quickly shushed her.

“shut up. we don’t talk about that,” her and will hadn’t even done that since summer because of her thing with kevin.

“i can’t wait for the day you two finally put your pride aside and realize how much you like one another,” marcie mumbled.

“i’m getting another drink,” samy determined because she desperately wanted to escape the conversation and will still hadn’t moved from the drink table.

she shuffled her way over there and leaned her head on will’s arm. “found you again,” she looked up at him with a smile.

“hi again,” the blonde chuckled, but internally he was freaking out.

“can you pour me so more punch?” samy pointed to the big bowl and held her cup out. will nodded.

“are you having fun at your own party?” he wondered

“i’m having a blast. best new year’s party don’t you think?” she wondered and will nodded again. he handed her cup back, unable to stop his gaze from dropping below her face for a split second to stare some more.

“i don’t think i’ve been to one as good as this,” the blonde admitted because he hadn’t really been to a party like this before. being in michigan with samy meant that she introduced him to a lot of random house parties her high school friends were throwing on the weekends.

“i’m honored. you flatter me,” the youngest hughes giggled.

that urge will’s had all night only got stronger standing so close to samy. he wanted to kiss her so bad, but he had to think better of it because he wasn’t a rebound and they were drunk (not like that’s ever stopped them before though).

“found anyone to kiss on new year’s yet?” samy teased and will flushed.

“i haven’t. have you?” he asked and hoped she would say no because will did not think he’d be able to handle it if he saw samy kissing someone that wasn’t him.

“nooo, i probably won’t kiss anyone. i’ll kiss my myself,” the girl giggled, the alcohol starting to talk for her.

“self-love is very important,” the blonde smiled hearing her little laugh and then took another big drink of the high noon because he couldn’t be having these thoughts.

if will had any new year’s resolutions it was that he needed to stop believing he had a chance with samy. maybe in 2023 he’d finally find someone that would get his mind off of her. (wrong)

“guys, it’s almost midnight!” someone yelled and then everyone turned their attention to the tv stream of the local ann arbor news that did their own countdown.

samy grabbed will’s hand to the tv so she could see better. the boy flushed feeling her hand in his and even worse when she didn’t let go.

“ten, nine, eight, seven..”

the countdown faded out of will’s ears because the only thing he could focus on was the girl beside him jumping with excitement about the new year. she squeezed his hand tighter when they got closer to 1 and everything in the hockey player was short circuiting.

“..three, two, one! happy new year!” the whole basement erupted in cheers as everyone jumped onto one another in excitement.

a few people kissed because of the alcohol buzzing through their systems and will was caught off guard again when samy jumped into his arms screaming in his ear.

“happy new year!” she smiled widely and will couldn’t help but smile back.

“happy new year,” he said and his stomach flipped when he watched her gaze drift down to his lips briefly. was he seeing things or did she actually do that?

he didn’t have time to question it because samy jumped towards her friends before he could even say something. will watched her hug marcie, lauren, and riley when his friends went over to him. they excitedly jumped onto his back and the boy because immersed in their excitement, the thoughts of samy almost kissing him leaving his brain as he celebrated with the boys.

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milliesfishes · 3 months ago

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still have yet to read the book yet (probably will this weekend) but maybe something like you getting hurt on your vacation?? like i can imagine maybe you step on coral and get your foot cut real bad and so then there is the comforty fluffy part of him carrying you around so you don’t have to walk after the angst of him trying to get you to relax when you’re panicking at all the blood (little no clue if this is in character but it’s cute regardless lmao)

this is from. a long time ago. but it's cute I love you Phantom🫶

⋆౨ৎyou get hurt on vacation with alex⋆౨ৎ fem reader x alex nilsen

Blood on the floor. You cursed yourself when you saw it trickling from your shoe, trying to lift your foot so there was less damage. The motel staff had enough to deal with without you bleeding all over the place.

Limping to the bathroom, you clenched your jaw as the pain sharpened on the underside of your foot. Trying to take deep breaths, you sat on the counter, leaning back against the mirror. It was cool against your head, and you tried to focus on that.

Your heart was stuttering in your chest as your breathing became shaky. Still salt-combed from the sea, your hair was dripping pearls of water down your shoulders onto your breasts. You hadn't bothered to put your shorts or tank top back on, mind too preoccupied with the problem at hand.

Were there even bandages in here? You doubted it. Kicking off your ruined shoes, you bent your leg so the damaged foot was resting on the counter. Reaching for a washcloth, you cringed as your blood stained it, but held it in place, putting pressure on the wound. Biting the inside of your cheek when the fabric met the gash, you held back a cry. It hurt, more than you'd have expected it to.

The door opened and shut, and you barely noticed. Eyes closed, you were trying to center yourself, somehow make the pain go away. Maybe if you focused, you would get used to it.

"Babe?"

You looked up, accidentally letting a tear slide down your cheek. It could have been mistaken for the other droplets on your face. Alex was standing in the bathroom doorway in his running shorts and shirt, earbuds and phone in hand. His collar was sweaty, hair sticking to his forehead. Seeing his furrowed brow, you had the urge to smooth it out with your thumb.

"I'm okay Alex, I just-" He was already coming over, setting his phone on the counter with a clatter and leaning over to examine your foot. The washcloth had a big red spot in it where the blood had soaked through.

He tried to be gentle as he peeled it away, but you whimpered, grabbing his wrist. "Don't."

"Shh, I know, I know it hurts," he soothed, voice soft. Alex very carefully removed the rest, your hand squeezing his wrist the whole time. You took in shaky breaths as he held your foot, lowering it from the counter as he knelt in front of you. His touch was so delicate that you almost cried for a different reason. When he looked up at you, blue eyes so worried, you did shed another tear and he lifted his other hand to your knee, rubbing gently. "What happened?"

Sniffling, you brushed away another tear. Somehow his presence numbed some of the pain. Or maybe it was your anxiety put at ease because he was here. Either way, you didn't feel as hopeless anymore. "I just wanted to go swimming...and when I got out...there was a sharp rock and I didn't see it..." You swallowed, trying not to cry more. "This is gonna ruin the rest of our trip-"

"No, no," Alex shook his head, his expression reassuring. "Sweetheart, it's not gonna ruin anything. This is just another adventure, okay?" His thumb drew a soothing pattern into your knee. "We're gonna laugh about this someday, right?" He was repeating something you'd said to him several times when something bad happened, and it made your lips turn up a tiny bit.

Alex reached for a clean washcloth, folding it over and holding it carefully to your wound. He leaned up, kissing your knee, resting his chin there. Your shoulders slumped and you smoothed back his hair, as a distraction. Leaning his head forward, he dropped his lips to your lower thigh, nose smushing there.

For a moment it was just that- his head on your leg, hands gently holding the washcloth to your foot. You breathed in softly, the weight of his head on your bare leg a comforting thing.

Lifting his head, Alex put one hand on your knee, scratching gently as he took another look at the gash. "Okay. It doesn't look too deep, it's just bleeding a lot." He reached for your hand, kissing the knuckles. "I'm gonna go see if the front desk has any bandages, okay? Will you be alright for a minute?" When you nodded, he tucked your leg back into its original position, making sure you were holding the washcloth before he let go.

Kissing you on the forehead, he left with the promise to be back soon. You breathed easier, leaning against the mirror again. It was miraculous how he could fix what had felt like the end of the world.

When he returned, bandages in hand, it was like your guardian angel had arrived. Alex stood this time, dabbing medicine onto the gash, wrapping your foot snugly and bending over to kiss it once he was done. "There. All better, cutie." He hooked his hands under your knees, sliding you forward so they were hooked around his hips. "C'mere."

You sniffled, leaning into him as he hugged you tight, hardly registering how sweaty he still was. With your head in the crook of his shoulder, you realized now it was less leftover from his run and more because he was worried. You clung to him tighter once you realized.

He pressed a kiss to your temple, rubbing his hand up your back. "I'm gonna shower really quick. Do you wanna go back to the bedroom or stay here?"

"Here," you decided immediately, crossing your ankles over his back.

"Okay." Alex squeezed your thigh, gently removing your legs and disappearing into the other room. He kicked off his running shoes on the way, leaving them by the door. You heard the drawers opening and closing, and then he was returning with clothes for both of you, underwear included. "Here, you can take your swimsuit off." He chucked you under the chin, thumb lingering. "It looks pretty, but I know you wanna get out of it."

Smiling lovingly at him, you returned his kiss when he gave it. While he stripped himself of his clothes, you worked your swimsuit off, replacing it with your underwear. He handed you your hairbrush when you reached for it, leaning over to start the shower. You pulled the brush through your hair, giving him a squinty-eyed smile when he kissed your cheek before pulling back the curtain and getting in.

He showered quickly, and when he got out, hair curly and sticking to his forehead, you were fully dressed, hair brushed out and drying. Alex toweled off and pulled his clothes on, reaching for you and murmuring, "Still hurting?"

"A little," you admitted, not wanting to make it seem worse than it really was. "Just...it's okay. I can probably walk on it."

"Uh uh." Alex pulled you forward and re-wrapped your legs around him. "You shouldn't have to walk at all right now." He lifted you off the counter, carrying you into the next room. When you opened your mouth to protest, he silenced you with a kiss to your nose. "I took my pills. It's fine."

Though the logistics were shaky, the walk was so short that you didn't say anything more. He set you down, easing a pillow under your foot and grabbing his laptop, starting to type with one hand while sliding his other arm around you. "We'll watch one movie and then we can try walking, okay?"

You cuddled under his arm, pressing a kiss to his chest and resting your head there. Already, your foot was starting to throb a little less. He kissed your forehead as the opening credits began to roll on his laptop, running his hand up and down your arm.

His skin was warm from his shower, and you inhaled softly, the scent of his soap only calming you further. And as he held you close, checking in every few minutes and looking over at your foot, you got the overwhelming sense that he would always take care of you.

No matter what.

#short but hopefully sweet :)))#alex nilsen #pwmov #people we meet on vacation #tom blyth #alex nilsen x reader #pwmov fanfiction #alex nilsen fluff #alex nilsen x you #alex nilsen fanfiction #alex nilsen fanfic #alex nilsen imagines #alex nilsen pwmov #pwmov x reader #pwmov x you #milliesfishes alex

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enemiestolovershoe · 4 months ago

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Heii babeee. Can you please do a Rafe Cameron x enemies!reader? They are both well known people on Figure 8 but hat each other but one evening at a gala or something they fight and end up fucking in the bathroom. Maybe Ward and readers dad catches them in the end?

Entangled with the Enemy

Rafe Cameron x enemie!reader

Words: 4k

Summary: a heated rivalry ignites passion during a gala, revealing hidden desires.

Ever since you could remember, Rafe Cameron had been a thorn in your side. It wasn’t just a passing annoyance—no, it was a deep-rooted rivalry that had started long before either of you understood the complexities of disdain. It began at the country club when you were both barely old enough to hold a golf club. He had knocked over your lemonade in the clubhouse, laughing in that irritating way that only a spoiled rich kid could. You had retaliated by stepping on his foot with your newly polished shoes, which led to a shouting match that had every adult in the room glancing disapprovingly in your direction.

You hated him then. You hated him now.

Years later, not much had changed between you. If anything, the rivalry had only grown stronger, more venomous, as you both became fixtures in Figure 8’s elite social scene. Wherever you were, Rafe wasn’t far behind, and the feeling of mutual loathing had followed you through middle school, high school, and now, even into your early twenties.

Everyone in Figure 8 knew of your animosity. Some thought it was amusing—two golden children of Kildare’s wealthiest families constantly at each other’s throats. Others whispered, wondering if there wasn’t something else lurking beneath all that hatred, but you always scoffed at the idea.

Tonight was no different.

The annual Figure 8 Gala was a glamorous event, one that drew all the old-money families out of their grand estates and onto the dance floor, where champagne flowed like water and gossip circulated in hushed, excited tones. You stood near the bar, wearing a sleek black dress that made you look effortlessly elegant. You had a glass of wine in your hand, but you weren’t drinking much. Instead, your eyes flitted over the crowd, looking for an exit. As much as you tried to tolerate these events, they always left you feeling restless.

Just as you took a sip, you heard that all-too-familiar voice behind you.

“Surprised to see you here. Didn’t think this was your scene anymore,” Rafe sneered, his presence commanding attention without even trying.

You set your glass down on the bar, not turning around yet. The tension between you two was palpable, even before you exchanged a single glance.

“Rafe, are you stalking me now, or is it just that you have nothing better to do with your life?” you retorted, finallyspinning around to face him.

He looked infuriatingly good, dressed in a tailored black suit that highlighted his broad shoulders and sharp jawline. His eyes, blue and piercing, studied you for a moment before a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Always the charming one,” he said mockingly, stepping closer. “Remind me, how many years have you been trying to get under my skin? I’m starting to lose count.”

You crossed your arms, refusing to let him intimidate you. “I don’t have to try. You make it way too easy.”

Rafe chuckled, a low sound that made your skin prickle with annoyance. “Oh, trust me, princess, you’ve been trying. Ever since we were kids.”

At that, your glare sharpened. "Please. If anyone’s been obsessed with the past, it’s you. I’ve moved on from our childish nonsense a long time ago.”

“Right,” he drawled, raising an eyebrow. “That’s why you’re standing here, looking like you’re about to snap my neck just because I’m breathing in the same room as you.”

“I’m standing here because I’m trying to enjoy my night without you ruining it,” you shot back, voice icy. “But clearly, that’s asking for too much.”

He leaned in, his breath ghosting over your ear. “You’re enjoying this just as much as I am.”

You pulled back immediately, staring at him like he’d just insulted you. “You’re delusional if you think I enjoy anything about you.”

Rafe tilted his head, considering you with a smug look that only made your blood boil more. “You used to care what I thought. Back in the day. Admit it.”

You scoffed, brushing past him, though he was quick to catch up, his long strides keeping him close. “I never cared about your opinion, Rafe. You’ve always been a spoiled, arrogant—”

“Rich boy?” he finished for you, a sarcastic glint in his eyes. “You keep throwing that around like it’s supposed to insult me.”

“It’s not an insult,” you replied, your voice low but steady. “It’s a fact.”

He stopped in front of you, blocking your path. The tension between you both was starting to draw attention from the surrounding party-goers, who were now casting curious glances in your direction. Some even whispered to one another, probably amused at the latest chapter in the saga of Rafe Cameron vs. You.

“Why do you hate me so much?” Rafe’s question came suddenly, his tone different—less mocking, more…curious. His brow furrowed as if he genuinely wanted to know the answer. “What is it, huh?”

You blinked at him, momentarily thrown by the shift in his attitude. “I—what?”

“You heard me,” he said, taking a step closer, his voice dropping. “Why do you hate me? Because, from where I’m standing, it feels like you put more effort into this than necessary. I know I’m not the nicest guy around, but…” He trailed off, watching you with a sharpness that you hadn’t seen before. It was unnerving.

You swallowed hard, straightening your posture as you searched for a retort. You couldn’t let him get to you. Not like this. “It’s easy to hate you, Rafe. You make it easy.”

He nodded slowly, as if contemplating your words. His lips twitched, forming a tight smile. “Because it’s easier to hate me than admit anything else, right?”

“What the hell does that mean?” you snapped, suddenly defensive.

“It means,” Rafe started, closing the distance between you again, his voice lowering to a near whisper, “you spend so much time convincing yourself that I’m the problem, but maybe the problem is you can’t stand the fact that we’re more alike than you want to admit.”

You opened your mouth to argue, to tell him he was wrong, but nothing came out. For a split second, his words hung in the air, wrapping around you like a vice. The tension between you two felt different, heavier, like it was building toward something neither of you could control.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you finally managed to say, though your voice lacked the usual venom.

His smirk returned, but there was something else behind it now. Something almost…challenging. “Oh, I don’t have to. You’re already thinking about it, aren’t you?”

“I’m not thinking about anything except how to get away from you,” you shot back, turning on your heel to leave. But his hand caught your wrist, stopping you.

“Funny,” he murmured, his voice dark and teasing. “Because every time you walk away, you always come back.”

A rush of frustration surged through you, his words clawing at something deeper, something you hadn’t been willing to admit for a long time. Maybe it was the constant proximity, maybe it was the years of bickering, or maybe it was the way he stood there, challenging you with every look, every smirk, every damn word. You felt your pulse quicken, your heart hammering in your chest as the room seemed to grow smaller.

You exhaled sharply, the weight of the moment pressing down on you, overwhelming you.

"Fuck this," you muttered under your breath.

Without giving yourself time to think—or regret—you grabbed Rafe by the front of his jacket and pulled him with you, weaving through the crowd. You didn’t know where you were going at first, but the second you spotted the nearest bathroom, you headed straight for it. Your heels clicked furiously against the polished floor as Rafe followed, clearly taken by surprise but not resisting.

The bathroom door slammed behind you, not locking, but you didn’t care.

Before you could second-guess yourself, your hands gripped his collar, pulling him down as your lips crashed into his. It wasn’t gentle; it wasn’t careful. It was desperate, heated—years of tension and frustration finally spilling over.

Rafe groaned into your mouth, his hands immediately gripping your waist as if he’d been waiting for this moment just as much as you had. The kiss was fierce, all teeth and tongue, neither of you giving the other a moment to breathe.

“Always so dramatic,” Rafe muttered against your lips between heavy breaths, his fingers sliding up your back, sending shivers down your spine.

“Shut up,” you breathed, your fingers tangling in his hair as you deepened the kiss, wanting—needing—more.

He chuckled against your mouth, but the sound quickly turned into a low growl as his hands roamed down to your hips, gripping you with an intensity that made your legs feel weak.

Before you knew it, he lifted you effortlessly, your back pressing against the cool bathroom counter as he hoisted you up onto it. You gasped as the cold surface met your thighs, but the feeling was quickly replaced by the heat of his hands sliding up your legs, parting them with a slow, deliberate motion.

His lips were on your neck again, sucking and biting in a way that made it impossible to think straight. You could feel his breath hitch as he pressed harder into you, his body flush against yours.

“You’re not gonna stop me this time, are you?” Rafe’s voice was rough, low, almost daring you to push him away.

“Try me,” you muttered, breathless, your nails digging into his shoulders as you pulled him closer.

Rafe smirked, his eyes dark with something more than just arrogance. His hands tightened around your waist as he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours again. "I always knew you wanted me,” he whispered, his voice dripping with that familiar cockiness, but this time, you didn’t bother to deny it.

“You think too much,” you replied, your voice coming out in a breathy rush, and before he could respond, you crashed your lips into his again. This time, there was no holding back, no hesitation. Just pure, heated want.

He groaned into your mouth, the sound vibrating against your lips as his hands slid up the inside of your thighs, parting your legs even further. The counter pressed against your back, the cold contrast making the heat between your bodies even more intense.

Your heart raced as his touch became more insistent, his fingers digging into your skin like he couldn’t get enough of you. And you couldn’t get enough of him, either. Everything about this moment was wrong, but it felt so damn right.

You didn’t stop him. You didn’t want to.

You barely registered what you were doing as your fingers reached for the buttons of Rafe’s shirt, fumbling slightly in your haste to get it off. He broke the kiss for a brief second, just long enough to glance down at your hands before smirking. Without a word, he quickly helped you, undoing the buttons faster and shoving the fabric off his shoulders. His skin was warm beneath your touch, the heat of his body driving you crazy as your hands ran over the hard planes of his chest.

He didn’t waste any time either. His hands slid down your waist, rough and urgent, before they disappeared under your dress. With one swift motion, he pushed it up around your hips, his fingertips skimming over your thighs as he hooked his fingers around the waistband of your panties.

“Let’s get these off,” Rafe growled, voice thick with lust as he pulled them down in one quick motion, leaving you bare beneath him. He tossed them aside carelessly, his hands immediately returning to your thighs, spreading your legs wider.

You gasped, both from the sudden exposure and the way his touch sent a rush of heat pooling low in your belly. Your mind was spinning, caught somewhere between disbelief and pure, unfiltered desire. This was happening, and it was happening fast, but you couldn’t bring yourself to stop it. Not when every touch, every breath, made your skin burn with need.

Rafe’s hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer to the edge of the counter, his body pressing firmly against yours. He took a moment to look down at you, his blue eyes darkened with lust, a cocky grin pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“I always knew you couldn’t resist me,” he teased, his voice low and dripping with that same arrogant charm that had always made you want to slap him—except now, it made you want him even more.

“Shut up,” you breathed, your hands flying to his belt, desperate to unbuckle it and get it out of the way. The sound of the leather slipping free was loud in the small bathroom, but all you could focus on was the feel of his skin against yours as you finally managed to free him from his pants.

“Someone’s eager,” Rafe murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he kicked off his shoes and pushed his pants and boxers down in one swift movement.

Your heart was pounding in your chest, your pulse racing as he pressed his hips against yours, the feel of him—hard and ready—against your entrance sending a fresh wave of heat coursing through your body.

“Rafe,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of your own ragged breathing.

His eyes met yours, the cocky grin gone, replaced by something far more intense. Without saying a word, he positioned himself between your legs, one hand gripping your thigh as the other lined himself up at your entrance. There was no warning, no teasing, just the raw, primal need driving both of you.

In one smooth thrust, he pushed inside, and both of you let out matching moans, the sound filling the small bathroom as your bodies collided.

“Fuck,” Rafe groaned, his head dropping to your shoulder as he paused for a moment, letting you adjust to the feeling of him deep inside you. His breath was hot against your neck, his grip on your hips tightening as he fought to keep himself under control.

You gasped, your nails digging into his bare shoulders as your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper. The stretch was intense, the pressure overwhelming, but it felt so good, too good. Your head fell back against the mirror behind you, your body arching against his as the tension in the air became almost unbearable.

“God, Rafe,” you whimpered, biting your lip as you tried to catch your breath. “Don’t stop.”

His eyes flicked up to meet yours, and the look he gave you was pure hunger. “Wasn’t planning on it,” he growled, and with that, he started to move.

His thrusts were slow at first, controlled, as if he was savoring the feeling of you wrapped around him. But it wasn’t long before the pace quickened, the heat between you building with each movement. His hands gripped your hips tighter, pulling you against him with every thrust, his body driving into yours with an intensity that left you breathless.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Rafe groaned, his voice rough and filled with raw desire. His lips found yours again, but this kiss was different—hotter, needier, all tongues and teeth as his hips snapped forward, hitting deeper every time.

You couldn’t hold back the moans that escaped your lips, each thrust sending a jolt of pleasure through your body. Your nails dug into his back as you clung to him, your body rocking with his, matching his rhythm. It was fast, frantic, like you both needed this more than air.

“Rafe…” You breathed his name again, a plea, a warning. Your entire body was wound tight, the tension coiling low in your belly, threatening to snap at any moment.

“Say it again,” he demanded, his voice thick and strained as he drove into you harder, his forehead resting against yours. “Say my name.”

“Rafe,” you gasped, your voice breaking as another wave of pleasure crashed through you. You were close, so close, and he knew it.

“Good girl,” he muttered, his lips brushing against yours as he thrust deeper, the angle hitting just right, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your veins. “You’re so fucking perfect like this.”

You could barely respond, too lost in the feeling of him inside you, the overwhelming sensation building with each thrust, each ragged breath. Your legs tightened around his waist, pulling him closer, deeper, as your nails raked down his back.

“Fuck, I’m close,” you managed to gasp, your head falling back as the pleasure built to a breaking point, your entire body trembling.

Rafe groaned in response, his thrusts becoming erratic, more desperate as he chased his own release. “Me too, baby,” he muttered against your skin, his voice strained. “Come for me.”

And that was all it took.

With one final, hard thrust, the tension inside you snapped, sending you over the edge. A moan tore from your lips, your entire body shaking as waves of pleasure crashed through you, overwhelming your senses.

Rafe wasn’t far behind. You felt him tense, his grip on your hips tightening as he buried himself inside you, groaning as he reached his own release. His breath was hot against your neck, his body pressed against yours as he rode out the last waves of pleasure, his hips moving in slow, lazy thrusts.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was your ragged breathing, both of you trying to catch your breath as the intensity of what just happened settled between you.

Rafe pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours as he looked at you, a mixture of satisfaction and something else—something unreadable—in his eyes.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low and still rough from exertion.

You nodded, still trying to process everything. “Yeah… more than okay,” you whispered, a small, breathless laugh escaping your lips.

Rafe smirked, that cocky grin you knew so well making its return. “Knew you couldn’t resist me.”

As the rush of the moment slowly faded, the sound of your combined heavy breathing filled the small space. Rafe’s hands still gripped your waist, his forehead resting against yours as both of you tried to come down from the intense high. Your skin was flushed, tingling from where he had touched you, the heat of your bodies still lingering in the air.

Neither of you said a word for a few moments, the silence stretching between you, filled with the weight of what had just happened. You were still perched on the counter, your dress bunched around your hips, both of you completely undressed, the reality of your situation slowly settling in.

Rafe leaned back slightly, his eyes scanning over your face as if trying to make sure this was all real. A small, cocky smile began to creep onto his lips. “That was… something,” he breathed, his thumb gently brushing against your thigh.

You couldn’t help but let out a small, breathless laugh, shaking your head as you tried to gather yourself. “Yeah,” you whispered, your own cheeks still burning, your heart racing for a whole new reason. “Something.”

Just as you were about to say more, the faint creak of the bathroom door opening snapped both of your heads toward the sound.

Panic hit you like a tidal wave, your breath catching in your throat as your eyes widened in horror. You had barely registered the fact that you were still practically naked, tangled in Rafe, when two familiar figures stepped into the bathroom—your dad and Ward Cameron.

The room seemed to freeze for a second. Your heart dropped into your stomach as you stared, wide-eyed, at the two men now standing in front of you. They didn’t even look surprised—more like they had walked in on something they’d been expecting all along.

“Oh my god,” you mumbled, your voice barely audible, your face flushing even redder than it already was. You quickly moved to cover yourself, but it was too late. You’d been caught. You felt the heat rise to your cheeks, mortification crashing over you like a wave.

Rafe, equally frozen for a moment, blinked before quickly stepping in front of you, blocking their view as much as possible. “Oh my god, Dad, get out!” he shouted, his voice louder than necessary, sounding more like a demand than a request.

Your dad chuckled first, breaking the silence with a deep, amused laugh that made your embarrassment ten times worse. He exchanged a look with Ward, who simply shook his head with a knowing smile, as if the two of them had been waiting for this moment.

“Well, look at that,” Ward said, his tone full of dry amusement as he turned to face Rafe. “Took you two long enough to finally get along.”

Rafe groaned in frustration, his face flushed as he tried to shield you from view, his hands scrambling to grab his discarded shirt. “Dad, seriously—get out!” he snapped again, his voice full of exasperation.

Your dad shook his head, still chuckling softly. “We’ll give you two a moment,” he said, his voice tinged with amusement as he turned around to leave. “But don’t take too long. The gala’s still going on, after all.”

Ward followed suit, giving one last look over his shoulder, an almost proud smirk on his face. “Nice work, son,” he said, before closing the door behind him.

As soon as the door clicked shut, you let out a groan, burying your face in your hands. “Oh my god, that did not just happen,” you muttered, your cheeks still burning with embarrassment. You could still hear the faint sound of their laughter echoing down the hallway.

Rafe let out a heavy sigh, shaking his head in disbelief. “That’s just… unreal,” he grumbled, running a hand through his hair, clearly as mortified as you were. “I can’t believe they—”

You cut him off with a shaky laugh, your hands still covering your face. “This is officially the worst way this could have ended.”

Rafe chuckled softly, clearly trying to shake off the awkwardness of the situation. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering for a moment. “Yeah, well,” he murmured, his voice light and teasing, “at least they didn’t kill me.”

You let out a weak laugh, finally pulling your hands away from your face to look up at him. “Yet,” you replied, your voice dry as you shook your head. “They didn’t kill you yet.”

Rafe grinned down at you, his eyes sparkling with that familiar mischief. “Guess we’ll just have to see how long I can stay alive, huh?”

You laughed again, the tension between you easing just a little. Despite everything—the panic, the embarrassment—there was still that undeniable spark between you, something deeper that neither of you could ignore anymore. Whatever had happened tonight, it had changed everything.

“Let’s just… not talk about this,” you muttered, still trying to shake off the mortification as you grabbed for your clothes, ready to escape the bathroom as fast as possible.

“Deal,” Rafe agreed, already pulling his shirt back on, though his eyes lingered on you with that same heated intensity, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “For now.”

As you straightened your dress and gathered yourself, you couldn’t help but glance back at him, a part of you knowing that whatever came next between you and Rafe, it was going to be far from over.

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