#I LOVE this series and don’t want it to end

[shy9-29]

From Dare To You ★ 심재윤

“a part two to love, lies, and sim jake” - enhypen campus series

🌿 After YN found out about the bet, Jake apologized, revealing he ended it before asking her out for real. Though hurt, she played along, but his constant effort and genuine care slowly broke through her walls, and trust began to rebuild between them.

🏷️ - @kristynaaah @firstclassjaylee @sheseung @c9b7luv @bswrldd @kiikiisblog @memyselfandkoo @k1ttyjwon @bloomiize @titttuaf @sunghoon-cam @xnatqq @azzy02 @rairaiblog @chvconn3 @wonzzziezzzz @blvengene @gvtdoll @a3r4-for3ver @luvksnn @sunarin96 @aerispark @monoidol @starnaris @pinknjm @marimariiisblog @blckorchidd @pinknjm @melodiessvy @gyulune @marimariiisblog @bgyusgf @doririsstuff @enhastolemyheart @prkhoonlvr @miamoari @dearestdreamies

wc. 9.7k · masterlist · enha campus series · part one

You didn’t plan to see him again so soon.

But there he was sitting alone on the bleachers behind the field after school, hunched forward with his elbows on his knees, eyes cast downward like the weight of the past few days was finally too heavy to carry. He looked smaller somehow. Not physically, but… quieter. Like the version of him who used to light up every room had dimmed.

You hesitated. Part of you wanted to turn back, to leave things unfinished and avoid another scene. But your feet moved anyway, slowly, carefully, until you were standing in front of him.

He looked up, his eyes meeting yours. For a second, nothing was said—just the breeze brushing past and the silence between two people who didn’t know how to start again.

“I didn’t know,” you said finally, voice soft. “About the bet. That you ended it.”

Jake stared at you for a moment, jaw tense, eyes tired. “Would it have changed anything if you did?”

You bit the inside of your cheek. “Yeah. It would’ve.”

He gave a small, humorless laugh, then looked away. “Too late now, huh?”

“No,” you said quickly, sitting beside him before you could change your mind. “Maybe not.”

Jake didn’t say anything at first. Then: “I was an idiot, YN. For agreeing to that bet in the first place. For not telling you sooner. I thought I could control it—my feelings. Thought if I kept it casual, it wouldn’t mess everything up. But then it stopped being casual, and I didn’t know how to fix it without losing you.”

Your heart twisted. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Because I thought you’d never believe me,” he admitted. “And I didn’t think I deserved a second chance. I’ve seen it happen to heeseung and it still keeps him up , I didn’t wanna take the chance with you.”

Jake stared ahead at the empty field, jaw tight, like he’d run out of words to say—or maybe like he was too afraid to say the wrong one.

You sat next to him, your voice low but sharp. “Then why did you come running back to me?”

His head turned toward you slowly. “Because I couldn’t stay away.”

You scoffed, shaking your head as a bitter laugh slipped past your lips. “Right. After everything. After the bet, after humiliating me in front of everyone, after pretending to care…”

“I wasn’t pretending,” Jake cut in, voice firmer now. “Not when I kissed you. Not when I asked you to be mine. Not when I stayed up all night hoping you’d text back.”

You looked away, jaw clenched. “You made me feel like I was something to win.”

Jake exhaled hard, like the guilt had been burning in his lungs. “I know. And if I could take it back, I would. All of it. The joke, the dare—everything that hurt you. But the way I feel about you now?” He looked at you then, eyes soft but intense. “That’s never been a lie.”

You didn’t respond right away. Your throat was tight, like the words wanted to come out but didn’t know how.

Finally, you muttered, “I don’t know if I can believe you.”

Jake nodded slowly, not pushing. “Then don’t. Not yet. Just… let me show you.”

And for once, he didn’t try to close the distance between you. He didn’t reach out. He didn’t beg.

He just sat there, quiet and waiting.

Like he finally understood that trust wasn’t something he could ask for—he had to earn it.

And so that’s what he did.

The next couple of days, Jake didn’t text you paragraphs or blow up your phone with apologies. He didn’t show up unannounced or try to corner you in the hallways. He didn’t force you to talk when you weren’t ready.

Instead… he showed up differently.

He waited outside your classroom after the bell, never too close, never pushing—just there. Quiet, patient, like a steady presence.

He started walking slower when he saw you down the hall, letting you pass instead of calling out your name.

He laughed a little softer when your friends made jokes, stealing glances your way but never trying to pull you in unless you wanted to be.

He wasn’t perfect. He still fumbled sometimes, caught himself staring too long, said your name like it was still his favorite word—but he didn’t try to take anything more than what you were willing to give.

And even if you didn’t say much, even if your heart still felt bruised and hesitant, you noticed. You noticed it all.

Because Jake Sim wasn’t trying to win a bet anymore.

He was trying to win you.

And this time, it wasn’t about pride.

It wasn’t about proving something to his friends.

It was about proving something to you.

That he was serious.

That he meant it.

That he’d stay—without the game.

It was subtle at first.

You didn’t even realize the way your walls had started to shift until you caught yourself smiling at something he said in passing. Something stupid—probably about his dog or how he nearly tripped over a soccer ball in gym. But your lips had curved before you could stop them, and when you realized he saw it, you quickly looked away.

Jake didn’t call attention to it. He just smiled too. A quiet, knowing one. And kept walking.

Later, you found a note in your locker. No big dramatic gesture—just a piece of notebook paper folded in half.

Hope today’s better than yesterday. That’s all.

— J

You stared at it longer than you’d admit. Kept it tucked into your sleeve. Didn’t text him, didn’t mention it, but the knot in your chest loosened—just a little.

At lunch, Yuna nudged you. “He’s trying,” she said gently, not with that sharp tone she’d used before. “Really trying.”

You didn’t answer. You just watched him from across the courtyard, laughing with Sunghoon and Jay—but every now and then, glancing your way.

Like he was making sure you were still there.

By Thursday, you found yourself slowing your steps so he could catch up.

By Friday, you sat next to him during study period and pretended not to notice when his hand brushed against yours on the desk.

He didn’t push. He didn’t ask. He just looked at you with those soft, unguarded eyes and smiled like that moment was enough.

And somehow…

For now, it was.

Saturday came, and with it, a text from Jake.

simjyn:

Hey. I was gonna go for a walk later. Clear my head. You don’t have to come but… if you do, I’ll bring snacks.

You stared at the message for a good ten minutes. No pressure, no “we need to talk,” no expectations—just Jake, being soft and careful. The kind of boy you weren’t sure existed weeks ago.

You didn’t reply right away. But a few hours later, there you were—hoodie on, hands in your pockets, meeting him just down the block.

He grinned when he saw you. “You came.”

You shrugged. “You said snacks.”

He held up a bag of your favorite chips with a lopsided smile. “I don’t lie about the important things.”

The two of you walked in comfortable silence for a while. The streets were quieter than usual, the air warm with the smell of spring. Every now and then your shoulders would brush, and each time, Jake would glance over, like he was still surprised you hadn’t pulled away.

“I meant what I said,” he said eventually, voice softer than usual. “About showing you. I don’t want to screw this up.”

You didn’t answer at first. The sidewalk was cracked and uneven beneath your feet, like your thoughts.

Finally, you spoke. “You already did screw it up, Jake.”

He flinched, just a little. But he nodded. “Yeah. I know.”

You turned to him then. “So don’t just tell me. Show me. Keep showing me. Not just this week. Not just while you feel bad.”

Jake stopped walking. “I will.”

You searched his face for any sign of hesitation, but there wasn’t any. Just him. Raw and real.

He took a careful step closer. “Can I—?” he started to ask, but stopped himself.

And for once, you closed the space between you.

Just a little. Just enough to let him know that maybe—maybe—this was the beginning of trust again.

Jake didn’t touch you. He didn’t try to hold your hand or pull you into some movie-perfect kiss. He just smiled, slow and genuine, like that one small step meant everything.

And honestly?

It kind of did.

The next week passed like the world had slowed down—but in a good way.

There were no dramatic declarations, no big speeches. Just… Jake.

Sitting next to you during free period, not too close, but close enough.

Sliding you a note in class with the dumbest doodle imaginable—your name in bubble letters with a little crown on top.

Sending you a playlist that started off upbeat and chaotic, but slowly drifted into soft, late-night kind of songs you didn’t expect from him.

Smiling like he had a secret every time your eyes met in the hallway.

And you?

You found yourself waiting for it. For him.

You told yourself you were being cautious. That you hadn’t forgiven him yet. That your heart was still bruised from what he’d done.

But when he laughed? It didn’t hurt.

When he said your name? You didn’t flinch.

And when you caught yourself smiling—again—you didn’t look away this time.

It was Friday afternoon when he found you sitting alone near the back of the school garden. The spot you always went to when you needed to think.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just sat down beside you and handed you an iced drink—your favorite.

“I like this,” he said after a minute, eyes on the sky. “Just… being here. With you. No pretending. No games.”

You didn’t respond right away. The breeze was light, the sun warming your face.

“I still don’t know if I trust you,” you said quietly.

Jake didn’t flinch. “I’ll wait until you do.”

You looked over at him. Really looked. And maybe for the first time, you believed it.

Not because of his words.

But because of how he’d changed when he stopped trying to win you—

And started trying to deserve you.

So you leaned back, sipped your drink, and said nothing else.

But Jake’s smile widened.

Because silence from you now?

Wasn’t rejection.

It was peace.

And maybe, just maybe… it was the start of forgiveness.

By Monday, the whispers had started.

It wasn’t just glances anymore—it was full-on stares, hushed giggles, and not-so-subtle side-eyes when you walked into a room.

You were halfway to your seat in homeroom when you heard it.

“Do you think she did something to him?”

“She had to. There’s no way Jake Sim just—changes.”

“Dude hasn’t flirted with anyone in weeks. Not even once. He’s not even posting thirst traps anymore.”

“That’s, like, unheard of. What did she do? Put a spell on him?”

You rolled your eyes as you sat down, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from saying something.

Apparently, the student body couldn’t comprehend that Jake Sim—the golden boy, the walking distraction, the school’s certified heartbreaker—might’ve just… grown up. Or fallen for someone. Or both.

You heard someone mutter behind you, “Honestly? Kind of iconic if she did. Like… imagine taming Jake.”

The seat beside you stayed empty. You glanced at it without meaning to.

Jake’s chair. Still untouched. Still waiting for him to come back.

And even though you weren’t sure what this was between you and him yet—or where it was going—hearing the way people talked made you feel something you hadn’t expected:

Protective.

Because sure, maybe Jake had been a reckless flirt once. Maybe he hadn’t been the safest person to care about. But he was trying. He was changing.

And he deserved the chance to do that without being a punchline.

Even if you weren’t ready to say it out loud, you knew it deep in your gut—

Whatever you and Jake were building… it was already real enough for people to notice.

Back home, everything felt quieter without him.

You didn’t realize how much space Jake had taken up in your day until he wasn’t there to fill it. His empty seat in class, the silence where his random texts would pop up, the way your phone didn’t light up with his name the second you unlocked it—it was strange.

You hated to admit it, but… you missed him.

More than you wanted to.

You found yourself hovering over his contact a dozen times, thumb lingering on the call button. What would you even say? You still didn’t know how you felt. Still didn’t know if you were ready to let yourself fully trust him again.

But that didn’t stop your heart from aching.

So, one night—when the silence in your room felt too loud and the thoughts in your head wouldn’t shut up—you caved. You tapped call.

It rang once. Twice.

Then—“Hello?”

His voice was raspy, low. He sounded half-asleep. You glanced at the time. 4:02 AM in Australia.

“Oh my god—Jake, I’m sorry,” you blurted. “I didn’t mean to wake you up. I’ll call you back later, just go back to sleep—”

“No,” he said quickly, voice still heavy with sleep but suddenly more alert. “No, stay. Please. I wanna stay on the call. For you? Always.”

You went quiet, swallowing down the guilt that rose in your chest.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” he breathed, a smile tugging into his voice. “Hearing your voice is already better than sleep.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaky and a little embarrassed. Then, without really meaning to—you started talking.

Not about anything huge. Just the little stuff. The rumors at school. How Kazuha almost knocked over a vending machine trying to get a free soda. How the cafeteria ran out of your favorite chips and it weirdly ruined your day more than it should’ve.

Jake didn’t interrupt. Didn’t talk over you. He just listened—soft, warm, awake only because you needed him.

And eventually, your words grew quieter. Slower.

“I didn’t think I’d miss you this much,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s stupid. After everything, I should still be mad. And I am. But… I miss you anyway.”

There was a pause. Then his voice, low and soft through the speaker:

“I miss you too. Every second. Even the ones I’m supposed to be sleeping through.”

You smiled, curling deeper into your blanket, heart beating too fast for how calm your voice sounded.

Maybe this wasn’t forgiveness.

Maybe it was just… a step toward it.

But for now, lying in bed and hearing his sleepy breath through the phone—

It was enough.

The next day, the evening settled in quietly—soft rain pattering against your window, the smell of shampoo still lingering in the air as you curled up in bed in your oversized hoodie. Hair damp, phone warm in your hand, you finally gave in and called him again.

Jake picked up almost instantly, like he’d been waiting.

The screen lit up with his face, a sleepy smile tugging at his lips. His hair was a little messy, eyes a little puffy—he looked tired, but the kind of tired that made him look softer.

Then he paused.

You tilted your head. “What?”

Jake blinked, then bit his lip, trying not to grin. “Nothing,” he said, voice all low and lazy. “You’re just… cute like that.”

You rolled your eyes, pulling your hoodie closer. “Like what?”

He laughed quietly. “Like that. All soft and cozy. I dunno. It’s just…” He shrugged. “I’d like to see you in my hoodie one day.”

Your stomach did this stupid little flip, but you masked it with a scoff. “You’d probably never get it back.”

“That’s the point,” he said, eyes shining with something gentle.

You looked away for a second, trying not to let the smile win—but it crept in anyway. You hated how easy it was to slip into this, how warm his voice made you feel even when you were still trying to protect your heart.

Still… you didn’t change the subject.

Instead, Jake shifted the camera and suddenly, a golden blur popped into view.

“Oh my god,” you said, sitting up. “Is that Layla?”

Jake beamed, gently scratching behind the ears of his border collie. “Yup. She’s been sulking without me. But she likes calls with you.”

Layla barked softly, tail wagging, and it made something in you melt.

You smiled quietly. “She’s so pretty.”

Jake looked back at the screen. “She’d love you.”

You hesitated for a beat, watching him, the way his hand rested gently on Layla’s fur, the way his face relaxed when he looked at you like that—like you were something precious.

“I’m still figuring things out,” you said softly.

Jake nodded without hesitation. “I know. And I’ll wait, remember?”

Your walls were still there. But they were softer now, worn down in places.

And maybe… just maybe… you were starting to believe he really meant it.

The next night, you weren’t sure why your fingers moved so quickly to hit call.

Maybe it was the silence of your room again.

Maybe it was the way his name lingered in your head all day.

Or maybe… you just wanted to hear his voice.

Jake answered with that same smile—bright and sleepy and just for you.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he said, voice a little hoarse, a little teasing. “You always call me right before bed. Not that I’m complaining.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the smile tugging at your lips. “Maybe I just like seeing Layla.”

Jake laughed, turning the camera to show Layla curled up at his feet. “She missed you too.”

You hesitated for a second. Your heart picked up.

And before you could overthink it, before your brain could yell no—you said it.

“I missed you,” you said quietly, voice softer than usual.

Jake blinked. His smile didn’t falter, but you could see something shift behind his eyes—like the words landed a little deeper than either of you expected.

“You… what?”

You swallowed. “I said I missed you. Don’t make me say it again.”

His lips curled into something warm and slow, something real. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that.”

You looked away, cheeks heating. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“I won’t,” he said, still grinning. “But just so you know… I missed you more.”

And just like that, something shifted.

Not huge, not loud—but it was there.

A new softness in the way you looked at each other.

A new kind of trust threading its way through the call.

You still weren’t all the way in.

But you were no longer holding all the way back either.

“Three more days,” Jake said through the screen, stretching his arms above his head with a groggy little yawn.

It was morning there, the sunlight barely creeping in through the curtains behind him, and his voice was still heavy with sleep. His hair was messy, sticking up in every direction, and you could hear Layla snoring faintly in the background.

You smiled at the sight, tucked under your blanket, phone propped up on your pillow.

“Not that I’m counting,” he added, eyes flicking up to meet yours through the screen with a crooked grin.

You raised a brow. “You literally said that exact thing yesterday. And the day before.”

“Okay, so maybe I am counting.” He shrugged, grin widening. “What can I say? I miss you.”

You rolled your eyes, but this time, you didn’t try to hide your smile.

Jake leaned closer to the camera, as if trying to get a better look at you through the screen. “What about you?”

“What about me?” you said, playing dumb even though your heart was already speeding up.

He tilted his head, voice soft. “You still miss me yet?”

You let a pause hang in the air for just a second longer than necessary before you whispered, “Maybe.”

Jake let out a low laugh, running a hand through his messy hair. “That’s all I get? A maybe?”

You bit your lip, trying to look annoyed, but the truth was written all over your face. You missed him more than you wanted to admit, and saying it out loud felt like giving up the last bit of control you had left.

But still, you added, “Three more days.”

Jake’s gaze softened. “Yeah… three more days, and I’m yours again.”

You looked at him, really looked at him—sleepy, sincere, and a little too perfect for his own good.

And in that moment, it hit you:

Maybe this was real after all.

And maybe… you were finally letting yourself believe it.

There was a soft knock on your door—three gentle taps, familiar and unhurried.

You peeled yourself off your bed, phone still warm in your hand from just hanging up with Jake. Padding over in your hoodie and socks, you opened the door.

Yuna stood there, arms crossed, an all-too-knowing smirk already forming on her face. “You’ve been on the phone every night,” she said, stepping inside without waiting for an invite. “I swear, I can hear you giggling through the wall.”

You flushed immediately. “I do not giggle.”

“Sure,” she said, plopping down dramatically onto your bed. “Just like how you’re totally not falling for him again.”

You shut the door behind her with a sigh, leaning your back against it. “He’s… different now. I don’t know, Yuna. I can’t explain it.”

Yuna looked at you for a long second, all the teasing melting into something more sincere.

“I believe he’s actually trying,” she said softly. “I do. I’ve been watching. He’s not flirting with every girl in sight. He hasn’t pulled one of his stupid ‘fuck boy’ games since the party. He’s… quieter. Focused. On you.”

You bit your lip, walking over to sit next to her on the edge of the bed.

“But I’m still pissed,” she added, voice firmer now. “What he did to you? The bet? The way he played it at first—that wasn’t okay. And I hate that you got caught up in it.”

“I know,” you said, eyes on your lap. “I hate it too. But it’s not like I didn’t see it coming. I just… didn’t expect him to change.”

Yuna was quiet for a second, then nudged your arm with hers. “You don’t have to forgive him all the way. Not yet. But you’re allowed to feel what you feel, okay? Even if it’s messy.”

You looked at her—your best friend, the one who always had your back even when you were being stubborn—and nodded.

“Thanks for not saying I told you so.”

“Oh, I totally told you so,” Yuna said with a smirk. “But I’m saying it with love.”

You laughed, and for the first time in a while, it felt real.

Later that night, after Yuna had left with a dramatic “Don’t stay up all night whispering sweet nothings,” you were back in bed, your thoughts buzzing.

You stared at your phone, thumb hovering over Jake’s name. It felt different now—not like you had to call him, but like… maybe you wanted to.

So you did.

The screen lit up, and after just one ring, his face appeared—eyes half-lidded, hoodie hood pulled halfway over his messy hair.

“Hey,” he said, voice all gravel and sleep. “Missed me already?”

You snorted, shifting under your blanket. “It’s only been a few hours.”

Jake smiled lazily. “Still counts.”

You studied him quietly for a moment—how tired he looked, how soft he sounded when he was with you. And for a second, it almost felt easy. Natural. As if things had always been like this between you.

“Yuna and I talked,” you said.

Jake blinked more awake. “Yeah? What’d she say?”

You shrugged. “She still doesn’t like what you did. But… she believes you’re trying.”

Jake leaned back against his pillows, hand dragging down his face. “I deserve that. I don’t expect anyone to forgive me right away.”

There was a pause. His eyes flicked back to the screen. “But you talked to her about me.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Don’t get cocky.”

“I’m not,” he said, grinning. “Just… glad.”

You rested your cheek on your pillow, watching him through the screen. “I don’t know what’s going to happen when you come back.”

“I do,” he said. “I’m gonna see you. And I’m gonna keep proving it—every day. No games. Just me.”

Your heart did that thing again—that annoying, traitorous flutter—but you didn’t stop it this time.

“Three days,” you whispered.

Jake smiled so softly it nearly knocked the air out of your lungs. “Yeah. Three days.”

And even with all the scars and hesitation…

You couldn’t help but feel a little bit like you were finally getting your heart back.

Two more days.

That’s what you’d told yourself all morning.

Just two more days and he’d be back. Two more days and you’d see him—really see him—not just on a screen.

But that night, something felt off.

Jake hadn’t called.

Not even a text.

Not a “good morning” or a sleepy voice note. Nothing.

You tried to brush it off at first.

He’s probably tired. Maybe busy with his family.

But the longer you stared at your phone, the more uneasy you felt.

You sent a message. Then another.

And when the little “Delivered” didn’t change to “Read”… you panicked.

You tried calling. Once. Twice. Then five more times.

Your fingers moved on their own—FaceTime.

The screen rang for what felt like forever before finally—

Click.

His face appeared, flushed and damp, water still running faintly in the background. Steam curled around the edges of the screen, and his wet hair was slicked back. He was clearly still in the shower, the camera only catching his bare shoulders and face, but—

“Y/N?” Jake asked, breathless. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

Your words came out rushed. “What’s wrong with you? Why weren’t you answering? I thought— I don’t know. I thought something happened—”

Jake blinked fast, clearly still trying to process. “Shit, I’m sorry. I was in the shower. I left my phone on the counter but it wouldn’t stop buzzing—I thought someone died.”

You breathed out a shaky laugh, rubbing your eyes. “You scared me.”

He frowned, guilt all over his face. “I didn’t mean to. I swear, I just— I was in the middle of shampooing and suddenly it’s like twelve missed calls—”

“I thought something happened to you,” you admitted quietly, voice softer now.

Jake’s brows knit together. He adjusted the phone slightly—still just his face and shoulders on screen—and his voice dipped low. “Hey… I’m okay. I promise. You’re not overthinking, alright? I should’ve texted you first. That’s on me.”

You nodded, but your heart was still racing.

He gave a crooked smile. “For what it’s worth… I’m kinda glad you spammed me.”

“Why?”

“Means you care,” he said simply. “That’s all I ever wanted.”

You looked at him, steam rising around his face, eyes tired but warm.

“Next time,” you muttered, “at least answer before I have a meltdown.”

Jake chuckled. “Deal.”

And even though the call wasn’t long…

And even though he was still in Australia, two days away—

You went to bed that night with your heart just a little more at ease.

The next morning, sunlight filtered through your blinds as you sat cross-legged on your bed, phone propped up in front of you. Jake’s sleepy face filled the screen—his hair a little messy, eyes soft and hooded from just waking up. It was night over there, but he still looked wide awake for one reason only.

You.

“Okay,” you said, holding up two options. “Sweater or hoodie?”

Jake squinted, rubbing at his eye. “Wait, wait, go back to the blue one. The knit one.”

You held it up again, amused. “This?”

“Yeah,” he said, already smiling. “That. With the jean shorts. You’ll look so good, I swear.”

You gave him a look. “You didn’t even see it on.”

“Babe,” he said, voice low and teasing, “I already know. Trust me.”

You rolled your eyes but tugged the sweater on anyway. It was cozy, a little oversized, sleeves dropping slightly past your wrists. Paired with your denim shorts and a quick glance in the mirror—you had to admit, he was right.

You turned back toward the screen to find Jake watching you with this quiet, lopsided grin on his face.

“What?” you asked, reaching for your mascara.

“Nothing,” he said. “Just… you’re really pretty.”

Your hand paused mid-air. “Shut up.”

“I’m serious,” he said, his voice softer now. “Like, stupid pretty.”

You bit back a smile and kept doing your makeup, feeling his gaze linger. He didn’t say anything for a bit, just watched you brush and blend and put on lip balm.

“I don’t care how jet-lagged I am tomorrow,” he said suddenly. “I’m staying up all night with you.”

You glanced at the screen.

He looked dead serious, head resting on his pillow but eyes locked on you.

“I’m gonna hug you so tight,” he said. “Like, refuse to let go tight. And kiss you until you tell me to stop.”

You pretended to be unbothered, but your smile gave you away.

He laughed gently. “That a yes?”

You shook your head, cheeks warm. “We’ll see.”

Jake yawned and nestled deeper into his sheets. “One more day…”

“One more,” you echoed, slipping on your shoes.

And as you grabbed your bag and headed out the door, you couldn’t help but feel the smallest flicker of excitement under your skin.

Just one more.

That whole day felt… weird. Good weird. Butterflies-in-your-stomach kind of weird.

Everything you did—walking through the halls, sitting through class, zoning out during lunch—had one repeating thought in the back of your mind: Jake’s coming back today.

You weren’t texting him much. Just a few updates here and there.

He sent you a photo of the plane window, captioned: Next stop: you.

And that alone had you stuffing your phone into your locker before you completely melted in front of everyone.

By the time school ended, your legs were bouncing nonstop on the bus ride home. You told yourself you were being chill. Normal. Totally not overthinking the fact that Jake Sim, the boy who once treated girls like trophies, who once made you a bet, was now someone you were waiting for.

And maybe even falling for.

You got home, changed into something a little more comfortable, and threw yourself on your bed—phone clutched in your hand like it was your lifeline.

Then, a text buzzed through:

@simjyn: Landed. Be at yours in 20. Don’t freak out.

Your heart immediately started freaking out.

You sat up fast, checked your reflection in the mirror, and tried to tell yourself it wasn’t that deep.

But it was.

Because this wasn’t just any visit.

This was the first time you were going to see him since everything—

Since the bet, the heartbreak, the slow rebuild.

Since the quiet confessions and late night calls and the I miss yous.

This was real.

And you were about to find out just how real it truly felt… when he was standing right in front of you.

The next twenty minutes felt like an eternity. You paced around your room, picking up and putting down random things—your phone, your makeup bag, your shoes—anything to distract yourself from the nervous energy building in your chest.

You had to keep reminding yourself to breathe. It’s just Jake. It’s just Jake.

But it wasn’t just Jake, was it?

It was the Jake. The one you’d spent weeks on edge about. The one who’d broken your heart and then somehow, miraculously, started piecing it back together. The one who told you things that made your stomach twist in ways you didn’t want to admit.

The doorbell rang, sharp and sudden, making your heart jump into your throat.

You took a steadying breath and headed for the door, barely holding it together. When you opened it, Jake was standing there, grinning like he owned the world. His hair was a little messy, his eyes bright, and there was a certain softness to him that you hadn’t expected.

“Hey,” he said, voice low, a little hoarse from the travel. “Miss me?”

You just stared at him for a beat before a small laugh escaped your lips. “Are you really gonna ask that after everything?”

Jake stepped inside, closing the door behind him as he swept you into a hug. The warmth of his body was instant—familiar, comforting—and for the first time in days, you felt like maybe this was right. Like maybe it wasn’t a mistake to want him around.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice quiet now, like he was finally ready to admit it. “I know I messed up, but I really meant it when I said I wanted to try. I’m here for you. I want this… with you.”

You pulled back slightly to look him in the eye, your heart still racing from the flood of emotions crashing over you.

“You’re not just saying that because you’re back now?” you asked, unsure if you were ready to hear the answer.

Jake’s hand cupped your cheek gently, his thumb brushing over your skin as if he was trying to memorize the feeling of you. “No. It’s not just because I’m here. I was never going to get off the plane without making things right. I wanted to be here. For you. For us.”

You couldn’t say anything, couldn’t form the words you needed to say. Instead, you stood there, eyes locked on his, and let the silence speak for you.

Finally, Jake leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours. “So, how about we just… try again? No games, no past stuff. Just us.”

You took in a shaky breath, then nodded.

“Okay,” you whispered.

Jake smiled, that familiar cocky grin back on his face, but there was something new in his eyes—something deeper. “Good,” he murmured before gently leaning in to kiss you.

It was soft, tentative at first, like he was waiting for permission. You let him, sinking into the kiss, and for that brief moment, it felt like all the tension and uncertainty of the past few weeks just melted away.

When he pulled back, he grinned again. “Tomorrow, I’m not jet-lagged. We’re going out. I’m taking you on a real date.”

You laughed softly, still in a daze from his kiss. “What’s a ‘real date’ to you?”

“Dinner, movie, some late-night snacks, maybe another kiss or two…” Jake shrugged. “The usual, but with less games.”

You smiled, the butterflies in your stomach fluttering in response. “I think I could get used to this.”

Jake just chuckled and pulled you close again, arms wrapping around you like he wasn’t planning on letting go anytime soon.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to relax into him, knowing that whatever came next, you were finally ready to let things unfold.

Jake stood by the door, his hands casually in his pockets, looking around your room like he was trying to make himself comfortable. His eyes settled on you, and there was that same soft look he always had when he wasn’t being cocky or teasing.

“So, uh…” he started, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly a little unsure for the first time tonight. “Is Yuna here?”

You blinked, glancing toward the empty bed across the room. Yuna was out with her boyfriend, which left you alone in the apartment for the night. You’d assumed it would just be the two of you hanging out, but the way Jake asked made your heart skip a beat.

“Uh, no, she’s out with her boyfriend for the night,” you replied, biting your lip. “Why?”

Jake looked almost shy for a second, before shrugging. “Well, I was thinking… maybe I could stay here tonight?” His voice was hesitant, and for a moment, you weren’t sure if he was asking because he really wanted to, or if it was just the most natural thing for him to do. But when his eyes met yours, there was a sincerity there that made your stomach flutter.

You froze, a nervous little laugh escaping your lips. Stay the night?

You’d never had a guy stay over, especially not someone like Jake—someone who had once seemed like the kind of guy who’d never do anything that serious with someone. The idea of him being so close to you all night, even after everything, made your heart race. You couldn’t lie—it made you feel… nervous.

“Uh… yeah. Sure,” you said quietly, looking down at your feet, suddenly feeling shy.

Jake smiled, a bit relieved. “You sure? I don’t wanna make it awkward or anything, I just… I’ve missed being with you.”

Your heart melted at his words, but the nerves were still there, fluttering in your chest. “It’s not awkward,” you replied, glancing up at him. “I just… haven’t really had anyone stay over before. It’s… different.”

Jake stepped closer, his presence suddenly overwhelming in the best way. He reached for your hand and gently tugged you towards him, his smile soft and comforting. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for, okay? I just wanna spend time with you. Just you and me.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. “Okay…” you whispered, not sure what to expect, but feeling strangely calm in his arms.

Jake’s lips pressed softly to your forehead, his hand still holding yours as he led you to the bed. “Then, how about we just watch a movie? You pick.”

You nodded, still feeling that little wave of nervousness, but somehow comforted by the way Jake treated you. This wasn’t a game anymore, and maybe it wasn’t the big leap you’d both once imagined. But it was a step, and that was enough.

As Jake settled next to you on the bed, you grabbed your remote and flipped through the options. He leaned against the headboard, pulling you closer, as you snuggled into his side, your heart beating just a little faster than normal.

You weren’t sure what the future held, but right now, in this quiet moment with Jake, you were willing to let the night unfold however it came.

And, even if you were nervous, you didn’t mind that he was here. With you.

The bed felt a little too big for just the two of you at first. You were trying to settle in, but your nerves kept making it awkward. You told yourself it would be fine, but the reality of him being here—so close, sharing this space with you—was a little more overwhelming than you expected.

Jake, on the other hand, was perfectly at ease. He’d clearly been in similar situations before, and the way he moved around the bed, adjusting the pillows, grabbing the blanket to throw over both of you, was effortless. He wasn’t even trying to be cautious. To him, it was just another night, another moment to relax.

You, on the other hand, lay stiff beside him, your back to him as you tried to make yourself comfortable without being too aware of his presence.

Then, you heard him yawn. “So… not bad, huh?” he said casually, turning on his side to face you, his gaze sharp and mischievous. “I mean, I know you’re probably not used to me being here, but don’t worry. I’m a great bedmate.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes even though you couldn’t hide a small smile. “Yeah, sure. No more moving around, okay? I’m trying to sleep.”

Jake grinned, clearly not even the slightest bit tired. “It’s only like 6 AM for me, babe. It’s morning in Australia, so I’m wide awake.” He paused for a second before adding, “And don’t worry. I’m not that bad. I’ll let you sleep.”

But he didn’t.

The next few minutes were a blur of shifting blankets and restless movements. Every time you thought you might finally fall asleep, Jake would adjust, making sure you felt every inch of his presence next to you. It was like he was a human radiator.

He kept moving, lightly bumping into you, his arm brushing against yours as he stretched and shifted again. You groaned, turning onto your back, trying to get some space. But Jake had other plans.

“C’mon, you can’t be mad at me forever,” he murmured, his fingers trailing over your cheek as he pinched it, all while giving you that infuriatingly sweet smile.

“Jake, I’m trying to sleep,” you snapped, your voice more irritated than you meant it to be.

“I know. You’re cute when you’re grumpy.” He grinned and leaned in to pinch your other cheek. “You’re like a little puppy when you’re all sleepy and mad.”

You huffed, swatting his hand away, but Jake only laughed softly, ignoring your protests. He pulled you in closer, wrapping his arms around you tightly, so there was no escape.

“What are you doing?” you muttered, fighting the urge to squirm out of his grip.

“I’m cuddling you. Isn’t that what you do when you’re sleeping next to someone? Come on, you can’t be mad at me. It’s cute when you’re mad.” Jake’s tone was teasing, almost too playful for how much he was invading your personal space.

You gritted your teeth, pushing at his chest weakly, but the more you tried to get away, the more he pulled you in. Eventually, you just gave up, sighing in frustration, the warmth of his embrace making you feel a little too comfortable despite your annoyance.

“Seriously, Jake, I’m not in the mood for this,” you muttered, trying to wiggle free.

But instead of letting go, Jake’s hand rested on the top of your head, gently stroking your hair, as if trying to soothe you. “Shhh. Just relax, okay? You’ve had a rough couple of days. Let me take care of you.”

His words were soft and gentle, but the way he was treating you, so carefree and natural, made everything feel more intense.

You felt your face flush. God, why was he so affectionate?

Your body was tense, but Jake didn’t seem to care. He continued his little “babying” routine, pinching your cheeks again, running his hand down your arm. “You really are cute when you’re trying to act tough.”

You shoved his hand away again. “Stop!” you groaned, your face burning now, both from being flustered and from how absolutely done you were with his teasing. But even as you spoke, you couldn’t help but feel your frustration shift into something else. The warmth of his closeness, the way he kept trying to make you laugh—despite how embarrassed you were—it was impossible to ignore the fact that a part of you was starting to soften.

Jake seemed to sense that too, because his smile softened, and for a brief second, he pulled back just enough to look at you seriously. “Okay, okay. I’ll stop… for now,” he said, but there was a playful glint in his eyes that told you he was far from done.

“Good,” you muttered, turning to face the other side of the bed.

Jake’s voice suddenly broke through the quiet, whining as he flopped onto his back. “I’m bored!” he groaned dramatically, his arms thrown wide as he stared up at the ceiling. “This is so lame. Can we do something fun?”

The frustration that had been simmering inside you all night bubbled over. You were already feeling irritable from his constant moving around and messing with you, and now this? You turned on your side, facing him, opening your mouth to let him have it.

“What do you mean, bored? You’re the one who—”

Before you could even finish your sentence, Jake was already leaning in, his lips pressing urgently against yours, silencing whatever you were about to say. His kiss was sudden and intense, catching you completely off guard. The feeling of his lips on yours made everything in you freeze. You were mad, frustrated, confused—and yet your body couldn’t help but respond to him.

You pulled away, heart pounding, cheeks flushed. “What the hell, Jake?” you gasped, feeling a little more than just flustered.

Jake smirked, a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes. “Shh,” he murmured, his voice low and playful. “You were about to yell at me, weren’t you? I just had to shut you up for a second.”

Before you could even process what was happening, he kissed you again. This time, it was slower, deeper, and when he pulled away, your lips felt tingling, your mind a little hazy.

But Jake wasn’t done. His hands slid to your waist, and in one fluid movement, he was over you, his body hovering above yours. His eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race, and his breath was coming out in soft pants.

“Jake, wait, we can’t—” you tried to protest, but your voice faltered as his lips moved down to your neck, his body pressing closer to yours.

“I’ve been waiting for this,” he murmured, his voice thick with something you couldn’t quite place. He kissed you again, more passionately this time, as his hands moved to pull you even closer. Every touch, every kiss, only seemed to stir something deeper in you.

And even though you were still mad, flustered, and unsure, you couldn’t deny how badly your body responded to his closeness. The kiss deepened, the air between you thick with tension and the weight of everything unsaid.

It was like you couldn’t breathe without him, even as your mind screamed at you to pull away, to think clearly. But all you could focus on were his lips, his hands, and the way his body made yours burn with the kind of heat you hadn’t expected.

And in that moment, everything else just seemed to fade away.

You pulled away from Jake just enough to catch your breath, your chest rising and falling rapidly. The heat between you was still lingering, and your heart was hammering in your chest.

“Jake,” you whispered, your voice shaky. “Don’t… don’t leave any marks.”

Jake paused, looking down at you with a mischievous grin. “What, are you worried someone’s gonna see? You know, it’ll just be our little secret.”

You felt the tension rise in your chest. “Jake, seriously. No marks.”

But he only smirked, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Too late,” he said softly, pressing his lips to your neck again. His kiss was soft at first, but there was a quiet intensity behind it, his lips leaving a trail of heat.

You gasped, a shiver running down your spine. “Jake…” you protested weakly, but his lips were already moving with more confidence, his hands gently pulling your body even closer to his.

“Shh,” he murmured between kisses, his breath warm against your skin. “You’re just too irresistible, you know that?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to focus, but the way his mouth was slowly marking the sensitive skin of your neck made it hard to think. He didn’t seem to care about your protests, and in a way, you didn’t want him to. The moment was too intense for you to pull back now.

“Jake, I said no marks,” you breathed, but your voice wavered as his lips pressed harder against the skin of your neck.

But Jake’s grin never wavered as he kissed you once more. “I’ll be gentle,” he whispered teasingly. “But you know you like it.”

And before you could say anything else, he placed another kiss on your skin, and this time, it was more than just a light touch—it was deeper, more possessive.

You couldn’t help but groan, your body reacting in ways you hadn’t expected, and all of your careful reservations melted away beneath him.

Jake pulled away for a moment, his eyes dark with something you couldn’t quite place. He gave you a slow, almost predatory grin before sitting up slightly. Without saying a word, he pulled his shirt off over his head, tossing it carelessly to the side.

Your breat caught in your throat as your eyes involuntarily roamed over his toned chest. It wasn’t like you hadn’t seen him shirtless before, but now… this felt different. The way his body moved, the way he stared down at you with that same confident smirk—something about it was making your pulse quicken.

He watched you carefully, gauging your reaction. “You okay?” he asked, voice low, teasing.

You swallowed hard, trying to collect your thoughts, but they were all scrambled. “I—yeah,” you muttered, not entirely sure if you believed it yourself. You wanted to look away, to regain some control over the situation, but your eyes kept drifting back to his chest, his body in a way you couldn’t quite pull yourself away from.

“Good,” Jake murmured, leaning back down toward you, his body pressing against yours once more. “Because I’m not done yet.”

You barely had time to process his words before his lips were on yours again, pulling you into another kiss that made it harder to think about anything else. The way his bare skin felt against yours, the warmth of his body, everything seemed to blur into a haze of desire and confusion.

Despite all the hesitation still lingering inside you, your body reacted instinctively, leaning into the kiss and feeling that undeniable pull toward him. And for a moment, everything else—your worries, your reservations, your doubts—faded into the background.

Jake’s kiss deepened, the intensity of it making your pulse race, and you could feel every inch of him pressed against you. Your heart pounded in your chest, and despite your earlier protests, you couldn’t stop yourself from responding. He was so close now, his body hovering above yours, the heat from his skin making you feel both excited and nervous.

His hands gently moved to your sides, his fingertips grazing the skin just beneath your shirt, sending a wave of electricity through your body. You wanted to pull back, to stop it before it went any further, but every part of you—every instinct—wanted to stay.

“You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for,” Jake murmured against your lips, as if sensing your hesitation. His voice was quieter now, softer, and you could feel the tenderness beneath the teasing tone.

You closed your eyes, trying to steady your breath. “I know,” you whispered back, your voice trembling slightly. But the tension was still there, between you both, thick and palpable.

Jake shifted slightly, lifting himself up just enough to look down at you. His hands gently cupped your face, his thumb brushing along your cheekbone. “I don’t want to rush you,” he said seriously, his eyes searching yours for some kind of reassurance. “But if you’re still unsure about anything… just say the word, and we’ll stop.”

For a brief moment, you felt the weight of your emotions, the confusion swirling inside you. You wanted to trust him. Part of you did. But then the doubt crept in—how much of this was him really caring about you? And how much was just him playing his usual game?

You tried to push those thoughts away, your hand reaching up to gently rest on his chest. “I’m just… trying to figure things out,” you confessed, your voice quiet but honest.

Jake gave you a small smile, his thumb now gently rubbing over your skin. “I get it. And I’m here, okay? Whatever you need.”

And for the first time in a long while, you felt like maybe, just maybe, there was a chance things could be different between you two. The trust you had been struggling to build was fragile, but it was there. And despite everything—despite how complicated things had gotten—you couldn’t ignore the warmth that spread through you when you were with him.

“Thanks,” you said softly, looking up at him. “I’m still figuring it out, but… I don’t want to let you go.”

Jake’s smile widened, his eyes softening as he leaned down to kiss you again, slower this time, as if trying to communicate everything he hadn’t said with his actions. It wasn’t perfect, and you weren’t sure where things were headed, but for once, you let yourself believe that maybe this could be something worth fighting for.

The air was heavy with the quiet aftermath, both of you lying side by side in the tangled sheets, the room still filled with the lingering warmth of the moment. You didn’t speak at first, unsure of how to break the silence. Your heart was still racing, the intensity of everything that had happened swirling in your mind, and a part of you felt vulnerable, exposed.

Jake lay on his back, one arm draped across his chest as he stared up at the ceiling, his chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths. He seemed calm, but you could see the subtle shift in the way he was holding himself, like there was more going on behind his relaxed exterior than he was letting on.

You turned your head to look at him, your heart still pounding in your chest. “Jake…” your voice was quiet, almost hesitant, like you weren’t sure what you needed to say. You wanted to ask so many things, to know where you both stood now, but the words seemed stuck.

Jake turned his head to face you, his eyes meeting yours with a softness that you hadn’t seen before. He smiled, though it was more subdued than his usual cocky grin. “You okay?” he asked, his voice low and gentle, as if he was giving you space to process everything.

You nodded slowly, unsure of how to explain what you were feeling. “I think so,” you whispered, but the words still felt hollow, as if you didn’t fully believe them yourself.

Jake reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his touch surprisingly tender. “You don’t have to say anything if you’re not ready,” he murmured, his thumb lightly grazing your cheek. “But I’m here. And I meant what I said. I don’t want to rush you into anything.”

You looked up at him, feeling the warmth of his words sink in, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt a little more grounded. Maybe you didn’t have all the answers, and maybe this wasn’t perfect, but you weren’t as afraid anymore.

“Thanks,” you said softly, your voice barely a whisper.

Jake’s smile grew, and he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “You don’t have to thank me. I just want you to be happy,” he murmured.

For a moment, everything was still, the only sound the faint hum of the night outside. It was messy, and maybe you weren’t ready to give everything over just yet, but you knew one thing—things with Jake were no longer the same. Whether that was a good or bad thing, you weren’t entirely sure, but for now, it felt real.

And for the first time in a long while, you let yourself believe that maybe that was enough.

The peaceful silence that had settled between you and Jake was abruptly shattered by the sound of a door creaking open, followed by the unmistakable click of a lock being turned. You both froze, panic and confusion flashing across your faces.

The door swung open, and to your horror, Yuna and her boyfriend, Mark, stood in the doorway, eyes wide with shock. Yuna’s face was a mix of disbelief and surprise, while Mark’s expression was one of utter confusion.

“What the hell?” Yuna’s voice was sharp, but still laced with the shock of what she was seeing. “It’s three in the morning, why the hell are you two—?”

You scrambled to sit up, suddenly feeling exposed in a way you never thought possible. Jake, always cool and collected, sat up quickly too, his face just as surprised. He looked at you, then back at Yuna and Mark, clearly trying to gauge the situation.

“Yuna,” you stammered, your voice betraying the chaos that was suddenly consuming you. “I… um, it’s not what you think.”

Mark looked between the two of you, eyebrows raised. “Y/n and Jake…such a weird combo. What’s going on?”

Yuna stood frozen for a moment, then slowly closed the door behind her, her eyes never leaving you. “This is… Wow,” she muttered under her breath. “We should’ve knocked.”

“Yuna, it’s… it’s not like that,” you said, your words coming out rushed, a little too desperate for comfort.

Jake was the first to break the tension, his usual cocky grin slipping back onto his face. “No, actually, it’s exactly like that,” he said with a shrug, leaning back against the headboard, his tone casual as though it didn’t faze him in the slightest. “But, uh, a little privacy wouldn’t hurt next time, right?”

Yuna’s gaze flickered between the two of you, her face still unreadable, but Mark’s expression turned more thoughtful. “Alright, well, we can talk about this later,” he said, stepping back toward the door. “But seriously, next time, maybe lock it, yeah?”

Before either of you could respond, they turned and walked out, leaving you alone in the room again. The door clicked shut behind them, but the silence felt deafening now, far more overwhelming than before.

You let out a breath, your heart still racing. This wasn’t how you imagined the night going, but then again, nothing about this situation had been how you expected.

Jake leaned over, a playful smirk on his lips. “Well, that was a nice surprise, huh?”

You shot him a look, still feeling a little dazed. “I think I just want to sleep now,” you muttered, pulling the covers up around you, your face flushed with embarrassment.

Jake just chuckled, his hand resting on your arm. “I don’t blame you,” he said softly. “We’ve had enough excitement for one night.”

But even as you tried to settle back into the quiet, the strange events of the evening felt like a reminder of how everything between you had shifted. Whether it was for better or worse, you didn’t know yet. But one thing was for sure: it wasn’t over.

enha campus series

[exquisink]

love on the brain. // bully! geto x fem!reader, part 1 of ?

cw. fingering (f!receiving), exhibition (classroom), geto being a prick idk what this really is, you standing up for yourself, kento nanami being the man we all want but don't deserve, no curses/college au, you and suguru knew each other since middle school idk, blackmail

wc. 4.5K (hence it might be a series b/c i feel like there's a lot of room here)

If you try to claim that you’re being bullied by Geto Suguru, you have a feeling you’re going to be met with a lot of doubtful stares. And you can’t even completely blame him because to most people, he doesn’t seem like a bully.

And by all accounts, he isn’t… to his friends. To everyone who meets him and idly chitchats with him claims that he’s the perfect gentleman. And arguably, he’s not to you, either. He acknowledges you with a strange smile that reminds you of Mona Lisa’s every time you enter the lecture room, waving at you to come join him and his friends but there’s something in your gut telling you to keep him at an arm’s length.

You do, for the most part. You sit a seat over from him and his friends, and he frowns, closing the gap between you and taking the seat next to you, resting his large hand on your thigh, inching it higher and higher… smirking when he catches your breath hitch.

“G-geto,” you stammer, resting your hand over his, trying to pry him off but he tightens his grip. “Not in front of them.”

“It’s not like they won’t enjoy the show,” he chuckles, his fingers slipping under your skirt and seeking the cotton of your panties. You try to squeeze your thighs shut but he scowls deep, prying them back apart and you take note of how large his hands are compared to the fleshier parts of your thighs. “Now now, you pretty thing. You don’t want to make me angry, hm?”

He leans in, breath fanning your ear as he traces the lace lining of your panties. “Besides, I find it hard to believe you didn’t wear something this sexy for no reason.”

You meekly remind him as the heat rushing to your face flushes your complexion: “Y-you told me t-!” 

He cuts you off with a finger over your lips. 

“Shush, pretty, and pay attention,” he chastises, his eyes landing on one of the entrances to the room. “The professor walked in.”

You clamp your mouth shut, fighting the moan threatening to leave your lips as two long fingers dip into your panties and glide along your folds throughout the lecture. Geto is strategic, keeping his eyes on the professor as he has his back facing the students writing something on the blackboard while you’re struggling to follow his example. 

Geto loves to play with your pussy like it’s a sport. Slipping two fingers into your opening and pumping them while whispering sweet nothings into your ear throughout class and somehow you haven’t gotten caught yet considering how secluded you sit at is. 

You’re completely soaked by the time the lecture ends and as students pour out of the classroom through the exits on either sides, you catch Geto bringing his damp fingers to his lips to suckle a little onto your arousal. Your face falls, and you catch his peer, Satoru Gojo smirking at him with a knowing glint in his eyes. You avoid direct eye contact with him because Geto isn’t particularly fond of you giving your attention to anyone else, especially not his best friend.

Your face is flushed from the heat rushing from your neck up to your forehead, and you try to scramble out of there before Geto tries to catch you in the act while he’s caught up talking with Gojo and his other friend, Ieiri Shoko, who pretends to be none the wiser but she does cast a concerned look at you every now and then throughout the entire seminar. Finally you make it out of your seat after packing your belongings but then you hear someone obnoxiously clearing his throat.

“And where do you think you’re going without me to escort you out of here, pretty?” 

You freeze, eyes shooting wide as you glance over your shoulder to find Geto frowning in disapproval from your actions. You still have one foot toward one of the exits at your nearest corner but then his eyes drop to your kitten heels.

“How do you think you’re going to get that far wearing those?” he challenges with that authoritative tone of his that reminds you of a parent scolding his children, and he bids farewell to his friends as they turn the other cheek and don’t opt to rush to your aid as good humans should. Maybe they don’t want to be on his bad side, if he has one. Oh what are you talking about? Of course he has one. The role he plays to the rest of the world is just some fallacy he feeds everyone else so no one suspects anything else about him. He’s the definition of a wolf in sheep’s clothing. 

“I-I have another lecture after this,” you remind him, staggering backward in spite of knowing better. Geto clicks his tongue in pity.

“And what makes you think that matters? You can just make it up later, hm? Besides, I think you’d rather spend time with me. I know I’d much rather continue having fun with my favorite, pretty little thing.”

In spite of knowing better, you twist on your heel and dash out the double doors, leaving them flapping behind you. This is the only lecture you share with him, and you can just endure whatever humiliation he wants to give you later.

Just not now.

All throughout your lecture, your phone buzzes with numerous notifications—all from Geto. Missed calls, missed messages, missed DMs, contacting you every which way just to get your attention. It’s difficult to focus on the lecture so finally you decide to humor at least one of those threads amongst the hundreds he started with you just to get you to speak to him. You’re going to give him an A for the persistence… 

Geto: answer the phone, pretty. why did you disobey me?

you: i told you, i had another lecture. you don’t get to control every waking moment of my life geto

Geto: geto and not suguru? you wound me, pretty… 

You: leave me alone. i’m done with you thinking you can do whatever you want. i don’t even like you

Geto: now you’re really wounding me, pretty… is there someone else?

You: that’s none of your damn business now is it

You stifle a groan. So fucking typical. Just like a man to ignore the actual root of the problem which is himself in this case. Men never recognize when they’re being the problem and he is no exception to that fact. 

You stop humoring the conversation, even as he’s continuously spamming your phone with more and more messages. You silence your phone in the middle of being bombarded with more and more from him. Some with cryptic threats, some with semi-convincing apologies or promises to let you take the lead if he gets access to you again… you know better now than to take the bait. You’re trying to be stronger for yourself.

You have to stand up for yourself sometime, after all, and there is never going to be a ‘good’ time for that, either. Another lecture ends and you silence your phone which is still buzzing with Geto bombarding you with more messages, and yet not one apology from any of them, you’re absolutely sure.

Someone stops you as you’re waltzing out, and your tension eases slightly. No more torment for the rest of the day, you hope. 

“Hi,” Kento, your upperclassman, the one you have been dreaming about since you laid eyes on him… “Are you interested in studying with me tonight for this week’s exam?”

You nod, “Of course! It would make my life easier.”

Your backpocket buzzes again and you bite back a groan, muting Geto’s thread entirely. You have half a mind to block his number. 

“Sorry,” you mutter, “Someone has a real issue with rejection…”

“Who’s giving you trouble?” he asks as his eyebrows furrow. 

“No one worth stressing over. But I am seeing if I can just view the lecture we share online so I don’t have to see his face.”

“No one worth stressing over, she says,” he chortles, but the laughter lacks humor. “I have seen Geto Suguru hovering around you. He and his friends are a bunch of nuisances, except for Miss Ieri. She actually has some of my respect.”

“Yet no one thinks they’re that bad,” you mumble, glancing at another text message Geto sends. “Everyone thinks Geto is soooo good with girls. But he’s kind of the worst one. The other two leave me alone for the most part.”

He frowns, “He’s the one giving you trouble? Does he have something on you?”

Your silence is all the answer he needs. 

“…I’m just going to talk to him,” Kento mumbles, brushing past you and you twist on your heel, watching him. "I'll be back in a minute, miss."

“Don’t waste your energy for my sake, Nanami…”

“Trolling women doesn’t sit right in my soul. Let me handle him.”

“It’s… a little deeper than trolling me, Nanami,” you try to explain. It feels so good to let that off of your chest to someone because you have been letting Suguru get away with pushing you around for longer than you felt was acceptable yourself. But then you see the look on Kento’s face completely meld into something almost animalistic and sadistic, and something in your gut is telling you that Suguru is not going to come out of this “talk” with him alive… or with a functioning pair of balls if he’s let off easy. 

And Kento doesn’t do easy when he’s furious. This you can all infer just from that fucking expression from someone who otherwise remains stoic and collected the majority of the time… 

Oh, why does that just make him even hotter to you right now? This is so not fair, and you don’t even think Kento is interested in you like that… 

“I know. Which is why I’m just going to talk with him,” he vows. 

Is there any chance of changing his mind? You haven’t a clue. Nanami has left before you can say anything, but unfortunately for you—

—you’re suddenly pinned to the wall beside you by the Devil himself. 

“Why’re you ignoring me, pretty?” he purrs into your ear while keeping your hands pinned above your head. 

“I believe I made myself clear,” you grunt, clearly unamused but that never stopped Geto before. You’re not a fan of this arrangement which you are pretty sure you have never openly consented to the harder you think on it. He never lets you off. He always has to find a new way to harass you. And this just so happens to be his favorite way to do so and for once, for once, you just want to tell him what for and give him a little more than a cold shoulder since apparently that doesn’t seem to work on him anyway.

“Oh, so you think you can be tough?” he scoffs, as his fingers trail down from the side of your hip and stops at the waistband of your pants. “Don’t be so foolish, pretty girl. You can’t live another day without feeling me everywhere.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you like to think that you’re the best fuck in the world, but the world is bigger than you, Geto.”

“Still calling me Geto, huh?” he observes, “You’re killing me, pretty.”

“Yes. That hasn’t changed,” you point out, “Besides, it’s not like we’re even fr–!”

–he’s suddenly yanked away from you and caged by Kento, who is significantly larger than him and more muscular which makes you realize just how skinny and frail Suguru really is after all. He may just be a nudge taller than Kento but that’s all he has on the man. 

“Don’t you know harassing girls isn’t classy?” Kento growls while keeping Suguru lifted above the ground with a fistful of his fancy shirt Gojo probably bought for him. That fucking weird rich friend of his that has no concept of personal space and seems to have a thing for picking on you too but not in the way Geto likes to. Gojo at least forgets you exist after a bit; Geto has to go above and beyond, going as far as taking your virginity that night. You can’t even remember if you fully consented or not because the memories from that day were so cloudy for you and somehow you have a feeling Suguru fucked around with you in more ways than one that day too if that is the case.

Geto struggles to get some words out as expected, considering Kento’s large, veiny hand is constricting his neck, threatening to cut off air flow but you have a feeling Kento’s far too sweet to let things get that far even if he’s not a fan of the kind of crimes Geto has been committing with you. Perhaps other girls too, you don’t know if you’re his only victim and honestly you don’t know what might piss you off more: the fact that this harassment of his doesn’t stop with you or the fact that he seems to only be targeting you. Both are heinous in their own rights. 

“I come back from a quick restroom trip, and you’re already finding another way to pick on this lady?” Kento snarls, gritting his teeth. Now this is a sight you hope to cherish for the rest of your life: there’s sweat glistening on Geto’s forehead and dripping down those absurdly thin eyebrows of his. His face is flushed, and you have a feeling if you looked closely enough then you could see his heart threatening to burst out of his chest because he’s beyond intimidated and who wouldn’t be intimidated by the likes of Kento Nanami? He may have kept up his pristine image as nothing short of a gentleman, but he knows where to draw the line somewhere and absolutely crash the fuck out.

“What’s this have to do with you?” Geto shoots back, attempting to shoot a glare but even through that attempt there’s a flash of uncertainty of Kento’s next move. You hide your smile behind the palm of your hand; this is the most glorious thing you’ve witnessed since Satoru Gojo spilled Cola all over his fancy dress shirt from some big name brand earlier in the week.

“If you continue bothering her, then I don’t think you’re going to have such a spotless face anymore. You might end up all technicolor. And not many people can rock two black eyes, let alone one,” Kento goes on, keeping an eerily even tone but it’s only turning you on rather than intimidating you like it is scaring Geto absolutely shitless. This is about as attractive as a man doing all of the chores without you having to ask him by the time you get back from work or something. How have you not been on that already? 

Oh. Right. That reason is just seconds away from getting the lights beat out of him but you almost feel just the slightest twinge of pity in your heart. But that’s only because you’re human and cursed with that little ridiculous thing called empathy. Something Kento has in common with you and that’s just another reason why you should bring up the courage to ask him out… 

Once this blows over of course… you can’t rush into things too quickly, right? 

Thud. You’re snapping back to reality when you catch onto Kento shoving Geto up against the wall behind them, and you let out a light gasp. Oh it doesn’t look like Geto is going to be let off easy for this at all and a part of you is screaming at you incessantly to cease this before it gets too ugly but at the same time Geto deserves this and a whole lot more than what Kento is probably going to deliver.

And that’s something you still don’t know yet yourself. 

“K-kento, wait, I um..” 

He turns his head slightly over his shoulder. 

“I’m not going to leave too many marks, but he should know better than to give someone as sweet as you problems,” he says, slow and almost menacing, like a clap of thunder. “And I think he might already be getting the hint not to mess with you anymore just from this display alone, isn’t that right, Geto? I already have no respect for you and your group of friends, except for perhaps Shoko and now I can say with my full chest that you won’t ever earn it again.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” Geto remarks, and Kento turns his attention back to Geto who’s trying real hard to be the tough guy right now after just teasing you about trying to be tough. You can’t help but find the situation a little poetic, yeah? 

But there’s a part of you whispering that this definitely won’t stop Geto from finding other ways to make your life miserable.

“Now where to start? Should I just give him those two black eyes and let him off easy this time around? Or no, that’s not going to teach him the lesson about harassing women. How far should I take this? Miss?” Kento turns to face you again and you gasp, uncertain of how to answer such an on the spot question. You even catch Geto looking at you, his eyes pleading, like he thinks you’d actually go as far as to defend his actions but of course he should know better.

Does he think he can make things worse for you if you go along with it? It’s not like there’s much more he can do to you. Is there? Should you poke the bear with the stick and find out?

`”Miss?” Kento addresses you again in a softer tone. “Are you insinuating that he should be let off with just a warning before I leave him with his face completely disfigured?” 

You try to ignore the way Geto’s gaze bores into you, practically imprinting itself onto your soul because you have to be stronger than you’re letting on right now. He’s not going to win you over again just because he can pull off a perfect begging act which should be more suitable in other times than this one. 

“I’m not sure if that’s my call to make, Kento,” you admit, your voice practically a squeak which feels absolutely unbecoming given this entire situation. “I’m sure his reactions to your promises should speak for itself, yeah?” 

Kento tosses another menacing glare at Geto, tightening his already suffocating grip on him, making the skinnier man utter a grunt from discomfort. 

You aren’t going to speak for either of them. You don’t care what becomes of Geto after this, but at least he can’t pin this against you if you do try to humor Kento’s questions and what he decides to do with Geto after all is said and done. 

“Are you saying he’s not worth the trouble?” The question is left hanging in the air as you chew on your lip, wondering how to respond to that. It’s kind of him to try to help you through your issues but a part of you thinks it’s best if you resolve them yourself. In a way which won’t result in choosing violence.

Honestly? This is a difficult call to make. 

“It’s your choice but I’m also reminding you to pick your battles. I’m opting to ignore this one,” you tell him, as you pull up his contact card on your phone. Doing something you should have done ages ago—tapping the hard block button. “He’s not my problem anymore, so you shouldn’t bother, Kento. I do appreciate you going out of your way for me.”

Kento releases his grip on Geto and Geto’s hands fly up to his neck to massage the imprint left behind from Kento’s vice grip, spluttering a bit. 

“You got lucky,” he grunts, adjusting his sleeves. “Just remember real men don’t do the pathetic things you do to women.”

”Ken—I mean, Nanami, I um…” you finally pipe in again, while you tug on his shirt, catching his attention. “Thank you. I think I can handle it from here.”

He casts a look at you that you can’t read, and saunters off. You shoot Geto a glare before moving to twist on your heel and be on your way too but he stops you, resting a hand on your shoulder.

”You’ve got a lot of nerve,” you sneer, “Hand off before I bite it off.”

”Let’s not make any rash decisions here,” he responds in an annoyingly calm tone, never mind what just transpired between the two of you. “I just want to understand this sudden change of heart.”

”It’s not sudden! I just don’t like you,” you tell him, “And you don’t like me. That’s how it’s always been, hasn’t it? I’m just reinforcing that fact.”

“So that’s it then? We’re just cutting this off cold turkey? You don’t even want to talk about it?”

”No! Because there’s no air that needs any clearing between us! I don’t like you and life was better when we were just throwing insults at each other instead of just—!”

”—instead of just what, fucking our way through our frustrations?” 

“Yes! That, whatever! I know for a fact that it wasn’t me who started it like this. You’ve had a bone to pick with me ever since middle school.”

”Because I liked you.”

”What?” you retort in disbelief, “Did you smack your head on the pavement recently or get a lobotomy without my knowledge?”

”Because I liked—like you,” he corrects. You can’t help but roll your eyes at that confession—does he expect that to go over well for him? 

”Well clearly we see how this is going for you. You must be so pleased with yourself. Going with the old being mean to a girl because you like her pipeline is never a good idea.”

”I see that now, yeah,” he admits, “But you are pretty sexy when you try to take charge.”

You groan really loud at that, fighting off the urge to take Nanami’s place in dirtying up that stupidly flawless face of his. Probably has to be some evening out somewhere because beneath that flawless face hides his extremely flawed personality. And like flies to shit, he attracts everyone else who appears to be equally as shitty as him. He raises an eyebrow at you like you just sprouted three new heads.

”See? That. There,” you shoot back while jabbing an accusatory finger at his chest. This time he actually flinches. “You’re such a fucking prick you don’t even realize how you sound when you talk to me either, huh?”

”But that’s just our thing,” he insists, “We just talk to each other like that. It’s banter. Friends do banter.”

You pull back, hiding your mouth behind your hand as you try to keep it together. Holding back some laughter… more in disbelief that someone can be this delusional about where they stand in your life. But that also seems right on brand for Geto. You almost pity the man. 

Oh, does he really think—? Oh, that’s just fucking hilarious. Does he understand that he’s the butt of the joke right now?

You pull yourself together, attempting to keep a straight face while studying his. Emotionless. Dead. Like he’s going through the five stages of grief or something, but why grieve this relationship? It’s not even one as far as you can understand, and you would hope Geto would have enough sense. 

Maybe you’re giving him way too much credit.

”I never wanted this to escalate as far as it did so it’s best we act like we never knew each other,” you finalize, firm, and you can tell by the way there’s that little flicker in his eyes that he knows you mean business. You are finally drawing a line… well, actually you’re pretty sure you drew that line ages ago but he’s crossed over that very line countless times and now you have to bring in the big guns. Something more permanent. Consequential. 

But it’s not like he’s actually going to feel bad about it. He can go find some other poor defenseless girl to torment, but there’s a part of you that’s going to make sure this never happens to another girl around him again. 

You feel responsible for the actions of a fully in control, fully grown man, somehow.

“You don’t mean that,” he continues in that goddamn silky voice of his that may work on anyone else but you’re going to be the first one not to give him that satisfaction. “I know you don’t mean that.”

”You’re talking like you’re my boyfriend or something,” you scoff and find your lips twitching into an unreadable smile. “You never earned that title. We’re not even friends.”

Geto cuts you off with your name. You have half a mind to smack him upside the head if smacking his head on the pavement didn’t do a stellar enough job at bringing him back to his goddamn senses.

“There’s someone else, isn’t there?” 

“And it’s like I told you before, that’s none of your damn business.”

”Everything about you is my business,” Geto reminds you, waving his phone, “I still think about how good you look, begging for me.”

”If you were going to do something with the footage, you would have done so by now,” you say, and he frowns, “And I know you’re way too ‘principled’ of a man to do that to anyone, even me. Someone you hate.”

”I don’t hate you,” he murmurs, “That’s why I won’t.”

”Won’t what?”

”That’s why I won’t ever blackmail you. I just did that so you’d be with me.”

Does he think this shit is romantic or something!?

”Ah, and you keep digging yourself into deeper shit.”

”I know,” he sighs, and he points the screen toward you while swiping delete on all of those videos he had taken of you together without your knowledge. “But at least you know I mean it.”

You groan. Why haven’t you smacked his stupid face already? “Mean what?”

”That I don’t hate you.”

”It’s going to take a lot more than that to undo everything and trust me, Geto, I don’t want to get with someone like you.”

“Didn’t you have class?” he asks out of the blue.

“Yes. Why is that relevant?” Is he trying to worm his way back into your life, or something? That isn’t going to work.

”No reason,” he sighs, “I’m fine with breaking this off but I don’t want you to forget I exist. Especially since we have lectures together. We don’t have to keep talking about this now but can we just…talk about this later?”

”I already blocked you,” you sigh, “I want nothing to do with you.”

Something flickers in his eyes again.

“This is not over,” he counters, “I’m not giving you that satisfaction.”

PART TWO?

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Two

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren't quirks, they're survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, mentions of an autistic meltdown, Lando being horrendously down-bad.

Notes — I love to ramble with ya’ll about my fics, so send me as many asks as you want!

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! - Peach x

2018

Amelia liked it when the pit garages were like this. Tools neatly racked, screens idle but ready, the scent of fresh tire rubber still hanging in the air — not yet burnt.

Fernando sat on a workbench, sipping his espresso.

She was perched on the same tire she always chose, butter-yellow water bottle in hand. There was enough ice inside to keep her drink cold all day, even under the Abu Dhabi sun. She wore a white cotton dress that would probably be stained with oil by the end of the day — she didn’t care.

"You are thinking too much," he said eventually, voice low, words shaped by the curl of his accent. "I can hear them.”

She turned the bottle slowly between her hands, listening to the ice crash against the insulated metal. “You can’t hear thinking.” She told him. 

"I can when it is this loud," he replied. She frowned, staring at one of the stickers on her water bottle. Either there was a language barrier — or Fernando was some kind of mind reader. “You are worried about the new boys, yes?”

She rounded her shoulders up to her ears in response. 

He shifted slightly, the sound of his espresso cup touching down on the metal bench. “You worry they will not like you. Or not understand you. That they will say stupid things.”

“I don’t care if they like me,” she said automatically, but her voice was too tight around the words. “I just… I don’t want to make them uncomfortable. Because I don’t act the way they will expect, since I’m their boss’ daughter. Or because I don’t always know how to—”

He cut her off with a short sound — not quite interrupting, just catching the sentence before it turned into something more self-deprecating than necessary. “Mi niña,” he said. “You are not responsible for the comfort of two boys. Especially not ones who still trip over their own feet getting into the car.”

She didn’t smile, but the edges of her thoughts softened.

“They come into your garage. You were here first. You are a very helpful addition.” He paused. “And you are never unkind. This is more than most.”

She tightened her grip on her water bottle. “I make people uncomfortable sometimes.”

“Sometimes,” he agreed, and his honesty was nice. People always tried to lie to her in a silly attempt to make her feel more normal. “But only the ones who do not listen properly to what you say.” He picked up his espresso again, then added, “And if they do not listen, I will teach them.”

Amelia glanced toward the open garage, where footsteps passed in rapid beats and voices moved in bursts. It was the last race of the 2018 season. Lewis had already secured the Drivers’ Championship. She’d sent a big cake to his house with Well Done for Being Fast written on it. He’d posted a picture on his Instagram, which meant he’d appreciated the gesture.

She glanced at her phone and started chewing on her bottom lip.

Thinking about Lewis only reminded her of the email — unread, unacknowledged — sitting in her meticulously organised inbox.

Toto Wolff had taken it upon himself to email her. From his personal address, not his work one — no “Mercedes” anywhere in sight.

She’d taken one look at the subject line (Unconditional Job Offer / Employment Opportunity) and promptly launched her phone across the room. Miraculously, the screen had survived.

Lewis had warned her more than once that his team principal was interested in her talents. She’d assumed it was flattery. Apparently not.

If her dad ever found out about the email, he’d have a full-blown meltdown — the kind usually reserved for her. A rival team trying to poach his daughter wasn’t just a personal affront; it was a declaration of war.

“Amelia,” Fernando said. 

She didn’t look up right away. 

"Yes?” She asked. 

"Do not worry so much,” he said, tapping the side of his cup. "It ruins the coffee."

— 

The MTC was half-empty, lit with the flat grey light of a British winter morning. Most people were still on holiday. Lando wasn’t most people anymore. 

He tugged at the sleeves of his new team jacket as he walked the corridor past engineering, sneakers squeaking just slightly with each step. It still felt surreal; being here. Not as a junior, not as a maybe, but as a full-time McLaren Formula One driver.

He was so wrapped up in the thrill of it that he nearly walked right past her.

Amelia Brown was crouched beside a cart of sorted telemetry tablets, scanning each one like she was decoding a puzzle, eyebrows furrowed, lips pursed unhappily. Her white trainers were smudged, her dark hair pulled back loosely, and her signature butter-yellow water bottle was sat beside her on the floor.

Lando stopped.

“Hey,” he said, a little too loud for how quiet the corridor was.

She looked up, blinked once, then gave a small nod. “Hello.”

Not cold. Not warm either. Just… Amelia. 

“I, uh… I set two alarms now,” he blurted, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “So I’m never late anymore. Not even accidentally, you know?”

She turned her attention back to the tablets. “Okay.” She mumbled, hardly eligible. 

He waited. 

Right. That was it. 

Just okay.

“You know,” he tried to remind her, smiling because he wasn’t sure what else to do with his face, “because you said I lacked discipline and wouldn’t get the promotion if I kept being late.”

“I did say that,” she said, tapping on one of the screens and letting out an almost silent sigh when the screen remained black. “It was a problem.” 

Still nothing. No smile. No teasing. 

Lando cleared his throat. “Right. Well. It’s not a problem now.”

“Good,” she said.

A pause stretched between them. 

Lando rocked back on his heels. “Cool. Alright. I’ll just— I’ll see you around?”

Still, she didn’t look up. “Highly likely.”

He gave a quick nod and turned to go, cheeks warm.

He’d always thought of himself as pretty likeable. People laughed when he wanted them to. He was decent at reading a room — usually. But clearly, none of that meant anything to Amelia Brown. 

As he walked off, he glanced back without thinking. And, like an absolute idiot, he stumbled a little when he saw her absolutely beam at one of the tablets as it flickered to life, screen lighting up her face like something out of a bloody PC World advert.

Jesus Christ. She was fucking pretty.

Not in a flashy, look-at-me way. Just… quietly, properly pretty. The kind of pretty that made his stomach do something proper dodgy. He dragged a hand through his hair, muttering to himself. “Yeah. Sick. Nice one, mate. You’ve got no chance.”

— 

iMessage – Tuesday, 19:47

Lando mate she’s well fit 

Max F. bro 💀

Lando can’t stop staring at her she probably thinks im a right creep

Max F. yeah probably who are you even talking abt

Lando zak’s daughter

Max F.

are you actually brain dead?

you can’t fancy your boss’s daughter, mate

Lando she smiled today not at me but i saw it 

Max F. get a grip

Lando shut up you don’t get it

Max F. it’s a miracle you’ve still got a job 

Lando is this a safe space or what??

Max F. absolutely not you’re delusional, mate she’s so off-limits it’s not even funny

Lando 

🖕

— 

The Browns didn’t really do Christmas — not in the traditional sense. No matching pyjamas, no big family gathering, no chaos in the kitchen over a turkey no one actually wanted. They kept it simple: jazz music, good coffee, and her dad’s usual schtick — “I forgot to buy you anything this year.”

Which was a lie. Obviously.

She found it parked just outside on the driveway. A muted grey, weather-worn 1974 BMW 2002. 

Amelia stood and stared at it for a long time. Long enough that the cold bite of English winter started to seep in through her socks, and the tips of her fingers began to sting.

“Don’t just stand there,” her dad called from the doorway, hands tucked into his dressing gown pockets. “Take a proper look. She’s all yours.”

She took a slow step forward, then another. The car was old, but solid — just the way she liked things. A little rust, some scuffed chrome. It was beautiful. She crouched next to the front fender and ran her hand along the edge, careful, reverent.

“You hate shopping,” she said, still staring at it.

“I didn’t shop,” her dad replied. “I emailed a man named Clive and paid way too much to have him do all the work for me.”

There was a long silence.

She stood, glanced at him, tried — really tried — to meet his eyes. “Thank you,” she said.

He gave a small nod. “You’ll need new tires. And probably a carburettor.”

Her fingers curled tighter around the edge of her sleeves, but this time it wasn’t nerves — it was barely-contained energy. Her thoughts were already whirring; parts lists, toolkits, diagrams, weekends in the garage with grease on her hands and her favourite playlist playing on repeat.

“I— I can order those online,” she said, already calculating delivery times in her head. “And the belts. And the spark plugs. And—” She stopped herself.

He didn’t say anything. Just smiled into his coffee mug that said ‘Worlds Best Dad’ and stepped back inside, leaving her alone with her new car and barely contained excitement.

Her hands started moving at her sides — flapping, stimming, too fast to stop once they began. She shoved them into her pockets, fists clenched tight against the fabric. Closed her eyes.

She took a breath. Let it out slowly.

Old habits died hard. Years at school had taught her to mask her reactions — even the harmless ones — because they made her stand out. Because they made her weird.

She hadn’t just been ignored. She’d been mocked. Not always loudly, but enough to stick. The way she flapped her hands. The way she didn’t make eye contact. The way she talked too much about one thing and not enough about everything else.

There was a reason she’d chosen not to go to university, even though she loved learning. Even though engineering made perfect sense to her in ways people often didn’t.

She could get a degree. She’d probably be good at it.

But it would drain her — the social minefields, the unspoken rules, the overwhelming noise of lecture halls and shared spaces and trying to be something she wasn’t just to fit in.

She’d spent so long trying to pass as normal. To not stim in public. To not talk too much. To not be too much.

Once, a girl in her class had said, in a tone that Amelia guessed was meant to be kind, “At least you’re pretty. You wouldn��t be able to tell that you’ve got, you know… issues.”

She still thought about that sometimes.

How it was supposed to be a compliment.

How it hadn’t felt like one at all.

— 

2019

The lights were off in her dad’s office. Just the soft hum of the monitor on standby, the gentle click of the old wall clock, and the warm, familiar scent of coffee baked into the furniture. She curled up on the old leather couch, knees tucked close to her chest, head resting against the arm. She had her weighted blanket on. Her yellow water bottle was beside her, half-full. The room felt like a safe haven. 

After yesterday, that was all she wanted.

The meltdown had come on fast — she’d been too hot, the lights too bright, someone had changed the layout of the front-desk without warning her, and it had all just spiralled. She hated how quickly she lost herself in the emotions. Hated the looks people gave her when she couldn’t hold it all together.

She’d apologised more than she should have. Her dad told her that she never needed to apologise for being who she was.

The office door opened.

She didn’t move, but her eyes flicked toward the sound. Her dad stepped in first, deep in conversation, and behind him were Carlos and Lando.

“I told you, she’s probably curled up somewhere charging like a phone,” her dad said lightly, then saw her. His voice softened. “Ah. There she is. Amelia — this is Lando. And this is Carlos.”

She blinked. Sat up a little. “I already know Lando.”

Lando almost tripped over his own feet. “Yeah! Yeah, we’ve, uh— run into each other a few times. Around. Just, like—hallways. And stuff.”

He scratched the back of his neck. His face went bright pink.

Amelia stared at him for a moment before she turned her attention to Carlos. “Hello.”

He gave her a small smile. “Hola,” he said. “Nice to meet you.”

There was a small pause.

Her dad cleared his throat, cheerful as ever.

“Carlos is one of the good ones,” he said. “No nonsense. I like that in a driver.”

Amelia nodded once. That made sense. She respected no-nonsense people, too.

She tucked her knees back under her chin. “Okay,” she said quietly.

Carlos smiled again, just a little wider this time. Still cautious, but less unsure.

Amelia didn’t return the smile — not because she didn’t want to, but because she didn’t always remember that she had to. Instead, she reached for her water bottle and unscrewed the lid. 

“You retired in Australia,” she said. 

Carlos blinked, then gave a small laugh. “Yeah. Not the best start to the season.”

“It was the power unit,” she shrugged. “Renault engine. Unreliable. It wasn’t your fault.”

Her dad gave a low chuckle. “She doesn’t miss much. Reads through race data like it’s the morning newspaper.”

Carlos tilted his head slightly. “You work with the engineers?” He asked her. 

“I don’t work anywhere,” Amelia said. “But I sometimes sit in on meetings. And I fix things when they’re wrong. Fernando used to let me be in his garage. He said I was very useful.”

“You are useful,” her dad said automatically, from across the room.

She didn’t respond. Compliments were difficult — they always made her feel like she was meant to do something with them, and she never quite knew what.

She looked at Lando. He was already watching her.

She blinked. His eyes widened a little.

She let out a quiet sigh through her nose. She hated not knowing what expressions meant — what came next, what was expected.

“Well, I’ll take all the help I can get,” Carlos said, breaking the silence.

Amelia took another sip of water. The right words settled on her tongue this time.

“You overshot Turn Nine,” she said, turning back to Lando.

He coughed. “I—Yeah. I know.”

“You let off the brake too early. You always do that when you’re nervous.”

Carlos let out a small, choked sound.

She frowned at him. 

Lando shifted. “I don’t always do that.”

“Yes, you do,” she said, turning her attention back to him. “You did it at Monza in 2018.”

“Okay.” He said. His neck was going red. 

“But you’re getting better,” she added. “You were twelfth. That’s good, considering the partial engine fault.”

He looked at her for a second too long. She didn’t know why. Then he said, “…Thanks.”

She nodded once, and then tugged at her blanket. 

There was a quiet pause — the kind Amelia usually didn’t mind. Lando shuffled his feet. Carlos glanced toward the door, then back to her.

“Right then! I’ll come find you later,” her dad said to her. “We’ll get something nice for lunch.”

“Okay.” She agreed. 

Carlos gave her one last polite nod. “See you around, Amelia.”

She didn’t say goodbye, just looked at him, then at Lando. “You should eat more complex carbohydrates before qualifying sessions,” she told him. “You looked quite pale.”

Lando stared at her. “I—yeah. Alright.” He paused, then added quickly, “It was, uh, nice seeing you again.”

She didn’t answer, but her lips pressed together in a way that, for her, was close to a smile.

— 

iMessage – Thursday, 10:51

Lando i’m fucked like properly fucked

Max F. bro come on

Lando she’s unreal and actually insanely smart

Max F. mate this is such a catastrophically bad idea

Lando she remembered i locked up into turn 9 in monza like three years ago i think i’m in love

Max F. you’re not in love you’re having a breakdown

Lando can’t it be both

Max F. lando i’m staging an intervention where’s jon⁉️ does he know you’re acting like this

Lando jon just keeps saying i should be stretching more he doesn’t care about my emotional wellbeing

Max F. he’d start to care if he found out you were thirsting after zak browns daughter 

Lando gonna make her my wifey 😏

Max F. fucksake lando 

— 

Amelia stood behind the screens at the back of the McLaren pit garages, fingers looped through the sleeves of her jacket. She’d already organised the weekend’s tyre allocation list by compound, colour-coded the data feed to match, and adjusted the ride height figures twice. Not because she needed to — just because she could.

It was her first race of the year.

The first time back since before the winter break. 

The new chassis looked better in person than it had in the renders. She liked the way the papaya paint caught the light.

“Amelia,” someone said softly.

She turned her head slightly. One of the engineers — Greg? Grant? She still hadn’t learned his name. She was terrible at remembering names. 

“Telemetry’s live when you’re ready.” He told her. 

She nodded once and moved closer, careful to avoid the cables that trailed across the floor like snakes.

The numbers lit up on the screen in front of her. Speed. G-force. Delta times.

She exhaled, long and slow. 

“Morning.”

She looked up. Lando.

He was already in his race suit, helmet tucked under one arm, hair a mess and half-damp. He hadn’t had time to dry it properly after his shower.

“Hello,” she responded.

“You’re here,” he said, smiling. Then quickly added, “I mean — yeah, obviously. It’s only the third race. But still.”

She tilted her head. “Yes. I’m here.”

A pause. His mouth opened like he was going to say something else, then closed again.

“Okay, cool,” he said finally. “Sick. Um. Good luck out there.”

“I’m not driving,” she frowned at him.

“Right.” He turned and walked straight into a support beam.

Amelia blinked, then returned her attention to the screen.

Lando’s throttle trace was spiky again. She’d make a note of that.

— 

The garage was quieter now. Not silent though. It was never fully silent. Engineers were keeping their voices low. Tools clinked still, but in a less urgent rhythm. Some of the pit crew were already sweeping up debris from the floor. Wiping away a mess that no one wanted to talk about.

Amelia stayed where she always did, behind the screens, legs crossed on the floor like it helped anchor her in place. Her yellow water bottle sat by her knee, half-empty and warm now. She hadn’t drunk much since the race started.

DNFs always left a strange taste in the air. Bitter. Like metal.

She hadn’t seen the full replay yet, but she didn’t need to. Lando’s car had made it twenty-eight laps before something failed; she’d seen the warning signs creeping into the data before the radio call was made. His voice had been clipped. Tired.

The flap of the garage partition opening made her flinch. She didn’t look up. She didn’t need to.

It was obviously Lando. His helmet was gone, race suit peeled halfway down, sweat-damp fireproofs clinging to his arms. He stopped just beside her.

“I’m fine,” he said. His voice cracked a little. “In case anyone’s, you know. Wondering.”

Amelia didn’t respond.

He hovered.

She tapped the edge of her tablet. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Kind of was.” He dropped onto the floor beside her with a groan, back against the wall. “Clipped the kerb weird coming out of six. Probably jarred something.”

“No,” she said. “You were nursing a power unit issue from lap seventeen. You did what you were supposed to.”

He looked at her, then away again, picking at the velcro on his gloves.

She watched him for a second. Tried to decide if she was supposed to say something else. If there was something people usually said in moments like this.

Nothing came.

So she offered the only thing she could give. Facts. “You did better than the data predicted.”

Lando glanced at her. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

She squinted at him. Hadn’t that been obvious? “Yes.”

He smiled a little. Just with the corner of his mouth. “Cheers.”

They sat there in silence for a while. A few people came over to touch Lando’s shoulder and offer him sympathy. His jaw got tighter every time. 

Eventually, she picked up her tablet and started rewatching his onboard. Then she angled it toward him. 

“You’re going to tell me exactly what I did wrong, aren’t you?” he asked.

She nodded.

He let his head thump back against the wall. “Brilliant.”

—

The motorhome had quieted after media duties and the two-hour race debrief. Lando sat slouched on the drivers' lounge sofa, phone in hand, aimlessly scrolling. Carlos was across from him, arms folded, watching with a look Lando had come to recognise: the I know something you don’t want me to know look.

“I need to ask you something,” Carlos said, tone casual. But the accent gave it weight — Som-theeng.

Lando didn’t look up. “No.”

Carlos chuckled. “You don’t even know what I’m gonna say, coño.”

“I do.” Lando groaned. “And the answer is still no.”

Carlos leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “You like her.”

“What? No, I—” Lando paused, brow furrowed. “Like who?”

Carlos tilted his head. “Come on. Don’t play dumb, amigo. Amelia. You like Amelia Brown.”

Lando scoffed, shaking his head. “Nah. We’ve barely talked.”

Even he could hear the lie in his own voice.

Carlos raised a silent eyebrow.

“I’m just being respectful!” Lando snapped. “She’s—she’s McLaren royalty, basically. And she knows more about my car than I do half the time.”

Carlos shrugged, eyes sharp. “Sí, she’s smart. And I like her. But...” He leaned in, lowering his voice. “You need to be careful, cabrón.”

Lando’s jaw tensed. “Why? Do you like her? Is that what this is?” The words came out sharper than he intended, something hot and ugly twisting in his gut. Jealousy. Stupid, immediate, and impossible to hide.

Carlos blinked. “Ay, no. Don’t be ridiculous.”

Lando didn’t say anything, but the look on his face said he wasn’t convinced.

Carlos sat back, arms folding again. “She’s not a paddock flirt, okay? She’s not like the grid girls or the influencers who want a selfie and a race pass. She is your boss’ daughter. You screw that up, it’s not just her you lose — it’s your job, your reputation, and the respect of thr whole damn garage. If you haven’t already lost your seat.”

Lando looked away, jaw tight. “Why does everyone act like I’m some... idiot teenager with zero self-control?”

Carlos held his gaze. “Because you are a teenager with zero self-control.”

“I’m nineteen!” He argued. 

“Exactly.” Carlos exhaled through his nose. “So, listen to me. If you’re serious? Fine. But don’t start something you’re not ready to finish.”

Lando looked away, jaw tight. “I’m not a total dickhead, y’know.”

Carlos gave him a long look, then nodded. “Bueno. Just remember what I said.”

Lando muttered under his breath, “Still worth it.”

Carlos groaned, grabbing a cushion off the sofa and chucking it at him. “Ay dios mío. You are so getting yourself fired.”

— 

Amelia was sat on the low wall outside the McLaren hospitality unit, sipping from her water bottle, tablet balanced on her knees.

She heard him before she saw him — Lewis never really moved quietly. Valtteri was beside him. 

“Morning, little genius,” Lewis said, slowing to a stop.

She looked up, blinked once. “Good morning.”

Valtteri gave a small nod. “You’re looking well.”

“I’m fine,” she said, glancing back down at her tablet. 

There was a pause. 

She sighed softly before looking up at them both. “You can tell Toto thank you,” she said, tone even. “For the offer. I appreciate it, but I’m not interested.”

Lewis blinked. “Offer?”

“Yes. The job.” She paused. “I assumed he’d told you.”

Valtteri and Lewis exchanged a glance; surprised, a little caught off guard.

“He didn’t,” Valtteri said slowly.

Lewis folded his arms. “He reached out to you directly?”

She nodded. “From his personal email. Not the Mercedes one.” That felt important.

Lewis let out a low whistle. “Damn. That sneaky bastard.”

“I’ve thought about it,” Amelia went on. “And I’m staying with my team. With my dad. Loyalty is important to me.”

Valtteri raised his brows. Lewis looked at her for a moment longer, then gave a slow nod. “Well, he’ll be disappointed,” he said, voice lighter now.

Amelia shrugged. “He’ll be fine.”

“Guess we’ll just have to beat you on track then,” Valtteri added, grinning.

She frowned down at her tablet screen. “You have a significantly better car than us.”

Lewis laughed. “Yeah. Guess we do.” 

— 

“Miss Brown, I’d like a word.”

She turned, blinked, and then frowned.

The team principal for Renault smiled at her, a little too wide — it was off-putting.

“I’ll just jump straight to it. I think you could be a great asset to our team. We’d love to have someone with your brain power. I could offer you a very generous employment package.” He said. 

She blinked at him. She’d been getting these exact kinds of propositions ever since the season started. Every team, it seemed, was suddenly interested in her ‘brain power’. She wasn’t sure what had changed. Maybe they had followed her on Twitter. 

“I am happy where I am,” she said flatly. “Thank you.” 

The man was still smiling, though it was starting to fade just a little. “Are you sure? We’d be willing to work out a very appealing arrangement for you. It could be a great opportunity.”

She wasn’t interested. She didn’t need to be polite. It didn’t take a lot of effort to walk away from the conversation. She took a step back, her fingers clenching around her yellow water bottle.

As she moved past him, she heard him call after her, but she didn’t stop.

Gosh, she thought to herself, as she made her way back to McLaren motorhome. Could none of them find anyone better than a 19-year-old without a degree?

NEXT CHAPTER

[whatlurksbean]

Hello! I’ve been reading WLB from some time now, and I am still absolutely loving this comic every time.(on my 4th reread lol) WLB has inspired me greatly along with WC content and (also great!)creations by other creators to the point that I am almost about to script my own comic, with a few scenes that WLB had a huge influence on. Though, I can’t help but be a little overwhelmed when I actually think of creating one, mostly because of the fact I lack the skills to draw comics. Believe me, I am shit at panelling lol. But also l‘m a bit scared because even if I actually end up making my own series it absolutely could end up flopping and that would probably make me lose enthusiasm. I don’t necessarily want to make money out of my comics but rather show others my stories and characters that I love, but I have a history of making and posting oc art just for nobody to watch and kinda giving up.(even though I’m aware of the fact that this happens to practically everyone all the time, it still hurts) The (real)question is if there is some advice you can give to beginner/wanna-be comic artists, and how did you feel when you first posted The Recruit if that’s your first comic. I’m sorry if this sounds like a vent, and feel free to pass this if you want-just know you’re a great inspiration for many people. Stay safe, remember that YOUR well being is number one, and Love from Korea♥♥

Hello! I'm very glad you've enjoyed WLB!

A webcomic can for sure be a daunting and overwhelming thing. Most artists are a one man show, and knowing how to do Every Aspect Perfectly is an impossible task. I think it's important to remember everyone starts somewhere, and it is hard to get better unless you Start.

I mean, the first comic pages I drew digitally looked like this.

The comic lasted 6 pages before I got tired of it, and then I started The Recruit.

(which was over 430 pages long and started and had quite a style/writing change throughout the 7 years I worked on it)

You learn so much by just doing. There are a lot of helpful free resources online now a days to make the learning faster! There are tutorials on how to panel! And I think just reading comics in general is a great source of learning. Pay attention to the things you like (paneling, simplification process, color palettes ) and implement them in your work!

I think it's really important to figure out the level of detail you want the comic to be. I don't think it's wise or sustainable to put 100% effort into every aspect of it. It will burn you out. It's good to consider what level of shading (if any) you'll be willing to do for hundreds of panels, what level of background detail, how many colors the characters should have, and figure out what your focus is.

I've met a lot of comic artists over the years, EVERYONE has a different method or different focus. Creating is not a universal experience!

As for having your work be seen, it is honestly a lot of luck. Back in the day for TR I would just submit to all of the deviantart warrior cat groups and people would find it that way. deviantart groups are pretty dead now so I am unsure if that is any good now.

I personally really think ComicFury is a wonderful place for new artists. It's default page always shows the latest comic, so everyone always has an equal chance to be seen. You can be on the front page every 12 hours (i think, it might be 24..) and with a striking icon and consistent posting, you WILL find people.

It's not the largest site, but it is my favorite for comics.

I do not like the mindset of a comic "flopping." I think it takes time to build an audience. It is very unlikely for people to find your comic overnight, it will very likely take at least a few months of consistent posting to find a few engaged readers. I know it sucks to feel like no one is seeing your work, but it's just something that takes time.

Cat comics do tend to find readers faster though, so if that is your goal, I do hope you find success!

You could also post your updates in comic/art related places, like discords or post panels on bluesky or instagram. really any site or app that posts an image.

I also think consistent uploading is a strong key to building an audience. And to do this, it really helps to have a backlog. Meaning you draw like the first 10-20 pages of you comic (or however many) and upload one or two pages a week. The more your comic is seen popping up on their feed, the more likely people will be to finally click it. I usually do not click on comics I see once or twice, it usually takes a few weeks of me seeing it pop up before i decide to check it out. (talking about on Comicfury to be clear)

Once you've established you are dedicated to your comic, people do not mind if you take breaks. (and if they do, fuck em)

Also, having a community of friends or creators is a huge motivator. Show your work to friends! Share in a community of comic creators! Some things my friends have said to me about my comics has lifted my creative spirit more than anything.

This is turning into some 3am ramblings but to summarize my points:

•Find a style that will work for you to sustain a comic. (do not make 100% effort art pieces)

•Upload on comicfury (great comic site, equal opportunity for new comics) (I would also cross post to other platforms and link back to CF as a primary comic site)

•Work on some pages in private, so you can upload consistently once you begin your comic! (I would update daily for maybe a week and then switch to weekly pages, just to get the best chance of being seen + consistent posting. so that would be good to have at least 10 pages of backlogs. 7 for the first week, plus 3 weeks of backlog at that rate)

and the point most dear to my heart;

•Don't be scared of change.

I know a lot of folk wait and wait to make their comic until they are perfect artists or writers, but like, you'll never make anything if you wait for that. Change is so natural and normal in webcomics, in all art really. I think if you shade for 10 pages and decide you hate it, it's okay to change how you shade or drop it entirely. Change your art style. Change how you panel pages. Change how you do backgrounds. Change anything and everything you want. Enjoy the process and tell the story you want to tell.

Best of luck on your comicing journey, I hope you really enjoy it.

[sweetheartsofpanem]

I've Been Yours - Soft Things Survive

Previous Part

i definitely did not sob writing this… i totally did. UGH MY BABIES

warnings: refer to series masterlist

pairing(s): refer to series masterlist

word count: 4.14k

series masterlist | main masterlist

You wake to the sound of birds.

Not the frantic screeching kind—though you’ve met more than your fair share of those in the last three years—but the soft, slow kind. Morning birds. Gentle and full of quiet purpose, like they’re reminding the world to stretch.

The light filtering through the curtains is golden. It paints the hardwood in long strokes, warm and slow-moving, like everything’s in no rush now. Like the world isn’t on fire anymore.

And for once, you believe it.

You don’t get up right away.

You just lie there, tucked into sheets that smell like laundry soap and comfort, curled into the warmth of the man still half-asleep beside you, and let yourself feel it.

The stillness.

The way your chest doesn’t ache the way it used to.

The fact that your first thought isn’t how do I disappear? but maybe we should get up before the market closes.

It’s been three years since you came back to District 12.

Three years since you stumbled through the ruins and ended up here. Since Katniss and Peeta took care of your wounds like it was the easiest thing in the world. Since you looked at Haymitch and thought, he’s just another man who will hurt me and leave.

And now?

Now you’re tucked under the covers of a home you helped build from the inside out.

Now you work three days a week at an Apothecary, and the rest are split between tending the herb garden with Katniss and helping Peeta paint the side of his bakery. Therapy is a regular part of your week—one of the first things District 12 added once the final reconstruction funds rolled in. It’s quiet. Gentle. You like the woman who runs it. She reminds you of your dad in a strange, comforting way—says your name like it matters, asks questions without trying to break you open.

And you answer them.

You talk about the cellar.

You talk about the things you still don’t have words for.

You talk about love—what it feels like to be wanted in the exact way you are.

Haymitch shifts beside you with a soft grunt, one arm tightening around your middle, breath warm against your neck.

You smile.

You’re not afraid of the morning anymore.

Eventually, you slide out of bed, careful not to wake him.

You leave a kiss on his temple anyway.

He grumbles something incoherent, tugs your pillow into his chest like a substitute for your body, and immediately falls back asleep.

The floor’s cool under your feet as you pad to the kitchen, tugging on one of his old flannels over your sleep shirt along the way. It smells like cedar and whiskey and a thousand quiet mornings just like this.

You start the coffee without thinking.

Two spoons of sugar in his mug. Just a splash of milk in yours.

The kettle whistles low and steady. The window above the sink is cracked open, and a breeze rolls through the curtain. The sun is high enough now to spill gold across the countertop, catching on the small glass vase you keep beside the window—today it holds little blue phlox and mountain mint you picked with Katniss earlier in the week.

You reach for the pan on the stove. Eggs. Toast. A little bit of goat cheese you bartered for at the market.

Footsteps shuffle behind you.

“You makin’ that smell delicious on purpose?” Haymitch rasps.

You smile without turning around. “I considered letting you starve.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he says, coming up behind you to wrap his arms around your waist. “But you’re getting soft in your old age.”

“I’m twenty-three.”

“And you’ve aged beautifully, honey.”

You roll your eyes and elbow him gently. “Mug’s on the table. Go sit down before you fall over.”

He kisses your shoulder before letting go.

You move around each other with the ease of a shared life—him pouring coffee, you plating breakfast, him grumbling at the chair that squeaks, you laughing because you swore you’d fix it last week and still haven’t.

Everything is slow. Familiar. Easy in a way it never used to be.

By the time you both sit down to eat, the sun is full and warm across the table. Soot appears like a ghost in the doorway, leaps up into your lap, and settles in with her usual dramatic sigh like finally, the attention I deserve.

You scratch behind her ear. She bites you gently. Haymitch mutters something about her being possessed.

You sip your coffee and let it all sink in.

You have a home.

You have love.

You have mornings like this.

After breakfast, Haymitch insists on doing the dishes, grumbling the whole time about how you’re not allowed to “turn into one of those people who hum while they clean.” You hum just to spite him.

Back in the bedroom, the two of you get ready without really saying much—there’s no need to. You move around each other like a dance you’ve been doing for years. Haymitch pulls on a button-down while you stand in front of the dresser, brushing your hair. He walks past, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck on his way to grab socks. You toss his belt at him before he even asks for it.

He still tugs the hem of your shirt down after you pull it over your head—out of habit more than anything—and murmurs, “Pretty.”

You swat at him, flustered even now, and he grins like it still works every time.

By the time you lace your boots and check your little shoulder bag for your market list, there’s a soft knock at the door. You open it to find Katniss already waiting on the porch, a small satchel slung over her shoulder, her braid over one shoulder and her expression unreadable as always.

“Ready?” she asks.

You nod. “Yeah.”

Haymitch appears behind you, leans against the doorframe, and peers out at her. “You break her, I’ll break you.”

Katniss deadpans, “Then don’t give me defective products.”

You’re already laughing as you step onto the porch. “We’re literally just going to the market.”

“I’ve seen the way she shops,” Haymitch says. “She gets this look in her eye.”

“Peeta’s worse,” Katniss mutters.

You turn back to him before leaving and rise up on your toes for a quick kiss—soft and simple, pressed into the corner of his mouth. “Be good.”

“No promises.”

Peeta appears on his porch across the way right as you and Katniss start walking, waving dramatically like you’re leaving for war. Haymitch calls something sarcastic back, but you’re too far down the path to catch it clearly.

The Victor’s Village has changed in three years.

All twelve houses are full now—some with returning families, others with people who came to rebuild and never left. Kids play in the yards. Gardens bloom along the fences. Someone waves from a porch a few houses down and you wave back without hesitation.

It’s a neighborhood now.

A real one.

And for the first time in your life, you feel like you belong in one.

The sun’s already high by the time you and Katniss reach the edge of the village, the path worn into something familiar beneath your boots. The grass hums with heat, bees drifting between wildflowers along the fence line, and every so often you catch the sound of distant laughter—kids chasing each other barefoot, someone shouting from a garden.

It’s summer. Full, and green, and alive.

Katniss doesn’t talk much as you walk.

She never has.

But it’s a comfortable silence, one that doesn’t press. She gestures once with a tilt of her chin, and you follow her down the side road that cuts toward the main square. The buildings are all rebuilt now—stone and wood and clean glass windows. There’s even a small sign above the tailor’s shop, hand-painted and hung by thick rope.

The market is already buzzing when you arrive.

Stalls line both sides of the square, shaded by linen cloths and patched umbrellas. People call out names, wave across the street, trade goods over tables cluttered with jars, produce, and worn baskets full of herbs.

Katniss heads straight for her usual booth—the one that sells dried roots and salves—and you veer off to check the bread stall.

You both fall into rhythm. Picking through vegetables, bartering gently. Passing things back and forth without really thinking about it.

At one point, Katniss holds up a small jar of wild honey and says, “You think Peeta would like this?”

You raise your eyebrows. “He’ll cry with joy.”

She almost smiles.

You end up with two bags full by midday—bread, peaches, mint, goat cheese, a few tiny jars of jam. Katniss grabs extra soap and something that smells vaguely like cinnamon and ash. You find a pair of hand-stitched tea towels that match the mug Haymitch always insists is his favorite and buy them without thinking twice.

When the sun hits its peak, you duck under the shade of a tree near the square and split a chilled plum between the two of you. It’s sticky and perfect. Katniss licks juice off her wrist and mutters that it’s too hot. You agree, but neither of you makes a move to head home yet.

You’re just… there.

Existing.

Together.

And that, somehow, feels like the most remarkable part of all.

The sun’s settled into its lazy afternoon stretch by the time you and Katniss head home.

The bags are heavier now, your arms warmed from the weight, and your skin carries that soft, sun-drunk feeling that only comes from a long summer day spent in good company.

You glance over at her, hiding a smile.

“So,” you say, casual as anything, “how’s it feel being a married woman these days?”

Katniss gives you a side-eye so sharp it could slice fruit.

You grin. “I’m just saying. You’ve got a husband now. That’s commitment.”

“He still leaves socks everywhere,” she mutters.

“And you still chose him.”

“I didn’t choose his laundry habits.”

You bump her shoulder lightly. “You love him.”

“I tolerate him aggressively.”

“You married him in front of witnesses.”

She exhales through her nose, but her ears are pink.

You don’t press any further.

You don’t need to.

The two of you walk in comfortable quiet for a few minutes, dust puffing up beneath your boots, the village just coming into view around the bend. Katniss shifts one of her bags higher on her shoulder and says, mostly to herself, “It’s not what I expected.”

“What isn’t?”

“Marriage,” she says. Then adds, after a pause, “Happiness.”

You blink.

Then smile.

“Yeah,” you murmur. “Me neither.”

And for a second, the world narrows to that moment—sun on your back, sweat on your neck, the woman beside you quiet but steady, and the path ahead leading home.

When you get back to the Victor’s Village, the afternoon light has turned syrupy, golden and soft across the porches. A light breeze stirs through the trees, fluttering laundry on the lines and rustling the late-summer leaves.

You wave goodbye to Katniss and split off toward your house, arms aching but heart light.

Inside, it smells like Haymitch’s soap and morning coffee left too long on the stove.

You set your bags down on the kitchen counter, take a moment to pull the jam jars and tea towels free, and tuck them into the cabinet with a fond little smile. Soot is curled in a sunspot on the back of the couch, belly up, all four legs flopped to the side like she’s been through so much.

You scratch her belly. She kicks you. You kiss her head anyway.

Then you head back out, wiping your hands on your skirt as you cross the porch and make your way across the square to Katniss and Peeta’s house.

She’s already on the porch waiting.

Wordless, the two of you fall back into step, circling around the side yard toward the backyard fence.

And then you hear it.

A crash.

A loud one.

Then Peeta’s voice, “You’re not supposed to throw it like that!”

Followed by Haymitch, shouting, “I said I was aiming for the log!”

Katniss stops walking.

You exchange a look.

Then both of you step into the backyard at the same time.

There’s a lopsided wooden target propped up against a tree.

Three kitchen knives sticking out of the grass nowhere near it.

A pile of firewood with a very clear dent in one log.

Peeta standing with his hands on his hips, looking betrayed.

And Haymitch with a fourth knife in hand, already rearing back for another throw.

You stare.

Peeta sees you and immediately points at Haymitch. “He said he could hit the center.”

“It used to be easier,” Haymitch mutters.

“You threw it into my garden bed.”

“That’s what you get for planting lettuce like a coward.”

Katniss exhales through her nose. “Are you two okay?”

“No,” you say at the same time.

Peeta opens his mouth to argue. Stops. Looks down at the knife sticking out of a perfectly innocent zucchini plant.

Then sighs. “We may have made poor choices.”

You don’t even get a chance to settle in before Haymitch gives you a look.

Not the tired, vaguely annoyed one you usually get when you ask him to do something mildly wholesome. No, this one’s more… focused. Like he’s already made up his mind about something and you’re just now catching up.

“You done playing farmer’s market baron?” he asks.

You raise a brow. “Maybe.”

“Good,” he says, wiping his hands on his pants. “We’re going for a walk.”

You blink. “We are?”

“Mm.”

“Right now?”

“Unless you’ve got a pressing appointment with the lawn.”

Peeta turns around way too quickly, pretending to water something that absolutely does not need watering. Katniss is suddenly very interested in the inside of her bag.

You glance between all of them, squinting. “Why do I feel like I’m being ambushed.”

“You’re not,” Haymitch says immediately. “You’re just being handled.”

“Wow. Comforting.”

He shrugs and grabs your hand anyway.

His palm is warm. A little calloused. Familiar in a way that settles something deep in your chest.

You glance down at your clothes. “Should I change?”

He looks you over slowly, then leans in to murmur, “You look perfect.”

Your face burns. “Ugh, why do you always say cute stuff like that?”

“Not my fault you react like that every time I tell the truth.”

Peeta coughs behind you—loud and exaggerated.

Katniss doesn’t even pretend not to smile.

You squeeze his hand once before following him across the grass, past the fence, out toward the trees.

The woods are warm but shaded, sunlight filtering through the leaves in long streaks that dance across the path. The air smells like moss and green things, the way it always does in midsummer—like everything is alive and still growing.

You and Haymitch walk side by side, hands still loosely clasped between you.

He hasn’t said much since you left the yard.

Not that that’s weird. He’s never been much of a talker when you’re out here. Just prefers the sound of wind through trees, birds calling overhead, the soft crunch of leaves under your boots.

But still… he’s quiet today in a way that makes you glance at him twice.

“You okay?” you ask.

He hums.

“You’re doing that thing.”

“What thing.”

“That thing where you act normal but also like you’re hiding a secret and I’m about to find out you’ve buried a body.”

He snorts under his breath.

You narrow your eyes. “You’re definitely hiding something.”

“I am literally just walking.”

“Suspicious.”

He doesn’t rise to it. Just squeezes your hand and keeps walking.

You fall into step again, smiling to yourself.

The path to the lake hasn’t changed much over the years—still soft and winding, a little overgrown in places, but well-trodden by your boots, his, Katniss’, Peeta’s. This trail has carried so many of your summers. So many of your memories. You know it by heart.

The last curve in the trail opens up into the clearing.

The lake shimmers in the sunlight—broad and still, catching the sky in its surface like glass. The trees frame the water like a picture, the breeze bending the tall grass gently at its edge.

You stop for a moment at the top of the slope, letting it settle over you.

He doesn’t say anything.

Just stands beside you.

Hand warm in yours.

Breath steady.

Like he’s trying to remember this moment forever.

The breeze off the lake ruffles the edge of your shirt. The sun’s warm on your back, but it’s gentler now—late afternoon creeping in. Golden and slow.

You watch the way the light shimmers across the water and think: it’s always been this beautiful.

But it wasn’t the lake that stopped your heart.

Not really.

You squeeze Haymitch’s hand, thumb brushing slow over his knuckles. “Hey.”

“Mm?”

“You remember the first time we all came here?”

He glances sideways at you. “What about it?”

You look out over the water. Let your gaze drift to where the dock is half-shadowed now, the surface rippling with the wind.

“I think,” you say, slow and careful, “that was when it started for me.”

“What started?”

You glance up at him. He’s watching you now—eyes narrowed, not suspicious, just focused. Waiting.

You shrug, a little shy. “Us.”

He goes still.

You press on, gentle. “You were standing in the water.”

He blinks. “That’s the memory?”

“Yes.”

“That was your big moment?”

“Let me finish,” you laugh, swatting his chest lightly.

He smirks but quiets.

You swallow, eyes back on the lake. “You were just… there. Knee-deep. Looking like you hated every second of it. But you didn’t. Not really.”

He’s silent beside you.

“I remember looking at you,” you say softly, “just standing in the water with the sun hitting your face, like you were trying so hard not to enjoy yourself. And for some reason, my heart just… stopped.”

You pause. Let it settle.

“I don’t know why. I just remember thinking—oh. Like it had already happened and I was only just realizing it.”

Haymitch doesn’t speak right away.

Doesn’t look at you either.

Just watches the water, jaw tight, breath a little deeper than before.

You smile to yourself. “You probably thought you looked grumpy and mysterious.”

“I was grumpy,” he mutters.

“You were gorgeous,” you say, eyes still on the lake.

And that’s what finally makes him turn.

His hand finds yours again. Steady. Warm.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, honey,” he says.

He doesn’t let go of your hand.

Not even when the silence stretches out between you again, warm and full, like it’s holding its breath for you.

You glance over, catch him watching you with that same look he always gets when he’s about to say something important—like it tastes strange in his mouth, like it might hurt to let it out.

“Alright,” he mutters suddenly, like he’s talking to himself. “Okay. Fine.”

You blink. “Fine what?”

Haymitch shifts his weight and digs into his jacket pocket, expression pained like he’s about to perform surgery without anesthesia.

Then pulls something out and holds it in his closed fist.

You stare at him.

“…Did you just start a sentence and then not finish it?”

He glares. “I’m getting to it.”

“You’re the one who said ‘okay’ like you were being held hostage.”

“I am being held hostage. By love. And your face.”

Your lips twitch. “That sounds like a you problem.”

He doesn’t respond.

Just opens his hand.

And there it is.

A ring.

Simple. Silver. No fancy stones, no polished shine. Just a smooth, slightly scuffed band with a tiny engraving on the inside—real enough for now.

Your breath catches in your throat.

You look up.

Haymitch is already staring at the lake again, jaw tight, like if he looks at you for too long he might combust.

“I know it’s late,” he says quietly. “Three years of living together and being in love and being stupid and waking up next to you like it’s normal. And I know we don’t need it. Don’t need paper or rings or people knowing our business. I know you already chose me.”

You say nothing. Can’t.

He glances at you once, quick. Then back to the water.

“But I wanna do it anyway,” he mutters. “Because you’re it for me. Always have been. And I figured if I’m gonna die one day, I might as well go out knowing I locked this shit down.”

You make a sound that’s half laugh, half sob.

He clears his throat. “So… what do you say, honey? You wanna marry the town drunk?”

You blink fast.

Stare at him like he hung the damn stars.

Then smile so wide your cheeks hurt. “Yeah,” you whisper. “Yeah, sunshine. I do.”

He finally looks at you—really looks.

And it’s all there.

All of it.

He slides the ring onto your finger, a little crooked, a little clumsy.

Perfect.

And then he says, just loud enough to hear, “You better tell people you begged.”

You don’t give him a chance to say anything else.

You just launch at him.

He grunts as you crash into his chest, arms flung around his neck, nearly knocking him off balance in the grass.

“Honey—”

But you’re already pressing kisses to his cheek, to his forehead, to the line of his jaw, breathless and grinning like your whole chest might explode.

He stiffens for half a second—pure Haymitch reflex—and then melts. Just completely gives in, arms winding tight around your waist like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold you hard enough.

“You’re such an idiot,” you murmur against his skin between kisses. “I love you so much.”

He huffs, low and shaky, and mutters, “You’re gonna break me one day, y’know that?”

You pull back just enough to look at him.

Eyes shining. Lips parted. Ring gleaming on your finger where it rests against his chest.

“Guess you’ll have to marry me before that happens,” you whisper.

He looks at you like he’s never seen anything so ridiculous and so holy all at once.

Then, soft but very seriously, “You’re mine.”

Your smile widens. “I’ve been yours.”

You kiss him again—slower this time.

The lake shimmers behind you. The wind stirs the trees. And for a moment, the whole world hushes around the two of you.

Just long enough to hold it.

Just long enough to remember that you made it.

You walk back hand in hand.

Slowly. Like the path feels different now. Like the whole world cracked open and decided to give you everything you thought you weren’t allowed to want.

The ring catches the light every time you move. You can’t stop looking at it. Can’t stop looking at him.

Haymitch doesn’t say much on the walk back.

But he keeps glancing over at you, like he’s making sure this is real. Like if he looks away for too long, you might disappear. Every few steps, he squeezes your hand. Like he can’t help it.

And honestly?

Neither can you.

By the time the houses come into view, the sky’s starting to shift—blue deepening, gold stretching across the fences and porches. It’s still warm, but there’s a breeze now, and you can hear the faint sound of laughter from the backyard.

“They’re gonna be insufferable,” Haymitch mutters.

You grin. “Can’t wait.”

You round the corner of Katniss and Peeta’s house just in time to see Peeta hurl a tomato at Haymitch’s terrible wooden target and Katniss judging him from her lawn chair with deep disappointment.

They both look up when they hear your footsteps.

Peeta immediately brightens. “Oh good, you survived your walk.”

Katniss glances between you. Then your hands.

She freezes. “Is that—?”

Peeta squints. “Wait. Is that a ring?”

You don’t even say anything.

You just lift your hand and smile.

Peeta screams.

Like, actually screams.

Katniss groans and covers her face with both hands. “You’ve killed him.”

Haymitch winces.

Peeta launches himself at you like a human golden retriever, nearly knocking you off your feet. He hugs you first, then Haymitch, then both of you at once while saying something about flower arrangements and dresses and themed desserts.

Katniss stands up and shakes her head. “I’m not wearing a dress.”

“We’ll find you a tasteful jumpsuit,” you say, laughing, tears stinging the corners of your eyes.

Haymitch watches you with something soft and warm in his expression—like the chaos doesn’t matter. Like nothing matters except this.

Except you.

Except the fact that after everything, after all the grief and noise and pain, you are still here.

And so is he.

Together.

Always.

Epilogue

[wvyik]

dad! dean headcanons. d.w. ꒰ঌ ໒꒱

dean winchester x fem! reader

ᰔ summary: dean might slay monsters, but his heart belongs to his little one. from diaper disasters to sleepy snuggles, these headcanons show dean as the softest dad, proving that no matter how tough he is, his love for his baby is even bigger.

⤿ warnings: pure fluff, cuteness overload, you might need tissues, too much dad! dean for your heart to handle, this post is not responsible for any unintentional squealing or melting, i MIGHT make this a series, uncontrollable awws guaranteed.

⤿ notes: so, in case you didn’t know, i’m officially in my “dad! dean makes me weak” era, and i’m not sorry about it. if you’re reading this and you’re like, ‘why does my heart hurt in the best way right now?’ then welcome to the club. we all fam. ◝(ᵔᗜᵔ)◜

DEAN WANTS TO GIVE THEM THE CHILDHOOD HE NEVER HAD.. So he overcompensates. Birthday parties. Christmas mornings that look like a Hallmark movie. Camping trips. Home videos. He keeps everything. “I just want them to know they’re loved. Always.”

HE HATES MISSING MILESTONES.. If he’s on a hunt and misses a first word or first step? He’ll make Cas rewind time or beg Sam for a cursed object to see it. He’d call you in tears like “babe, what’d they say? Was it ‘dada’? Please tell me it was ‘dada.’”

HE BUILDS THEM A BUNKER-LEVEL PILLOW FORT.. Rainy day? You better believe that living room becomes a war zone of blankets, snacks, and Flashlight Tag. “No demons in this fort, soldier. Only snuggles.”

HE TEACHES THEM HOW TO RESPECT PEOPLE.. Manners. Loyalty. Standing up for others. “You protect the people you love. Always. No matter what.” Dean raises the kind of kids that other parents admire.

BUT HE SUCKS AT DISCIPLE WHEN THEY CRY.. One look at those watery eyes and he’s DONE. “Aw c’mon, don’t do that to me, sweetheart… I wasn’t even that mad.” Ends up cuddling them on the couch whispering “daddy’s not mad, just worried.”

ALWAYS TUCKS A NOTE IN THEIR LUNCHBOX.. Little post-its with stuff like “Be brave today, champ!” or “Love you more than pie. Almost.” You find the notes years later, kept in a shoebox.

DEAN HAS A WEIRD OBSESSION WITH CAR SEATS NOW.. He installed that thing like it was a bomb. Double-checks it every single time. “My kid’s not going anywhere unless it’s safely strapped into Baby’s throne.”

HAS ZERO CHILL WHEN THEY’RE SICK.. One cough and he’s pacing like a war general. Blankets, soup, forehead kisses. “You okay, bug? You want Daddy to beat up the virus?”

HE KEEPS BABY PICTURES OF THE KIDS IN HIS WALLET.. And he shows them to random strangers at gas stations, “That’s my little kiddo in their first flannel. Got that same ‘handsome’ face.” with that stupid grin on his face.

HE CRIES AT DANCE RECITALS AND LITTLE LEAGUE GAMES.. Tries to hide it behind his sunglasses, but you can see the sniffles. “That’s my kid out there. Did you see that spin?? Better than Michael Jackson!”

HIS RINGTONE IS THEIR LAUGH.. He recorded it one afternoon when they were giggling at his fart jokes. It’s been his ringtone ever since and he refuses to change it. “Best sound in the damn world.”

CARRIES THEIR ART IN EVERYWHERE.. You open the Impala’s glove box and there’s a crayon drawing of Dean with a giant smile labeled “My Hero.” He pretends to be chill about it but he’s totally cried over it in the garage.

HE TEACHES THEM TO SAY ‘NO’ EARLY.. “I don’t care how small you are. If someone makes you uncomfortable? You say ‘no’ loud. Clear. Mean it. And if they don’t back off, tell Daddy. I’ll handle it.”

BABY-PROOFING THE BUNKER TURNS INTO A WHOLE MISSION.. Sam walks in and Dean’s like “I’ve sealed every electrical outlet, covered all corners, and enchanted the nursery against monsters. What have you done today, Uncle Sam?”

HE STARTS CARRYING DIAPERS AND WIPES IN HIS WEAPONS DUFFEL.. Like a damn multitasking king. There’s holy water, salt rounds, and a pastel blue binky. He pulls it out like “don’t judge me, I’m prepared.”

TEACHES THEM HOW TO SHOOT WITH NERF GUNS FIRST.. You come home and find the house COVERED in foam bullets. He’s in full camo, kids are giggling like maniacs, and he’s yelling “Cover me, soldier! We’ve got a diaper bandit on the loose!”

WHEN THEY GET HURT, HE BLAMES HIMSELF.. They fall off a bike? Scrape a knee? Dean acts like the sky is falling. “I should’ve been there. I should’ve caught ‘em.” And you have to literally hold his face and be like “They’re okay, babe. You’re a great dad.”

HE STARTS READING PARENTING BOOKS IN SECRET.. You catch him late at night with What to Expect the First Year under a flashlight like it’s a case file. “Don’t look at me like that, woman. I just wanna be prepared. Babies don’t come with manuals; this is the closest thing.”

HE LETS THEM PAINT HIS NAILS AND DOESN’T WASH IT OFF FOR DAYS.. He’s out on a hunt with chipped sparkly polish and when Sam’s like “what the hell’s on your hands?” Dean’s all, “My daughter’s masterpiece. You got a problem with that?”

DEAN’S SECRETLY TERRIFIED HE’S GONNA MESS THEM UP.. Sometimes he stares at them sleeping and whispers, “You deserve better than I ever had, kid. I’ll never let anything happen to you.” And then he crawls into bed and pulls you close because you’re the only thing that calms that storm.

HE GETS JEALOUS WHEN THEY CLING TO YOU TOO MUCH.. Playfully, but still. “C’mon, they were on your hip all day. Daddy needs cuddles too!” He pouts until the kid crawls into his lap and he’s smug like “that’s right, Daddy’s the favorite now.”

GETS SO MAD WHEN PEOPLE SAY ‘JUST WAIT TILL THEY’RE TEENAGERS’.. Like— no. “I’m gonna love ‘em through every stage. You don’t stop being their damn parent when they get loud and moody. You step up. That’s my kid.”

ALWAYS MAKES TIME FOR ONE-ON-ONE DATES.. He’ll take each kid out individually for a milkshake or a trip to the arcade and call it “dad-and-me time.” He says it’s for them, but it’s really for him, too.

WRITES THEM LETTERS “JUST IN CASE”.. Stored in the bunker. One for every birthday. Every milestone. “If something ever happens to me… I want them to know I was there. I loved ‘em every second.”

WHEN YOU’RE ALL SNUGGLED UP IN BED, HE HOLDS THE BABY AND WHISPERS TO YOU.. “We really did it, huh? We made this little life. And I’m not goin’ anywhere, sweetheart. Ever.”

taglist; @lieutenantchaos @bejeweledinterludes @ambiguous-avery @mostlymarvelgirl @freeluigihesbae @brutuuallove @impala67rollingthroughtown @multiversefanfics @littlesoulshine @starzify @ladykitana90 @idontwannabehere78 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @pieandflannel @twelveyearsofit @tinas111 @unstable-cucumber @everythingisaspectrum @pennywatsonlafayette @lunaleah ⊹ ࣪ ˖

⤿ wanna be tagged in my fics?.. don't be shy! @ taglist.

tysm for reading! more works incoming @ library.

[jo-com]

₊˚🍰₊ ⊹ ➛ Voicemails

Lando Noriss x Ex!Fem!Reader

୨ৎ Summary: A series of voicemails Lando left in the quiet aftermath of your breakup —

୨ৎ Genre: Post- Breakup, Angst

୨ৎ Note: Been wanting to write again so here it is! Not proof read and there are some grammatical errors. Hope y’all enjoyyy

ARCHIVES

Voicemail 1: Hey baby…i uhm just wanted to check up on you. I know that we agreed on not calling or texting each other but fuck i miss you so much, I regret ever hurting you like that.. please call me back, love you always.

Voicemail 2: Sooo, i was buying these snacks for me and then I saw your favorite food and just.. it reminded me on how much you like eating them and out of habit I picked it up and bought it hahaha… Just wanted to share this, sorry for disturbing you.

Voicemail 3: I know i promised to stop doing this and just move on, you've just been on my mind lately... [sigh] why am i doing this to myself.

Voicemail 4: Hey… I drove past your street today. I wasn’t planning to, it just… happened. Funny how everything reminds me of you, even when I’m trying not to look. Anyway… I hope you're okay. That’s all.

Voicemail 5: It’s late. I couldn’t sleep again. I keep reaching for you in my dreams, and waking up to nothing. I know this is selfish — I’m sorry. I just needed to feel like you were still out there, even if you’re not mine anymore.

...

A long and deep breath left pass your lips— hearing his voice and the things that came out of it made your heart ache even more. The hurt and feeling of loneliness was still evident from the way you've isolated yourself from everything.

You wanted nothing more than be freed from this torment of hearts and just block him all together but at the same time you were holding onto something that you knew was never going to be the same again.

The tears you never even noticed was now sliding down your cheeks, "Fucking hell" you mumbled under your breath.

You quickly wiped it away— not letting yourself show any vulnerability or any kind of weakness.

...

Voicemail 6: I saw your favorite movie on TV tonight. I almost texted you to tell you, like I used to. It’s stupid, I know. You’re not waiting for my messages anymore… but I guess some part of me still is.

Voicemail 7: Do you ever miss me? Even for a second? I keep asking myself that, like the answer will change something. I don’t even know why I’m leaving this. I just— I miss who we were.

...

After hearing the last message he sent, every being in your whole body was screaming to just answer him, but like they say “The heart wants what it wants, but the mind knows what it needs.”

...

Voicemail 8: I saw this coffee place you would’ve loved — all moody lighting and weird art. I almost took a photo to send you. [chuckles] Old habits, I guess. Anyway, I didn’t. Just thought you’d find that funny. Or maybe you wouldn’t. I don’t know. Doesn’t matter.

Voicemail 9: Do you ever feel like you made the right choice, but it still hurts like hell? That’s where I’m at. We ended for a reason... I just wish reason didn’t feel so empty.

...

You've contemplated for a while now and decided to call him back. With shaky hand you went to your contacts and saw his number that was pinned at the top— you forgot you ever did that, it was a long time ago but i guess you just got used to it and forgot along the way.

Every cell of your body was now filled with adrenaline, heart beating so fast, hands shaking abruptly and your chest heaving like crazy, as if you were but to explode with this overwhelming feeling.

The long silence filled your empty room, it was defining to say the least.

With a deep sigh, you finally gathered all your strength and pressed the call button. Your legs bouncing of the ground as you waited for him to pick up.

"Y/n?" he spoke— answering on the first ring.

You hesitated on speaking and was just focused on his voice that was calling out to you. You can practically hear the excitement and confusion on his tone.

You let out a lengthy cough that hid your shaking voice and finally answered him. "Hey..uhm I just called to say that you should stop with the voice messages."

Everything became silent for awhile, it was eating you up to say those words but you two needed to stop torturing one another and just move on.

Lando sighed deeply, "oh okay sorry to bother" and hanged up.

It left you broken— hearing his voice crack from your words. You never wanted this but was for the best.

Or so you thought.

You spent your whole day reliving the conversation, it just bugged you that it crushed him. You’ve decided to just go with the flow and fuck whatever your mind says— your heart clearly belonged with his so what the hell.

...

NOTIFICATION

1 Unheard Voice Message from My girl💞

"Hey Lan… I don’t even know if you’ll listen to this. I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t. But I need to say this. I know we ended things, and maybe we both thought we were doing the right thing at the time. But looking back, it feels like we got caught up in something we didn’t fully understand. I’m sorry if I made you feel like I didn’t care. That was never the case. I’ve heard every voicemail you left. Every word. I couldn’t help it. I just needed to hear you, even if it was through all that distance between us. I miss you, Lando. I miss what we had. I don’t want this misunderstanding to be the end of us. If you’re willing, I want to try again. I want to fix this. I just need you to know that. Call me back, Okay?"

[painsandconfusion]

Writers, here’s your reminder that you should be doing warm-ups!

Athletes need to warm up. Musicians need to warm up. Artists need to warm up. Heck, I even have to play a few matches in video games before I get into a groove every day.

Warm-ups help you get into the right headspace, give you more control of your actions and word choice, get you comfortable in your physical setting (eg: with your keyboard, notebook, tablet, or whatever you're writing with), and spark creativity.

Even if you don’t think you have spoons to write, sit down and do a couple warm-ups. If you still don’t want to, that’s alright. But. I think you’ll be surprised how often they help break that ice.

5-15 minutes is all you need. I personally set a timer for ten minutes each time and do not stop writing until the time is up. Your warm-up can be anything at all so long as it gets you writing and starts nudging those creative juices.

Here's some common warm-ups:

Journaling. Just jot down some notes about your day. Feel free to really lean into something that you noticed. We're going for description and details -- try to avoid settling into a spiral or focusing on something negative that will upset your creativity.

Short story prompts. Type that into Pinterest and pick the most ridiculous, cliche thing you can. Write a little scene, story summary, or even a rant about why you do or don't like the prompt. Just write.

Vocab challenge. If you like a bit more critical thinking to get you in the zone, have a random vocabulary word generator spit out five or so words. Check their meanings and jot down a little story or thought that includes all five. You get more familiar with beautiful and descriptive language, and it gives you a much narrowed prompt (which is lovely if you're like me and suffer each time there's an open-ended task assigned).

Character moments. Try putting your character into a generic setting and write down almost meticulously what their thought process would be. Follow them realizing they've just stepped in mud or dreading the start of the day. Pick a mundane thing and describe them working through it. This will not only get your writing going, but it will wake up the character's voice in your head.

Ongoing storytelling. Did you know that Whinnie the Poo was A.A. Milne's warm up story? He would jot down a quick little story with those very basic characters and did so every day. Whatever came to mind. He kept writing little tidbits on the same characters and eventually it turned into a series. Having that ongoing plot with isolated scenes and simple characters can help you feel more motivated to sit down and write.

Get-to-know-you-questions. Google a list of basic first-date questions (there are a million out there) and answer one yourself. Go into specifics. Where do you most want to travel and why? Let yourself ramble until the question is fully answered.

Writer's block blues. This is a favorite of mine. If you're truly stuck, write about being stuck. Eg: 'I'm supposed to write for ten minutse, but that feels so stupid and impossible. No one is goign to read this anyway. I have no ideas and the page is so overwhelming when its blank. I used to be able to write on and on and nothing could stop me. it was like breathing. but now I have nothign and do nothing and I can't even do a stupid prompt-' Even the rambling and ranting got me writing. It made things easier. It made writing this post easier. Also -- notice the typos? Yeah, don't fix those. You're in writing mode, not editing mode when you're doing this. If you edit while you write, you're forcing yourself to stay in your executive and calculating headspace rather than falling fully into creativity and dream. Ignore the mistakes. That's for future you to handle.

I've officially rambled far too much, but I hope that helps even a little bit. Live well and write often, my friends. Best of luck to you <3

[guiltyasdave]

almost killed your light

chapter 6 • series masterlist

summary: An injured Joel and Ellie stumble into your home in the middle of the night. Against your better judgement, you decide to help them.

word count: ~3.7k

tags/warnings: post outbreak, slow burn, found family, age gap (joel is 56, reader is 36), able-bodied reader, no use of y/n, angst, reader has a sad sad backstory and ptsd, hurt/comfort, fluff, eventual smut, nightmares, death of characters important to reader, grief, the angst is once again angsting, suicide (not reader!), canon-typical violence, hunting & a dead deer, it's finally backstory time!!!!

a/n: i can't tell you how thrilled i am to be posting this! it's easily the saddest chapter of the series, and also the first part of the story that i came up with, so this is a pretty big moment for me <3 thank you for all the lovely comments, for being so patient and a biiiig smooch to @sizzlingcloudmentality, thank you for looking this over!

follow @guiltyasdavenotifs for fic updates and find my full masterlist here :)

dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics 🤍

“Do you think—” Joel clears his throat, searching your face. “Do you think it might help to talk about them? To help you to keep the memory?” 

You don’t want to talk about them, if you’re being honest. As long as you don’t talk, don’t speak any of it into existence, you might still be able to pretend that the last twenty years were nothing more than a bad dream. That you’ll just need to finally wake up, and you’ll be sixteen again, and the world will be back to normal. 

But you’re still shivering, still feeling the threat of forgetting, of nothingness breathing down your neck. So you nod, slowly, and with the quiet safety of Joel’s slow breaths in your ears and the warmth of his body beside you, you start laying your heart out for him. 

How they called you out of class, something about a family emergency, that they had your father on the phone. His frantic voice in your ear, crackling through the receiver, countless miles away on a work trip, accompanied by your mother. Too far to reach, too far to come and save you. 

Take your brothers and go home. Immediately. No stops along the way, no matter what. Go to the basement and stay there, do you hear me? Promise me that you’ll keep them safe. 

It hadn’t been the first time that he urged you home from school, made you hide from an invisible threat. It was part of your life, just like the never-ending survival lessons and the fully inhabitable basement under your house was part of it. 

But something had felt off this time. Maybe because you knew that he wouldn’t be waiting for you at home, that you were on your own. Maybe you just had a bad feeling. Promise me that you’ll keep them safe. 

You weren’t sure what he had said on the phone before you had come on, which excuse he had given, but you got both Felix and Tim out of class without issue and packed them into your car. Of course they wanted to stop along the way, only six and eleven years old, giddy to be out of school early. 

You denied demands to get McDonalds, to go to the arcade, even to spend the day roaming the woods around your house. With your father’s words still echoing through your head, you parked in front of the house, herded them straight down to the basement, and put the radio on. And then you waited. 

It took until the late evening, all three of you getting antsy, itching to get back upstairs. What bad could possibly happen, really? Until the warnings started. Until early morning when they turned into silence. 

Eventually, different voices returned. Talking about quarantine zones, about safety. About an organization called FEDRA. Don’t trust anyone, least of all the government. A principle far too ingrained in your upbringing to betray it now. So you stayed. In the safety of the familiar homey scent of wood-panelled walls and floors, the always slightly stale air, the electric yellow glow that never made up for the lack of actual daylight. 

But you managed to get an insight into what was actually going on. An infection, spreading too fast to contain. Changing people, turning them into monsters. It sounded like one of those movies that your first boyfriend used to like. Too strange to picture, until the first time you caught movement on the security camera footage. A man stumbling out of the woods, his movements all wrong, unnatural. Weird shapes growing out of his body, out of his head. Fungus, the voices on the radio had said. 

Sometimes, when you struggled to fall asleep at night, you wondered where that boyfriend was now. If he was still alive, if any of your friends were. If anyone was. 

As time went on, though you never said it out loud, the hope that your parents had made it, that they were coming back to you, started to grow smaller. You took on the duties of caretaking and leadership as best as you could. 

Made food, to the best of your abilities. Tried to teach them schoolwork, at least a little. Answered questions, sang lullabies, held them when they cried. Just a little while longer, you used to tell both them and yourself. Because things would go back to normal eventually, right? Keep them safe. 

Weeks turned into months, Thanksgiving and Christmas passed you by, and you were still down there. Watching as the world outside turned white with snow, then watching as it melted, as nature slowly crept closer towards the house, as sunshine started to filter through the trees again. The days got longer, and the terror settled into something deeper, more numb, but at the back of your minds like a steady pulse. 

The first time you decided to go out, you were petrified with fear. The world outside the back door seemed endless, far too loud, far too bright, far too open. The birds sounded deafening in your ears, looking up at the sky burned in your eyes. 

Clenching your teeth, the packets of seeds crinkling between your fingers, you took the first hesitant step towards the overgrown patch of earth where your parents used to grow vegetables. 

Your hands were shaking the entire time, your breath coming in short huffs that never quite seemed to reach your lungs. Your eyes kept skimming the treeline, your legs ready to bolt at the smallest of movements. Promise me that you’ll keep them safe. The wind felt strange on your skin, the damp earth was clinging to your skin uncomfortably. But you had to do this right, had to provide, had to give them something more than just pure survival. 

Hands grabbed at you as soon as you gave the signal and the heavy door swung open. Held you tight, relief swimming in their eyes, mirroring yours. What did it look like, what did it feel like? Did it smell different? Did you see a monster? You didn’t, but now you had something to count down to, something tangible. A few weeks, and you would have something fresh to eat, something that didn’t come out of a can. Something that tasted like before.

You retrieved your mother’s notebook from the kitchen, tried to replicate the dishes that you remembered. You read bedtime stories, listened to long winded monologues over space travel and dinosaurs, went through the same comics over and over and tried to think of new stories when the existing ones became boring. You brought Tim’s guitar down from his old room and listened to him pluck the strings in the evenings. Sometimes, you sang together. It wasn’t like before, but it wasn’t terrible. A life you had been prepared for, in a weird way. 

For two years, you were the only one who ventured outside. Still with a rigid spine, still with your fingers twitching towards the shotgun you always carried with you, still hyper focused on your surroundings. But for two years, nothing bad happened. Your hands got more used to the movements, handling fruits and vegetables with practised care. You sometimes wondered what your father would say if he saw you now. If he would be proud of you. You didn’t want him to be proud. You wanted him to come back. 

You never saw another monster, not when you were outside and not on the cameras either. Nor did you ever see any humans. The radio stayed silent. 

The next spring, Tim wouldn’t stop begging to come outside with you. He had just turned fourteen, and was not a child anymore, I can take care of myself! At nineteen yourself, you had never wished more to feel like a child again. 

After endless fights, in which he called you overprotective, afraid of your own shadow, overdramatic and, particularly hurtful, not his mother, you finally agreed. You also promised to teach him how to shoot, which your father had just been getting started on when everything changed. 

Once it was time to actually step foot outside, he grabbed your hand tightly, blank fear written in his wide eyes. 

“Hey,” you murmured, squeezing his fingers reassuringly and crouching down to his height. “I’m here. It’s gonna be okay.” Please let everything be okay. Please don’t let today be the day when something happens. 

He nodded, squared his jaw, took a deep breath and turned back towards the door. He looked so much older in that moment, so much like your father, that your own breath faltered for a second. 

To his credit, Tim stayed close by your side the entire time, just like you had made him promise over and over. Your whole body was on high alert, eyes flitting over the garden that nature kept claiming back more and more each time you came outside, over the darkness of the treeline. 

Once the patch had been taken care of, your spread targets over the long grass, handing Tim the bow and arrows that you had practised with as well. He had wanted a gun, but you couldn’t bear the risk of shots alerting anyone to your existence. 

Tim was good with the weapon, once his nerves had calmed down a little. When the sky slowly turned orange and you ushered him inside again, he beamed up at you. “I can help you now,” he said. “I can protect us.”

Felix, only nine years old at the time, had been whining non stop about being left alone, but you couldn’t bear the thought of bringing him upstairs, out of the safety of the basement. Promise me that you’ll keep them safe. 

It took two more years until the three of you left the basement together. You had a terrible feeling about it, the impending dread breathing down your neck as soon as you opened the door. But Felix needed shooting practice too, Tim argued, and you knew he was right. Neither of you said it out loud, but the question of what if lingered in the air around you. What if something happened to you? What if the two of them ended up alone? They had to be prepared for that. Promise me that you’ll keep them safe. 

You handled most of the gardening, because you liked the way you could move your hands to do something, to provide something that wouldn’t exist otherwise. But you told them everything you knew, everything your parents taught you. In the evenings, you scribbled everything you could think of into a notebook, filling pages upon pages with knowledge that you hoped you would always be able to give in person, but couldn’t risk the opportunity that it would be lost if you couldn’t. 

It was Tim who first brought up the idea of hunting. In a way, it made sense. You had seen far more wildlife on the camera footage over the years than monsters. Twice, you had even seen groups of humans, but they were mostly male and carrying heavy weapons, and you never felt safe to interact with them. Those sightings had been few and far in between though, while you saw deer almost every week. 

Still, it would mean venturing out further than ever before. Further away from safety than you’d been in five years. But it would add another component to your meals, and better nutrition, you supposed. There were enough supplements stored in the basement to last you your whole lives and then some, but the prospect of providing them with something new, something fresh? It was tempting. 

Gritting your teeth, you eventually agreed. Tim had become a great shooter, much better with the bow than you had ever been. His bashful grin when you told him that made your heart sting. You always tried to be everything they needed, but in moments like these you wished your father had been there to praise him instead of you for once.

You had really wanted to at least leave Felix behind, but he wouldn’t have it, obviously terrified of the two of you not coming back. So, after going through every possible eventuality a thousand times, the three of you put on dark clothes, shouldered your weapons, and set out into the woods. Your heart was racing, all your senses on the highest alert, your fingers wrapped tightly around the shotgun in your grip. Promise me that you’ll keep them safe.

It was a beautiful morning. Spring was slowly merging into summer, the air was still crisp and so different from the air in the basement that it almost felt unreal. Birdsong was floating through the trees as the three of you very slowly made your way through the semi darkness of the forest surrounding your house. Early daylight was filtering through the leaves and mist was rising from the soft mossy floor. 

You were quiet, no words exchanged between you, just like you had made them promise over and over. It felt like barely any time had passed when Tim’s hand shot out, stopping both you and Felix in your tracks. He pointed up ahead, where your squinting eyes made out the lithe, brown silhouette of a deer in the dim light. 

He exchanged a nod with you, then drew an arrow. You watched him take aim, heard the silent woosh, saw it hitting its target. The animal went down with a low thud. For a moment, none of you moved. Tim blinked slowly, like he couldn’t believe his own eyes. A breathless laugh escaped you, until you caught yourself, your eyes darting around nervously. But nothing moved, the forest kept on peacefully existing around you. 

Dragging the deer back to the house was challenging, as was the dressing, but you managed. It had been one of the most-hated lessons that your father gave you, but now, once again, you felt grateful. As long as you didn’t think about why he wasn’t there to do it. 

But that night, when you made a stew out of fresh vegetables and meat, you actually felt a little proud of yourself. If nothing else, at least you were keeping your promise. 

It wasn’t until a few months later that you encountered one of the monsters. It lunged at you out of nowhere, forcing all air from your lungs as you both collided on the forest floor. A scream tore from your throat, your hands grasping desperately to bring the shotgun into position while simultaneously holding the snapping, rotting teeth away from your face. 

“Tim!” you cried out, pressing yourself against the ground, hoping to give him a clear shot. But there wasn’t the familiar whooshing of an arrow flying through the air. Two shots rang out in quick succession and the creature on top of you stilled. 

Gasping for breath, you pushed it off of you, trying to make sense of the scene in front of you. Tim was frozen, his hand extended towards the quiver on his back, the bow still at his side. Your eyes found Felix. Sweet, eleven year old Felix, who read comics to fall asleep and asked to sleep in your bed after a nightmare every other week. Felix, with the gun you had given him for emergencies only shaking in his grip. His whole frame was trembling, tears quietly streaming down his face. 

With your own legs unsteady, you got onto your feet, crossing the short distance and pressing him tightly against you. 

“You’re okay,” you whispered into his hair, enveloping him in your arms. “You’re okay, we’re okay. Let’s go home.”

You didn’t want to go hunting again after that. You had managed without it before, and you would manage again. Promise me that you’ll keep them safe.

But, after the initial shock had worn off, your brothers did want to go into the forest again. They practiced shooting even more often, unwilling to accept defeat, to bow down to this threat that effectively was out of your control. Afraid that they would sneak out if you said no, you eventually caved and the three of you made your way into the forest again. 

You were on the verge of panic the entire time, but miraculously, everything stayed calm. No sudden surprises, no attacks, only the quiet trees and you, and the promise of a good dinner that evening.

Life was good, in some ways. Tim turned eighteen and you got up at the crack of dawn to prepare a cake for him. He taught Felix how to play guitar. On some days, you were brave enough to spend whole days in the actual house, only retreating to the basement to sleep. You still ran into monsters sometimes, and while that never got less scary, you built more of a routine with every time it happened. 

Eight years had passed since your father called you and sent you home from school. Promise me that you’ll keep them safe. 

It was early October, and you had caught a cold. Nothing you couldn’t just sleep off, just a persistent headache and a sore throat really, but your brothers were determined to help. Determined to get ingredients for soup, something your mom used to make when one of you was sick. 

Your protests that they didn’t have to, that you didn’t want them outside on their own, fell on deaf ears. Eventually, you gave up. They weren’t kids anymore, and you didn’t doubt that they could hold their ground. Just— you had a bad feeling. And you had promised. 

After the door on top of the staircase fell shut, you drifted off into a feverish sleep, haunted by dreams that didn’t make sense. You were shaken awake by Tim, his eyes red from crying, his face more distraught than you had ever seen it. He stumbled over his words, choking on apologies, on explanations that you couldn’t make sense of. Until he led you up to the living room you never used, a room from before. Until you saw Felix sitting on the couch, all gangly limbs and too long hair that you had been planning on cutting. Until you saw his forearm. The twitching. The bite mark, already red and swollen with infection. 

The unthinkable had happened. One moment of surprise, one movement that happened too fast, was all it took. 

You had made a pact about this, years ago. That you wouldn’t let each other turn, wouldn’t let one of you become a monster. 

The three of you sat there for hours, holding each other, watching as the sky turned orange until darkness fell. None of you said much. There wasn’t anything to say. The twitching got worse. 

Finally, his throat hoarse, Felix said, “I— I think it’s time. You should—” His voice faltered, and you nodded quietly, squeezing his hand. 

The shot didn’t sound real. The trigger didn’t feel real under your finger. The red blood, soaking through his t-shirt. His limp body hitting the ground. It wasn’t real, because it couldn’t be. 

Tim and you dug through the night, and as the sun rose on a new day, which didn’t make any sense at all, because how were there any days left to live, you were standing over the fresh earth of a grave. The grave of your little brother who never made it past the age of fourteen.

Promise me that you’ll keep them safe. Promise me that you’ll keep them safe. Promise me that you’ll keep them safe.

You didn’t eat. Didn’t sleep. Closed the door to Felix’ room, and promised yourself that you’d never open it again. Time didn’t seem to pass, though according to the clock on the wall, it had to. 

Tim didn’t leave his room for two days. You didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to comfort him, when all you wanted to do was scream. Why he had to go hunting, why he didn’t protect his little brother. You wanted to scream at yourself, too. Why you were stupid enough to let them go. 

Eventually, you fell asleep right where you were sitting. When you startled awake, the door to Tim’s room was open, but the basement was empty. A folded piece of paper with your name on it waited on the table in front of you. 

You knew before you even opened the letter. One of the guns was missing. Tim never used a gun to shoot anything.

His body was right beside his brother’s grave. Blood had tainted the earth around him. Choking on a sob, you fell to your knees beside him. Pried the gun from his limp fingers. 

When you were done, two graves lined the edge of the garden. You didn’t look back. Your feet carried you down the steps. You washed the blood of your hands, your sight so blurry through your tears that you barely saw what you were doing. Then, you closed Tim’s door, too. 

Twelve years passed, until you walked up those stairs again.

Joel’s arm wraps around you hesitantly, like any sudden movements might scare you off. You sink into him, unaware of how badly you needed to be held like this. 

“I promised,” you whisper into the warmth of his shoulder. “I promised, and now they’re both gone.”

“Wasn’t your fault.” His voice is low. You feel the movement of your hair where his breath fans out on top of your head.

You shrug. On better days, you have been telling yourself that, too. Instead of an answer, you focus on his breathing. Letting it slow yours down, letting it calm your nerves. 

Finally, he very quietly says, “I had a daughter. Sarah.” His breath hitches on her name. You look at him, the question that you can’t ask written in your eyes. “Outbreak day. She was— she was fourteen, too.” 

Your own pain is reflected in his eyes. Clear as day, now that you know. Like it was there the entire time. You nod silently, reaching for his hand. Tightening your hold gently, and he squeezes back. 

Leaning your head against his shoulder again, you close your eyes.

thank you for reading! nothing makes my day the way comments and reblogs do, so please consider leaving one <3

[writesvani]

say you remember | 02

idol!minyoongi x writer!reader

SUMMARY: You don’t expect much when your eyes meet his across the café-bar—just a fleeting glance, a moment that should mean nothing. But then there’s another look. And another. Before you know it, you’re tangled up in something that isn’t love, isn’t commitment—just an escape wrapped in late-night encounters and whispered goodbyes.

It’s fine. Until it isn’t.

When feelings start creeping in, you both decide to walk away before things get too complicated. It should have ended there. But fate has other plans. When your friend starts dating Jungkook—his best friend, his bandmate—you find yourself face to face with Yoongi once again.

The past lingers between you, heavy and unresolved. The question is—was it ever really over?

strangers-to-fwb-to-strangers-to-lovers

TRIGGER WARNINGS: jealousy, unresolved past relationships, awkward social interactions, emotional tension, flirtation, suppressed feelings, anxiety, unspoken love, betrayal, unrequited feelings, uncomfortable confrontation, smoking, drinking

comment here for to Say You Remember taglist;

SERIES M. LIST;

— previous chapter // next chapter (pending...)

wc: 7k // date: 15th of April 2025

CHAPTER TWO — Drowning in the Silence Between Us; happy reading my gummies...

AN: hii guys. im so excited for this chapter, i LOVE it. it's so funny. like, i'm over here cackling like a mad person. it's honestly kinda self projecting but oh well, i'm embracing it. who needs boundaries when you're writing, right?

also, just to clear things up, y/n's book dear me is in no way connected with my jungkook fic dear me (imagine the drama if it was). it's just that i couldn’t think of a name for her book, so i just borrowed the name from one of my own fics. i promise i'm not secretly inserting my own universe into this. but yeah, dear me in this fic is y/n's book and it's all original with her own characters. okay, enjoy the chaos.

also, goal for this chapter is 250 notes. i am not lowering it this time. i fed you well with this one, 7k words after all, so if you want a new meal, y'all will have to work for it. get those notes in!

"Remind me again why we still don't know his name?" Chul asks, flatly, as he sets down three steaming mugs with the precision of a tired barista.

"Because it's still new," Aecha says, wrapping her hands around her cup. "And I want it to stay good before I jinx it by saying too much. You know how it goes—tell people, suddenly the whole thing collapses like a cheap tent."

You narrow your eyes, flicking ash off your cigarette with a pointed look. "People? Are we people to you now? Damn. And here I thought we made it past that stage."

Aecha just shrugs, a mischievous smile playing at the corner of her lips.

"It’s not just that, though," you go on, leaning forward. "It’s like you're actively enjoying this whole mystery-man act. Like you want us to suffer trying to figure out who he is."

"Maybe I do," she says, taking another sip. "You two make great detectives when you're desperate."

Chul groans, flopping onto the couch. "Great. So now we’re just part of your little game."

"You’ve always been part of my little game," she says with a wink.

"You see how little she thinks of us?" you say, shooting Chul a look of betrayal.

Chul nods with theatrical disappointment, letting out a long, dramatic sigh as he leans back in his chair. "Our own goddamn roommate. Best friend, even. And we’re apparently not worthy of a name."

"Ugh, it’s not like that," Aecha groans, setting her mug down with a soft clink. "It’s just… complicated, okay? You’ll understand when you meet him."

You raise an eyebrow. "Yeah? If we ever get to meet him. At this rate, you’ll be married with two kids before we even know his star sign."

"It would be nice to know who we’re meeting at least," Chul adds, more gently now. "Y’know, in case he’s a serial killer or a tax evader or something."

Aecha snorts. "He’s not a serial killer. Or a tax evader."

"That’s exactly what someone dating a serial killer would say," you deadpan, taking a slow drag of your cigarette.

"Oh, oh—wait. I have a theory," you say, tapping your fingers against the edge of the small wooden table. It’s sticky. "Ugh. Chul, seriously? Did you skip cleaning duty again?"

"Creative minds don't clean," Chul mumbles, unbothered.

You roll your eyes. "Anyway. Theory time. What if he's, like, a dealer? Or—wait—a vampire baby? Be honest, Aecha. Is your man an immortal bloodsucker with a side hustle in illegal substances? Because if so, I support you, I just need to emotionally prepare."

Aecha snorts into her coffee. "He is not a dealer. Or a vampire. God, what even is a vampire baby?"

"You know… baby-faced. Pale. Broody. Hangs out in corners. Likes antique furniture." You gesture vaguely, like you're describing a wine.

"Still no," Aecha says, but her smile slips just a little. "But I will say... he’s not exactly someone I can just go around telling people I’m dating."

You and Chul exchange glances.

"Jesus, who is he then?" Chul says, leaning forward with his chin on his hand. "C’mon, babe. All this secrecy is exhausting. You’re wearing us down like some kind of psychological warfare expert."

Aecha just shrugs again, lips curving into that maddening, knowing smile. "Good things come to those who wait.”

"Aaand, c’mon, guys," Aecha sighs, blowing on her coffee before taking a small sip. "It’s not like I’m keeping you waiting forever. For fuck’s sake, you’ll be meeting him—and his closest friends—tonight."

Chul’s eyes narrow, a slow, wicked grin forming. Then, in a low, ominous whisper, he leans in toward you. "Imagine they’re a group of human traffickers... and Aecha’s just their charming recruiter."

You snort. "Okay, that’s a little too specific, Chul."

"I’m just saying," he continues, eyes wide with mock horror, "if I end up stuffed in a trunk or smuggled across borders, I want it on record that she brought me to this dinner."

"No, but seriously?" you add, more dramatic than necessary. "I’m telling my mother where I’m going. If I disappear, she will avenge me."

"God, you’re both insane," Aecha mutters, laughing into her cup.

"Insane but prepared," Chul says. "That’s how survivors think.”

The fact that Aecha won’t even tell you her boyfriend’s name is… mildly weird. Actually, scratch that—it’s very weird. She’s never been the secretive type. If anything, she’s the kind of person who gives you the full name, zodiac sign, and three red flags of any guy she’s crushing on—whether it's someone she matched with for five minutes or actually dated for five weeks.

So the silence now? The mystery? It’s not just out of character—it’s loud.

Whoever this guy is, he must matter. Like, really matter. Either that, or something about him makes things complicated. And that? That makes you uneasy.

The idea of Aecha dating an idol has crossed your mind more than once. And honestly, that would be a solid reason to keep things secret. It makes sense. It fits.

But you try not to go there. Because you know. You know how messy it gets when people get tangled up in that world—the kind of dynamic that drains you, strips your privacy, and leaves you more alone than you were to begin with. The pressure, the lies, the heartbreak that's practically guaranteed.

So you don’t think about it. Or at least you try not to. It's easier to joke about vampire boyfriends or underground crime syndicates than to face a possibility that actually makes sense. A possibility that could genuinely hurt her.

Especially with her job—working in the digital marketing team at SM Entertainment—she’s in it. Right there, in the orbit of fame and its gravitational mess. And the odds of her meeting someone who lives in that spotlight? High. Too high.

And that’s what makes it worse.

"Aight, I gotta bounce. My shift starts in 45 minutes and I actually wanna keep this job," Chul groans, tossing back the last sip of lukewarm coffee like it’s tequila.

He gets up, drags himself to the sink, and starts washing his cup with the enthusiasm of a man being held at gunpoint.

"Wow," you say, raising an eyebrow. "Look who finally discovered the kitchen sink."

"I’m only doing this so you don’t go full FBI on me about it later," he mutters.

"That’s called growth, baby."

"Okay, don’t forget dinner!" Aecha calls out as he wrestles with his shoelaces like they personally offended him. "8PM sharp. LaRoy’s. If you're late, I’m telling them you died."

"Relax," he grunts, halfway into his hoodie. "I’ll be there. But just so we’re clear—if this turns out to be some cult initiation dinner, I’m eating first, then running."

"That’s fair," you nod. "Die with a full stomach. Iconic."

"Also, if I get kidnapped, I’m haunting you both. And I’m not gonna be a chill ghost. I’ll whisper embarrassing shit during your Zoom calls."

"Joke’s on you, I already embarrass myself daily," you shrug. "You’d be background noise."

"Love the support, really. Bye, losers."

And with that, he’s gone—probably already mentally composing his resignation letter.

When Chul leaves, it’s just you and Aecha again.

She’s immediately back on her phone, nails tapping out soft clicks against the screen—the kind of ASMR sound that weirdly soothes your brain. She’s smiling. Small, but there. The kind of smile reserved for someone. Mystery Man.

You don’t poke at her this time. Instead, you open your laptop, skimming through the last chapter you wrote, wincing at some of your word choices like they personally betrayed you.

"What are you doing today?" Aecha asks without looking up, but you can tell she’s peeled her eyes away from the screen just enough to look at you.

You sigh. "Writing. Or dying. Depends how dramatic I feel in an hour. I have to finish at least one chapter today or else both my editor and publisher are going to show up at my funeral just to make sure I’m really dead."

"Damn," she laughs, "at least you're being emotionally tortured by something you love."

"Yeah, yeah," you mutter. "I do love it. I just hate the part where I have to prove I'm not a lazy roach every three days. But don’t worry, I’ll be there for dinner. There’s no way I’m missing the grand reveal of Mr. No-Name."

"Good," Aecha says, biting back a grin. "I’ll be with him today. He’s got the day off—those are basically unicorn sightings. I’ll get ready at his place."

You gape. "Wait, so I’m stuck getting ready with Chul? Girl, you know he’s gonna stand in the doorway and trash all my outfit options like he’s a one-man 'Project Runway' judge panel."

"Oh absolutely," Aecha says, nodding. "You should prepare a backup outfit he picks. Just for the chaos."

"He’d probably put me in Crocs and a poncho just to see me suffer."

"And you’d still serve."

You glance up from your laptop. "I would, wouldn’t I?”

"Of course you would," Aecha grins, all smug and mysterious.

And then? Silence. The kind where you’re both in your little bubbles—her giggling at her phone like it’s whispering sweet nothings, and you glaring at your laptop like it just slapped your mom.

You’re trying to write. You really are. But this one scene is being stubborn. No matter how many times you rewrite it, it still reads like garbage written by a sleep-deprived raccoon with WiFi.

Your eye twitches.

Then—RING RING.

"Shit, he’s here?!" Aecha yelps, launching off the couch like she just sat on a ghost. She’s grabbing her purse, her wallet, a random sock, possibly someone’s toothbrush—you’re not even sure anymore.

"Wait, where is here?" you ask, blinking through the chaos.

"Here-here! Like, downstairs-here! Picking-me-up-here!" she hisses, as she smacks on lipstick with the grace of someone who's clearly done this in moving vehicles before.

"Damn, thank god you’re chill about it," you say, watching the storm unfold.

"Shut up," she breathes, checking herself in the mirror like she’s about to accept an Oscar.

She turns to you, one shoe on, purse hanging half open, still looking criminally good. "Okay, I’m leaving. See you tonight, babe!"

"Byeeeeee," you sing, and wait exactly 2.4 seconds after the door shuts before sprinting to the window like you’re in a Netflix thriller.

Full. Detective. Mode.

If she won’t tell you who this guy is, you’re gonna Nancy Drew your way into the answer.

You peek through the blinds—subtle, of course. Very stealth. But all you see is a car.

A very nice car.

A sexy, blacked-out, borderline Batman-looking Mercedes G 63 S.

You whistle under your breath. “Sir, what do you do for a living? And can I do it too?”

The windows are tinted darker than your search history. There’s no way to see inside. Just Aecha getting in, flipping her hair like this is her life now and the rest of you peasants can stay pressed.

The car glides away like it’s floating on money.

You stand there, blinking, brain already spiraling. Rich? Idol? CEO? Cult leader with good branding?

You sigh and flop back down on the couch.

“Good for her,” you mumble. “Eat the rich. Or at least… ride in their cars and moisturize with their money.”

You spend the rest of your day in the most unproductive, soul-crushing spiral imaginable. The kind of spiral where you stare at your laptop for so long, the blinking cursor starts to feel like it’s mocking you. Blink. Blink. You suck. Blink.

You write half a sentence. Delete it. Write a new one. Delete that too. Open Instagram. Hate everyone. Go back to the doc. Stare at the same three words for twenty minutes.

Your brain is soup. Not even good soup. Like watery instant ramen you forgot to flavor.

At one point, you dramatically flop face-down onto the couch and heavily consider committing one of two crimes:

One: Emailing your editor a resignation letter that just says "goodbye forever."

Two: Getting blackout drunk and letting the creative spirits possess you.

Option two is dangerously tempting. Tequila does make you poetic. But… you’re going to a dinner tonight. With Aecha’s mystery man and his friends. The man who drives a car that probably costs more than your organs combined.

You want to be sober. Observant. Ready to judge.

Because listen—if the man owns a Mercedes G 63 S, you know he’s dropping at least a couple hundred on wine tonight. You refuse to let his overpriced bottle taste like grape vinegar just because you had a solo pity party before dinner.

So you wait. Like a sad wife staring out the window for her husband at war. Except the war is Chul’s corporate shift and the husband is your emotional stability.

“Where the hell is he…” you mutter, tapping your pen against your notebook.

You have no idea what you’re wearing tonight. You have no mental energy to figure it out. You need Chul. You need his critiques, his sighs of disappointment, his dramatic gasp when you suggest wearing sneakers.

God help you if he comes home late. Or worse—if he says he’s too tired to help.

You might genuinely cry.

When the door finally creaks open, you let out a sigh of dramatic relief, like a damsel rescued from a burning building.

“I’m baaack!” Chul calls, dragging out the vowels. You hear the familiar thud of shoes being kicked off and keys clattering into the bowl by the door before he saunters into the living room like he owns the place—which, okay, partially, he does.

He takes one look at you, curled up on the couch like a cryptid, laptop half-slid down your lap, face twisted in literary despair.

“You writing?” he asks, already suspicious.

“Trying to,” you mumble, eyes still glued to the cursed blinking cursor.

He squints at you. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“Not at all.”

He flops down beside you with a grunt, grabbing a throw pillow and hugging it like it personally owes him money.

“Is it like… ‘I can’t write because I’m empty inside’ trying? Or ‘I can’t write because I accidentally stalked Aecha’s mystery man via car model and now my brain is fried’ trying?”

You blink at him.

“Both.”

“Knew it. You’re a menace.”

You groan, sinking deeper into the couch. “He drives a G 63 S, Chul. What kind of man does that? What kind of bank account does that?”

Chul gasps. “A dangerous one. Probably moisturizes with La Mer and screams at assistants named Greg.”

You both sit in silence for a moment, processing the sheer luxury of the situation.

“…We have to look hot tonight.” you mutter.

Chul tosses the pillow aside like it’s a grenade. “I’ll get the steamer.”

The next two hours turn into a full-blown getting ready montage, complete with outfit changes, near-death experiences with the eyelash curler, and Chul nearly setting the apartment on fire trying to steam his shirt.

By the time you’re done, you look like a Pinterest board brought to life. Your makeup is peak clean girl aesthetic—dewy skin, fluffy brows, and just the right amount of highlighter to make it look like you're always basking in golden hour. Your hair is curled to soft, effortless perfection (even though it took 45 minutes and one minor burn), and your white, off-shoulder dress hugs your body like it was custom-made for night.

Chul, on the other hand, looks like he walked straight out of a K-drama. He’s wearing these dangerously good khaki dress pants that somehow make his legs look ten feet long, and a white button-up that he very intentionally left two buttons undone. It’s giving “CEO with a tragic past”, and honestly? If he wasn’t so aggressively gay, you'd have jumped him in the hallway by now.

“Do I look hot?” he asks, spinning slowly.

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“Tragic,” he sighs, spritzing himself with cologne like he’s about to go on a date with destiny.

The ride to the restaurant is weirdly silent. You and Chul keep exchanging glances like you’re in a horror movie where the monster is definitely hiding in plain sight. Both of you are too nervous to say anything out loud, like the car itself might snitch to Aecha.

When you finally step inside LaRoy’s, the first thing that hits you is how insanely gorgeous the place is. It’s giving Michelin star meets royalty on vacation. Golden chandeliers, velvet chairs, waiters with actual white gloves. You’re about to comment on it when—

“Wait... where is everyone?” Chul whispers.

And yeah. That’s when it hits you. The place is completely empty. Not a single other customer in sight. Just you, Chul, and an unsettling level of ambiance.

Chul and you exchange the we’re-definitely-about-to-die look.

Then, a pristine-looking hostess materializes out of nowhere like she was programmed to show up at maximum tension.

“Chul and Y/N?”

You both answer in unison, way too synchronized for comfort:

“Yes.”

“Right this way.”

You follow her through the overly quiet restaurant like you’re walking toward your own funeral. You glance at Chul, who is now casually patting down his hair and silently mouthing, ‘We’re so screwed’.

And then—you see her.

Aecha. Sitting at a massive round table like she owns the damn place. She’s already mid-laugh when she spots you two, and her smile somehow manages to get bigger. Like she's been waiting for this exact moment of dramatic entrance.

You don’t know if you should wave or run. Probably both.

And then you see the hand.

That hand—casually draped over Aecha’s shoulder, a silent claim.

You already know where this is going, but it doesn’t stop the twist in your stomach when you finally see who’s sitting next to her.

Jeon Jungkook.

Your breath hitches, and for a moment, you freeze. You don’t even care about the fact that he’s ridiculously good-looking, or how the room feels like it’s just a bit too bright. No. What hits you like a freight train is that if he’s here...

Yoongi is, too.

Fuck.

You don’t even need to look around the table to know. The feeling crawls up your spine like a warning signal, one that you’ve tried to ignore for years, but here it is, loud and unavoidable. The tightness in your chest. The pulse of nausea that makes you want to choke on your own breath.

You can’t look at Jungkook. You can’t.

Because if you do, the truth slaps you right across the face, and it’s one you’ve been running from. Jungkook is just a mess of questions you don’t care to have answered. But Yoongi? Yoongi’s the reason your heart beats too fast, why you’re still tangled in memories you should have let go of.

And then you see him.

Jesus.

The way his eyes land on you is like it’s been years since you last saw each other—and honestly, that's the truth. Two years. Two years passed. The ache that pulls at your ribs, the rawness that floods you, is something you thought had faded into oblivion. You thought you were over it.

But it’s never that easy, is it?

Chul notices immediately, the shift in your expression, the way your posture changes, rigid as though you’ve been frozen by some invisible force. His hand rests on your arm gently, a silent question. But what can you say? What can you explain without laying it all bare in front of people who have no idea about your history with him?

And you know it’s not just the fact that Yoongi is here—it’s that feeling. That damn ache that never really goes away. The past flooding back to suffocate you in this room full of people who have no clue what’s going on in your head.

You can’t breathe.

You’re not ready for this. You weren’t ready to see him again. Not like this. Not with Chul looking at you like he’s wondering if you’re okay.

But Yoongi? Yoongi’s eyes stay locked on yours. No words. No movement. Just that look. The one that says everything, even though it says nothing at all.

It’s like he’s still inside you. Like nothing has changed. You’re right back there, a thousand moments too many.

And it hits you—the final realization that this dinner isn’t just awkward. It’s a damn reminder of all the unfinished business you wish you could bury.

You’ve never felt so out of control.

“Oh my God, hi guys,” Aecha stands up with that familiar sparkle in her eye, wrapping you in a hug that feels tighter than usual. You hug her back, but your hands are clammy, your heart heavy in your chest. The warmth in her smile is real—but you can’t match it right now. Not with everything pressing down on you.

You force a breath as your gaze flickers over the table. You skip him. You skip Yoongi. On purpose.

Your hand finds the hem of your dress, discreetly wiping off the sweat as you steel yourself to be polite. Presentable. Normal.

Jungkook stands to greet you, that signature sweetness etched into every corner of his face. “Hey, I’m Jungkook,” he says, extending his hand. He doesn’t know. You see it immediately. There’s no recognition of your history—only curiosity, maybe a spark of interest, but nothing more.

You shake his hand, offering a small smile. “Nice to meet you.” Chul introduces himself too, and Jungkook lights up, immediately vibing with him, which helps, a little. The rest of the guys are friendly, laid-back. They smile, say their names, nod politely. It should feel normal.

But then.

He stands.

And everything slows.

“Min Yoongi,” he says evenly, his tone smooth and familiar in the worst way. He extends his hand, and for a moment you freeze. You think about ignoring it. About pretending. But that would draw too much attention—especially with Aecha watching so closely.

So you take it.

Your name slips from your mouth like it doesn’t belong to you. Like it’s a line from a script you’ve forgotten how to feel.

His skin is warm. You wish it wasn’t.

It lasts no more than a second. But when you sit down, your whole body feels altered.

Chul’s next, his handshake with Yoongi stiffer, his eyes avoiding yours. You don’t need to ask to know—he’s silently panicking. He knows everything. And you’re both trying to act like nothing happened, like Yoongi and you didn’t ruin each other once and then vanish from each other's worlds.

Namjoon watches. Quietly. Sharp eyes missing nothing.

You wonder if Yoongi gave him the full truth. Or just enough to keep him quiet.

Either way—this dinner is going to suck.

You settle into your chairs, side by side like you're bracing for impact. On your right sits Kim Taehyung, draped in luxury like it's a second skin, sipping water like it's champagne. On Chul’s left, Yoongi is already sprawled in his chair, legs stretched out like he’d rather be anywhere but here.

Honestly? Mood.

You flick your eyes at Chul. He looks like he’s debating whether to throw up or chug the complimentary sparkling water. No in-between.

“Sooo,” Chul finally speaks, voice artificially light. “Give us the story of how you two met. Like okay, you’re dating him,” he points a thumb at Jungkook, “but you work for SM, not HYBE.”

Aecha beams, clearly ready for this part. “It was during a promotional event the guys were at. I was there handling digital strategy for EXO, and Jungkook was invited as a guest and—”

“She was holding an iPad like it was a weapon,” Jungkook cuts in with a laugh, eyes crinkling. “I was just trying to ask where the restrooms were, and she looked at me like I was trying to hack the mainframe.”

“I did,” Aecha says dramatically. “He walked up all shy like, ‘Excuse me—’ and I was like, ‘Do not distract me, I’m in the middle of an algorithmic miracle.’”

“Which turned out to be a TikTok schedule,” Jungkook deadpans.

“Hey. That TikTok trended for three days. I saved Baekhyun’s brand.”

They’re laughing. Everyone at the table joins in. Except you.

And Yoongi.

Taehyung leans a little closer, eyes twinkling. “So what about you two?” he asks innocently, gesturing between you and Chul.

“We’re not together,” you and Chul say in perfect sync, too quickly, like soldiers trained for battle.

“Oh,” Taehyung blinks. “I mean—okay.”

“Yeah,” Chul coughs, “I’m very gay and she’s very… emotionally unavailable.”

“Thanks for that,” you mutter, shooting him a glare.

“What? You are.”

“Okay but you once cried because the guy you liked didn’t like The 1975.”

“Because he had no taste,” Chul hisses back.

Namjoon snorts into his glass. Yoongi remains silent. You can feel him, though—his presence heavier than anything on the menu. He hasn’t looked at you once. Not since the handshake. But you know he’s listening. You know.

Aecha smiles brightly. “Isn’t this nice? Everyone vibing already!”

You glance at her, then at Yoongi’s shoulder half a meter away from yours. You're practically inhaling the same air and pretending he’s a stranger.

Yeah.

Nice.

Totally vibing.

“So,” Aecha starts, swirling her wine like she didn’t just drop a social grenade, “What’s everyone getting? The truffle risotto is apparently divine.”

You reach for the menu like it might shield you from the tension building beside you. Yoongi still hasn’t spoken. Still hasn’t looked at you. It’s like sitting next to a ghost you used to let touch you.

Chul nudges your knee under the table. You don’t look at him, but you know he’s silently asking if you’re okay. You’re not. But you nod anyway.

“I’ll probably get the steak,” Jungkook says. “Haven���t eaten properly all day.”

“Of course you haven’t,” Taehyung mutters. “You only drink iced americanos and chew gum like it’s a food group.”

“I’m a busy man.”

“You’re chronically late.”

“Still busy.”

Yoongi finally speaks. “Get the steak rare,” he mutters without looking up, “They overcook everything past medium.”

His voice. It slashes through the air like a knife dipped in nostalgia and regret. You freeze for half a second. Just half. But Chul notices.

“Ohhh, steak boy speaks,” Taehyung says dramatically.

Yoongi doesn’t respond. Just drinks his water.

“So, Yoongi,” Aecha smiles, “still working on that solo album?”

He nods once. “Yeah.”

“How’s it going?” she asks sweetly.

“Like a root canal. But with synths.”

The table laughs. You don’t. You remember what he sounds like at 3am talking about chord progressions and bridges like they’re living things. You remember that look in his eyes when he finished a song and asked you to listen first. You remember a version of him that smiled at you across a messy bed, not across a dinner table full of other people.

You sip your wine. You need something stronger.

Namjoon clears his throat. “So, Y/N,” he says, forcing a new topic, “Aecha said you’re a writer?”

You blink. “Uh, yeah. I write romance.”

“Like… smut?”

Taehyung leans in, curious. Too curious.

Chul coughs loudly. “Not just smut.”

“I mean… a little smut,” you admit, shrugging, because what else are you gonna do? Lie?

“That’s dope,” Jungkook grins, nodding. “That takes guts.”

Yoongi still doesn’t say anything.

“I read one of her books once,” Chul announces, like he’s proud. “Couldn’t look her in the eye for a week.”

“Because you read the scene,” you mutter.

“Oh, you know I read the scene.”

“Wait,” Taehyung interrupts, eyes wide. “Do you base your characters on real people?”

You open your mouth to answer, but before anything leaves your lips, Yoongi suddenly stands.

“I’m gonna smoke,” he mutters, already walking away before anyone can respond.

Silence follows in his wake. Chul clears his throat.

“I’d say he’s always like that but… he’s not.” Jimin sighs into his wine.

You stab at your salad like it insulted your lineage.

And Aecha, bless her clueless soul, just smiles and says, “Maybe I will get that risotto.”

When Yoongi comes back, the conversation is already flowing. The wine’s been poured (maybe a little too generously), the bread basket is on its second refill, and you’re three laughs deep into a story with Jin and Taehyung.

You didn’t dare follow him outside. Nope. Not a chance. You weren’t about to chase a ghost into the night like it’s some 2014 Tumblr breakup playlist.

So you stayed, committed to the bit, committed to pretending your past isn’t three chairs away and brooding in black. Well he was smoking outside. But you get the point.

And now? You’re vibing.

“Wait, you’re telling me you were the one who wrote Dear Me?” Taehyung says, eyes wide like you just told him you invented bread.

You nod, sipping your wine like it’s a mic drop.

“That would be me.”

“NO.” His jaw is dropped. “No no no. That book ruined my entire week. I didn't leave my room. I didn't eat.”

Jin leans forward dramatically. “I read that one. I didn’t come out of my room for three days after that. Why is it so fucking sad?”

You grin. “It’s called talent. Look it up.”

Jin places a hand over his heart like you stabbed him. “Do you thrive on making your readers cry?”

“I mean…” You shrug. “A little. It’s character development. For you, not the characters.”

“Twisted,” Taehyung mumbles. “You need therapy.”

“And yet here you are, emotionally wrecked and asking for more.”

“You’re dangerous,” Jin points at you. “You’re like one of those hot witches in fantasy novels who curse people with heartbreak and then look hot doing it.”

You raise your glass. “Cheers.”

That’s when you feel it—him.

Yoongi slides back into his chair, and even though you don’t look at him, you know. You know from the slight shift in the table. The way the energy dips by ten degrees. The way Chul subtly straightens up like he might have to go full bodyguard in two seconds.

“So,” Namjoon says, like he’s stepping between a lit fuse and a barrel of gunpowder, “Yoongi, did you smoke the entire pack or just half?”

“Depends,” Yoongi replies flatly. “Did the conversation get better while I was gone?”

“Oh,” Jin grins, “way better. She wrote Dear Me.”

Yoongi stills. You don’t look at him. But you hear it in the pause. The inhale. The weight of a book title that he knows isn’t fiction.

“That book,” Jin continues, oblivious, “is basically emotional waterboarding.”

Yoongi takes a slow sip of his drink. “Sounds familiar.”

Your hand tightens around your glass. So we’re doing this. We’re being subtle.

“It’s fiction,” you say brightly. “Totally made up. Not a single shred of truth in it.”

Yoongi finally glances at you, eyes sharp. “Right. Fiction.”

Taehyung, bless his heart, frowns. “Wait. Is this about that scene with the voicemail? ‘Cause that—”

Chul loudly coughs and drops his fork.

“Anyway,” he says, “Jungkook, how’s your dog?”

Jungkook blinks. “Uhh… he’s good?”

“Great. Cool. Let’s talk more about that.”

The table dissolves into messy conversation again, everyone just a little too loud, a little too animated. You finally risk a glance at Yoongi. He’s looking at you, of course.

And beneath the casual disinterest, his eyes say it loud and clear:

You really thought I wouldn’t recognize myself in your pages?

You take another sip of wine and look away.

You were the one who told me to write what I know.

“Sooo,” Taehyung sings, one eyebrow cocked and eyes glittering as they dart to you. His voice alone is dangerous—smooth and teasing, the kind that could talk you into trouble without breaking a sweat. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

You pause mid-sip, arching a brow. “Umm, I’m pretty sure Chul already mentioned my emotional unavailability.”

Across the table, Chul snorts. “That’s an understatement.”

“Maybe,” Taehyung leans in a little, resting his elbow on the table and his chin in his palm, “we can work on that one.”

You blink. “What, my issues?”

“No,” he grins, wolfish and playful. “Your availability.”

Hoseok doesn’t look up from cutting his steak, but his fork slows. “Taehyung.”

“What?” Taehyung says innocently, eyes still trained on you. “We’re just talking. I’m curious. I like to connect with people.”

“Yeah, well maybe let her breathe before you start undressing her with your eyes,” Jimin mutters, sipping his wine.

“Oh please,” you roll your eyes, “let him. I put effort into this dress.”

“Exactly,” Taehyung points at you. “You wore it for a reason, don’t lie.”

You lean back, smirking. “I wore it for the free wine, actually.”

Yoongi mutters under his breath, “Still desperate for the buzz, huh?”

You don’t even look at him. “Still pretending like you’re too good for anything fun, huh?”

There’s a pause. A weird pause.

And then Jungkook narrows his eyes between the two of you. “Wait. Hold on. You two know each other?”

Namjoon’s knife slips and scrapes against his plate with a loud screech. Chul straight up drops his fork.

You blink slowly, forcing a tight-lipped smile. “Define know.”

“I knew it,” Taehyung leans forward, eyes wide with delight.

“No, no, no, it’s not like that,” Chul jumps in, hands raised like he’s waving off a scandal. “They… uh, they were in a workshop together.”

You shoot him a look. A “really?” kind of look.

Namjoon nods way too fast. “Yeah. Yeah! Like two years ago. They had a, uh… poetry workshop?”

“Poetry?” Jin asks, clearly unconvinced. “Yoongi?”

Yoongi just stares blankly at the table like he’s counting down the seconds till he can leave.

“Yep,” Namjoon barrels forward. “Modern poetry. Tuesdays and Thursdays, 8 a.m. Real intense syllabus.”

“Exactly,” Chul laughs awkwardly. “Like, Emily Dickinson, Rupi Kaur… very deep.”

“I dropped out after three weeks,” Yoongi says flatly.

“Oh,” Jungkook says, squinting at him, then at you. “And you stayed in?”

You nod, cheeks warm. “Loved every second of it.”

Taehyung’s trying not to laugh. “Okay, sure. What was your favorite poem?”

You deadpan, “The one about heartbreak and regret.”

Yoongi mutters under his breath, “Original.”

You snap back, “At least I read something.”

Chul loudly clears his throat. “So, um, wine! Should we order another bottle?”

Namjoon nearly slams his glass down. “Yes. Definitely. Someone flag a waiter.”

Taehyung hums, still eyeing you like he’s crafting a sonnet in his head. “Tell you what—if we survive this night, I’m taking you out. No emotional unavailability allowed.”

You raise a brow. “And what if I ghost you after?”

He smirks. “Then I’ll write a sad poem and hope it gets published. Sound familiar?”

Jimin jumps in, glancing at Chul. “So what is going on with you two, huh?”

“We’re roommates,” Chul replies, deadpan.

“Roommates who get ready together for dinner like it’s prom night?” Yoongi mutters, not even looking up from his glass.

“Dude. I already said—I’m into men. I like penises. Hope this helps.”

The entire table erupts.

Taehyung nearly falls out of his chair laughing. Jin bangs the table. Namjoon mutters, “I needed that level of honesty today.”

Jungkook wheezes, “I’m framing that quote.”

Meanwhile, you're crying from laughter and embarrassment, hiding your face in your hands. “God, Chul, you’re so dramatic.”

“I’m not dramatic, I’m just tired of being confused for your boyfriend when I’m actively fantasizing about Park Seojoon,” Chul fires back.

Jimin, without even looking up from his plate, goes, “Honestly, mood.”

Jin wipes a tear from his eye. “Okay, fair. Penises. Got it.”

Taehyung raises his glass toward Chul. “To penises.”

Everyone clinks their glasses—except you, still dying inside.

“So,” Namjoon says, pointing his chopsticks at you like they’re a lie detector, “are you working on something new?”

You freeze mid-sip of your wine. “Uhh… kinda yeah.”

“Okay, so that’s a yes, but it’s going terribly,” Jin interprets, nodding sagely.

You sigh, dramatically collapsing back in your chair. “It’s like… my brain is a hamster wheel. Except the hamster died. And now the wheel is just creaking ominously in the wind.”

Taehyung gasps. “That’s so dark. I love it. Can I be the dead hamster?”

“Please,” you deadpan, “be my guest.”

Namjoon chuckles. “So it’s writer’s block?”

“Big time. Like, I’ve stared at a blank document for so long, I think it’s starting to stare back.”

Chul chimes in, “I found her today whispering ‘just one sentence’ to her laptop like it owed her money.”

“It does owe me money,” you say, poking at your food. “And dignity.”

Aecha grins. “Have you tried turning it off and crying?”

Yoongi mutters, “That’s my approach to life, honestly.”

“Oh my god, same,” you say, raising your glass toward him.

Taehyung, ever the opportunist, leans in with a flirty glint in his eye. “Maybe you just need some fresh inspiration.”

You raise a brow. “Are you volunteering?”

“I mean…” he shrugs, smirking. “I do look good in tragic love stories.”

“Tragic is right,” Yoongi mumbles under his breath.

Namjoon laughs. “Okay, okay—can we please get a live reading if she ever finishes it?”

You scoff. “Only if you promise not to cry.”

“I make no such promises,” Namjoon says, holding up his hands. “According to Tae and Jin, you write pain too well.”

Taehyung leans in again, this time resting his chin on his hand, eyes twinkling. “I’m serious. Write something hopeful. Like a tortured writer meets a charming stranger in a too-fancy restaurant. Sparks fly. Banter ensues. Maybe a little—” he pauses, eyes flickering to your lips, “—tension.”

You chuckle, but you feel the heat creep up your neck. “What are you trying to do, cast yourself as the love interest?”

Jin jumps in, laughing. “Please, the man’s been auditioning since the appetizers.”

“Can you blame me?” Taehyung says dramatically. “She’s hot, she’s funny, and she writes angst that emotionally ruins people. I’m practically in love already.”

Yoongi’s fork clinks a little too hard against his plate.

Namjoon raises an eyebrow, sensing the shift. “You okay, hyung?”

Yoongi shrugs, not looking up. “Just didn’t realize we were casting for a romcom tonight.”

“You wanna audition too?” Jin grins. “Could be a love triangle.”

“I don’t do love triangles,” Yoongi mutters, swirling his drink. “Too messy.”

Chul snorts. “Says the guy who practically invented emotional mess but ‘make it music’.”

You glance at him, curious, but Yoongi doesn’t take the bait. Instead, his eyes flicker up and lock with yours for a split second—just long enough for your breath to catch.

Taehyung doesn’t miss it, and he grins wider, leaning closer to you. “Well, if it were a love triangle, I’d fight dirty.”

“Oh my god,” Chul groans. “This is officially a Wattpad fic now.”

“Shut up,” you say, biting your lip to hold back a smile.

Taehyung winks. “I’ll be waiting for my cameo in chapter five.”

Aecha leans forward, swirling her wine lazily. “Yoongi, didn’t you say you’ve been dealing with a block too?”

Yoongi gives a slow nod, jaw ticking slightly. “Yeah. It’s been rough. But, you know… it comes with the territory. It’s part of the process, unfortunately.”

You glance at him, eyebrows raising slightly as he continues.

“I’m not really in a rush, though. The next album isn’t coming out until next year anyway. D-Day’s still pretty fresh. Still got some breathing room.”

Aecha perks up instantly. “Oh my God, D-Day! We were obsessed. The three of us actually had a whole listening party when it dropped. Like, wine, snacks, full breakdowns of lyrics... tears.”

“Mostly Chul’s tears,” you chime in, smirking.

“I stand by them,” Chul says dramatically. “'Amygdala' had me pacing the hallway like a divorced man in a drama.”

Yoongi chuckles, soft and genuine. “Happy to hear D-Day landed.”

“And by ‘landed,’ he means it sucker-punched us in the gut and left us on the floor,” you mutter.

“Good,” Yoongi says, a tiny smirk playing at his lips. “That’s the goal.”

For a second, his eyes flick to yours. And something lingers there—quiet, unspoken, and just slightly bruised.

You don’t look away. Not yet.

“We actually went to the concert too,” Aecha says, casually lifting her wine glass.

Jungkook gasps, clutching his chest like she just betrayed him. “You didn’t tell me about this? You attended my hyung’s concert without me?”

“You didn’t even know me back then, Kook,” Aecha laughs, nudging his shoulder. “It was, like, peak fangirl era.”

Yoongi raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “You were there?” he asks, looking at all three of you—but his gaze lands and lingers on you.

Your stomach flips. “Yeah, we were,” you say, carefully meeting his eyes. “It was… incredible.”

His expression softens, just a little. “Huh. Didn’t expect that.”

“We cried,” Chul announces dramatically, raising a hand. “Like, real tears. Especially her.” He jerks his thumb toward you.

You shoot him a look. “Chul, please.”

“I’m just saying,” he shrugs, grinning. “Some of us may or may not have said ‘he’s a genius’ in the middle of the second chorus.”

Yoongi’s lips twitch, that almost-smile threatening to show itself again. “Good to know I had such a poetic impact.”

You smile faintly, and something about the way he looks at you—like he's trying to read a secret you never meant to share—makes your throat tighten just a little.

Yoongi takes a slow sip of his drink, eyes still on you, like he’s trying to decide if he should say something or let the silence speak instead. He goes with the second option—until Taehyung interrupts.

“So, Y/N,” Taehyung leans in, smirking, “did you fall in love with him before or after People Pt.2?”

You snort. “Definitely after. Before that, he was still hiding behind metaphors.”

Yoongi’s mouth quirks. “You think I hide behind metaphors?”

You glance at him, heartbeat hitching just slightly. “You live behind metaphors.”

A beat of silence passes. His eyes don’t leave yours. “And yet you still showed up.”

You want to roll your eyes, but it’s too sincere to dismiss. “Yeah, well… good lyrics deserve to be heard. Doesn’t mean I know the man behind them.”

Yoongi leans back in his chair, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “Maybe you did.”

taglist: @park-littlecrane @gyozajoon @knjs95s @jajabro @peacenpigeons @supertopsecretleebit @glossyfanfic @mar-lo-pap @kittyyyminnn @jennierubyjem @ot72025 @yohoosoju @diame93 @ryryvna @taekritimin123 @baechugff @enfppuff @amarawayne @134340-kr @mikrokookiex @futuristicenemychaos @shesscorpio7 @kam9404 @teaaaaaan @blubird592 @rpwprpwprpwprw @ktownshizzle @tea4sykes @jennierubyjem @butterfly-lover @jellihueni @xtracy-xd7 @annyeongbitch7 @rkivved-girl @mygtangerine @busanbby-jk @jennierubyjem @kiki-zb @marissariveraaaa

[ghostedgwen]

He Runs Because He Loves Me | r.lupin

note : Do I have a hundred (exag) fics on-going right now? Yes, yes I do, but I will still continue to start new masterlists and series because I don't care and will write for whatever I am inspired for :))

warning/s : werewolf stuff, light angst?, mostly fluff with a happy ending, just a moment of getting scared by a werewolf, you're a dummy but the lovable kind, Remus is a cutie

You were on edge all day, anticipating the moment the countdown would end. A chain of events lead you to the forbidden forest at midnight and you could only curse your luck when you stare down death in the eyes, in the form of a werewolf, then the count down ended. Displaying ‘0’.

As if you were a mythical thing. Like you were a trophy or a champion ring.

Today is the day. You woke up, seeing the set of numbers displayed so readily the moment you opened your eyes to greet a new day.

It’s only 17 hours until you meet your soulmate. You can only guess that they were from Hogwarts given as you are stuck inside this castle, while the count down to meeting your soulmate progresses.

“Good morning!” You happily greet your classmates, some of them already donning on their uniforms. You eye them magic the wrinkles out of their yellow robes.

“Morning,____,” Prewett greets you. “You seem awf’ly cheery today? Got something grand planned?”

You grin at her as she straighten her tie around her neck. “Yeah, sort of.”

They didn’t probe any more and minded their own business as you all prepared for another day at Hogwarts— your fellow badgers went on normally while you felt like every step you took was one step closer to your soulmate.

Settling into the Great Hall, you couldn’t even contain your excitement as you ate breakfast so happily. Despite that, you managed to steal glances at the Gryffindor table.

You spy the familiar tuff of brown hair matched with chocolate brown eyes and a set of scars across his freckled face.

Not to be delusional, but you had secretly hoped Remus was your soulmate. You’ve already met him, seen him across the room and watched him cheer in the Quidditch stands but never properly met him face-to-face.

You wanted to wish that it could be him. That your soul intertwined with his, despite the fact he’s never once noticed your existence throughout all of your 6 years at Hogwarts.

“____’s creepily staring at Lupin again.” Prewett sniggered.

You smack her lightly. “Piss off.”

You hear a boy a few plate across you snort. You look at him, recognizing him to be the boy you previously partnered with on Astronomy once back in 3rd year.

Fritz Higgins.

He caught you looking and smirked. “Don’t know why you even bother crushing on that one,” he snorts again. “Prolly gets into lots of bloody fights, nasty scars.”

You make a face at him. Fighting back the urge to stab him with your fork, you just glared. Pointedly choosing not to give into his bait and turned to Prewett who was obviously reacting to his words as well.

She had on a look of shock and disgust. “Says you, you bloody twat!”

You tap her and give her a gesture to let it go. She huffs and turns to you with an angry expression still on her tan face.

“Someone ought to curse him full of zits, the nerve!”

.

You continue on with your classes, trying not to mind the numbers too much as it kept going down. By the time you had finished your classes, there was only 8 hours left of it.

You sat through dinner, not able to really swallow anything down. Meanwhile Potter’s newest attempt at wooing Evans kept you occupied, playing with your food as you listened in on their loud exchange.

They make it so easy to eavesdrop with how they practically announce their everything to the entire castle. You neglected to laugh and just mindlessly stared at the numbers continuously decreasing.

Having calculated it, you wondered just how in the world are you going to meet your soulmate at 12am?

“Galeon for your thoughts there, ____?” Prewett asked you, having been confused of your sudden change of mood.

You shake your head as your only response. Getting up abruptly to leave the hall as you catch a glimpse if Lupin whose nose is buried in a book next to a laughing Black.

You went straight to your dorm and prepared for bed despite yourself, you dropped on your bed straight after - staring blankly at nothing as you dissociated.

You wonder if it’s too big of a reach to expect Remus Lupin to be your soulmate, you’ve been crushing on him since 2nd year.

You always liked his attitude. How reserved and quiet he was compared to his friends but always let a smirk slip past his lips when the Slytherins would be in shambles while all their hair are falling off at breakfast.

People always wondered how he’s a Marauder, they claimed he’s too quiet and behaved to be one of them, but you knew better.

Watching closely, one could easily see that he had the same cheekiness his friends had. You would even guess that he’s responsible for half the ideas that are being executed by the lot.

You blink.

7:37:19

Just where in the world will you meet your soulmate at 12am? You close your eyes heaving a sigh, not intending to sleep but then you opened your eyes to find the numbers changed.

2:42:15

You get up abruptly. Looking around to find your fellow badgers are already asleep, Prewett safely tucked in drooling the night away.

You blink in a daze as you push yourself off bed. Grabbing a robe to wrap around yourself, you groan as you felt your muscles tensed. It seemed as if you slept like the dead, unmoving while you dozed away.

You try rolling your shoulders and heard your joints pop, satisfied - you reach for your wand and cast a ‘Lumos!’. You weren’t sure where you were going but your grumbling stomach urged you to head to the kitchens.

Playing with your food proved to have been a mistake. Your stomach was practically screaming at you to give it literally anything.

The sleep was still with you by the time you had exited the painting of the fat lady, barely caring that you’ll be told off for being out of bed. You traversed the dark castle in a half-awake state, not minding the fact you were walking down darkened halls without a care in the world.

In your half-awake mind, you did not care at all. You kept walking until you reached an isolated hall, not even a single painting was there. You blink once, twice - where the bloody hell are you?

You look around. Your eye catching some threshold that you mindlessly walked into, you felt shivers run down your spine at the sudden cold air of the night wrapping around you.

Despite that, you still found it in yourself to follow the track that was made on the grass. Like enough people had walked through it to form a path and had flattened the grass to lead you to -

Awake.

You felt wide awake now as you realize you are outside in the forbidden forest. You look down at yourself to realize you didn’t even have shoes on, you were walking out of the castle barefoot.

“Bloody hell?” You whisper to yourself and you look into the trees, tall and scary as they tower over you in the night.

The full moon is shining brightly above as you begin to realize how dire your situation is. You make a move to turn around until you heard it, a low growl.

You swiftly turn and found yourself locking eyes with a creature. What -

A werewolf.

You could tell as soon as the description from the books replayed in your mind, you are face-to-face with a werewolf. You could barely hear its low growls through the sound of your heart hammering in your chest, so loud that it ringed in your ears.

You couldn’t move. Your grip on your wand tightened as you stare the werewolf down.

It took a step forward, you felt every fibre of your being scream at you to run. But you felt compelled to stay, as opposed to being chased by this creature seemed scarier.

“H-hi?” You cursed yourself as soon as you said it, as it seemed to react to your voice, growling louder and taking more steps forward.

You almost screamed when it leaped forward, making you drop to the floor as your knees had given out.

Having always cursed people in books when they would not move whilst in danger, you now understood why. It wasn’t easy to just get out of the way.

You froze.

The mind can still react, but the body gets too scared to even move an inch, it seems. You can only curse yourself for not having either ability to fight or take flight.

Somehow, in your panicked state - you managed to take a peek of the number hovering just above you and felt your jaw go slack. “0”.

The time had run out so that means -

A stag came leaping from the nearby bushes and stood in front of you, blocking the werewolf. Right after it was a dog that also stood at your defence.

You frowned at the scene and fought the urge to pinch yourself. The rat jumped off the stag and as if gesturing you, kept turning it's head to the direction you came from.

You found yourself nodding at it. The dog approached the werewolf, still barking. The werewolf, dejected took steps backwards and you took it as your cue to follow the rat's instructions.

You slowly turned to the direction you came in - and rushed for it. You ran the fastest you have ever ran and ignore the chaos that ensued behind you as you can only guess the animals had worked to keep the werewolf at bay while you dashed.

Not even bothering to look back, you ran all the way back and straight into the Hufflepuff common room. You felt your blood pumping as you wasted no time rushing up the stairs and entering your dormitory, throwing your back against the door as if the werewolf could follow you all the way into the castle and reach your dorms.

.

The following morning, you looked like hell. It was only thanks to Prewett bothering with casting charms on your face that you looked far from the crazy person that you were when they all had woken up.

She didn't dare question the way you limped and only served you breakfast while you stared at your plate in a daze.

You had already met your soulmate. It's the bloody werewolf that almost killed you last night.

You look up, failing to find the number hovering over you. It's disappeared completely as the count down has ended.

"You should eat," was all Prewett said to pull you out of your thoughts.

"M'kay." you began stuffing the toast into your mouth despite not having the apettite. You helped push it down with pumpkin juice and then felt it - someone watching you.

You look up on instinct and met eyes with Remus Lupin all the way from the Gryffindor table. You masked your shock, keeping a straight face as you tried to get a read on his expression.

He was too far, but you could make out the frown on his scarred face. You watched as Potter nudge him, sending a weirdly worried look your way and that's when you tore your gaze off their direction.

You look down at your now empty plate and run a hand through your hair. Your bloody fucking soulmate is a werewolf and they are somewhere in the castle.

But you have no clue who they are.

.

It was your utmost shock when you received word from a 3rd year housemate that Lupin of all people was asking for you outside the common room.

You gagged on the chocolate frog you were eating as Prewett teased you, also hearing the request. She urged you to go out, re-casting the charms that hid the bags under your eyes and even fiddled with your hair.

Too shocked to process it, you allowed her to fix you up before being pushed out of the common room.

Outside, you saw Remus standing idly. Unsure how to greet him, you just gave him a slow nod and he took the initiative to say something first, he said your name - "____."

You felt all the air escape your lungs. You name sounded like a choir singing coming from his lips. "Lupin."

He hesitated, shifting his weight from his left leg to his right one. "Can we talk in private?"

You have no clue what brought this on. You agreed to the talk and currently being guided to a private place to talk, the entire time as you followed him, you kept trying to think of a reason.

None of them seemed plausible enough. So you gave up guessing just as you two reach the Astronomy tower, it's empty.

"What can I help you with?" You ask, opting to guess that he's gonna ask for a favor. Merlin knows why he's asking you of all people.

There was a pregnant pause, his back remained turned on you. You watch his figure, a solid minute went by that he did not say anything and you can guess that he was struggling to let it out.

"I promise I won't judge," you spoke again. You were beginning to grow nervous with every passing second. "What is it?"

Trying to think of what else to say, you almost didn't hear him when he spoke again. "I'm your soulmate." He said it so quickly that you almost missed what he had just said.

You almost laughed because that's no big deal - wait what?

"Huh?"

He finally turned around and you could see the conflicting expression on his face. Merlin, he's so beautiful.

"I'm your soulmate."

You frown at him despite the compliments dancing around in your simple-minded brain, you give him a nervous smile. "That's - what? But my soulmate is a -"

You stop yourself, you weren't just about to reveal that your soulmate is a werewolf so you shut your lips right away but he continued it for you.

"A werewolf."

You were never the brightest one in the room, but you weren't stupid either. So it took a few seconds and it finally clicked in your head. The monthly visits to Madam Pomfrey, the scars all over his face and - and the fact he's claiming he's your soulmate.

Your smile dropped.

"Last night, that was me," he cleared his throat nervously. "In the forbidden forest."

You couldn't find the words so you didn't say anything. He stepped forward, the action was full of hesitation but he did it anyway and another, and another until there was a reasonable distance between you two.

You can clearly see his eyes now, you thought to yourself how you could probably count his freckles and how much you'd enjoy doing so.

This must be what having a soulmate is like.

It has just been revealed that they are a werewolf, stigmatized to be dangerous and hostile creatures but you did not care for that at all - all you could think of was the way his freckles littered his scarred face and how beautiful it looked.

"I'm sorry,____, I don't think we can - "

"Shut up," you tell him, earning a frown. "Shut the fuck up, Lupin. You're about to go all mopey on me and tell me we can't be together because you're a werewolf, right?"

"Well - it sounds ridiculous when you put it that way but yes," he heaves a sigh that you almost thought was sarcastic. Yep, he's a Marauder alright.

You shake your head and smack his chest, not putting any force behind it. "You are an idiot."

"What did I do?"

"I'm your soulmate. That means the world itself made me exactly for you, I don't care that you're a werewolf, I've never once held any prejudice for any creature or for any blood status, I think the universe has made me exactly like this just for you."

He frowned, struggling to follow along.

"I'm saying," you glare at him. "I am made just for you, so to think I'd reject you for being a werewolf is bonkers."

"I'm not sure I follow," his frown grew deeper.

"No, you're not staying away from me because you think it's better that way," you tell him. Despite the fact you lost the ability to sleep for ther est of the night. Despite the shock of finding out your soulmate is a werewolf.

Because you learned that it's Remus.

The gentle, but cheeky boy you have been admiring for years. You knew he could never hurt you, not even intentionally.

"I am inlove with you, you tosser."

To say he was in disbelief would be an understatement. He parted his lips to say something, only to close it again, and opened his mouth again - "You do?"

You give him a soft smile. "Long before I even knew you were my soulmate. I had always secretly hoped the countdown would end whilst facing you."

He mirrored your smile now.

"Guess I really got lucky," he was saying that to himself, mostly. "That you are my soulmate."

You didn't even hesitate grabbing him by his robes to pull him in for a kiss.

the end.

masterlist

[internetdaddy98]

The Ties That Bind Us - Chapter 29

Previous | Next [Series Masterlist] Content Warning: fluff, so much fluff

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

The shift had started normally enough. One stroke alert and a septic shock patient, all before 11 a.m.—the usual brand of the department.

But somewhere between Room 4’s central line and the stack of admission paperwork waiting in the nurses’ station, you caught Michael’s hand beneath the counter.

He didn’t flinch. Just looked up from his notes and arched one brow, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“What are you doing?” he murmured, low enough that only she could hear.

You leaned closer, whispering, “Trying to check your pulse.”

Robby gave a soft laugh. “You’re about to raise it.”

You bumped his shoulder with hers. “That a promise?”

He turned his head just enough that their noses nearly touched, his voice still quiet. “You’re really playing with fire.”

Y/N’s lips curled. “You love fire.”

He was about to say something—something smug, probably—but then Dana materialized in front of you with a look of no-nonsense authority and a clipboard that could absolutely be used as a weapon.

“Doctors,” she greeted, already suspicious, “why do you look like two teenagers about to make out behind the bleachers?”

You yanked your hand back as Robby cleared his throat, suddenly very focused on his tablet.

“Just... reviewing labs,” he said.

Dana didn’t miss a beat. “Uh-huh. Review them farther apart.”

You tried—and failed—not to laugh.

“I swear to God,” Dana muttered, already halfway out of the hub. “You two better not be sneaking kisses in the on-call room. That place is sacred.”

“Define sacred,” you called after her.

Dana’s voice echoed down the hall. “Y/N Williams, don’t make me assign you to the rectal exam queue for the rest of the week!”

Robby bit his lip, shoulders shaking with barely contained laughter. “You heard her. No making out in the on-call room.”

You leaned closer again, grinning. “What about the stairwell?”

“That’s definitely haunted.”

“Elevator?”

“Too risky.”

“Supply closet?”

He gave you a sideways look. “Are you propositioning me?”

“I’m being thorough. It’s called logistics.”

“You’re a menace,” he whispered.

You smiled, then brushed the side of your hand against his one more time—barely a touch. Just enough.

And later, during rounds, you slipped him a Post-it in the middle of a coffee cup.

"Break room. Five minutes. No witnesses."

His head snapped up. You winked over your shoulder as you walked off.

You were halfway through your coffee when the door clicked open and Robby slipped inside, looking like he’d just committed tax fraud.

“You realize Dana is going to hunt us for sport if she comes in”

“No, she won’t.”

“So why are we doing this?”

You shrugged, stepping close. “Because you look really good in those scrubs and I’m trying to motivate myself to survive the next eight hours.”

“Glad to be of service.”

He leaned down, finally catching your mouth with his in a kiss that was warm and brief and almost too sweet for how much you both wanted more.

And then—

“AHEM.”

Dana stood in the doorway, arms crossed.

You jolted back like you’d been electrocuted. Robby immediately picked up the nearest coffee mug and pretended he’d been deeply invested in the art of stirring it.

Dana stared at them both, expression unreadable. 

“I’m not mad.”

You blinked. “You’re not?”

Dana held up one finger. “But if I catch you two making out again while the residents are elbow-deep in a GI bleed with no backup, I will personally assign you to rectal exams until the end of time.”

Robby coughed. “Understood.”

“And use a damn timer,” Dana added as she turned away. “Five-second kisses or less. No exceptions.”

As the door closed again, you turned to Robby, eyes wide.

“She just gave us a five-second rule.”

He smiled, stepped closer again, and kissed the corner of your mouth.

“Better make ‘em count.”

—-------------------------------------------

It was almost 10 p.m. by the time they got home.

You kicked off your shoes at the door with a groan, dropped your bag somewhere in the hallway, and immediately beelined it for the couch. Robby followed, slightly more graceful, if only because he hadn’t spent the last six hours dodging ICU transfers and reminding a first-year resident not to use the defibrillator as a coat rack.

“Are you alive?” he asked, dropping the keys into the dish.

You made a noise that sounded vaguely like “yes,” but mostly like “no.”

He smiled and walked into the kitchen, rolling up the sleeves of his hoodie.

“You promised me pasta,” you called from the couch.

“I did. And I’m delivering.” He reached for a pan. “Unless you want cereal.”

“I want carbs,” you mumbled into a throw pillow. “I want sauce. I want garlic so strong it violates hospital policy.”

He laughed, grabbing ingredients. “Coming right up.”

By the time you’d changed into one of his old shirts and flopped back onto the couch, the apartment was filled with the warm scent of garlic and tomato and the quiet hum of music from the record player. You watched him from the kitchen island, brow furrowed in concentration, stirring sauce like it was a delicate surgery.

You leaned against the counter, soft smile playing at your lips.

“You know,” you said quietly, “I could get used to this.”

He glanced at you, a little flushed from the stove heat, eyes warm. “Used to what?”

“This. You. Coming home with me. You cooking for me.”

Robby set the spoon down slowly, turning toward her. His expression shifted, softened.

“I could get used to it too.”

You swallowed, the air suddenly thicker than it had been a second ago.

“I mean,” you said, a little too fast, “we already act like an old married couple.”

He stepped closer, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “Except you steal all the covers.”

“You run the shower too hot.”

“You drink half my coffee and then forget where you left it.”

You grinned. “You hum Springsteen in your sleep.”

There was a pause.

They were standing a foot apart now. Close enough for you to count the little lines at the corners of his eyes. Close enough for him to reach out and tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear.

“I—” he started.

“I think—” she said at the same time.

They both laughed. Nervous. Breathless.

“You first,” he said, voice softer.

You bit her lip. “I think I—”

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

The smoke alarm shrieked.

“Shit!”

Robby spun back to the stove. Smoke billowed from the pan like a scene from a disaster film.

You lunged for the window, throwing it open as Robby yanked the pan off the burner and cursed under his breath. The sauce was scorched to the bottom. The smell of burnt garlic filled the room like a punch to the face.

You waved a dish towel at the ceiling while he fanned the alarm with a cutting board.

“You were supposed to watch the sauce!” you yelled, laughing.

“I was busy trying to say I love you!”

The alarm finally went silent.

You both froze.

Your eyes widened.

His ears turned red.

There was a beat of silence.

“Was that—” you asked.

“Yes,” Robby said, setting the cutting board down. “Yes, I did just say that.”

You blinked at him. “You love me.”

He nodded once, nervous but steady. “Yeah.”

You stared at him, something delicate and stunned blooming behind your ribs.

“Well,” you said, stepping closer and poking his chest lightly, “I was about to say it first, but somebody burned dinner.”

Robby exhaled a laugh, caught between relief and affection and the residual stress of almost starting a kitchen fire.

“I love you,” you said, for real this time, softer. “Just so we’re clear.”

He smiled then—wide and wrecked and so full of heart it made your chest ache.

They stood there in the smoky kitchen, surrounded by the smell of ruined marinara, and kissed like it was the only thing keeping them upright.

Later, they ate slightly burnt pasta with way too much parmesan and curled up on the couch, tangled under the same blanket, as a rerun played in the background.

It wasn’t perfect.

But it was them.

And that was enough.

[saiyanprincessswanie]

The Ultimate Risk - Part 4

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader 

Word Count: 5535

Series Summary: Reader is a full-time college student at 30 years old who is starting over in life. When she loses her full-time job as a waitress, CEO James “Bucky” Barnes steps in with a proposition. Can he sell you on a way to help you by offering a Sugar Daddy companionship? Who will get feelings first? Can a Sugar Daddy relationship really work out?

Series Warnings: Sugar Daddy au, Reader is 30 & Bucky is in his 40s, reader has trust issues, talks of anxiety, angst, eventually falling in love, smut, oral (m & f), nicknames (sweetheart and doll.)

The Ultimate Risk Masterlist

A/N: @avengers-assemble-bingo for James Buchanan Barnes - 108th Birthday Bingo 

Square: Sugar Daddy (card #4B 024)

A/N 2: Thank you to my beta writers @lfnr-blog-blog-blog & @gremlin-girly. Thank you to @late-to-the-party-81 for the header.

Please Read, Reblog, & Comment. It lets me know you like my work. 😊💜

I do NOT consent to translating or reposting my work on any social media platform, app, or third-party site or run through AI. If you see my work anywhere besides my personal Tumblr & AO3 accounts, it has been stolen.

The next morning you woke up with a smile on your face. You couldn’t believe the night you had with Bucky going out and dressing up. Him getting you a new place to live and to top it off, a brand new car. Things like this don’t happen to people like you but here you were; being spoiled by a billionaire.

It didn’t help that Bucky was handsome. Although he was ten years older, the age gap didn't bother you. You loved the touch of gray in his dark hair and the specks in his beard. The salt-and-pepper look made him look more desirable. Wait, did you just think of him being desirable? Ugh, get it together. You were friends, not lovers. But a small part of you began to wonder; what if you became something more than friends?

The sudden ache between your legs made you squeeze your thighs together hopelessly, trying to relieve it. The things you would let him do to you... You shake your head pushing the thoughts away with a huff of frustration, forcing yourself out of your bed to take a shower, washing away all horny thoughts to get ready for schoolwork.

Once you were showered and dressed you grabbed your laptop. You climbed back into bed and started up the laptop. Looking at your phone, you see a missed text message. 

Bucky: Good morning, sweetheart. I hope you slept well. I will be in a meeting today and was wondering if I could stop by later? Let me know.

You smile at his text, trying to contain your excitement as you hurriedly type back.

You: Hi Bucky, sorry I missed your text. I slept great last night and I’m getting ready for schoolwork as we speak. You can stop by whenever you want. Can’t wait to see you later. 😘 

You logged onto the school website and started to start working on the end of semester class work. There were two weeks left and now was the time to hunker down to get work done. Hopefully Bucky would understand that this needed to be done. 

Then, at the end of the semester, you were going to be moving into that beautiful house owned by Steve. You weren’t sure how you were going to pull everything off. All you did know is you would have more free time to spend with Bucky.

Bucky sat at the conference table in silence. You just wrote back to him and he smirked at your text. You couldn’t wait to see him later and you sent a kiss emoji. That made his stomach flip-flop for a second in excitement. He couldn’t wait to see you later as well.

Last night was amazing. He loved seeing you dressed up and beaming the whole time. He thought he'd maybe gone too far with that kiss to your shoulder but if anything you seemed fine with it, if not just as excited as him. You had managed to mesmerize him in every way; even on the days you were dressed down. There was just something about you that begged for adoration; and Bucky was more than willing to give it.

He knew you were going to be busy the next two weeks with school but gosh if he didn't find an attractive, intelligent woman who was set on creating her own path... and he loved that about you. He loved how hard you were working to fulfill your own goals. Create something more for yourself.

Bucky would plan his time with you around your schedule. Then, once the semester was over, he was thinking of taking you on a little getaway. He figured you both would need it. As his mind thinks of you, T’Challa’s voice interrupts his thoughts.

“I’m sorry, what were you saying?” Bucky asks his friend.

"You have her on your mind." T'Challa smirks knowingly at Bucky.

"I-" Bucky begins to protest but T'Challa continues.

"Are you about to tell me my presentation is making you smile like that? You're so happy with this year's projections that you're making goo-goo eyes at your phone?" T'Challa raises an eyebrow and Bucky shrinks in his seat. "I can always come back later to run the presentation by you. When you're less DISTRACTED."

“No, that won’t be necessary. You have my full attention now.” Bucky places his phone in his suit pocket and focuses on the presentation.

It was late afternoon by the time you finished your first draft, got through some other bits and pieces, and are now giving yourself a well-deserved break. You’ve never been this productive before you met Bucky. Suddenly, you got a text from an unknown number.

Unknown: I heard you were the belle of the charity ball last night. I was told your old man kept you close. Tell me, what is a pathetic whore like yourself hanging around the city’s most eligible bachelor?

You: I don’t know who you are but I’m not a whore. Now kindly fuck off. 🖕🏻

You are angry and confused by the text message you have gotten from this unknown person. Who would want to send this type of message to you?

Unknown: Now, now. That’s no way to speak to someone who is holding all the cards. Bet the tabloids would love to hear how you're whoring yourself out for money.

You: Again I’m not whoring myself out for money. Bucky is a friend. I don’t know who you are but I’m blocking you. Fuck off asshole.

Quickly you hit the block button before they could respond. You stuffed your phone under a pillow. Your breathing is erratic as you struggle to calm yourself down. Tears swarm your eyes as you try to count to ten to get your anxiety to calm down. Who would be so vile to write something like that to you? It’s not like you had any friends or family who knew of your arrangement. It was an arrangement between you and Bucky; only you both knew about it, right? Wait... his banker and attorney both know. So did Steve. What if they told someone about your arrangement? Had Bucky elaborated to any of them? Sam would have to keep his client intelligent stum, but Tony and Steve you couldn't be certain. Although, you didn't see Steve as the tattling type; ESPECIALLY when you were going to be renting his home.

Regardless, the situation was that SOMEONE knew, and your breathing became more and more erratic as you became trapped in your own head. You barely heard the knock at the door.

You gasped and wheezed as you tried to ignore the knocking. Finally, on a third knock you heard, “Sweetheart, it’s me open up.” Dashing out of bed you flung the door open and threw yourself at Bucky. He started to chuckle until he took in your features. “Sweetheart, talk to me.” When you shook your head he immediately picked you up and kicked the door shut behind him. 

He walked over to your couch and held you in his arms as he sat. Bucky started doing breathing exercises with you until you got your breathing under control. You clung to his suit as if your life depended on it. He held you for several minutes in silence as he rubbed your back. Finally, after a little bit, you sat up straight and wiped your eyes.

“Sorry, I had a panic attack on you.” You whispered, looking anywhere but at him.

“Don’t be sorry sweetheart. Something obviously worked you up in a panic. Would you like to talk about it?” Bucky said softly.

"I had texts from an unknown number." You say quietly.

“Show them to me.” 

You got off his lap and went to your bedroom where you grabbed your phone from under a pillow. Walking back out to him you held it out for him to take and then took a seat next to him. Bucky was staring at the set of text messages from this unknown number. He read the texts and soon his blood was boiling.

Who in their right mind would text you saying such vile things to you? What did this person mean they were holding all the cards? Whoever this was, Bucky was going to use all his resources to find this person. What he wouldn’t give to have a conversation with them and set them straight after making his sweetheart cry. 

Bucky set the phone down on the coffee table and held his arms open for you. Slowly, you made your way into his arms again and held onto him. 

“You listen to me, sweetheart. You did the right thing by blocking the number. Whoever that was has no life and was just trying to scare you. You haven’t done anything wrong. Do you understand?”

Bucky looks into your eyes to see if you understand him and you nod your head. 

“We both know you’re not what they called you. This is a pure relationship with no expectations involved. You’re kind and deserve better than what was written to you. For now, push that out of your mind. You need to be able to focus on school these next two weeks.” Bucky insisted as he continued to hold you. 

“Thank you, Bucky. Thank you for understanding and comforting me. This means a lot to me.”

“Don’t you worry about a thing I will protect you. Now, I know you probably haven’t eaten much today so let’s order food and relax for the evening.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Bucky took his suit jacket off and draped it over a chair. As usual, he rolls up his sleeves and reveals his many tattoos on his arms. He orders some sandwiches from a local Italian place not far from you and as you wait for them to be delivered, Bucky rests his left arm around your shoulders while you watch TV. His hand rubs up and down your upper arm making you want to snuggle closer, and you do, inhaling his delicious aftershave.

Your fingers play with his right hand for a moment and he watches as you bring his hand to your mouth slowly. Bucky sucks in a quiet breath as you tentatively kiss his knuckles, one by one.

“What are you doing pretty girl?” Bucky murmurs, dark blue eyes wide with disbelief as you smile up at him.

“Doing what you do all the time. You kiss my hand a lot and I’m returning the favor.” You say nonchalantly. 

“Is that so?”

You giggle, “Yeah.”

Bucky pulls you into his lap with you straddling him. What he wouldn’t give to kiss you right now. He promised himself that if anything you would be the one that had to instigate it first. He was a gentleman after all and this was supposed to be just a companionship. 

You stared down at him and couldn’t help the way you were feeling at this moment. You wanted to kiss him. You wanted to kiss him. You wanted to kiss him as a thank you for everything, for how supportive he had been. But as you leaned down and he leaned up, the moment was ruined by a loud knock at the door. You both jumped and hesitantly laughed. 

You got off his lap as Bucky went to the door to pay. The moment was ruined. Any hope you had of kissing him tonight was gone.

You sighed as you went to the kitchen to get plates for you both. Placing your food on it you took your food into the living room followed by Bucky. The both of you talked and ate as you watched TV. The conversation was laid back and Bucky made you laugh at some jokes. Everything was going great as the hours passed. 

You were both lying down on the couch side by side snuggled together with the TV playing on low volume. Bucky’s arm was wrapped around your waist holding you close to him. You started to slowly close your eyes as you relaxed into him. Never had you felt more relaxed or safe than you did at this moment.

Bucky could feel your body relaxing more and by the time he knew it you were softly sleeping. Your breathing was even and your body was pressed close. He let you be for the next thirty minutes just letting you get some rest. He smiled knowing this is what he wanted in the future. You lying in his arms without a care in the world.

Bucky knew you would be more comfortable in bed so he kissed your shoulder and whispered into your ear. “Sweetheart, it’s time to go to bed.”

You groaned out a huff making him chuckle. You were definitely cute when you slept. Getting out from behind you, careful not to disturb you, he scooped you up in his arms and carried you to bed. 

Quietly, he made his way to the bedroom and laid you down on the bed. As soon as he let you go you woke up. 

Looking up, you smiled at him. “Did I really fall asleep on you?”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah, you did about thirty minutes ago. I didn’t want to disturb you cause you looked so comfortable in my arms. I figured I would bring you to bed so you could sleep.”

You sit up and stretch your arms. “I appreciate it, Bucky. Let me walk you to the door so you can get home to your bed. I mean… unless you want to spend the night?”

Bucky smirked at your offer and blushed. His stomach did flips just at the thought of it. For now, it could wait. “I’m going to head home as I have an early morning ahead of me. Maybe next time though?” Bucky looks hopeful.

That made you grin. “Yes, next time would be great.”

Bucky walked to the chair to grab his suit jacket and then headed towards the door. You were following him and when he stopped he kissed your forehead. 

“I‘ll see you later, sweetheart.”

“Bye Bucky.”

The door opened and closed leaving you sighing against the door. There was no denying that there were sparks between you. Though, who would make the first move again you thought? After locking the door you head to your bedroom to change and climb into bed.

Bucky arrived home and put his keys on the table near the door. He headed to the bedroom to shower. Stepping into the hot shower, Bucky starts to replay the events of the evening.

He thinks about how close you were tonight and how you let him hold you. It’s been years since Bucky held someone in his arms and felt something for them. He didn’t want to let you go but knew you had a long couple of weeks ahead of you preparing for finals.

Then his mind wanders about the kiss that almost happened. You straddling his legs as you leaned in to kiss him. What he wouldn’t give to feel your lips against his. He would devour you and taste every part of you. Curse that delivery guy for showing up when he did.

He turned the shower off and grabbed a towel. Bucky was still counting down the weeks until your finals were done. Then he would move you into your new place and whisk you away on a tropical vacation. 

Bucky hung the towel up after drying off and grabbed a pair of boxer briefs to pull on. Crawling into bed he thinks of what it would be like to sleep next to you. He did say that next time he would stay. That brought a smile to his face as he shuts the bedside lamp off and falls asleep thinking about the vacation he will take you on.

The next several days seem to fly by quickly. Between studying, papers, and exams you had no free time during the day. Bucky would stop by in the evenings bringing food with him so you could eat. He saw how much the stress was weighing on you and did his best to get you to relax. 

The week of finals started and you were taking exams every day except for Friday. When Friday came around you slept the day away trying to get the much needed rest you deserved. You couldn’t believe you were done with the semester and you had the summer off. This left your calendar open for Bucky. 

Around two in the afternoon, Bucky ended up texting you. You grabbed the phone to read the text.

Bucky: Hey sweetheart. Just checking in on you. Was wondering if you wanted to come to my place tonight and I’ll cook you dinner? Let me know how you’re feeling.

You: Hi Bucky. I’m actually doing good. Slept late today but totally needed it. I would love to come over tonight. I can’t believe you cook! Can’t wait to see you. Just give me a time and I’ll be there.

Bucky: How does 5 pm sound? I’m getting out early but need to stop by the store.

You: Sounds great. Do you want me to bring anything?

Bucky: Just yourself 😉

You: See you in a little bit 😘

You grin at the phone and giggle. He makes you feel special at times like this.

Climbing out of bed you got into the shower and got ready for your night ahead. You went through your normal routine of drying your hair and applied light makeup. Going to your closet you pull out a white dress with yellow flowers on it. 

Modeling in your mirror you were satisfied with how you look. You looked at the time and saw it was just after three. You had plenty of time to grab a book and read. It was one of your favorite series’ that had both thriller themes and smut sprinkled throughout.

You were at a particular part where the guy was confessing his feelings to the reader. You sigh at the romantic words on the paper and you hoped you would be in that situation one day. You wanted to be loved just like this character does.

You ended up reading several chapters by the time it was ready for you to leave. Putting the book down you grabbed your purse, phone, and keys then headed for the door. Making your way outside you climbed into your BMW and headed to his place.

The drive was five minutes longer due to traffic but you arrived at his place parking next to his Escalade. Getting out of the BMW you made your way to the elevator. Once inside you hit the button to his floor. You hum as it takes you to the top floor. When you arrive you ring his doorbell and wait for him to open the door.

A minute passes before the door opens and there stands Bucky grinning at you. He’s wearing a dark blue pair of jeans and a maroon Henley. 

His eyes sweep over you taking in your dress. “God sweetheart, you look gorgeous. Please come inside.” He motions with his arm for you to walk by. 

Noticing he is barefoot, you kick your sandals off at the door. He walks into his kitchen with you following and he pulls out a chair at the bar for you. 

“Would you like some wine?” Bucky asks.

“Yes, I will take a glass please.” You could use one after your week.

Bucky pours you both a glass of white wine and hands you the wine glass. “To good grades and time off.”

“Cheers.” You both clink the glasses together and take a sip.

“Well, I guess it’s time to show you my limited cooking skills.” Bucky chuckles as he starts to take the ingredients out and place them on the counter in front of him.

He rolls his sleeves up to his elbows and gets to work. He chops vegetables up and places them in a pan. You watch in awe as you sit back and sip your wine, watching him flourish a bottle of something and hearing a sizzle in the pan. Now and then he sneaks a peek at you and smiles. 

“So I was wondering, after we get you moved into the house, I was thinking of taking you on a tropical getaway. Sunny skies, blue ocean, and nothing but relaxation. What do you think?” Bucky asks as he continues to cook. 

“I definitely could use a vacation after my semester. But are you sure you can take a vacation with such short notice?

Bucky chuckles. “I’m the boss, remember? I can up and leave on my private jet whenever I want. Just say the word and we will go.”

You pondered for a minute. “Yes, I would love to go with you.”

“Great, I will start planning everything over the next week. I know you will love it.”

Forty minutes or so passed and Bucky was finishing up cooking. He started plating the food and placed your dish in front of you. It was chicken with roasted vegetables. It smelled divine and had you licking your lips. He placed his dish at the bar next to you. He grabbed the wine bottle and topped off the glasses.

“This smells amazing, Bucky.”

“Thanks, sweetheart. Now let's dig in.”

You both started to eat and drink your wine. In between that, you talked about getting you moved into your new place. Bucky had already hired movers and at this point, you would need to pack your things. Because you lived in a small apartment it wouldn’t take you long to pack your stuff. It didn’t matter though because Bucky was going to help you every step of the way.

“Gosh, Bucky I’m full. This was so good.” You pushed your plate away and looked over at him.

“I’m glad I could finally cook for you. I’ve been wanting to for a while now. So thank you for letting me.” Bucky got out of his seat and grabbed both plates. Washing them off a little he stuck them in his dishwasher. 

“Do you need any help?”

“Oh no, you’re my guest. I’m just going to put the food away and then we can go sit in the living room.”

You sipped your wine and watched as he put everything away and in the dishwasher. There was something so domestic about him which was weird considering how wealthy he is. You never thought someone of his status would be so laid back. But here you were, spending more time with him and being amazed just by the simplest things. 

When Bucky finished, he poured the rest of the wine in both glasses and led the way to the living room. It still shocked you how big his place was. The living room was huge and had a large flat-screen TV. Taking a seat next to each other you put your wine on a side table.

“Can I ask you something?” You asked.

“Of course, sweetheart. Anything.”

“Have you done this sugar daddy relationship before me? I mean I’m curious how you got into it.”

Bucky took a sip of wine and placed his on a table next to him. “Yes, once before you and many years ago. I was in my thirties when I met her. She was a sweet girl in the beginning. But as they say, love is blind for some. I was the fool who fell for her hard. I thought she was my dream girl but she was stealing money out from under me. She had access to an account and I placed money in there for her allowance. Somehow, she hacked my banking information and took nearly two million from me before I caught it.” 

Bucky frowned as he spoke. The anger in him was at a simmer as he started to relive some of the moments again in his head. How could his ex-girlfriend hurt him after everything he had done for her?

You were getting anxious from what he was telling you and you started to fidget.

“Two million may not seem a lot considering what I’m worth but she did it with the help of a boyfriend she has on the side that I knew nothing about. All the gifts, trips, and time spent together. She broke my heart and I swore I would never trust again let alone do this kind of relationship. That is, until I met you.” Bucky had reached for your hand and held it while he was thinking.

“What made me so special?” You whispered out.

“Oh, sweetheart, I knew you were special from the first time we met at the restaurant. You were kind, caring, smart, and never let anyone ruin your nights. I saw how you interacted with customers and you never had a poor attitude with the ones who treated you unfairly.”

Bucky smiled warmly at you. 

 “Then we got to know each other every week and I knew I wanted to learn more about you. I wanted to know what you were like outside of work and what your aspirations were.” 

Bucky kissed your hand and continued. “Little did I know I was getting someone so genuine. The more time we have spent together, the more I feel comfortable around you. It’s like you’re breaking the walls down around my heart. For that, I’m grateful.”

“Bucky, that's so sweet of you. Though, I’m sorry about the woman before me. She sounds so cruel. I hope I never break your heart like she did. I’m enjoying the time we spend together and how close we’re getting. I had trouble trusting anyone after John. He made me feel like I did something wrong when he left with no word on why. I blamed myself for the longest time and I swore off any kind of relationship while I put myself through school. But then I met you.”

You turned to face him as you both held hands. “I like where this is going so far between us and I can’t wait to see where our future takes us. All I know is I love being around you because I don’t feel lonely and lost anymore. You make me realize I can do anything if I put my mind to it.”

Bucky watched as you licked your lips. He wanted to kiss you. But what if that wasn’t what you wanted? Before he could think of anything else you leaned in and kissed him. The kiss was slow and sensual. Bucky pulled you into his lap and you straddled his thighs. He deepened the kiss and let your tongues dance together in a fight for dominance. You pulled at his shirt while his hands held onto your hips. You grind yourself against him searching for some friction. You wanted - no needed - to get some relief from him. You feel his cock harden beneath you and groan as you grind into him more. 

Bucky is panting out breaths from the sensation you are giving his cock. “God, I want you.” He groans.

“Then take me to bed.” You kiss his face over and over again.

“Not like this.” He slows your hips down. “We did drink a lot of wine. What if it’s the alcohol talking?”

“I may be a little tipsy but don’t you dare blame the wine on me being horny. I was already like this when I came over.” You snap back, surprising Bucky.

Bucky looks up at you with lust-blown eyes. “You were?”

“Yes! So please don't make me beg again.” You grabbed his hand and dipped it under your dress so he could feel your wet panties.

That’s all Bucky needed to sweep you up in his arms and carry you to his master bedroom. He laid you down in the middle of his California king bed. His hands went under your dress and pulled down the cute panties you were wearing. Pushing your dress up around your hips he took in your wet pussy.

Taking off his shirt you finally got to see all the tattoos on both arms. God, did he look like a piece of art. One that needed to be cherished. He pulled your hips down the bed and laid in between your legs. Pushing your thighs wide open Bucky descended on you and started to lick long stripes between your petals. His soft beard was making you ticklish on the soft skin of your thighs.

Your hands ran through his hair and held on to him as he started to eat you like a man starved. Every swipe of his tongue, every suckle of your clit, had you moaning his name to the heavens. The beard felt amazing against your pussy as you grind into his face. His fingers are pumping in and out of you. When he curled his fingers just right and sucked on your clit you thought you saw stars as you orgasmed so hard your legs shook in the aftermath. 

Bucky kissed his way up your body and kissed you on the lips. The taste of yourself was prominent on his tongue and you just hummed as you made out. When he pulled away from your mouth, he smiled down at you. “You taste heavenly. I could eat you out forever.”

You look up at him and frown noticing he wasn’t taking his pants off. “I thought we were going to have sex?”

He smirked at you and kissed your lips. “Not tonight. When I have you, I want us to be sober. I want you clear-headed when I make love to you and take you apart piece by piece in my bed.”

“Bucky, are you sure? I can feel how hard you are.”

“No worries doll. I’m normally hard when I’m around you. I’ll be okay.” He smirks at you as you lay across his bed. To him, you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. 

You sat up on the bed and tugged him down. You started to undo his pants and before he could protest you said, “At least let me return the favor and help you out.”

You undid his jeans and pulled them down his thighs just enough so they were out of the way. Bucky helped you get him out of his boxer briefs. You were shocked by how thick and long his cock was. Not even John was this big when you were with him. Bucky sat at the end of the bed and you knelt between his muscular thighs. You leaned over him and licked the vein on the underside of his cock. Again you licked him but this time you took him inside your mouth. Whatever you couldn’t fit your hand wrapped around it and stroked him to the bobbing of your head. Your tongue would swirl around his tip every time you pulled away. Then you’d suck him down again causing Bucky to moan in pleasure.

His hand fisted your hair to anchor himself as you took him apart. Up and down, fast and deep you took him in your throat causing you to gag at times. Bucky started to thrust his hips making you take more of him.

“Fuck, doll. That’s it, I'm so close.” There was no way Bucky was going to last longer than he hoped. It had been a very long time since someone went down on him and he knew he was about to cum.

You kept your pace, flicking your tongue and hollowing your cheeks until finally his damn burst. Bucky came with a shout of your name as his cum was being lapped up by you. You swallowed everything he gave you and you hummed around his cock. Bucky fell back on the bed and breathed heavily as he tried to catch his breath. If your mouth could do that he knew he was in trouble when he finally could fuck you. 

You climbed onto the bed next to him and kissed his cheek. “Feeling okay Bucky?”

He starts to chuckle as he turns his head to face you. “I feel great. That was amazing. Sorry I didn’t last as long but it’s been a while since doing this.”

You giggle in delight. “Don’t be sorry. I’m not.” You place your head on his chest and start to relax.

“Please spend the night with me. We can watch movies in bed, cuddle, and I can eat you out longer.”

You didn’t need to be asked twice. “I will stay the night. But I don’t have anything to wear.” 

Bucky pulled his boxer briefs up and kicked his jeans off. “I will give you one of my T-shirts to wear for the night. But right now I want this dress off you and your naked body in my bed. You’re going to get a beard burn tonight that you won’t forget.”

You took the dress off and hopped into his huge bed. Bucky chased your naked form up the bed. This was the start of something new and you were ready to face it head on.

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[staytinyzen]

Chapter 4: Chaos, Thy Name Is Wooyoung

To all the boys I love | series masterlist

Previous | Chapter 4 | Next

Pairing : OT8 Ateez x gn Reader 

Warnings: none

wc: 961

Just as Yunho disappears around the corner, your phone buzzes in your pocket.

You fish it out with shaking hands, still barely breathing, still trying to process everything Yunho just said. The screen lights up.

Woo 🦊:“Did he receive one too?”

You stare at the message.

You:“What?”

The typing bubble appears almost instantly.

Woo 🦊:“I just feel like I’m not the only one.”

Your heart jumps. You glance back down the street as if Yunho might reappear and confirm this is some kind of shared fever dream. But no—he’s gone.

You decide to ignore Wooyoung. Maybe he’s bluffing, fishing for something. Maybe you can still keep this under wraps a little longer. You slowly make your way back home feeling sad without Yunho on your side. 

Later in the evening, your phone buzzes again.

Woo 🦊:“Are you home?”

You freeze.

You:“Yeah. Why”

He doesn’t reply.

Fifteen minutes later, there’s a knock on your door. You walk to your front door slowly, and cautiously, peeking through the peephole.

And there he is.

Wooyoung.

Baseball cap pulled low, hoodie zipped all the way up, holding a bag of snacks in one hand and a six-pack of banana milk in the other like he’s just stopping by for a movie night. He grins when he sees you open the door.

“Hi,” he says casually, like he didn’t just text you something emotionally destabilizing during the day.

“Hi?” 

“I brought peace offerings,” he says, lifting the snacks. “And I figured, you know. If we’re going to have emotionally tense conversations, we should at least have something to snack on.” And steps inside without asking, taking his shoes off by your door. He moves like he’s been here a thousand times—because he has—and flops down on your couch with a sigh, like this is just another Thursday night.

You shut the door behind him, heart pounding. “You really think now’s the time to joke?”

“Nope,” he says. “But I figured it’s either laugh about it or freak out. And I already freaked out once this week.”

You walk toward the couch, arms folded. “So. You know.”

“I suspect,” he corrects. 

You sit next to him and he opens a banana milk. He offers you one, and you take it automatically.

He looks at you for a moment. Really looks.

“I’m not mad,” he says quietly.

You blink. “You’re not?”

Wooyoung shakes his head. “Nah. Hurt? A little. But not mad.”

“I didn’t mean for anyone to read them.”

“I figured,” he says. “That doesn’t really make it easier, though.”

Your fingers tighten around the bottle in your hands.

“But it’s weird, you know?” he says, voice softer now. “I’ve been waiting for you to say something. I thought maybe I was imagining the way you looked at me. The way you laughed at my stupid jokes even when no one else did. How you never told me to stop when I got too close, too much. I kept thinking… maybe I’m reading it wrong. Maybe I’m just the friend.”

You look down, throat tight.

“But then I find a letter,” he continues, “with my name on it. And I realize I wasn’t imagining anything at all. You felt it too.”

You nod, swallowing hard. “I did.”

“And not just me.”

“…No.”

Wooyoung sighs, leaning back against the couch. “How many?”

You hesitate. “Does it matter?”

“Maybe not,” he says. “But if I’m being honest? It makes me feel better knowing it wasn’t just me. That you weren’t just—testing something out with the one guy who flirts the loudest.”

You wince. “Wooyoung…”

“I’m not mad,” he says again. “I promise. I’m just… here. Processing. Figuring it out. I just… want to know where I stand.”

You finally meet his eyes. They’re soft. Sad, maybe. But understanding.

“And?” you whisper.

“And…” he leans in, close enough for your knees to touch. “I don’t know where this ends, y/n. But I know it’s not with me walking away.”

Your heart thuds against your ribs. “But there are others—”

“I know,” he says gently. “I’m not stupid. I saw how Yunho looked at you earlier of course and maybe San too, but he always has. It’s not just me.”

“I’m not going to pretend I don’t feel something real. Even if I’m not the only one. Especially if I’m not the only one.”

You blink at him. “That’s… a lot.”

Wooyoung smiles faintly. “Yeah. But it’s us, right? Since when were we ever simple?”

“You have great taste though, I’ll give you that.”

You let out a dry laugh.

He smiles, pleased with himself. “So what now? Are you planning on breaking all of our hearts one by one? Or are you gonna do something equally insane and try to… figure this out?”

You blink. “Figure what out?”

“This,” he says, motioning between you. “Us. All of us. It’s complicated. Maybe it’s stupid. But if you wrote those letters with your whole heart, I’m not gonna pretend I don’t want to know what happens next.”

Your heart stutters. “You want to…?”

“Explore it? See where it goes?” Wooyoung shrugs. “Yeah. Why not?”

“You don’t think it’s—”

“Crazy? Yeah. Totally. But so is love, y/n.”

You stare at him.

And slowly, he grins. That same mischievous, cocky grin that always made your stomach flutter—but now it’s tempered with something gentler.

He reaches out, putting your hair behind your ear and then brushing your pinkie with his.

“I’m in, if you are,” he says. “No pressure. No expectations. Just… be honest with me.”

You nod, voice barely above a whisper. “Okay.”

He leans back again, pleased. “Cool. So. Which member’s life are we about to wreck next?”

You laugh.

And somehow, chaos feels a little like comfort.

a/n: let me know your thoughts please🙏🏻

[ceratedfish24]

Thoughts on renscott or majorbeans??

MY DRAMA NERDS!!! Ren is the guy on the football team who got the lead in the play because he’s a big strong man, except everyone then found out that he’s actually really into theater and knows a lot about it. Scott got the other lead, and they ended up kissing about it. Everyone went “Oh, it’s just a showmance” and then a month passes. And then another month passes. And then the school year is over and they’re still in the honeymoon phase. And then it actually makes a lot of sense. Of course Scott would be into a football player who’s genuinely into theater and is actually a really sweet, humble, and hard working dude. Of course Ren would be into the confident and popular pretty boy who’s actually really caring and clever and knows what is and isn’t worth his time.

Also, can we talk about Simple Life? “You’re a red name.” “I am.” “You could kill people.” “I could kill you.” “But you wouldn’t want to do that.” “I don’t.” Okay. Homosexuals. Ren might not be the first person many of us would think of when it comes to Trafficblr violence, but he is Red Winter. He is the Red King. He is a loyal knight of the Fairy Fort who craves blood. Ren doesn’t usually like to fight head on, but Scott showing 0 concern or defensiveness whatsoever threw him off so hard that Ren went from wolf to puppy dog so quickly. which. might be Scott’s special talent, honestly.

Let’s make one thing clear: There is only one moment in the entire Life Series that could be evidence of the canon temperature of Scott’s hands. and. it. is. Dangthatsalongname’s Wild Life Episode 7 32:47 “Scott, you got really warm hands, by the way.”  - Rendog, Nov. 30th, 2024. (On a side note: I wanted to be sure that I got Ren’s channel name right, cause his username is “Renthedog”, so I looked him up, but the youtube search bar recommended “rendog face reveal”. I got curious and clicked it, and the first video that came up was a clip of Scott saying “he knows I’m gay, right?” in TommyInnit’s collab with Grian and Mumbo. I don’t know why. Could be a sign.) This is the only mention of the temperature of Scott’s hands. Contrary to all Smajor headcanons based on his ESMP S1, Scott has “really warm hands” at least in Wild Life.

Ren plays guitar and sings, and Scott also likes to sing. Their life would be so very full of music. Scott sings to himself in the morning while blearily making breakfast for the both of them, and Ren comes up behind him and wraps his arms around Scott’s waist. It’s too early for him, and Scott’s voice is putting him back to sleep. When Ren is tuning his guitar, Scott drops everything to listen in. Scott sings when he’s deep-cleaning the house, and Ren stands in the doorway and melts. The two of them take turns with the aux in the car, and they make playlists for each other and build playlists together. They sing each other lullabies before bed and hum old melodies while the other is brushing their teeth. Scott whisper-sings into Ren’s hair, as they fall asleep at night.

Majorbeans, okay, look. I’m not a fan of toxic relationships. I understand the appeal, but I am here for escapism where everything is good and okay. I like vanilla, and many of y’all like mint chocolate chip, basically. In other words, I’m not gonna talk about the toxic depictions of Majorbeans, because I know that I will be out of my element. It’s simply not territory that I am well versed in. However, I do particularly love Majorbeans from the angle of friends to lovers. I love the idea of Scott letting Joel get away with being more of a menace than anyone else because he trusts Joel to know where the line is and to apologize properly if he accidentally crosses it, and I so dearly love the idea of Joel knowing Scott better than anyone ever has.

When I think of Majorbeans, I think of old friends whose relationship isn’t really changed much by the labels “couple” or “boyfriends”. It was just the natural progression of their friendship. They’re still having stupid pillow fights and poking fun at each other when the other is bad at a video game. They’re still bickering about the same petty argument they had twelve years ago. They’re still competitive when pit against one another. They don’t really expect more from one another than they did before they started dating. Scott and Joel may not be the kind of couple who goes everywhere together, but they do get excited about getting to go home to one another. When they get married, it’s very literal when they say “I’m marrying my best friend”. I mean, that’s the person who gets them the best, who never judges, who knows when to be playful and when to be serious, who knows when to address an issue and when to nod and agree. That’s the person who they trust the most to be honest with them when it really matters.

To expand more on my thoughts about Scott and Joel not being the type of couple to spend every second of every day together, I’m not saying that they would get sick of each other. They’re just both generally confident enough to be fine on their own, and they’re both very competent people. I don’t think that they would worry too much about the other under typical circumstances. They’re just not super co-dependent on each other. They both value their relationship, but they naturally don’t feel a need to lean on it for validation or security. They can find what they need in themselves and their communities. Being around each other is just something they mutually treasure.

Joel and Scott are both people who like to play up their confidence, but I think that they’d be comfortable enough to be more vulnerable when it’s just the two of them. I think Scott wouldn’t bother to upkeep his appearance quite as much, though Joel still rolls his eyes and scoffs and blushes at how effortlessly and annoyingly pretty he finds Scott to be with bedhead in his laundry day clothes without make up. In turn, Joel is more earnest and forward about his intentions in his day-to-day activities when he’s talking with just Scott. Communicating properly with Scott just feels more natural in the moment, even if it makes Joel complain to Grian and Jimmy about how “grossly domestic” Scott makes him. He knows that, when making plans for the day, Scott appreciates his earnestness moreso than a bit Joel’s done a thousand times and will continue until he’s six feet under, and the bit is not so important to Joel that he would intentionally inconvenience Scott over it.

Finally, in Simple Life, Joel gave Scott a bouquet of dandelions. This is symbolic for a number of reasons. Firstly, dandelions are typically used to symbolize resilience, something that I believe both Joel and Scott to have in spades. It feels like an act of respect, for Joel to give Scott so many dandelions like that. Additionally, the way that Joel handed the dandelions off to Scott felt symbolic to me. He was just clearing his inventory to make room for an item Scott was giving him, but he also didn’t frame the action like he was just throwing his trash at Scott. It was a very practical action, something that just makes a lot of sense for their dynamic, particularly in Simple Life. Lastly, dandelions are a symbol of hope and childhood innocence. I didn’t grow up in a place with any dandelions, but, as a child, I always imagined what it might feel like to make a wish on one. To me, Joel giving Scott a bouquet of dandelions, in my little headcanon lore, was a way of saying “I wish you well, old friend”. I love that for them.

Thank you for the ask!!🩵🩵

[riddikulusravenclawbelle]

guilty as sin?

plot - sneaking into a kook party was mistake #1. talking to rafe cameron was mistake #2. catching feelings? that was the beginning of the end.

trope(s)- enemies to lovers & forced proximity if you squint.

characters - rafe cameron x oc! belle maybank.

wc - 1.9k (longest work yet, woo!)

warnings - curse words.

creds - ty to @aquazero for making this pretty divider!

final notes - this is the first part of my ‘ruin me gently’ series so i hope u love it! <3

Belle Maybank always grew up on the cut. She was a pogue, a proud one at that. Naturally, she gravitated to her brother’s friend group, which consisted of John B, Kie, Pope, Sarah, Cleo, her brother JJ, and herself.

She didn’t know much about the Kooks, except that she hated them. Especially Rafe Cameron. Sarah had told enough stories — stealing gold from the Pogues, framing John B for Sheriff Peterkin’s death — to make sure of that. Belle could tell JJ and the others were selective about what they told her, even though she was only two years younger. But they’d told her enough. Enough to know Rafe Cameron was trouble.

“JJ please!” Belle pleaded.

“No, B. We’re sneaking into the party and out. No drama. You aren’t going.” JJ replied, firm as ever.

“But-”

“Listen. You’re my little sister. I said no. End of story.”

“Fine.” Belle said out loud. In her mind though? She was already planning how she’d get there.

She couldn’t quite remember how she snuck in. But luckily, it was out of sight of JJ’s protective brother radar.

‘Oh shit.’ Belle audibly whispered as she saw Kiara and Sarah walking towards the drink table she was currently occupying with some other randoms. The closest hiding spot? Running upstairs.

────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────

Belle was on a balcony, safe in the shadows. Watching the Kooks was like observing a different species. They had nothing to worry about. Trust funds, yachts, endless summers. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t at least a little jealous.

“You look lost,” a voice cut through her thoughts. It caused her to turn around.

There he was, Rafe Cameron. Belle had never spoken to him. Her mind scrambled for words. ‘Shit.’

“You’re not supposed to be up here. It’s off limits to guests.”

“I was just getting some fresh air. Sorry, I’ll just-”

“Wait,” he said, stepping in front of the only exit. Something about that voice made Belle listen to his command. “You hang with the Pogues right? With Sarah?” Rafe asked but it felt like he already knew the answer. She silently nodded.

“So. What’re you doing at a kook party?” He asked, but this felt like a warning.

“Um, Topper invited me.” It’s the only other Kook name she knew.

“Mm, weird,” he pursed his lips into a thin line. ‘Cause this is my party. And I don’t remember Top saying he invited a pogue. ever. “

Damn it. ”Excuse me.” Belle said. She again was looking for any way out of this tense encounter.

“Your friends waiting for you?” He inquired. She shook her head no.

“Then why the rush?”

“Because I don’t trust you, Rafe. I’ve heard the things you’ve done.”

“Let me guess — JJ told you?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, he doesn’t know shit.”

Belle was stunned he even knew who she was. But her pride held firm.

“Goodbye, Rafe.” She sidestepped him, only to feel his hand close around her wrist.

“You’re a little too close to danger here, Pogue. Sure you want to talk to me like that?”

“Yo, Rafe! Shots!” Kelce’s voice rang out nearby. If Kelce saw her, the whole island would know. And JJ… she'd lose everything.

“Be down in a second,” He announced. Then he turned his attention back to Belle. “We’re not done here, princess.” He lets go of her wrist, his gaze lingering on her just a second too long for her liking.

“Actually we are. Have fun counting daddy’s trust fund and having anger outbursts, Cameron.” She left, heart racing, somehow making it home before JJ’s crew.

────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────

Her wrist still tingled, like Rafe’s grip had left behind an invisible brand she couldn’t wash off. She wishes she could deny feeling anything, but secretly? She enjoyed his touch.

“What’s got you all flustered Belle?” Sarah asked, with a smile on her face.

“Hmm? Oh, nothing. I don’t know.” Belle replied as the group was sitting out on the porch of the chateau.

“It’s nothing or you don’t know?” John B playfully teased.

“Oh my gosh,” Belle said, covering her face in her hands. “I am going to the bathroom.”

She got up and as she entered the bathroom, she got a dm from Rafe.

Rafe: i was serious. We aren’t done. meet me at my place. one hour.

Every possible red flag that existed was popping up. But Belle’s a Maybank. Red flags were her comfort zone.

Belle: fine.

────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────

She knocked, texting: im here.

The July heat pressed down hard. When the door didn’t open, she retreated to her car, grumbling.

Belle: ummm hello? It’s hot as hell rafe.

Belle had no ties to him. She had no reason to stay. She should leave. But curiosity — and maybe something else — rooted her in place. So, after a few more minutes pass, she gave it one more try and walked toward the door. Her hand already balled in a fist to knock before she hears Rafe exclaim “I’m sorry! Okay?”

“You understand your tarnishing our family name, Rafe! Everything we’ve built you’re carelessly destroying! For once in your life have a brain!” Belle heard someone yell, it sounded like his father, Ward. Belle knew she’d be more than lucky if she never had to see Ward Cameron face to face.That man was like a politician, full of lies and deceit. He moves in the shadows, and everyone knows it.

After a few minutes it seemed like the voices had died down. Belle felt a knot form in her stomach. Nothing but silence was left, before her phone dinged. The harsh words she had overheard—cut deep. She stood frozen, trying to reconcile the Rafe she knew, the angry, volatile figure, with the vulnerable one she had just overheard.

Rafe: mb. coming to open the door right now.

────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────

When Rafe opened the door, his eyes were swollen and red. Belle could tell he had been crying. She thought it best not to bring it up now. She almost felt bad for him? Sure, he was a monster. A liar with anger and family issues. Belle couldn’t help but think, if she grew up in that environment, would she turn out the same way?

“Are you gonna come in or keep staring at me, pogue?” Rafe asked, rhetorically. To which, she just walked in and he held the door for her. She tight lines her lips as she walks through the door.

“So,” she said as she sat on the couch nearest to the exit. She knew she needed a quick escape, just in case.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No. No, I don’t”

“Okay.”

“D’you want water? Or tea, something?” he asked, in a firmer tone. Seemed like he was regaining his hard shell. It seemed like it.

“Water, please.” Belle replied, with a slight smile. Rafe chuckled, Belle was unsure why. “What?”

“Nothing it’s just-I didn’t think you pogues had manners.” To which Belle rolled her eyes.

“Yeah. I guess some things make it to the other side of the island, huh?” she jokes as Rafe is grabbing her water from their fridge.

“See, that's why I like you, pogue. You have a sense of humour, unlike your brother and his friends.” A beat passes, Belle feels something heavy consume all the air in the room and sees a shift in Rafe’s demeanor. “And, you're the only person who doesn’t pretend I’m someone I’m not.” His eyes soften, only for a moment, but Belle catches it. The room falls silent as Rafe walks over and hands her the water bottle. Their fingers brush each other's, only just. His hands are unusually soft. It’s a feeling Belle wishes she could replay over and over. It’s electric.

“You know- you throw people off sometimes with the whole ‘I have feelings.’ thing.” She said, intending for it to be a lighthearted joke.

“Don’t get used to it, Maybank.” He said as he scoffed and walked behind the couch on the opposite side of the room from her. His hands gripping the top of the couch, just inches away from the kitchen he was just in.

“I wasn’t planning to. Honestly, I would be more surprised if you didn’t punch a wall or scream at someone today.” She chuckled. Rafe didn’t find that as funny as she did though, his jaw only tightened.

“You are really confident for someone who’s sitting in more than a shack right now.” Belle chuckled at the comment, this time, out of anger.

“I’m confident because I don't scare easily. And when I do, I don’t run behind daddy’s money to fix it.” She sips her water, maintaining eye contact with Rafe Cameron.

“Jesus,” Rafe said breathlessly, now standing up behind the couch. “You really think you’ve got it all figured out huh?”

“No. I just think it’s pathetic when you project your insecurities on others when you’re miserable.” She stands up to match his stance.

“Oh and what because you’re so happy? You live in a house with your brother and his gang of idiots that looks like it gets hit by Hurricane Katrina daily. You’d kill for what I have.”

“Rafe, I don’t really think you want to talk about family. Because then what do you have? A dad who is so disappointed in you that he yells so loud I can hear outside the door. Please. Everyone knows he’s more proud of Sarah then he’ll ever be of you.” Belle scoffs, crossing her arms. That’s enough for Rafe to take a few steps toward Belle. Belle steps even closer to Rafe. She knows she crossed a line. But she's too far in to back down now. So much for her escape plan.

“Shut up.” Rafe said, his eyes filled with fury and his jaw tight. To say the air was heavy would be an understatement. To say that Belle wanted to slap him in that moment, would be a valid statement.

“Make. me.” Belle immediately snapped back staring back into his eyes, replying in his same low tone.

Just then, thunder claps as the lights in the mansion flicker off. A few seconds passed before “Backup generator,” Rafe muttered, clearing his throat. He clears his throat before he steps back. As Belle turns to leave, the rain pours harder but she opens the door to go anyway.

“Where are you going?”

“Home.”

“You’re not driving home in this.” He says as he closes the door. One hand on the door keeping it closed. He’s towering over her now.

“Oh so now you’re in charge of what’s right and wrong?” Rafe lets that one roll off his back.

“You can stay here for the night.” Rafe sighs as he offers. His body language indicated he did not want to offer that.

“Hard pass.”

“Belle,” That’s the first time he’s addressed by her name. Ever. It made her pause. “You know you can’t drive in that.”

“Watch me.”

“If the roads are not flooded already, it's about to be. It only takes like 5 minutes. ” He was right. She knew he was right. And that was the most frustrating part. “Just stay here. We have a guest room down the hall. I don’t care if you hate me just– don’t be stupid.” Rafe explains.

“Why do you care if I make it home or not?” She inquired.

“I don’t.” There’s that hard shell again. He looks away, almost like he’s unable to look at her without feeling something. “If my sister knew you were here and I let you go in this weather, she’d actually kill me.”

She hesitated before saying “Thanks, I guess.” Belle turned to go to the guest room.

“You should get some sleep, Belle.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” Belle said as she rolled her eyes.

She hated Rafe Cameron. At least, that’s what she kept telling herself.