#I do miss it I just don’t know how I would possibly get back into the headspace to do it again

[bratbarzal]

The Secret of Us (LH43) 1/3

aka the sequel to let it happen

Pairing: Luke Hughes x Fem!Reader

WC: 21k (oops)

I felt it, you held it, do you miss us? wonder if you regret the secret of us.

General Warnings: angst (lol), a severe lack of proofreading, mentions of injuries, a couple of angsty flashbacks with avoidant behaviour and fade to black type smut

A/N: just want to say thank you guys for liking this so much 💖 seeing all the comments and the messages and people recommending this to others and the sweet things you're all saying (even if I betrayed you lol) made me so unbelievably happy!!! I could never let these two go out like that, I enjoy writing this dynamic way too much, and I also have way too much discussing this fic with people!! shoutout to the let it happen film club lmao!!! I hope you guys enjoy this sequel, and I hope it lives up to LIH, they really are my babies!!

and I know what you're thinking, maggie how could we ever trust you again after let it happen??? you can't!! and you shouldn't!!! but I wouldn't do that to you twice.

or would I???

I wouldn't 😌

OR WOULD I?!?!?!?! 😏

You need to start getting more comfortable saying no to people.

It’s something you tell yourself all the time, that being a people pleaser is going to lead to your downfall - it’s something you’ve always known.

So why you would ever possibly agree to attend a football game with your sorority sisters after weeks of hiding away in the safety of your childhood bedroom, you have no idea. You’ve spent the last 4 weeks alone convincing yourself to grow a backbone, and you’ve only been back in town a week. 7 whole days and your resolve has crumbled to pieces.

And now you’re squeezing yourself through a crowd of sweaty, yelling men to find your seat in the cramped spaces of Michigan Stadium, after already being packed like a clown into the back of your friend Molly’s car, and your head is throbbing, already.

A football game.

You at a football game.

It’s absurd.

Dressed in team colours with a ridiculous yellow M painted on your cheek like you’re some sort of local.

It’s your own version of a living hell, and you can’t wait for it to be over.

“Are you guys always sat this low?” You yell out to Molly as the rest of your friends amble in, surrounded now on all sides with no way out.

“Aren’t the seats, great?!” She yells back, louder than you, causing you to wince a little at the shrill sound in your ear.

The seats are not great, but you wouldn’t be happy anywhere in here.

You can barely even see the field, the sidelines packed with God-knows-who, and your back hurts already, and all you want is to go back to the version of you that was first asked if she wanted to come with. A version of you that should have told Molly straight up that you’d have rather sat at home plucking at any remaining body hair with a pair of pointed tweezers than to come to a Michigan Football game.

“Oh, look!” Molly jumps, and you’re assuming she’s just going to point to her boyfriend, following her finger with a bored gaze. You’ve seen him, before. You don’t need to see him again.

Only Molly’s finger doesn’t point to her boyfriend.

It points to the sidelines - to a group of guys stood with a shorter girl with curly blonde hair.

Ellie’s down there, dressed in team colours, too. She’s stood next to Jack, who’s stood next to Quinn.

And you don’t even need to look past Quinn to know who’s gonna be stood beside him.

It’s way too late to go home, now, you fear.

Not when Molly is digging her phone out and pressing immediately on Ellie’s contact, and you can see the whole situation unfold in front of you. 

Ellie never has her phone on silent, and when it rings, it rings loud - a high-pitched, horrific tone that honestly sets off your fight or flight, and you can see the immediate reaction the boys have to it chiming in her hand. 

She answers, instantly, and you can hear Molly’s side of the conversation, guiding Ellie to where your group are up in the stands, waving like a lunatic until Ellie finds you all - and, as if your life isn’t bad enough, she then starts gesturing at you.

“Look who I managed to convince to come with!” She yells, still pointing like you’re some circus attraction, and, if you could remember what the ground felt like, too long in the stands, now, that you miss it, you would honestly want it to swallow you up.

Because obviously Ellie isn’t the only one looking.

Jack is looking.

And Quinn is looking.

And you know, once again without looking yourself, that the person beside Quinn now has his eyes on you, too.

The weight of them takes you back in a dizzying flash, and all of a sudden, you’re back in the lake house, sobbing into your hands until you were pulled into the soft embrace of your best friend.

“Hey, you’re crying, what’s wrong?” Ellie cooed as she came over, throwing her arm around your shaking frame and rubbing a hand up and down your back. “What happened?”

“It’s nothing, I’m fine,�� you tried through shaky breaths, attempting and entirely unconvincing smile, like it would at all mask the flood pouring down your cheeks, “Go back to your party, I’m just being dumb.”

“I’m not gonna leave you like this,” she told you, “What's going on, is it Luke?”

The mere mention of his name brought back the onslaught of tears, your face scrunching as you tried to hold them back, but it was no use. Every single part of you ached with regret, your throat, your chest, your limbs - and all you wanted to do was curl up and cry it out. “I fucked it all up, El.”

“No,” she reassured you, “He fucked things up, he should never have spoken about you like that, it wasn’t fair. Not if the two of you are into each other, he shouldn’t be saying things like that.”

“He was right, though,” you sobbed, “I’m a mess, I just ruin everything good, I don’t even know why.”

“Aw, babe, no-,” 

“I told him I’d go out with Cole. I don’t even know why, I just wanted him to stop trying to make things work, he kept trying to tell me that he didn’t mean any of it, but I know he did.”

“Do you?” She asked, “Want to go out with Cole?”

“No, of course I don’t.” You shook your head, although you didn’t know how obvious it was, especially to everybody else, how little you wanted to be with anybody that wasn’t Luke. “I just want to go back to this morning, before I heard him say any of that stuff.”

“Why don’t you come downstairs, huh? We can find him, and the two of you can try to talk again-,”

“I can’t,” you refused, the thought of trying to communicate your feelings while you looked the way you did - eyes red raw and face all swollen - filling you with anxiety. “Can you just tell people I’m sick if they ask? I know it’s your birthday but I can’t go down there, Ellie.”

“Okay,” she had agreed, although the worry in her eyes made you feel even worse - missing your best friend’s birthday party because you were too chicken to face your feelings?

What sort of friend does that?

“I’ll come check on you, though. And tomorrow, you’re gonna have a serious conversation with Luke, alright? You can’t keep pushing people away, it isn’t good for you.”

“I know,” you sniffled, “I promise, I’ll try tomorrow.”

But trying had been futile. Luke wanted nothing to do with you - he could barely even look your way. He didn’t come downstairs for breakfast the next day, and when he finally did, he turned straight back around. Every time you tried to talk to him, he would shut you down, and by the tenth day of trying, you’d given up, entirely - booking yourself a ticket home, packing your things up one night and leaving the morning after. 

The following weeks were spent wallowing back home with your mom - texting Ellie, waiting for him to reach out, even though you knew he wouldn’t. Watching sad movies, staying inside, spending your days alone, while your mom was at work, and trying not to miss him so much.

And coming back to Michigan had only been made easy by the fact that he would be gone - due to go back to training in Jersey, and the two of you wouldn’t cross paths.

It won’t hurt as much, you had thought, if you didn’t have to see him.

But now here Luke is, following Ellie’s gaze as she waves up to you in the stands, stood on the sidelines of the football game you’d only attended to finally get yourself out of the house - still in Michigan, stood at the end of the path you thought no longer led to him. 

This might be the first time he’s met your eye in a while, and there’s a visceral feeling that shoots straight through you - your heart falling into an alarming, irregular thump that reverberates through your entire body, and it’s a strange sensation, like the slowing of time, the blurring of everything around you but him. 

His arm is held to his front with a sling, and you try to ignore the way your stomach turns at the sight of it. It’s nothing to do with you, he doesn’t want you to care. He doesn’t even want to talk to you, and you don’t want to talk to him, either - not anymore. Not after almost 6 weeks of silence - of forcing yourself to think about anything but him, like you even could.

You offer a tight lipped smile and a wave to Ellie, and try to ignore his presence for as long as you can, try to watch the game, to focus on your friends in the stands beside you - only, he keeps looking back. Craning his neck, surveying the crowd as it fills up just to find you, and your heart starts to hammer in your chest every time you catch his eye.

What happened to him avoiding you at all costs? What happened to ignoring your attempts to talk, the knocks at his door, the pleading, persuasive looks you’d try to give him when it all got a little too much in the end. 

Why can’t he just let you slip away into nothingness, like it would be so much easier to do?

Your phone buzzes in your back pocket as you’re trying to focus on the game, the desire to flee growing by the second - cramped and claustrophobic in your seat, dying for a drink and a minute of reprieve away from the crowd, away from Luke and whatever weird telekinetic powers he has on your heart.

Luke: can we talk?

Luke: I’ll be at the closest concessions in 5

You slip your phone back into your pocket without responding, and by the time you look back down to where he had been stood, he’s gone. 

You should be relieved. 

Maybe if you ignore his message, he’ll stop looking at you.

Maybe this is where it ends, and you can finally let each other go - too far gone to fix, nothing left to say.

Only your legs are now moving, side stepping Molly and the other girls, along with the rest of the people in your row, and your mouth is apologising to those you bump into, and your feet are carrying you down the stairs to where you know he’ll be, sneakers squeaking against the sticky floor as you search for him in the small concessions queue.

He stands taller than most, waiting by the counter, facing the other way, and you take the second that his back is turned to you to reconsider.

Stuck in place, staring at broad shoulders you’d once spent tracing the freckles between while he slept, and wondering which might hurt more - walking away or hearing him out. 

He turns before you get the chance to choose, his eyes meeting yours , widening in surprise, as much as they can, considering his current predicament, and he immediately heads your way.

“Didn’t think you’d come,” Luke just about says as he precariously holds onto a plastic cup between his teeth, offering you the one in his free hand - what you assume is diet coke with ice sloshing a little over the rim and onto the already sticky floor. 

“Can hardly leave a one-armed man to navigate the concession stand on his own. Not one with your appetite, at least.” Your brows furrow when you notice the distinct lack of snacks in his hold, but you figure he prioritised using what little carrying capacity he had to get your drink. “Do you want me to hang around while you get something to eat? I can hold your drink,”

“I don’t have much of an appetite,” he says, clearer now that he can hold his cup in his hand instead of his mouth. “I’m on some pretty strong painkillers, can’t eat without feeling sick.”

“Oh,” you frown, eyeing the sling that holds his other arm. He had been fine when you left the lake house - and even last week, in Ellie’s story on instagram, he hadn’t seemed injured then. It must be a recent development, and so close to the season, for him to be out in public wearing a brace, it can’t be good. “What happened?”

“Took a pretty bad hit on the ice,” he shrugs with his other shoulder, lips turning down like he’s trying to play it off, “Been telling myself it’s karma.” The way he chuckles is distant and noncommittal, and not at all like all the ways you’re used to seeing him smile or laugh. His eyes don’t squint, his mouth barely turns up, barely pushes those tell-tale folds into his cheeks that you used to press at when he was close enough to do so. Back when being in such close proximity made your heart thump in a different way.

But maybe that’s for the best.

Maybe one of Luke Hughes’ signature crooked grins might have made you do something stupid, like touch him again. You’ve worked too hard to push away the feeling of wanting to for the past month. 

“Karma for what?” You ask instead, head tilting to survey the damage, like you’d even be able to see anything through the thick yellow hoodie he has on. It’s better than looking him in the eye, you think.

“For what I said to Cole,” he tells you, the shame that lines his words doing little to alleviate the way they so quickly jab at you, all the memories of that day and that conversation rushing back at you full-force. Memories you’ve worked really hard to suppress. “For hurting you. I probably deserved to get hurt, too.”

“I’d never want you to be hurt, Luke.” You say before you can think better of it, narrowed eyes meeting his finally, watching as they soften slightly, let your words sink in and melt like warm butter, seeping into his every pore and breaking down his hardened exterior. 

“Me neither,” he almost-whispers, “For you, I mean. I wouldn’t want you to be hurt.”

You nod, momentarily pressing your lips together, your focus dropping to a patch of lint on his hoody, clenching your free hand into a fist behind your back to save yourself from reaching out to pluck it off. 

“Is that all you wanted to see me for?”

You don’t want to be rude to him, but it’s hard, especially when every instinct in your body is telling you to push him away - to keep him at arms length where he can’t pull you back in. 

“No,” he utters quickly, his feet shuffling as if he wants to step forward, reduced the metaphorical distance you’re trying to force between the two of you. “I was hoping we could talk.”

You just about save yourself from having your jaw drop wide open.

You’d tried to talk to him last month, before you left, and he had wanted nothing more to do with you. 

“In the middle of a football game?” You frown, daring to glance up - taking notice of the panic in his eyes when he reads you like a book, can recognise your retreating form from a mile off, by now.

“No,” he blurts out, “No, I mean later, if you’re free. Somewhere else.”

“I don’t know-,”

“We’re having a barbecue back at the house,” he interrupts, a look on his face like he couldn’t possibly accept no for an answer. “Like an end of summer send-off thing, you should come over, I know the guys would want to say goodbye properly.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” you finish your earlier thought, “Besides, your family probably all hate me.”

“Why would they hate you?”

“Because of what happened with us,”

“Oh,” He frowns, “No, they don’t hate you, I promise, not even Jack.”

“I find that hard to believe,” you scoff - when he had helped Ellie move rooms back in the sorority house last week, he could barely even muster a smile to send your way. He hadn’t been his usual stand-offish self, but he had hardly been friendly, either. You didn’t expect laughs and hugs and welcome-backs, but after the two of you had kind of made up back at his cousin’s wedding, and things were finally solid between him and your best friend, you thought some kind of bridge had been built.

Apparently not.

“I didn’t tell them.”

“Oh,” you don’t know whether you feel relieved or disappointed. He can’t have been that heartbroken about the whole thing if he never told a soul, right? Even you told your mom when you got home - granted, she was a whole bottle of rosé deep into the night and seconds from falling into a wine coma, but you still at least acknowledged your feelings to somebody. 

What did he do, just bottle all whatever feelings remained up and send them off down the lake? Enjoy the rest of his summer like you never happened?

“I didn’t think you’d want me to,” he continues, “You never really liked me talking about us with other people, so I didn’t.”

“Right,” you nod, biting your tongue to save from throwing out a bitter, thanks. You spent the last month watching heart-wrenching sad movies in your bed all day and he just went about his life like the two of you were nothing That’s fine. That’s cool.

“Ellie’ll be there,” he tries again, like she won’t be attached to Jack’s hip all night and you’ll be left on your own. “And a few of the Michigan guys, if you need a ride back to campus. I’d offer to drive you, but,” he nods down to his arm, “Or you can stay, your room is still free.”

Yourroom. Like you have any claim on any part of his world, still.

“I’ll think about it,” you tell him, because you can’t fully bring yourself to say no to his face. It’ll be easier when you’re back home, later, and can just ignore his texts, if he even cares enough to send any. “I should get back.”

“I can walk you back,”

“You shouldn’t be in a crowd with your arm,” your head shakes and you step back, your body language saying more than your lips even dare. “It’s fine. Thanks for the drink.”

“No problem.” He chews at the corner of his lip as he watches you retreat, like he has more to say. 

Despite spending the last month doing everything in your power to wipe your thoughts clean of Luke Hughes, you want nothing more than to hear it - but where you’ve been suffering and relating every pathetic, sad song you hear back to him and fighting every urge to reach out through fear of rejection, he’s been ignoring your entire existence. Repressing whatever feelings he may have had and neglecting any instinct he might have had to reach out, too. 

“Promise me you will?” He calls out when you’re a little ways down the tunnel, causing you to turn back to see him in the same spot, “Think about it, I mean. I’d really like to talk to you.”

Your fingers tense at the mere mention of a promise tumbling from his lips, your pinky sending signals to your feet to run straight back to him, practically itching to reach out and link with his. Instead, you nod, eyes darting to the big M that stretches across his chest, easier to look at that and lie than into his hopeful gaze. 

“Sure,” you tell him, because you can hardly make a promise you can’t keep. 

Not to Luke.

You’re not coming.

Luke realistically knew as much when Ellie arrived on her own - immediately going over to Jack and sparing Luke a glance out of the corner of her eye as she whispered to his brother.

But it’s taken him almost 2 hours to really come to terms with the fact - to stop keeping an eye on the door and whipping his head around any time a newcomer enters the house. 

He should have known when you refused to make a promise to him - not like you owed him anything in the first place. Should have known when the few attempts you made at joking around with him like old times, you’d barely mustered a smile - that familiar glint in your eye that shone only for him watered down into a dull gaze you refused to hold. 

God, he’s an idiot, he thinks.

He should have spoken to you when he had the chance - those few times you had tried to offer an olive branch, pushing a pre-poured glass of juice his way at breakfast or making space for him on the couch he’s now conveniently slumped on, all alone.

It feels a little like a lost cause now, trying to reignite some sort of spark between the two of you - not when you won’t even hear him out.

He’d felt a bit of hope when you’d met him at the stadium, thinking his text might have been left on read - and even though he’d made the effort to buy you a drink, he hadn’t entirely expected you to turn up. 

He thinks maybe that had been the first thing to throw him for a loop - arranging a meeting on a whim and you actually making an appearance. Maybe that’s why he couldn’t form a coherent sentence, or relay any sort of confidence in himself or what he was trying to sell you on. 

Maybe that’s why he couldn’t convince you to come.

He can’t blame you - your last 10 days here at the house had been miserable, on his account, and if he was in your shoes, he wouldn’t come back, either. He wouldn’t hear himself out, wouldn’t forgive himself.

The night of Ellie’s party should have been where he drew the line at avoiding you - the initial aftermath of your fight still sizzling, too hot to touch while the both of you were still reeling.

The morning after, he had been hungover - throwing back drinks like nobody’s business just to drown you out - and there was no chance of having a serious conversation, then, even though he had woke up alone in his bed wanting nothing more than for you to be there.

He’d gone downstairs sometime in the early afternoon, ignoring his growling stomach until he couldn’t do it any more , and had trudged into the kitchen only to find you there with Cole.

The bitterness within him fought violently with his need to puke, and he stormed back up to his room, no longer having any sort of appetite, and stayed there for the rest of the day.

The days that followed were no better - avoiding you at every given opportunity, ignoring your pleading eyes, leaving no chance for you to speak to him, despite all the times he could see that you wanted to. He’d leave every room you entered, turn away from every conversation you joined, and the final nail in the coffin was probably the time he ignored you knocking on his bedroom door one night, the soft call of his name feeling like a knife that twisted in his gut. 

You were gone the next day - your bedroom door open and the room empty when he walked past, your seat at the table vacant when he came downstairs for breakfast, and he seemed to be the only one who didn’t know. Ellie seemed unbothered, already having moved into Jack’s room, Quinn was drinking the green tea you had bought, that no one else was supposed to touch, Alex probably wouldn’t have cared either way, and Cole was already talking about meeting up with some other girl.

“Wow,” Luke had scoffed, throwing himself into the chair beside Cole’s and sneaking a peak at his phone screen, suddenly feeling a burning need to call the guy out. He was to the entire reason you called things off with Luke, and now he was talking to someone else? “Her bed isn’t even cold and you’re already moving on, huh?”

Ellie had glared at him from across the table, and Jack had frowned too, no doubt wondering why after 10 days of complete silence about the whole thing, he was daring to bring you up now.

“What are you talking about?” Cole chuckled, leaning back in his chair and raising a brow at Luke, who just said your name in response, with a pointed stare. “What about her?”

“Thought you were ending your summer with a girlfriend.” 

“Dude, where the hell have you been?” Cole snorted, amused, if anything, “She couldn’t have turned me down quicker if she tried. Man to man, don’t ever follow instructions from that one,” he pointed over to Ellie, “She led me on a wild goose chase all summer just so that I’d help her get her guy.”

“Hey!” Ellie called from across the table, “It’s not my fault you have no game. And I would have gotten my guy just fine without your help.”

Before Cole could retort, spurred on by the way Jack was chucking by her side, Luke frowned, straightening in his chair. “She didn’t want to go out with you?”

“No, but before you say anything, it has nothing to do with my game, alright? She’s into someone else, I guess.”

“Someone else?” Luke’s eyes darted over to Ellie, who just rolled hers in response, turning her attention back to Jack before she excused herself from the table.

“That’s my guess,” Cole shrugged, “She said she wasn’t into me like that, but come on.”

Wasn’t into him?

That wasn’t what you had said to Luke.

“Sorry man,” Luke offered, absentmindedly, head craning to see which direction Ellie left in. “As you were.”

He jogged out of the kitchen and up the stairs, just about catching her before she disappeared into her and Jack’s room. “Hey, wait,” he had called, watching as she let out a heavy sigh and turned to look at him with narrowed eyes. “She turned him down?”

“Did you not just have this exact conversation with Cole?”

“Ellie, c’mon,” he pleaded, desperation creeping up inside - feeling a little too much like guilt, and causing a serious discomfort in the pit of his stomach. “She said she wanted to date him.”

“You’re so unbelievably stupid.”

It didn’t quite hit the same as when you said it, shame washing over him at the way Ellie was glaring at him. 

“She heard you tell him that she wasn’t girlfriend material, and that she would just be hard work, and not worth his time. Lucky for you, she didn’t hear the bullshit you said before that.” Regret formed like a heavy ball in his gut, the weight of it almost pushing him to keel over. “She said whatever she had to to get you off her back because it hurt her less to push you away.”

“I don’t-,”

“And you’re the dumbass who just let her do it.”

That’s not fair, he thought. What was he supposed to do, just watch you move on without a care in the world, cheering you on with a stupid grin on his face while his whole heart crumbled to pieces at the thought of you being with anybody else?

“I’m not a mind reader, Ellie,” he tried to defend himself, “I can’t keep pushing at a door that won’t open.”

“My God, do you have a peanut for a brain, Luke?” She had shoved at his chest, “She’s been holding the door open for the last ten days, and all you’ve done is walk past it. She wanted to talk to you, and you wouldn’t even look at her!”

“I wasn’t ready! I thought she-,” 

He had thought you had taken Cole up on his offer of taking you out - had thought that’s the conversation he had stumbled into the day after the party - and he didn’t want to risk hearing anything about it, or seeing it in action.

“She said it didn’t matter.”

You had said that - he had asked you straight up, so there was no confusing it, but when he tried to remember, he can’t picture your eyes as you did. He must not have been looking, he thought, or maybe you weren’t looking at him. Either way, how’s he supposed to muster up a clear idea of your intentions if he can’t remember the look in your eyes as you spoke them. 

You couldn’t lie to him - you never could, even in the beginning, pretending to be aloof, pretending you weren’t into him, he could always see through you, back then, so why didn’t he try harder when it was something he didn’t want to hear?

“She’s really gone home? Not just back to Ann Arbor?”

“What are you gonna do?” Ellie scoffed, folding her arms across her chest, “Chase her down?”

“I don’t know, if I have to. We need to talk.”

“She’s probably back at her mom’s by now, she left pretty early. And I think it’s for the best if you leave her alone, Luke. She gave you a hundred chances to talk.”

“What am I supposed to do? I can’t just leave things like this, I made a mistake, I need her to know that, I need her to know I’m sorry.”

“It’s better if you both just cool off a little. She’s hurt that you’ve been ignoring her, it isn’t fair to keep playing hot and cold with her feelings.”

“That’s not what I-,”

“I know.” Ellie sighed, leaning against the wall and giving him a pitiful look as she finally took in just how panicked he had become, running hands through his hair and shifting between his feet. “Just give it time, that way you can both think about it, think about what you want to say without just saying things and not meaning them.”

And that’s all Luke has been doing since then.

Thinking about what he wants to say to you - thinking about how to fix things. All without knowing when it is that he would even see you again, or if you’d be willing to listen. 

He’d distracted himself with it - his mind stuck on just how bad he had messed things up, and it had put him into a rut - so much so, that he ended up hurting himself in training, an injury that would have him out for a good couple of months. And he had meant it, when he told you he thought it was karma, because he deserved a reality check, he thinks. It had shifted things into perspective, at least - because now he could stay in town a little longer, could try and make amends before he had to go home and properly start his season.

And when he’d noticed Ellie scanning the crowd back at the game, had followed her beaming smile all the way to you in the crowd, he thought his heart had stopped.

It had been 4 weeks since he’d seen you last - almost 6 since he’d spoken to you. Since he’d touched you, or kissed you, or seen you smile, and when your eyes meet his from the stands, widened and hesitant, he could tell you were feeling the same.

An insurmountable longing for something the two of you should never have thrown away.

He saw the truth, then, even as you looked away and diverted your attention back to Ellie - the truth he was too hurt to notice all those weeks ago back in your room in the lake house. 

That you felt the same way - you always had - you just weren’t used to it. Weren’t used to loving someone, or having them love you.

But he can’t quite tell if you still feel it.

He can’t expect you to, not with how reserved you’ve become.

He sighs, sinking into the cushions of the couch, legs stretched out and head thrown against the back as he squints against the light - the noise around him dwindling to a constant buzz. 

He’s too caught up in his head to notice when Ellie sinks down beside him until she nudges at his side, and he slowly looks her way.

“If it helps at all, I could tell she wanted to come.”

Luke snorts out a humourless laugh, eyes rolling. “If she wanted to come, she’d be here.” He says, the muscles in his jaw tensing. “She doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

“She doesn’t really open up to people,” Ellie sighs, and he can tell from the way she’s looking at him that’s only divulging this from a place of pity, although he guesses that’s better than her saying nothing at all. “It took us years to get to where we are, and even now I’m not sure she lets me all the way in, and we’re supposed to be best friends.”

“I feel like I don’t even know if she was ever into me in the first place,” he mutters, tracing at a scratch in the surface of the table. Even if he had thought different, back in the stadium, he can’t be so sure now that you haven’t shown. You’d have come if you still cared. “I’m still confused by the whole Cole thing-,”

“That was my fault,” Ellie interjects, “I thought I was doing the right thing, I didn’t realise that you two were-,” her teeth clash as she bites down, as if to stop saying the word, together. “Whatever you were. And she just got all in her head after she heard you saying all that stuff, it’s what she does, keeps her cards close to her chest until she loses them all.”

“That’s the problem, El,” Luke groans, “If she really liked me, she would have told you. If she was ever serious, you’d have known something was up. She wouldn’t have hidden it from her best friend and told me that she was gonna go out with Cole after all.”

“You know she turned him down, Luke, he said himself, she was into someone else.”

“Yeah, or so he assumed,” he grumbles, recalling the feeling he got when Cole had said as much, back on the day you left.

“And you know on my birthday when she overheard that conversation, she’d literally just told me that she liked you. That’s big for her, Luke. It might have taken her a while but she got there in the end. It’s your own fault for having such a big mouth and ruining it.”

“I told her I didn’t mean it,” he can’t help how whiney he sounds, lips pouting and a crease forming between his eyebrows. “I told her I was sorry.”

“And then you ignored her for almost two weeks until she had no choice but to leave. You don’t get to claim the moral high ground here, I’m sorry.”

“So what am I supposed to do? She won’t talk to me.”

“You just have to give her time, don’t give up again.” Ellie nudges him a little too forcefully, the sharp jut of her elbow in his ribs causing him to wince. “Really think about if there’s a version of you that could be friends.”

“What if I don’t want to be friends, what if I don’t wanna keep taking one step forward and three back?” 

“Then think about if you’d rather be nothing at all.”

“She hates me that much?”

“I don’t know, she stopped talking to me about it.” Ellie huffs, leaning back a little more into the couch. “But I’d take that as a no. If she hated you, neither of us would hear the end of it, trust me.”

He knows that’s true - all the odd comments you’d drop about Jack back in the beginning of summer. He knows you never hated Jack, but there was always a clear dislike, and you were never shy about voicing it to anyone willing to listen.

If you’re not talking about him at all, it means one of two things. You either give so little of a shit about him that you don’t see a use in bringing him up, or you don’t want to show vulnerability by admitting how much he hurt you.

He knows what he’d put his money on.

“Can’t you talk to her for me? Put a good word in?” He pleads, rounding his eyes in the hopes that Ellie’s pity extends to doing him a solid - he dedicated his entire summer to getting her and Jack together, after all.

“I think it’s best for the both of us if I stay out of her love life. My meddling is what got you guys into this mess in the first place.”

Luke sighs as he resumes his previous position, neck thrown against the back of the couch and eyes cast to the ceiling. 

Your room is right above - the bed on which you’d kissed him that first time, away from your scheming at the mall, still made and empty. The bed where you two would lay atop the covers, watching movies on the old staticky TV, sharing snacks between you and spouting commentary into the night.

He wonders, then, if you’d watched anything since the last time - before you left - and it’s that thought that has him pushing himself up and making his way up the stairs. 

Despite the amount of time since you were in here, it still kind of smells like you - like melon sunscreen and passionfruit perfume - and he casts a glance around for anything that might remain.

There’s nothing, though. No loose hair ties, forgotten jewellery, not even a book left behind.

And then he checks by the TV - the shelf below it housing a DVD player, and he powers it up just to press eject.

After a few seconds, a disc spins out.

Silver Linings Playbook, with Bradley Cooper and Jennifer Lawrence.

He might have seen it once or twice, can vaguely remember some of the storyline, but it isn’t until everybody has left the house a good hour or two later that he thinks he should watch it - if it’s the last movie you watched before you left - just to get an idea of your headspace. 

When he’s lounging on his own bed, the movie playing on his TV, Jennifer’s Tiffany saying to Bradley’s Pat, “I used to think that you were the best thing that ever happened to me, but now I think that you might maybe be the worst thing. And I'm sorry that I ever met you.” And it turns his stomach in a way he isn’t prepared for, tears pricking at his eyes at the thought of you watching this and thinking the same.

And then Pat responds, and Luke sits with the line for a good minute, pausing the movie as he ponders the response, "Good for you. Come on, let's go dance.” 

He wonders if you smiled the same way - soft and small, hopeful that one day the punches you throw to defend yourself are met with the same resistance, with a hand that grabs at them, and instead of fighting back, just pulls you closer.

It’s almost by instinct that he pulls his phone out, loading up the same app he always does when he’s watching a movie, ready to fill in a review when it gets to a part that resonates with him.

And there you are, on his friends feed - the last movie you logged being an hour ago, La La Land, which you had unsurprisingly given 5 stars, and had reviewed with just a quote - It’s pretty strange that we keep bumping into each other. Maybe it means something.

And he grins, really and genuinely beams, for what feels like the first time in a while, a small chuckle rumbling up from his chest as he checks for your review on Silver Linings - the same quote he loved so much sitting there under your 5 star rating. 

He doesn’t want to be nothing, he decides, then, like it was ever in question. 

And he realises it’s up to him to do something about it.

Luke’s first thought when it comes to fixing thing is to text you.

It’s simple, and it should be easy, but he sits staring at your name in his phone for 30 minutes trying to think of what would be best to say.

A casual, hey, in the hopes that you’d just instinctively type it back.

A call out, like, Bummed you couldn’t come over the other night, thinking you might have been feeling guilty.

A question, or even an invite, along the lines of, Do you want to meet somewhere? Because leaving someone hanging on an invite is just plain cruel.

But then he feels like he doesn’t want to force your hand - weirdly inspired by that La La Land quote you loved so much, about bumping into each other.

Only orchestrating a chance encounter was hard when you weren’t going out. Ellie had mentioned everybody going for drinks at one of the bars on campus, and you never turned up.

She told him your favourite coffee shop, and despite him hanging around all day one time, like a total creep, he didn’t catch sight of you once.

You weren’t with Ellie when he bumped into her at the mall, or at the diner, when he had gone for burgers with the guys and seen a few of your sorority sisters on the other side of the restaurant.

And even when Ellie had told him to come over to the house, that she’d take him into town to pick up some suits, because he was still in his sling and couldn’t drive himself, he had been disheartened to find out you wouldn’t be there - that you had a morning class, and Ellie hadn’t even seen you.

He settles for looking at the cute photo of you and Ellie on the mantle, greek letters painted on your cheeks, beaming smiles as you looked straight into the camera, and he still gets that twinge in his chest even looking at a photo.

A twinge that only grows when he hears a gasp from behind him, and he swiftly turns to see you at the bottom of the staircase, looking back at him, alarmed and surprised.

Luke’s eyes trail slowly up your bare legs, his throat going dry as they land on the oversized shirt you’re wearing - his shirt, he’s pretty sure, although he knows it’s probably best not to comment on that - before cutting up to your face, wide eyes staring back at him.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, stepping back toward the staircase where you rest your hand on the bannister, putting as much distance between the two of you as you can without completely retreating up the stairs. 

“I uh-,” he stutters, losing his train of thought as he stands there with his mouth agape, taking you in.

He hadn’t been prepared to see you, that much is clear - and especially not like this, dressed in his shirt, which you’ve obviously slept in, hair a little messy, skin bare of any makeup. It reminds him of those mornings in his bed, waking up before the rest of the house, your body bathed in the soft glow from the rising sun, trading sleepy kisses until you would sneak back off to your room.

It makes him yearn for that, again, and feelings like that need some kind of forewarning, otherwise they serve nothing but to make him ache.

“I said I’d drive him to an appointment,” Ellie says as she emerges from the kitchen, car keys in hand, “I though everyone had class this morning, you’re not gonna hand me in for having a guy in the house, are you?”

“I’m not a snitch,” you frown, tugging at the ends of his shirt, “I slept in, I didn’t think anyone else was here either.”

He didn’t exactly need the confirmation, considering your current state, but knowing you slept in his shirt makes the heat creep up his neck, his chest puffing as he really takes in the meaning of it.

So many things about you are screaming that you want nothing to do with him, but you’re sleeping in his old Michigan shirt, one you’d borrowed when your shoulders were burning out on a wakeboarding trip one day, he’s pretty sure - one he never even realised you kept.

“Do you need a ride?” She offers, stepping beside Luke, close enough that in order to look at Ellie, you pretty much have to look his way too, and every time you glance at him, he catches you. “We were gonna go get a drink before, so we’re heading your way anyway. Or you could come with, if you’re skipping."

“Uh, no,” you decline, without even thinking about it, Luke’s chest feeling a little tighter at just how quick you are to avoid being near him. “I’m gonna go to the library.”

“I could still drive you. I doubt you’d mind a detour, would you, Lukey?”

“No,” he breathes out, almost immediately, eyes staying on you. “I don’t mind.”

“It’s fine,” you offer Ellie a tight lipped smile, “I’ll walk.”

And that’s that - your figure retreating back up the stairs before Luke has anything to say about it, his shoulders slumping as Ellie offers a friendly pat to his back.

“C’mon then, I need to stop for gas, you’re paying.”

He follows Ellie out to the back of the house, where the girls usually park their cars off the street, and just as he’s climbing into Ellie’s Mini, he glances up to the one of the windows, just in time to catch the quick shift of a curtain.

“Don’t worry,” Ellie says as he adjusts the passenger seat, folding his long legs into the limited space, an assured smile sent his way before she starts up the car. “I’ve got a plan.”

“What happened to no more meddling?” He huffs as he buckled himself in.

“I can’t sit back and watch my best friend become boring trying to avoid you, Luke,” she sighs, “It’s borderline painful.” 

—

You don’t know when managing your social life became Ellie’s full time job - as if the two of you aren’t tumbling into the depths of your final year of school with very little direction or guidance - but you’re growing tired of it, quick.

First, it had been, you’re coming to the bar and I’m not taking no for an answer, except, she had taken no for an answer, she just relished in making you feel bad for it after.

Then it had been, I need your opinion on halloween costumes, and she had insisted you join her at the mall, but you had an appointment with the careers counsellor that you really couldn’t miss, and she had to settle with sending you photos, again adding incessant messages about how she wouldn’t let you turn down the next invitation out.

Never mind trying to avoid bumping into Luke during his extended stay, avoiding Ellie was becoming a real task - slipping out before she can corner you in the mornings and staying out most of the day.

She caught you off guard, the other day, though - inviting Luke around. Sure, you were supposed to be in class - would have been, if your alarm had gone off on time - but still, bringing him into your space was like crossing a line, breaking an unspoken rule.

She’s supposed to be on your side. She isn’t supposed to be bringing the guy who hurt you into your house and driving him around town like his personal assistant, all from the good of her heart.

She’s just trying to kiss up to Jack.

At least, you thought so, until she sent you a text later that day - a bunch of pictures of Luke in different suits, tailored perfectly to his lean figure, shirts that stretched taut across his broad shoulders and pants that clung perfectly to his hips, followed by the message, thoughts?

You had many, but none that you could possibly sent to her - only replying with a question mark until she apologised, claiming they were meant for Jack’s approval.

It became clear then, what she was doing - flaunting him in front of you until you burst at the seams, like one of those jackets looked like it was going to do in a few of the pictures from the back of Luke in the tailor shop. Sending you those had been no accident.

And that’s why you were sceptical when the weekend rolled around, and she was begging and pleading for you to go with her to a party at the hockey house - promising you that he was finally heading back to Jersey, and definitely wasn’t going to be around.

She’d buttered you up with groans of, I feel like I never see you anymore, and, school is stressing me out, already, I just want to let loose with my best friend!

And it was the promise that she’d let you wear a skirt you’ve been eyeing in her closet for the past two years that sealed the deal - a vintage Diesel mini that she had thrifted and guarded like her whole life depended on it. 

You can’t help it, anyway - it’s been so long since you’ve been out like that - probably summer being the last time - and you need to let loose too.

And that’s how you end up walking hand in hand through the front door, Ellie having styled your hair, the two of you looking like a million dollars, and it’s the first time in months that you aren’t disturbed by the feeling of eyes on you.

You kind of feel like your old self - confident, self-assured, like there isn’t a soul on earth who could possibly make you doubt yourself.

You wish the universe gave you at least five minutes to sit with that feeling before you saw him. 

Before you saw Luke, sling-free, bottle in hand, leaning against the wall, talking to Victoria Anderson, a girl you know he has history with - a girl you have history with, yourself.

You hate how quick the switch within you flips - the slight slump of your posture, the tension in your jaw, all your self-worth seeping from your pores like your body is actively trying to kill it.

Your hand slips from Ellie’s, immediately heading in the opposite direction to where Luke is - making a bee-line straight for the kitchen, straight for a drink.

Ellie is hot on your heels, grasping at your arm to keep up, “I’m sorry,” she calls after you.

“You said he wouldn’t be here,” you grumble, shoving through the swinging door and heading straight for the line of bottles on the counter. 

“What am I, his keeper?” She scoffs, trying to play it off as a lighthearted joke, but you can see it in her eyes that she knew. “I don’t know where he’s gonna be at all hours of the day.”

“You said he was going back to Jersey.”

“Yeah, well, I must have got my days mixed up!”

“Yeah, right,” you scoff, pouring out a shot from the first bottle you find without even reading the label, and throwing it back before you can think twice. You pour yourself a proper drink, after - a vodka with diet coke - and sip at it just to cool your nerves, trying to calm yourself down.

You don’t want to be mad at Ellie - whatever she’s doing, she’s doing it because she cares - but you’re so tired of overthinking this whole thing. All you want is a break from it all, and no one is willing to give you one.

“I’m gonna go find Ethan,” you tell her, figuring you can kill two birds with one stone - ask him about the class you missed the other morning, and avoid speaking to Luke, “If you want to make this up to me, I need you to tell Luke to steer clear, okay?”

“Fine,” she scowls, rolling her eyes as she has to pour her own drink.

You storm off back toward the door, and just as you get close, it swings open, the edge of it knocking straight into you - into the hand holding your freshly poured drink, which is now dripping down your front.

Your whole body tenses at the sensation of the liquid seeping through your shirt, only momentarily thankful that you hadn’t added ice before you remember the coke - remember the vintage skirt, with the light denim wash.

You hear Ellie groan from behind you, and you squeeze your eyes shut in the hopes that you’ll magically gain some sort of time travelling superpower - a rewind button, like Click.

“Are you okay?”

Of course it had to be him, you think - because you’ve somehow unsettled the entire balance of the universe, and this is how it’s decided to repay you, your eyes opening to find those concerned, grey-green eyes peering back at you. 

He takes the empty cup that’s being squished in your grip and tosses it into a trash can to the side before you feel a hesitant hand on your side, watching as he surveys the damage.

“And here I thought that skirt couldn’t get uglier.”

Victoria’s piercing blue eyes gleam back at you, a sinister smirk plastered on her lips, and you’re lunging before you even know it until a strong arm curls around your waist, the heat of his skin slipping straight into the gap between your skirt and t-shirt, and sending a shiver straight down the spine that’s now pressed to his front.

“Hey, c’mon,” he warns, pulling you back with enough force that there’s a good couple of feet between you and Victoria now, and her eyes narrow at all the points he’s touching you. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You think you only let him guide you away to piss her off - and it isn’t until he’s ushering you into the small downstairs bathroom and closing the door behind him that you realise how little consideration you put into that.

You watch as Luke retrieves a towel from the small cupboard by the door, forgetting he probably still knows this place like the back of his hand, and starts to work at the front of your t-shirt before you snatch it away.

“I’ve got it, thanks.” You snap, entirely frustrated with the whole situation than you think you are with him, a small swirling of guilt immediately bubbling up inside you. 

You dab at the skirt, first, hoping there’s some way that it’s salvageable, or Ellie’s going to murder you. You lean against the counter by the sink, and glance down at the damage. It looks just like a water stain, for now, unfortunately placed, but you won’t know for sure until it dries, and dabbing at it with a towel isn’t really going to fix that.

“Did she hurt your hand?” Luke asks, low voice breaking the silence you were starting to cherish, and it’s only then that you realise where the door hit you. Your knuckles ache a little, but you can still flex your fingers, so you figure they’ll just be bruised tomorrow.

You do wish you could have bruised them another way - maybe with a fist to Victoria Anderson’s smug grin - but you’re supposed to be a pacifist, so maybe not. If anyone’s going to break that pattern, it would be her - your rival in every way ever since you came to Michigan. Academically, in all the same classes, socially, in opposing sororities, and even romantically, with her somehow always looking out for the same guys.

She’d even been at one of the parties back at the lake house, with her hands all over Luke - you remember hearing her shrill laugh and feeling like someone had just drug their nails down a chalkboard, all semblance of peace instantly lost. 

You’re brought out of whatever fiery daydream even her name elicits with the touch of Luke’s fingers to yours, the soft brush of his thumb over your knuckles as he checks for any real damage.

“I’m fine,” you croak out, dazed a little by the feeling before you tear your hand away, “It was just a knock.”

“You want me to kick her ass?”

You blame the shot you took for the way you snort out a laugh - caught by surprise and unable to even consider the reaction, slipping straight back into your unguarded self around him - like the walls you’ve tried so hard to rebuild just dissolved. Not even a knock or a tumble of bricks, just them fading into nothing like magic.

Luke smiles back, soft and hesitant, like he’s waiting for you to fade away, too.

And then there’s that silence you thought you wanted - heavy and tense, and it’s too much for you to handle, so you slip past him, wordlessly, and head straight back to the door. 

And just as your fingers grasp at the handle and you prepare yourself to pull, a large hand lays flat on the surface beside you, trapped by a warm chest closing in on your back.

It’s quiet for a minute, the dull thump of the bass from the music somewhere else in the house now distant and fading, and the room feels charged way beyond the atmosphere of the party you’ve been away from a little too long.

You see the bend in his elbow before you feel his breath on the back of your neck, and you can feel the distance closing - an inch or two now, so close that you have to stay vigilant not to take even the slightest step back.

“Luke,” you breathe, your throat stinging in preparation for some sort of hurt, and your lip trembling until you start to chew on it.

“Just one more minute.”

“You have to let me go.”

“Please, I just want to talk.”

You turn, slowly,  and you don’t know why you do it to yourself, because it’s inevitable you’ll fall prey to the pleading look in his eyes. Your back falls against the door, and you’re craning your neck to look up at him, blinking slow as his eyes flicker between your own.

Every passing second feels like a minute, and just as you’re about to give in - to tell him to go ahead and talk, the door vibrates behind you, a fist banging into the other side.

“Please tell me the skirt is okay!”

You press a hand flat to his chest and push, wedging some much needed space between the two of you - enough that you can swing the door open and face Ellie, and save yourself from plunging into whatever rabbit hole that would have taken you down.

“I won’t know until it’s dry, but if it’s bad, we’ll take it to the cleaners, okay?”

“Ugh,” Ellie groans, grabbing you by the hand and dragging you back to the kitchen for another drink, “I’m so running her ass over the next time I see her on the street.”

You look back at Luke, still stood in the doorway, watching the whole way until you disappear around the corner, and it’s only when you can’t see him anymore that your heart rate returns to an acceptable speed.

You successfully manage to avoid Luke for a good couple of hours, almost forgetting him, miraculously, despite being in a house filled with his closest friends. There’s even a point where you think he might have left, until you stumble out into the backyard to a group setting up a small fire to keep warm.

You’re too buzzed to comment on the legality of it, so far gone that the thought of campus police coming around barely even crosses your mind, and you throw yourself down into one of the camp chairs with a drink in hand as the group discuss how to pass the time.

You can’t remember who suggests Never Have I Ever, too distracted by the figure settling down on the opposite side of the fire, long limps stretching almost comically out of the small chair, meeting your eyes for a moment before you look away at the arrival of Nick, who comes with cards in hand. 

You’d usually make some sort of comment about how juvenile it is, but there’s this part of you that’s probably trying to cling a little to that, lately, so you let it pass, leaning almost sleepily back into your chair as it kicks off.

The game is pretty tame compared to other times you’ve played it, stuff like, never have I ever crashed a car, and, never have I ever broken a bone, coming from the top of the deck, and there’s only a few complaints about it needing more spice before it gets to Ellie’s turn to pick, a few people down from you. 

“Never have I ever,” Ellie drags out before picking a card, flipping between her manicured fingers and smiling slowly as she reads the rest, “Been in love,” she coos, turning it to show the rest of the group with a love-struck grin.

A chorus of groans sing out from around the circle, Luca reaching to swipe the card from Ellie as she takes a big chug from her red cup. “That’s so lame,” he huffs, “Pick another, this isn’t the Ellie show. We get it, you're happy, doesn't mean the rest of us should suffer.”

You glance down at your empty cup as the two of them start to argue about the rules of the game, Ellie grumbling how she didn’t write the cards, and Luca retorting with how she could have at least gone off-script to make it a little more interesting.

If you had any semblance of your inhibitions, any control of your reactions, your gaze would have stayed on the last few drops swirling around the base of your drink. Your eyes wouldn’t have trailed up slowly, past the dancing flames of the makeshift-campfire, and fallen onto another cup at the opposite side of the circle.

It wouldn’t have watched intently as long, slender fingers raised to bring said cup up, pressing to parted lips, the contents gulped down as you stare at the movement of his throat around the liquid.

When you dare to look higher, you find him already staring back at you, piercing green eyes burning hotter than the fire between you, and your own throat goes dry as you watch. 

And of course he makes a show of it, squaring his shoulders and swiping a thumb across his bottom lip to make sure there's no residue. No evidence of all that he had just admitted to. Nothing but the memory of it burned already into the back of your retinas, lingering like an ache all the way down your spine.

No one else seems to notice - but you suppose that’s just how things go between you and Luke. One more secret to add to the ever-growing pile.

Your hand trembles as if it wants to copy him, but you’re thankful for the last shred of dignity you have that tells you that even if you wanted to drink - even if you could play it off as assuming the question had been vetoed, and you were just quenching your thirst in the brief break in the game - there’s nothing left. Even if you wanted to drink - which you brain is so loudly telling you that you don’t - you can’t.

And when Luke’s gaze shifts, lowers painstakingly slow as everything else fades to background noise around the two of you, you don’t know why you find yourself tilting your cup when his eyes land on it, making a show of just how empty it is.

“You’re not gonna drink?” Ethan frowns from beside you, a nudge of his elbow knocking at yours and bringing you back down to earth with a painful splat.

Why would he assume that?

“What?” You ask, frowning as you meet his chocolate brown eyes, the reflection of the flames basking them in a warm, melting glow. 

“He said never have I ever been kicked out of a bar,” he chuckles, quirking a brow as your face morphs from one of confusion to one of recollection. “I know for a fact you have.”

“Oh, right,” you laugh, nervously, the reaction coming out more like a stuttered breath as the panic swirling in your chest dissipates just the slightest. “I’m running on empty. I’m gonna go get a refill.”

Ethan nods as he shuffles a little to let you out of the circle, watching with narrowed eyes as you lift yourself from the chair and edge your way out of the group and back towards the house.

The kitchen is thankfully empty when you get back inside, sliding the door shut behind you to block out the noise, your thoughts overbearing enough without still being able to hear everyone yelling out in the yard.

You move almost on autopilot, heading for the row of bottles on the counter and reaching straight for the vodka you’ve been mixing with diet coke all night.

You pour out a measured shot first, swirl it in the cup before lifting the it straight to your lips, leaving little room to think much more about it, and throwing your head back.

The liquid burns the whole way down - all the way from the back of your mouth, past your aching chest, and into the pit of your stomach, pooling there in a nauseating bubble of heat and regret - and you don’t know entirely if the need to drink was just to quench your thirst, to alleviate the warmth spiking up your neck, to quell the rampant beating of your heart, or to play along with the game. With Luke’s game.

Maybe some mysteries are better left unsolved. 

He wasn’t in love with you.

You think you’d know. He would have told you - he’s hardly shy about voicing his opinion, you learned that the hard way. 

He’s just being cruel, now, you’ve convinced yourself - probably payback for earlier, for leaving him in the bathroom and telling him to let you go. One final act of defiance, because he has to have the last word.

God, why would you even play along?

You shouldn’t have even looked his way - should have kept your eyes down, then you wouldn’t still be feeling like your whole body is on fire. 

Your eyes dart up at the sound of the screen door opening, and your heart thuds in your chest at the sight of who walks through.

You hold your breath as he slowly makes his way toward you - cautious steps carrying him toward the counter where you stand, and he places his empty cup on the surface beside yours, 

“You can’t avoid me forever.”

“I don’t have to avoid you forever,” you shrug, circling around him and trying not to let him trap you again, “I just have to avoid you until you go home.”

“I don’t want to go home without us talking,” he grasps at your wrist before you can fully get past him, levelling you with a tired look, one that says he’s resigned to his fate, but he can’t rest until he tries one last time. “Please.”

“Luke,” you groan, the remnants of intoxication slowly fading into exhaustion. 

“Just one conversation.” He begs, “Then you can be done with me, I’ll leave you alone.”

Your lips twist as you try not to give under the weight of his softened, pleading gaze. He’s persistent, you’ll give him that - and he’s technically surpassed the efforts you had made back before you left the house toward the end of summer, now almost 3 weeks since you had turned him down back at the football game. 

And do you really want him to leave you alone? You’re not entirely sure. Maybe talking to him can help you finally figure that out. 

“Fine.” You acquiesce. “One conversation.”

“You want me to walk you home?” He asks, his voice soft and low, a tilt to his head that makes his curls shuffle and a caring glint in his eye that makes your legs feel like jelly. It’s probably for the best if he does, you think, you’re at a serious fall-risk now. Tired and buzzed, a lethal combination.

You nod, wordlessly, watching as he seemingly tries to fight a small smile, straightening up to swipe your cup, stacking it with his own and throwing it in the trash. 

“C’mon, I already gave Ellie a heads up, I’ll come back for her.”

You soften a little at the thought of him considering her - even if it isn’t about you. If it’s on Jack’s behalf, and he’s just being a good brother, him looking out for your best friend is still sweet.

You let him guide you out of the house, and it’s quiet in a way you can’t stand, walking side by side down the otherwise empty street.

“You’re out of your sling, then?” You don’t know why you feel better to make small talk - but waiting with bated breath for him to say what he’s been trying to for so long now makes your heart pound almost painfully against your ribcage. 

“Yeah,” he flexes his arm a little, as if to prove a point. “I’m back in Jersey at the end of the week, will probably be doing no contact training for a while.”

“How long until you’re playing again?”

“They’re saying it’s looking like November,” he tells you, “Which sucks, but at least I don’t need surgery like Jack.”

“Do you miss it?” You ask, conscious of the way your steps are slowly turning toward his and trying to straighten yourself up. “Being back in New Jersey with your team, with Jack?”

���Jack doesn’t give anybody a chance to miss him, you should know that by now.” He grumbles, "In my texts 24/7 like it’s his second job.”

“Ellie’s too,” you tell him in a breathy chuckle, crossing your arms over your torso just to keep your hands busy with something as he shoves his back in the pockets of his jeans. “I don’t know where he finds the time,”

“He doesn’t need time, he’s annoying to his very core.” Luke scoffs, “I do miss the guys though, but there’s a couple group chats. And I’d probably miss the guys here if I was back there.”

“So either way you’re missing somebody?”

He gives an affirmative hum, kicking a rock down the side of the curb, figuring you don’t quite realise just how true that question rings to him. The sorority house is at the end of the path, now - closer than either of you really anticipated, and you almost start to panic, like the walls are closing in on you, like you’re running out of time.

“Listen-,”

“Look-,”

You both stop in the middle of the sidewalk, looking at each other wide eyed until you press your lips together, and gesture for him to carry on.

“I miss you,” he says, plain and simple, like it’s all he can muster up - and if you’re honest, it’s all you want to hear, an acknowledgement that without you in his life, there’s this gaping hole that no one else can fill. “I know that if I want to fix things between us, that I should give you this huge speech about how much I fucked things up, and that I should have trusted you, and listened to you when you tried to talk to me, and I do think all those things. I know those things, but I’ve been trying to figure out how to say them without it sounding like some bullshit excuse, and I figure I just need to be honest with you.

“I feel like the whole time we were together, I was waiting for the other shoe to drop, you know, like I could never just be in the moment with you because I felt like it was gonna end. And I think maybe you were doing the same.”

It’s crazy, you think, how well he knows you.

“And neither of us were ever gonna be ready to be anything more, because we weren’t even acknowledging that this thing between us probably wasn’t healthy.”

You’re quite thankful for the sting in the back of your throat, because you don’t know what you’d say to that, if you could speak.

It hurts to hear it, but he’s right. 

“I just wanted to believe it was a good thing for as long as you’d let me, and when you said you’d have dated Cole, and that you’d have thrown it all away, and I just left without a fight, I-,” he blinks, like he’s trying to rid himself of the tears welling in the corners of his eyes, like he doesn’t want to give in and let them shed. “I don’t know, I thought it was best to avoid you all together than watch you put that final nail in the coffin, or whatever.”

“You know I never went out with Cole, right?”

“I know. He told me before he left for training camp. The day you left. Almost considered running after you to apologise for being such a dick. Even thought about flagging you down in departures at Wayne County.”

You let that thought sit for a moment - Luke chasing you down like something out of one of the romantic comedies you would watch together - like the angsty movies you watched after you went home, laying on your bed and wishing the two of you could have had a happy ending. 

“Probably for the best you didn’t chase me through the airport,” you tell him with a wistful smile, “declarations of love freak me out,”

“I thought they might.” He chuckles, breathily, his heart not entirely in it.

“I also took the greyhound.”

“You know serial killers get those things, right.”

“You watch too many movies.”

His eyes flicker to yours, then, knowing and amused - like a new inside joke has cemented itself into your dynamic. 

“I don’t want to be nothing with you.”

It’s a weird statement, almost nonsensical, but you get it.

It’s what you’ve been trying for ever since you left Michigan, after all, and especially after you returned.

You let the thought settle for a moment, your lips twisting and your eyes tearing up as you watch him wait for a response.

“You really hurt me, Luke.” Your voice trembles as you say it, and you think you’re only part spurred on by liquid courage, the rest of it probably the incessant need to open up to somebody.

“I know,” he practically whispers back, choked up as much as you are. 

“I don’t think I can do that again.”

He nods, pressing his tongue to the side of his cheek like he’s trying not to press you on it, stepping back ever so slightly and huffing out a deep breath.

You almost think he might retreat, entirely - accepting your reluctance this final time and letting you go, just like you’d asked, earlier.

“What about if it’s not,” he shakes his head, sighing as he tries to think of the best way to say it, “What if it’s not romantic, between us?”

“You really think we could be friends?”

“You don’t?” He asks, wincing a little like the thought of anything else is painful.

“We’re hardly gonna see each other,” you tell him, “Is there really any point in keeping it up?”

“I’d like to try.”

You don’t know what concept hurts you the most, the thought of trying and failing, or not trying at all. Either way, you lose him.

You wish, for a moment, you were in any way good at math - that you could work out the statistic for the other option, the one where it actually works.

The option where neither of you get hurt, and you get to keep him.

You imagine that it’s slim.

“I don’t know, Luke,” you sigh, unable to shake the heaviness of your doubt, “It feels like we’re just stretching out the inevitable, here.”

“I don’t think so,” he fights back, taking that step forward that he just took back, “Just friends, it doesn’t have to be anything more than that. Hell, if you want to build up to friends, I’ll take that, too. Just not nothing. I miss you too much to be nothing.”

You miss him, too. You missed him the past 3 weeks while he’s been in town, and the two of you have somehow managed to avoid seeing each other for the most part. You missed him for the month you were back at your mom’s house. You missed him those ten days over in the lake house, when he was still technically right in front of you the whole time.

“Can I think about it?”

“Yeah!” He nods, eagerly, the slight etching of a smile spreading across his lips. “Yes, you can think about it.”

You nod back, then, hesitant and before you can do something stupid, like wrap your arms around him as a goodbye, you step away.

You bid him goodnight, offering a thank you for walking you home, and you retreat into the safety of the house, watching through the window by the front door until he disappears back down the street. 

The start of your semester passes in a chaotic blur, and you very quickly, and very frantically, find yourself panicking a little about the what’s-next of it all.

With the last few months of your headspace occupied entirely by a certain brunette, you realise quickly that you really need to knuckle down and figure out what you’re going to do with yourself once school is over.

And that’s what brings you to New York City in the middle of October - one of your very few prospects for the aftermath of your college career discussed over iced teas in Midtown, Manhattan, before you’re crossing state lines through the Holland Tunnel and scrambling to get ready in the hotel room you and Ellie had booked.

You don’t know how you managed to hide all of your efforts behind a veil of secrecy, but Ellie had been all too distracted by you agreeing to accompany her to Jack’s team halloween party in Jersey City, and so she had little brain power left to question where you disappeared off to, or why you’d possibly have any sort of appointment anywhere near here as soon as you told her she could pick up a costume for you.

You should have known it would be something ridiculous, evidenced by the poofy yellow dress and cartoonish crown she had left on your bed for you to change into. 

When you emerge from the bathroom, fully dressed, she’s stood in her Princess Peach costume - the colour palette a lot more complementary to her than the yellow is to you, but you can hardly fight her on it now - especially knowing Jack is out there somewhere dressed as Mario.

You don’t know how it slips your mind that he and Luke play for the same team, or that they’re brothers, or that he could possibly at the same party, dressed as Luigi. Not until you and Ellie are walking into the party a little after it starts, and you meet his eye for the first time in a couple of weeks, your mouth falling agape as you realise just what Ellie has done.

You don’t even have a second to call her out before she’s prancing off to some far side of the room with Jack, all over him after their own extended time apart, and you literally have no option but to sidle up to Luke, tail between your legs, cringing at the entire situation as you stand beside him in a room full of his peers after you had only just shut him down not long ago.

Thankfully, it’s Luke - and he would rather choke than make you feel uncomfortable about it.

He offers an easy smile, amused, even, as he greets you from the tall table he’s occupying, handing you the beer he just opened for himself and reaching for another from the table behind him. 

“I don’t even know why I agreed to come with them, I knew they’d just split and make out in the corner,” you roll your eyes, taking a swig from the bottle and grimacing a little at the taste. “I don’t even know anybody.”

“You know me,” he shrugs, “I don’t mind keeping you company.”

“Yeah right,” you scoff, “You literally just came back, the last thing you need is to be lumped in a corner with me all night when you’ve hardly seen your teammates for months. I’m just gonna duck out in a little bit, no one will care.”

“I’ll care,” he chuckles lightheartedly, the ease in which the statement slips out and the certainty in which you feel it sends a slight shiver down your spine. “I’ve been back in training for a week, trust me, I’ve already had enough.”

You sigh, trying to ignore the convincing look he’s giving you - head titled, a lopsided smile and eyes filled with hope.

It was only just under two weeks ago that you told him you didn’t want to be friends, so you can’t really understand why he’s so intent on you sticking around. He should be personally ordering you an Uber back to your hotel and pushing you out of the door, but he’s giving you this pleading pout now that’s making you think his night would fall to pieces if you left so soon.

The thing is, you’re not that great around people you don’t know, not lately, anyway - especially not when those people are all big, bulky high performance athletes (and Jack) and their drop dead gorgeous partners. You feel like an intruder, like you don’t belong, and you can’t imagine anything happening to change your mind.

“I still feel like such an outsider at these things,” Luke huffs, elbows resting on the tall table in front of you, his body leaning onto it in the absence of any stools nearby until he’s more around your height. “This is the first time Jack’s brought anybody with him so I can’t exactly stick to his side like normal.”

You frown.

Is he serious?

Luke has never been the type to stick to his brother’s side - not from what you’ve seen, anyway, and you’d pretty much spent your entire summer observing the guy - you’re way past the point of trying to deny that, now.

“Isn’t that Seamus over there?” You point to the opposite side of the room, where you’re pretty sure you recognise another of yours and Luke’s previous classmates. “Aren’t you two friends?”

“We got into a pretty heated discussion during Thursday Night Football the other night, we’re on a break.”

You almost forgot how quick Luke can be, the slight quiver in the corner of his mouth giving away his attempts at deception, but you’re hardly in any position to call him out on it.

He’s trying to do you a favour, after all.

“In fact, I need you to stay for my protection. He might be out for my neck, you can’t let me die in a Luigi costume, that would be cruel.”

You snort as you take him in in his entirety, from the ridiculous hat, to the stretched out one-piece outfit topped off with a pair of white sneakers.

“Speaking of, aren’t you supposed to have a moustache?”

“It’s in my pocket, didn’t want to make Jack feel bad, ‘cause he can’t grow one and all,” he mutters, reaching into the front of the outfit to retrieve the stick-on prop, the back still taped up and in-tact. 

“Right,” you scoff, taking it from his hand and peeling the tape, “Jack can’t grow facial hair.”

You reach forward and press it to his upper lip, holding it in place until it sticks, careful not to actually touch his mouth in the process.

“I can grow it,” he rolls his eyes, “I just don’t suit it.”

“I don’t know,” you shrug as you pull back, admiring the results and trying not to laugh, “I’d say you suit it just fine.”

You reach into the pocket of your own dress to retrieve your phone, and snap a picture just to show him, pressing your lips together as you see his eyes widen in horror.

“Delete that,” he huffs, and you just about manage to stop him before he rips the thing off.

“No,” you whine, “Keep it on, it’s funny!”

“I don’t want to look funny, I want to look cool and hot.” He huffs, frowning when he seemingly realises how ridiculous that sounds.

“Halloween costumes aren’t supposed to be hot.”

“Easy for you to say, Princess,” he gestures down to your dress, and you once again have a visceral reaction to how natural it is for him to say things like that. You feel your ears going warm, and you break eye contact just so that he doesn’t see straight through you.

“I meant to say, sorry about this,” you gesture down, too, all of a sudden feeling every fibre of the costume that’s covering your skin, “I don’t know why I didn’t connect the dots sooner when Ellie said she and Jack were doing Mario and Peach. She just said she’d get me a costume, I didn’t think that we’d be-,”

“A couple?” 

“Yeah.”

“It’s no big deal,” Luke shrugs, sipping at his drink with a nonchalant frown. “S’just a costume. Besides, what else could you have been? I don’t think they sell sexy Goomba outfits.”

“Please,” you scoff, swatting lightly at the blue overalls stretched across his chest. “Don’t be ridiculous, if anything, I’d be sexy Toad.”

“Hmm,” he considers, with a long glance down your figure. “That might have actually worked.”

You feel the heat creep back up your neck before you can regulate yourself, not concealed at all by the sweetheart neckline of your dress, or the way Luke’s eye linger on any exposed bit of skin.

You press your lips together and divert your attention to Jack and Ellie in the corner, feeling every extended inch of Luke’s presence beside you, your heart thumping at the mere proximity of him, and you start to chew on your bottom lip. 

“Can’t believe we tried so hard to get them together,” you mumble, watching as they start to kiss, “They’re disgusting.”

“Absolutely revolting,” he agrees, “We were out of our minds all summer.”

You know he’s referring to the scheme you two kept up, you’re the one who even brought the topic into conversation, but you can’t help the instinctive way your chest starts to ache again at the mere mention of summer.

The two of you had talked about this, back in Ann Arbor, before he had come back to Jersey. You’re supposed to be over it, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less. You swallow thickly before reaching for your drink and chugging down the contents, avoiding his gaze as he watches you.

The thought of leaving crosses your mind again, but there’s a larger part of you that has missed this - missed him, maybe - a little too much, and those weeks back in Michigan last month had only served to weaken your resolve.

Keeping your distance had been a giant failure from the second you started to attempt it, and Luke is persistent - that much has always been obvious - so denying him any sort of contact is just pointless, now.

You had thought, back when he had dropped you off at the house the other week, that turning down his offer of friendship had been the right thing to do. You’d told him you would think about it, but it was always going to end up in rejection.

He’s in Jersey, you’re in Michigan. He has a really hectic schedule and career, and you’re supposed to be putting your head down and studying for your final year.

He broke your heart, and you broke his right back.

But you realise that you were naive to think that your paths would hardly cross.

Your best friend is dating his brother. You have so many mutual friends that you can hardly avoid him when he’s back in town. And beyond all that, you miss the versions of the two of you that just got on - before it all got messy in the summer. 

The banter, the inside jokes, the deep understanding of how each other worked.

And you had regretted it since - turning his offer down. 

Bringing it back up again is daunting, though. Opening yourself up to him, to say that you’d been thinking about him this whole time, and feel a deep, ever growing pit in your stomach now at the thought of being nothing, just like he had said he felt.

“Listen,” you start, with all intentions of figuring it out as you go along, only now feeling a serious urge to fix things, somehow, before you go back home, tomorrow, “I-,”

“Hold on, I gotta introduce you to someone. Hey, Pesce,” he calls out to his ever so-slightly taller teammate as he passes nearby, waving him to stop by the table the two of you are at before he walks away. He introduces you both by name, and you don’t miss the silent interaction between the two of them as he does, wide eyes and wiggling brows, a telepathic taunt from Brett and a wordless warning from Luke. “She’s my friend from back in Michigan, and he’s been my rehab buddy.”

You allow yourself to be distracted by that - not Ellie’s friend. His. Not a plus one of a plus one, or an outsider hovering around the edges of a private party. Someone he wants his teammates to know.

You like it more than you ever thought you would.

You feel your lips turning up into a natural smile, and a weight lifting off your shoulders - 7 words erasing the need for an entire conversation, already.

You probably could have told him to go fuck himself and that you hated his guts back on the street outside your sorority, and he’d still be out here calling you his friend.

Persistent.

“It’s nice to meet you,” you tell Brett, reaching out to shake his hand, matching his firm grip and meeting his steely gaze. 

“You too,” he smiles back, “I’ve heard-,”

“Lukey! Finally got a girl to notice you, huh?”

Another of Luke’s teammates approaches the table, and the absolute comedy of being introduced to a bunch of people in ridiculous costumes isn’t lost on you as he comes closer, a gigantic, teasing smirk almost overshadowed by a glaring red headpiece he wears.

“Nice to see ya, Curtis,” you watch as Luke embraces his other teammate, a wry, crooked grin on his face as he rolls his eyes fondly, and you try to ignore the weight of Brett’s discerning gaze on you. When he introduces you this time, Curtis shows no sign of recognition at your name, offering you a kind smile and extending his hand for you to shake. 

“Not talking your head off, is he? We’ve tried to train it out of him, but he’s a stubborn thing,” he chuckles, ruffling Luke’s hair like he’s petting an excitable puppy. 

“I’m used to it by now,” you shrug back, smiling when Luke scoffs, returning to your side.

“Nice costume,” Curtis looks Luke up and down, and it’s like you can see him trying to formulate a joke in his head, your lips twisting as you notice Luke anticipating the same, watching with a raised brow and a bored roll of his eyes. “That might be the closest we ever come to seeing you with facial hair.”

“Big talk coming from a dude dressed as shrimp.”

“I’m obviously a lobster, Luke.” 

“Obviously,” Luke mimics back like a child, his face sour and his lips pouted as his older teammate just laughs in his face. 

“C’mon, man,” Brett claps a hand on Curtis’ back, “Enough bruising the kid’s ego, you owe me a drink, remember?”

He knocks his free fist against Luke’s as he passes, offering you a wink and a nice to meet you before he’s guiding Curtis over to the bar and leaving the two of you alone, once more. 

“Sorry about them,” Luke mutters, “I could save them both from a burning building and they’d still treat me like their annoying baby brother.”

“It’s cute,” you shrug, sipping at your drink and catching his eye as they narrow toward you, clearly taking further offence at your choice of adjective. “They do it ‘cause they love you, Luke, it’s sweet.”

You try not to react to what you’ve just said - try not to think of that sentiment in the context of your own interactions with Luke, lightheartedly poking fun at him just to get a reaction because he can be so gut-wrenchingly adorable. 

It’s not the same.

But you can tell he’s thinking it too, looking at you with eyes that see straight through you, and a tilt to his head that’s almost mocking. 

“I uhm,” he sighs, stepping back a little closer to you and leaning down on the table so that he has to look up to meet your eye, “I told Pesch about you. About us.”

You blink back at him, waiting for him to say more - not really knowing how to respond, because you kind of had a feeling anyway. Brett has the worst poker face you’ve ever seen in your life. 

“It’s just been me and him training together, and we were getting to know each other, and you know how it is, he asked me about how I spent my summer, and about girls, and there’s just you for both, so it sorta just came out. Plus, I kinda felt like I had to talk about it with someone or I was gonna go crazy.” 

You look down, giving a slight nod of understanding - because you do get it. 

Also, the confirmation of something you’ve been wondering is kind of a relief. He hadn’t started anything with anyone else after you left, or back in Michigan, when you were making everything so hard on him.

There’s just him for you, too.

And it’s really hard, having one person consume your thoughts in such a way when you have no outlet to properly talk it through with anyone.

You never felt like you could talk to Ellie about any of it, and having all these feelings fizzing up inside you for so long is starting to make you feel like a volcano on the brink of eruption. 

Luke had done the sensible thing, finding an unaffiliated third party and seeking advice from someone with no bias. No scathing comments from his brothers, judgement from any of the guys back in Michigan or pitiful looks from your best friend.

“I didn’t say anything bad,” he assures you, “Not that there is anything bad, I promise I don’t think poorly of you or anything, and I wouldn’t go around telling random people if I did, especially not my teammates, I don’t want you to think-,”

“Luke, it’s fine,” you place a hand on his forearm, his eyes snapping up to meet yours at the slightest touch, wide and alarmed, like he feels like he’s digging himself into a hole. “I get it. Sometimes I feel like I’m gonna go crazy, too.”

“You do?” He frowns, like that was the last thing he expected you to say. 

You had told him you were hurt, so it can’t come as that much of a surprise that you feel some type of way about everything that went down between the two of you.

You’re not that heartless.

“What did you say to him?” You ask, hoping to engage with his incessant need to talk, rather than any attempt to eke information out of you. “About us?”

“Just that I didn’t like how we left things,” he tells you as you lean beside him, “It’s hard, not knowing where we stand, or what it’s gonna be like when I see you again. I still get the urge all the time to text you, even about stupid things. Someone was telling me about this Matthew McConaughey movie the other day, and I thought of you. Wanted to ask if you’d seen it.”

“It’s probably safe to assume I’ve seen all the Matthew McConaughey films. Even the bad ones.”

“It wasn’t on your Letterboxd.”

You swat at his bicep, your lips turning slowly into a grin as you can’t help but laugh at how little he cares about hiding his intentions.

You’d caught onto him monitoring your account somewhere between him coincidentally watching Notting Hill a couple days after you did while he was back in Michigan, the five star rating he gave to Call Me By Your Name, and him somehow knowing all the most obscure but gut-wrenching quotes from all the movies that really tore your heart out - writing them in his reviews like he was talking to you in some secret language that only the two of you spoke.

I think I’d miss you even if we never met, from The Wedding Date. 

I’ll do anything to make you happy. Tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it, from Past Lives.

There will be a piece of you in me always, from Her.

All movies you had listed after going home from the lake house - had laid in bed with teary eyes and trembling lips for the most part, and associated all those same quotes with him, too. And even without you putting them in your own reviews, he just knew every time which part of the movie made you think of your relationship.

You’d even tried baiting him out with Barbie, the other week, snorting to yourself despite your heartache when you imagined him seriously typing out, I only exist within the warmth of your gaze, without it, I'm just a little blonde guy who can't do flips, and hoping you would see it.

If anyone else had done it, it would probably have been corny. You’d have blocked them, the level of perception and lowkey invasion of privacy making your skin crawl - but Luke seeing you was different. Him being on the same wavelength - feeling the same feelings, thinking the same thoughts - was something you couldn’t ignore. 

“You’re not supposed to admit to cyber stalking me, you idiot.”

“What?” He chuckles, rubbing at his arm, “I missed watching movies with you.”

He shrugs at that like it’s nothing, but you can feel your cheeks go warm even if his don’t. You missed watching movies with him too - missed the long stretch of his legs far surpassing yours on top of the sheets, and the way he’d hold out candy for you to get some every few minutes. 

“Plus, you were stalking me, too. Why else would you be watching The Mighty Ducks on a Saturday night?” 

“I thought it might teach me about hockey.” You frown, although you’d been all too caught up with just how cute those movies were. You still know very little about the sport, but you can still appreciate the charm of a young Joshua Jackson.

Luke smiles, lopsided and gentle, but you know by now that’s his version of cocky - the kind of smile that shows you that something you’ve said has scratched at his ego, and he’s banking it somewhere in the back of his head.

“I can teach you,” he says, his voice an octave lower as he leans in - and you know he isn’t doing it on purpose, but it makes the hairs on the back of your arms raise, how he almost purrs over to you. “Can give you a crash course if you want?”

“Now?”

“Nah,” he sips at his drink, “Another time. Need an excuse to text you remember?”

“You can text me whenever,” you tell him, chewing at the corner of your bottom lip as he smirks at you, “Just so you know.”

You don’t tell him that you’ve been waiting for him to do it, anyway.

That for those first few days after he finally left Michigan, every buzz of your phone had your heart rate doubling. 

The first instant you had started to regret your decision, you had been hoping he would still try to change your mind.

You don’t tell him you started following a random team update account for news on how he was getting on with his injury, because he wasn’t letting you know, himself, or that you once spent an hour reporting people trolling him or talking smack in the comments just for something to do.

“What about FaceTime?”

“Don’t push your luck.”

To say you were planning on leaving as soon as you had arrived, you enjoyed yourself way more than you thought you would with Luke and his teammates - in fact, you’d probably go as far as to say it’s one of the best nights you’ve had since the summer.

Luke had introduced you to pretty much everybody, flitting around the room and making the rounds, and it had been nice to see how normal and nice everybody was - instantly making you felt like you belonged, to the point where you figured out that Luke had only said all that stuff about feeling like an outsider because he knew that was how you felt, knew it would tug at your heartstrings and make you stay.

You know from how close he is with the guys back in Michigan that Luke loves his teammates, but seeing it in action for the first time had been sweet. Seeing the other guys ruffling at his hair, play fighting, throwing their arms around him and indulging him in his corny jokes kind of made you feel less tense about the way you’re so instinctively affectionate with him. 

Even after what had happened toward the end of summer, and swearing off any sort of romantic connection since, you still want to touch him, still want to be near him, and while you don’t think his teammates exactly have those same thoughts, it makes you feel a little more normal, how much they all love him. Makes you feel less like you should be wedging all this distance between the two of you - because if they all love him like this, then why can’t you?

You don’t even realise that Ellie and Jack have long snuck off until you get a text to say not to come back to the hotel, and that Jack’s bed is freshly clean for you to sleep in. The thought of it is gross, but you figure that two athletes will have a comfy couch, so you’re not all that bothered in the end.

Plus, it gives you more time with Luke - to have a proper conversation, to figure things out. So, when it’s time to leave, and he ushers you out of the bar with a hand on the small of your back, you let him cross the boundaries of being nothing, and lean into his touch until you’re out in the cold, wrapping your arms around yourself as he shrugs off his jacket.

“Put this on,” he demands, throwing it to you and watching as you catch it with a clumsy grip, “We’re walking.”

“Walking?” You ask, stumbling to catch up with him as he starts to make his way down the street, his long strides making it incredibly difficult, especially in the stupid costume heels you’re wearing. You ease into his jacket as you move, shaking your arms until your fingers just about peak out of the ends, and relishing the warmth that encapsulates your body.

“Yeah, it’s 10 minutes. I know that sounds like a lifetime in campus terms, but I’m assuming you still know how to walk.”

You scoff as you pretty much jog to keep up, taking rushed, small steps until you just about make it to his side. “I don’t have a car, remember, I walk everywhere. I just assumed we’d be getting an Uber or something."

“S’good for you,” he shrugs, “Clears the mind. And it’s only a few blocks back to the apartment. I can show you all the best breakfast spots for you and Ellie to visit before you leave tomorrow.”

“But it’s dark out.”

“What, you’re scared of the dark, now?” He looks down at you from the corner of his eye, his height advantage meaning you can so clearly see the amused way in which his mouth curves up on the side closest to you. 

“I’m scared of being abducted in a back alley and brutally murdered so that my organs can be sold on the black market.”

“That happens more on the other side of the river,” he hooks a thumb in the general direction of what you assume is the Hudson, but it could be anywhere for all you know. This is your first time in New Jersey, and your brief expedition into Manhattan in the morning had done very little to clue you in on the lay of the land.

“Murder is an international issue, Luke, I don’t think they draw the line at what state they do it in, look it up.”

“You watch too much TV,” he chuckles, “Who’s gonna mess with you when I’m around? Look at me,” he gestures down to his ridiculous costume, “I’m the picture of intimidation. You don’t think I’d protect you from the black market organ thieves?”

“You’re dressed like an Italian plumber, you dork, and you’ve got arms like toothpicks, they’d probably kill you first just for fun.” You retort, grabbing at his arm to bring him back to your pace. You almost can’t believe that in the brief expanse of one evening, you could possibly have returned to this level of comfort, but you’re trying not to think too hard about it - especially with a mind partially loosened up by a couple of drinks. “Could you at least slow down? Your legs are like twice the length of mine.”

“Aw,” he pouts, “Do you want me to carry you?”

“Don’t joke, I’d pay good money for a piggy back right now.”

“Shame I’ve got such toothpick arms then, isn’t it?” he fakes an exaggerated smile, and you narrow your eyes until he drops it.

You huff as he carries on, thankful at the slightly slower pace he seems to have adopted, and the way his chin keeps jutting in your direction to check on how well you’re keeping up.

“What about a fireman’s carry?” You suggest, looking up at him with pleading eyes and pouted lips.

“The best you’ll get is me giving you my gloves to wear as socks and I’ll carry your shoes for you.”

“And if I step on glass, cut into a vein and bleed out?”

“I suppose then I’d carry you.”

This feels familiar.

Feels comfortable and right, and when you look back on those nights in September when you had seen him - at the football game, in the living room back at the sorority, and the party at the hockey house, this is what you’d felt like you had been missing.

It doesn’t have to be awkward, or charged, or tense between the two of you. 

Maybe it can be like this again.

Like it was in the beginning, before everything got messed up.

“I meant to ask earlier,” he nudges at you with his elbow, “Ellie said you had an appointment over in Midtown,”

“You’re such a stalker,” you snort, shaking your head with a wry smile as you glance over at him, “Literally the snoopiest guy I’ve ever met.”

“Snoopiest?” He scoffs, “It’s called curiosity. I can’t wonder what my friend did with their day, now? I’m snoopy?”

“There’s a masters programme at NYU,” your eyes dart down to the floor as you start to tell him, figuring that you’ll feel less nervous if it just feels like you’re speaking in general, instead of confiding in him. There’s also a part of you spurred on by his immediate adoption of you being his friend - still reeling from the ease in which he had been introducing you as such to everyone all night. Opening up to him is just as easy, and now that you’re embracing the dynamic, it’s like the pieces that form all the resistance within you are shifting out of place, creating a bunch of cracks for him to seep straight into. “One of my sorority sisters has a cousin who’s in her final year, she set up a meeting so that I could talk about my application.”

“You’re applying to NYU?” He asks, quickening his step until he is a little ahead of you, turning on his feet until he’s walking backwards, giving you no chance of ignoring his presence anymore. 

“I’m thinking about it,” you shrug, “It isn’t a done deal, so don’t tell anybody.”

“I can keep a secret,” he promises, and that same ache starts to form in your chest again, at just how well you know that to be true.

“Plus, it’s a long-shot, so even if I did apply, I probably wouldn’t get in, and I don’t want to get Ellie’s hopes up that I’ll be sticking around.”

You have a job lined up elsewhere already for when you graduate - an entry level role in a PR agency over in Chicago, close to home, close to your mom - but the more you’re considering it, the less sure you are. The job would be pretty much you getting taken advantage of for being a recent graduate, and furthering your education could help secure something bigger and better. But throwing away a sure thing seems stupid, and you don’t really want to do so if you don’t have something else secured.  

“Getting into the NHL is a long shot, and you’ve just spent the night in a room full of people who made it happen,” Luke tells you, ducking his head a little lower until you look him in the eye, “Don’t underestimate yourself, you’re really smart, you’ll get in if you do end up applying.”

The way he says it is so sure - so different to anybody else, who you feel like is just saying it to make you feel better. Luke believes it, you can see it in the way he looks at you, confident and certain of your abilities more than you’ve ever been in yourself.

“I don’t think you can call you getting into the NHL a long shot, unfortunately,” you tell him, your lips twisting in the corner as you bite back a smile when he starts to frown. 

“Not you too with the nepotism stuff,” he scoffs, only partially feigning offence.

You swat at his chest, “Hey, I’d never,” you gasp, “I meant ‘cause you’re so talented.”

“I bet you did,” he snorts, falling back into step beside you, a little closer this time, your elbows knocking as you continue to walk. “Haven’t even played yet this season, what would you know about my talent?”

You think it’s the way he’s leaning in a little that seems to hypnotise you, rendering you a speechless, practically-spluttering mess as you struggle to form words or a single, coherent thought. You wonder if this is how he felt, all those times when you turned on the charm and innuendo and purposely tried to push his buttons. Defenceless and weak. 

“I’ll tell you what I do have a talent for,” he straightens up a little, increasing the space between you so that you feel like you can at least breathe again. “Important old man voice. If you ever need to put someone down as a phoney reference.”

“I’ll bare that in mind when the NYU admissions board loosens their policy on Kevin McAllister level schemes, thanks,” you chuckle, your smile lingering when he returns it, cheeks folding into a lopsided grin. 

“Hey, give a guy some credit, there’s a little Ferris Bueller in there too.”

“Yeah, ‘cause schools love Ferris Bueller types.” You scoff, “You’re such an idiot.”

You glance over to see him pretty much beaming in response, and, if you were a betting person, you’d put all your money on knowing his exact train of thought.

You have a tell, after all, you remember, for when you’re enjoying yourself more than you think you should be.

Walking back to his apartment gives the two of you a little time to properly catch up - away from tense conversations and teary admissions - he tells you about his training, you tell him about school, and it feels like seconds pass before he’s ushering you into his building with that same guided hand on your lower back, the heat of his touch felt even through his jacket, and into the elevator. 

You stand by his side as it slowly ascends, hands buried in the warmth of his jacket pockets and ever so often meeting his eye in the reflection of mirrored doors before you glance away with a flush to your cheeks.

Every time you look back, he’s smiling a little, soft and small, but sure of himself in a way that makes all those hardened parts of you melt a little inside. 

There’s something different about him that you can’t quite put your finger on - something in the way he carries himself, around his teammates, around you, even just in general - like he stands taller, somehow. Like here in Jersey, he makes a point to hold himself up a little more, and it makes you cherish the version of him you had, those months ago - vulnerable and raw.

You hadn’t appreciated at the time, just how much of himself he gave to you - all the little quirks and insights you got to see - but you appreciate them, now. 

“I had fun tonight,” you tell him, smiling instinctively when he meets your eye, “Thanks for not letting me leave.”

“Thanks for not leaving,” he chuckles, the doors opening in front of you and that hand going straight to your back again until he’s guiding you towards his apartment. “It’s been nice just talking to you again, I missed it.”

“Me too,” you admit, because there’s really no use in keeping it bottled up when he’s so freely opening himself up to you. He so easily tells you that he misses you, and wants to speak to you, and it enjoys your company, so you not doing the same only feels like you’re doing yourself a disservice - especially when admitting as much back to him earns you one of those cute, crooked smiles he’s so good at giving. 

He holds open the door for you and you have to brush past him to go in, but your hesitance to touch has long dissipated throughout the night, so you don’t entirely mind when he follows you straight in, and you can feel the heat of his presence.

“Are you wanting to go straight to bed?” He asks, hand on your waist as he passes you and heads for the kitchen, flicking on the lights under the cabinets and getting two glasses down from one of the cupboards.

“I probably should,” you huff, despite wanting to stretch this out with Luke - your mind going back to I miss watching movies with you, and considering flopping down onto the couch and putting something on, for old time’s sake. “Is your couch comfy? I don’t really want to sleep in Jack’s bed.”

“You can sleep in mine,” he offers, before he even has a second to consider it.

“Oh, I don’t know-,”

“I’ll go in Jack’s, it’s fine,” he nods down the hall, gesturing you to follow as he carries two glasses of water, knocking the handle to the room on the left until the door opens and letting you go in first. 

The sheets are the same as on his bed back at the lake house, and it’s the first thing that takes you aback, a familiar grey-blue comforter that you already feel the softness of from across the room, and a cream throw haphazardly thrown across the top. 

You can tell the sheets aren’t entirely fresh - slightly crumpled, and not-very-neatly made, pillows askew - but if you’re sleeping in Luke’s bed, weirdly enough, you would probably prefer it that way.

“Sorry, I should have tidied up a little,” he chuckles nervously as he passes you to place a glass down on the nightstand. 

“It’s fine,” you shrug, stepping forward just to fall down onto his bed - the mattress plush enough that you already feel yourself sinking into it, tension easing away from your muscles. 

You’re kind of glad you kept an eye on him, watching his gaze shift to the way your dress now rides up on your thighs, and the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows thickly before looking away.

“I’ll just get something to change into then I’ll get outta your hair,” he mumbles, trying to busy himself with something else as a distraction. Just before he can pass you to his closet, you reach out to grab at his wrist, and it’s almost like muscle memory is forcing you to do so - something within you not allowing him to get away.

He’s in front of you now, close enough that you kind of have to crane your neck the whole way to look up at him, and you watch as his eyes drag slowly from the point of contact to meet yours, every movement he makes unhurried and purposeful. 

“I just wanted to say thank you again, for tonight,” you start, speaking without any real plan as to what you want to say, but wanting to keep him just a little longer, “For keeping me company, and letting me stay in here-,”

“It’s no big deal-,”

“And for not letting me push you away.”

It might be the first time you’ve ever owned up to it - being the master of your own downfall, or the downfall of your relationship with Luke, and anything you still could have been after the fact - and it isn’t easy, admitting that you’re the problem.

But you feel like you owe it to him, as a reward for all this resilience in the face of your constant rejection. He’s been nothing but patient, and you’ve been nothing but hard work, and you’re willing to admit, now, that you’re done with it.

He smiles, eyes knowing, the relieved, breathy sigh he gives dissolving all the guilt that’s building in the depths of your gut, and sinks down beside you on the bed, his thigh brushing yours as he settles in. 

Hours ago, being this close would have terrified you. You’d have shut down, turned away, shuffled across the sheets until there was a healthy distance between the two of you, but you don’t move. You just turn, a little, to be able to meet his eye.

“Are you saying you’re done with that?” He asks, a little hesitant, assuming, probably, that you won’t be entirely open with him.

But you nod, chewing at the corner of your bottom lip as he presses his own together, eyes darting a little lower.

“So we’re friends?” He asks, his voice low, the depth of it causing a weird vibration to wrack down your body - a buzz that won’t go away, now that he’s this close, and he’s looking at you the way he is. 

“If that’s what you still want to be.”

The thought of him changing his mind makes you a little dizzy, an ache growing in your chest again at the thought of being nothing - but you’d deserve it, you think, after all the times you turned him down. 

It would hurt, but, as always, it would be your own doing. 

“And we won’t ever be more?”

The pleading tone in which he asks makes the back of your throat go dry, and all you can do to respond, now, is shake your head. Slowly, and hesitantly, but it shakes all the same, tears welling in the corners of your eyes as you take in his resigned acceptance.

And then, something shifts.

A subtle shake of his head, as if he’s fighting an inner monologue, and then an assured switch in his demeanour - a tilt of his head as he surveys your reluctance, and the swipe of his tongue to wet his lips, like he’s preparing to fight back.

“If I kissed you right now,” he asks, voice still low, eyes lower, pinned to the curve of your lips as they part as if by instinct, “Would you tell me to stop?”

“Luke,” you warn, no more than a whisper as you watch his lips too, “We can’t.”

“That’s not what I asked,” his eyes trail slowly up until your gazes meet, and his head tilts again in question, blinking heavily before he asks, “Would you push me away?”

Your lips form around a response that you can’t even think to give back, opening around an answer you’re not ready to give at all, and all your body wants to do is deny. You fight the urge to shake your head, but you think that it’s a losing battle, especially considering how much your brain feels like it’s being rattled around anyway.

You don’t know what you do to make him move forward, but you figure by now you don’t actually have to do anything. He can probably read your mind at this point, spurred on no doubt by the way your eyelids flutter closed when he’s close enough, and the tip of his nose presses to yours, slow, heavy breaths falling into the decreasing space between the two of you. 

You should stop him. You know that.

It isn’t good for either of you, letting this carry on, leaving the edges of your relationship so frayed that even the smallest tug could pull the whole thing apart, thread by thread. 

You should tell him to stop, should push him away, should hold a lighter to the loose ends and singe them together to prevent further damage. You’ve only just settled on friends, and now you’re not sure, again.

But the second he gets this close, you’re not in charge, anymore.

It’s like some force of nature takes over, brings the two of you together like tectonic plates meeting, and causing unfathomable destruction to both of your hearts in the aftermath.  

His kiss is so instantly tender that it hurts already, tears prickling at the seams of your scrunched-closed eyes, and all you can do is push through the pain. You kiss him back, lips closing around his again and again as your faces smush together, and you start to feel the passion consume him - something takes over almost like an urgency, where you’re clawing at his the front of his costume and he’s clutching at your waist, doing anything physically possible to close whatever gap still sits between you.

The pressure of his lips is almost bruising, now, but you like it that way - soft exhales puffing out from his nose so that he doesn’t have to part to catch his breath, fingers pressing so hard into your flesh that you hope they leave a mark.

He tastes just how you remember, and it takes you back all those months to summer - to stolen kisses over centre consoles and making out in his bed when everyone else was out. There’s a part of you that feels giddy with it, just like you had then, partaking in something so precious that was just for the two of you, and it starts to distract you from what this actually is.

A mistake. 

You pull away instead of pushing, bringing your chin back until your lips part with much effort, a hmmph and a furrow of your brow, and you can’t bring yourself to open your scrunched eyes, not yet, but you know when he’s going to chase.

“Luke,” you whisper in warning before your eyes flutter open and you peer up at him through your lashes. He looks so soft, you think, despite all the ways he tries not to. Despite the sharp line of his jaw, and the hardened look in his eyes. You feel your walls crumbling at just the sight of him - defenceless to his charms, once again, because how much could Luke possibly hurt you? “Friends don’t do that.”

“Maybe our friendship starts tomorrow,” he hums back, “Maybe we get this out of our systems one more time.”

And it’s sitting on the precipice of that feeling you’ve been chasing since July that has you considering it - ever so close to finally getting closure on whatever the two of you were, or could have been.

Getting it out of your system sounds healthy. Sounds like a clean slate, a fresh start, and you have no doubt that if you’re going to be friends with Luke Hughes, that it’s exactly what you need in order to do so. 

Because, if you’re honest, it’s that exact thing that’s been holding you back this entire time - closure. With such an abrupt end to what the two of you had, how could you ever possibly close that chapter mid-sentence? How could you ever move on?

“One more time,” you try to sound stern, try to convince yourself of your own words, “Then we have to let this go.”

“You got it.”

“No more Luke, I mean it.” You have to push down this feeling of impending doom, or you’ll never get anywhere, but you need to warn him one last time, just to be safe. “Strictly friends after tonight.”

“I already agreed, can you please just let me kiss you again?”

“Okay, fine, just,” you huff, hands splayed across his broad chest and pushing until your bodies part, his butt shuffling back on the bed. “Take the costume off, first, I’m not feeding into whatever dorky cosplay fetish you probably have.”

You’re only part joking, but it’s the only way you know how to relieve the tension a little, and your nerves start to dissipate at his reaction.

He chuckles, with the kind of cocky smile that makes your heart jump, reaching behind himself to unzip the back of his costume with an affectionate shake of his head. He stands, then, to shuck it off, the whole thing dropping off of him until he kicks it across the floor, towards his laundry hamper, then stands in just his briefs, which are slung low on his waist. “You can keep yours on, I don’t mind,” he tells you when you’re distracted by the taut, defined lines on his stomach, eyes trailing slowly up to meet his, gleaming back at you.

“You’d love that wouldn’t you,” you scoff, watching as he draws closer, shuffling back a little on the bed to accommodate him, “You absolute freak.” 

“You can’t sit there and pretend you don’t want me to call you princess again.” He smirks, bending down until his hands are on either side of your hips, and you’re leaning back with your fingers pressed into his sheets and your head craned back to meet his eye, “Saw you getting all flustered about it, earlier.”

“Shut up,” you huff, curling a hand around the back of his neck and pulling him down into you - the two of you colliding in a clumsy, messy kiss. His body crawls over yours, encapsulating you entirely in an intoxicating warmth, and you find yourself melting into his every touch - large hands running down your sides, settling on your waist, and the other easing its way under the skirt of your costume. 

You put both hands to use too, one remaining behind his neck, scratching into the grown out curls that sit there and tugging when he starts to tickle up your thigh, the other on the warm skin of his chest - the rampant thud of his heart beating against your palm.

One more time, just to get him out of your system.

And then you can be friends.

What could possibly go wrong?

another a/n: I'll try to finish the next part asap!! thank you for reading, I know this was long lmao!! would love to hear your thoughts!!!!

[occamstfs]

MuskMask Up

Found footage of the missing persons Eddie Leon and Bowen Chen, last seen vlogging at a new gym with a mandatory mask policy. Well documented is what seems to happen when one forgets theirs.

Mixing it up a bit! Diary entries within a short metanarrative police investigation- Meat of the story is coworkers bulking up at an advanced rate after borrowing masks from the gym, hope you enjoy! -Occam

The following footage was found by the now missing-in-action Detective Smith during a missing persons investigation of civilians Eduardo “Eddie” Leon and Bowen Chen. If you have any information on the whereabouts of the pair or Detective Smith please call APD with information.

February 1st:

The scene opens with Eddie’s face inches away from a tripod he’s setting up. Behind him, stretching outside the entrance to a gym, is coworker Bowen Chen. Eddie smiles once he sees the camera has begun recording and backs away to start the first vlog on his journey to better health. Hopping up and waving both hands with abandon, he does just that.

“Heyyy guys! Today’s day one of hitting the gym with Bowen! Obviously he knows what he’s doing so this whole thing should be a piece of cake- I mean look at him!” He gestures to his friend mid-drink of water and Bowen quickly chokes it down before shyly responding. Face blushing pink as he’s clearly not nearly as comfortable on camera.

“Ah, uhm- Yes. Hello, audience? I’ve been ah uhm, steady? At the gym for a few years now and Eddie was wondering if I could show him the ropes. Sooo, uhm.” Eduardo was very clear that he was going to be doing a vlog about the whole thing but Bowen had no idea how much a camera would put him on edge. Seeing him flounder and hearing every word come quieter than the last Eddie quickly picks up the slack.

“So yeah! We’re going to a new gym that opened up, all their ads brag about retention rate and quick results which is what I’m all about haha!” Seeing a man in a face mask come through the automatic doors behind him Eddie claps his hands and tacks on, “OH! They also still require face masks which, I don’t mind,” he playfully grasps his friend’s jaw causing blush to return over a shy grin, “it does mean you might be seeing less of this little cutie’s face but so it goes~ When in Brome hee hee!” 

Bowen’s phone goes off as a timer set to ensure the pair stretch for long enough comes to an end. He then chastises Eddie for spending so long of their prep time vlogging before crossing his arms and resetting the clock to make sure his trainee stretches. Eddie quickly turns off the vlog with a wink, “Yikes already on his bad side haha~ See y’all later!”

February 9th:

“Helloooo guys~ Took my mask off real quick to record this.” He pauses to sniff the air and almost gags as he smells the musk of the gym, usually covered by his mask. “God is this what all gyms smell like?” Looking down at his sweat stained body and glistening chest he grimaces as he guesses he’s certainly not helping. Shaking it off he returns to his vlog, “Hm. I’ll edit that out- Helloooo Guys! You would not believe how much progress I’ve made already!”

He does a small flex and it’s clear he has put on more weight than would be expected, or rather more weight in a week than should be possible. “No one tells you how much you have to eat to put on mass, guys! Or I guess- Bowen told me huh?” He giggles and then jolts upright and turns the camera to his trainer working at a machine. “Speaking of gains there Mr. Mass is himself.” Behind the lens Eddie continues, “I forgot my mask today so the sweetie let me borrow his. Hear that ladies? This hunk’s also a gentleman. Someone get a ring on that finger!”

As Eddie continues to film Bowen’s reps it’s clear that something besides the effort is causing him discomfort. In fact it almost seems like the workout isn’t bothering him at all as he rolls his eyes before bending down to put more weight on the machine. With a free hand he plugs his nose to have the slightest moment of freedom from the musky scent that must be distracting him. Then as soon as he grunts through his first rep at the new weight a figure appears behind him, wearing a mask over the whole of his head and taps on his shoulder before clearly preparing to confront him.

“Oop, oh shit-” Eddie whispers, too far from his trainer to know what exactly the little confrontation is about, but after a few gestures to his maskless face it’s pretty clear. The sound of Eddie quickly putting his mask back on can be heard behind the camera as across the gym Bowen clearly nods a few times, assumedly acquiescing, motioning to pack up and head back later. He apologies and gestures for Eddie to head to the locker room but then the sweaty masked man waves him off and pats him on the back, pulling out a mask from his sweatpants.

Bowen’s gasp is loud enough to be heard enough on camera as he backs into the machine in shock as the brute holds out a mask retrieved from his sweaty pants. He waves his hands clear as day that he’s not about to put on that must-be stained mask. Eddie quickly gets off his machine and starts to head over check in on his friend. He knows Bowen hates attention and is wont to fold at any confrontation but surely he’s not about to be pressured into putting on that dirty rag.

Keeping the camera trained on Bowen just in case, he’s too focused on the shot to really notice the fear in the man’s eyes as he stares up at the masked figure. And then, with a gulp, Bowen shakily accepts the mask, close enough to read lips one could just about make out Bowen’s whispered apology, “I’m sorry sir it won’t happen again” And then he does the unthinkable and puts on the dirty mask. Eddie reacts quietly enough only for the camera to pick up, “Jesus Christ- Bo!? What are you doing?!” 

After the masked man pats Bowen on the back, harder than one surely should, and offers a rough handshake, he departs. The camera captures a few more frames as Eddie walks the final few feet over. While not covered in sweat, it’s clear that the mask on Bowen’s face is wrinkled and has a small dark patch in its corner. Either from the workout or from the anxious confrontation, the trainer is clearly breathing heavily. 

With each breath his eyes begin to glisten glassy. Staring off into the middle distance he adjusts his pants and seems distracted as each heaving breath strives to be deeper than the one that came before, as each gasp of musky air tries to instill more of the essence trapped within the wretched mask. His eyes almost begin to cross in the last frame before Eddie puts his phone in his pocket, leaving the last few seconds of the recording audio only. “Uhhhhm, Hey Bowen? What the fuck was that?”

There is a few seconds pause followed by the sound of presumably Bowen swallowing saliva before he answers “Oh! Uhhh yeah? I don’t know dude?” “Dude?” “Sorry my head feels like it’s swimming, Eddie? That was so uhh, intense-” The sound of adjusting clothing again comes through, someone pulling on the elastic band of their underwear.

Realizing the whole confrontation only happened because he forgot his own mask, Eddie apologizes, “That wouldn’t have happened if I didn’t take yours. Look we can swap if you-”“NO.” Silence follows once more before Bowen continues, “No I uhm- don’t mind br- Eddie. How about we call it there and head home?” Eduardo agrees and the pair head off to the locker room. After a few steps the recording ends.

February 15th:

The image begins as usual of Eddie from afar, though the sound of weight’s clanging is far louder than usual. After a few false starts interrupted by the din of falling metal, the vlogger walks a few feet away and begins talking to the camera, “Hey everyone, quick update this time-” Flexing to himself he takes a moment to address his continued growth before in the distance he hears brash, deep laughter and what little of his face is revealed makes his worry clear as day.

“I’m still chugging along but Bowen has, well blown up? Ever since the last vlog when that asshole made him wear a dirty mask it’s almost like he’s a totally different person? Here, look-” Eddie quickly pans the camera over to a man almost unrecognizable resting on a bench. Beyond having arms as large as Bowen’s legs should be, the man’s demeanor is indeed entirely different. He flexes his arm and moans to himself as he sees a central vein pushing against the strained shirt sleeve.

“Is it steroids? Do you think? OH! He’s also started using the masks the gym provides- Are there like, inhale-y steroids?” The vlogger quickly heads to the web to research, paying no mind to what the lens catch as the camera unintentionally witnesses the massive man lumbering up from his bench, leaving an unwiped sweat stain in his wake.

Massive pecs bounce with each step and thighs strain his shorts as he makes his way over to Eddie, “YO! Edster- Come help me stretch!” Eddie flinches as he’s shouted at, groaning uncomfortably he obeys his trainer. Forgetting he was taking a vlog at all he sets his phone down. The air fills with groans, cracking bones, and almost deliberately loud grunts from Bowen.

“You know I seem to remember you wanting to not put on too much weight Bo?” 

There’s a deep guffaw, “Pshyeah, but y’know, when the muscle-bug bites huhuh!” The sound of his sleeves straining from a performative flex covers up his breathy moan from hyperextension. “Woah bro, why do you look so down?”

Clearly not thinking his mood would be caught by a man whose only gear has suddenly become self-obsessed, Eddie stumbles, “Well I don’t know, I guess? I’m just worried about- You just seem a little different is all.

“Huh.” There’s a long silence interrupted only by the buzz of music and clanging weights far off. Then there’s a quick gasp as in one motion Bowen stands and hoists Eddie into the air, “woAH! Bo! Put me down!” 

“Huhuh no bro I get it- You don’t know why you’re not seein’ results as good as mine I totally get it!” Eddie grunts and gags in arms that truly could snap him in half, “Ugh B- you’re so sweaty ple-ugh.” Squirming in the behemoth’s grasp his face is forced into sweaty pecs that promptly stain his mask a dark blue. “God you’re going to get your b.o. All over me dude-” 

There are a few more seconds of complaint before Bowen finally drops his little buddy. Picking up his phone there’s a look of concern or questioning on his face, any number of thoughts soar through his mind, has Bowen always been that tall? Why has he grown so much? What happened to him, is it going to happen to me? And then he takes a deep breath. A sigh in relief or irritation, it’s unclear, but it doesn’t matter. The camera gets a much better glimpse this time as the gym-goer breaths in the oh-so musky, mask filtered air.

Under the mask his mouth squrims into a grimace, but already eyes begin to give way to thoughtless longing. With another breath one twitches while the other falls open wide, wanting nothing more than to mainline the scent directly into his nervous system. Pupils dilate large enough to almost hide his cacao irises before a meaty hand pats him on the back, “Earth to Eddo- Bro? You comin’ to wash up or what huhuh!” Jarred back to sentience, Eddie nods and follows him, the recording ending a few moments after.

February 22nd:

The camera alights on someone unrecognizable baring his torso for fans he doesn’t yet have, though the glazed look in his eyes is more than enough hint to prove it is the vlogger before he introduces himself. “Yoooo guys! Back at it again with Bowen, how’re we lookin?”

Eddie flexes a thick bicep and smirks under his mask, adjusting it as he laughs. It’s deeper, slower, a far cry from his usual giggle. “oh yeah, I’ve been usin’ the gyms masks just like Bowen said. And I gotta say, I think they’re the real secret of this place, I’ve just been packin’ on muscle since I started borrowing them.”

Standing to his side, Bowen makes himself known, somehow even bulkier than last time. Veins criss cross his forearms and shoulders stretch wide enough that it’s a wonder he was able to even get the suctioned compression shirt om. The thin elastic straps of his mask almost snap as he speaks up, the meek camera-shy man he once was clearly erased from his mind, “I’m saying Ed! Don’t know why you were holdin’ out on trying them after seeing how much I’ve grown!” Bowen crosses his arms and his top is stretched to his limits.

Eddie laughs before his eyes go dull as laughter leaves him with no choice but to take yet another deep breath. Lost in a thought that seems to never come, his words are barely audible enough to be caught by the camera almost mistakable for a moan, it may as well be one. He whispers “need more.” Drawn out like a death knell his vocal chords creak as they lengthen. And then, the camera captures the impossible.

It looks as if it’s edited. Arms go limp as they hang lower, bloat larger, heavier, barely staying in their sockets before his shoulders similarly bulge into thick balls of muscle. Pecs that have existed for less than a month push his sweaty tank top to its limits. The bench on which he rests creaks under his weight as thighs send tears through athletic shorts that were already too tight to wear. 

Behind him, his massive trainer’s eyes widen as he pauses his workout to stare at Eddie’s growth. Hungrily watching as individual strands of muscle flex and surge. Were his own mask not already sweat-stained, the drool frothing from his mouth may be more apparent. Bowen lets his weights clatter to the floor as he staggers close and leans in close to Eddie’s neck, sniffing like a predator, releasing something in between a whimper and grown as his scarred palms clench at his prey-apparent’s biceps, still bulging larger in his hands.

Bowen’s chest, over doubled in size since he began frequenting this gym, produces a rumble low enough to barely register as words. Through his mask he teeths the man’s neck, “Think I got another idea to get some gains Eddie.” This stirs the man from his reveries though does not for minute stop his growth as he bolts to his feet, almost falling forward from the new weight on his chest. Surely he would have had the man about to work him out maintained the iron grip on his arm.

Not another word is heard from the pair as they swiftly retreat to the locker room. The tripod continues filming until Eddie’s phone dies and contains little else of note. Other gym goers wander around the background, all of them masked and many of them stare forward with the same glazed eyes as they sit at various machines, laughing to themselves, breathing heavily, and lifting more with each heaving rep. Just before his phone dies and the recording ends, the man who gave Bowen his mask collects the tripod, through his mask a smile is clear on his face.

On March fifteenth newly promoted Detective Archie Smith follows up on a lead from coworkers of the missing men that the pair had recently started hitting up the Musclerade Gym. something about vlogging. The detective didn’t care. Miraculously, almost immediately did he find a pair of men who identify as Eduardo and Bowen. The only thing is-both resolutely deny ever having worked in an office building. Beyond that, it barely takes a glance to tell that despite their names and races that they cannot be the men in question. By sheer body weight alone, it’s impossible

Sure Mr. Chen looks healthy enough in his license photo but that massive hunk that stands before him could punch straight through the Detective. With a gulp Archie finds his eyes desperately wanting to trace the powerful muscles, begging for his attention through spandex and strained nylon. He finds his attention drawn to his own crotch as he can’t help but trace the veins on ‘Eduardo’s’ flexing arms to a hairy armpit dripping with sweat. Before he’s lost to his lusts however, he comes to his senses as the acrid musk pouring from both men sears his nose.

With a grunt he shakes off the beyond unprofessional distraction and meets the eyes of both men, neither too pleased to see the officer in their space. He fakes a smile and turns to continue his investigation before being intercepted by a man who seems to be of some authority, pulling him off to the side. Only his eyes are visible which sets Archie on edge. “What seems to be the problem officer?”

He explains his case and the mystery man calls the pair over, their harsh glares soften and Eddie laughs as he’s reminded of his little vlogs. Apparently the pair are trainers at the gym which despite some strange ping at the back of his mind, ignoring something screaming from his gut, when he sees their sculpted forms, smells their noxious odors, he can’t help but believe them. The masked man even offers to give him the recorded film, that is as long as he’s okay adhering to the gym’s guidelines while he waits.

There’s a glint in the eyes of both massive men now standing behind him as they each dislodge wrinkled masks from stained pants that have clearly suffered at least one gym session. Prepared to suffer more discomfort than this to sate his curiosity he throws on one of the hopefully unused masks. It’s at this point that the case goes cold. 

This recounting of events, along with a copy of Eduardo Leon’s ‘vlogs’ were found sloppily scrawled on some magazines near the shredded uniform of Officer Smith. It doesn’t seem to be his handwriting unless he were racing quite hastily against, well. I haven’t quite the idea what. I suppose it is of some note that they were next to a bloated member of the gym who didn’t have any I.D. on him. His clothes seemed to be from a lost and found as they didn’t fit quite right. We were unable to further investigate his identity, but without a doubt it simply could not be Officer Smith.

The junior officer who retrieved the evidence could scarcely spend five minutes next to the man, and given Smith’s predilections towards order and cleanliness it simply could not be him. Unfortunately the state of the gym put the officer in such unease that he did no further investigation. It’s a shame as when an investigation team was sent the following day it was as if the gym was never there. I am not one for flights of fancy, it is my belief that the whole situation was simply some drug front, perhaps steroids. At any rate should you see, or perhaps smell any of these men. I advise caution. And under no circumstances should you borrow one of their face masks, obviously.

Included above are to our best knowledge are the most recent sightings of Bowen Chen, Eduardo Leon, and finally a third depicting Eduardo alongside who we believe to be the man of interest found nearby Officer Smith’s uniform. It seems they haven’t stopped growing, that is, if this all isn’t some wild goose chase. Again, if you have information do report to APD. Though please refrain from submitting any, biological material. We have lost enough of the forensics department to this mania as is.

[clementine-thedestroyer]

What about Raccoon! reader and bear! price. I think that would be a funny play on the usual prey hybrid reader.

Like this trash panda keeps leaving berries and cool junk outside Prices cave. He doesn't think the trash is as nice as you do but when he finally catches you and you have to try and explain Raccoon courting to him, he gets to decide if he wants to accept your offering or not!

(idk anything about Raccoon courtship btw I made that up💀)

I’m obsessed. I love this so much.

Maybe you’re bringing him what, in your eyes, isn’t even trash. Anything shiny, soft, or remotely interesting will catch your interest- one man’s trash is another man’s treasure and all that- and of course you want to share your greatest treasures with him.

So you start brining him your best finds as little gifts. The first thing you bring to him is an old disco ball ornament meant to dangle from a rearview mirror (it’s got a few of the reflective tiles missing, but they’re no great loss).

The second gift you bring is one of the reflective, crinkly cat toys that looks like little balls of tinsel (shiny and crinkly!!), and the third gift is a section of shiny copper pipe you found about to be thrown out.

You bring him other, smaller gifts too- those were just your favorites. You bring him some of the little minnows you snatch from the creek’s shallow banks and every pretty rock that catches your eye. If you don’t mind bugs, maybe you even bring him a butterfly with pretty wings or a shiny beetle to enjoy.

And all the while, John is convinced someone is fucking with him. Why is there a pile of 3 flopping, still alive and actively suffocating minnows in front of his den? What’s he even supposed to do with them? Eat them? They’re not even half the size of his pinky finger. Unsure of what to do, he ends up picking them up and taking them back to the water, perplexed by the situation.

But as more and more “surprises” of the like show up, he’s only getting more and more confused. Within a month, he’s found piles of junk in front of his send and he’s had to escort multiple sets of minnows and even a few frogs back to the stream. What’s he supposed to make of all this? What possible reason could someone have for leaving a broken pencil for him to find. Was there some sort of message?? Was that metal pipe supposed to be a threat???

So eventually he gets tired of being messed with and has a stakeout, hiding back in the underbrush and watching the entrance to his den as night falls, hoping to catch the perpetrator in the act.

He falls asleep on watch, only waking up at the sound of light, cautious footsteps near the entrance of his den.

He doesn’t hesitate. He knows this must be who’s been messing with him for the past few weeks.

He shoots out of the bushes, tackling you to the ground and ignoring your shrieks and squawks of protest as he wrestles you onto you back, pinning your arms down and glaring down at you.

“Alright. Jigs up. You had your fun messing around with me, but I’m tired of waking up to crap or half dead animals on my doorstep. Time to fess up.” He growls, looking at where he has your wrists pinned, noticing the mangled, bent metal fork in your hand.

Yep. It’s definitely been you.

“Christ.” He grumbles, plucking the fork from your hand, inspecting the twisted metal. “What the hell even is this? Where do you find this crap?? How much effort have you been putting into messing with me?”

“You don’t like it?” You say, your voice cracking.

John looks down at you, taking in the look of hurt in your eyes and the small, light grey and almost oval shaped ears sticking up from the top of your head.

He sighs, resigning himself. Of course you were a raccoon hybrid. He should’ve realized he was being courted… just the gifts and offerings of food didn’t quite line up with what he considered to be typical courting gifts.

He releases your wrists, sitting back on his heels to take his weight off you and taking a deep breath in.

“No… it’s… it’s fine. I love it…. Why don’t you come on inside.”

(Then like a week later after the two of you talk it out and he starts courting you back he just asks why the fish always had to be alive when you left them there and you just told him to prove that they were fresh)

[nymphaea-blue]

Oneshot - Rafayel would be good with kids.

Info : 1400+ word count, reader and Rafayel are dating, reader is referred to as a female, fluff, mentions of missing someone, perhaps hurt/comfort, small allusion to the possibility of having kids with him in the future towards the end, Tina is in fact made up and doesn't exist within Love and Deepspace lore.

Notes : Rafayel is giving me amazing older brother vibes and that's what inspired this ^^,

Rafayel would be good with kids.

Your coworker, Tara, has a younger sister named Tina that you were charged with taking care of because Tara was needed urgently at work. You didn't mind, she was your good friend and since her sister was around 7, you didn't think it would be a big issue.

The first hour or two went great, you two had fun and as it turned out, Tina was a great kid, pretty shy but smart and well behaved. Later on however, you got a call from Jenna, the situation Tara was tasked with investigating got out of hand and your team was needed ASAP to handle wanderers. 

You scrambled to find someone that would be able to watch over Tina, but everyone you thought about was sure to be busy… except one person.

“Hey cutie, missed me?” Rafayel picked up your call quickly, his tone a mix of playfulness and a hint of happiness at the fact it was you calling.

“Well yes, but I need your help… My friend left her little sister in my care but I'm urgently needed for a mission and I need someone to watch over her for a few hours. Would you be able to do it? Pleaseee?” You begged slightly on the phone, there was a slight worry and panic in your voice because time was of the essence but you were also worried about Tina.

“Hmm.. I dun know, what would I get from it, hm? My schedule is very busy, ya know.”

“I will buy you takeout and bring you more materials for paints. Please Rafayel, I need to leave soon!”

“Alright alright, I was just kidding, I would help anyways. Bring her over, I can play nanny for a few hours.”

As the doors closed and Rafayel waved last goodbyes to you as you hurriedly left, he was left alone with a little kid. Great, soo what now? He had no idea how to care for a child.

“Hey kid, what would you like to do? I got some books here, but I doubt you wanna read them.. they are pretty boring to be honest.” He asked in hopes of trying to figure out the little girl a bit more. She seemed very quiet ever since she entered the studio.

“It's okay, I got my own book, thank you sir.” Tina politely said before she went back to her book as she sat on the couch in Rafayels studio. She was a little shy, it was visible with how she tried to take as little space as possible and not make a sound, but he could work with that.

Rafayel nodded and went back to his painting for a while. He thought that perhaps giving the girl some time to warm up would be a good idea, though he kept an eye on her as well to make sure she would be alright.

After about thirty minutes, he stepped down from his high chair and went over to the nearby kitchen to prepare two glasses of water and he came back to the studio to hand one to Tina.

“What book are you reading?” He asked curiously as he started to drink his own water. 

“... It's a book about wanderers.” Tina answered shortly as she stared at the glass he gave her before taking a small sip and placing it on a nearby table.

“Really? That's quite a topic. Are you interested in fighting?

“Not really, I… wanna be smart, like my sister. She works in the Hunters Association.” 

“Ah, that's quite a noble job. My friend works there too, she does a good job protecting the city or whatever but she doesn't have as much time to meet up with me anymore.”

“What do you do while you wait for her?”

“I paint. Commissions, art for exhibitions, her.. anything, really. Doing what I like is a great distraction.”

“... I don’t feel distracted.”

“Hm?”

“I still miss her… even though I do what I like”

There it was, she opened up a little. He thought that such a subject wasn't great for a young kid, there was bound to be a reason.

“Hmm, well do you really like reading this? Or do you like doing this because it reminds you of your sister?”

“I don't know…”

“That's okay. Missing someone can be horrible, especially with all the waiting. Take me for example, I'm not the most patient person in the world so it's horrible sometimes to just stay all alone while she's somewhere else. But in the end, when my friend does return, the feeling of joy is undeniable, and I think she would like me to be happy while I wait rather than be all sad and think of her.”

“.. So what should I do?” 

“Why don't you try something else? Like painting, for example.” Rafayel said as he got up and quickly gathered two small canvases, some paints, brushes and cups of water before returning to her side and sitting on the floor in front of the couch.

“Painting is a great way to pour all of your feelings onto one place, so you can focus on what exactly you feel. Then, you can show it, using colours, symbolism, texture - anything, really.” He explained in full focus as he talked about something he knew so well as he patted the space next to him to invite Tina to sit next to him.

“So.. how about instead of missing your sister, and thinking of what she does, you think of what you feel and what you want to do?” He looked at her when he said those words and extended a paint brush if she only wanted to accept his offer.

You rang the doorbell as soon as you found yourself in front of Rafayels house. It was late by now, the mission took much longer than expected, and you felt bad about leaving Tina with Rafayel for so long while you were the one who was supposed to take care of her.

He didn't answer, so you used the key you had and opened the door yourself. After you closed it and went into the living room, you saw Tina and Rafayel talking and painting while sitting on the floor. They were so deep into the conversation that they didn't even notice you at first, until Rafayel spotted you after a few minutes.

“Ah, there you are! Started to think you forgot about us. You took your sweet time.” He teased as he stood up and walked over to you while Tina continued her artwork. She looked much happier and energetic now, you noticed.

“I'm sorry… the mission was much more intense than we all thought. I brought you some food though! And I found some pretty flowers nearby as well, I thought you could make some nice colours out of them.” You responded as you handed him the payment for taking care of Tina. You felt bad but you hoped that it would be enough to make it up to Rafayel.

“Hmm..” Rafayel inspected the flowers, before he picked one up and then tucked it into the hair behind your ear. “I think this one should stay with you, it contrasts your eyes nicely.”

His smoothness somehow always threw you off guard, even after dating for a while. A small romantic gesture yet it made your heart flutter.

“Thank you for the food though, but I ate already. We had some seafood for dinner.” He said as he took the takeout bag from your hands.

“Really? You made food?”

“Why are you surprised? I can cook if I want to, besides, someone had to feed the kid since you left her all alone.” He said as he pointed to Tina.

“She wasn't all alone, she was under your care!”

Tina, who probably heard her name being called, soon ran up to you holding her masterpiece in her hand.

“Look what I made with uncle Rafayel! Do you think she will like it?”

“I know she will love it!” You said as you patted her head. Uncle Rafayel? That was a new one, she seemed to have gotten along with him quite easily.

“Thank you for taking care of her, Rafayel. You really did me a favour.” You thanked him as Tina was getting ready to leave his studio. You were quite happy because Tina looked much more open now, you wondered how he did it.

“It was no issue, really. The kid is smart, we just talked a bit and painted, I did nothing.” He said nonchalantly, though in your eyes - he did a great job. It was endearing almost, how easily he got along with her and even without much knowledge on kids, he did his best to care for her. Perhaps in the future, he would care like this for other kids as well.

[lydiasfalling]

PINS AND NEEDLES

percy jackson x athena!reader

➸✧˖*°࿐ taglist : open!

˗ˋˏ warnings : use of y/n, post breakup, angst, possible part two??? ˎˊ-

‧₊˚✧ lydia’s yap fest ! ✧˚₊‧

post breakup yearning? sign me up. also i’ve never ever written athena reader cause it feels too much like writing myself and i don’t want to project but i hope u guys enjoy!!! (unedited!)

it had been exactly three weeks, two days, and six hours since you and percy jackson had broken up. now, while it pained you to admit, you missed him. your friends would tell you that you couldn’t miss him. not when you had left him the way you did. truth is, life as a demigod was hard. having no guarantees that you would even be alive tomorrow was a hard pill to swallow. it had gotten to a point where it felt wrong to give percy another weight on his back. he was already under the pressure of saving the world, he didn’t need a relationship to balance on it.

first came the arguing. it had become a staple for the recent era of your relationship. you would bring up the idea of taking a break, which he would turn down. he refused to hear you out whatsoever. then came the silent treatment. he couldn’t stand how every time you’d spoken, you would flip it back to the topic of breaking up. he thought better to just ignore the problem all together. finally, came the blow up. you two had found a rare moment of peace amongst the war. his fingered takes through your wet hair as you laid on his lap. you had again decided to bring up the topic again. the resulted in the fight. breaking up wasn’t easy, but something you saw necessary.

now, you paced in your cabin. these past few weeks had been a personal tartarus for you ( and you assumed percy, or he-who-shall-not-be-named ). every little thing reminded you of him. the smell of the lake you’d spend hours swimming in. the fields you would run through hand-in-hand. the bed you would spend hours having—well, you get the point. every corner held a memory. this realization made you want to rip your scalp clean off.

however, no matter how much you would deny it, you were still hopelessly in-love with perseus jackson. watching him from a far made you realize just how lucky you had been to call him yours. the beauty of his soul was one you wish could be captured and put in a jar for everyone to admire. the selfish part of you wanted that jar on your nightstand. you decided now was the time. you would finally leave the comfort of your cabin and venture into the camp. your siblings were sure that you were aware how many times percy had asked them about you. he told them to make sure you got proper care since he couldn’t be the one to do so. you knew he’d be happy to see you getting dressed to leave.

“y/n? you coming?” your sister had asked you. it was just about to be lunch.

“mhm. give me one moment.” the mirror showed you what you had dread seeing. heavy purple bags laid under your eyes. your cheeks seemed hollow. people would argue that you couldn’t be sad since you broke up with him, but they didn’t understand. you and percy were—by definition—joined at the hip. you did everything together. now the color had been drained out of usually exciting things.

“any day now.” you joined your sister at the doorframe, stepping out into the sun. the aroma of camp consumed your senses, putting you at a momentary state of ease. this ended soon as you felt the formalist presence of a certain brunette boy. his aura was contagious. you could feel him radiating half way across the world. however, he was unusually dull. turning around, you finally came face to face with percy.

“i. . . uh. . . hi, ang—y/n. didn’t see ya there.” even in the awkward atmosphere, he still managed to bring your shoulders down and your brows to relax.

“mhm. . .” you didn’t truly speak, scared of what would leave your mouth. you quickly turned back around and began to shuffle away. percy hand caught your wrist in record time.

“can we, ya know, talk? i don’t think i got to say my piece when everything went down.” he kept his hand on your skin, goosebumps trailing up your arm at the feeling. you ripped you arm away as if the touch had burned you.

“now’s not a great time.”

“okay, well, when is a good time?” he shifted on his heels

“sometime. . . other. . . than now?” you said, though it sounded more like a question to both of you.

“what happened?” he questioned, an exasperated look coming over his features.

“what?” you asked.

“to us! what happened to us? i mean. . .fuck, y/n. i was in love with you. scratch that. i am in love with you. and im trying really. really hard to respect your decision. but how can i? how can i walk past you every single day knowing im so beyond in love with i can’t even function? i cant even think about battle anymore. it’s you. you occupy every thought from the moment i wake up to the moment i fall to sleep. it’s painful.”

“it’s for the best.” you whispered.

“bullshit! i think you’re just scared!” his volume increased, causing other campers to turn in your direction.

“lower your voice, percy.” you smiled at everyone, hoping they would stop listening. “like i said, this really isn’t a good time.” you left soon after those words left your mouth, not allowing him any time to protest.

“y/n!” he called after you. you simply pretended not to hear it as you re-entered your cabin, slamming the door behind you.

taglist : @laufeysvalentine @cowboylikemac @lydiascabinsix @raysmayhem-72

my masterlist

[reidsbookclub]

An Accidental Marriage

Spencer Reid x fem! reader fluffy fluffy fluffy

Spencer Reid never thought he'd start his morning by nearly choking to death on his beloved coffee. But, then again, he also never thought he’d get accidentally married and find out about it at the same time the rest of the 6th floor at the FBI.

Yet here he was—standing in the BAU’s bullpen, coughing and sputtering as the one person he never expected to see in Virginia stormed into the room and screamed:

"DID YOU KNOW THE MARRIAGE WAS REAL?!"

Everyone seemed to freeze. The usual hum of the FBI’s elite profiling unit went completely silent as every single agent turned to stare at the scene unfolding before them.

Emily Prentiss slowly set down her mug. Luke Alvez raised an eyebrow. Tara Lewis and JJ exchanged glances. Penelope Garcia, the BAU’s self appointed gossip queen, visibly perked up like a cat spotting a canary. And Spencer? Spencer was still choking.

“Marriage?” JJ echoed, tilting her head. “Spence, is there something you’d like to share with the class?”

His childhood best friend—you—stood in front of him, arms crossed, expression half exasperated, half completely bewildered. What were you doing in Virginia? You wen't supposed to finalize your move until next month. Did he get the months wrong? He never got the months wrong but then again thinking about you always did something to his brain, he thought.

“I went to get my license updated, Spencer. My license. And do you know what I found out?” You didn’t wait for him to answer, waving an official-looking paper in front of his face. “I have been legally married for ten years and nobody thought to tell me?”

Spencer finally managed to recover, rubbing his throat before he pushed his glasses up his nose, his mind whirring. “Wait, wait, wait—how is that even possible?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Crash maybe it’s because we signed a legal document at that stupid fair years ago thinking it was a joke when it was actually real!” The moment you called him Crash, the way you had since you were kids (a nickname born from his clumsy nature and his inability to stay upright for long), something clicked in his brain.

The fair. The marriage booth.

The backup plan.

“Oh my God,” Spencer whispered.

“Oh my God is right!” you cried

Penelope practically vibrated in her seat. “Wait, wait, wait—did I just hear correctly? My favorite boy genius has been secretly married for ten years and didn’t know it?! This is better than any rom-com I’ve ever seen!”

Luke smirked. “And you never thought to check?”

“Why would I check? It's Spencer!” Penelope cried

Rossi, who had been listening with an amused expression, leaned back in his chair. “Alright, kids, humor the old man. Start from the beginning.” You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose, and plopped into the nearest chair. Spencer sat beside you, running a hand through his hair.

“Okay,” you started. “Spencer and I grew up together in Vegas. We were best friends. Like, inseparable. Hi, by the way names Y/N and I probably know a lot about all of you.” Spencer nodded. “We met when we were six years old. Statistically, most childhood friendships don’t last into adulthood, but we were an anomaly.”

Emily waved a hand. “Cute, but get to the part where you got married.”

You rolled your eyes, not liking that people didn't like Spencers facts. “When we were kids, we made a pact. If we weren’t married by forty, we’d marry each other. You know, as a backup plan.”

JJ let out a small aw before covering her mouth.

“Then,” Spencer continued, “when we were twenty, we ran into each other while I was visiting my mom in Vegas, Y/N was supposed to be visiting her sister in California but missed her plane. There was a fair at the local community college, and we thought it would be fun to relive our childhood for a day and spend the whole day together like we used to.”

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “And that’s when we saw it. The stupid marriage booth.”

Luke frowned. “Marriage booth?”

Spencer nodded. “It was part of the fair attractions. A fake wedding setup where couples could take pictures, sign a certificate, and get one of those novelty ‘marriage’ papers. We thought it was funny—like a way to get a head start on our backup plan.”

“Turns out,” you grumbled, “since we were in Vegas, it wasn’t fake at all.” The room went silent. And then Penelope excitedly screamed.

“Oh. My. God.” Penelope clutched her chest like she was about to faint. “That is the most romantic accidental love story I have ever heard.”

Spencer shook his head. “It’s not romantic! It was a mistake.”

“I don’t know, kid,” Rossi said with a smirk. “Sounds a lot like fate to me.”

You groaned, throwing your hands in the air. “That’s exactly what the lady at the DMV said when she showed me the proof!”

Tara leaned forward. “And now what?”

You glanced at Spencer. “I guess we get it annulled.”

For some reason, the thought sent an odd pang through Spencer’s chest. Annulled? Why did the thought of getting it annulled make him want to through up?

Emily leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands. “Or—” she drawled, eyes gleaming mischievously, “you could just stay married.”

“What?” you and Spencer said in unison.

Tara shrugged. “You were childhood best friends. You made a pact to marry each other if you didn’t find anyone else. Maybe this was fate stepping in early.”

“Fate,” Spencer repeated blankly.

“Oh, you cannot annul this,” Penelope gasped. “This is the most romantic accidental love story ever. Think of the story you’ll have for your grandchildren!”

Just as you were beginning to protest, agent Grant Anderson strolled into the bullpen, carrying a stack of case files. His gaze landed on you, and a charming smile spread across his face.

“Well, hello,” he said smoothly. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

You blinked at him. “Uh, no, I guess we haven’t.”

Anderson’s smile widened. “You must be new. Are you visiting, or is this a permanent thing?”

Spencer, who had been silent for a moment too long, suddenly stood up so fast his chair nearly toppled over. His jaw clenched, his normally gentle brown eyes darkening with something sharp and territorial. His hand curled around your wrist, firm but not forceful, and then—“My wife,” he said.

And before you could react, before you could process what he just said Spencer Reid—your childhood best friend, the genius who was accidentally your husband, the man you have been in love with since you knew what love was—grabbed your face and kissed you.

The bullpen erupted in cheers. Penelope squealed. JJ gasped. Emily shouted, “Go Reid!” Rossi laughed like this was the best thing he'd seen in years.

Anderson took a step back, holding up his hands. “Well. That answers that question.” When Spencer finally pulled away, you could only stare at him, breathless, heart pounding, lips tingling. “What—what was that?!” you managed. Spencer swallowed, adjusting his tie. “A leap,” he said simply. You blinked. And then, before you could stop yourself, you kissed him back. Tagging some friends because for some reason I can't find my taglist

@samuel-de-champagne-problems @boldlyvoid @milla984 @reidsaurora @reiding-and-writing

[thelonestarinthesky]

I saw requests are open! Is it possibly for you to do a Senku x reader oneshot? Senku is totally pining after the reader (who also has a massive crush on him) and Gen has to shove Senku out of his comfort zone to get him to say anything to the reader!

OR (give you some options because I saw you have writers block)

A Senku x Reader oneshot where they are finally about to reunite after Senku wins the Stone war against Tsukasa! Fluffy and cute!

I hope giving you two ideas isn’t too much! You definitely don’t need to do both but I thought giving you a choice would help!

ᴛʜᴇ ᴡɪɴɴᴇʀ ᴛᴀᴋᴇꜱ ɪᴛ ᴀʟʟ

⁺₊✦₊　　

pairing: senku x f!reader

a/n: I've decided to merge the two ideas together! Thank you for requesting!! I hope it's to your liking!

⁺₊✦₊　　

Senku couldn't sleep, for countless nights, he would lay in bed, staring at the ceiling silently, thinking.

Ever since Gen had arrived back during the Grand Bout, he revealed something to him.

Tsukasa had taken [Name] as a hostage, purposely reviving her when he had no choice but to bury her statue when they fled the small camp he and Taiju made at the beginning and keeping her close.

"Poor [Name] is scared to death." Gen's words echo in his mind. "Save her Senku~"

He sighs, closing his eyes. "Wait for me, okay?" Mumbling quietly, he says.

࿐⸻༺ ෆ ༻⸻࿐

After the war with Tsukasa was over, the first thing Senku did was go over to the Tsukasa empire. On his search to look for the [H/C] haired girl, he walked among the place before stopping.

He looked up to see a figure poking their head out from the prison-like cave, like how Chrome said they held him in.

"....senku?" The voice called out quietly.

A shiver ran down his spine.

[Name] teared up upon seeing him running up the mountain to where she was being held.

Watching as he pants heavily, he quickly helps trying to get the prison open, sitting on a rock, sat [Name], nothing had changed. Seeing her like this reminds him of their life in the modern world.

"You're okay." Her calm expression is the same; the way she sits with her legs together, ladylike, and the gentle smile on her lips are all the same. "I'm happy."

[Name] is caught off guard as Senku walks over and stands in front of her, then suddenly, the two fall back from the rock, trapping the girl underneath him, his arms are wrapped tightly around her waist, face buried in her neck.

She's stunned before even saying a word; she feels his shoulders tremble slightly and then understands.

Without a word, she slowly hugs him back, smiling against his hair. "... I missed you too." She mumbles for his ears alone.

⁺₊✦₊　　

It's been a couple of weeks since [Name] returned to his side; Gen had noticed the way Senku would be around her. Asking for her opinions on his latest work, when they made bread, he made sure she was the last one to get it, giving her the larger portion left.

Upon seeing how happy she was eating it, he gave her his piece, claiming he wasn't that hungry and claimed they would make more now that they had a chief.

Gen had managed to catch [Name] alone, Senku, surprisingly not by her side. "Say, [Name], I've been meaning to ask. What is Senku to you?" He sat down beside her as she sewed up Senku's winter coat since winter was coming up.

She looks up at him before going back to work. "We grew up together." Gen hums at this. "My best friend." Her answer was....too vague for him, so he decided to push.

"Oh? Is that all? I thought you two were more than that." He thinks out loud, peeking over to see her reaction.

"Gen." The girl says, "I know what you're trying to do." She smiles. "If you're looking for a specific answer, all you had to do was ask. I have loved Senku for many years."

His mouth drops, and he expected her to deny or simply not answer.

"So straightforward." She just smiles at him before going back to work.

It took days for Gen to plan his next move; he saw the way Senku looked at [Name], so maybe he could ask Senku if he would think of the [H/C] haired girl.

Yeah, he'll ask and try to play matchmaking-

"Oh, [Name]? Yeah, I'm aware of her feelings for me." Senku says bluntly, picking his ear.

Gen is shell-shocked, staring at Senku like he has grown another head.

"What?" The green-white-haired boy says, clueless.

"You haven't done anything?" Senku blinks at Gen's words. "Done what?" The scientist says.

"Oh, I don't know—accepting her feelings, obviously!?! Gen shouts clearly annoyed at how blunt Senku was towards the girl's feelings in the first place.

"[Name] knows how I feel," Senku says like it's normal, very blunty.

Gen groans. "Senku, I don't think any girl would know what the boy she's in love with feels about her when you give her science rants."

"Can't you give her flowers or maybe something normal?"

Senku scoffs at this. "Back in the modern world, I would give her a lot of things." He says it like it's nothing, almost proud.

"Name one." Gen challenges him.

"I named a spaceship after her."

"Next."

"I took her to Africa to study Ebola with me."

"No, something more romantic." Gen looked like he wanted to just give up. None of this seemed like normal things to give to a girl.

Senku thinks a bit. "...I made a lipstick for her." He remembers that the brand she was using was running out, but they had discontinued it. She was sad about it and often went to the mall with her as she searched for an alternative.

So when she didn't like any of them nor did it suit her. He managed to sneak a sample of the remaining bit and spent a week trying to perfect it.

Seeing her so happy was worth it in the end.

"Anything else?" Gen asked him. "Surely that can't be the only 'normal' gift to her." The man sighs.

Senku stands with his arms crossed, the work he was working on, forgotten. His face deadpans as soon as he realizes what Gen means. Maybe he hadn't given enough to [Name], or maybe she thinks the feelings are one-sided.

"See what I mean." Gen sighs at Senku's dejected face.

"Don't worry, the great mentalist will help you," Gen says grinning.

⁺₊✦₊　　

Senku glanced over at [Name], who was sitting. He made up an excuse to bring her here alone, and he wasn't sure where to go from there.

In his hand, a hairclip, one he'd made the day before. Gen had suggested it to him upon seeing how [Name] often moved the strands of hair from her face.

Gen watches from afar. He can't hear anything, but he sees Senku sitting down beside the [H/C] haired girl. His lips opened as he spoke to her before showing the hairclip.

[Name] smiles as she reaches for the item before Senku leans in and puts it in her hair, catching her off guard as her face heats up slightly, but she smiles at Senku.

More words are spoken, but Gen sees this as a sign to give them privacy.

[Name] goes to lean in the water to see her reflection, but Senku stops her; he brings out a small item and hands it to her. Flipping it around, the girl sees that it is a mirror; smiling, she checks where he puts the hairclip and smiles even more , thanking him.

She looks surprised at his words, seeing him bashful as he confesses, giggling at this. She rests her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes, "That's not true; I like when you go on about what you're passionate about; I love seeing that sparkle in your eyes." She confesses. "So don't think your actions are any less."

Senku wraps his arm around her as they sit there. No more words are needed between them since they both know the depths of their feelings.

The next day, Gen goes over to see how things went, going over to Senku, only to stop when he sees the two closer than ever.

Matchmaker Gen's job is over.

[seenoversundown]

Somewhere

Josh Kiszka x Harper (Gender Neutral OC)

Warnings: FLUFFFFFF & some gentle flirty bullying

Word Count: 1.6k

Author's Note: just a sweet little thing for our sweet little man 🥰

🩷 🩷 🩷

Harper POV 

Nothing about Valentine's Day sounded appealing this year. 

Josh and I have been together for a little over a year, but he ended up having to move for a job and now we only get to see each other every few weeks. Unfortunately for us both, this was not a weekend he could swing. 

Him being the way he is insisted we would make the best of it, promising to spend as much time as we could on Facetime so at minimum, we were looking at each other. 

“I know it isn’t as good as being in person,” he sighed. “But, at least it’s something?”

I have spent the past few days trying not to be bummed out but when our group of friends invited me to a local carnival that night, I knew I would be the only one without their partner. So, I graciously declined.. privately in a message to the girl who invited us. I don’t want the pity from the rest of our groupchat. 

It being the day before, I went about my typical routine; wake up, drink the biggest mug of coffee, mentally prepare myself for work, and then get dressed and leave. Generally speaking, Josh and I would text throughout the day and then call or facetime once we’re both finally home for the evening. 

Work felt endless— possibly because I knew what was to come when I got home. Or knowing I had the next day off, regardless of the fact I would just be at home. Alone. I’m not usually this bitter, especially over a Hallmark holiday, but it had been a couple weeks since I had seen Josh in person and it had definitely started to wear on me. 

At least I’ll be graced with his sweet smile all day tomorrow. 

Pulling into my driveway, I let out a deep sigh. Quickly grabbing all my things and making my way to the door. Wiggling my key into the doorknob, it’s unlocked? I stare at my door for a second, trying to decide if I forgot to lock it when I left or if I’m about to meet my maker. 

“Hello?” My voice shakes as I open my front door, creeping through it slowly. Not seeing anything or anyone, but noticing the light is on in my kitchen. 

My hallway has never felt longer than in this moment. 

As I’m about to come around the corner, a voice startles me. 

“Well hi there,” Josh’s voice rings through my empty house. Leant against the counter, a smug little smile on his lips. 

My jaw drops, and I look around for a moment but my attention falls back on him. 

“Wait-“ I start, setting my things down on the island. “How? Your car isn’t here?” Walking straight into him, wrapping my arms around him tightly. 

His chest shakes with a laugh, “I parked at Jake’s and he dropped me off.” 

“Oh my god,” I breathe out, leaning back and touching his face. “Hi.” 

“Hey,” he whispered, as his plump lips found mine. “I couldn’t go another week before coming back, so I moved some things around.” 

“I missed you,” I tell him, pecking his lips. “I’m so,” kiss, “glad,” kiss, “you could be here,” kiss, kiss, kiss. 

His laugh in between kisses made my heart flutter, managing to get out, “I missed you too.”

We spent the rest of the evening glued to each other. Cooking dinner practically holding hands and falling into the couch to put on whatever shitty movie we could find, because we weren’t going to watch it anyway. 

❤️ ❤️ ❤️

Waking up with Josh meant staying tangled up in the sheets for a while. Our visits were so few and far between, that we would soak up any chance we had to just be. 

“We should probably get up soon,” he mumbles, his voice still laced with sleep. “Need to make sure you're fed and caffeinated for later.” 

“What are we doing?” I ask, propping myself up on an elbow to look at him. 

His hand brushing my hair out of my face, “Well, we were invited to the carnival, no?” 

“I told Kira we wouldn’t make it,” I cringe as it leaves my mouth. 

He smiles even wider, “Good thing I let her know the moment I got my work stuff sorted out.” 

Falling dramatically into the pillow, I let out, “How are all of you so good at secrets?!” 

“Is it that we’re good at secrets or that you, my love, are not the most observant sometimes?” 

Gasping at his comment and smacking him with a rogue pillow, I just watch as he dies from laughter. Shaking my head when I say, “You’re lucky you’re pretty, Joshua.” 

Hours later, finally dressed, fed, and caffeinated, we head over to where the carnival is. Josh insisted on driving us since he technically agreed to the plans. And to be frank, I’ll never turn down the opportunity to watch his performance whenever we’re in the car. 

Approximately four show tunes later, including a dance number, we made it. 

“You know,” he says as we’re getting out of the car. “More people should get on the West Side Story train, is all I’m saying.” 

“Josh, honey, we all have enjoyed West Side Story..” my voice trailed off. “When we were in fourth grade..” 

He stops dead in his tracks, holding a hand out toward me, “Harper, I need you to put that back in your mouth.” 

Not the government name. Throwing my hands up, “My bad.” 

“That’s fucking right, you’re bad!” He barks out, a smirk on his face. Wrapping his arm around my shoulders as we walk towards the entrance, I listen to every single reason why West Side Story is a perfectly fine musical. 

All of our friends waited at the entrance for us so we could say hello, but nature's way will always take over, which means we all just paired off once we got inside. 

“Where to first?” He rasps, squeezing my hand gently. 

Gazing around at all the lights from the rides and food booths, the sounds of children laughing, the smell of fresh popcorn. 

“Whatever sounds fun to you,” I tell him, looking over. “I’m just happy you’re here.”

And it’s true— I would gladly follow Josh around all night doing whatever it is that he wants because it means I get to be with him. 

We wandered around for a while, hand in hand, just weighing out what our options were. Finding somewhere to grab a beer to share, neither one of us wanted to drink too much before Josh inevitably dragged me onto a ride. 

It’s not that I don’t like rides, but the fact these carnival rides can be put together in like an hour doesn’t sit well with me. He’s just lucky I love him enough to muscle through it. 

“You would pick the most terrifying option,” I let out under my breath. 

His hand squeezing mine, “Guess you’ll just have to sit close.” 

Looking up at the rickety ferris wheel, trying to not panic at the possibilities. He just tugs me along, still humming that one Officer Krupke song from the car. 

When it's finally our turn, Josh death grips my hand as I step into the middle of the pod-seat-thing, sitting as close to him as I could. If I could be in his skin, I would be.

“See it’s not that bad,” he says, his arm stretched out behind me. 

My body tense as can be, my head slowly turns to him as we slow to a complete halt at the very top of the wheel.

“Okay so I have bad timing,” he laughs. “Though while we’re trapped up here.” 

“Can you not say trapped while we’re a million feet in the air?” I ask, slightly panicked. 

He smiles and his hand creeps down onto my shoulder, “I have been withholding information.” 

My eyebrows shot up. The air is silent somehow, but only for a second when I bark out, “Continue?” 

“What if I told you that—“ he starts, pausing for the drama as usual. “I’ll be able to work remotely as of next month..” 

“Like full time?” 

He nods, “I may have to go in every so often, but I’d have clear warning.. which means..” 

If I could jump up from this seat, I’d be in the stars. 

“Oh my god,” I let out, my hands coming up to cover my mouth. “You can live here?” 

He grabs my hands, littering kisses across my knuckles. “That’s right, baby. I’ll be able to pester you all the time.” 

My heart feels like it could explode. We both knew that when Josh took the job, that he would be traveling a lot, but neither of us really knew what to expect when it came to managing our relationship alongside it. Endless FaceTime calls and a constant stream of texts, but it’ll all be over in a mere few weeks. 

“Move in with me,” I blurt out. 

And for the first time in our relationship, I think he was speechless. 

“Seriously?” 

I hesitate, but the smile creeps onto my face, “Dead serious.” 

His hands hold the sides of my face as he plants the sweetest kiss against my lips. A feeling that will never get old. Mumbling, “Okay, let’s do it then.” 

The wheel starts to slow down with us near the top, yet again. But we’re too busy to notice. 

“I love you,” I laugh out against him. 

He pulls back, looking at me, “I love you, too.” 

Settling back into the seat, we stared off into the distance since we were “trapped” again. Enjoying the quiet as I tuck myself under his arm, until his pipes up after a few minutes. 

“And you thought today would be terrible.” 

I’ve never been happier to be wrong. 

❤️ ❤️ ❤️

Masterlist

Taglist:

@gvfsstardust @myleftsock @imleavingyoufornewyork @dont-go-home-without-me

@literal-dead-leaf @mackalah @edgingthedarkness

@writingcold @i-love-gvf @takenbythemadness

@earthgrlsreasy @peaceloveunitygvf @gretavanfan

@jazzyfigz @demonrat444 @josh-iamyour-mama @wrldabomination

@gvf-luna @lilbitx @gvfstuddedmajesty @katuschka @sanguinebats

@lightmy-love @myownparadise96 @cheersdannyx2

@lallisonl @fleetingjake @musicislove3389

[raccoonconnoisseur]

My theory about a potential Helena pregnancy subplot in Severance S2, why I don’t think she would have planned it, and what it could mean for the characters:

Okay so a lot of people are theorising that Helena could be pregnant after the tent scene in S2E4 and that her entire reason for going down to the severed floor was to get pregnant because she’s an only child and single and she’ll be expected to produce the next Eagan heir.

With the theme of pregnancy throughout the show and all of the baby imagery in the title sequence I think she could be pregnant but I feel like if she is it wasn’t intentional. Here’s why:

It’s obviously entirely possible for somebody to get pregnant after having sex just once but the chances of it happening is pretty small (from what I could find online it appears to be about a 25% chance each month if you’re having REGULAR unprotected sex around the time of ovulation - thank you Huggies website - so it’s even lower if it happens just once). Lumon and the Eagans are meticulous - there’s no way they would send her off to sleep with somebody in the woods just once and cross their fingers she would end up pregnant (it would also just kind of be lazy writing/way too convenient)- they would have a whole ass operation going so it would happen regularly until she conceives.

I think they sent Helena down instead of Helly not because she wanted a baby but just because they couldn’t trust Helly R - they knew she’d tell MDR the truth and it could spoil everything. She already hated herself and tried to end her life before she knew she was an Eagan and it would only triple that hatred now she knows who she really is. On top of that MDR had been working fine before she joined, then within a couple of weeks of her arrival, the team is going rogue trying to do the OTC? She was too dangerous to let back down there - they knew Mark would demand Helly back but Helly is feisty and will not budge from her goals of fucking shit up.

So Helena was to go down to the severed floor instead and impersonate Helly (which would also allow her to spy on them and what they’re up to while still tricking them into thinking they had more freedom - remember one of the first things she does is point out the missing cameras). But then she found out about Mark and Helly with the security footage and Helena - who has been raised in a cult-like corporate hellscape, who was manipulated and moulded from birth to be the perfect future heir and was never allowed to be herself - was genuinely jealous/intrigued because this version of her who she doesn’t even see as a real person, who just existed for a publicity stunt, has built more genuine relationships in just a few short weeks than Helena has in 30 years. She went down as a mole and genuinely came out preferring who she was down there. I think she was genuine when she told mark in the tent that she didn’t like who she was on the outside - it was a rare moment of her letting the act down he just didn’t know it.

So how does this link back to pregnancy and babies? Well as mentioned, the title sequence is full of babies and baby imagery. We see a baby Kier emerging from the snow at Mark’s feet at the end of the title sequence (emerging from the snow where it was maybe conceived?) Baby Kier - a baby Eagan. While I don’t think it was intentional on Helena’s part, I think she could end up pregnant and it could be a massive turning point for both Helly and Helena.

We know Mark and Helena meet up again outside (the diner scene in the trailer). Now he’s reintegrated he knows who she is both inside and out. So their outies (or outie Helena and reintegrated Mark I guess) must end up having some kind of character arc. I’m wondering if he’ll confront her about why she pretended to be Helly and ends up getting dragged into the whole situation now he knows a child is on the line. Half of him still wants Gemma (who I think it truly dead but that’s a matter for another time) but the other half of him genuinely wants Helly and - because of the way reintegration messes with your time perception as Petey explained back in S1) they are equally as strong feelings.

So for the even more out-there, very unlikely way I could potentially see this going: I’m wondering if it’s possible Helena deciding she doesn’t want her child to be exposed to the same cult-ish, toxic upbringing she experienced - wanting her child to be given a good life, the chance to be their own person and not just a pawn for a corporate entity - and so she chooses to help the innies out and expose the company in a parallel to how Helly R did at the end of S1 - this time it really is Helena speaking. In a way (although she was still a terrible person and did some really awful things) she finally does something good and proves she isn’t just a one-note evil stereotype. Then I could see her potentially deciding to either reintegrate (I think less likely) or permanently sever herself (more likely) because she prefers the person she is when severed than in the real world - essentially killing Helena Eagan and the Eagan lineage for good and instead giving the innie - who she didn’t even see as a real person at first - a life she could never have.

[chil-aglia]

𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐎𝐧 𝐘𝐨𝐮 |ROTTMNT| (Male OC)

Check-up

Didn’t have time to make art for this chapter. So, you get this instead. 

Be sure to read the tags on my Ao3 so you guys know what you’re getting yourselves into.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

3 days…it had been 3 days since Giovanni suddenly vanished off the grid. It caused a panic for the others, his brothers have been searching high and low, non-stop.

But they found nothing. Raphael had called in for backup, asking—begging, his human friends to help search for Giovanni. Mikey done the same thing but with Draxum.

It was all too hard to handle, but they couldn’t give up. Not when they had just started getting Giovanni to open up, let him have fun and be…normal. Donnie frantically typed away on his computer, scanning for surveillance footage, and clues for his older brother. He slams his fist in the keyboard, groaning in frustration as he glares at the screen.

A large red ‘X’ seen. No sign of Giovanni.

”Fuck…! Why can’t I find him?!” He hissed at himself, gripping his hands over his head. He was pissed off at himself. Why didn’t he install the tracker into Giovanni when he had so many chances?!

If he had, he would’ve been able to locate his missing brother in a heartbeat. Leo had walked in, hearing the commotion as he narrowed his eyes.

”Donnie you’re going to hurt your hand if you slam it again.”

”I don’t care. Gio is missing a-and I can’t do anything to find him!”

Leo frowns at his twin. He knew Donnie was eating himself up on the inside, staying up late and scanning every camera in the city. It had everyone worry, but they understood.

Leo took a moment to calm himself down, he was trying so hard to not just break down. He was the leader now. So he had to act like it.

”Donnie…we need to narrow down the possibilities of what happened to Gio.”

Leo took note that Raph, and Mikey entered the room as well, along with an exhausted Splinter. “Narrow down the possibilities…okay, we can do that.” Donnie mumbles in agreement as he looks to the others.

”Gio wouldn’t just leave out of the blue. He’s not like that.” Raph declares, the youngest turtle nodding in utter agreement. “Yeah! A-and even if he did, he seems like the type to at least leave a letter for us, right?” Mikey tilts his head, frowning at the thought of Giovanni leaving the family.

Splinter hums and shakes his head, “Perhaps…he was kidnapped?” He suggests, the comment having the boys freeze upon realisation as they all share a concern look.

”Kidnapped…but who would want to kidnap him? All the villains we know wouldn’t have the courage to do that just because they hate us.” Donnie analysed but Leo was quick to correct him, glaring ahead.

”Actually…there’s one person we know who is known for kidnapping.”

At first it was quiet, until Splinter softly gasps and narrowed his own eyes.

”Big Mama.”

-----

Splinter stayed back home, in case the others like April or even Draxum called for any updated news. The four brothers however decided to pay a visit to a certain spider lady.

They run through the hotel corridors before reaching Big Mama’s office, Raph forcing the door open as they all stumble in, weapons ready for a fight.

”All right Big Mama, where is he?!”

Big Mama spins around on her chair, she was in her human form as she smiles politely. “Turtlyboos. My, you sure know how to make an entrance.” She giggles before tilting her head and resting her elbows upon her desk in front of her.

”Now, remind me why you decided to break into my splendid hotel?”

Leo growls, stepping forward with his katanas raised and pointed at her. “Our brother. He’s been kidnapped and we believe you have something to do with it.” He huffs but Big Mama only widens her eyes before taking and waving her finger at them.

”I’m afraid your wrong blue one. I don’t have Giovanni.”

Donnie tenses and glared at the yokai, “We never mentioned his name. This proves that you know him!” He announces, but he steps back when Big Mama stood up from her chair and made her way over to them slightly.

”I only know of him because you boys have been taking him around the city, fighting crime and whatnot. It’s adorable really.”

She sighs and leans back against her desk, her hand tapping against the wood. “He also came by a few months ago. I introduced myself to him and even told him that he and his brothers are welcomed here any time.” She added with amusement, especially when she saw the puzzled expressions on their faces.

Giovanni had actually met Big Mama? When? How? Why?

Leo had many questions, but he shook his head. There were more important things at hand. “So, he’s not here? At all? You know nothing about his disappearance?” Leo inquired again, voice firm but also laced with panic.

Big Mama nodded. “I’m afraid I haven’t got a clue about this. I feel such sympathy for him. From what I remember, he was pretty skittish. If he was indeed kidnapped…well, I can only wonder what he’s feeling and going through.”

Her words were enough to make the boys quiet, tension thick in the air as they all turn around and leave the room.

None of them had said a word to each other. But even without mind melding there was one thing that they were all thinking.

Where the hell is their brother?

-----

It was quiet, the sound of ragged breaths being inhaled and exhaled was heard. The white tiled room was cold and bright. Too bright.

The only time Giovanni managed to make the room dark was when he lowered his head into his shell. He felt safe there, a sense of privacy. The lights in the room never turned off. He wondered if that was a way to make whoever were in these cells go crazy. Unable to tell if it was day or night.

Giovanni already didn’t know how long he’s been in the E.P.F. base for. Given he was knocked out upon arriving and then knocked out again for hours when he was in that operation room.

It confused him, but he tried his best to not show a hint of weakness. He thinks he was doing well in that department. But then again, that could just be his mind messing with him.

Giovanni was curled up to a corner of the room, refusing to get comfortable on the thin mattress that they gave him. It was a poor excuse of a bed. 

Giovanni didn’t have company from when he awoke from his dazed nap. The only time there was a hint of anyone watching him was when the door of his cell opened and a yokai would walk in slightly and push over a tray of food and water for him. They would then leave him be.

Giovanni didn’t dare try and eat the food they gave to him. He would take the water, giving a few cautious sips before gulping it down his throat. The tray would then get taken away a few hours later, leaving him back to be alone with his thoughts.

He gave a grumble as he leans his face against his propped-up knee, wincing when he felt a short wave of pain inside his mouth. He licked his tongue over his teeth, before stopping at the tooth he was missing. It was starting to grow back, but the process of it was a bit of a pain that he had to put up with. His neck was sore as he gently rubs his hand along the side, pausing when he felt phantom discomfort from the memory of being injected with a needle.

He gave a little whimper and lowers his head slightly into the comfort of his carapace.

He wanted to go home. Surely his friends and family were already looking for him. 

He closed his eyes, trying to rest but he didn’t get a chance to relax when the cell door opened, making him flinch at the sound as he perks up in alert.

”I apologise for the long wait.”

It was a new voice, and Giovanni lightly glares at the figure of a man walking in. “It’s been quite a while S129. I’m glad that you’ve returned to us.” The man was alone, with a monotone voice that had Giovanni shuddering.

The man steps closer inside the cell before stopping and staring. Giovanni took in the man’s appearance briefly before he froze, eyes wide like saucers and mouth hung open slightly into bewilderment.

The man was tall and healthily thin. He wore a black suit and black tie. His raven coloured hair that was once quite short from memory had grown out a bit longer, slicked back.

Pale skin and completing the look he donned dark sunglasses that reflected the frightened state of Giovanni.

He remembered who this man was. How could he ever forget?

John Bishop came back into his life again. After all these years.

”I hope you haven’t forgotten me. I worked closely with you from your time with us as a child.” John comments, hands still at his side as he took in the appearance of Giovanni.

John remembered when Giovanni was only a child. He was much smaller in comparison now.

But now Giovanni was grown. Still looking the same but he was obviously different. Older and muscles all toned out in the right places. From the looks of it he was being taken care of, healthy.

John opens his mouth to say something, but Giovanni beat him to it. “I-I remember you…Mr. Bishop.” He rasps out, head hung low, avoiding meeting his gaze, even if they were hidden behind those dark glasses.

John hums in acknowledgement, a tiny grin plastered on his lips for a moment. “Good. I was worried about that. It has been too long after all.” He noted, but Giovanni didn’t respond, his body shaking.

”You’ve grown.”

”Y…yeah. I have.”

John walks over, ignoring how the mutant before him tensed. Giovanni sharply gasps when John cupped under his chin and forced the turtle to look up at him. His pupils small and wild but he didn’t move away.

”According to my math, you must be at least a young adult. 18? 19?” He concluded, but he wasn’t expecting a correction or answer from Giovanni, letting him go as the yellow-bellied slider exhaled out a breath he was holding in.

Soon the sounds of heels clicking grabbed his attention. Madeline walks in with a soft and welcoming smile. “Hello, I see you’ve become re-acquainted with your other primary carer for your time here.” She informs, side eyeing John who crossed his arms, not bothering to even look at her in acknowledgment.

But Madeline didn’t seem to care as she focuses on Giovanni. “You’re in need for a check-up today.” She states, which had Giovanni shake his head in response. “N-no…no more needles.” He begs but Madeline only softly chuckles and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

”There will be no needles. It’s a simple check-up to make sure you’re all healthy. Right, Mr. Bishop?”

Both Giovanni and Madeline look back over to the agent who nods firmly. “Correct.”

Giovanni remains hesitant but he then thought that if he was going to somehow leave the facility, he would have to know where he was going. With a little nod of reluctance agreement, John Bishop strides toward him and took out handcuffs from his pockets.

He clamps them down over Giovanni’s wrist before walking away to the open door. Madeline stays beside Giovanni, leading the mutant out the cell and into the corridors once more.

The black panther yokai was present once more, gripping firmly onto the mutant to stop him from doing anything stupid. John led the way, Madeline standing behind Giovanni who was in the middle being dragged.

Giovanni darts his eyes around at each passing door, taking in every detail he could. The signs, the left and right turns. The number of cells nearby.

He gazed over to an open door, almost leaping out in joy when he spotted his gear and weapon being displayed on a wall. It was a storage room from the looks of it.

He was tugged forward, losing his concentration as he glanced up at the panther who could only growl lowly at him, making Giovanni somewhat cower under the intense gaze as he looks ahead.

They come to a set of two doors, John pushing them open. Giovanni was expecting to be greeted to another operation room like last time. But to his confusion, the room he stepped into looked more like an actual med bay.

Madeline walks past him and comfortably gestured to him to sit on the bed. Giovanni stood on the spot, not wanting to really listen to the people who kidnapped him.

He nervously casts a glance to John who stood in the corner, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed as he silently and eerily surveyed the mutant.

”No need to be afraid.” Madeline softly cooed, giving her best comforting look which finally had Giovanni to take control of his legs as he anxiously made his way over and sat on the bed, his legs dangling over as he fiddled with his hands.

He watched with cautious anticipation as Madeline hums a soft tune, walking around and gathering tools for this check-up.

He was relieved that he didn’t see any needles. As they had promised him.

Madeline appears in his line of vision, holding a stick that you would see at the doctors for when they check your mouth.

”Open wide for me sweetheart.”

Giovanni gulps, but he hesitantly listens and opens his mouth, sticking out his tongue as he flinched when the wooden stick made contact with his stretched-out tongue. Madeline took out a small flashlight from her pocket and shined it inside the mouth. Giovanni was naturally nervous; shoulders tense and shaking as Madeline soothed him.

”It’s all right. You’re doing so good.” She praises before moving away and throwing the stick in the bin. “It’s only been 3 days, and your tooth is already regenerating. Fascinating.” She announced, looking rather surprised and pleased with the outcome.

Giovanni didn’t say anything, closing his mouth and keeping a watchful eye on Dr. Brookes. She returns back with a blood pressure monitor, gently wrapping the blood pressure cuff around Giovanni’s arm as the cuff started to compress.

”Blood pressure is high. But I assume that’s because you’re still anxious.” She noted, gazing back at Giovanni who lowered his head to avoid eye contact. 

She takes the compression blood pressure machine off his arm, placing it back into its spot on a desk. “Open your mouth once more for me.” She advises, holding a temperature thermometer. Giovanni listens as he felt the thermometer placed in his mouth.

He waits a few seconds before the thermometer was plucked out. Madeline himself and nods to herself. “Temperature normal for a turtle.” She spoke out loud, listing off everything she was doing.

This went on for a bit, doing the all the ‘necessary’ things that one would do in a simple check-up. No needles were present, which only had Giovanni relax a bit.

”Almost done. I’m going to feel around your body to make sure all the bones are intact.”

Giovanni flinched when she got close to him, moving slightly back for distance. Madeline hums and gently settled her palm against his cheek, rubbing her thumb in circles to ease the skittish mutant.

”Relax Giovanni. It won’t hurt a bit. Perhaps some discomfort, but it’s all necessary.” She explains, waiting for Giovanni to relax at her touch.

When his muscles weren’t as tense as earlier, she began to feel his arms. Taking her time with him. Moving her fingers up and down and around his toned body.

She did the same on the other arm. She traced her hands up along his plastron, making Giovanni shiver as she placed two fingers alongside his neck and his jawline. ”Tense here. I see you’ve gotten into a few fights before being brought here.” She noted, but Giovanni didn’t question as to how she knew that.

Her hands leave his neck before touching his thighs, making Giovanni yelp when she gripped his skin slightly. Shaking at her touch as he closed his eyes tightly when she began venturing her curious hands around his legs and lower body.

She was getting a bit too touchy for his taste, but he didn’t want to show weakness. Not in front of his captors. She eventually left his legs and moved around to go behind him, leaning him forward as she traced along his shell.

But that didn’t take much time as she hums and walks to a desk, jotting down her observations on a piece of paper that was attached to a clipboard.

”All done. See? A simple check-up. We’ll be monitoring you and—“

She began to explain but stopped when she heard a quiet sob. She turns around and saw Giovanni shaking, curling up slightly as tears rolled out his eyes.

Madeline approached him and rubbed at his shoulder soothingly. “Oh dear, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?” She inquired, as she glances up at John who made no move to comfort the turtle.

“Home…I-I wanna go home. Please…” Giovanni begs, he didn’t want to be here anymore. He never did. He tried to stay strong, but it was very overwhelming for him to take in.

He didn’t even hear or see John move from his spot until he felt a firm hand grasp his other shoulder. Followed by John’s voice whispering in his ear.

“You are home, with the E.P.F. Or did you forget S129?”

Giovanni stared down in silence, his body felt limp and heavy. This was his home?

How though…? This place didn’t have his brothers or father, no friends around to come and visit him.

But he was raised here from his time as a baby. Was this place technically a home to him?

“Take him back to the cell.” John gives the order to the panther yokai who had been standing near the door. They pull Giovanni off the bed and forced him to stand. Dragging him out the room.

Giovanni didn’t fight back. Lost in his own thoughts.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

What's this? Such a quick update already!

I APOLOGISE FOR ANY GRAMMAR MISTAKES THAT WERE MADE, I TYPE PRETTY FAST AND OFTEN DON’T SEE THEM UNTIL I ACTUALLY PUBLISH THE CHAPTER. THEN I’D TRY AND FIX ANY MISTAKES WHEN I SEE ONE.

quotev - 𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐎𝐧 𝐘𝐨𝐮 |ROTTMNT| (Male OC)

Ao3 - 𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐎𝐧 𝐘𝐨𝐮 |ROTTMNT| (Male OC)

First chapter here

Next chapter here

[millyphobic]

ᯓ★ PRETTY LADY

⌗ a shitty friday night date, cold weather, and a late night bus ride back home. just when you think you’ve fucked up the start to your weekend, a real good-looking lady comes sitting next to you. but one problem, how the actual fuck are you getting her attention??

Di!Jill Valentine x fem!reader

꩜ .ᐟ cw :: implied age gap, smoking, awkward reader (this is basically a self-insert), a lot of internal dialogue (this is this is basically a self-insert), reader doesn't actually know who tf Jill is until the end help, rabbit wand mentioned (๑°o°๑)

꩜ .ᐟ notes :: I actually have no idea where this idea spawned from. probably from a dream or some embarrassing experience I had back in high school (⁠╥⁠﹏⁠╥⁠)

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 wc :: 1.5k

You don’t hate the entire world. Just half of it. The male half. 

Nothing like another shitty date to ruin your Friday night. The fact you spent a whole hour listening to a frat guy talk about his shitty “achievements” was painfully depressing. Honestly, why do you even try? It’s already hard living in an area where girls don’t seem to be kissing other girls. But now every guy you think is semi-decent turns out to be a total dickwad. 

Is this a sign from above to stay single? Because it’s not funny. 

You trudged out of the dinner, miserable and with twenty dollars less in your pocket. Stupid bastard couldn’t even pay for your meal and looked at you like you were crazy when you tried to order a burger at a fucking diner. Well, he could suck your dick because it’s not your fault he was probably too broke to get anything more than potato wedges.  

The winter air nipped at your skin as you pulled your coat more tightly over your body, making your way to the nearest bus stop and plopping yourself on a bench. Hopefully, it wasn’t too late to catch a ride home. You just wanted to crawl into bed and never have to think about this night again. Or even better, crawl into bed and finally have a partner to cuddle with. 

Time passed by and you blanked out for a moment, staring at your Mary Janes and softly humming to yourself. It’s not until you hear another person come up and sit next to you do you finally tear your eyes away from the ground. And you do what literally anyone else would do, take a look at who was sitting next to you. 

Holy shit.

Now, you’ve seen beautiful women all your life. To you, every girl out there was beautiful. But damn, in the most respectful way possible, that was one pretty lady. You didn’t really know what to think at the moment. Couldn’t exactly pinpoint what was so attractive about her. Everything seemed to be the appropriate answer. From the grey streaks in her hair to her brown bomber jacket fitted snuggly over her body. But something about the way she held an unlit cigarette between her lips made you feel especially warm from under the collar of your shirt. 

It was like she walked out of one of those badass fighting games where men hate her and women love her. Or even better: where men hate her and women want to kiss you. You’d like to kiss her. Wrinkles and grey hairs and all. If she’s not graying then she’s not staying you’d often joke. But this you might actually be deadass.

“Uhm, Miss?” What the hell am I doing?

The woman’s eyes snapped towards you and you could practically do a back flip into traffic. Whether out of embarrassment or excitement, you didn’t know. She’s got real pretty eyes, pale blue eyes, and not the usual scary soul-piercing blue eyes. 

You gingerly pointed to the cigarette between her lips and before you could think about the fact you’re probably about to embarrass yourself, you asked your next question. 

“Can I have one?” 

What the actual fuck am I doing, I’ve never smoked a day in my life.

And clearly, the lady thought so too, cocking an eyebrow at your nervous face. Silence. Awkward silence. And then she scoffed, digging her hand into her coat pocket. “You sure you want one, baby?” 

Okay, that has to be a murder attempt.

The heat on your face was unbearable as you nod like a puppy, feeling so stupid and embarrassed and turned on all at the same time. Thank god for the darkness of the night, your faces poorly illuminated by flickering street lamps.

A pack of Marlboros and a violet lighter are in her hand, those pretty and slender hands that any girl would fawn over. She flicked the pack open and pulled a cigarette out for you, holding it up to your lips. 

Wait a minute…am I being flirted with?

You’ve never been the sharpest tool in the shed. Most of the time when it came to other people, it was like your light bulb was on but no one was home. So you took the cigarette between your teeth, awkwardly staring at her so she’d get the idea to light it for you. Because, duh, you don’t have a lighter. 

Fake smoker. And for what? Five seconds of getting to make eye contact with a milf? Embarassing. 

The woman lit her own cigarette and raised it to her lips, taking a long drag as the end began to glow. You heard as she breathed in deeply and later saw as she exhaled smoke into the air. And then she tucked her lighter and Marlboros back in her pocket, leaving you like an idiot just sitting there as you stared at her.

Okay, great, let’s just ignore me now and while you’re at it why don’t you curb-stomp me? Does God just not want me to get laid or something because what is-

“Hold still, pretty girl.”

“Huh?”

Another chuckle from the lady is all you heard before she reached out to grab your chin. Her fingers so gently cradled your jaw, holding you in place as she leaned in close. *Oh my god.* All she does is stare at you for a moment and you drink in the way her lips quirked into a little smirk and how that playful glint in her eyes seemed to shine.

Holy shit, I am being flirted with.

With a gentle touch, the woman brought the lit end of her cigarette to yours, the ends kissing as your cigarette sparked to life. Your eyes locked onto hers, faces inches apart as you shared a moment of surprising intimacy. You could smell fresh laundry on her and even hints of cedar wood, easily becoming one of the sexiest scents in the world. 

And once there’s a steady glow from your cigarette she pulled away and you had to consciously stop yourself from following her. It’s been maybe about thirty seconds but you already missed her scent and closeness. 

Oh my god, get off the ground!

Enough about your pathetic self. You had a bigger problem now. Smoking. You couldn’t just have this burning thing between your lips. Not when Pretty Woman was still looking at you. So you did the only thing that makes sense at the moment; take a drag. 

So…you were right. As you took a deep breath in, you didn’t look all cool or suave or whatever. No. Of course not! You started coughing uncontrollably, eyes watering from the harsh smoke as you let out a wheeze. I need to kill myself now. Like right now.

But maybe some divine intervention took place in the next few moments. Maybe your guardian angel looked at you and thought wow, this girl can’t be bitchless forever and took pity on you. Once more you felt a calloused yet tender hand cup your face, the woman’s other hand pulling the cigarette out of your mouth. “You’re funny,” she mused, letting the stick drop to the floor and snuffing it out from under her boot. “Do you always risk your lungs for women your mom’s age?”

Okay, damn, no need to come for my throat like that. “No, not really. But usually, I’m doing something embarrassing anyways so this doesn’t really matter.” Wow, way to sound like a fucking loser.

And she laughed. Her nose scrunched up as she chuckled and you didn’t care if she was making fun of you or thought you were a grade-A freak, you don’t think you’ve ever been so wet before. It’s so dumb because you don’t even know her name and she’s literally just a lady but she’s so much more than that because she looked so…hot.

“You just get cuter and cuter. Hold up.” You watched dumbly as she pulled her hand away, fishing out the Marlboros pack and a pen. Of course, she has a pen, she might as well pull out a rabbit wand next. Something gets scribbled on the front and she tossed it to you, nearly dropping it on the floor as you fumbled to grab it. 

She laughed again, almost akin to a giggle. She stood up, patted you on the head, and walked off like at the end of an epic action film while dramatic 80s music plays in the background.

What the fuck just happened?

To think this all happened because of a date. You finally took a look at the cigarette pack in your hand and, no fucking way, you nearly started jumping for joy. 

There were three things written on the pack. A name, a number, and a little message. Jill Valentine. You finally had a name for your Pretty Lady. At the very bottom, it read, “Glad I spotted you before I walked into that diner. Same time, same place next Friday? :)” 

[ezrasxfics]

Bunnydoll but really angst. Jax prevents Ragatha from abstracting...

don’t you dare leave me like this.

-

bunnydoll angst

-

ragatha pov

i stare at my reflection in the mirror, barely able to make it out through the tears that forced their way down my cheeks. i.. don’t even know who i am anymore. i feel like i’m losing my mind. like no matter what i do, no matter what i try, anything..

i’m stuck here.

forever.

forever.

forever.

forever.

there’s no escape, that what caine always says. there’s no escape, and even if you think there’s a small chance of getting out of here, you’re delusional. you’re losing your mind already. there’s nothing that can be done for you. be positive! keep smiling! no matter how many times you get beaten down, cut up, tortured, abused. no matter how much you miss reality, keep smiling. fake it till you make it. smile. keep smiling. be there for everyone. and don’t forget to SMILE—

suddenly, through the blur of my vision, i see a small, glitchy, black entity. on my hand. it itches, hurts. it hurts so, so sharply, worse than anything i’ve ever experienced here. like thousands of needles being pushed into your skin at once.

so, i scream. i shriek and beg for help, possibly for the first time since i got there all those years ago. i plead and cry, begging that there was a way out of this. i’m not gonna die today, right? right????? no way this would happen. i have to be there for everyone. i have to keep everyone together.

suddenly, arms wrap around me from behind, firmly and protectively, a voice in my ear, commanding that i breathe. that i focus on the sound of his voice - nothing but his voice. even when i try so, so hard, it’s difficult to focus on anything but the pain in my hand, which he ends up holding, despite the consequences. the glitching.

“ragatha. i need you to listen to me, and i need you to do what i say, okay? follow how i breathe. don’t you dare leave me like this.” it was jax. he starts to slowly breathe, each breath exaggerated as he didn’t break eye contact with me for even a moment, bringing a second hand to meet my other one, his grip firm, but palms a little sweaty. “yeah, just like that. keep doing that, okay? just like that.”

i try to talk, to tell him to run, but nothing escapes my mouth as i open it.

“hey- don’t talk. focus. focus on your breathing, focus on me. nothing else. don’t talk, don’t move. that’s it.” he says, panic seeping into his voice. as if he.. cares about me. “don’t you dare abstract. i can’t live here without you. it wouldn’t be fair.”

i wordlessly stare at him, forcing myself to do exactly what he said, pouring all of my energy into focusing on him. his purple ears, yellow and black eyes, narrowed as they stared into my oval ones. his teeth, which i always used to think looked like a radiator. a thought i always kept to myself, because i had to be kind, i had to lie—

eventually, i let out another involuntary scream, incoherently begging for him to make the pain stop, to make everything okay. but i know he can’t. it’s impossible.

“..raggy- ragatha. i know. i know it hurts, i know you’re scared and you feel like hell right now. i’m terrified right now, so in a way, we’re kinda in the same boat. you’re not alone in this. you’re ever going to be alone in this. i just need you to be okay. i need you here with me. i cant do this sh*t alone. don’t make me do this alone—“

eventually, those words, the genuine meaning behind them, is what grounded me. i look deep into his eyes, breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth, just like he had shown me. after a few minutes of this, the abstraction dies down, and i wrap my arms tightly around him.

“i was so scared—“ i sob into the crook of his neck, to which he pats my back. i half expected the affection and care to end with the abstraction, but he trembled against me. almost like he was crying..?

“i know- i know, raggy. i was too. you don’t have to go through this alone anymore. i’m here. you can talk to me. i know what it’s like.”

-

i hope you like this!!! thank you for the request!!!!

reblogs appreciated!!

[memoirofasparklemuff1n]

no body, no crime- r.c. x reader chapter 3- imposter syndrome

summary: three years after your disappearance you return to the outer banks, only with no recollection of your time away. now that you're back, weird things start happening and everyone seems to be hiding secrets. the nightmare is far from over.

warnings: 18+ MDNI not because of this chapter but for the story in general <3

a/n: i had this in my drafts for so long, specifically the text messages that took me forever. my dad has pneumonia so i've been pretty busy along with school this past few weeks. also, my first language isn't english, so sorry for any mistakes. anyway, tyyy to @sematarygirls for inspiring me with gone girl <3

masterlist

i met someone very special today. who? and the whole not belonging bit hit too close to home. i guess feelings never really leave even when memories disappear.

i took a deep breath and decided i had to find a person that fit in this, somehow. kildare is full of secrets and i could feel it, as if on cue my phone buzzed. oh right, somewhere during my hospital stay and coming home my mom had given me one. she said that now that i was back, the police would come and give me back my old belongings. i dreaded it because i knew the amount of questions i would get. i honestly could not for the life of me tell the truth, not yet. especially since my memories weren’t particularly stellar at the moment after the accident. i should probably make a list or something of things i have to do and piece together in order to have my story straight. a to-do list of things to investigate before it was too late.

i shook my head and sighed. i held the journal in my hands and stared at the wall. im in danger, that much i know. the doctor had said i was found by a passerby unconscious in a car accident. i was then taken to the hospital and the police began to investigate my possible identity. they apparently ran the license plates and contacted the owner who had reported the car missing three months before. my mother then told me that by the state i was, it was obvious i could not be questioned. thus, the police then notified all of the other departments to see if they were looking for someone with my description because it was standard procedure to check for missing people, you guessed it, they hit the jackpot. y/n gilbert. and the rest i honestly, didn’t want to hear because i knew the police would explain everything when they would question me so for now i just have to find out how to protect myself and my family. i needed to be star. but i barely know her, so i have to get to know her me so i can be safe.

my phone buzzed again, pulling me out of my thoughts. i unlocked it, seeing sarah had texted me.

i smiled to myself when i saw the group chat:

i threw my phone as far away from me as possible. they saved a seat for star me. as if she i were dead and in a way she i was. that girl was never coming back. i heard it buzzing for a bit and i read silently as they wrote. i laughed when i saw what they were going on about:

after it went silent i decided to just turn it off for the night. i was exhausted honestly, the day had been overwhelming and the journal didn’t help at all.

i stood up from the floor and pushed the mattress onto the bed frame. god, it was heavy. i put the bedding as close to how it had been and plopped down on the bed, this time no hard lump sticking into my spine. i looked at the journal on the nightstand, wondering why it was stitched that way so no one could find it. sure, journals are private and we don’t want people to find them but to this extreme? it didn’t make any sense, unless there wasn’t reason to keep writing.

i then took it and hid it under my pillow just in case. it was my only hope of ever getting to stay here as the old y/n.

the breakfast at the country club was amazing, the people not so much. my mom had woken eleanor and i for a much needed “girl time.” and i know she meant well but all i wanted to do was to lie in bed and think. i needed to remember what happened in the accident and the years before that. even the night i went missing was blurry so right now i am in the dark . my mind was spiraling mainly because the police were going to interview me tomorrow and i had to get my story straight. i didn’t want them to discredit me, or worse, close the case. ugh, stupid concussion. what do you mean it could be months before i got my fragmented memories back? if they ever did. i had to start investigating and for that i had to be home reading every single page of that journal. i also had to search my entire bedroom for clues. who knows how many things the police missed. i’m sure they believed i was a runaway but still conducted an investigation for the sake of my family.

“elaine?” a male voice interrupted my thoughts and when i glanced up i was met with a pair of icy blue eyes, a beard and a too bright smile to be genuine. i knew he was faking the surprise, the entire club was staring at us the moment we got out of the car.

“oh hello, ward. how are you? your daughters were at my house yesterday.” my mom smiled but hers seemed genuine.

“yes, they told me. sarah was particularly excited because of y/n,” he looked at me with the same faux warmth of his. hypocrite.

i smiled reluctantly at him, earning a nod in acknowledgment.

“yes, they were very emotional. it was a bittersweet moment, but i think more sweet than bitter.” my mom looked at me and grabbed my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

ward proceeded with his script, which i’m sure he’d prepared beforehand to make himself look good.

“i wanted to tell you y/n, that whoever was responsible for your disappearance will face the consequences. i personally will make sure of it. you’ve always been a dear friend of sarah’s and eleanor of wheezie’s. you’re family and that is the least i can do.”

eleanor smiled but kept eating quietly, obviously uninterested in the conversation. i was beginning to notice that the constant vigilance from the other club members was pissing her off. that makes two of us.

my mother though, looked at ward as if he’d just told her he discovered the cure for cancer. she was so blind sometimes. “thank you so much, ward. i truly appreciate it and my family as well.”

“of course, elaine. well, i’ll leave you girls alone now. y/n, it’s good to have you back.” he gave me a knowing look and left the same way he’d come from. asshole.

the thing about ward cameron was that he was power hungry and his way of gaining said power was by being “helpful” when in reality those favors always had a price.

“that man is one of the best things to ever happen to outer banks. so kind and willing to help. pity that his son isn’t the same way.”

“what do you mean?” i knew rafe from a distance, mainly through sarah, sometimes seeing his extreme partying lifestyle with her ex boyfriend, topper. somehow where sarah was sweet but sometimes bitchy, rafe was a complete asshole. so i don’t know why my mother’s remark surprised me. well, maybe because he would do anything to get his father’s approval however he could.

“well, don’t repeat this to anyone ok?” she waited until i nodded and then waited for eleanor to do the same. when she did, my mom started gossiping eagerly.

“rafe was arrested for selling drugs and possession of a firearm about a year ago. but nobody found out because ward allegedly asked for it to not go public. if it had been anybody else i’m sure they wouldn’t have done it, but since ward has always been such an active member of the community they took pity on him.” oh mother, how innocent. eleanor and i shared a look that told me she was thinking the same thing.

“mom shh!” eleanor’s eyes widened. “he’s going to pass by us i think.” i looked down and my mom immediately pretended to be talking of her newest vase collection while el and i were suddenly very interested in our food.

i was staring down at my plate when a familiar voice interrupted our conversation.

“hello, mrs. gilbert. i’m very sorry to interrupt, it’s just that my father wanted me to give you this in regards to the project being done with cameron development. he was going to pass later by your home but since he found you here, he asked me to deliver them.” rafe was different somehow. he looked older and stronger. i mean three years had passed since i last saw him but the difference was abysmal. he was healthy, physically at least. his hair that had been styled to the side with gel, was now buzzed short. and despite all of those apparent changes, his attitude was just the same. he ignored my sister and i as if we were children imposing on an adult conversation. the cameron men were horrid, which always made me wonder where wheezie and sarah got all their goodness. el and i shared a glance that told me our thoughts were one and the same.

“thank you, rafe. i’ll notify ward as soon as my husband and i review them.” my mother smiled but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. rafe smiled back and excused himself without sparing us a glance.

i raised my eyebrows slightly while lifting my orange juice to my lips and eleanor said what we’d all been thinking, “jerk.” i spit out the juice laughing, splashing my mom, making eleanor burst out cackling at our mothers expression only for her to join in. we were giggled for a while and i suspected it was a release of years of tension and not at el’s comment.

the shared moment made the rest of the gathering comfortable and the tension was long gone. when we finally returned home, i went straight to my bedroom and lied on bed.

maybe being here wasn’t so bad. i lifted my head and checked my phone for any new messages but none from anybody i was expecting.

my heart dropped as i looked at my screen in utter fear and disbelief.

FINALLY I COULD DO THIS

if you made it this far, thank you!!!! i love seeing people read my silly thoughts. and let me know theories and thoughts. i even accept constructive criticism, i really don't mind.

i know rafe's appearance was short but BEAR WITH ME. the poor reader is traumatized lmaoo plus i want him to be a jerk at first (she won't know what hit her)

anyway, the flashback is almost done. i know i had said chapter 3 was going to be a flashback but i got stumped, i'm sorry.

butttt i now know what i will do <3

i love you all xx

dividers by: @yeossemble

[communistkenobi]

I fear the conditions for me to engage in fandom are gone permanently from my life, which is a shame because its been overall pretty fun

[honey-tongued-devil]

Arcane preference reacting to a s/o with a mental health issues (eating)

My disclaimer, as someone with this issue, I’m sorry if this isn’t what you wanted. I’ve actually been thinking about it for a while, but I was a bit cowardly about doing it, so I’m taking the opportunity now. I don’t want to go out of character, so I’m sorry if some characters come across as harsher than others. Unfortunately, I know I should write the name of the illness, but if I post it that way, Tumblr will take it down.

Jayce:

- He’s academically intelligent, but it takes him far too long to notice that something’s wrong. But you can’t blame him, it’s something so far removed from him that he couldn’t have understood it sooner.

- When he does realize, his first reaction is panic.

- Jayce can’t feel like just a blade of grass; he feels emotions deeply, taking on any blame, especially if something happens to the people he loves. His first thought is that he did something to make you feel that way, inadequate.

- But once the panic phase ends, the responsibility phase begins.

- He does the grocery shopping, he cooks, and his workouts become more regular, where he has you climb onto his back while doing push-ups or holds you in his arms during other exercises.

- He doesn’t know why you do it, but the quickest way to show you that your weight isn’t a problem is by showing you how easily he lifts you.

- And maybe, if you feel up to it, he can hold you in his arms with one arm supporting you while he cooks, letting you taste various ingredients.

Viktor:

- Unlike Jayce, it only takes two suspicious behaviors in a row for him to understand what’s happening. It’s something far from his world, sure, but he recognizes it.

- And he confronts you. He doesn’t beat around the bush, doesn’t stammer; he might even sound angry because he doesn’t understand why you’d hurt yourself like this and willingly give up your well-being.

- I won’t lie, I doubt that an open discussion about something this delicate with him wouldn’t lead to at least one hysterical cry.

- But he’s not brutal for the sake of being brutal; his suffering and frustration turn into anger. It takes him a while to calm down, but he won’t accept compromises.

- You’ll have meals together at home, either returning to your rooms together or straight to the house, so no one can see you and you won’t feel bad.

- And he won’t force you, he tries to handle it with as much care as possible, but there’s no day that goes by without him getting up from the table if you haven’t eaten at least two food items per meal.

- He loves you too much to see you hurt yourself in that way, and knowing that he can't do anything about it makes him feel powerless.

Ekko:

- It takes him a week—not to understand, but to process it.

- Having grown up in total poverty, the idea of giving up food “for whim” makes him react in a way that is only human.

- And the whole thing is too distant for him: everyone’s skin is grayish, 90% of the population of the Lanes has missing limbs and monstrous prosthetics, and everyone’s goal is to survive as long as possible. What does it mean that you’re against your own survival??

- As unsupportive as he might be regarding the issue, he becomes incredibly vigilant and concerned.

- He’ll always make sure you’re warm enough, that you’re comfortable, and no matter how frustrated he is, he’ll always try to stay close to you, even just holding you in bed until you fall asleep.

- Every single comment you make about your body, he’ll respond with, “Don’t talk about my partner like that,” 

- no one can speak badly of you, not even you.

Vander:

- The most understanding: he was young once too, and although in his size meant an advantage, he and Silco snuck into various galas when they were younger, and there, even though he never had these problems, he would feel a strange sensation seeing that he was the biggest in the room or that it was hard to find someone to steal clothes from that would fit him.

- He doesn’t lecture you or anything like that, he doesn’t get angry despite how he grew up; he just feels sadness for you that you can’t see how little that complex matters and how beautiful you already are.

- His compromise is vegetables. If you don’t feel like eating every meal every day, it doesn’t matter, but at least four days a week, you have to have three meals.

- And for the rest, he’ll cook, making sure to prepare the best dishes made from vegetables so that you don’t feel guilty and your body doesn’t deteriorate.

- But he doesn’t support your illness, he simply ensures that you get everything you need and never go below the necessary intake without having you feeling guilty about it.

Silco:

- Hoping that the most attentive and watchful man in the lanes wouldn't notice how, suddenly, meals go from moments of lightness to something you try to avoid at all costs is a bit foolish, but he says nothing.

- He waits for as long as necessary, basically to see how long it lasts and how much you're not planning to talk to him.

- When he realizes you won’t, not anytime soon, he waits for you to be alone in his office, where you’ll find a slice of cake on his desk. Sure, it’s a low blow, but it’s also the fastest way to get you to confront the issue without too many escape routes.

- He’s a big fan of the saying “dirty laundry is washed in the family,” so if you act strange about meals in front of others, he won’t allow questions or jokes, but in private, he won’t accept “no” for an answer.

- He has enough problems already without you crying from hunger pains or having psychotic episodes due to sugar deficiency, so as long as you're under his watch, under Zaun's eye, he won't let you live with unhealthy standards.

- During meals, he becomes the strictest. He doesn’t say anything, but one look is enough to make you think twice about contradicting him. In the evening, though, when your mental health is most fragile, he becomes gentler, comforting you as much as you need.

Jinx:

- You find fertile ground, but like any good bearer of the same issue: she feels she can do it, but you cannot.

- Being with her or in her space becomes like a live-action version of Thumbelina: she’ll leave sweets, chocolates, things she knows you like to encourage you to eat so you can’t hurt yourself.

- She usually forgets to eat herself when she’s caught up in her studies and work, but if she has someone to care for, it doesn’t matter how, she’ll make sure to remember. Even if it means setting a few colorful bombs with timers.

- She feeds you. In the most visible, worst way. It’s easy that if you turn your head, you’ll find a cookie shoved in your mouth unceremoniously.

- And every single tight-fitting outfit disappears from her lair. Magically, whatever clothes you pick up from her pile fit loosely, but if you ask her about it, she’ll claim she doesn’t know what are you talking about.

Vi:

- Want to see Vi in a panic, becoming super protective and possessive in a way? Just wait for one episode, and you’ll see everything you haven’t seen.

- She’ll check on you at least three times a day, and in the evening, when you have pain or a crisis, she’ll run back and forth from the room, thinking about everything she can do to help you feel better without making you feel guilty.

- During meals, she’ll hold you in her arms and insist that you eat, but not aggressively—in a way that’s almost frightened: she’s always been used to fighting big, real monsters, but even when it came to her sister, she could never defeat the invisible ones, and the fear of failing or hurting someone she loved again terrifies her in an agonizing way.

Caitlyn:

- Like Jayce, she’ll also try a more physical way of reassuring you, like body worshipping when you’re alone or working out with you to show you that your weight doesn’t matter.

- She doesn’t know how to react; she realizes it quite quickly but fears that by acknowledging it, she might only make you feel worse.

- One day, she gathers the courage to ask if everything is okay and tells you that she’s noticed those behaviors. When you open up to her, telling her about the issues, she doesn’t respond right away and simply hugs you.

- She becomes more caring, making sure that you don’t have to attend banquets or dinners where you wouldn’t feel comfortable, bringing you food in your room to eat together, and sometimes even leaving the room so as not to put pressure on you.

- When you mention a craving, she immediately springs into action to get it for you, even if you complain that you weren’t serious. Once she understands how your condition works, she orders everything in three portions, so she can eat with you and then be the first to say that she wants more, asking if you want to share the third portion.

- If you have fat accumulated in any area, she’ll knead it with her hands while kissing you, to let you know that she loves every inch of you.

Mel:

- She notices you're having a crisis before you even realize it yourself.

- She’s a ruler, but what she learned from a young age is that a leader must appear reliable and look good, so even if unconsciously, she too sometimes experiences small crises when she feels like she isn’t looking perfect.

- No conversations, no lectures, just an increase in cuddles, moments of intimacy, and later, she brings home sweets.

- “They were a gift to me today at the council,” she lies, but sometimes she says she got them for both of you.

- She doesn’t want to make you feel like you’re in the wrong.

- She knows that when you’re ready and if you want to, you’ll bring up the issue with her, but for now, the best thing she can do is help you get through the episode with euphoria, love, and treats that encourage you to listen to your hunger rather than the illness.

Sevika:

- Like everyone in Zaun, the idea that someone would voluntarily give up food is simply incomprehensible to her.

- But she won’t comment on your problems. She doesn’t intend to invalidate them, but she also won’t encourage it.

- “Are you sure? That’s a bit too little,” will be her comment when you eat something ridiculously small, before making you a proper portion of food herself. If you try to argue, she’ll respond with a smug smile, saying that if you eat that little, you’ll end up breaking when you’re in bed together.

- If a crisis is particularly bad, she’ll try to finish her work as quickly as possible to be able to stay with you for the rest of the day and not leave you alone.

- As much as possible, she’ll try to get the best, freshest, and most natural food, to reassure you that you don’t need to worry, but she’ll never insist that you eat if you say you don’t feel up to it.

- She’ll gesture for you to come sit on her lap and keep you there, occasionally offering you things she knows you like, telling you that she’s really craving them, and if you want them too, she’ll go get them.

[jiminrings]

mature

pairing: jungkook x reader

wordcount: 8k

glimpse: the good thing about professing your feelings to jungkook is that it'd be over with, whether or not he likes you back — the bad thing is that he rejects you, even if you haven't confessed.

alternatively, crushing on jungkook who's in your friend group is, has, and will never be a good idea.

[ push n pull fic YIPPPEEEEE, fluff, angst, So Much Yearning, friends to lovers trope, jealousy, dunking on a stewpid jk (as one does), arguments that kinda hit home, redemption!! ]

notes: WE R SO BACK!!!! thank u for waiting 🫂🤍

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!!

You will never tell Jungkook how desperately you want to be loved.

In your defense (much to Jungkook’s offence), you want to be loved as desperately as he acts on an everyday basis. He’s not pathetic in the sense that he’s hopeless, but rather pathetic in the light that you want the entirety of him (stubbornness and occasional dimness included) to rub off on you.

You want to be loved pathetically in the same way that Jungkook never computes his expenses when it comes to self-indulgence yet always calculates when it comes to actual requirements. You want to be loved as wholly by the guy who can get by one DIY dorm dinner at a time by asking for scraps from the whole floor with a grin and his hands cupped in begging.

Jungkook’s one of your friends, if not the best you’ve ever had, and it’s a miracle that you haven’t jumped at each and every available chance to confess your growing feelings for him.

You bit your tongue that one time he bought you "one of those silly blind boxes you like" on a whim from a bookstore he only went inside to in the first place because he was dying outside in the heat, only to open it for you with your eyes closed and earn you an extra rare figure.

You had to physically restrain yourself (read: clasp your hands together in front of you) when Jungkook made you swap your counterfeit, barely-holding-on kitten heels for his trustworthy slides on the way home because your research presentation prior had you pacing nervously.

Every time that he gives you your tax of whatever he ordered (which always ends up being the best variant that your friend group could possibly order for a meal or a sweet treat), you have to etch into your head clearly, with ballpoint pen, that you will never tell Jungkook how desperately you want him to love you.

Every time that he gives you a one-on-one friend outing, just as he does with everyone else from your circle of ten people and counting (you lost count because you figure that all of you are about to outgrow the long table in the library that nobody else could fill), you convince yourself to never tell him how much you want it to be just you.

You figure that you’ll tell Jungkook that you do hold a candle for him, despite not detailing the extent, in this lifetime— maybe even the next time you get a moment alone with him, but you figure you won’t do it now; now, when he’s berating you for just a tiny sacrifice you made that’s minuscule for everything he does for you and everyone else.

“You’re impossible!” he huffs, his annoyance for you being loud enough to stop his faux display of studying and gather attention from everyone else in the library who actually is. Jungkook holds up his phone for you to read, brows scrunched at your look of amusement. “Jimin told me you were lactose intolerant!”

You can’t figure how and why Jungkook and Jimin’s conversation even flitted towards you when you recall clearly that the lactose-filled meal in question was from two weeks ago. You don’t question it because you already know that even giving it a second thought would already be too pompous of you, and you don’t question either why Jungkook looks too devastated at the realization.

“I just tolerated it,” you snort, burying your nose back into your notes, missing the flash of regret in Jungkook’s features.

He doesn’t know whether he’d feel more sorry over the fact that he didn’t know you were lactose intolerant, or that you didn’t speak up at all to preserve his excitement over eating at the restaurant he wanted to try out.

“But why would you?” he sulks, completely foregoing the textbook he has opened on the same page for the last hour.

You know exactly why you did, but you’d rather not tell Jungkook now. 

You’ll tell him some other time, that much you’re sure of, but not now — not now when he’s too devastated over your tummy issues, and not now when he’s just one revelation away from chewing you out over something he has to learn from someone else.

“Your broke ass bought it so I had to,” you murmur, rolling your eyes as you rest your chin on the palm of your hand.

“Foul,” Jungkook immediately chuckles, shaking his head at your retort even if he knows you’re just kidding around (he knows you won’t hurt him like that that), finally opening his laptop.

Jungkook, your friend, finally types on his laptop, yet it’s not for the contribution that he badly needs to put in for a group project.

Instead, he opens up the Google Doc and writes in a bullet point underneath your name, the words do not give cheese acquainted with three exclamation points — along with your name, is the names of your mutual friends and Jungkook’s observations that would come in handy for an outing, a gift, or both.

Jungkook’s that good of a friend, and that’s why you’ll never tell him how desperately you want to be loved by him.

( ♡ ) 

Getting gifts for someone who has a credit card and has no inhibitions when it comes to buying whatever they want is a difficult task.

Getting Jungkook for Secret Santa this year is even harder than the last, and that was when Jin snuck five strips of his name and left more than five of you (you don’t even know how that happened) without gifts, all while he was laughing to himself after he successfully gaslit everyone into thinking that they were all drunk and made the mistake themselves.

You don’t know what to give Jungkook that he doesn’t already have. He doesn’t have a girlfriend the last time you checked and while you can’t exactly wrap yourself in ugly, recycled kraft paper (as opposed to Jimin’s dumb, all-knowing-about-your-hidden-feelings suggestion), you’d rather not drive Jungkook away, even if you don’t know either how to drive him in.

You don’t have the slightest clue to what his ‘surprise me ;)’ scribble underneath his name means and it makes you feel guilty, far more than he ever could have after Jimin’s revelation of your dietary restrictions. 

It’s not the dilemma of who would sit next to who in the large albeit crowded dining table in the cabin that you rented out, nor is it the cooking and wrapping duties that each of you are tasked with that stresses you out this holiday season.

You wish so badly that the largest champagne problem you have at the moment was wondering if your Christmas gift for your nitpicky mom and nonchalant dad back at home arrived in time. You pray that your biggest hurdle is either convincing Namjoon that his room is just cold and not haunted, or breaking off a fight between Eunwoo and Soomin because they keep fighting over whose overpriced film camera will be used for the picture by the tree, or even talking Mingyu down from smacking Jin in his sleep.

The largest champagne problem that you have, even if it’s actually between life and living said life in peace without minding your inevitable heartbreak, is worrying about Jungkook’s gift.

You hold your breath as soon as Hoseok gathers everyone into the living room, your nerves probably getting the best of you because you hear Jungkook hollering to whoever’s closest to the thermostat to adjust it because your teeth kept chattering.

You have nothing to be nervous about, you convince yourself as Jungkook steps up into the middle and awaits with wide arms, your best friend being another victim of assuming that the comically large wrapped present is his (it’s not).

Jungkook doesn’t have any expectations for you to meet, you convince yourself as he becomes even more hyper when he learns that it’s you, so much so that he takes a lap around the backyard with his hands clapping furiously.

You can’t love Jungkook any more than you do now, you realize as you see Jungkook throw his head back in glee when he opens up your gift.

It’s only a Himalayan salt lamp. It’s only a lamp that you didn’t buy for so much. It’s only a thing that Jungkook said to you in passing one time, yet he’s beyond grateful — enough for him to carry you in his arms and take another lap around the backyard.

“God, you love me soooo bad,” he lulls, teasing you mercilessly as he unceremoniously drops you so he could adore the lamp up close. “I always wanted to lick one!”

“You’re so stupid,” you mutter, rolling your eyes at his excitement over something so simple; something so insignificant in the world of thoughtful, expensive gifts.

You affectionately think that Jungkook’s stupid, yet you can’t tear your eyes away from him.

“I didn’t hear a no,” Jungkook hums with his tongue out, eyes wide and flickering between you and the lamp. “Should I do it? Should I? I’m doing-…!”

You put a spoonful of cake into his mouth instead, the whine that escapes his throat still sounding like gratefulness to your ears.

Tonight’s not the night wherein you tell Jungkook how badly you want to be loved by him — not when he’s so preoccupied with his new salt lamp that he keeps daring people to take a lick of, not when he’s the one who’s being convinced that there’s a ghost in Namjoon's room and being bullied into sleeping in.

Not when Jungkook’s being the perfect, lovable friend that he is during the holidays and every other day.

( ♡ ) 

You’re well-aware that Jungkook’s a catch.

You know that he’s a catch and he’ll never live it down, and neither can you.

You’re very painfully aware that Jungkook’s a catch because you’re reminded of it every single day whenever you’re with your friends. You know that atleast two of them were integrated into the group in the first place because they liked Jungkook, and that doesn’t really bother you (more than it should, atleast) anymore. 

Sora’s crush formed out of boredom on Jungkook disappeared as soon as she got a boyfriend, but you understand why her gaze lingered on him in the first place.

Eunji’s crush on Jungkook already dissipated the moment she learned about his GPA, but you get why she had been attracted to his charm anyway.

You know that he’s a catch and that he’s not solely yours either, and the latter makes you humble.

“There’s flowers on your desk again,” you point out, the arrangement irking you for more reasons than one. “Why do you have to be so popular and handsome.. and lovable,” you mumble, the tail end of your mini rant barely being heard by Jungkook because he's too busy admiring his gift.

“What’s that now?” Jin piped up, eyebrows furrowed upon picking up your angry muttering. He's beyond confused, maybe just as much as you are, when you just snarl at him for his unintentional use of supersonic hearing.

“And why do I have to sit next to you even if I have allergies,” you redirect your attention to Jungkook who has to sweep the flowers to a beaten-up paper bag for safekeeping, the item in his backpack being the most used object for all of the admiration towards him.

“Because you’re the best-est friend ever,” he rolls his eyes, the faux pout on his lips surprisingly softening you instead of the opposite. “And maybe I’m the worst-est one to keep putting you through this.”

“You sound so stupid,” you reply automatically, crossing your arms and keeping them there. “But you’re right,” you exhale through your nose, conceding your defeat over willingly letting him put you through this, carrying the blame by yourself.

Jungkook doesn’t only act like this with you anyway. There’s no special treatment, there’s no false hopes being promised — it’s just you genuinely happening to fall for him.

“Come on, just tolerate it! Pinch your nose or something!”

“Why should I? Find another seatmate,” you sulk, making a point to angle your back away from him and towards Jin who’s at your right, doing his best at holding in a laugh over how ridiculous the both of you look.

“Obviously you’re the one with the latest phone so you have to take pictures of me with the flowers!” Jungkook whines, punctuating his sentence with a hand on his hip. He’s sulking because you’re sulking, and you’ve never hated him more at the moment. “Why else would I force you to sit with me?”

Jungkook’s stupid, and so are you, so you’d rather not tell him how desperately you want to be loved by him today.

( ♡ ) 

In all fairness, you thought you would lose nothing.

You thought you would lose nothing because in the first place, you barely expected anything out of Jungkook. Liking him didn’t mean that you were indebted to him, and liking you back isn’t something that he owed to you either.

You weren’t expecting Jungkook to fall on his knees and say something stupid to hint at his mutual love for you (although you did think about it a couple of times), but you atleast expected a little bit of respect from him to try and see the strength it took you to even confess.

You planned it perfectly, even taking a page off his book and making a whole word document for it wherein you spent days typing whatever crossed your mind throughout the day and erasing what seemed the most impossible throughout the night. 

In your word document, you and Jungkook would be out in the snow, skating in an outdoor rink even if neither of you know how to. You figure that you won’t attempt to drag (read: hobble with) him to the middle of the ice because in case he doesn’t like you back, the waddle back to the exit wouldn’t be as awkward; if Jungkook does like you back, you’ll still be hobbling to the exit, albeit happily.

In your word document, there’s a spine of a script that you would say when the day comes. You’ll skim along the lines of how you’ve never been so enamored with someone in your entire life (with the internal note that you’ll dial it back a bit if his expression turns sour), of how bright he makes your days for you, and how he doesn’t have to be obligated to like you back.

In your word document, you’re set. You’ve planned a foolproof blueprint of what would turn out, whether or not Jungkook is set on loving you the way you desperately want to be —

Except now, Jungkook completely undoes everything you’ve ever worked for.

Now, he looks at you with a glint in his eye that looks more apologetic than it is endearing. You don’t even know what led to your heartbreak exactly because one minute, you were just studying, and by the next, Jungkook’s already letting you down even if you haven't had the chance to rise.

You swear on your life that you weren’t giving any signals at all that you were actually about to confess. You were only silent, refusing to talk to him because you were too stressed over your task and that you were scared you would burst into tears if you tried mouthing the formula out loud, yet Jungkook mistakes it for your love.

Whatever you do on a daily basis, whatever you do based on your nature, Jungkook mistakes it for a confession that he wasn’t even supposed to hear until the end of the week.

He wasn’t wrong about the fact that you love him — what he’s wrong about is his assumption that your silence around him when it’s just the two of you, right now while you lose your mind over an assignment as you’re dressed in last week’s sweater and last semester’s horror, is your confession.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Jungkook winces, gently patting you on the shoulder as you’re yet to digest his rejection. “But I just don’t think we’ll work out.”

( ♡ ) 

You theorized that getting over Jungkook would be fairly easy on the chance that he rejects you after your confession.

You figure that Jungkook himself as a concept would be drastically difficult to move on from because he was just so lovable. He doesn’t know how to read a room and it’s one of his better quirks when you’re worrying over nothing. He doesn’t know much about knowing when to let up, and it comes in clutch when he’s pushing you to wholeheartedly do an assignment even if you’re already burnt out from crying.

Jungkook, as a concept, is indestructible. He’s the everyday variant of the goodness that some frat guys possess occasionally. He’s the realistic, attainable version of a main lead in a manhwa that’s only perfect 1/4 into the plot. 

He’s the manifestation of every good deed a stranger has done for you, except he’s someone you know with your heart and not just someone you could sketch from memory. 

With that, you also figured that moving on from Jungkook can’t be that hard because he was too out of reach despite being in the same friend group as you. Surely, it wouldn’t be so catastrophically hard to move on from a guy who just gasps for air every five minutes when he’s in charge of cooking in the BBQ hangout (instead of using the exhaust like a normal person), or from a guy who thinks citing references for a paper is only a suggestion.

The funny thing about it all is that you never actually confessed to Jungkook.

Actually (and contrary to the assumptions of the other friends you have from your circle), you’ve never said it to his face that you do have a crush on him. You’re ultimately known to be the friendliest person to ever walk the campus, and while not the most confrontational, they atleast expected for you to confess to Jungkook in your own way.

What actually happened was that Jungkook read through you — he does happen to be right about your feelings for him! He’s the second friendliest person right beneath you, and so the way he rejected you should never sting this much.

Jungkook thought it out meticulously. He read into the way you spent extra attention listening to him with your eyes practically gleaming. He read into the way you’d lag back behind him and hold him by his wrist whenever you were all crossing the street. Hell, he even read into the way you would take a shot at opening the extremely tight water bottle from the vending machine before everyone else.

The funny, tragic thing about it is that whilst Jungkook wasn’t wrong about pinpointing your feelings for him — you never confessed.

Jeon Jungkook, the second, ultimate friendliest man that your university has ever known, rejected you without even hearing the actual words from you.

He’s turned his back on you even before you could reach him, and the realization sinks in you unsettlingly. You never expected for him to like you back because it would be unfair of you, and you knew that; what just happened to hurt you most was that Jungkook didn’t even think twice.

He hadn’t given you the chance to pour your heart out at the very least.

He hadn’t even given you the space to breathe right after the rejection, because he skips and puts a smile on before winking, telling you that he’ll never speak of it again because you must probably be embarrassed.

The funniest thing about it all is that you aren’t embarrassed — you’re actually devastated about it.

It’s an odd event for Jungkook to feel lonely because with such a big friend group, he never thought he’d feel a little empty despite literally rubbing elbows in a circular table. He never thought he’d come to be a little annoyed at Jimin and his routine, playful, borderline offensive banter he’d always have with you at the top of the morning, and he never thought he’d even be more annoyed over the absence of it.

There’s one less laugh in the circle. One less bag strewn underneath the table, one less coffee order written on the notes app, and one less person to look for when hanging out.

You’re missing from the friend group, and oddly enough, Jungkook seems to be the most devastated about it.

“Why is Y/N not here?” he asks in the middle of Jin retelling his drunken fishing story, grabbing the attention of everyone in the table and maybe just about everyone else’s in the common area with the way his voice is frantic. “And why is she there with the new kid instead?”

Everyone flits through separate conversations after Jungkook’s interruption, some even wincing to themselves because although they know about your admiration for the guy and not your confession-that-wasn’t-one, they figure that nothing good could come out of Jungkook sucker-punching the new kid in his head.

“I don’t know, man. Buddy system, maybe?” Jin shrugs, stealing his food because it was obvious that Jungkook’s attention is everywhere but himself and the table.

Jungkook snorts, crossing his arms tightly to the point that even he feels a little suffocated. His entire face is crumpled with hurt, eyebrows furrowed out of frustration when you still aren’t looking at him; when you’re still not looking at him with confusion in your eyes, silently telling him off for glaring.

“Buddy system? We’re in uni. Who the fuck would bully that guy?”

“By the looks of it, probably you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he huffs, refusing to unclench his fists on his thighs.

“Well, what’s it to you that Y/N’s hanging out with someone new? What are you so heated for?” Jin elaborates, eyes flitting to you again.

Jungkook could only glare at you.

“What are you so nosy for?” he asks defensively, leaning back on his chair in a faux display of relaxation when all he wants to do is to remove the stupid smile on the guy’s face as he watches you talk.

Unlike Jungkook, Yoongi’s not stupid at all — in fact, he’s been vigilantly aware of Jungkook’s glare on the side of his face ever since you sat in front of him.

Yoongi’s not stupid, so he angles himself in a way that Jungkook gets to see him more. He doesn’t know the guy personally, but he does know of him and his “charm” that seems to make everyone go nuts for him. 

If looks could kill, then Yoongi would’ve already had mourners at his feet, but if provocation could poison, then Jungkook would already be frothing at the mouth.

The thing is, Yoongi doesn’t even know about your admiration nor your foiled confession to Jungkook. The latter hasn’t even done anything personally to him. 

All he knows is that you’re in a big friend group and that you chose to sit with him, your friend whom you share a couple of advanced classes with but not a friend-friend like Jungkook is, and that you’re very easy on the eyes and admirable yourself if he thinks about it (he doesn’t need much time to ponder over it) — and, that he doesn’t really like being glared at.

“No really, I insist!” he laughs, pulling out a handwritten reviewer from his backpack with a grin. “I don’t know anybody else who likes making reviewers anymore by hand, so really, you’re just perfect to get them.”

“But you worked so hard on them,” you gasp, eyes already widening in both surprise and awe at the thick stack of papers in front of you. Yoongi’s handwriting and formatting are perfect; there’s no unnecessary calligraphy, the vividness of the highlighter is just right, and there’s even sticky notes at the bottom for additional details and references you could cross-check. “I.. I don’t want you to feel that I’m taking advantage-…”

“But I offered! You didn’t ask for reviewers from me shamelessly like every other opportunist does,” Yoongi laughs, throwing his head back as he slides the papers closer to you. “I’d be a really shitty senior not to give you any help. If anything, I think you deserve even better than-…”

Jungkook can’t resist.

Jungkook can’t take any more of watching you and Yoongi push and pull over whatever topic he can’t hear nor force Jin to eavesdrop on. He can’t take another second of seeing you be so happy talking to a guy that he doesn’t know, so much so that he comes up to you without a second thought.

“Hey,” he greets, his body only turned to you, completely ignoring Yoongi and blocking him off from your sight. “You didn’t order any coffee.”

You angle your body slightly to excuse yourself, except Jungkook conveniently happens to mirror your every move, confusing you even more. “Oh, I wasn’t feeling like it,” you trail, looking up at him in confusion while Yoongi could see right through him.

“Really?” Jungkook replies, the smile on his face being far from amused, eyes narrowed as he tries to catch up with the own annoyance that he harbors. “Because I’m seeing two coffees right now, and one’s in front of you, so…” he trails, shrugging his shoulders exaggeratedly.

Jungkook’s jaw is still clenched, along with his fists by his sides. He’s standing tall between you and Yoongi with his shoulders squared and his face steeled, the immovable forces that are him and the unnamed pit in his stomach starting to garner attention.

Namjoon has his phone out. 

Hoseok only has one cheek remaining on the seat because he’s ready to stand up and collect bets. 

You’re still sitting, mostly confused, when you realize the attention that’s starting to build towards the three of you.

“Yes, Jungkook. Great observation,” you snicker, the discreet roll of your eyes making him take offense.

“Oh okay, I see. So you were lying by saying that you weren’t feeling it, and I don’t get the hold-up of you-…”

“What did you come here for now, Jungkook?” you angrily whisper, keeping your head down as you retain your gaze on him and lightly tap at the table to indicate to Yoongi for the both of you to move. “It’s a little far-fetched for you to come all over here to pick a fight about coffee.”

Jungkook huffs, turning his head back to Yoongi behind him because he most definitely saw your signal. The lazy, amused gaze of Yoongi is what sets him off even further, the anger in his eyes unmistakable, except you recognize it for only what it is and not jealousy, because Jungkook doesn’t see you like that.

Or atleast that’s what the both of you assume.

Jungkook, your best friend, scoffs loudly.

“You sound so defensive right now.”

( ♡ ) 

You don’t respond much to Jungkook’s calls. 

As a matter of fact, you don’t respond much to Jungkook at all.

You don’t show up whenever he’s present, meaning that you’re only magically available whenever there’s half of your friend group at the most because if there’s more, then the search for the missing members would ensue, then you’d end up squished in a long table next to Jungkook again.

It’s very much like him to form grudges, yet he can’t even tell if he’s capable of having one towards you. Jungkook, with all his chest and afflictions, wants so badly to hate you because you’ve been blowing him off ever since he literally and physically came between you and Yoongi.

He apologized to you for that (and not to Yoongi because he didn’t really matter to him at all), and he doesn’t know the answer for it yet because his messages still remain unread. He’s enlisted the help of your mutual friends on various occasions by trying to get them to give all his little treats for you, yet you refuse them as soon as you catch wind that it’s from Jungkook.

He even tried studying for real in the library in hopes that reverse psychology (he thinks that’s what it’s called) would work and that thinking he doesn’t want you to come would make you do the opposite, yet it still doesn’t work. Jungkook’s already mad that he studied for nothing (he’s more interested in getting you to notice him than to actually learn), but he becomes even more heated to realize that your anger for him is just directed at him alone.

You still talk to your best friends, with the exception of him, and Jungkook has never been more envious of people who are apparently of the same status as him.

Jungkook wants you to drag him like you drag Sora to the nail salon and have you whisper at his ear to tell the nail tech not to cut your cuticles because you’ve been afraid of getting them done since that 1/34th part of a medical drama episode you watched on your phone.

Jungkook wants you to complain to him like you complain to Namjoon when you’re frustrated with a professor whom you’re convinced is only critical to you and no one else, later making him promise not to tell anyone else from your friend group because they like said professor.

Jungkook wants you to run to him as you always did, just because you feel like it. He wants to sit in silence with you again and put his hand on your knee when you’re in the verge of tears just looking at your schedule for the week.

He wants to stand guard again outside the bathroom door of the expensive coffee shop because it’s either the lock is broken or because Namjoon's managed to instill in you the existence of ghosts in cold spots.

He wants to be the Jungkook like you’ve always known, again, because it seems like you’ve forgotten him completely. You have the Yoongi now, it seems like — the smarter, more composed, and more charismatic variant of him that he wants to get rid of because Jungkook never predicted the existence of him.

Even more, Jungkook didn’t even entertain the concept of him being replaced because it was always the two of you together, even in a sea of friends. 

He’s your best friend, your confidant even, but nothing more — all Jungkook feels is that he’s even less than the status the both of you are assigned to be. 

He’s angry and sad and disappointed all at the same time because he thought he had almost lost you since he rejected your confession. You were fine; you were as fine as you could be for someone rejected when it comes to yearning to be his, and yet the moment you let Yoongi in, Jungkook feels as if you threw everything the both of you had just for him.

“Just so you know, student-teacher relationships are illegal,” he corners you one morning in your dorm, two godforsaken weeks after chasing you around the campus yet turning up empty.

“What the fuck are you on about?” you immediately scrunch your nose at him, the accusation he throws at you being too farfetched to the point that you don’t even think of shutting the door at him, ignoring Eunji’s betrayal for you by pretending to come over.

“What am I on about?” Jungkook exasperates, the scoff that leaves him making you feel small in front of him. “You’re literally the one who’s getting chummy with fucking Yoongi of all people!"

"Yoongi's a teaching assistant! He's our senior! Do you not know that?"

"Do I look like I'm interested in any other people outside of our circle?" he retorts, lips turned up in a snarl. Jungkook provokes you with a sarcastic glare, the look on his face enough to make you throw your head back in irritation.

"Come on, even Jin and Jimin are friends with Yoongi and-..."

"This is not about them!" 

"But you just-..." you stop as soon Jungkook interrupts you, losing your gaze on him for a single second to close your door and when you look back, you find that he’s already comfortable being vindictive on your bed, his arms crossed and his back straight.

"Also, teacher and teaching assistant both have the word teach so it's literally still illegal," he narrows his eyes sarcastically, the tone to his voice unclear despite his words suggesting otherwise. "You look so stupid right now."

"Jungkook can you stop?!" you burst, your temples stinging at the back and forth that Jungkook’s thrown the both of you in. “What the hell is going on with you?"

Jungkook had sworn to himself up and down that he has so much stuff to pick with you. He knows he has so much baggage to unpack and how much shit he has to bring up, even if it’s only been two weeks with you. He’s partly relieved that you’re in front of him and you still haven’t fled, yet a large part of him is beyond frustrated with you because you don’t even look like as if your time apart has taken a toll on you.

Between the two of you, it’s only Jungkook who looks like his distraught has manned him completely beyond surrender. Even coming to see you by hatching a plan with a hesitant friend is something he considers an act beyond surrender — whatever the space is between surrender and demand is where Jungkook lies with you.

"No, what's going on with you!” he argues, standing to his feet to come face-to-face with you. “You can't just spin this around when I've done nothing but be a good friend to you!"

"You think I'm not being a good friend to you just because I don't spend every single minute attached to you? I can still hang out outside of our friend group without being-..."

"This is not about our friend group!" Jungkook emphasizes once again, the tell-tale sting of tears behind his eyes coming up because he feels as if you can’t hear him no matter how much he repeats himself. ”This is about us and how you abandoned me ever since I rejected you!"

"I didn't abandon you, Jungkook!" you spit, pushing at his chest lightly with your finger to get him to back up from your face yet he refuses to. He’s still insistent at staring you down with his jaw clenched, eyes wide and unblinking because he knows that if he moves even just a millimeter askew, he’d cry. “You didn't even give me the chance to confess to you! You rejected me without even hearing me out. Do you think I would still be able to talk to you, face to face like how you want so badly, as if nothing happened?"

"The answer would've been the same even if you confessed,” he grits with his chest heavy, not at the way he keeps holding his breath in order not to break down in front of you, but because you look at him with so much disdain that it makes him want to puke.

"Do you not think I know that?" you laugh humorlessly, gnawing on your bottom lip as you don’t drop his gaze. “Do you think I didn't prepare for that possibility? I knew what could've happened if I confessed and I'd still be okay with it, Jungkook!" you raise your voice, throat already giving out at the slightest pressure because you know you lost the fight ever since you let him in. "What I'm not okay with is that you didn't even give me the chance.”

It’s evil, really, with the way no amount of self-pity could ever pull you from the grave you’ve dug up. You went for Jungkook, carrying all grief you knew you were bound to feel, and yet you still feel unprepared. You still feel unworthy even moping for someone like Jungkook because not even his rejection, nor anyone else’s acceptance of your admiration by some sort of miracle, is enough to make you feel like you’d be missed.

Your two weeks without Jungkook is your rehearsal for the two months, then two years, then two forevers eventually without him by your side. You had still been able to live by yourself and with your friends, excluding him, and you thought you were fine because it feels as if nothing had changed.

You thought you were fine until Jungkook gets in your face to tell you that it’s not, and all over again, you’re reminded of how desperately you want to be loved by him to the point that you’d rather drown in your own pity to try and preserve whatever’s left of you.

"I told you the answer would-..."

"Shut up!" you cry, steeling your nerves when you realize that Jungkook’s angrily crying in front of you, wiping at his eyes hastily. ”For the love of god, shut up!"

Jungkook stays quiet, not because you told him to, but because nothing good comes to mind when he realizes that you’re crying because of him.

"See? You don't even get where I'm coming from because you're not even giving me the chance to explain myself without making it all about you,” you sob, finally pushing him away, to which he lets you. "That's the problem with you, Jungkook. You're too self-involved."

"Not true," Jungkook whispers, shaking his head earnestly even if he feels the stupidest he has ever did in his life in front of you.

He follows your steps out of routine even if his brain had convinced his system that he hates you just seconds ago, arms instinctively trying to crowd you when you almost trip on the flooring on your way to the coat rack.

"Since you keep insisting that I abandoned you," you chuckle dryly before grabbing your jacket, turning your back on Jungkook and on your own space, which had just been the default hangout place of the both of you for the longest time, in pursuit of your own quiet without him. "Let me follow through."

Jungkook doesn’t want to tell you how desperately he wants you to want him again, to love him as you already did, and neither do you.

( ♡ ) 

The perks of having a big friend group is that the absence of several members wouldn’t make that much of a difference when it comes to hanging out. It would still sustain itself without a few extra voices joining in on the chatter watching movies and the bullying when it comes to a forgotten birthday greeting here and there.

The downside of being in one, is that said big friend group doesn’t matter at all to Jungkook when you’re not in it.

The lengths that your friend (read: a word that Jungkook’s come to abhor) has went through since your fight at your dorm are basically incomprehensible because he’s fully involved himself.

He’s pining after you pathetically, just like how you had always dreamed of, yet seeing him take turn after turn just trying to gain your forgiveness for something you’ve always pitied yourself for makes you feel guilty.

In Jungkook’s defense, he wants to be forgiven and loved (again) as desperately as he acts on an everyday basis. Not only is he pathetic in the sense that he’s hopeless, but also pathetic in the light that he wants the entirety of you (stubbornness and occasional sharpness included) to rub off on him.

“I know I’m stupid. I-I.. I know that I was unfair for not even letting you confess your feelings because I felt like dying when you started to ignore me,” he mumbles to your bedsheets, his legs crossed on the ground and his head muffled by the fabric because he doesn’t even want to sit next to you in fear of you revoking his chance to apologize in person, again, as if that’s not what he had been doing the past weeks. “Y/N, you don’t deserve someone as stupid as me and I hate it so, so bad.”

The sound of Jungkook apologizing to you has already been repeated enough to the point you’ve learned when to tune him out, but with the way his heart precedes his tone this time, you stop folding your clothes in favor of Jungkook who’s just two seconds away from passing out on your bed by fabric conditioner-bathed quilt-induced suffocation, to which he couldn’t pass up on because it was your scent and he missed hugging you.

“I can’t catch up with you on anything that you’re talking about with Yoongi. The only times I open a book are when I want to look at you but I don’t want you to see me. I can’t— I can barely even talk to you without feeling like I’m beneath you,” he admits lowly, the truth of his rejection finally springing up a little too much, and almost a little too late. “I thought, stupidly, that we wouldn’t work because you deserve someone better.”

“I don’t need you to catch up with me, Jungkook,” you murmur, lightly slapping his cheeks because he looks sleepy from all the sniffing he’s done on your quilt, but really, his eyes are only narrowed into slits because he feels like he’s about to cry. Again.

“But I need to, b-because when we run out of things to talk about that you’re willingly to dumb down to my level, what else could we catch up on?” 

“You’re not stupid. I just say-…”

“No. Don’t make excuses for me,” he laughs lightly, still sat on your carpet obediently like a dog because he doesn’t want to push your boundaries. “I’m beneath you and I didn’t want to drag you down with me because I.. I didn’t feel that you deserve me,” he confesses. “But I want you so badly, Y/N. You have no idea.”

Jungkook wants you so badly, that in your insistence of self-pity, it was his self-preservation that led him to cry by himself when you finally left the library after not-confessing to him.

He wants you so badly, that in his fit of self-preservation disguised into stubbornness, he had tamped down his desperation for you.

“I want to catch up with you, not you to slow down for me,” Jungkook rests his chin on your thigh, his wide, pleading eyes looking up at you. “I’m so sorry, my baby. I’m so, so, so sorry for being stupid enough to let you go the first time,” he tilts his head, resting his cheek on your awaiting hand. “Please. I’m just begging you to slow down for me this one time,” Jungkook swallows the lump in his throat, nudging your hand gently with his cheek. “Please let me look stupid trying to earn you.”

Jungkook, without fail, tells you how desperately he wants to be loved by you.