#I just had some really exciting things happen at the end of the work day

[honeydippedfiction]

Hold On Until It is {JB9}

Navigation

Synopsis: When Angel leaves behind everything she knows to start a new chapter in Cincinnati with Joe—the man she’s loved since college—what should feel like homecoming quickly begins to unravel. The warmth and ease they once shared is replaced by quiet tension, unspoken resentments, and a growing distance neither of them knows how to close. As dreams clash with reality, and words once filled with love turn sharp, both are forced to confront the question they never thought they’d ask: What if love alone isn’t enough?

Told with aching honesty and emotional precision, this is a story about what happens when the fairytale ends—and real life begins. It’s about the silences that hurt more than shouting, the quiet grief of unmet expectations, and the fragile hope that, even in the ruins, something beautiful might still be rebuilt.

Warnings: This story includes themes of emotional conflict, verbal arguments, relationship breakdown, and mental distress that may be distressing to some readers.

WC: 24.3k

A/N: whew I love a good long angsty fic babyyy

Join my Taglists here or message me

• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

The air in the house had started to feel heavier.

Not in any physical sense—Joe kept the thermostat low, and Angel still opened the windows in the mornings—but in a way that settled into the quiet spaces between them. The laughter that used to fill every room had started to fade, replaced by awkward silences, missed glances, and words left unsaid.

They were both trying. Or at least pretending to.

Angel had been in Cincinnati for a few weeks now—really in Cincinnati, not just visiting, not just staying over between trips. Her stuff filled their closets. Her hair products took over the bathroom counter. Her favorite snacks sat in the pantry next to his protein bars. She was home. She had finally graduated and was back with Joe to start their future. But something was already off.

It started with little things—Joe forgetting to text when practice ran long, Angel bristling when he left his dishes in the sink after she’d just cleaned. Tension that hadn’t existed back in Baton Rouge, or even during her visits last season, suddenly bubbled under the surface. The adjustment should’ve felt exciting, like the beginning of a new chapter. But instead, it felt like two people reading different books in the same room.

“You’re not hearing me, Joe,” Angel said one night, her voice low but tight as she leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed. Joe stood at the stove, back to her, stirring something he clearly wasn’t paying attention to. “I heard you.”

“No, you didn’t,” she said, sharper this time. “You heard what you wanted to hear. That’s different.” He turned then, irritation flickering across his face like a shadow. “Angel, I’ve had a long-ass day, and I’m not trying to pick a fight.” She laughed once, bitter and disbelieving. “I’m not trying to pick a fight either. I’m trying to have a conversation. But apparently, if it’s not something you want to talk about, then I’m just ‘nagging,’ right?”

Joe flinched, jaw tightening. “I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to.” The silence between them buzzed, static and dangerous. Joe ran a hand over his face and turned back to the stove, but the food was forgotten now. The rice was probably burning. Angel pushed off the counter and moved toward him. “Do you even want me here?”

His head snapped toward her. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah,” she said, her voice cracking just slightly. “I am. Because it sure as hell doesn’t feel like it lately.” Joe stared at her, stunned. “That’s not fair.”

“What’s not fair is uprooting my entire life to be here and feeling like I walked into a damn wall.”

“That’s not what this is.”

“Then what is it?” she demanded, voice rising.

Joe opened his mouth, then closed it again. He didn’t know how to explain it—the pressure, the stress, the sudden shift from long-distance fantasy to real, everyday reality. It wasn’t her. It wasn’t even him. It was both of them, colliding in a space that used to feel like home but now felt... tense.

“Maybe we weren’t ready,” he said finally, quietly. Angel’s face went still. “Wow.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said quickly, stepping toward her.

“No,” she said, backing up, blinking fast. “You meant it. And you might be right.” Joe froze. That wasn’t what he wanted. But it was too late now—he’d said it, and she’d heard it loud and clear.

.·:¨༺༻¨:·..·:¨༺༻¨:·.

Angel stood frozen in the kitchen, chest rising and falling with every shallow, heated breath. Her fists were clenched at her sides, nails biting into her palms, but she didn’t feel it. All she felt was the fire—the rage, the heartbreak, the betrayal clawing its way up her throat like smoke. Joe stood a few feet away, arms crossed, his expression hard in a way she didn’t recognize. Detached. Cold. Like he was more tired of her than anything else.

“I didn’t expect things to feel like this,” he said, voice low and sharp. “Like I’m suffocating in my own house.” The words hit her like a slap. Her lips parted slightly, stunned. “Wow.”

He didn’t backtrack. Didn’t soften. He just kept going, eyes flashing with frustration. “You act like I’ve just abandoned you, but you don’t see it from my side. You came here and expected me to be everything, all the time. Like I don’t have the pressure of this season, this city—this life—on my shoulders.”

“I didn’t ask you to be everything,” she fired back, voice cracking under the weight of her fury. “I asked you to show up. To talk to me. To touch me without it being a routine. To look at me like I’m not some obligation waiting at the end of your workday.”

Joe scoffed, dragging a hand through his hair like he could pull the words out of his own head. “God, Angel. You make everything about you.” Her jaw dropped. “Are you serious?”

“You came here and it’s been a mess ever since,” he snapped. “You’re moody. You pick fights over nothing. You act like being with me is some kind of punishment.”

“I left my whole damn life behind for you!” she screamed, her voice raw, cracking at the edges. “I gave up everything I knew, and you treat me like I’m in your way!”

They stared at each other, both breathing hard. The kitchen felt smaller now, like the walls were closing in. The air was thick with everything they hadn’t said—every little resentment that had built up brick by brick until it finally crushed them. Joe stepped back, like he couldn’t stand the sight of her. And that—that—was what broke her. She blinked once, tears slipping free even though she tried to hold them back. Her whole body trembled with rage, heartbreak, humiliation. She turned without another word, storming past him, her footsteps quick and heavy.

“Angel—” Joe started, something cracking in his voice.

But she didn’t stop. She grabbed her keys off the entryway table, slung her purse over her shoulder, and slammed the door so hard the frame rattled. And then she was gone.

Joe stood there in the wreckage—sauce still simmering on the stove, plates waiting on the table, and silence pressing down like a weight on his chest. He didn’t know where she was going. He didn’t know when—if—she was coming back. All he knew was that she was gone, and the moment the door closed behind her, something inside him splintered wide open.

.·:¨༺༻¨:·..·:¨༺༻¨:·.

The cold night air slammed into Angel’s lungs the second she stepped outside, but she barely felt it. Her hands shook as she fumbled with her keys, finally getting the car door open and sliding into the driver’s seat with more force than necessary. Tears threatened behind her eyes, but she blinked them back. Not now. Not while she was still within reach. She tapped her phone screen and, with trembling fingers, turned off her location sharing.

Let him wonder.

The engine roared to life, and she peeled away from the curb like the road owed her something—like the sound of the tires screeching would drown out his voice still echoing in her ears.

You make everything about you.

The words repeated like poison, over and over, stinging worse every time they circled back. Her jaw tightened as she drove aimlessly, eyes scanning unfamiliar streets, lights blurring through the tears building against her will. She had no destination. No plan. Just this spiraling ache in her chest that made her want to disappear. Cincinnati had never felt more foreign.

She took a random turn off the main road, then another, winding through neighborhoods she didn’t recognize, street names she couldn’t remember. The city blurred past her windows, a cold maze of brick and traffic lights. She didn’t know where she was going—just knew she couldn’t go back there. Not to him. Not to that kitchen where the love of her life looked her in the face like he didn’t even recognize her.

A sob slipped out before she could stop it. Then another. And then she was pulling into an empty grocery store parking lot, slamming the gear into park and burying her face in her hands as the floodgates opened.

Everything inside her shattered. She cried until her shoulders shook, until her breath came in jagged pieces and her body ached from holding everything in for too long. Her vision swam, chest tight with grief and confusion and loneliness she hadn’t dared name until now.

Because the truth hit hard, right there under the flickering streetlight: she had no one here. No friends. No family. No backup plan. Only Joe. And she couldn’t go back to him.

Not like this. Not when everything between them felt like broken glass and open wounds.

She wiped her face with the sleeve of her hoodie, her sobs finally starting to slow into shaky breaths. Her phone buzzed in the console. Joe. Again. She didn’t answer.

Instead, her fingers hovered over her contacts, hesitating for only a moment before tapping the one name that made sense now, even though she’d never imagined needing to call it like this.

Robin Burrow. Joe’s mom answered on the second ring.

“Angel?” Her voice was warm and surprised, but gentle. “Sweetheart, is everything okay?”

Angel’s throat tightened. It took her a second to speak through the lump, and when she did, her voice cracked wide open. “I—I didn’t know where else to go.” Robin didn’t hesitate. “Where are you, baby?” Angel looked around the empty lot, eyes red and swollen. “I’m not sure. I just… I need somewhere to stay.”

“You come here,” Robin said firmly, the motherly edge in her tone kicking in. “Right now. We’ll keep the porch light on. Jimmy’s already making tea.” Angel let out a half-sob, half-laugh. “I’ll be there soon,” she whispered, and for the first time since she’d left the house, she felt like she could breathe again. She hung up, put the car back in drive, and followed the GPS toward something steady—even if everything else inside her was unraveling.

.·:¨༺༻¨:·..·:¨༺༻¨:·.

The drive to the Burrow house felt longer than it was—each minute dragging under the weight of everything she couldn’t stop replaying in her mind. Joe’s voice, the anger in his eyes, her own words hurled back like daggers, the slamming of the door behind her. The silence now felt like penance. When Angel finally pulled into the driveway, her headlights caught the soft glow of the porch light. True to Robin’s word. She sat there for a moment, gripping the steering wheel like it could hold her together. The house looked peaceful—still, like the world inside hadn’t just come apart.

She didn’t feel ready. She didn’t feel like she belonged. But she was exhausted. And she had nowhere else. Angel climbed out of the car slowly, her legs stiff from the tension she’d been holding in for miles. Her eyes burned from crying, her throat raw, her heart still cracked wide open. She barely made it to the front steps before the door opened.

Robin stood there, soft light spilling behind her, wearing a cozy sweater and leggings like she’d been waiting exactly for this moment. And maybe she had. “Oh, sweetheart…” That was all it took. Angel collapsed into her arms without a word, the sob she’d been holding back crumbling the last piece of her composure. Robin held her tightly, gently, stroking her back the way only a mother could. She didn’t ask questions. She didn’t pry. She just held her. “I’ve got you,” Robin murmured. “You’re safe here. You hear me?”

Angel nodded against her shoulder, unable to speak, the scent of peppermint tea and cinnamon clinging to Robin’s clothes like comfort wrapped in memory. Jimmy appeared a second later in the hallway, concern etched deep into his usually calm expression. But he didn’t push. Just offered a quiet nod and a gentle, “We’re glad you came, kiddo.” Robin finally led her inside, arm wrapped around her shoulders as she guided her through the familiar warmth of the house. The walls were lined with pictures—Joe in his youth, championship rings in glass cases, framed articles, and family memories that made Angel ache just looking at them.

She felt like an outsider now. Like she’d torn herself from the picture frame. Robin brought her a soft blanket and a cup of tea, ushering her gently to the couch in the living room, where a few candles flickered like quiet sentinels. The TV was muted, the atmosphere hushed with the kind of care that made Angel’s throat close up all over again.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Robin asked gently as she handed over the mug. Angel stared into the tea like it might reveal the right words. But all she could whisper was, “We said things we can’t take back.” Robin didn’t flinch. She just sat beside her, resting a hand over Angel’s. “That happens to people who love each other deeply.” Angel looked up, voice trembling. “What if love’s not enough?” Robin didn’t answer right away. Just gave her hand a small squeeze. “Then you hold on until it is.”

That night, Angel lay curled in the guest room under one of Robin’s knitted quilts, staring at the ceiling, wondering how she’d ended up there—lost in a city that wasn’t hers, away from the only person who ever truly felt like home. Joe hadn't called again. And Angel didn’t know if he would.

.·:¨༺༻¨:·..·:¨༺༻¨:·.

The house was too quiet. Not just still—but hollow.

Joe sat on the edge of their bed, elbows braced to his knees, fists tangled in his hair. The argument still rang in his ears, echoing like some sick, looping highlight reel of every mistake he’d made in thirty minutes or less. Her voice—sharp and shattered. His own, louder than he meant, crueler than he ever intended. And then the door slammed. And she was gone.

He’d tried calling—once, twice—before he noticed her location had disappeared. She’d turned it off. That’s when panic really set in. Not the kind that hit like a crash, but the slower kind. The kind that crept in, wrapped around your ribs, and tightened until breathing started to feel optional.

Joe had sat in the hallway outside their door after the second call went to voicemail, staring at nothing while the tv played softly from the living room. “Jesus, what did I do…” He wanted to fix it. God, he wanted to fix it. But he didn’t even know where to start. Everything had escalated so fast—weeks of small resentments, unspoken needs, frayed nerves all colliding at once. He hadn’t meant to say half the shit he did. And the things she said… They’d both crossed lines. Lines they hadn’t even realized were there until they tripped over them.

Joe spent the next day in autopilot. He went to practice. He ran drills. He reviewed film. But his mind was blank, eyes dull, muscles tight with something that had nothing to do with football. Everyone noticed it—Ja’Marr most of all. “You good?” his best friend asked after practice, towel draped around his neck. Joe barely looked up from where he sat at his locker, staring at a bottle of water he hadn’t even opened. “Angel left.” Ja’Marr blinked. “Like left the house?” Joe nodded, jaw clenched. “Turned off her location. Took the car. I don’t know where she is.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

A long pause stretched between them before Ja’Marr said carefully, “She go home? Like home home?” Joe shook his head. “She doesn’t know anyone here. I don’t think she’d drive all the way back to Baton Rouge. But I… I don’t know, man.”

He didn’t sleep that night. The spot beside him in their bed felt like a ghost. But Joe… Joe lay there staring at the ceiling, arm flung across her side of the bed that still smelled like Angel’s vanilla body butter. He thought about calling his mom, Robin. But the thought made his chest cave in. He didn’t want to hear that Angel was okay. He wanted to hear that she missed him. That she’d forgiven him. That she was coming home.

But he also knew—deep down—that this wasn’t something a few sweet words and some quiet tears could undo. This wasn’t the kind of fight you bounced back from with flowers and an apology. This was the kind of fight that redefined things. That changed you. That forced you to decide if you’d fight for the picture, even if it meant staring down the parts of yourself you never wanted to see in the frame. And right now, Joe wasn’t sure if Angel would want to finish the painting with him.

.·:¨༺༻¨:·..·:¨༺༻¨:·.

Robin didn’t ask questions that first night. She opened the door to find Angel standing on the porch with tear-streaked cheeks, eyes swollen from crying, and a bag slung over her shoulder like it weighed a thousand pounds. For one terrifying heartbeat, Robin thought something tragic had happened to Joe. But then Angel broke, right there in her arms—no words, just the kind of raw, broken sobbing that said everything and nothing all at once.

Robin pulled her inside without a word. She didn’t press. Didn’t pry. Just wrapped her up in the kind of hug only a mother could give and whispered, “You’re safe. Stay as long as you need.”

Jimmy, ever steady, offered her a quiet nod from the kitchen and brewed a fresh pot of tea even though it was nearly midnight. He didn’t ask what had happened either. He just set the mug in front of her, along with a box of tissues, and sat across the table like a silent guardian, his presence calm and solid in the quiet storm of her grief.

The next few days passed in slow, aching silence. Angel moved through the house like a ghost—polite, quiet, always helping to clean up or fold laundry like she needed something to do with her hands. Robin noticed the way she avoided checking her phone unless absolutely necessary, and the way her eyes clouded over when she thought no one was looking.

Jimmy fixed little things around the house just to keep near her—changing out lightbulbs that didn’t need changing, checking the smoke detectors, sweeping the garage—and every now and then, he’d hand her a tool and show her how something worked, giving her something tangible to focus on when everything else felt like it was falling apart.

“I’ve seen that look before,” he said one afternoon as they stood outside on the porch, watching the gray clouds roll in. “Wore it myself once. You and Joe will figure it out. You just… gotta give yourself space to breathe first.” Angel swallowed hard, blinking quickly. “What if space turns into forever?” Jimmy looked at her for a long time, then said simply, “Then it’ll be because you both decided you weren’t right for each other. But right now? I don’t think either of you believe that.”

Robin left a folded blanket and some fresh towels on the end of the guest bed every night without comment. She made sure Angel’s favorite snacks were stocked in the pantry. And when Angel finally broke her silence one afternoon and murmured, “I don’t even know how to go back,” Robin just reached over, squeezed her hand, and said, “Then don’t think about going back. Just focus on finding your way forward.”

Because they knew—it wasn’t just a fight. It was a fracture. A crack in something they’d all believed was unshakable. But Jimmy and Robin had seen love endure worse.

And they were determined to help Angel remember that even masterpieces—especially masterpieces—were born from ruin.

.·:¨༺༻¨:·..·:¨༺༻¨:·.

It was early evening, that in-between hush just after dinner. The sky outside the kitchen window was painted with soft lavender and fading gold, the hum of cicadas gently buzzing in the stillness. Robin had just finished drying the last dish when Angel stepped in from the hallway, her bare feet quiet on the tile. She hovered for a moment, like she wasn’t sure if she should say something or turn back.

Robin, still wiping her hands on a dish towel, glanced up. “Want some tea?” Angel hesitated, then gave a small nod. “Yeah. Sure.”

They moved through the motions together—tea bags dropped into mugs, the kettle whistling faintly, chairs pulled out from the table. It was quiet for a while, the kind of quiet that stretched but didn’t suffocate. Robin didn’t rush her. She never did. Angel’s fingers curled around the ceramic mug, her eyes trained on the steam as it swirled upward like smoke. “It’s not what I thought it would be,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Being there… with Joe. It’s not what I imagined.”

Robin didn’t respond right away. She just sipped her tea and gave Angel space to keep going. “I thought moving in would be this… this new chapter,” Angel continued, her words slow, fragile. “But it was like everything got louder. His schedule. My loneliness. The pressure of adjusting. I tried to ignore it. I didn’t want to seem ungrateful or—God, dramatic.”

Robin’s expression stayed soft. Listening. Angel blinked fast, her gaze dropping to her lap. “We fought. Bad. Worse than we ever have. It started stupid—just something about him not being home for dinner again—but then everything came out. He said I was making it all about me, and I told him he wasn’t really present even when he was there. And then…”

She paused, breath trembling. “I said something I shouldn’t have. Something cruel. Just to hurt him back.” Robin reached across the table, gently resting her hand over Angel’s. Her touch was warm, grounding. “I told him maybe I never should’ve come,” Angel whispered. “That maybe we weren’t actually meant for each other after all.” Robin’s hand tightened, just slightly. “Did you mean it?” Tears welled in Angel’s eyes. “No. Not even a little.”

Silence fell again, but this time it wasn’t heavy—it was thoughtful.

“I felt like I couldn’t breathe in that house anymore,” Angel said quietly. “So I grabbed my keys and left. I didn’t even know where I was going. Just drove for hours. Turned off my location so he couldn’t find me. And then I ended up… here.” Robin nodded. “I’m glad you did.” “I don’t know how to fix this,” Angel admitted. “He’s hurting. I know he is. But I’m hurting too. And I don’t know if love is enough to get us back from this.” Robin was quiet for a long time, watching her.

Then she said gently, “Sweetheart, love is never enough by itself. It takes choice. Work. Grace.” She paused. “But if you’re both still willing to try… that’s more than most have.” Angel wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand, laughing bitterly. “What if he’s not?” Robin smiled sadly. “Then he’s a fool. But he’s also our son, and I know he loves you with everything he’s got. You both made mistakes. You’re both human. But the masterpiece only comes together if both artists keep painting.” Angel looked up, her expression breaking into a raw, grateful kind of grief. Robin leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to her temple. “You don’t have to decide anything tonight. Just stay. Rest. Let yourself feel what you need to feel.” And for the first time in days, Angel nodded without trying to hold back the tears.

.·:¨༺༻¨:·..·:¨༺༻¨:·.

The house was too quiet. Too clean. Too wrong. Joe sat at the kitchen table in the dark, a half-empty glass of whiskey untouched in front of him. He hadn’t moved much in hours, just sat hunched over, elbows braced on the table, hands pressed together like he was praying—or trying to hold himself together.

The only light in the room was the dull amber glow from the oven clock. 11:03 p.m.

He pulled his phone toward him. Scrolled through his texts. Nothing. He tapped on Angel’s contact. His thumb hovered over “Call.” Then backed out. Again. His chest ached. Not from anything physical. Just from the echo. The silence. The knowing that the bed upstairs was cold and the air was empty and the woman he loved had walked out and hadn’t come back.

Finally, unable to hold it anymore, he tapped a different number. One that had always been safe. The call rang twice before it connected. “Hey, son,” Jimmy’s calm voice came through, already knowing. Joe swallowed hard. His voice came out rough. “Is she there?” Jimmy didn’t answer immediately. Joe rubbed at his face. “I’m not asking you to give me details. I just—I just need to know she’s safe.”

“She’s safe,” Jimmy said gently. “Robin’s with her.”

A long silence settled between them. Then: “You okay?” Joe let out a shaky breath, his voice cracking. “No.” Jimmy waited. “I messed up, Dad.” Joe’s voice dropped, full of regret. “I don’t even know what triggered it. One minute we were talking, the next… it was like the dam broke. I said shit I shouldn’t have. I hurt her.”

“And now she’s gone.” Joe squeezed his eyes shut. “I can’t sleep in our bed. I sat on the floor in the hallway like a damn idiot for two hours just hoping I’d hear the door.” Jimmy exhaled, quiet and steady. “You want to tell me what happened?”

Joe shook his head even though Jimmy couldn’t see him. “I don’t know where to start. She moved here and everything felt like it was finally perfect. And then—I don't know—I think I started pushing. Or panicking. I said things like she’d never be happy here, like I was the reason she gave up everything. I made it sound like she was a burden when all she ever did was choose me.”

The weight of those words hit him again, and his voice broke. “And I watched her walk away.” Jimmy was quiet for a long time. Then he said, “You ever heard the phrase: ‘You don’t know how heavy you’re carrying something until you set it down’?” Joe didn’t answer. Jimmy continued, “You both been carrying so much—pressure, sacrifice, change. You finally set it all down, and it blew up. Doesn’t make you a bad man. Just means you’re human. Same as her.”

“I don’t know if she’ll come back,” Joe admitted. “You hurt her,” Jimmy said, honest but not unkind. “But you love her. That’s not gone. And if she’s hurting half as much as you are, it means there’s still something left worth saving.” Joe dropped his head into his hands. “I don’t know how to fix it.” Jimmy’s voice softened. “Then don’t rush it. Let her breathe. Let yourself breathe. And when the time comes—you don’t fix it, son. You fight for it. Day by day. Apology by apology. Not with grand speeches, but with proof.”

Joe’s chest tightened. “What if she won’t let me?”

“Then you love her anyway,” Jimmy said. “You leave the door open. And you be the man she believed in when she chose to build a life with you.” Joe went silent again. He didn’t cry—but he came close. And maybe Jimmy could hear it in the cracks between his words. “Thanks, Dad.” “I’ve got you, son. Always.” The call ended, but the ache lingered. Still, for the first time since she left, Joe stood up. Not to chase her. Not to fix it overnight. But to try.

.·:¨༺༻¨:·..·:¨༺༻¨:·.

The morning light bled softly through sheer curtains, spilling over the guest room like a quiet apology. Pale gold pooled across the hardwood floor, casting long, still shadows that felt too gentle for how heavy Angel’s heart had become. The room smelled faintly of lavender and laundry detergent—clean, calm, unlike the storm silently brewing in her chest.

She sat on the edge of the bed, her spine straight, as if perfect posture could keep her from unraveling. In her hands, her phone glowed faintly—its light a cold, artificial blue against her skin. The flight search page stared back at her, the “Book Now” button sitting at the bottom like an accusation.

It would be simple, really. One click. One suitcase. One goodbye.

The flights to Louisiana were cheap today. A short connection through Atlanta. She could be back in Baton Rouge by dinnertime, curled beneath her grandmother’s quilt with the familiar scent of oak trees and coffee shops and home sinking into her skin.

Home. Where no one asked her to explain. Where she didn’t feel like she was standing in the doorway of someone else’s life.

She exhaled slowly and lowered the phone to her lap, blinking against the tears that threatened but hadn’t yet come. Her eyes drifted to the small frame on the nightstand beside her—an old photo of her and Joe, sun-drenched and carefree, mid-laughter during their junior year at LSU. His arm around her shoulders, his mouth open like he’d just said something ridiculous. Her head tipped toward him, grinning with her whole face.

That version of them felt like another lifetime.

Before Cincinnati. Before the NFL. Before they became something frayed and unraveling at the edges.

Maybe they’d never stood a chance outside of that college bubble—before contracts and distance and the kind of expectations that clung like invisible weights. Maybe they were only ever supposed to be a beautiful memory. She brushed her thumb over the edge of the photo. Maybe we just weren’t ready.

The wall clock ticked softly in the quiet. 7:17 a.m. Joe would be halfway through practice by now—breaking down film, running plays, laughing with teammates like the weight of the world didn’t rest on his shoulders. Like he hadn't left her waiting in silence for days. She closed her eyes. Took a breath. Felt it catch in her throat before pushing past her lips. If Joe didn’t want her here anymore—if this was what it looked like when someone stopped choosing you—then fine. She’d make it easy for him. Quiet. Clean. No pleading, no tears. Just a departure as silent as his distance had become.

Her jaw tightened as she slipped the phone into her pocket and stood. The wood floor was cool beneath her feet. Her suitcase waited in the closet, a silent reminder. She opened the door to the hallway, careful not to let it creak.

Robin and Jimmy were somewhere in the kitchen. Their voices rose in a low, casual murmur, and the scent of brewing coffee drifted down the hall. Familiar. Warm. Kind.

It only made everything harder. She padded softly toward the front door, hoping to slip out unseen. But just as she reached the edge of the hallway, a soft voice broke the silence. “Sweetheart?”

Angel turned, startled. Robin stood there in her housecoat, a mug in one hand, concern lining her tired face. She looked like she hadn’t slept much either. Angel summoned a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’m just heading back to Joe’s for a bit,” she said quietly. “Left some things there I need to grab.”

Robin hesitated, her gaze lingering like she wanted to ask more. But she didn’t. She just nodded slowly, the warmth in her expression tinged with something that might have been understanding—or maybe quiet resignation.

“All right,” she said gently. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“I will. Thank you.”

Angel turned away before the conversation could stretch into something she wasn’t ready for. She stepped outside and closed the door behind her. The world greeted her with birdsong and a breeze that carried the scent of freshly cut grass. A neighbor’s sprinkler hissed softly in the distance. Everything felt too normal for a morning that felt like goodbye. Joe’s house wasn’t far. Just a ten-minute drive that felt longer today, each street corner and red light adding weight to her chest.

She pulled into the driveway and cut the engine, just sitting there for a moment. Her reflection in the rearview mirror looked older than she remembered—tired, too contemplative for someone who should still be in her twenties. Then she stepped out.

Inside, the house greeted her like a ghost.

Everything was still. The air carried the familiar scent of Joe’s cologne—faint, but there. That citrusy cedar blend he’d worn since college. It clung to the walls, the couch cushions, the hoodie slung over the back of a dining chair. She swallowed hard.

Each room held a version of them—laughter in the kitchen, whispered arguments in the hallway, kisses in the quiet hum of the living room after midnight. Pieces of a life they’d built carefully, then carelessly let crack. She made her way into the bedroom, where her suitcase lay open on the bed.

Her hands moved automatically now, gathering the remnants of her time here. A folded shirt. A pair of earrings on the nightstand. Her journal. Her favorite hoodie of Joe’s—the one she wasn’t sure she had a right to take anymore.

She tugged open the dresser drawer and paused. Tucked beneath a pair of mismatched socks was a birthday card. She knew the handwriting immediately. Her throat tightened as she opened it.

You’ve held me together more times than I can count. No matter what happens—thank you for loving me, even when I didn’t deserve it.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she closed the card and laid it on top of her things. The clock on the wall read 9:02 a.m.

She checked her phone again. A new push notification: Flight 2725 departs in 3h 12m.

Her thumb hovered over the screen. Again. Book now. She didn't press it. Instead, she stared at the door—at the life behind it. The memories. The absence. The silence that had said more than any argument could. She zipped the suitcase shut and gripped the handle, the soft click sounding louder than it should have.

.·:¨༺༻¨:·..·:¨༺༻¨:·.

The house was still in that quiet way only early morning could bring—a silence so full it felt sacred. Pale light sifted through the blinds, casting narrow stripes across the floorboards like faded memories trying to reach her. The scent of warm wood and yesterday’s coffee lingered faintly in the air, and somewhere in the distance, a bird called out as if to remind her the day was beginning, whether she liked it or not.

Angel stood just inside the front door. She wasn’t ready. But she had already made up her mind. Her fingers hovered near the wall-mounted hook by the door. The metal keys dangled innocently—her car key, the spare to Joe’s truck, and the house key that had once meant belonging. Now, they just felt like borrowed things. She reached up slowly and slipped them free. The weight of them in her palm was heavier than she expected. Cold. Solid. Real.

This is it.

The thought hit her like a whisper—gentle but final. Her throat constricted, but she didn’t cry. Not yet. Instead, she turned to the small entryway table and set the keys down with a careful grace, like she was placing something sacred in a temple. Beside them sat a folded note—the one she had written in the stillness of the night, when sleep wouldn't come and truth refused to stay quiet.

Her handwriting was steady but unguarded.

I’m sorry. I hope someday we find our way back.

She hadn’t written more than that. Not because there weren’t things to say—God, there were mountains of words between them—but because she didn’t trust herself to say them without begging. And she’d promised herself she wouldn’t beg for love. Her hand lingered over the note for a second longer before she drew it back. She stood there, the quiet pressing in, her heart thudding in her ears like footsteps down a long, empty hallway. One breath. Another.

And then she opened the door. At the threshold, she turned back once. The room was quiet. Still. “If you wanted me to stay…” she whispered, voice barely audible over the hum of the air conditioner, “…you should’ve said something.” She stepped outside and closed the door behind her.

The air outside was crisp, the sky still caught in the soft blush of dawn. The neighborhood was waking slowly—porch lights flickering off, sprinklers clicking on, the distant roll of a trash bin pulled to the curb. A black sedan waited at the edge of the driveway, engine idling, the Uber logo lit faintly in the window. Angel walked toward it, suitcase in hand.

The driver—an older man with kind eyes and a calm, practiced smile—stepped out to help her with the bag, but she shook her head. She needed the motion. Needed to feel the weight. She loaded it into the trunk herself, then climbed into the back seat without a word. The car pulled away gently from the curb.

Angel stared out the window, watching the familiar sights of their neighborhood roll by: the café they never had time to try. The park where they'd once laughed as Joe chased after his niece. The corner where he first kissed her outside the moving truck, saying, "Well, we’re really doing this, huh?" She blinked, and the image shattered.

Her reflection stared back at her—tired eyes, lips pressed tight, jaw set like she was bracing for a crash. All she’d ever really wanted wasn't the spotlight she sometimes found herself in, or the career in sportscasting she'd slowly been carving out for herself. It had always been Joe.

Not the quarterback. Not the franchise. Just him—messy, hopeful, fiercely driven, and hers. Only now, he wasn’t. She pressed a hand gently to her chest, as though she could soothe the ache forming there like a bruise.

.·:¨༺༻¨:·..·:¨༺༻¨:·.

The terminal buzzed with early-morning energy—rolling suitcases, murmured announcements, the occasional child tugging free from a tired parent’s hand. People were moving—forward, onward, elsewhere. Angel moved among them with practiced ease, her posture upright, her carry-on clutched tightly in one hand.

Gate C14.

She checked the boarding pass again. Five minutes to boarding.

The waiting area at gate C14 buzzed with the quiet rhythm of morning travel—boarding calls muffled by static, the hiss of coffee machines from a nearby kiosk, the low hum of passengers shuffling through the terminal like sleepwalkers. Angel sat still amid the motion, her carry-on tucked beneath her seat, her phone cradled in both hands like something fragile. She didn’t sit right away. Instead, she wandered toward the tall windows overlooking the runway. The rising sun had painted the sky in strokes of gold and pale pink, the city skyline still clinging to the horizon.

She placed her forehead lightly against the glass, the coolness grounding her for just a second. This was supposed to be ours. The thought came unbidden.

She imagined what it could’ve been—Sunday mornings with coffee and cluttered kitchens, late-night phone calls turned into quiet sleep, years of growing up and old side by side. Kids, maybe. Or just growing gardens and dreams that didn’t tear them apart. But all that had felt fragile lately. Like paper held out in the rain.

Now it was folding. She blinked back the tears blurring her vision and turned toward the waiting area. Her seat by the window felt far away, even though she reached it in only a few steps. She sank into it slowly, her body suddenly leaden with exhaustion.

Her fingers hovered above the screen. The message was short, simple. But sending it meant accepting the weight of it—acknowledging that everything she’d held together for so long had finally come undone.

She tapped the message thread at the top of her screen. Monica.

The one person she knew she could say anything to and be met with nothing but love.

Coming home. Flight lands in two hours.

She hesitated.

A breath caught in her throat.

Then she hit send before the tears could get ahead of her.

The message flew off into the ether, disappearing into digital silence. She didn’t expect an instant reply, but it came anyway—barely a moment later, like Monica had been waiting for her all along.

Okay. I’ll be there to pick you up.

No questions. No judgment. Just presence.

That was all Angel needed right now.

Her chest tightened, not from fear or uncertainty, but from a kind of grief she hadn’t prepared for—the grief of being seen. Monica’s steadiness cracked something open inside her that she’d been trying to brace against for days.

Angel blinked quickly and looked down at her phone again. Her lock screen had dimmed, but she tapped it, needing to see what was still there.

The photo lit up like a cruel miracle.

It was from Christmas—last year. Snow in Joe’s hair, Angel buried in his arms, their cheeks pressed together in mid-laugh. Someone had snapped it on impulse. She’d always loved how natural it looked. Like they weren’t posing, just existing in a pocket of joy too perfect to hold forever.

They had been happy then. Or close enough to believe they still could be.

She pressed her thumb gently to the image, tracing the outline of his jaw, the softness in his eyes. The moment looked so alive—frozen, bright, oblivious to everything that had come after.

She wanted to scream into that picture, Don’t take it for granted. This won’t last unless you fight for it.

But it was just a photo. A moment already gone.

She turned the phone face-down on her lap and wiped at her cheeks. She wasn’t crying exactly—just leaking, emotion slipping past whatever shaky resolve she still had left.

Somewhere down the terminal, a child’s laugh rang out. A boarding call followed. A suitcase rolled by.

The world moved forward.

Angel inhaled, trying to do the same. One breath in. Hold it. Let it go.

She sat up a little straighter. She didn’t know what was waiting for her back home. Maybe healing. Maybe heartbreak. Maybe just a long drive and a quiet room with Monica on the couch beside her, handing her a blanket and not saying a word.

Whatever came, it would be real. It would be hers.

She wiped her eyes once more and looked out at the runway. The sun had risen fully now, lighting the tarmac in long streaks of amber and silver. Planes came and went. People came and went. And soon, she would, too.

But this time, she wasn’t running.

She was returning.

The boarding call crackled over the intercom. Her flight group was next.

She looked out the window one last time.

The city was waking up. The skyline shimmered. The world moved on, and no one stopped to notice that something beautiful had ended.

The plane began to taxi down the runway.

Angel closed her eyes, swallowed the lump in her throat, and leaned back into the seat. She didn’t cry—not in that moment.

She simply let the world she knew slip away quietly beneath the morning light.

.·:¨༺༻¨:·..·:¨༺༻¨:·.

The dull hum of the aircraft engines vibrated softly beneath Angel’s feet, a low, constant noise that seemed to echo the numbness settling in her chest. She sank back into her seat near the window, her carry-on stowed neatly above, her hands folded in her lap with practiced calm. Around her, the cabin murmured with the gentle chaos of early-morning travel—overhead bins snapping shut, the rustle of newspapers, passengers murmuring greetings or requests for coffee.

Angel didn’t speak.

She turned toward the window instead, resting her forehead against the cool glass.

Outside, the tarmac stretched in wide gray ribbons, crisscrossed with glowing lines and small vehicles zigzagging between terminals like ants in a choreographed ballet. Planes gleamed in the pale morning light, their metallic bodies reflecting a sky slowly waking. The sunrise caught the edge of a wing just right, throwing golden light into her eyes.

She didn’t blink it away.

Instead, she stared—long and quiet—at the skyline beyond the airport, just visible through a thin veil of morning mist. Cincinnati. A city she’d never meant to fall in love with, not in the beginning. But over time, it had become a patchwork of memories: late-night drives after Joe’s games, hole-in-the-wall restaurants they’d discovered by accident, the apartment where they’d first learned what it meant to grow up together.

That skyline had once symbolized promise.

Now it just looked like a distant echo of a life she could no longer call hers.

She closed her eyes briefly, and in the darkness behind her lids, flashes of their time together came and went—Joe’s sleepy smile over morning coffee, the way he’d reach for her hand without thinking, the quiet arguments that grew sharper over time, and the silences that had begun to stretch longer than either of them admitted.

We tried. God, we tried.

But sometimes love alone wasn’t enough to hold two people together. Not when dreams pulled in different directions. Not when one person started to feel like a background character in the other’s story.

She opened her eyes again. Her reflection in the glass stared back, faint and soft in the glow of the rising sun. Her cheeks were damp.

She hadn’t noticed the tears falling until one slipped all the way down to her jaw, catching the light like a crystal. She wiped it away quickly, fingers trembling, careful not to draw attention.

Hold it together. Just a little longer.

The pilot’s voice crackled through the intercom—an update about weather conditions in New Orleans, a routine mention of cruising altitude, none of it truly registering in her ears.

The plane began to taxi, wheels groaning against the runway.

Angel gripped the armrest lightly, grounding herself with the pressure. The city beyond the glass started to drift, slowly at first, then faster. Buildings receded. The skyline blurred. The world she had known slipped quietly backward.

She exhaled—one last breath of the life she’d tried to build here, a life that had almost been everything she wanted.

Her hand found the necklace at her collarbone, a small silver pendant Joe had given her one Christmas, back when everything still felt solid. She didn’t take it off.

Not yet.

As the plane turned toward the runway and the final stretch began, Angel closed her eyes and let the moment pass through her like wind.

There was no going back now.

Only forward—toward something unknown, unformed, and unbearably real.

.·:¨༺༻¨:·..·:¨༺༻¨:·.

Joe’s muscles ached from practice—tight in the shoulders, a dull pulse in his calves, the lingering rhythm of drills and reps still echoing through his body. The sun had begun its slow descent, painting the quiet neighborhood in hues of gold and rust as he turned down their street. One hand on the wheel, the other on the gearshift, he leaned back into his seat with a tired exhale.

His eyes scanned the drive automatically.

Angel’s car was there.

The sight hit him with a low, unexpected wave of relief. Something in his chest unclenched—just a little.

She was home.

The knot in Joe’s chest had been there since that night—tight and gnawing, a sick sort of pressure that no amount of running routes or reviewing film could shake loose. He’d tried to bury it beneath the noise of the field, but the memory kept clawing its way back up. The shouting. The slammed door. The way Angel had looked at him—hurt, furious, done. It wasn’t one of those little spats they’d have and forget about by morning. This one had been ugly. Words thrown like weapons. No resolution. No apology. Just her storming out, keys in hand, and silence ever since..

Still, her car was here.

She came home.

He parked beside it and grabbed his gear bag from the backseat, already imagining her in the kitchen, maybe perched on a stool with a glass of wine, scrolling through her phone. Maybe she’d look up when he walked in and smile like everything was okay. Maybe it would be okay.

The front door swung open.

The house met him with silence.

Not the comfortable kind they sometimes shared when the world outside felt too loud—but a brittle, unnatural stillness that immediately made the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

He stepped inside and closed the door softly behind him. The usual scent was there—citrus cleaner, a hint of her perfume lingering in the air—but something was missing. No sound from the living room. No light from the kitchen. No music humming faintly from her playlist in the background.

“Angel?” he called out, hopeful, casual.

Nothing.

“Babe?”

No answer.

He dropped his gear bag by the entryway and moved deeper into the house, his steps careful, his voice rising slightly with each call.

“Angel?” he tried again, rounding the corner toward the kitchen.

Still nothing.

Then he saw it.

His breath caught.

There, on the counter.

Her keys.

And beneath them, an envelope—white and unassuming, like any other slip of mail. But he knew, instinctively, it wasn’t.

His heart began to pound.

Joe crossed the kitchen in three long strides, his fingers already shaking as he reached for the note.

It was her handwriting.

I’m sorry. I hope someday we find our way back.

The words sliced through him.

Simple. Direct. Final.

They didn’t scream. They didn’t beg. They just were. And somehow, that made them hurt more. As if she’d spent every last drop of emotion she had left on those lines and walked out before she could change her mind.

“No…” he whispered, barely audible, but the word felt thunderous in the silence.

He stared at the keys—her keys—and his knees gave out before his mind could catch up.

He sank to the floor, back against the cabinets, the tile cold and grounding beneath him. The note trembled in his hands as the reality settled in. His breath came fast and shallow, a desperate rhythm that wouldn’t even out.

His mind spiraled.

She’s gone.

Where had she gone?

Why didn’t she say goodbye?

Why didn’t she fight?

He scrambled to his feet, the panic blooming now, full and hot. He grabbed his phone off the counter, fingers clumsy and useless as he tried to call her.

Straight to voicemail.

He called again.

And again.

“Pick up… please just pick up,” he muttered through clenched teeth.

He sent a text, hands barely able to tap the screen.

Please call me. Just tell me where you are.

No reply. Message not sent.

He checked her location. Disabled.

He stared blankly at the screen before letting the phone fall back to the counter with a dull thud.

For a long moment, he just stood there, hands braced against the cool marble, his shoulders heaving. Then slowly, without knowing why, he drifted into the living room and sat down hard on the couch.

The same couch where she’d curled up next to him during every away-game weekend. The one where they’d laughed until they cried watching that dumb baking competition. The one where they’d talked about getting a dog, about moving closer to her sister, about how the off-season might finally give them some time to just be.

Now it was just a piece of furniture in a house that felt cavernous and cold.

He pressed the heel of his hands into his eyes, but the tears came anyway.

“Angel…” he whispered, her name trembling in his mouth. “Please… please come back.”

No answer.

Only the silence—and the sound of something inside him breaking wide open.

.·:¨༺༻¨:·..·:¨༺༻¨:·.

The plane touched down with a low, trembling bump, the wheels kissing the runway before rolling into a smooth glide. Angel’s breath caught in her throat.

Her fingers gripped the armrests on either side of her seat, knuckles pale against the worn leather. Around her, passengers stirred—seatbelts clicked open, overhead bins creaked as people stood and stretched—but Angel stayed still, locked in place as the cabin buzzed with quiet anticipation.

The engines hummed beneath her feet, grounding and unreal all at once.

Her heart thundered against her ribs.

She was back.

New Orleans.

Home.

It didn’t feel real yet. Nothing did.

She closed her eyes for a brief moment and exhaled, trying to steady herself. The air felt different here—denser, warmer, more familiar. A humid whisper that wrapped around her lungs like an old song she hadn’t heard in years. The plane eased toward the gate, slowing to a stop, and the seatbelt light blinked off with a soft chime.

People filed into the aisle.

She stood on autopilot, retrieving her carry-on from the overhead compartment, fingers brushing the worn leather strap like a ritual. Her steps down the jet bridge were slow, uncertain, as if each one carried the weight of everything she’d left behind.

And everything she wasn’t ready to face.

The terminal opened up before her in a wash of fluorescent light and familiar sounds—the rhythmic roll of luggage wheels, flight announcements drifting overhead, the distant hiss of espresso machines from the café near baggage claim.

But it wasn’t the noise or the setting that made her stomach flip.

It was the sight of her.

Monica.

Standing just beyond the security barrier, scanning the incoming crowd with that steady, searching gaze Angel had known since middle school. She hadn’t changed—not in the ways that mattered. Her expression was calm, but there was a storm behind her eyes, the kind of concern she didn’t bother hiding.

And when their eyes finally met—

Angel broke.

She didn’t wait.

Her carry-on nearly slipped from her hand as she began to run—fast, ungraceful, the way a child does when they spot their mother at the end of a long day. Everything inside her surged forward at once. The anger. The heartbreak. The exhaustion.

The hope.

She crashed into Monica’s arms, hard and sudden, like a wave breaking on the shore. And Monica caught her—no hesitation, no questions—just opened her arms and held her tightly, like she’d been waiting to do it since the moment Angel left.

That was all it took.

The tears Angel had forced down on the plane, in the Uber, at the gate—they spilled free, hot and wild, soaking into Monica’s hoodie as she clung to her like a lifeline.

Her sobs came in waves, raw and wordless, her chest heaving with every breath she tried to take.

Monica didn’t flinch.

She just held her.

“It’s okay,” she whispered softly, her voice as sure and quiet as ever. “You’re okay. I’m here.”

Angel nodded against her shoulder, unable to speak yet, her body trembling from the effort of finally letting go. There was something sacred in that moment—in the way Monica didn’t rush her, didn’t press for answers. She just held her.

When Angel finally pulled back, her face blotchy and streaked with tears, Monica didn’t comment. She just reached for her bag, slinging it over her own shoulder with one hand, the other slipping gently into Angel’s.

“Let’s get you home,” she said, voice low but warm. “You’re safe now.”

Angel nodded again, still unsteady but no longer alone.

The weight hadn’t vanished. But somehow, it was lighter with Monica beside her.

She wasn’t okay.

Not yet.

But for the first time in days, she believed she could be.

.·:¨༺༻¨:·..·:¨༺༻¨:·.

The late afternoon sun hung low over the skyline, casting long, jagged shadows across the pavement as Joe turned into the familiar curve of his parents’ driveway. The truck rolled to a slow stop, gravel crunching beneath the tires. He didn’t move at first. Just sat there, hands clenched around the steering wheel, knuckles bleached white under the pressure.

His heart pounded with a rhythm that didn’t match the stillness around him.

It felt like the entire day had been building to this—like everything inside him had been stacked and shoved into a corner, waiting for the right moment to collapse.

And this was it.

He took a breath, then another, but they didn’t help. The ache in his chest had grown louder by the hour, spreading into every inch of him, dull and sharp all at once.

He wasn’t even sure how he’d ended up here. The drive was a blur—just roads and stoplights and the echo of Angel’s empty side of the house stretching on and on inside his head.

Joe opened the truck door slowly, stepping out into the fading gold of the day.

The front door of the house was already open.

Robin stood in the threshold, waiting.

She didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at him—really looked at him—with that mother’s instinct that always knew when something was wrong long before anyone said it out loud. Her eyes, normally bright and quick with warmth, were heavy now, her brow drawn in quiet worry.

“Joe,” she said gently, stepping onto the porch as he climbed the last step.

He didn’t speak.

Couldn’t.

His throat had gone too tight.

Robin’s voice dropped even softer. “Come on inside, sweetheart.”

He nodded, jaw clenched hard enough to ache, and followed her into the house.

It smelled like it always did—lemon-scented cleaner, roasted something from earlier in the afternoon—but the usual comfort didn’t reach him. The house felt different today. Too quiet. Like even the walls were holding their breath.

Jimmy stepped out from the kitchen, still drying his hands on a dish towel. His footsteps slowed as soon as he saw Joe’s face.

“Hey, son,” he said, voice careful, eyes narrowing as they studied him. “What’s going on?”

Joe tried to answer. He really did. But the words caught on something sharp inside him and refused to come out.

He moved past them both, toward the living room. Every step felt heavier than the last.

When he reached the couch, he dropped onto it like the weight of everything had finally won. His hands came up to his face, elbows on his knees, and the first ragged breath tore free from his chest.

Then another.

And another.

And then he broke.

The sobs came hard and sudden, a violent release of everything he’d spent the day trying to contain. They rolled through him in waves—raw, gut-deep sounds that twisted his body and wracked his shoulders. His chest heaved, heart pounding against ribs that felt too small to hold all the pain.

Robin sat beside him without a word.

She didn’t ask what had happened.

She didn’t press him to explain.

She just reached out and laid a hand gently on his back, steady and warm, rubbing slow circles as he shook under the weight of it all.

Jimmy stood nearby, still silent. A steady presence. The kind of presence that didn’t demand anything, only offered a quiet strength, a tether to hold onto while the storm raged.

Joe had cried before.

But not like this.

Not with that kind of devastation. Not with that deep, howling grief that only comes when you realize something might be lost for good.

Angel was gone.

And he hadn’t stopped her.

All the words they hadn’t said. All the things he should’ve noticed. The way she’d looked at him lately, like she was slowly slipping out of reach.

He buried his face deeper into his palms, wishing he could go back, wishing he could find her, fix it, fix everything.

But there was no do-over now. No game clock to reset.

Just the silence.

And the arms of the two people who had known him long before the world did—holding him not as a quarterback, not as some rising star, but as a son.

As a boy who, in this moment, was broken.

And after a long moment, he spoke.

“She’s gone.”

.·:¨༺༻¨:·..·:¨༺༻¨:·.

Angel sank deeper into the threadbare couch cushions of Monica’s apartment, the soft hum of the old air conditioner mingling with the distant sounds of traffic outside. The living room was cluttered with mismatched pillows and half-empty coffee mugs, a cozy mess that felt worlds away from the sterile quiet of her own place.

Monica flicked the TV remote with practiced ease, settling on a trashy reality show full of loud arguments and manufactured drama. The bright colors and exaggerated voices filled the room like a protective noise—something to distract from the silence that hung heavy between them.

Angel’s fingers twined nervously in the hem of her sweatshirt. She hadn’t told Monica what had happened with Joe—not the fight, not the note, not the unraveling that had brought her here. And Monica hadn’t asked.

She knew better.

They’d always understood each other that way—the unspoken rule that some things weren’t forced, that space was sometimes the kindest gift.

“So,” Monica said casually, glancing over with a small smile. “Still can’t believe people actually get paid to argue on TV like that.”

Angel let out a soft, humorless chuckle. “It’s like watching a car crash in slow motion. You want to look away, but you can’t.”

Monica laughed quietly, turning her gaze back to the screen. “Exactly. Honestly, it’s probably better than dealing with real life right now.”

Angel’s eyes flicked toward her friend, grateful for the gentle deflection. She shifted on the couch, feeling the weight of everything she hadn’t said settle a little heavier in her chest.

But for now, this was enough. The low buzz of the TV, the steady presence of Monica beside her, the safe space to just be without explanations or expectations.

Angel reached for the popcorn bowl between them and offered Monica a handful, the small gesture speaking volumes.

Monica caught it with a grin. “I’m ready whenever you are.”

Angel nodded, the simple words a balm she hadn’t realized she needed.

And maybe, just maybe, healing could start here—in the quiet moments, with nothing more complicated than reality TV and friendship.

.·:¨༺༻¨:·..·:¨༺༻¨:·.

The glow of the TV cast flickering shadows across the worn couch where Angel and Monica sat, the reality show still blaring in the background, but neither really watching. Angel’s fingers toyed with the hem of her sleeve, her gaze fixed somewhere beyond the screen.

Monica glanced over, her expression soft and patient, waiting without pressing. She knew when Angel was ready, she’d say what needed to be said. No rush. No pressure.

After what felt like hours of silence filled only by the show’s manufactured drama, Angel’s voice finally broke through the quiet. “Monica…”

Monica turned fully, offering a gentle smile. “Yeah?”

Angel swallowed hard, eyes shimmering. “I need to tell you what happened with Joe.”

Monica nodded, her whole demeanor open and steady. “I’m here.”

Angel took a shaky breath, the weight of the memories pressing down on her chest. She folded her hands tightly in her lap, searching for the right place to start.

“It all came to a head one night,” she began, voice low but raw. “We were in the kitchen… and it just blew up.”

Her mind replayed the scene like a painful movie in slow motion.

“You’re not hearing me, Joe,” Angel had said, leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, voice tight with frustration.

Joe was at the stove, stirring something absentmindedly, clearly distracted.

“I heard you.”

“No, you didn’t,” she’d shot back sharply. “You heard what you wanted to hear. That’s different.”

He’d turned to face her then, irritation flickering across his face like a shadow.

“Angel, I’ve had a long-ass day, and I’m not trying to pick a fight.”

She laughed, bitter and disbelieving.

“I’m not trying to pick a fight either. I’m trying to have a conversation. But apparently, if it’s not something you want to talk about, then I’m just ‘nagging,’ right?”

Joe flinched, jaw tightening.

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

The silence between them had crackled, tense and dangerous. Joe ran a hand over his face, turning back to the stove—now forgotten, rice probably burning.

Angel stepped forward, voice barely a whisper but fierce.

“Do you even want me here?”

His head snapped toward her, stunned.

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah.” Her voice cracked slightly. “Because it sure as hell doesn’t feel like it lately.”

Joe stared, eyes wide.

“That’s not fair.”

“What’s not fair is uprooting my entire life to be here and feeling like I walked into a damn wall.”

“That’s not what this is.”

“Then what is it?” she demanded, voice rising.

Joe opened his mouth, closed it again. He didn’t know how to explain the pressure—his stress, the shift from long-distance dreams to suffocating reality.

“Maybe we weren’t ready,” he said finally, quietly.

Angel’s face went still.

“Wow.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said quickly, stepping toward her.

“No.” She backed up, blinking fast. “You meant it. And you might be right.”

Joe froze. That wasn’t what he wanted. But the damage was done.

Angel’s voice faltered as she spoke the words Monica now heard in the quiet living room. “That was the moment everything broke.”

Her eyes glistened, tears slipping down her cheeks despite her best effort to hold them back.

“I stood there, feeling the rage and heartbreak swirl inside me. Joe… he looked at me like he was tired of me, like I was some obligation instead of the person he said he loved.”

Her voice cracked as she continued. “He said he felt like he was suffocating in his own house. Like I was making everything about me.”

Monica reached out, gently squeezing Angel’s hand, her presence a steady anchor.

Angel sniffled, wiping her face with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. “I told him I left my whole life behind for him. I gave up everything, and he said… he said I was in his way.”

She paused, breath catching in her throat. “Then I left. I grabbed my keys and just… slammed the door. I didn’t want to lose him. I love him with my whole being. But I don’t know how we go back to what we were—or if there even is a ‘we’ anymore.”

Her shoulders shook with fresh tears, the weight of everything spilling over.

Monica’s voice was soft but unwavering. “You don’t have to figure it all out right now. Just know you’re not alone.”

Angel looked up, the flickering TV light reflecting in her tear-filled eyes. “I’m scared, Mon.”

Monica pulled her into a hug, the noise of the show fading away as she whispered, “Me too. But we’ll take it one day at a time.”

And in that quiet moment, with the world still messy and uncertain, Angel let herself believe maybe, just maybe, there was hope left.

.·:¨༺༻¨:·..·:¨༺༻¨:·.

The late afternoon sun filtered through the half-open blinds, casting long shadows across the worn carpet of Joe’s parents’ living room. The quiet hum of the house felt oddly foreign—too still, too empty.

Joe slumped onto the couch, his body heavy with exhaustion and grief. His hands trembled as he buried his face deep into the cushions, trying to hold back a sob that shook his whole frame.

Robin sat beside him, her hand resting gently on his back. Jimmy stood nearby, arms crossed but eyes soft, waiting silently for Joe to find the words.

After what felt like an eternity, Joe finally looked up, bloodshot eyes locking onto his mother’s concerned face. “She’s gone.”

The words fell between them like a stone hitting glass.

Robin’s breath hitched, and Jimmy’s jaw clenched.

“She left,” Joe said, voice cracking. “I don’t know where she is. She just… left.”

His parents exchanged a look—equal parts sympathy and heartbreak.

“I thought we could get through it,” Joe whispered, swallowing hard. “I thought we were gonna be okay.”

But the weight of reality crushed him. The fight, the silence that followed, the slammed door—it all echoed like a thunderclap inside his chest.

“I messed it up,” Joe admitted, voice barely audible. “I let everything else—practice, pressure, expectations—take over. And I didn’t see how much she was hurting. Or maybe I didn’t want to see it.”

Robin reached over, taking Joe’s shaking hand in hers. “You love her, Joe. That’s clear.”

Jimmy stepped closer, voice steady but firm. “Now, you have to figure out what comes next.”

Joe closed his eyes, tears spilling freely down his cheeks. For the first time, he allowed himself to break—completely and utterly.

“She just left,” he said, voice cracking, “without a word, without trying. Like all the time we spent… the life we're creating, none of it mattered.”

He swallowed hard, the bitterness rising in his throat. “I don’t understand how she could walk away without even fighting for us. For me.” The hurt was raw, but underneath it simmered something colder—betrayal.

“I thought… I thought we could work through anything. That she’d want to try.” His hands clenched into fists, knuckles white. “But she didn’t. She just… left. And that— that’s what’s killing me.”

Robin reached over, her hand trembling as she gently touched his arm. “Joe, it’s okay to feel lost. It’s okay to be angry.”

Jimmy nodded silently, stepping closer. “You don’t have to figure this out right now.”

Joe shook his head, tears brimming but refusing to fall. “I don’t know what to do. I want her back, but… I don’t know if I can trust that she even wants that. How can someone just leave everything behind? Like I’m not even worth fighting for.”

His voice faltered as the weight of his confusion and pain crushed him. He buried his face in his hands, shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

For the first time, Joe felt utterly alone—no plays to run, no drills to focus on—just the suffocating ache of a love unraveling and the terrifying uncertainty of what, if anything, might come next.

Joe sat slumped on the faded couch in his parents’ living room, the late afternoon sun casting long, slow-moving shadows that stretched across the floor like time itself was dragging. The house felt both familiar and foreign—a place where every corner held memories of better days, yet now seemed consumed by silence.

His fingers fidgeted, restless and trembling, tracing invisible patterns on the fabric of the couch cushion. His mind raced, spiraling deeper into the chaos he barely understood. She’s gone. The words echoed relentlessly in his head, pounding with the force of a crushing blow.

He thought of the fight—the angry words, the slammed door, the cold absence that followed. He replayed every line in his head, searching for where it had all fallen apart. “I don’t know what to do,” he whispered, voice raw and strained, as if saying it aloud might make the truth hit harder.

Joe’s chest tightened with a mix of hurt and disbelief. How could she just walk away? The anger flickered beneath the surface—anger not just at Angel but at himself. At the way he’d let the pressure of football, the grind of practices and meetings, consume him so completely that he failed to see the cracks forming in the life they’d tried to build.

He hated the thought that maybe she’d felt alone even while living under the same roof. That maybe his exhaustion, his distracted silences, his inability to be present had pushed her away.

But even deeper than the hurt was the sting of betrayal. No fight. No plea. No sign that she wanted to hold on. Just silence and an empty space where she used to be.

His mind flashed to their last moments—the coldness in his voice, the frustration on her face, the way she looked like she was slipping through his fingers. The finality in the slam of the door haunted him. It wasn’t just that she left—it was how easily she did it, like everything they’d shared could be folded up and discarded.

He felt torn between rage and sorrow, between wishing he could scream at her to stay and begging the universe to undo what had already happened.

Joe’s throat burned as he swallowed back the lump that threatened to choke him. I love her. I love her so much it hurts. But what if that’s not enough? The thought shattered something inside him.

He wasn’t sure if the love they had was strong enough to survive the distance growing between them, the unspoken resentments piling up like rubble. The sacrifices, the broken promises, the quiet loneliness—were those the real enemy?

His gaze drifted to the ceiling, as if the answer might be written somewhere up there, out of reach. “I don’t know how to fix this,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t even know if it can be fixed.”

He wanted to pick up the phone, call her, hear her voice, tell her he was sorry—but even the thought felt suffocating. What if she didn’t want to talk? What if this was the end?

The silence of the room pressed in on him, thick and heavy. For once, Joe had no strategy, no game plan. No defense. Just a raw, aching vulnerability he wasn’t used to.

His parents sat quietly, their presence a steady anchor, but Joe felt like he was drowning in a storm he couldn’t navigate.

“I’m scared,” he finally said, voice cracking. “I don’t know how to be without her. And I don’t know if she even wants me to try.”

The tears he’d been holding back finally spilled over, tracing warm paths down his cheeks. He let the sobs come, the brokenness pouring out in waves.

For the first time in his life, Joe faced a silence that no training or toughness could break—a silence filled with loss, uncertainty, and the desperate hope that somehow, someway, there might still be a chance.

But deep down, he feared that hope might be the hardest thing of all to hold onto.

.·:¨༺༻¨:·..·:¨༺༻¨:·.

The quiet murmur of the TV filled the space between them. A trashy reality show flickered across the screen, forgotten almost as soon as it aired. Angel sat curled up in the corner of Monica’s couch, knees tucked against her chest, wrapped in a throw blanket that smelled faintly of lavender fabric softener and comfort.

Monica lounged beside her, legs stretched out, picking absently at a bag of popcorn. She hadn’t pushed. Not once. Not when Angel first arrived, suitcase in hand and heart in pieces. Not when she’d cried herself to sleep the first night. Not when she’d barely spoken more than ten words all day. Monica had waited, silently knowing the dam would break when it was ready.

And now, as the third episode ended and the screen cut to yet another commercial for something loud and meaningless, Angel finally spoke.

“I left without saying anything,” she murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “Just walked out.”

Monica didn’t look surprised. She only clicked the TV off, leaving the room in the soft orange glow of the setting sun leaking through the blinds.

Angel took a deep breath and began to talk—about the fight, the heat of it, the sharp words, the look in Joe’s eyes that had made her feel like a stranger in her own home. She spoke in broken phrases, piecing the memory together through clenched fists and watery eyes. Monica listened without interruption, arms folded loosely across her chest, gaze steady.

When Angel’s voice finally gave out, hoarse and small, Monica sat forward and looked her dead in the eyes.

“Do you still love him?” she asked, her voice sharp and direct in the quiet room. “Even through all your anger and pain. Is there still the butterflies? Does your heart rate pick up when you think of him?”

Angel blinked. For a second, she didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.

Because yes. God, yes.

Of course she still loved him. Of course the thought of his hand on her lower back still made her stomach flip. Of course she still dreamed of the way he used to say her name like it was something sacred. Her breath caught just thinking about the way he looked at her on their good days, like he saw the whole future in her eyes.

But love hadn’t been enough.

“I don’t know if we can come back from this,” she said finally, her voice cracking. “He hurt me, Mon.”

Monica’s voice softened but stayed rooted in truth. “Yeah, he did. But you both hurt each other. You both did it because you’re scared.”

Angel looked up at her, startled. “Scared?”

Monica nodded, firm. “You’re not those same college kids sneaking around campus during breaks, making out in the back of your beat-up Jeep. This isn’t campus. This is real life. Bills. Pressure. Expectations. Joe’s in his prime back in Cincy. You’re here, finally branching your career in broadcasting. You’re both growing—just… not always at the same pace.”

Angel turned her face toward the window, staring at the fading skyline.

Monica continued, gently now. “You miss each other. You miss what you had. But neither of you knew how to cope with that distance. So you let it turn into something ugly. You let fear speak instead of love.”

Angel’s throat closed up, her eyes blurring again. She wiped them quickly with her sleeve, like that might hide the shaking in her hands. “I didn’t want to leave,” she whispered.

“I know,” Monica said. “But you did. And maybe you needed to. Just to breathe. Just to feel like yourself again.”

Angel nodded slowly, her chest rising and falling with a long breath. “I don’t want to lose him.”

“Then don’t.”

“But what if we’re not ready?” Angel asked, her voice trembling. “What if love isn’t enough?”

Monica gave her a look that was equal parts compassion and steel. “Love is never enough on its own. But it’s a damn good place to start.”

Monica leaned in, eyes locking with hers, not an ounce of sugarcoating in her expression. “Angel. You both are so obsessed with each other. And you’re both too damn stubborn for your own good.”

Angel huffed a quiet, tear-choked laugh, because she couldn’t argue with that.

Monica continued, her voice firm but not unkind. “Joe is head over heels for you—hell, even past that. That boy worships the ground you walk on. And you’re the exact same. Don’t even try to deny it.”

Angel looked away, lips pressing together as her eyes blurred again. Her heart ached, a slow, dull throb in her chest that only intensified with the truth in Monica’s words.

“If you need the space, take it,” Monica said gently, “but don’t let your emotions—your hurt, your fear, your pride—cloud your judgment and make you walk away from something real. Something worth fighting for. You left to breathe, not to give up. So don’t confuse the two.”

Angel swallowed hard, her breath catching in her throat. Her eyes burned, her whole body aching with the weight of everything she felt—grief, guilt, longing.

She wrapped her arms tighter around herself, like she could hold the pieces together with sheer will alone. “He hurt me, Mon,” she whispered again. “He looked at me like I was… like I was the problem.”

“I know,” Monica said, her voice quieter now. “But Angel, you both hurt each other. You did it because you’re scared. Because you both love each other so damn much, it terrifies you.”

Angel closed her eyes and let that sink in. It wasn’t a simple truth, but it was a real one. Honest and raw and maddeningly inconvenient.

She loved Joe Burrow with everything she had. She always had.

But love hadn’t been simple for a long time.

Still… maybe it didn’t need to be simple to be worth saving.

Angel sat there in silence, her heart full of bruises and old promises, the echo of Joe’s voice still buried in the corners of her mind. She didn’t have the answers yet. She wasn’t even sure which questions mattered most.

But for the first time since she boarded that plane, she didn’t feel completely untethered.

And maybe—just maybe—that was a beginning.

.·:¨༺༻¨:·..·:¨༺༻¨:·.

The living room had dimmed with the setting sun, the golden hour fading into quiet gray. The weight of the day still pressed down on Joe like he’d played four quarters with no pads. His forearms rested on his knees, hands clasped in front of him, the note from Angel sitting beside him on the couch like it might start speaking if he stared hard enough.

Robin sat in the armchair across from him, her face soft but lined with concern. Jimmy had taken the spot near the fireplace, elbow resting on his knee, chin perched on his hand. They hadn’t spoken in a while—just let Joe breathe, cry, fall apart in his own time.

But now, Robin leaned forward, her voice gentle but steady.

“Joe… baby, do you love her?”

The question felt like a punch and a lifeline all at once.

Joe looked up, eyes rimmed red, voice hoarse. “Yeah. I do. I love her so much it feels like I can’t breathe.”

Robin nodded slowly, as if she already knew. “Then what are you doing sitting here like you’ve already lost her?”

Joe let out a bitter laugh. “She left. She just… left. No talk, no fight to fix it. Just keys and a note. How am I supposed to come back from that?”

Jimmy cleared his throat quietly. “Son, sometimes people walk away because they don’t know what else to do. Doesn’t mean they don’t care. Doesn’t mean they don’t want you to chase after them.”

Joe shook his head, his voice tightening. “It felt like giving up, Dad. Like she looked at what we had and decided it wasn’t worth the effort anymore.”

Robin’s expression softened. “No, honey. She was hurting. You both were. That doesn’t mean the love’s gone. Just means the pain got too loud.”

Joe sat back, scrubbing his hands over his face. “We’ve always been strong. We fought, sure—but we always came back. This time felt… different.”

“You’re not the same kids you were in college,” Jimmy said, voice low and thoughtful. “Back then, it was sneaking off and figuring out how to balance football with seeing her between classes. Now it’s bills and careers and cities pulling you in opposite directions. That kind of shift takes growing pains. It’s normal.”

Robin nodded. “You’re both building lives now. Real ones. And sometimes love has to stretch to fit around the new shapes we take.”

Joe stared at them, shoulders sagging under the weight of those words.

“She said I made her feel like she didn’t belong,” he murmured, pain leaking into every syllable. “Like she was just… in my way.”

Jimmy’s eyes narrowed slightly—not in judgment, but in fatherly realism. “Did you?”

Joe’s silence was answer enough.

“I didn’t mean to,” he said quietly. “I just… I got overwhelmed. And when I get overwhelmed, I shut down. Football's always been the one thing I could control. And when I couldn’t balance it all, I made her feel like a burden.”

“She’s not,” Robin said, her voice firm. “You know that. But Joe… you’ve gotta say it. Not just think it. Not hope she reads your mind.”

Joe looked down at the note again, his fingers brushing the edge.

Robin spoke again, more pointed now. “If you still love her—and I know you do—then don’t let your pride, or your pain, or your fear keep you from trying. You don’t get many people in your life who look at you the way she looks at you. And you sure as hell don’t get them twice.”

Joe swallowed hard, throat thick. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Start by being honest,” Jimmy said. “Not just about what you want from her. But what you’re willing to give. And what you’re willing to change.”

Robin leaned forward, resting a hand on his knee. “You’re allowed to be scared. But don’t let fear do the talking. That’s what got you both here in the first place.”

Joe sat there a long time, his parents’ words swirling around him like wind stirring dust.

Do you still love her?

God, yes. More than anything.

Then don’t let this be the end.

The silence stretched between them, soft but weighted—like the pause after a question that doesn’t have an easy answer.

Joe leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, hands laced together like he was praying. Maybe he was. He stared at the floor, at the shadows cast by the waning light through the blinds, and tried to hold himself together.

"How do I fix it," he said finally, his voice hollow, “if I don’t even know where the hell she is?”

Robin’s heart broke just a little more in the quiet way only a mother’s could. She reached for his hand, warm and solid in the midst of his unraveling.

“You start by wanting to,” she said gently.

“I do,” Joe rasped. “God, I do. But I messed up so bad, Mom. She didn’t even look back. She just left. Took her things and disappeared.”

Jimmy exhaled, steady and grounded. “She didn’t disappear, son. She went to someone she trusted. My guess? She’s with Monica.”

Joe’s eyes flicked up at that. “You think so?”

“She’d need someone who’d let her fall apart,” Robin added. “Monica’s always been that person for her.”

Joe nodded slowly, the thought offering a sliver of hope—but also a cold jab of reality. Angel was with someone else right now. Not romantically. No, he didn’t even let his mind go there. But emotionally, Monica had what Joe didn’t.

Access. Trust.

Proximity.

He sat back against the couch, rubbing a hand down his face. “Even if I find her… what do I say? I told her she made things harder. That I felt like I was suffocating in my own house. Who says that to someone they love?”

“You didn’t mean it,” Robin said softly.

“I did in the moment,” Joe admitted, ashamed. “Or at least, I thought I did. I thought she was pulling too much from me. But now I see… I was shutting her out because I didn’t know how to ask for help.”

Jimmy spoke up again, firm. “Then tell her that. If she’s with Monica, you’ve got a window. Use it. Apologize. Not with flowers, not with some grand gesture. Just words. Truth. The stuff that matters.”

Joe looked away. “And what if she doesn’t want to hear it?”

“Then you’ll know you tried,” Robin said. “But Joe—if I know anything about that girl, it’s that she doesn’t give up easy. She didn’t walk away to end things. She walked away because she couldn’t keep staying the way things were.”

Joe’s jaw clenched. The lump in his throat swelled again.

“She’s everything,” he said, almost to himself. “Even when we’re fighting. Even when she’s yelling at me across the kitchen. I still look at her and I—" he stopped himself, blinking hard. “I can’t lose her.”

“Then don’t,” Jimmy said simply.

Joe sat still, the storm inside him still raging, but now threaded with purpose. A direction.

He pulled out his phone. No texts. No calls. Her location still turned off.

But there was one number he hadn’t tried.

He glanced at his mom, then his dad. “I’m gonna call Monica.”

Robin gave him a knowing smile. “Good. Tell her what you told us. Just be real.”

Joe stood slowly, pacing a few steps before stopping at the window. The city beyond it was bathed in gold and blue and shadows. He stared out at it, heart pounding, fingers hovering over the contact.

For the first time since Angel left, he didn’t feel paralyzed.

Just scared.

But ready.

.·:¨༺༻¨:·..·:¨༺༻¨:·.

The low trill of Monica’s phone buzzed from the kitchen counter, cutting through the mindless noise of the reality show playing on the TV. Angel didn’t even flinch, curled up in the corner of the couch with a blanket pulled around her and a half-eaten bowl of popcorn in her lap.

Monica, who had been perched at the edge of the armchair, rolled her eyes at the screen. “Probably work,” she muttered, stretching as she stood. “Tell me if that crazy bat does anything else. I swear she’s gonna throw her wine at someone again.”

Angel offered the smallest smirk, her eyes still hollow but a little less empty than they had been that morning. It was progress. Small and fragile—but real.

Monica padded into the kitchen barefoot, reaching for the phone without really thinking.

Then she froze.

Joe.

His name lit up the screen like a warning flare. Her thumb hovered just above the answer button, her breath catching in her throat.

Damn it.

She peeked over her shoulder—Angel hadn’t moved. Still curled up in her storm cloud. Still hurting. Still holding everything in because that’s what Angel did when she didn’t know how to say it out loud.

Monica looked back down at the screen, the ring tone still pulsing in her palm. She’d always choose Angel—she had since freshman year. Always would.

But this wasn’t black and white. Not with Joe. Not with them.

Because she’d seen it. She’d watched them fall. Slowly, deeply, stupidly. Watched Joe make her laugh when no one else could. Watched Angel stand by him through injury, pressure, fame, distance. Watched them grow into a love so stupidly intense it terrified them both.

So yeah. Monica knew they were hurting.

But she also knew what they were capable of if they’d just stop being stubborn for five damn seconds.

She stepped quietly toward the hallway and ducked just out of Angel’s view before answering the call, voice low, careful.

“Joe?” she whispered.

There was a breath on the other end, heavy. Rough. Wrecked.

“Hey, Mon.” His voice cracked, and even in a whisper, Monica heard everything in it—guilt, longing, panic, desperation barely leashed. “She’s there, isn’t she?”

Monica leaned against the wall, eyes closing. “Yeah. She’s here.”

Another pause. “Is she okay?”

Monica looked back toward the couch where Angel sat watching two women on screen yell over someone’s ruined engagement. Her eyes weren’t focused on the drama. Not really. She looked like she was just trying to feel something.

“She’s… trying,” Monica said honestly. “She’s been quiet. She’s cried. But she’s breathing. And she’s safe.”

A long exhale from Joe, shaky and full of regret. “I don’t know what to do, Mon. I feel like I’ve already lost her. Like I handed her the last straw and then dared her to walk away.”

“She didn’t want to walk,” Monica said. “She just didn’t know how to stay anymore.”

There was silence. Then Joe whispered, “I want to talk to her. Just… talk. Please. Will you tell her?”

Monica didn’t answer immediately. She looked again at Angel—how small she looked in that oversized hoodie, how her hand clutched the blanket like it was the only thing holding her together.

“I’ll tell her,” Monica said finally. “But Joe…”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t say anything unless it’s real. Don’t try to fix it with promises you can’t keep. If you’re gonna ask her to come back into this with you, it better be with both feet in.”

Joe’s voice came back steadier this time. “It will be. All of it. I swear.”

Monica nodded once, even though he couldn’t see it. “I’ll let her know.”

Joe didn’t respond right away, and Monica could hear the sharp inhale through the line, like he was bracing for more. She gave it to him.

“Listen,” she said, her voice still low, firm. “If you’ve got something to say to her, it needs to be in person. Not over the phone. Not a text. No long-ass apology paragraph you copy-pasted from a Notes app. You need to man up, Joe.”

His breath hitched, almost like he’d been expecting that slap.

“Yeah,” he said, after a beat. “Yeah, okay. I get it.”

“No,” she snapped. “Don’t just say you get it. Feel it. You don’t get to hide behind a screen and make this easier on yourself. If you really want to fix this—if you actually want to show up—you need to do it with your whole chest. Eyes forward, no flinching. And that means in person.”

Joe swallowed hard. “Okay. I will. I want to.”

“Good,” Monica said. “Because anything less than that, and you’re wasting her time. And mine.”

Then her voice dropped a little, a softer edge slipping in.

“But Joe,” she added, “you also need to give her space. Give yourself some too. Neither of you can think straight right now. You’re both raw and bleeding, and if you come charging in before the wound closes even a little, all you’re going to do is rip it wider.”

Joe was quiet.

“I know,” he said at last, the words cracked and honest. “I just… I miss her.”

Monica closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the ache behind those words.

“She misses you too,” she said, gentler now. “But you need to give her the time to figure out if she can miss you and still protect herself. She loves you. That’s not the problem. The problem is whether love is enough to make her stay.”

There was silence on the other end of the line—long and heavy. Then, finally:

“Thank you, Mon.”

She let out a sigh. “You’re lucky I like you, Burrow.”

A faint laugh. Weak. Tired. But it was there.

“I’ll be in touch,” she said. “Just… let me handle this, okay?”

“I will.”

Monica ended the call and stood there for a long second, her thumb still resting on the screen, heart pounding in her chest.

Then she turned and looked back toward the living room—where Angel was still curled up, staring through the television like it might offer her answers she couldn’t find in her own head.

Time.

They both needed it.

But eventually, they’d have to decide whether what they had was something worth saving—or something they had to learn how to let go.

And Monica, ever the blunt one, just hoped they didn’t wait too long.

Then she took a deep breath, pushed off the wall, and walked back toward the living room, unsure how to break the news, but knowing she couldn’t keep it from Angel.

.·:¨༺༻¨:·..·:¨༺༻¨:·.

Joe stood in the kitchen doorway long after the call ended, the screen on his phone gone dark, his fingers still curled around it like it might ring again. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

Just breathed.

It felt like the first real breath he’d taken all day.

Robin watched him from where she stood near the counter, drying a coffee mug she hadn’t even used. The silence between them was soft, lived-in. But she could feel the heaviness clinging to him, the way it had since he walked in earlier looking like someone had carved out a piece of his chest.

She placed the towel on the counter and stepped toward him, reaching out to brush his arm gently.

“You don’t have to go back tonight, sweetheart,” she said. “You can stay here.”

Joe blinked, like he hadn’t even considered that. His throat bobbed as he nodded slowly, grateful. “Thanks, Mom.”

“You don’t need to be alone right now,” she added gently. “No one should be alone when they’re trying to carry that much.”

Joe let out a shaky breath and leaned against the kitchen island, rubbing a hand down his face.

“I feel like I keep going over it in my head, you know?” he said quietly. “What I said. What she said. Where we went wrong. And I keep thinking… if I’d just stopped and listened, really listened, maybe we wouldn’t be here.”

Robin gave him a sad smile, her heart tugging painfully. “Hindsight’s always perfect. But baby… the only way forward now is through. You can’t change what happened. You can only decide who you want to be now.”

Joe nodded, eyes glassy again. “I just don’t know if I can fix it.”

“Maybe not alone,” she said. “But if she still loves you—and I know she does—you’ll both find a way. When you’re ready.”

Then, in that way only mothers can shift grief into comfort, she turned toward the fridge.

“I’m making Snickers salad.”

Joe looked up, confused. “Seriously?”

Robin was already pulling out the Cool Whip and green apples. “You think I don’t know what my kids need when they’re heartbroken? This stuff fixed your middle school breakup with Kennedy Stevens in one bite. You cried for, what—ten minutes?”

Joe let out a choked laugh, rubbing his eyes. “That’s because I was twelve and thought holding hands meant marriage.”

Robin grinned. “Exactly. This time, it might take two bowls.”

Jimmy wandered in, raising an eyebrow. “Snickers salad? Is it that bad?”

Robin gave him a look. “You heard him sobbing in the living room, didn’t you?”

Jimmy held up his hands in surrender. “Fair.”

Joe lowered himself into a chair at the kitchen table, resting his elbows on the wood, watching as his mom chopped apples with practiced efficiency. There was something grounding about it. The smell of caramel and cream, the quiet shuffle of her movements, the subtle rhythm of home.

He knew Robin loved Angel like her own. She hadn’t said it outright, but he’d seen it in the way she hugged her, the way she kept her favorite tea in the cabinet, how she always asked about Angel’s work first before even mentioning the Bengals.

Seeing them both hurt—just a day apart—had to be killing her.

And yet, she didn’t push. Didn’t lecture. She just showed up.

Joe dropped his head into his hands again, but this time, not out of despair.

He was just tired.

Tired and still raw. But the edges of the ache were dulling, the fog of panic lifting. Just enough to remember who he was. And who Angel had always believed he could be.

Whatever came next, he would face it.

But tonight… tonight he would eat Snickers salad with his parents and let himself breathe in a house that still felt like a beginning.

.·:¨༺༻¨:·..·:¨༺༻¨:·.

The room was dark, save for the soft blue glow of Angel’s phone screen. Monica’s quiet, even breaths filled the space beside her, the gentle rhythm of someone deep in sleep. But Angel couldn’t follow her there.

She lay flat on her back, eyes open, her heart an exhausted thud against her ribs. The blanket was pulled up to her chest, the fabric too warm and yet never enough. Her thumb hovered over the screen before she finally gave in and opened her photo gallery.

There they were.

She didn’t have to search for them. They lived at the top of every album—favorites, recents, memories. Joe, always Joe. Smiling. Sleeping. Sweaty from practice. Half-awake in the morning with bedhead and a crooked grin. Arms wrapped around her. Head buried in her shoulder. Kissing her forehead. Dipping her during a friend’s wedding reception, laughing like they were drunk on love instead of champagne.

Angel’s chest clenched.

Her thumb scrolled through time. LSU. The draft. Their weekend getaways. Christmas. That one New Year’s Eve when they missed the countdown because they were too busy slow-dancing in the kitchen. All of it preserved in pixels. All of it feeling like a dream now—one she couldn’t wake back into.

She paused on one photo in particular. Taken at sunset on a pier in Destin, her cheeks sun-kissed, his curls wind-tousled. His arms were around her waist, her hands gripping his shirt like he was the only real thing in the world.

God.

A watery smile tugged at her lips, despite herself. The kind of smile that cracked at the edges. The kind that felt like a goodbye.

How did we get here?

Her eyes burned as she bit her lower lip, blinking rapidly against the tears that slipped free anyway. She sniffed, quiet, not wanting to wake Monica.

Why did it have to get this bad?

They had survived long distance. Media scrutiny. Schedules that pulled them in opposite directions. But this… this slow erosion of understanding, this inability to talk without turning every word into a landmine—that had broken something neither of them seemed to know how to fix.

And still.

Still.

She missed him like she’d been carved open.

She missed his stupid jokes. His steady presence. The way he’d kiss the back of her hand when he thought she was too tired to notice. The way he always knew when she needed silence or distraction. The way he held her like she was home.

She brushed her thumb over the screen like she could feel him there.

She didn’t know if they could come back from this. Maybe they were too bruised. Too stubborn. Maybe time apart would only make the distance feel more permanent.

But in that quiet moment, lying awake beside her best friend who had offered her everything without question, Angel whispered the truth aloud—just for herself.

“I still love him.”

The words hung there, fragile and raw, suspended in the dark like a prayer.

And even though no one answered, she felt something settle inside her.

Not peace. Not yet.

But maybe the beginning of clarity.

.·:¨༺༻¨:·..·:¨༺༻¨:·.

Four weeks.

Twenty-eight long, aching days.

To everyone else, life had kept moving. Practices were still held. Deadlines still loomed. Dinners were still made, traffic still crawled, games still aired on TV. But for Joe and Angel, time had lost its shape—days blurred, food tasted like nothing, and everything that had once been vibrant felt muted.

At Monica’s apartment, Angel moved like a ghost in borrowed sweats and her hair twisted up in a half-hearted bun. She tried to help around the place—folded laundry, washed dishes, made coffee—but there was a glassy look in her eyes that never quite cleared.

She answered emails for work. She joined a few Zoom calls, forced a smile. But when the camera clicked off, she shrank back into herself, curling onto the couch with her knees hugged to her chest like she could make herself smaller and smaller until the ache stopped echoing.

Monica saw it all. She didn’t push. But she watched—every forced laugh, every late-night glance at her phone when she thought no one noticed. Every time Angel blinked too long at a photo of her and Joe. She never said his name, not out loud, but it lingered in every sigh, in every silence.

Across the country, Joe was no better.

His teammates noticed first.

He missed passes in drills he usually nailed with his eyes closed. He forgot plays he’d run a thousand times. The coaches didn’t yell. They didn’t need to. The tension in Joe’s shoulders said everything.

He stayed late in the weight room, lifting like he could force the ache out of his body. Like the silence in his house wouldn’t catch up to him if he didn’t stop moving.

When he finally did go home, it was worse.

The air inside felt still, untouched. Her perfume no longer lingered in the hallway. Her toothbrush was gone from the bathroom. The mugs she always used—gone. The couch cushions didn’t have that subtle dip where she curled up with a blanket and her laptop.

He walked around the place like he was searching for something he’d lost, even though he knew exactly what was missing.

Jimmy didn’t say much—just clapped a hand on Joe’s shoulder every time he saw him. But Robin… Robin watched with a mother’s eyes. The way Joe picked at his food. The way he barely looked up from his phone. How he only smiled when she brought up LSU memories or showed him photos from his nephew’s soccer game.

He was trying. But the fight had left a scar on him that was starting to show.

One night, after dinner, Robin found him sitting alone on the back porch, hoodie pulled over his head, elbows resting on his knees. He was staring at nothing.

She didn’t say anything. Just stepped outside, sat beside him, and rubbed slow circles over his back.

Joe didn’t cry.

Not out loud.

But the slump of his shoulders, the way he leaned just slightly into her touch—it was enough.

Inside Monica’s apartment, Angel stood at the kitchen sink, staring blankly at the water pouring over her hands.

She didn’t know how long she’d been standing there.

Behind her, Monica said gently, “You know… you’re allowed to fall apart for a while. Just don’t forget how to get back up.”

Angel didn’t respond.

Didn’t have the words.

But she nodded. Just once.

Because even in the quiet, even through the hurt—they were both still trying to breathe.

.·:¨༺༻¨:·..·:¨༺༻¨:·.

It started with a text.

Monica → Robin:

“Hey. You got a second?”

It had taken a week for either of them to reach out, but the silence between them felt as heavy as the one hanging over their kids. Robin didn’t hesitate to reply.

Robin → Monica:

“Always.”

They agreed to FaceTime—no pressure, no big agenda. Just… talk.

Robin answered the call from her kitchen, still in her soft robe, cradling a mug of tea. Monica’s face appeared on the screen, backlit by Louisiana sun pouring through her window. She wore a hoodie and leggings, hair piled high, sunglasses still on even though she was indoors.

Grief had its own dress code, apparently.

They greeted each other with a warm smile and a quiet, lingering silence. Not quite a hug, but something close—something that lived in the tone of their voices and the way their eyes softened. They were each carrying pieces of two people who hadn’t figured out how to carry each other anymore.

Robin’s voice was the first to break the quiet. “She’s not eating, is she?”

Monica shook her head, the motion jostling her loose bun. “Not really sleeping either. She’s been watching that ridiculous dating show we both hate. I think it makes her feel like at least someone’s more of a mess than she is.”

Robin let out a quiet sigh. “Joe’s practically living at the facility. Comes home late, barely speaks. He’s lost weight. Jimmy made him eat half a sandwich last night, and you’d think we were asking him to bench press a truck.”

Monica took a breath, her voice softening. “She watched the Bengals-Raiders game last week. Didn’t say anything, but I saw her. She almost cheered when he threw that touchdown. Tried to hide it behind a sip of water, but I saw that smile.”

Robin’s lips curved faintly. “That’s hope. She still cares.”

They were quiet again, the only sound the distant hum of life behind each of them—Monica’s neighbor’s wind chimes, Robin’s dishwasher finishing a cycle.

“I know we can’t force anything,” Monica finally said. “But I also know they’re both still in love.”

Robin nodded, eyes misty. “She was good for him. Is. He smiled easier with her around. He let his guard down more. And she… she found a way to belong in his world without losing herself. I always admired that.”

“I told her the same thing,” Monica murmured. “They just didn’t know how to change together.���

Robin leaned closer to the screen, her voice gentle. “So maybe they need someone to remind them that change doesn’t mean failure. That what they had before isn’t the only version of love that can last.”

“Exactly.” Monica smiled. “They just need to stop being so damn stubborn.”

They shared a quiet laugh across the miles.

Monica sipped her coffee, then looked into the camera. “I’m not gonna push her before she’s ready. But… if she saw him again—really saw him—face-to-face? I think something might shift. She’s still angry. But underneath that, she’s heartbroken.”

Robin nodded. “Joe’s the same. The anger’s not at her. It’s at himself. At how it all fell apart and how he didn’t stop it.”

Another pause. Heavier now.

Monica tapped her fingers on her mug. “Maybe we start small. A memory. A message. Something familiar.”

“A photo?” Robin offered. “Or a video. Something that reminds them of who they were when it was still simple.”

Monica smirked. “I have that video of them dancing in my dorm room sophomore year. Joe in those ridiculous pajama pants, Angel in my fuzzy socks.”

Robin chuckled. “Send it. Not today. Maybe not even tomorrow. But when it feels right.”

They didn’t need a plan.

They just needed something to hold onto. Hope was enough—for now.

.·:¨༺༻¨:·..·:¨༺༻¨:·.

Jimmy pulled Joe aside after dinner.

“Son,” he said carefully, handing him a beer, “I know you’re hurting. And I know you think you have to carry it all on your own. But the thing is… you don’t.”

Joe looked up, hollow-eyed.

Jimmy leaned against the counter beside him. “Robin and I? We’ve fought. We’ve hurt each other. Hell, we nearly split once. You think staying in love is about never screwing up? Nah. It’s about what you do after. It’s about showing up when it’s hard.”

Joe stared at the label on his bottle. “I want to fix it. I just… don’t know how.”

Jimmy clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Start by being willing. When the moment comes, you’ll know. Don’t miss it.”

Later that night, Monica sent Robin a text.

Monica → Robin:

“Ready when you are.”

And with that, the bridge began to build—quietly, gently—between two people who had never stopped loving each other.

.·:¨༺༻¨:·..·:¨༺༻¨:·.

Monica sat at her kitchen table, fingers flying over the laptop keyboard as she scanned flights from Cincinnati to New Orleans. She found a nonstop departing first thing the next morning. Without hesitation, she clicked “Buy” and paid with a familiar credit card.

Her phone buzzed with a new message from Robin, but she didn’t reply yet. Instead, she opened her texts and typed out a new message to Joe, attaching the flight confirmation.

Don’t be late.

This isn’t me being your friend — although I’m friends with you both.

This is me helping two stubborn, lovesick fools.

She hit send and leaned back, watching the message deliver with a quiet satisfaction. The next step was in motion.

No more waiting.

.·:¨༺༻¨:·..·:¨༺༻¨:·.

The late afternoon sun had long since dipped below the horizon, leaving only the dim, flickering light of the television to paint the walls of the small living room in shifting shades of blue and gray. Outside, a gentle rain tapped against the windowpanes, soft and rhythmic, like a lullaby meant to soothe a restless heart. Inside, silence filled the spaces between the ticking of the clock and the occasional murmur from the TV.

Angel sat curled on the couch, wrapped in an old, oversized sweater that had once belonged to someone she didn’t talk about anymore. Her knees were drawn to her chest, arms wrapped tightly around them as though she could hold herself together by sheer will. The quiet hum of a commercial break echoed in the background, but her eyes weren’t focused on the screen. They were fixed somewhere far beyond it, somewhere lost.

Beside her, Monica sat cross-legged with her phone resting in her palm, scrolling silently. Her expression was unreadable—calm, but distracted. She glanced at Angel from time to time, noting the dark circles under her eyes, the way her fingers idly pulled at a loose thread in the sweater’s sleeve.

Minutes passed in companionable silence, broken only by the occasional shift of weight or the rustle of fabric.

Then, Monica turned her head. Her voice, when she spoke, was soft but certain.

“I’ve got some errands to run,” she said, breaking the stillness.

Angel didn’t move much—just a flicker of her eyes, the briefest nod, and a mumbled, “Okay,” without really looking up. Her voice sounded like it came from somewhere deep inside, buried under layers of weariness.

Monica stood slowly, stretching her arms overhead until her back gave a small, satisfying pop. She let out a quiet breath and looked down at her friend—her sister in everything but blood. For a moment, she didn’t move, just watched the curve of Angel’s back, the slump of her shoulders, the way the glow of the TV seemed to deepen the hollowness in her eyes.

“I won’t be long,” Monica added gently.

Angel nodded again, barely registering the words.

But Monica didn’t leave right away. She lingered, just for a beat longer, eyes narrowing slightly with quiet resolve. There was something in her gaze—a decision already made, a hope quietly nurtured. She turned, grabbed her coat from the back of the armchair, and slipped her keys from the hook by the door. As she stepped out into the chill of the evening air, a breeze caught her hair and tossed it gently across her face. She brushed it back, took a steadying breath, and headed to her car with purpose in her stride.

Because Monica wasn’t going to the store. She wasn’t picking up dry cleaning or grabbing takeout or any of the other mundane things she’d claimed. No, tonight was different.

She was driving to the airport.

The hum of tires on wet pavement filled the silence of the car, punctuated now and then by the low, steady beat of the wipers. Monica gripped the steering wheel loosely, her thoughts tumbling over one another like water over rocks. It had taken her days to make the decision—days of watching Angel drift like a ghost through the house, present but not living.

Joe had called the week before. It had been late, nearly midnight, and his voice had cracked through the receiver in that way that told her everything she needed to know before he even finished his first sentence.

“I just need to see her,” he’d said.

And Monica had known. Not because she believed in grand romantic gestures or fate or even redemption. But because she’d seen what Angel had become without him. And though their relationship had ended in heartbreak, and though there were miles of pain and silence between them now, Monica knew something else just as clearly: they hadn’t finished their story. Not yet.

She pulled into the arrivals lane of the airport, parking under the buzzing fluorescent lights. Rain tapped softly against the windshield as she checked the time, then scanned the crowd emerging from the sliding glass doors.

Monica parked at the far end of the arrivals lane, flicking on her hazard lights as she leaned forward, scanning the line of people trickling out of the terminal. Her eyes flitted from face to face, skimming past travelers juggling luggage, cradling sleepy children, or tapping furiously on their phones. Her fingers drummed against the steering wheel.

Then she saw him.

Joe.

He was the last one out—shoulders hunched beneath a thin, weather-beaten jacket, dragging a scuffed duffel bag behind him like it carried more than just clothes. He looked older. Not in the way time wears on a person, but in the way grief does. Tired. A little thinner. A little frayed around the edges. His steps were steady, but heavy, like each one had been a long time coming.

Monica leaned across the seat and pushed the door open just as he approached.

“God, you look like shit,” she said, half-laughing, half-exasperated, taking him in from head to toe. Her voice carried all the warmth of an old friend wrapped in the blunt honesty of someone who knew exactly how far he'd fallen.

Joe gave a crooked grin, voice gravelly from the long flight. “Nice to see you too, Monica.”

He slid into the passenger seat with a groan, tossing his bag into the back. For a moment, neither of them said anything. The door clicked shut. The rain still pattered gently on the windshield.

Monica turned toward him, her smirk fading into something softer. “You holding up?”

Joe leaned back against the headrest, eyes closed for a beat before he answered. “Trying.”

Monica nodded, pulling the car into drive and merging back onto the wet road. “Good. Because this isn’t gonna be easy.”

“I didn’t think it would be,” he said, voice low, eyes fixed on the streaming lights of the freeway ahead.

She glanced over at him. “Still... I didn’t expect you to actually come.”

Joe gave a slight shrug. “Neither did I. Not until last week.”

They drove in silence for a few miles, the city lights growing sparse as they left the airport behind. The air inside the car felt heavier than the rain outside. But it wasn’t uncomfortable—just full of things neither of them wanted to say yet.

Monica finally broke the quiet. “I didn’t tell her.”

Joe turned his head slightly. “Angel?”

She nodded. “Didn’t seem right. This... it has to be your move. Not mine.”

Joe exhaled slowly, his breath fogging the window. “I don’t even know what I’m going to say to her.”

“You’ll figure it out,” Monica said. “You’ve got work to do.”

That pulled the smallest of smiles from him—faint but real.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I know.”

Outside, the rain blurred the world into streaks of silver and gold, the headlights cutting through the darkness like a path ahead that neither of them could quite see the end of. But they kept going. Toward the house. Toward the unknown.

Toward her.

.·:¨༺༻¨:·..·:¨༺༻¨:·.

The car hummed low beneath them, the soft growl of the engine blending with the gentle rhythm of rain against the windshield. Monica drove with quiet focus, steering through the winding streets of New Orleans, her hands steady on the wheel. Outside, the city drifted past in a blur—misty storefronts glowing under streetlamps, puddles rippling with each passing tire, wrought-iron balconies dripping with rain.

But Joe wasn’t seeing any of it.

He sat in the passenger seat, staring ahead, but his thoughts were miles behind them—or maybe just a few blocks away, in a living room where someone he loved was waiting without knowing it. His fingers twitched against his thigh, restless and uncertain, while his chest fought to contain the storm of emotion that had been building for weeks.

The silence between them stretched for several minutes, filled only by the occasional click of the turn signal or the hiss of tires on wet pavement. Finally, Joe spoke.

His voice was low, edged with nerves he couldn’t quite hide.

“So…” He hesitated, then pressed forward. “How’s Angel? Is she okay? I mean... really okay?”

Monica didn’t answer right away. She kept her eyes on the road, as if weighing the truth before handing it to him.

“She’s holding up,” she said finally, her tone softening. “Considering everything... she’s doing the best she can.”

Joe turned his head slightly, watching her profile, searching for something in her voice.

Monica continued, her tone gentle but grounded. “You know how much she loves you, Joe. That hasn’t changed. But when she left... it wrecked her. She was holding on so tight, trying not to fall apart.”

He looked away, swallowing hard. Her words sank deep, hitting places he’d been trying not to touch. His fingers clenched in his lap.

“Does she talk about us?” he asked quietly. “About what happened?”

Monica sighed, glancing at him for a moment before returning her focus to the road.

“She does,” she said. “More than you’d think. Not every day, not out loud all the time, but I hear it—in the way she avoids certain songs, the way she still keeps your jacket hanging by the door. And the way she gets quiet whenever she walks past that one picture form that party of all of us in the hallway.”

Joe’s throat tightened. The image was almost too much. “She kept that up?”

“She couldn’t bring herself to take it down,” Monica said simply. “Even when I offered.”

He stared out the window, watching the city slip by, each passing streetlight flickering like old memories. “She’s scared, isn’t she?”

“Yes,” Monica said. “But not just scared of you. She’s scared of what it means to let herself hope again. She’s afraid that if she opens the door, she’ll get hurt all over.”

Joe ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “I don’t blame her. I was... I was a mess. I thought I was doing the right thing, stepping away. Giving her space. I thought I was protecting her from me.”

“Yeah, well,” Monica said, “sometimes the people we think we’re protecting just end up feeling abandoned.”

Joe didn’t respond right away. The weight of guilt pressed down harder now, but beneath it, something else had begun to rise—resolve.

“I just want to fix it,” he said at last, voice rough with emotion. “I don’t know how. I’m not expecting a miracle, but... I have to try. I need to try.”

Monica nodded slowly, keeping her gaze ahead.

“You will,” she said. “But you need to be patient. This isn’t about saying the right thing or making a grand gesture. She needs to see that you’re willing to fight for her. For real this time. No disappearing. No excuses.”

“I won’t,” Joe said quickly, then again, more certain: “I won’t.”

The car turned down a quieter road, the street narrowing as the houses grew closer together, porches glowing softly in the early evening gloom. The rain had lightened to a mist, casting everything in a silver haze.

Monica let the silence settle again for a moment before speaking, her voice quieter this time, almost hesitant.

“You know,” she said, “a few nights ago, I walked past her room. She didn’t hear me, but I stopped at the door.”

Joe turned to her, listening closely.

“She was sitting on her bed,” Monica went on, “just... holding her phone. Watching old videos of the two of you. You were singing—badly—and she was laughing. I don’t know how many times she’d watched it, but... she smiled. And cried. At the same time.”

Joe’s chest constricted, his breath catching in his throat.

“Really?” he asked softly.

Monica nodded. “Yeah. She still cares, Joe. More than you can imagine. But she’s also holding onto what she thought your future was going to be. That version of you two—the one with plans and promises and all those maybes that felt certain once.”

Joe stared ahead, jaw tight, but there was something new in his eyes now. Not just guilt or grief—something clearer. Determination.

“I’m not ready to give up on that future,” he said.

Monica smiled, just a little. It wasn’t pitying. It wasn’t wistful. It was the smile of someone who believed, cautiously but completely.

“Good,” she said. “Because neither is she.”

The house came into view just as the car rounded the final corner. The porch light was on. A shadow moved behind one of the living room curtains, slow and unknowing. Monica slowed the car and pulled up to the curb, cutting the engine with a quiet click.

Joe stared at the front door.

It felt like the edge of something. The pause before a leap.

“You ready?” Monica asked, her voice steady.

Joe reached for the handle but paused, his fingers hovering.

“No,” he admitted. “But I’m here.”

Monica nodded. “That’s enough. For now.”

.·:¨༺༻¨:·..·:¨༺༻¨:·.

The car eased to a stop at the curb, tires crunching softly over scattered gravel. Monica’s apartment building stood quietly in the golden haze of late afternoon, its familiar brick façade bathed in the soft glow of a sun beginning its descent. The street was calm—almost too calm, like the city itself was holding its breath.

Joe stared at the building, unmoving. His pulse thudded in his ears, loud and persistent. The air inside the car had shifted, thick with everything that hadn’t been said and everything that was about to happen. He could see the third-story window with the drawn blinds—the same apartment he hadn’t set foot in since everything had fallen apart.

Monica put the car in park and turned toward him. Her hand reached into her coat pocket, and when it emerged, she held a single, worn key. The edges were dull, the metal faded with time and use. She held it out to him—not with hesitation, but with intent.

“Here,” she said, her voice calm but edged with unmistakable seriousness. “Don’t break anything.”

Joe gave a dry, nervous chuckle, but she didn’t smile.

“I mean it,” she added. “I’m giving you both space. No interruptions. No distractions. Just time—to talk. To listen. To be honest.”

Joe took the key, his fingers curling around it slowly. It was small. Insignificant, almost. And yet it felt heavy in his palm, like it carried more than just access—it carried a test, a reckoning, a chance.

“Thanks,” he said softly, looking down at it. “For this.”

Monica didn’t reply right away. She reached over and placed her hand gently on his arm, then leaned in slightly, her expression sharpening with quiet force.

“Listen to me,” she said, her voice low. “Whatever happens in there—whatever comes up—don’t walk out that door until you’ve said what needs to be said. Until you’ve heard what she needs you to hear. Don’t run. Not again.”

Their eyes locked.

Joe nodded slowly, a knot tightening in his stomach. “Got it.”

“Say it,” she pressed. “Out loud.”

He met her gaze. “I won’t walk out. Not until we’ve faced it. All of it.”

Monica searched his face for a moment, then finally nodded. Her expression softened just a touch. “Good.”

She leaned back, pulling the keys from the ignition and slipping them into her pocket. Outside, the breeze had picked up slightly, rustling the leaves in the courtyard and sending long shadows dancing across the sidewalk.

Joe opened the door and stepped out, the key still clenched tightly in his hand. He took one last breath of the cool air, letting it settle his nerves. Behind him, the car door shut with a quiet finality.

He climbed the steps slowly, each one feeling like a heartbeat, like a countdown.

Inside that apartment was the woman he loved. The one he’d walked away from because he thought it was the right thing. The one he was about to face again—with nothing rehearsed, nothing guaranteed. Just truth. Just hope.

Just her.

.·:¨༺༻¨:·..·:¨༺༻¨:·.

Joe stepped out of Monica’s car, and the thick Louisiana heat wrapped around him like an old warning and a strange, familiar welcome all at once. The air was heavy, thick with humidity and the faint scent of magnolia and asphalt, sticky against his skin like a slow-burning ache. He pulled his hand into a fist, the cold metal of the key pressing sharply into his palm, a sharp contrast to the warm air — grounding him, reminding him that this was real.

He glanced back briefly at Monica, who sat quietly behind the wheel. Her dark eyes were steady, but her jaw was tense. The engine hummed softly, the only sound in the quiet suburban street lined with crumbling sidewalks and sagging porches. The moment stretched as he took a deep breath and forced his legs to move forward. Each step toward Monica’s apartment felt heavier than the last, as if his body was bracing for an invisible blow he wasn’t yet ready to face.

Monica didn’t say a word. She didn’t pull away or start the car right away. Instead, she sat still, her gaze fixed on Joe’s retreating figure. Her fingers drummed lightly on the steering wheel, the familiar rhythm betraying the storm inside her. Her heart thudded hard against her ribs, and when Joe disappeared inside the building, she finally exhaled — a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding — and eased her foot down onto the gas pedal.

“I trust you both,” she murmured under her breath, eyes flickering back toward the apartment window, “but I know how fragile this is.”

Inside the apartment, the world seemed to hold its breath.

Joe’s hand hesitated on the doorknob before he pushed the door open, stepping into the dim, slightly worn space that had once felt like home. The door clicked shut quietly behind him, swallowed by the stillness. His eyes immediately swept over the room, taking in every shadow and every familiar piece of furniture, until his gaze landed — and froze.

There she was.

Angel.

She sat on the sagging couch, knees drawn up beneath her, shoulders slightly hunched as if trying to disappear into herself. Her hair was piled messily on top of her head in a bun, tendrils escaping in soft waves around her face. She wore one of those oversized, faded shirts — the kind he remembered from old photographs and sleepless nights — one of his shirts, the one she used to steal.

The television flickered quietly in the background, casting shifting blue light over the room, but Angel barely noticed it. Her attention was half on her phone, scrolling absentmindedly, lost in thought.

Joe cleared his throat softly, and she didn’t look up. “Let me guess — you forgot your card again,” she said, voice casual but a little tired. “I swear, Mon, one day you’re gonna learn to put it in your—”

Her words caught in her throat the moment her eyes finally lifted and landed on him.

Joe.

For a heartbeat, time seemed to stop. Angel’s entire body went still, as if she’d been holding her breath without realizing it. Her eyes widened, blinking rapidly, like she wasn’t sure if he was real or just a ghost from the past.

“Joe...” Her voice was barely a whisper, fragile and trembling.

He didn’t move. Couldn’t. His chest rose and fell unevenly, caught somewhere between disbelief and awe, between years of memories and the sharp edge of heartbreak.

She looked just like she had in every sleepless night’s memory — the same soft, defiant beauty — and somehow, even more fragile now, wrapped in a silence that spoke volumes.

They stood across the room, two figures caught in a still frame, their eyes locked as though trying to communicate everything words had failed to express over the years. A thousand unspoken things crashed between them in the quiet.

Joe’s voice came out quieter than he intended—barely louder than the soft hum of the TV in the background. “Hi,” he whispered, his fingers nervously twisting the hem of his hoodie, as if that simple fabric held the last shred of his composure.

Angel swallowed hard, the lump in her throat heavy and thick. Her voice trembled slightly as she returned the greeting. “Hi.”

An awkward silence settled between them, pressing down like the humid Louisiana air outside—dense, uncertain, and heavy with things left unsaid.

“You can, um… you can sit if you want,” Angel said finally, nodding toward the empty cushion beside her. Her eyes flickered away, unwilling to meet his gaze fully.

Joe hesitated for a moment, then nodded, stiff and uncertain. He lowered himself onto the far edge of the couch, carefully planting as much distance between them as the threadbare cushions would allow. It wasn’t anger that kept him there, but fear—the kind that makes you hold back, afraid of reopening wounds still fresh and raw beneath the surface.

For a long stretch of time, neither spoke. The room felt oddly cavernous despite their physical closeness, the space between them filled with a silence heavy enough to crush.

Joe’s eyes roamed over Angel’s face, drinking in every detail. She looked exhausted—her eyes rimmed with pink, like she’d been fighting off sleep for days. Her lips were pressed into a tight line, a shield of strength that barely concealed the fractures beneath. Seeing her like this—so fragile yet so guarded—shattered something inside him.

Angel returned the unspoken scrutiny. His jaw was clenched tighter than usual, a faint bruise darkening the skin just beneath his eye, a souvenir from his last game. His hoodie hung loose on his frame, making him seem smaller somehow, more vulnerable than she’d remembered. There was a rawness in his eyes—a kind of pain that had no easy cure.

They were both physically present, but clearly, something inside each of them was cracked and fragile.

Still, after weeks of silence, seeing each other again—truly seeing each other—felt like finally breaking the surface after holding their breath underwater too long.

Joe opened his mouth, searching for words. “You look…” He faltered, the sentence catching in his throat like a stone.

“Tired?” Angel offered softly, a faint, bittersweet smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

He let out a quiet laugh, breathless and uneven. “Yeah. Me too.”

They shared a small nod, their eyes locking again, acknowledging the truth they both knew but hadn’t spoken aloud.

In that fragile, heavy silence, something unspoken passed between them — a quiet understanding:

They were still broken.

But they were finally in the same room.

And maybe… just maybe… that was the first step toward healing.

.·:¨༺༻¨:·..·:¨༺༻¨:·.

They sat together in the quiet, the air between them stretched so thin it trembled with every unspoken word. The soft flicker of the television cast a gentle, uneven glow across their faces, but neither of them paid any attention to the flickering images. Their world had narrowed to this room, to this fragile, suspended moment.

And then—at exactly the same instant—they both broke the silence.

“I just—”

“Can I—”

They stopped mid-sentence, their words hanging awkwardly between them like fragile glass. Despite the heaviness pressing down on their chests, a brief, almost amused flicker danced in the quiet that followed.

Joe let out a soft breath, a chuckle that rattled out of his throat unexpectedly. He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes never leaving hers. “You go first,” he said gently, voice low but steady.

Angel swallowed hard, her fingers clenched tightly in her lap as she gathered the courage to speak. Her throat tightened around the lump forming there, but she nodded, silently giving herself permission.

“Okay,” she whispered.

She took a long, trembling breath—one that seemed to carry all the weight of the past weeks—and then spoke, her voice quiet but clear.

“I’m sorry,” she began, eyes glistening but steady, locking with his. “For what I said that night. For the way I said it. For walking out without giving us a real chance to sit down and talk. I was angry. I was hurt. But more than anything… I was scared.”

She paused, swallowing hard to hold back the flood of emotion.

“I felt like I was losing you, Joe. Little by little. You were there—but you weren’t. And I didn’t know how to reach you without making everything worse. I felt like everything I did or said just pushed you further away.”

Joe stayed quiet, his expression carefully unreadable. But his eyes held her steady, as if they were the only thing keeping her from falling apart.

Angel’s voice shook as she pressed on, the vulnerability spilling through her carefully guarded walls.

“When I left my life behind to be there with you, I didn’t think it was going to be easy. I did it because I believed in us. But once I got there… I don’t know. I started feeling like I didn’t fit in. Like maybe this was your world, and I was just… taking up space in it.”

She reached up to brush her cheek, wiping away tears she could no longer hold back. Her hands trembled, and her voice cracked beneath the weight of her truth.

“I kept wondering what happened to the way we used to look at each other. What happened to the way you used to hold me like I was the only thing keeping you standing. I missed you, Joe. Even when I was sitting right next to you, I missed you.”

Her voice broke, and she turned her gaze away, ashamed at how deeply she was unraveling.

“I didn’t leave because I stopped loving you. I left because I didn’t know if you still did.”

That last confession landed between them like a heavy stone, sinking deep into the silence.

Angel dared not meet his eyes, afraid of what she might see—or what she might not.

But Joe remained still, didn’t breathe, didn’t move.

He was letting every word settle in.

Every piece of pain she’d kept buried for weeks lay bare before him now.

And in that moment, the silence grew loud—louder than anything they’d ever said.

Joe’s heart cracked clean down the middle—again.

It had already been fractured by her absence, stretched thin and fragile from the long weeks apart. But now—hearing the tremble in her voice, watching the tears trace quiet paths down her cheeks, listening to the raw honesty behind every word—he felt it shatter anew, as if the cracks reopened and splintered deeper than before.

This wasn’t the woman who had stormed out, angry and guarded. This was the woman he loved, laid bare and broken open in front of him, every ounce of hurt exposed and vulnerable, stripped of any armor.

The lump in his throat tightened, a vise that squeezed until it felt hard to breathe. He swallowed hard, fighting to keep steady. Then he cleared his throat—a rough, quiet sound—buying himself a precious moment before he trusted himself to speak.

“I’m sorry too,” Joe said, voice raw and uneven. “I’m sorry for what I said that night. For how I said it. I was an asshole. I didn’t mean to be… but I was.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, hands hanging loosely between them. For a moment, he stared down at the worn carpet, gathering his thoughts. Then, slowly, he lifted his eyes back to meet hers.

“I didn’t know how to handle what I was feeling. Everything started moving so fast—training, the season, expectations—and I didn’t know how to slow down. Didn’t know how to talk to you the way I should have. I let the pressure eat at me, and I took it out on you. I let the silence stretch between us because it felt easier than admitting I didn’t have it all together.”

He exhaled, the breath shaky but determined, and kept going.

“You came there for me. You left everything behind to try and build a life with me, and instead of making room for you, I shut you out. I stopped really seeing you. And then I made you feel like you were the one asking too much, just for wanting to be seen. That’s on me.”

Angel didn’t speak. She just watched him, tears falling again—this time slower, gentler, as if the rawness between them was finally softening.

“I never stopped loving you, Angel,” Joe said, his voice thick with emotion. “Not for a second. Even when we fought. Even when the door slammed and the house went quiet, I loved you. I was just too damn scared to admit I was losing you… until you were already gone.”

He wiped at his face, unconcerned by the crack in his voice when he added, “This past month without you? It’s been the worst stretch of my life. Every room I walk into feels wrong. Every win feels empty. I’ve been sleepwalking through everything because I don’t know how to do any of it without you. And honestly? I don’t want to.”

Angel let out a soft, hitched breath, the weight of his confession settling in.

Joe leaned back slightly, his gaze still locked onto hers—soft but burning with every truth he’d kept locked inside until now.

“I don’t want space between us. I don’t want silence. I want to figure this out—really figure it out. No more pretending everything’s fine when it’s not. No more pulling away.”

A long, fragile moment stretched between them.

Two people sitting at opposite ends of a couch, yet now their hearts lay bare—stripped down to nothing but truth, pain, and hope.

He added, quieter this time, almost a whisper, “I just want you, Angel. Still. Always.”

And in that fragile stillness, something began to shift—not just between them, but inside them both.

The beginning of repair.

The beginning of maybe.

Angel’s eyes shimmered with tears, the kind that made her world seem both clearer and heavier at the same time. She looked at Joe, her voice barely more than a fragile breath carried on the humid Louisiana air that had somehow crept inside the apartment.

“How do we fix this, Joe?” she whispered, the question trembling beneath the weight of everything they’d just revealed—the pain, the loss, the silent months stretched thin between them.

Joe met her gaze without flinching. There was a rawness there too, etched deep into his face, the kind you don’t hide even when you want to. He could see the softness beneath her tears, the scared look in her eyes that belied the fierce strength he’d always admired. They were both worn down, scraped raw by the battle they’d fought together and apart. Yet, somehow, here they still were—two broken people sitting on the same couch, still reaching through the ruin.

He swallowed hard, the familiar tightness knotting in his throat. Slowly, carefully, he leaned forward—not enough to cross the line, but close enough to close some of the distance between them.

“We start small,” Joe said quietly, voice low and steady, as if planting a seed in the silence. “We talk. We don’t let the silence win anymore.”

His eyes searched hers, seeking that flicker of hope, that tiny spark they’d both been starving for.

“We give each other grace,” he continued, “time. And honesty. Even when it’s messy. Especially when it’s messy.”

Angel’s shoulders relaxed just a fraction. She nodded slowly, the motion subtle but meaningful—as if her heart was finally catching up to the words he spoke.

Joe’s voice softened further, almost a whisper now, yet filled with fierce conviction. “I don’t want the version of us that pretended everything was fine. I want this—the real, hard, honest part. The version of us that fights for each other, not with each other.”

She blinked hard, a fresh tear escaping and tracing a glistening path down her cheek, but she didn’t look away. Instead, she let her vulnerability hang in the air between them.

“And if we mess up again?” she asked quietly, voice breaking just slightly, raw and open.

Joe’s lips curved into a faint, sad smile—a smile that held regret and resolve all at once. He reached out instinctively but stopped himself, his hand hovering, unwilling to push too hard, too fast.

“Then we mess up,” he said gently. “But we don’t run. We don’t shut down. We stay. Even when it’s uncomfortable. Even when it’s hard.”

For a long moment, they simply sat there. The hum of the television, forgotten, filled the quiet room with a gentle rhythm. Their eyes held everything—grief, guilt, love—and something new, something fragile but undeniably real: hope.

Angel shifted, wiping under her eyes with the back of her hand, her voice dropping to a whisper.

“I still love you, you know,” she admitted, each word carefully measured but honest. “Even when I was gone. Even when I was mad. I never stopped.”

Joe’s breath caught, a sudden hitch breaking through the tight control he’d held onto all night. He nodded once, fiercely.

“I never did either,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, but the weight behind it filled the room.

For a moment, neither moved. It was as if the world had paused, giving them this brief reprieve from the chaos outside, from the pain they’d been carrying alone for so long.

Joe’s hands twisted together in his lap, the knuckles paling to a sharp white as his fingers clenched like they were holding on to the last threads of something fragile. His breath came in shallow, uneven pulls, barely steady enough to carry the words he was about to say. The silence around them seemed to press in, thick and unyielding, threatening to swallow the soft sound before it even surfaced.

When his voice finally emerged, it was almost a whisper—so delicate it might have been mistaken for the wind shifting through the cracked-open window. Fragile, cracked open, and raw.

“Do… do you still want us?”

He paused, waiting, as if the answer might shatter him—or save him.

“Do you still love me?” his voice cracked.

The question hung between them, weighty and vulnerable. Angel’s chest clenched painfully, her breath catching so sharply it felt like a blade slicing through her ribs, cutting through every doubt she’d tried to bury.

She’d seen Joe in the heat of battle—the roaring stadium, the sweat and blood on his skin, bruised and battered after a hard tackle. She’d seen him fierce, sure, unbreakable under the glaring lights and deafening crowd. But this—this was something else entirely.

This was Joe looking small. Vulnerable. Wrecked.

His eyes, wide and glistening, locked on hers as if her answer might decide whether he could even draw another breath.

And that shattered her. Her voice cracked, raw and trembling before the words even found their way out. “I never stopped,” she whispered, the confession a fragile thread stretched tight between them.

Joe’s eyes flickered—something fragile, maybe hope, maybe disbelief—but whatever it was, it shone there, fragile and tentative.

Angel leaned forward, just a fraction, her gaze steady and unwavering, pouring everything she had into the moment. “I don’t think I could stop loving you, Joe. Not now. Not ever. I don’t know how to stop.”

The tears they’d both fought so hard to hold back finally slipped free—rolling silently down their cheeks. But neither looked away. This time, there was no shame in the tears. Only truth. “I hate what happened between us,” she whispered, her voice breaking under the weight of memories. She shook her head, the movement slow and mournful. “But even at my angriest… even when it felt like we were falling apart, I still went to sleep missing you. I still loved you.”

Joe didn’t say a word. He only nodded—slowly, desperately—like he was trying to soak in every syllable, pressing her words deep into his skin, letting them be the balm over wounds he hadn’t known how to heal on his own. And then, almost without thinking, without needing permission, his hand moved forward. Just enough for his fingers to brush the back of her hand—tentative, searching.

It wasn’t an apology.

It wasn’t a solution.

It was a promise.

And Angel didn’t pull away.

Joe finally broke the silence. “Maybe we start by… just being here. Together. No pressure. No expectations. Just us, in this moment.”

Angel smiled, a small, tired smile, but one that reached her eyes. “I’d like that.”

Outside, the humid Louisiana night pressed against the windows, but inside, something softer took root—a fragile promise, whispered between two people daring to hope again.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for the @corrodedcoffinfest Somewhere Over the Rainbow pop-up event.

born to run

Prompt: Red | Song: All Too Well by Taylor Swift | Word Count: 1978 | Rating: T | POV: Eddie | CW: Self Isolation, Language | Tags: Post S4, Eddie Munson Lives, But He's Isolated, And Steve's Having None of It, Good Uncle Wayne Munson, Getting Together, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, Lots of Springsteen References

'cause there we are again on that little town street, you almost ran the red 'cause you were lookin' over at me

The criminal case had fizzled into nothingness, dismissed before it began with some strings pulled from places higher than Eddie will ever understand. Of course, the court of public opinion has been less forgiving. Eddie's not surprised, not at all. It's always that way for guys like him. 

Different. Weird. Freak.

Guilty.

Even if he's not.

He still feels trapped, caged, locked up. Like he can't leave the house. And as someone who wants to run by nature, that's been torture. 

At the new house, the backyard is fenced, and that's Eddie's prison yard. He walks the fenceline, pacing in a big circle, the only energy outlet he has. Just a never-ending loop, wearing a path into the grass. Alone with his thoughts.

Unless he isn't. He hears footsteps brushing through the leaves, and freezes. Then he sees the hands reach up and grasp the top of the tall wooden fence. Seconds later, Steve is hoisting himself over the backyard wall with ease, like some sort of knight in shining armor.

Eddie laughs, though his heart is still beating against his chest, just a little. 

"Front door didn't work?" Eddie asks as Steve swings his body over, sliding to the ground.

"Uh, forgot my key. You didn't answer. I knew you had to be out here," Steve says, wiping his hands on his jeans, "And look! You were!"

It's far too excited of a tone, especially when there was nowhere else Eddie could have possibly been. It's not like he leaves the yard. Eddie starts pacing again, and Steve falls into lockstep. Walking in circles right beside him.

He'd never tell Gareth, wouldn't even admit it under pain of death, but Steve's been the best friend he could ask for these past months. Nobody else is even close. It's just different. What they both know. What they've been through. Seen. Survived. Together.

He finally gets the old war buddy bond that Wayne talks about. It's no joke.

"I'm going stir crazy in this prison," Eddie says, because there's never a reason to lie to Steve.

Steve's seen his worst days. Maybe someday he'll see his best, too. Eddie is optimistic that this isn't forever, even if it feels like it right now.

Jogging a couple steps ahead, Steve turns so he can walk backwards ahead of Eddie. 

"I have an idea."

"And that idea would be?" Eddie probes. He's open to anything right now.

"It's your birthday, right?" Steve asks, and Eddie didn't even realize he knew that.

"Uh, yeah. Tomorrow."

"Come for a ride with me," Steve says, and Eddie's already shaking his head. No way. 

Steve's eyes are pleading, but Eddie can't.

"Later tonight. When the town is quiet. Nothing will happen. Not while you're with me. Not on my watch," Steve says, and Eddie feels his resolve crumbling. He doesn't want to leave the house, but Steve's using those fucking eyes of his against Eddie. It's really, truly unfair. 

Eddie doesn't say no, but he doesn't say yes either. 

For now, they'll just pace the yard, loop after loop.

Laying on Eddie's bed, Steve's got a cigarette dangling from his lip, head upside down off the edge of the bed as he holds up the liner notes of Born to Run, reading them. It was Steve's turn to pick the record. Some of Steve's have slowly migrated to Eddie's room, collection intermingling.

"Hey, Eddie, this guy, he's the real thing," Steve says, just before Springsteen sings the same line of lyrics. 

Eddie laughs.

Steve's proving a point with this album, has been all night. He wants to hide out on the backstreets. Wants a meeting across the river. He wants to ride out tonight to case the promised land. 

Eddie, after all, is born to run.

Wayne appears in the open bedroom door, and they both look over at him. He's got a six-pack held up, "First legal drink on me."

"I'm not twenty-one yet," Eddie banters, tapping his watch.

"Well, I gotta get to work, wise guy. Show some restraint for once and don't crack one open until after midnight."

"What about Steve?" Eddie teases. "He's a minor. Don't make me call Chief Hopper."

Wayne laughs, putting the beer down on the desk, having to scoot some shit to the side to make room for it, "What I don't know won't hurt me."

Eddie grins. He knows before all this bullshit happened, Wayne would have taken him out to his favorite bar for that first drink. That's not really an option now, unfortunately.

Wayne smiles back at him, "Happy birthday, kid."

"Thanks, old man."

"Birthday breakfast?" Wayne asks, "Both of you?"

And they both nod. Eddie tries to not read into the fact that Wayne just assumes Steve's staying all night. Eddie knows he probably will. Steve's made it his personal mission to keep Eddie company.

"Stay out of trouble," Wayne says, a relic of years gone by. And then he's gone. Eddie's definitely not getting into trouble these days.

Steve goes back to studying the lyrics printed on the album flap.

"This town rips the bones from your back," Steve reads, and then looks up at Eddie, "Who knew Springsteen has been to Hawkins?"

Eddie laughs. Ain't that the goddamn truth. It is a death trap. But maybe that's a more universal feeling than he's considered it to be.

It's quiet for a while, Steve reading, both of them smoking. Springsteen crooning from the corner.

"Wanna go for that ride?" Steve asks, interrupting the silence, looking hopeful and earnest.

Eddie shakes his head on instinct, but for some reason he still agrees anyway. For Steve. 

"Okay, big boy. Take me out into that town full of losers."

Playing it safe at first, as promised, Steve hugs the side streets. Long patches of inky darkness only broken up by dim street lights on corners. Revealed with the soft swish of the windshield wipers. A summer shower that'll probably stop as quickly as it started.

Eventually they move out onto the main drag. Eddie isn't sure how it looks exactly the same, but also so different. They've cleaned it up well. Fast. He's shocked. The world, the town, is spinning on without him as he stays stagnant, trapped in that house.

Steve's looking at him. Staring. Eddie can feel his eyes on him.

The light changes.

"Red," Eddie says.

"Huh?" Steve asks, brow furrowing.

"Light's red!" Eddie shouts, and Steve slams on the brakes. Sliding a little on the wet road before coming to a stop. Squeezing the steering wheel, laughing.

There's not another soul on the road, but they still stop and wait for it to change back to green.

"Green means go, red means stop," Eddie mocks.

"One stoplight in town, and I almost ran it," Steve giggles, looking back over at Eddie, just like he had been before the jarring stop. Eddie can't help smiling. It's nice, and Steve's car feels safe. Like the house, like the backyard. Another extension of home.

That's all Steve. 

When the light changes, he pulls away from the intersection and the wind whips through Eddie's hair.

The clock flips over to midnight, and Eddie's a year older. Maybe this one will be different. Better.

"Happy birthday," Steve says.

"It's just another day," Eddie answers, because he can't get his hopes up for anything to change.

Steve reaches over and rests his hand on Eddie's knee, and it's shocking and comforting and inevitable, "You're turning twenty-one. That's supposed to be fun."

Eddie covers it with his own, and feels his heart flip in his chest.

"You're a poet and didn't even know it," Eddie says, deflecting, because anything else feels too big, too real.

Steve laughs and pulls his hand back to his own lap.

Eddie misses it, immediately.

So much for a summer shower. It's a full-on downpour by the time they pull back into the driveway. They run back into the safety of the house, laughing, Steve locking the deadbolt behind them. Then his hands are on Eddie. One hand sliding around the back of Eddie's head, tangling in his damp hair, pulling him close.

Looking right in his eyes, Eddie feels trapped, pinned down in another way now.

This way is much better.

"Green," Eddie whispers, and Steve furrows his brow just for a second, then he smiles.

"Green means go," Steve says back, and hell yes it does.

Steve goes, because he's brave, and Eddie feels Steve's mouth covering his for the first time. Eddie reaches for him, clings to him, kissing him back.

After three months in the grave, locked away in this tomb, Eddie feels alive again. Warmth flooding his cheeks, kissing Steve Harrington. 

It suddenly feels like a home, not a prison. Just like that. Eddie's world shifting, being illuminated with the warmth that Steve has offered him.

Eddie squeezes Steve's biceps, and Steve walks him back towards his bedroom. And Eddie goes more than willing, letting Steve pull off their damp clothing, tossing them away. He sighs as Steve presses him down into the mattress, covering Eddie's whole body with his own. Shielding him, protecting him, still. 

Harrington's got him. 

Steve finds his hand, laces their fingers together, squeezing tight. Eddie tilts his head, deepening the kiss. Humming with happiness as Steve eventually pulls back, and moves to kiss his neck instead. Lips dancing across his skin, his tongue peeking out, brushing against the juncture of his neck, making Eddie laugh, delighted.

It's soft, and sweet. 

It's everything Eddie never knew he needed. 

Even in their underwear Steve isn't asking for anything other than this, even if Eddie would willingly give it. This is enough, more than. Steve's hand holding his tightly, his body grounding Eddie's to his own, to the bed, to the world.

The noise of Hawkins, of death, of destruction finally pushed to the back burner with Steve lighting better fires to attend to with his mouth, his fingers.

Eddie's never had this, what feels like hours of staying so close, kissing, touching, just holding onto one another. They've shifted, now face-to-face in Eddie's bed. Steve's hand holding his. Like he might never let go.

He hopes he doesn't.

This was overdue, Eddie realizes.

Inevitable.

"Tramps like us," Steve says, and Eddie laughs, rolling on the bed, but not letting go. And he lets Steve tug him closer. There's no place left to hide.

Nowhere to run.

Eddie can't tell him he loves him. Not yet. Even if he knows he does. Probably has since he was stumbling through the woods of the Upside Down, trailing after Steve Harrington like a lost puppy.

Thinking he had no chance. Flirting to flirt, teasing to tease.

"Wild and real," Eddie says instead, and the way Steve smiles means he gets it. He knows what Eddie is saying without saying it.

Steve Harrington speaks in Springsteen, and after being around him for months, Eddie does, too. 

Eddie surges forward this time, taking the lead, kissing Steve again. He never wants to stop kissing him. He never wants to stop loving him with all the madness in his soul.

He's the one.

In the morning, they drink Eddie's warm birthday beer with breakfast. If Wayne notices that things have changed between them, if he sees their swollen lips and their stupid grins, he definitely doesn't mention it.

He just slides eggs and bacon and toast onto their plates before joining them at the table. Smiling as he gets to share that first legal drink with Eddie after all.

Wayne clinks his bottle against Eddie's, "Twenty-one will be better than twenty. You'll see."

Eddie grins, eyes cutting over to Steve who's already eating, wearing one of Eddie's threadbare shirts, a hickey on his neck.

Looking back at Wayne, Eddie smiles, maybe bigger than he has since before.

Fuck yeah, it will.

And if you want to write your own, or see more entries in this pop-up, check out @corrodedcoffinfest to see other entries for the Somewhere Over the Rainbow popup event!

Notes: Let's be so for real. Wayne totally already thought they've been together for months. 🤣

Tons of references to the album Born to Run in this one. Maybe more than the Taylor song that it was built around after all was said and done, lol.

[allisonreader]

Laundry is done for now. We'll see if any writing actually gets done.

[sbcdh]

Dad wasn’t a nice guy. I don’t think I need to tell you that. But don’t believe the media. I don’t think he was evil. People give him a bad rap, or, they gave him a bad rap for the wrong reasons.  They didn’t know the man like I did. 

Tell me more about that.

He loved Emmett more. Told me himself, straight as whiskey. Emmett was tall, went to Harvard business school. Helped dad out in the oil fields. Well, helped in the oil fields at first anyway. He was clever. Had a melon like a jackknife and a nose like a bloodhound for finding tar sands. I never really knew how he did it. And well, look at me. I definitely took more after dad. Short fat and bad tempered. Ha! I really took after dad. I went to Harvard too, of course. But I went for geology. Fuckin’ geology. Yeah I knew dad better than any other man on earth.

Why do you say that?

Theres a way of knowing that only happens when you need someone to notice you. You need that like the air you breathe. You know everything about them. Learn the things they like, when their moods swing round, what they want and fear and dream about. Emmett didn’t have to care about stuff like that. Emmett was a golden boy. 

He was quite skilled at finding oil wells.

You know he damn well was. Never did figure out how he did that. You know doc, now that you got me on the couch, you got me wonderin’. You reckon it was somethin’ hypno-economical? It always did seem like he could sniff out tar sands from over the damn horizon.

It is possible. I would like to talk more about you, and your relationship with your father. 

Bet you do. Emmett was the key to everything. Dad made a lot of money early on. Said he was real good at cards. Said he made money cheating loggers at table games up in Canada. Who the hell knows? Point is by the time I was born he was already speculating in land. WWI was a great time for that shit…You know… You know that reminds me. You know what my earliest memory of dad was? It was him, covered in fuckin crude from a new well. Painted head to toe like…like a doll. One of those old ones you only see in antique shops these days. He was smilin wide with big bright teeth and big bright eyes. He was shoutin to Gert about something and they were both real excited. 

That would be Gertrude Jager, your m-

Emmett’s mom. 

Yes, of course. Apologies. Please continue. 

We were outside. It was early in the morning and I could feel the sun on my back. I had this blanket Gert made me and I was holdin’ it in my little fist. Just like this. Hey doc what are you writin’ there?

Notes on our conversation. Was there any sign of his…

Ascension to the throne of the god-pharaoh? Ha. I was wondering when you’d bring that up. You know, I think it was Emmett.

Emmett?

Yeah. Well, it wasn’t nothin’ Emmett did per se. He just. Well, its a big family, lotta big personalities you know? Dad wasn’t the best about keepin a lid on his temper, but Emmett. He was a bit funny. He’d work for hours on end. I seen him spend eight whole hours out in the fields, writing in some little notebook, come home to the house, and then spend eight more hours writing at the dinner table while the help brought him hotdogs. It was the same thing every time. Hot dogs, shredded cabbage, and beer. He’d eat nothin’ but that for days on end. Then he’d get all quiet. Lock himself in his room, drink himself to sleep. 

You weren’t concerned? 

I was 15. And the family’s got a lotta big personalities. 

What changed?

It was the Wolf Basin lode. You gotta think about that for a second. One million barrels of oil, right when uncle sam is at his thirstiest. Daddy had always hobnobbed with politicians, but they were practically lining up outside the door. They were buyin’ him dinner, and he would up and tell em to take a hike! Imagine that! He would come home late at night, I never seen him happier. He tell me about all the things he said to those men. Made him happier than a pig in shit. 

The success is what changed him? 

Maybe. It weren’t just the money. It was the power. The letters he got. Official United States letterhead. Comin’ in from the governor and senators and once or twice even president Truman. Sometimes I’d see him at his desk just starin at em, not opened or nothin’. He just looked at em. That’s when he started readin’ about Egypt and whatnot. Told me he wanted to know about the old kings. Wanted to rule his domain properly. Read all sorts of things about the middle kingdom and Ptolemy and Ramses II. He’d ramble for hours if you let him. Then one day, he comes back from the Rio Grande in a homemade Nemes. 

Nemes? 

Thats the crown of the Pharaohs. He told us that. I think he made his outta old flour sacks. Said he was chosen by Aten to build a new kingdom-o-the-dead right here in Plano. 

That seems quite sudden. 

It was. It was sudden. Well- Well it was kinda sudden. I think it had somethin’ to do with Emmett. This was around when his funny moods were gettin’ bad. Real bad. He was workin’ himself to string. He weren’t eatin’ or sleepin’. Dad had politicians comin over every damn day to look at the oil fields and Emmett was like a ghost. He couldn’t work! I think dad was scared, because he knew Emmett was the key and none of it would work without him. He started wearin the Nemes more. Wore it round the house with a collar and a robe and whatnot. Started carryin’ a scepter. All that. The politicians and the media thought it was a hoot. They thought he was just bein funny. Or like it was some freemason thing. He could get a laugh back then. They just thought he was bein’ funny. 

You don’t seem to share the sentiment.

No ma’am. He’d go into these rages. They were kinda like Emmett’s but, I dunno. Different, but the same. Ranting and raving about the english language “defiling” sacred hieroglyphics, navigatin du’at, securin himself a place in the field of reeds. He even made the help carry around palm fronds to fan him with. Even bought that purple Rolls Royce so he could travel around like Cleopatra did. Said it was the color of empire. It was around then. Yeah. He wanted to tear down the western guest house, and rebuild it on the north side of the property, so he could build a temple to Aten on the western side of the property. He and Emmett got into one hell of a fight. They’d gone at it before but not like that. It did somethin’ to Emmett. He locked himself in his room, wouldn’t eat or sleep. Sure as hell couldn’t work. A month turned into two, then six. There’d be a day when it seemed like Emmett was his normal self then, well then he’d fall right back down into his mood. Then, well. 

What happened?

Some doctor said we oughta try lobotomy. You know, to fix Emmetts moods. Get him back to work. Dad jumped at it. With Emmett out of the fields he wasn’t making money half as fast as he used to. Practically dragged him to the doctors himself. Couldn’t get the pick behind his eyes fast enough the bastard. It broke him doc. Broke him ways I didn’t know a man could break. He- 

Take your time.

He wouldn’t touch the table when he ate. Thought it would shock him like the doctors shocked him. He would break down crying and screaming if you asked him any sort of question. Ask him what he wanted for dinner and he wouldn’t know, and that would scare him, and it would scare him so bad he would tear out his own hair. Sometimes he’d just go quiet. Sometimes he’d just wander around the house. Then there were the nurses. 

Nurses?

Yes Ma’am. See, dad got Emmett right back to work. But Emmett uh. Lord. He couldn’t focus. You couldn’t leave him alone for two minutes without him abusin’ himself in front of everyone. Hands down his pants, primin’ the pumps. So dad hired a bunch of fancy whores to follow him around dressed as nurses. If we had good company over, and Emmett started to get the itch, they’d just pull him into the next room like he was havin’ some kinda medical episode. 

I- really?

Hand to God doc. Tell ya the truth its nice to tell someone about it. This psychotherapy shit is pretty nice. God. I remember one day. Drivin out to the basin in dads big stupid purple Rolls. He brought me along just to take notes. I was shotgun with all the papers, dad in the drivers seat in his Nemes, Emmett in the back seat playin’ hell with the whores. We got out, miles and miles from any other living souls. I remember gettin’ to check one of the dericks. Big ol mean dinosaur lookin’ thing, high heat middle of summer. It was dad and I glarin’ up at it. I was trying to actually check the damn pumps, dad was sermonating loud n’ proud about the rays of Aten while one of the whores was tryin’ to suck off Emmett. And its like I didn’t even care. I didn’t care one bit doc. I was just tryin’ to check the sediment. 

I- Well, you’ve done very well for yourself despite everything. 

Nah. Dad was fallin’ apart. I was just there to pick up the pieces. He couldn’t handle what happened to Emmett. Its like someone cut off dad’s own legs. It unhitched him from the world. 

How so?

Well, he got convinced the Jews did it. Somehow, he got it into his head that the Jews were poisoning all the food in texas, and that uh -Jew poison- was makin’ Emmett like that. It was dad’s thought that the lobotomy woulda worked if it weren’t for the international bolsheviks. He would only ever eat food he grew on the family farm. Even turned a bit of the chemistry division of the business into that vitamin company. 

Yes, its in my notes. Vitazon. 

Vitazon! That’s the one! Said every pill had a bit o’gold in it, straight from the rays of Atem. Said it- Oh what the hell was it. Said it only worked if you… There was some funny little jingle he wrote for it. Ah hell. The point was the pills only “worked” if you ate em every meal, and that meant subscribing to the company. A whole month’s supply of Vitazon, that was all you needed to purge the Judeo-Bolshevism from your body. Buncha nonsense. Made good money though. 

I see. Did you and your father ever reconcile before he passed?

Nah. He kicked the bucket before I got my big deal with the Saudis. Good riddance. You know what the last thing he said to me was? He called me while I was on a fishing trip up in big bear. I pick up the phone, and he starts rambling about how he wanted to be mummified. He wanted a full new-kingdom funeral. He said catholics weren’t allowed because they were a “semitic people.” I had him cremated, the bastard. But Emmett technically owns the estate. I think his ashes are kept in the temple of Aten, in one of those funny jars with the animal heads. 

What about Emmett?

You know doc, I don’t really like thinkin’ about Emmett. He’s living at the old house. But he’s got proper doctors to take care of him now. I saw to that. They send me letters every few months. Apparently he’s better than he used to be. Calmer. They say he just shuffles around the house wearin’ dads old Nemes. I think it makes him happy.

[midnghtprentiss]

the favorite - jack abbot x f!attending!reader

pairing: jack abbot x f!attending!reader

a/n: this is my first jack story and i'm really excited. as a former healthcare worker (nurse!) the pitt changed a lot of things for me and it's my favorite show so far. hope you all like this idea of mine. sorry for any spelling mistakes. english is not my first language.

summary: all the times you were everyone's favorite person and one time you were jack’s person. 

one. 

you're a ray of sunshine. 

that's your thing.

you’re nice, intelligent, competent, kind and still the best part of the day for some people. and you’re smart as hell. she loves it. 

your calm energy it’s the reason why you work at the emergency department. people need your calmness around to work. which means you’re the favorite doctor beneath the staff, especially the nurses and med students - you’re their golden girl. 

dana loved you for different reasons. your sense of humour, your energy, the way you pay attention to the details. and most because you stay out of trouble. 

she never had a problem with you, actually, she was glad they put someone sane and kind to work in that shithole. every shift you showed up with something for the team. 

maybe homemade cookies, a cake and even a bread if you feel inspired baking for your people to show how grateful you are for them and to keep the spirits up. thank god it worked every time. perla and princess waited for you in the parking lot a few times just to make sure you got something good. 

what they admired the most about you was your strength to defend the nurses from the crazy patients. it doesn’t matter the shift, if someone is fighting with them, you’re the first one to show up and say some things. perla remembered how you got beaten up to defend princess from a perv that was touching her and how you ended up laughing about it with blood all over your nose (jack almost died when he saw you covered in blood - your blood). 

“it’s nothing, dana. he was touching her and i don’t appreciate it when men do that. she asked him to stop and he didn’t.” you shrugged and smiled at her. “don’t worry, alright? i would've done it for any of you.”

“kiddo, one of these days you’re going to kill me.”

“no i won’t.” you bolwed her a kiss and she laughed. a relieved laugh. “it’s not my fault i would take a bullet for you guys.” 

no one ever questioned your loyalty with the team, everybody knows exactly where’s the limit between respect and bullshit with you. from this day on, she put you under her wing and swore to herself anything that could ever happen to you during a shift was her full responsibility. some days the funniest part of her shift was explaining to abbot how you almost went home with a broken arm to defend them.

two. 

robby was his own person and you knew that. he loved the space, the warmth of his own heart and the loneliness. of course you were worried a lot of times. 

but for him you were like a breath of fresh air. the way you cracked jokes when you noticed he was this close to snap, when you distracted him for a few minutes with some picture of your cat, even taking him to the morgue just to swear bad words, or when you brought him coffee and chocolate. even when you covered for him for a few minutes so he could cry in peace. 

and he loved you a lot for that (and a lot of other reasons, but let’s focus on the main ones).

you never said a word about any of the things he never asked you to do and you've done it either way. he could count on you any moment of the shift just for glancing different at your direction. sometimes you have conversations with your eyes, sometimes you just cursed him under your breath and that was it. 

you even scared him a little. 

“i don’t want to see you for at least twenty minutes, robinavich. don’t make me yell at you.” you don’t even gleaned at him from the computer. “i got this. go grab something to eat while you cry, i don’t know. call your boyfriend, go watch some babies at peds i want you gone. the kids are my responsibility now.” 

“i need to be grown up now, i am literally their boss.” he tried to argue but one look from you was enough.

“if you don’t disappear in the next thirty seconds i’ll call jack and things will be worse.” you got up crossing your arms like a mother. 

“jezz, fine. please don’t ground call papa” he rolled his eyes, laughing and walked away from you, disappearing from your sight. 

“that’s how you teach grown men to be normal.” you winked at dana who was watching everything mesmerized cause she begged robby to take a break and he didn’t listen. 

robby was gone for thirty minutes and no one noticed his absence. when he returned to the nursing station he saw you teaching the med students how to do a proper examination on a normal patient, listening and answering all of the questions they had like a pro. 

you got everything covered and he felt good to have someone to help without needing to ask. 

that’s why you were his favorite. 

three. 

the med students loved you. the absolutely worship the ground you walked on. they loved your patience, your mind and especially how you treated them like people. in your mind they were there to learn, which means they'll make some mistakes and that's partially fine as long as they don’t kill anybody. 

“she has a masters and a doctorate, guys!” javadi once exclaimed like she found gold at the ED. 

at some point you became their confident. you knew every little detail about their life. how withaker was living with santos, how javadi was crushing mateo really bad even how santos struggled with the loss of her friend. mel learned how to open up about her sister's situation and mohan was navigating through the loss of her father even after all this time. you even helped mckay with the legal proceedings for her to have her son back. 

you knew everything. 

during your shifts you did your best to rotate between them. each day you choose one to watch from close and teach what you know and everyday they fight to decide who stays with you but after dr santos and whitaker dared to start a fist fight robby and dana choose for them. 

robby and jack were a little jealous of you, especially because you’re a smooth talker and you charmed everyone who listened. 

“it’s unfair how they follow you around like some sort of queen bee.” robby almost cried with his words. 

“i heard they have a groupchat with you, is it true?” jack nearly jumps from his seat. 

“i don’t know what you’re talking about.” you sipped your coffee. 

“oh you know exactly what i’m saying.” he shots back and you laughed hard. 

“are you jealous of them? from what i’ve known you don’t even like interns, abbot.” 

“yeah, but i like to know what they say about my girl.” 

“they call her mama bear, brother.” robby looked at his hands trying to hold a chuckle. 

they’re definitely jealous. 

you use your time to teach them some valuable lessons. you help them navigate in the transition of becoming a doctor. smoothly and nice, just like you learned. 

“you know, santos, i’ll be honest, you need to review your way of talking with people.” you were beside her with crossing arms, watching her stitch a patient. 

your voice was hard and soft at the same time. 

“i’m only rude to the jerks.” you hold your laugh. 

“at one moment you’ll start to see all of them as jerks and this can’t happen.” you warned her softly. “imagined if you’re the one in their position. would you like to be treated like that?” 

she stared at you and nodded gently, sighing at your words. 

“what if i can’t do that?” 

“you will call me and we’ll try a different approach.” you touch her shoulder and squeeze. “i don’t want you to be cold and indifferent. the medicine needs to make you feel something. you’re doing a good thing for someone you like or not.”

they listen to you and they care. if you say something immediately they’ll do it and will make it like their life depends on it. 

at your birthday, for example, they made you a cake from scratch and even decorated it with pink frost and a glitter candle. you burst out laughing just for them to do that for you. no one else got a cake, just you. 

they even wrote you a small letter. 

“thank you for being the best teacher for us. we loved you, mama bear.  lots of love and hugs from your students.”

you were really grateful for those kids and they were grateful you’re their teacher. 

four. 

langdon was a problematic guy. it was no secret. he knew it, you knew it. but he was an exceptional doctor. no discussions about that. it was a fact. 

when he first started struggling with his addiction he came to you. something was happening to him and you got it in your heart that in the right moment he would talk. 

and he did.

he always talked about his problems with you. he came to talk about his marriage and how scared he was to broke things off with abby, how scared he was of being a shitty father. he viewed you more like an older sister, a protector of him. he liked how you never judged his fears, he liked the way you listened and tried to put some sense into his mind to do the right things. 

but this time it was different. it was worse. eating him alive. 

you were working a double shift when he found you in the stairs eating a burger in peace. you offered him some and he denied it. the air around him was thick, heavy and sad. he was a broken man and the sight almost broke your heart. 

“talk to me, frank.” 

“i fucked up.” you nodded, putting your food away to hold his hand.

“heard about it.” he sighed and you could see how embarrassed he was. “you need to get some help. i can’t see you struggling and acting like nothing's wrong. i like you too much to close my eyes and pretend.”

“i’m going to rehab. eleven months.” you smile. “robby is pretty pissed at me.” you both laughed. 

“good for you, frank.” your hand find his shoulder “you’re gonna get better. i’ll be there to help you whenever you need someone to talk, to eat burgers or talk shit about our job.the world is pretty fucked and i’m pretty sure you need a chance to make things right from your mistakes, you hear me?”

he nodded feeling a little less lost knowing you’ll be there to help. he wasn’t alone anymore and when he understood he had you by his side, the journey was smoother. 

five. 

jack abbot was a man of darkness. he worked so much better at night. it was his comfort zone. 

until you showed up years ago and messed up this whole dark theme he had planned for himself. 

working doubles wasn’t strange to you. you have bills to pay and things to accomplish and no time to waste. you two get along pretty well. more than well, actually. you were unstoppable together and everybody knew that. even walsh recognize you were good. she liked you (a miracle in jack’s view) a lot. 

you knew better than to date another doctor. you did this once and ended up in a pretty bad divorce. and with jack? you didn’t care anymore. 

he also knew better than to date another doctor. to date anyone actually. but no one was you. no one had a contagious laughter like yours. no one had a brain like yours. 

he was pretty sure god, or whatever divine figure, sent you just for him. 

the whole ‘soulmate’ story was a lie to him, until it wasn’t. you definitely was his soulmate. his favorite person.

his person. 

from the quiet drive home after a shift. from the warmth of your body curled around him. even your cold feet touching his feet in the middle of the night. 

falling for you was so easy if you like to observe things from a closer perspective. he noticed how you always have something red when you work the night shift and how you have something green at the day shift. he noticed you liked your coffee sweet for normal shifts and how you drink your coffee black at night.

he observes how you treat everyone, how you greet them with a bright smile and the coziest hugs even on your worst day. he could spend hours watching you talk (he does that everytime you pick an online class to teach) or breathe (he watched your sleep like a crazy psycho). 

you’re his person when you grab him coffee without him asking, when you sneak a sweet in the pocket of his scrubs. when you catch his gaze from across the room. when you start rambling about some gossip you heard through dana. when you talk to yourself trying to remember the article you just published.

to be loved is to be seen and he sees you. 

 you’re his person when he knows you’re his. 

he knows you are his girl when you’re sitting in his bed with his shirt and his socks, messy bun, glasses, computer on your lap, cup of tea in the nightstand and his dog laying at your feet waiting for you to move. the comfortable silence. the white noise of the television playing something he lost track of what it was. it’s when he looks at you like you’re his salvation from the darkness. it’s the words that come through his mind when he writes you a letter or a note. 

“i think i’m going crazy.” you whisper looking at him for a second.

“where is this coming from?” he chuckled. 

‘just checking if you agree or not.” you winked and he laughed hard. 

“pretty funny until you start accusing me of madness.” 

“i could never! it was one time, c’mon.” he took your glasses and held your face. 

“you’re the most gorgeous thing i’ve ever seen.” love. that was love from him. 

he doesn’t feel bad showing you who he really is. you’ve seen him, really seen him. you love him for who he is, good baggage or bad. you love his mean remarks, his type of affection. you love how he is quiet. you love how he balances his life going to therapy, talking to someone. you find it funny how he tries to hide a smile when you compliment him. how he flustered when you kiss him in public. how he loves when you bake cookies for him. 

“i loved your brownies. did you put some coffee this time? best one so far. love you. -j”

to be loved is to be seen and you see him. 

it’s the hope of a future he know it’s worth fighting for because you’re his person. you’re his present.

the kind of love that doesn't need words to be there (but he has a ring in his drawer waiting for the right moment). 

[umbrella-show]

❛ ⟢ ⋮ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞 ❜

𝘚𝘶𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘯𝘷𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘗𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘝𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘬 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘊𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘦 𝘒𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘥𝘰𝘮 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯'𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘶𝘴𝘶𝘢𝘭. 𝘐𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩. 𝘋𝘪𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘣𝘭𝘶𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵?

“And, by following the correct procedures, that’s how you end up with a successful growth spell.”

The awed ‘woaaah’ of the Villager cookie made you smile lightly as you placed the chalk back on the board. You took a look down at the lone raisin on the desk, the young cookie following your gaze. The little one had shared to you his woes about his struggle with perfecting his spells. You had offered some extra tutoring. You weren’t an expert on magic, but you still remembered a few simple spells from your old school days. One of them was a growth spell, which just so happened to be the spell he had come to you with for assistance.

“Alright. Let me try again..”

The Villager cookie gave a quick glance at the steps you wrote on the board, before taking a deep breath and glaring down at the raisin. You watched him focus intently on the raisin as he gently waved his little wand in a specific pattern. You had been going over this spell with him for the past hour. You observed his pattern, mentally approving of the care and concentration the young cookie was putting into the spell. You could tell he really wanted to get it right.

“I-I did it!”

The Villager cookie gasped at the enlarged raisin. You chuckled as he smiled widely, his eyes shining with joy as his hard work paid off. You patted his hooded head, praising him for his hard work and attitude. He gave you a promptly tight hug, thanking you, before running off to show his friends. You watched him race out of the room, almost bumping into the person at the doorway. He shouted a hasty apology to them, all too eager to brag to his friends about his newly learnt spell.

You looked at the cookie in the doorway, surprised to see Pure Vanilla cookie staring strangely at the young cookie’s excitement. You grinned towards the Ancient cookie, gaining his attention and returning the smile with one of his own. Even his staff appeared to gently gaze at you in familiarity.

“Ah, Y/N. I was looking for you.”

His voice was as soft as it usually was when he spoke to you. His tender and considerate tone always brought a warmth to your very soul. His voice, like the melody of a siren's song, lured you into a sense of security. You hummed, mentally wondering why he was seeking out specifically you. You were about to ask, however, he spoke again before words could leave your mouth.

“If you don’t mind, I want to ask if we could take a short walk together. I’ve been meaning to speak to you since my return from Beast Yeast.”

A quick moment of silence filled the room. Your expression shifted to one of genuine surprise at the offer and you were stunned for a moment. After all, chatting and idly roaming the streets of the Vanilla kingdom seemed to be the last thing on his mind since his arrival from Beast Yeast. Yet, here he was, asking you to accompany him.

“Sure, I would love to.”

Of course, you weren’t going to turn down his offer. It had been a while since you both last had a conversation involving just the two of you. As you followed him out of the classroom you had previously been teaching the Villager cookie in, the two of you walked side by side in the direction of the Plaza. There was a calm silence, you two simply appreciating each other’s company. 

Your eyes wandered to the blue birds that danced in the sky and perched atop of roofs. Pure Vanilla cookie’s favorite. You verbally pointed this out to him as you observed them let out a song of gentle chirps. Pure Vanilla cookie made a brief comment about them, only glancing at the birds for a quick second as he continued walking. You were visibly surprised by his uninterest. It was very unlike him.

He must still be quite stressed, you concluded. Ever since the returnal from Beast Yeast, he’s been awfully quiet. He locked himself in his chambers and constantly vocalized the need to search for the Beast Binding ritual. Therefore, he hid in his castle for days. This worried all of the citizens of the Vanilla kingdom. It wasn’t like Pure Vanilla cookie to isolate himself like this. 

White Lily cookie told you she was especially worried. No matter how much she offered her assistance in the search, Pure Vanilla only spoke to her from the other side of his door. She recently had noted that she felt he sounded quite sickly. His voice had begun to sound raspy and he quietly murmured respondes she could barely make out from the other side of the door. Yet, here he was now. Right as rain. Finally exiting his castle and even asking you to walk with him.

“Y/N cookie, are you alright? You seem to be thinking awfully hard.”

You came back to reality when you heard his voice. You hastily responded, voicing your worries about his stress and responsibility, and how he was handling it– You paused as both his hands gripped one of yours and he opened his eyes to scan your troubled expression.

“You shouldn’t plague your mind with such concerns. They do you no good. I am completely fine now.”

You would be lying if you said you completely believed him. However, you only nodded and smiled . Your response seemed to please him, his hands holding onto yours tighter. 

“Now, let us continue. I would like to spend the rest of my day with one of my dearest friends.”

“What about the Beast binding ritual?”

You hadn’t meant to blurt that out, but you couldn’t ignore the question burning itself into the forefront of your mind any longer. You were open to assist him, you were about to add, if he needed it. However, his reaction didn’t allow you to speak further. 

Pure Vanilla cookie abruptly stopped walking, causing you to suddenly stop as well. You fixed your gaze on his blank expression. He was frozen in place, and his silence unsettled you greatly. He was definitely acting strange. You couldn’t excuse his disturbed behavior anymore. He didn’t let go of your arm, in fact, he was clutching tighter, closer to his chest. Closer to his Soul Jam.

“Oh, you see, I desperately needed a break from endlessly searching. It has taken a toll on me, both physically and mentally.”

As if to emphasize his exhaust, he leaned more of his weight against your arm, using it as a crutch. His hand gripping his staff shook. His whole body lightly shook. It felt as though he could collapse entirely, which caused you to grab onto him. Your suspicions were immediately replaced with worry.

“Pure Vanilla cookie! Do you need a moment to rest?”

“Hah, It seems that even talking about it brings back all the fatigue and burden. I-I apologize for worrying you.”

A light pitiful laugh escaped him, his voice wavering and small. You hurriedly located him to the nearest bench, letting him lean his weight on you. You sat down next to him, an arm wrapped around his shoulder. He thanked you quietly, closing his eyes and dropping his head on your shoulder. 

You urged him to take a short rest. You two could continue talking some other time. You didn’t mind escorting him back to the castle and all the way to his chambers if he needed it. The last thing you wanted was him overexerting himself.

“N-No. I’m alright.”

His head dropped to your shoulder, shifting to lean closer against you. His hands shakily rose to hold one of yours and clutch it close to his chest. It seemed to comfort him, you observed. You two sat in silence for a few minutes, letting him compose himself.

When he said he was feeling good enough to continue walking, you insisted on taking him back to the castle. If he wasn’t feeling well enough to walk around the kingdom, you would be just fine with spending time with him indoors, you told him.

“If you insist.”

He faintly commented, letting you help him to his feet. He was able to walk by himself with the support from his staff, but still held onto you. You didn’t mind and escorted him in the direction of the castle.

“I think you should get some rest,” you argued. “I’ll take you to your chambers.”

“You’re too kind, friend. I greatly appreciate your assistance and care for my health. I suppose I now owe you a favor, since you are going through all of this trouble for me.”

You quickly denied the need for a favor. He was not indebted to you. You just wanted to help. He lightly laughed, and you noticed you two had reached the entrance of the Vanilla castle already.

“No, please, let me treat you. Just tell me, if you wish for anything from me I will happily grant it. No matter what it is. It’s the least I can do for one of my best actors~”

Your entire body stopped moving. Frozen in place, you could feel your jam begin to chill as you repeated that last phrase over and over again in your head. The tone Pure Vanilla cookie had used with those last words sounded like one of playful and mocking nature. A tone you had only used Shadow Milk cookie use. You swore the longer you mentally repeated the words, almost like an incantation, the more you felt like you could hear Shadow Milk cookie’s voice replace Pure Vanilla cookie’s.. Was that really his voice you had heard, or Shadow Milk cookie’s? A shiver crawled up your back.

“P-Pardon?” You muttered, looking straight ahead. You were afraid to glance towards him, fearing you’d see someone else instead.

“I said, it’s the least I can do for one of my most cherished friends. Are you alright? You look a little pale.”

Pure Vanilla viewed your pale face with an expression of worry and concern. His hand laid on your shoulder in a comforting manner. Maybe.. Maybe you were just imagining things. You couldn’t deny, you had also been a bit stressed and anxious since your encounter with him.

“No. It’s nothing, really.”

You denied, forcing yourself to continue forward and up the stairs to Pure Vanilla cookie’s chambers, with him beside you. You distracted yourself from your startle by chatting with the Ancient cookie as you two made your way through the long corridors of the castle. 

You were just stressed, you reasoned. You and him were stressed and anxious, so the best thing you both could do was comfort each other. You both can attempt to lift a little of the stressors off both of your minds with some good company. You felt yourself become completely engaged in the conversation, finally reaching your destination, Pure Vanilla cookie’s chambers. 

Gazing in Pure Vanilla cookie’s beautiful heterochromatic eyes, you could feel the warmth of his presence cause other unrelated thoughts to slip away into the back of your mind, inevitably to be brought up later when you went home after a relaxing day spent with one of your most cherished friends. 

Yet, you felt your stomach drop at the sudden flash of blue in both of his eyes and the sharp glare of slit pupils that surveyed your horrified expression. Your hand was being gripped so tightly you felt as though a dark bruise would certainly appear. You could feel your hand being forcibly pressed against the cool stone that was usually vibrant blue Soul Jam, now muddled with discolored white blotches. The door to Pure Vanilla cookie’s chambers shut, trapping you in the room with the one cookie you feared the most, in the form of your friend. Blue eyes crinkled in amusement and mischief and you realized you should have trusted your gut, as all of the puzzle pieces put together a terrifying picture, and all of the clues had been there from the very beginning.

[kitimeq]

-ˋˏ ༻❁ surprise encounter 🤍 sylus 秦 ❀༺ ˎˊ-

❀˖°pairing: sylus x reader

❀˖°summary: You’ve been playing love&deepspace ever since the game came out and it became your comfort place now. You like all of the boys, but you have the highest affinity with sylus, who had your heart in a grasp ever since the beginning. Who would’ve thought that he shares the sentiment? And after your monthly absence from the game, he decides to pay you a little visit and finally confess to all of it (and maybe kind of try to kidnap you in the process too oho).

❀˖° tropes: fluff, angst to fluff, fluff to angst to fluff? fluff to angst to fluff to angst to fluff???? idk angst with happy ending!

❀˖°word count: no idea, it goes on for days sorry. (7k!!)

❀˖°warning!: i apologize for any mistakes, i am not a native speaker of english!! if you see any errors you can write me a dm and i will correct them for sure ♡ and i think it gets better later! i can’t write for shi, especially the beginnings, and the second part was fueled by my delulu so it is probably much more fun to read 🤍

•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙ ⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙

You liked days like these: quiet days, lazy ones, when you didn’t have any errands to run, meetings to attend, or people to please. You could just stay inside for the whole day, reading your favorite books and playing cozy games, spending your time however you wanted. Today was Saturday and you didn’t have to go to work until Monday and you decided that you finally deserved to have some rest after the last couple of weeks of almost working yourself to the bone due to the amount of the assingments you had to complete at work. You often had to stay after hours or work from home to complete everything in time. Your work was not usually that challenging, but there were certain times of the year when everyone at your job had their hands full and when it happened, you were almost completely cut off not only from your social, but also personal life. However, you never complained, because you actually liked what you were doing, and even if the occasional hard times were inevitable, your work brought you so much fun and satisfaction.

And today was a good day! You finally finished everything you had to do, so you could go back to your favourite game. You didn’t have time to play recently due to the amount of work, up to the point that you didn’t even bother to check in to grab some stamina. Usually, love&deepspace was an important part of your day - you logged in there at least twice a day, completed every task thrown your way and had a blast doing so, but these couple of weeks were so hard for you that you almost forgot about it completely. But even if you were too busy, you thought about the boys from time to time, as well as about the events that you were probably missing out on. You really hoped that if some new events had taken place during that time, that they did not involve Sylus, because if you had missed them, you would be slightly devastated.

Sylus was your favorite. Ever since the beginning, there was something about him that caught your attention. You downloaded the game after his announcement and haven’t looked back since. You played with other boys as well, but your time with Sylus was always the most memorable. Not only was he extremely attractive in your eyes, as well as the eyes of other players around the world, but you also understood his character, adored his little jokes and mannerisms, and could safely say that he made your life a little more exciting. You knew that it probably sounded lame to someone who didn’t play such games, and you were aware that he wasn’t real, but you enjoyed yourself regardless. In your real life, you had some experience with men and were pretty popular among them; however, you never felt comfortable enough to form more serious romantic relationships.

Here, with Sylus, you didn’t have to worry about such things. You were aware that he was only a game character and maybe that was why you were so honest with him from the very beginning. You knew that he wouldn’t judge you, misstreat you or make you miserable - he was created in a way that was supposed to make your playthrough enjoyable so you didn’t have to worry about your responses in the messages for him or your real life reactions to everything he said or did. You could just be yourself. And you loved how freeing that felt.

That is why you felt so excited ever since you woke up. Because you knew that today you could finally go back to playing l&d, and you could meet up with your Sylus after so much time apart. You quickly did your chores, spent some time on self-care to slightly relieve the fatigue from the weeks before, you put on your favourite cozy outfit and finally clicked the ”enter game” button.

And there he was. Sylus was standing in the cafe, wearing his extremally attractive biker outfit and you caught yourself sighing dreamily at the sight of him. You missed him so bad, you missed the little memories you shared and the sound of his voice. You missed playing kitty cards with him, catching plushies together and even looking for that bastard Tobias again and again. You couldn’t help but smile brightly at him.

“Hi Sylus, you have no idea how happy I am to see you.” You said cheerfully, feeling kind of dumb for it but you couldn’t help yourself. You often talked out loud to him during your playtime.

You watched him blink slowly once, then twice, and you started to think that there was something wrong with the server because his response should have already been uttered. But then the look on his face changed. At first, he appeared really shocked and relieved, but then a little frown appeared between his perfect little eyebrows.

“Where the hell have you been?” He responded quickly and it shocked you. You didn’t know that they could swear in the game, but after connecting some dots you figured that it had to be included in the special responses after the player was away for some time.

“At work mostly, been so busy lately but now I’m back and ready to defeat some Wanderers!!” You fist bumped the air above you, you couldn’t contain your excitement.

You also noticed that his expression stayed the same. He was silent, looking at you through your phone screen with bewilderment, and he looked almost hurt. In an attempt to provide some comfort to him, you swiped your finger gently through his hair and across his cheek. However, when you touched his cheek, he closed his eyes and nuzzled into your finger, which made you widen your eyes in surprise. Was that always a thing? Was he always so responsive to your touch? It had to be a new feature; you didn’t remember him being so lively.

“Next time you decide to leave me without a word, I think I’m going to take more drastic measures, sweetie” He said while opening his eyes. You couldn’t help but notice he did look different than usual. More… realistic? Even the way in which he moved his body looked so smooth.

“If not for Mephisto, I would have worried sick about your safety. You can't do this to me every time you have more work than usual; you have to visit me, even if it's just for a minute. I won't exaggerate when I say that I almost went insane after the first week of your cruel silence” And at that you were completely stunned. Should he talk this much? He never talked this much. And how could he know that you had more work than usual? Was that a lucky guess on the studio’s side?

“That’s so weird…” You whispered and touched his hand to trigger some kind of reaction that would appear more usual than what was happening right now.

“Is that your way of catching me off guard? If you wanted to hold my hand so badly kitten, then you would have visited me sooner. I will not let myself be distracted by your cute little behavior” He raised the hand you touched and crossed his arms at his chest, while continuing to frown. And you were still so, so confused.

“Promise me that you won’t leave me again, I know where to find you now.” You raised your eyebrows and bit your lip gently. You started to feel a little bit out of place, you knew that he was not real, but he sounded kind of scary. His voice was demanding, and the part about him finding you? You shivered involuntarily.

“What happened? Cat got your tongue, kitten? Or did you finally understood the selfishness of your actions?” Sylus continued and you opened your mouth in awe. “Promise. Me.” He said slowly, his gaze unnerving. Suddenly you heard a series of loud caws outside on your balcony. The sound made you jump in place, and you dropped your phone on your bed. Was that a freaking crow?? Outside your apartament???

You quickly picked up your phone and cursed softly. You were going insane. You got scared just because the game had an update you did not know about. You almost wanted to laugh at how stupid that was. Almost. Because Sylus walked up to the front of your phone screen and spoke to you again.

“Why are you hesitating? Are you really planning to leave me again?” You swore you never heard him so hurt.

“No!” You said before you could think.

“No?” He answered immediately, which scared the hell out of you. “I am not sure I believe you. And I can’t stand it. I can’t stand being away from you anymore.” He took two steps back and closed his eyes.

That was when the game crashed. Your phone appeared to be broked too, after the colourful lines appeared on the screen, flickered a couple of times and the whole screen turned black. You threw the device away from you and your heart started beating so fast you could hear the blood pulsing in your ears. You were so confused and genuinely scared. Was there an update that switched the genre of the game to horror? You were stunned.

And then you heard the knock.

You almost jumped out of your slippers. You brought your hand to your heart in order to calm yourself down and you started taking slow, deep breaths. It’s just a game. It’s just a game. Besides, how did Sylus, of all people, managed to scare you so badly? You adored that character, and you should know that he was prone not only to exaggeration, but also to intimidating behavior. That was literally one of his characteristics. So you forced yourself to calm down and opened the damn door, because it was probably either a mailman, or one of your friendly neighbors, and here you were making a scene like some kind of a delusional psychopath.

One. Two. Three.

You opened the door, and at first all you could see was a huge cloud of black mist. You closed your eyes in order to keep the mist from clouding your vision and then you felt wind pushing you gently further into your apartament. You heard the door close and the sound of the key turning in the lock. Everything happened so fast. And when you opened your eyes your knees almost buckled.

Sylus.

Sylus was all you could see. He was standing in front of you, in your own apartament, looking so out of place that you wanted to laugh. The first thing that you noticed about him was that he was huge, you couldn’t really see past him, and the more you looked at him, the more real he appeared to be. Soft-looking silver hair, rugged skin, that perfect nose and those piercing eyes. They looked into yours now, and at first they seemed to be searching for something, and after one quick second they visibly softened. You could also see how his handsome, oh so handsome mouth started to display his signature little smirk. And that was when you started to tremble.

“W-wha—” You tried to say something, anything but your mouth was not working. You have never been so confused and scared in your entire life. “Who—W-who are—” He was starting to close the distance between you and that is when the panic finally took over your body. You flinched and went to take a step back, but you slipped on your soft carpet.

Yet you didn’t fall. You felt the gentle caress of the mist that managed to caught you before you hit the ground, and it streightened your posture so that now you stood tall in front of the man.

“Careful kitten, I do not think that falling on four feet applies to you.” He spoke out loud for the first time and the voice was so familiar to you. It was the same, deep, husky timbre that you loved to hear, the same voice that made you squeal in happiness, that lulled you to sleep countless of times. You couldn’t believe it.

“Oh my god, am I dead?” He laughed softly at your reaction and looked at you through his lashes. “This can’t be happening.”

“Oh but it is. I knew that I would find my way to you, I just needed time.” He said and tried to close the distance between you, but you didn’t let him. Every step forward he took, you took one back. “It was so hard to find you. But after you disappeared without saying a word I think I got desperate.” Something flashed in his eyes. You recognized it as determination.

He stopped walking when he noticed that you were getting too close to the balcony. He straightened his posture, and you almost released a gasp. He was huge. And he was real. Alive and so, so real, that you had trouble breathing. You were so scared, but at the same time, so happy to see him, that your body didn’t know how it should react. You just looked at him, taking him in, trying to assess whether it wasn’t your mind playing tricks on you, or if it wasn’t some random man breaking into your apartment and your brain had created a new, fantastic defense mechanism. But no, the longer you took him in, the more similarities you managed to notice: the scar in the corner of his eye, his unevenly clipped fingernails, strong but dry hands, olive skin, slim lips, long, slightly furrowed eyebrows. The not-so-hidden gentleness in his gaze as he was taking you in himself.

“It’s really you.” You managed to breathe out.

“You’re so beautiful.” He answered and his voice was slowly starting to make you feel these familiar butterflies. “So, so magnificent.” He continued. You felt your cheeks heat up and he seemed to drink that reaction in. “Will you talk to me more? You sound angelic. I did not think that you could sound even better than you did through the phone but I guess you will never fail to surprise me, sweetheart.” He did not move an inch. He just looked at you, and you still didn’t know how to react, but you were slowly coming to terms with the fact that it was not a weird dream. He was here and he didn’t appear to have bad intentions. At least you wanted to believe that.

“You’re still trembling. Are you really that scared of me?” He pressed his lips into a line.

“I’m sorry. I just… I’m just not sure what is happening. I had no idea you were… real.” He laughed softly at that.

“You wound me, kitten. Is that your way of unleashing your little claws?” He continued with a small smile on his lips and you couldn’t take it. He looked… stressed. And you thought that was new for him. You spend so many hours playing with him in l&d but you have never seen him so stressed.

Everything that came out of his mouth was slow and precise, not a word was spoken without a purpose. However you could see by his appearance that he was uncertain.

“Of course I’m real. And all the time we spent together is real too. Was it so wrong of me to expect that you would be at least a little bit happier to see me?” He was starting to look hurt. But not angry, not displeased. More concerned than anything, and that was when most of your worries started to disappear. He was your Sylus. He really was.

“I am happy to see you. I really am.” You said truthfully, the fear slowly dissolving. “What are you doing here? How did it happen?”

“When you left me, I was worried to death. I had to come see that you were alright for myself.” He said, not taking his eyes off of you. “I found a path between our worlds, and first I sent Mephisto after you. And that was how I knew you were fine, just busy.” He started explaining slowly and put two fingers at the bridge of his nose. This gesture was so familiar that you felt a slight pang in your chest. “Which l understand. But you stopped visiting completely and I panicked that I lost you. And that you lost your interest in me. And when you logged in today I guess I just lost control over myself.”

“I had to see you. I had to feel you. I needed to know that you will never leave me like that again. But how could I be so sure if you thought I was not real, sweetie?” His voice carried a hint of a ridicule. He smirked slowly and you allowed yourself to relax. You spend so much time with him on your phone, that you knew when he really needed reassurance. And it was the first time you saw him being so honest about his own feelings.

You decided to step closer to him and his eyes widened slightly. His body tightened because of the sudden change in proximity, and when you gently touched his hand bringing it to your mouth, he appeared to be rendered speechless.

“I would never leave you, Sy. At least not without saying goodbye first. You are my safe space, remember?” You said quietly and smiled at him brightly, reminding him of what you had written in your game bio. And then you brought his knuckles to your lips and placed a soft kiss upon them. His hands were much warmer than you expected them to be. They felt harsh, but gentle.

The next thing you heard was a soft grunt and you felt yourself being suddenly lifted in the air. You yelped and found yourself pressed against his big, solid chest. Sylus hugged your body to his by wrapping both of his arms around your torso, and when he realized that you weren’t comfortable, he put one hand under your thighs and brought your body to his by your waist. You let your arms wrap around his neck and squeezed, and he buried his head in the crook of your neck. You heard him inhale your scent and his breath became rigged, as if he could not contain his excitement. You also became familiar with his scent. He smelled so manly and comforting, you could catch some notes of wood and leather, and something surprisingly sweet.

“You smell divine. You’re so soft, so warm.” He breathed against your neck and you felt goosebumps spreading throughout your whole body. You were so embarrassed, you felt like you needed to release some tension.

“I did not expect you to be so open with me. You’re usually the teasing type.” He chucked deeply and put his forehead against yours, while closing his eyes. Your cheeks burned. You couldn’t believe it wasn’t a dream.

“There will be a time for teasing you, kitten.” He rubbed his forehead against yours slowly. “Right now let me enjoy you for a bit. I can’t believe I finally got to see you.” He squeezed you harder to him. You reciprocated the hug with all you had. You were actually kind of scared that your grip was too hard, but he seemed to bask in it. “Communicating through that small device was not nearly enough for me. I could always see you and I heard your little responses to everything I was saying. But it took me some time to figure out how to change some things up.” Your eyes went wide at the mention of your reactions, you knew that a lot of times there were beyond embarrassing, but you decided your blush to speak for itself. But what truly caught your attention was how he managed to appear in your home.

“Change things up?? You must have made such a mess, will it really be okay?” The concern in your voice made him look up and find your eyes with his. You were now looking at his beautiful red ones, so full of adoration and determination. You could see that the consequences of his actions did not matter to him at all.

“Sweetie, I would gladly burn the world down for you, even if it meant that I could see you just once.” You swallowed audibly and proceeded to shy away from his piercing gaze. You started to feel unworthy of such attention, you couldn’t quite grasp what exactly made him care about you to such extend. “Fortunately for everyone, the process did not involve starting an intergalactic war.” He smirked slowly, his eyes finding your lips and staying there for much longer than necessary. “Yet.”

You chuckled at that and proceeded to bury your fingers in his hair, stroking the strands with care. They were so soft to the touch, they reminded you of silk. He closed his eyes and let you touch him to your heart’s content. Your hand quickly found its way to his forehead, and then to his cheek, stroking the skin delicately. You couldn’t believe how someone so handsome could really exist.

“See something you like, kitten?” He said and nuzzled into your palm, pressing a kiss right there. “You will have all the time in the world to touch me when we arrive in the N109 Zone.” He seemed so peaceful, so content with himself, but the mention of the N109 Zone stopped you in your tracks. You tensed visibly and he opened his eyes, noticing the change in your posture.

“The N109 Zone?” You asked puzzled. “Are you taking me away for a weekend?” You took your hand from his face and he used his Evol to bring it back to his cheek. The mist around your fingers felt weird, but not unpleasant.

“For a weekend? No, no.” He locked his eyes with yours, his head slowly closing the distance between you. He licked his lips and looked at your mouth once again. “I am taking you away for forever.” And before his lips managed to touch yours, you flinched. Your hands quickly pushed him away and the panic returned to your features.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I meant what I said. Pack your bags if you believe there is something that I cannot provide for you quickly enough, and we will be off shortly.” He said matter of factly, kind of annoyed by the distance you decided to put between you. “Luke and Kieran have already prepared a room for you, although I think that you will have more than enough space for your belongings in mine.” His eyes brightened with excitement that you unfortunately could not share. Instead, you lightly pushed his torso, making him lower you to the ground grudgingly. His brows were once again furrowed.

“I can’t go with you Sylus. At least, not for forever”

“You can. We can stay together for the rest of our lives and no one would have any objections. I took care of everything.” He reached to grab your forearm and stroked it softly with his thumb. He was so sure of everything he was saying that you could feel how much he let himself get lost in his fantasy. It did make you feel wanted, loved even. But no matter how happy you were that he was real, and apparently shared your feelings, you couldn’t agree to his plan.

“No, Sylus. I need to stay here, I have built my whole life in this place.” You could feel how much your words shocked him. He was looking at you so puzzled as if he didn’t think that you declining his offer was even an option. “I can’t leave everything that I managed to achieve, I really am content with my life, despite how complicated it can be.” You said truthfully. A part of you wanted to go with him, to feel safe and cherished for, for the rest of your life but you knew that was not realistic. You wanted to achieve more, you wanted to have your own life and your own space. You needed to be independent, to feel that you were perfectly capable of caring for yourself and your own needs.

“I do not understand. Don’t you want to be with me?” It pained you how quickly he jumped to that conclusion. And you hated the look on his face - it made you feel like you were betraying him.

”I do want to! Oh my god— I really, really do want to Sylus. I don’t think that I can live without spending time with you anymore.” You smiled at him, and took hold of his huge, rugged hand. “But I can’t live with you in the N109 Zone. I can’t leave my whole life behind.” And the fact that he wanted to make you do that somewhat scared you. Made you feel distressed.

“I see.” He sounded deep in thought. Then, he broke the eye contact for a second, looked at his hand in your hold and before you could even react, he grabbed your body gently with his Evol and picked you up. Your whole body was above ground and although you felt secured, you looked at him with surprise.

“What are you doing?” You wanted to get free from the hold of the mist, but it was impossible with how tight it was. “Sylus, you have to let me go.” You tried not to panic, you knew that you weren’t in danger. But he looked relentless, unforgiving as if his mind was already set in stone.

“No. I can’t. Not now when I finally got to have you.” He looked up at you, with his eyebrows still furrowed, and you could hear a hint of a growl in his voice. “If you do not wish to go with me, I guess I would have to take you by force.”

It was then that you felt a sense of panic. You knew him, and you knew that if he wants something, he always gets it. It just did not cross your mind that he would ever go against your own wishes.

“No. No, no, no, Sylus, please calm down.” He narrowed his eyes and stood motionless before you, his face devoid of almost any emotion. Almost, if not for the desperation shining through his watchful eyes. “You cannot take me away. At least not for now. But I will do anything you ask me to! You can also stay here for some time, and visit me whenever you want to, I swear, I would be so happy to have you.” You just needed him to listen. You knew that you could change his mind, he always listened to what you had to say, he just needed a little bit of persuasion. Maybe he didn’t even think about alternative options?

“And I would make you happy in the N109 Zone with me.” You laughed with disbelief. He was completely missing your point. You decided to once again yank your hands from the grasp of his mist, and then hissed with pain when it did not loosen up its hold. “Your struggle is futile, please stop, I do not wish for you to get hurt.” He was annoyed with you and your disobedience. He did not think that you would have any objections, he started loosing his cool.

“You would never let me get hurt.” You answered, wanting to assure yourself of it as well. You didn’t like how commanding he sounded.

“Yes.” There was no doubt in his voice. “Yes, you know I would stop at nothing to protect you.” His gaze never wavered from yours. He truly thought that what he was doing was for the best. And you just had to let him know how wrong his approach was.

“Yes! Yes I do know that! Because I know you, Sy.” You started to sound as if you were pleading. Deep down it scared you, send uncomfortable shivers down your spine. “I know you, and I know that you also know me.”

He placed his hand on his heart.

“And I adore every single piece of information. And I still wish to know you much, much better.” You tensed when you noticed that his right eye was starting to glow. You did not know if that was intentional, or just a trick of the light.

“Then you MUST know how much this life means to me. How much I like my stupid job, and how much I love the people that are here for me. My friends, my family.” You noticed that your reasoning started to get to him when he clenched his fists and avoided your eyes for a second. “And you have to know how much it would hurt me if you were to take me away from them.” He appeared taken aback. It seemed that his longing for you clouded his judgement, and now he started to notice the faults in his plan.

“But I cannot stand to be apart from you anymore, sweetie.” In normal circumstances that would be so touching to you. But nothing about this situation was normal, and you guessed you just had to show him how normal looked like.

“You won’t be. You can visit me anytime you want. Stay for how long you want.” You wanted that too. So bad.

“But that is not ENOUGH.” It was the first time you heard his raised voice and you started to tremble. His outburst must’ve thrown him off guard too, because he wavered and the grip he had on you loosed. You acted instinctively. You freed yourself from the mist and started to run towards your door. And although he was stunned by your reaction, he quickly teleported so that you ran straight into his chest. His hands grabbed yours in order to protect you from falling due to the impact.

He gently caressed your now slightly red forehead and sighed loudly. You could hear that he was hurt. You cried out from frustration.

“If you really thought that you could run away from me then you must be a total fool.” He tucked your hair behind your ear and lifted your chin up with his finger. “Usually I like playing cat and mouse with you, but I do not like the fact that you appear genuinely scared of me right now.” He hugged your waist and brought you closer to him, lowering his head at the same time. “And that you tried to run away from me when I only want to offer you my protection.”

“It doesn’t sound like protection, it sounds like imprisonment.” You used strong words, but you sounded so small. You did not know what to do with him, you were so scared. ”I’m just scared. I tried to run away because you scared me, Sylus.” You sounded desperate for him to understand you. To look past his own clouded vision.

“You do not have to fear me. I just want what is best for you. For us.” His grip on your waist tightened, and he also proceeded to grab your wrist.

“No. You only want what is best for you. You are not listening to me. I do care about you Sylus, but I cannot leave this place.” You tried to stand your ground but you two never argued before. It was an unfamiliar ground to you, especially when it was the first time that you had a conversation in person. Everything felt more intense and dangerous when you remembered the extreme measures he was always willing to take to achieve his goals.

“You can. And I will make you leave.” He almost growled and a cloud of black and red mist surrounded both of you, and that was enough to bring tears into your eyes.

”Sylus, no, please, I don’t want to. Please, just listen to me, please.” And it was at that moment he started to came into his senses. Your quiet voice and your eyes full of tears made his breathing stop. It was the first time he was seeing you react like this. He hated how broken you sounded. How small. “I’m so scared, Sy, please stop scaring me.” Your voice sounded choked and you could feel that the tears started streaming down your face. Every single one physically hurt him. It was your first meeting and he already made you so miserable. He wanted to scream. “Please.” You tried once again and it shocked you that it finally worked on him.

He tensed and released you from his grip. The mist also dissipated as he took a step back from you. You could hear him breathing deeply.

“I cannot do this." He sounded panicked. “I did not want to scare you, and I cannot listen to your little broken pleas. They break my heart.” He hidden his face in his hands and curled in himself. He felt as if someone pierced his heart with a knife and twisted it. He could not bring himself to look at your beautiful heartbroken face again. “They really do. Please, just stop crying. You won.”

You sniffed softly and touched your wet cheeks. You tried to calm yourself down, he finally listened to you.

“It does not feel so good this time for some reason.” You answered, referring to your Kitty Card battles. You wanted to relieve the tension somehow. You knew that he didn’t want to hurt you, you understand that he lives in a different reality where danger awaits everywhere. You could understand why he wanted to have you beside him at all times. But it scared you how insistent he was, how brutal and final. “Do you really understand why I got so scared?”

He nodded helplessly. “I won’t steal you away. Not when I know how much you despise the idea of spending the rest of your time with me.” You noticed how hard he was pressing his hands to his face and you grabbed them in your own. He let you uncover his eyes and you saw how much it hurt him to let you go.

“Oh, Sy.” You whispered and hugged his hands to your chest. “You know that’s not the reason.”

“Stop calling me that. It drives me crazy.” He breathed and met your eyes. “You drive me crazy. What am I going to do with you? How can I make sure you are safe now?” You took his hands and made him follow you into your bedroom. You sat on your bed and urged him to do the same. This way you could finally talk with him more comfortably.

“Sylus, we have to talk about it.” You squeezed his hands and he looked at yours and took notice of how much smaller they were in comparison to his. So fragile, so breakable. He couldn’t stand it. His whole body longed to protect you. “I do not despise the idea of spending my time with you. I just can’t randomly leave everything I know and love. And this world is different from the one you know, we have our dangers but no one wants my head.” You explained to him slowly. “There are no Wanderers. No protocores.” He looked conflicted.

“I already know that sweetheart. I do. But when you disappeared for such a long time I couldn’t help but think that something bad happened to you” he gritted through his teeth. “I nearly lost my mind looking for you everywhere. It was terrifying, that thought in my mind and the idea that I would never have another chance to speak with you. To see you.” He touched your forearms and brought you a little closer to him. “And when Mephisto found you safe and sound I thought that I never want to feel that fear, that helplessness again. And the only way to do that is to keep you beside me at all times. To guard you with my own body and soul.” He took your hand and rested it on his chest. You could feel the fast and steady rhythm of his heart. You could feel his desperation, his complete devotion. And it almost made you tear up.

“I-I’m so sorry that I made you worry this much.” He studied your face with intention and you shake your head. “But I didn’t even know that you were real. I really thought it was just a game that made me feel less alone and now…” You swallowed audibly. “Now I know that everything I built with you during our time together was very much real and I’m still having trouble to wrap my head around it to be honest.” You smiled at him softly and he nodded with understanding.

“And then you came in and wanted to kidnap me to a world much more dangerous than mine where I do not have my close ones and—”

“I did NOT mean for that to be a kidnapping I though that you shared my sentiment, and also wanted to spend some time—”

“SOME time?? Sylus you wanted me to switch literal worlds and live with you in your freaking villa in the middle of nowhere—”

“I live in an apartment that has a fantastic location, mind you, and you would feel so comfortable in—”

”Apartament??? You cannot possibly be a freaking leader of Onychinus and live in an apartment complex, are you being serious with me right now??”

“Have you ever heard of a saying that the darkest place is under the candlestick, kitten? Besides there is no one in the whole N109 Zone that would pose an actual threat to me—” He cut off when he met your eyes full of laughter, and then he heard that beautiful sound. You burst into giggles right in front of him and you touched him by the bicep and brought his forehead to yours. He couldn’t help but chuckle too, understanding the absurdity of the situation. Feeling your forehead against his, hearing your adorable chuckles and inhaling your sweet scent made him feel so at peace that he closed his eyes to embrace the moment completely. He couldn’t believe that he almost ruined your relationship by being so selfish.

“I missed this. This back and forth with you” You said and he chucked deeply. “I really am happy to see you, Sy. And I swear that we will be able to talk and spent time with each other more often now. And actually see each other in person.” He nuzzled into your face more and you caught his smirk by the corner of your eye. “We can stay in touch at all times, so that you won’t have to worry about my safety so much.”

“So bossy, kitten.” He answered, but the small smile did not leave his face. He couldn’t make it go away even if he tried. “Forgive me for scaring you earlier. I was not thinking straight. I was just so elated to finally have you in my arms that I let my selfishness get the best of me, and for that I’m sorry. I did not want to ruin our first meeting, sweetie.” You hugged him by bringing your arms around his chest and he closed his eyes drinking in the proximity. You were too small, too adorable, too attractive for him to take it. Too honest. Too lovable. Made just for him to adore. To protect.

“You did not ruin anything.” You said into his shirt, hugging him tighter. “I understand you, Sylus. And I like you a little selfish if it means that’s what brought you to me” He smiled into your hair and reluctantly let go of your fragile frame. He touched your chin and delicately lifted your face up to face him. His eyes were once again drinking you in, committing every single one of your features to his memory. He sighed contentedly.

“Selfishness was not the reason of my visit.” You could see how his eyes softened and you felt your chest squeeze. You brushed his cheek, loving the way how he seemed to relish in your touch. His eyes wandered to your lips: pink, plump and so inviting. “Adoration was. The complete love and devotion that I have felt for you for quite some time now.” You gasped quietly and opened your lips slightly, which didn’t go unnoticed by him.

“Sy—”

“And I guess a little emotional push was what made me finally find my way to you, my beloved.” He half-whispered, leaned in, and pressed his lips to yours, locking you in a sweet, passionate kiss that went on and on, seeming to deepen with every minute you spent in his embrace.

*˚⁺‧͙ ⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*

[kissforyouu]

too much ☆

pairing : sugar daddy!jungkook x fem!reader

genre : smut , fluff

warnings : sugar daddy x sugar baby relationship , implied age gap (reader 20s, jk 30s) , size kink, BIGGGG DDDD (9 inches) , choking , groping , d riding , daddy kink , hickeys , slapping , creampie , panty sniffing , use of petnames (angel, doll, baby, sweetheart) , he talks u thru it , squirting , anal penetration , slight dacryphilia , he gets off to her orgasming , the whole point is he’s too big for her

Today was the day.

You’re so determined to do it. You can do it. Yes, you can.

You were fully prepared, laying on your sugar daddy's expensive ass master bed, wrapped in white lace like a little present for him to unwrap. You looked as if you were a sweet angel fallen into his room filled with all things black and the only thing light being the white walls. And the little parts of you you'd leave hanging around. like makeup, books, clothes, etc. etc.

Too excited, that's what you were. but also nervous, in a way, but you had one goal for tonight. And that was to fit your sugar daddy's cock inside and ride him.

There was a very evident size difference between the two of you. Him being 6ft tall already gave it away, but to add to the list you stood at 5'2ft. He was big in every possible area you could think of, even his cock was massive. fuck. His palm could easily cover your asscheek perfectly without any flesh slipping out. He was a tall successful man with broad shoulders and a muscular body. Thick thighs, big arms—everything you liked in a man.

In addition to that, he was rich. So so rich that he offered you to be his sugar baby. You both met at the mall. So excitedly you went through all the cute dresses you could wear, but definitely not afford. You were still in college. No further explanation needed.

“Ah! this, er, maybe that? don't know!” You were on facetime with your friend, reviewing all the cute dresses you would buy if you had the money. Delusional!

“Nah, nah, nah, the purple one with butterflies would look so good on you!” Your friend squeals, making you squeal back. You might be making too much noise in ths store, but you didn't care.

“You know what would look good with this dress? a cute cardigan and I’d pair this up with some gold hoops."

“Hmm, sounds really pretty”, your friend answered.

“Wish i had the money though...” there was a pout formed on your lips when you look back at the prize tag.

Somehow, your friend ended up having to leave the call due to some work. You end the call, ready to exit the store with absolutely no bags whatsoever. But someone, a man, stops you.

And then he asks you the most out of the blue question ever.

“Want me to buy you that dress?”

That was how it all started. He offered you to become his sugar baby after a full day spent at the mall of him buying you random things. At first, you said no. But he gave you time to decide and also kept sending you gifts over and over. At the end, you agreed. To be fair, you expected him to be the most obscene, rude, horrid man ever. But he's actually...pretty nice. sweet. caring.

Your relationship was 50/50. All you had to do was to take care of that man emotionally, shower him with love which you'll gladly do and also have bomb ass sex with him and he'll pay off all your bills and buy you a shit ton of things in return. The sex wasn't even a topic brought up at first, he didn't need that kind of favour. Just needed a pretty baby to spoil who'll love him in return. The sex just happened on a random friday night. Ever since, you've been getting the best dick you've ever had in your entire life. But there was one problem.

He was too big.

And you were too small.

Sure, the sex was so good and he always made sure to make you cum at least twice each time. It was so good that you couldn't even count the stars rotating around your head each time you orgasmed. But one thing that always managed to bother you...was he satisfied? Because of the obvious size difference, it was hard to fit him inside. Most of the time you’d end up stopping him because it hurt. He won't even be fully in when that happens. Although he always reassured you that he's far more than satisfied with you, you still wouldn't buy it.

But today, you’re going to do it. Gonna make all of him fit inside and give him the orgasm he deserves.

You laid on your back with your eyes fixed on the pattern of the ceiling, feet kicking in the air as you mindlessly waited for him to return home.

But a flirtatious whistle catches you off guard. you immediately rise back up from the bed, eyes darting to the man leaning against the door frame looking at you with a smug look.

“Jungkook!” you squealed.

“Was wondering where you were.” He makes his way towards you.

“I was here.” you mumble.

“I can see...” he snorts.

He lifts you up to sit on the bed by his hands on your waist, then touching your bare stomach, right above the little lace skirt you were wearing.

“For me?” there's a little smug look on his face.

“Who else would it be for?” there’s a sly smirk on your face, batting your lashes as you spoke.

"hah, you little minx" he slaps your cheek with the back of his hand, soon cupping your chin and raising your head up.

"when did you buy this?" his thumb teasingly caresses your lower lip.

"mmm, last week. bought it when i went shopping with mina..."

jungkook snickers, thumb now poking in between your lips. instinctively, you open your mouth for him to easily slide his thumb in between. you let out a muffled giggle, swirling your tongue around his thumb.

you both had wide grins on eachother's faces, fully aware of where this was heading.

you choke on his entire thumb the moment he pushes it all in, his thumb and a part of his hand, stuffing your mouth full. with a little bit of drool slipping out of your mouth, you close your eyes with a hum, but jungkook pulls his hand out.

hurriedly, with a satisfied grin, jungkook begins to unbuckle his belt. but before he could move any further, you were quick enough to stop him, bringing confusion to his face.

"huh?"

"kook, the bed. get on the bed, please." you request.

jungkook raises his eyebrow as your unusual request, but still obeying. he removes his shoes first, then gets on the bed, legs spread and leaning against the headboard as he waits for your next move. you couldn't help but let out a small giggle, excitedly making your way to sit in between his legs.

jungkook, in the other hand, admist his confusion, still couldn't hold back the little smile that threatened to come out. let's just say...this relationship was more than just being a sugar daddy and sugar baby. for him, at least. he'd like to think so.

you push some of your hair back, brushing it along the way and letting it fall down your shoulders as you made yourself comfortable between his legs. pretty, jungkook thinks.

"what're you going to do?" he asks, voice as gentle as ever.

you let out a long hum, fingers struggling to open the zipper of his trousers. he was rock hard, so it was hard to get the zip down. ugh.

jungkook chuckles at your struggles, "want me to take it off for you?"

you shake your head in denial. no. you were gonna do everything tonight with no help from him. with the help of the strong mentality you've set on getting goal done, you manage to successfully pull the zipper off.

you sigh, relieved, but jungkook just laughs at you, almost mockingly.

"what?" you ask.

"nothing, baby, 'just love watching you trying to please me. you're gonna take my cock tonight? hm?" the corner of his lip curves up.

"hmmmm, yes" you're moaning.

jungkook snorts, as if he's not believing you. but he takes off his trousers and boxers, leaving his lower body bare. you're gulping while staring at his erect cock, finally free from the restraints of his white calvein klein boxers. he's already leaking precum.

you lean forward, taking his fat cock in your hands, giving it a few pumps. smearing the precum all over the tip, you use it as lube, pumping his cock again. it barely fits in your hands. you have to use both your hands to hold it.

your ass was up, back slightly arched as you took his cock in your mouth. a muffled moan immediately escapes you, as you slowly slowly take him in deeper in your mouth inch by inch. fuck, was it hard. suddenly getting the urge to cough, you quickly pull him off of your mouth and turn your head around to cough.

"shit, you okay, doll?"

nodding your head in embarrassment, you take hold of his cock again to leave kitten licks all over it. you begin by licking the tip of his cock, swiping your tongue over the small alleyway of his cockhead several times. jungkook hisses at the feeling, eyes droopy. happily, you're licking all over his shaft as if it's your favourite ice cream.

you lick a long stripe up his shaft again, then circling your tongue on the dent in his cockhead. pulling away to spit on his cock, you rub your saliva all over the base with both your hands, then taking his cock in your mouth again.

you sink it down your throat further, slobbering all over his cock, saliva gushing out of your mouth and covering his cock full. his hand instinctively lands on the back of your head, caressing your hair and giving your scalp a subtle massage.

you were so beautiful, he thought.

slowly, you move your head up and down his length, sucking his cock in your mouth. his cock repeatedly hits the back of your throat, causing him to let out a few grunts from here and there. he was surprisingly very vocal during sex. and that just got you even wetter.

"mhm, that's right. taking my cock well, huh? taught you good?" his free hand taps your cheek, feeling his cock against your cheek. your cheeks were hollow, your face felt hot. it was obviously heating up, and so was your pussy. jungkook's hand leaves the back of your head to touch your other cheek, both hands holding up your face now as you took him in your mouth. he grunts, releasing another breath.

you slurp up your saliva on his cock only to spit it back, swiping your tongue on his base. you bob your head on his cock, enjoying all of his moans to the fullest. his thumbs swipe over your cheeks repeatedly, wiping away the small tears that are falling down.

"bet you're soaking right now, hm? fhuck—i can imagine how pretty your panties look right now. drenched and sticking to your pussy? isn't that right, angel?"

you hurry to nod your head, still sucking him in your mouth. fuck, you were so cockdrunk. jungkook knew exactly how to get you riled up. the small touches and caresses, holding your face and hair, he knew you liked that. of course he did. he knew your body like the back of his hand.

"yeah?" he acknowledges your nodding, petting your head. you try to best to flash him a smile, moaning in between. "that's right." his palm lays flat on top of your head again as he pushes your head back down on his cock, his cockhead hitting the back of your throat again.

you're pretty sure it's gonna bruise there.

up! down! up! down! you go, warming his cock up by the insides of your mouth. your right hand is wrapped around the rest of his cock that you can't fit while the other squeezed his balls.

the harder jungkook pushed the more you gagged on his cock. it felt suffocating, but you knew jungkook would never do anything to hurt you. you're whining, clawing his thighs. your eyes rolled to the back of your head followed by a series of cusses coming from jungkook's mouth.

"ohhh, oh, hah, fuck, fuck." his head is thrown back against the headboard of the bed. he lets out a whiny little moan, spilling his load into your mouth. jungkook wipes away your tears once you slip his cock out of your mouth with a pop, reassuring you on how well you did.

"you did so well, angel. took my cock so good." he pulls your hair into a makeshift ponytail to raise your head back up. you looked so fucked out just from his dick in your mouth. it was definitely a huge ego boost for him. as much as he loved seeing you pretty and dolled up for him, this look on you has got to be one of his favourites. naked, sweaty and fucked out from his dick. you were so pretty.

"hmm...", he groans, hand sliding up from your left breast to the back of your neck, pulling you on top of him so that you'd be sitting on his lap. "liked having a mouth full of cock?" he grins mockingly, left arm folded on his back as he rests back on it. you nod your head, eyes still closed. the man chuckles, wiping away the drool on your face and chest. he makes sure to wipe his hand on your asscheek also, then slapping it afterwards.

"good now?" he checks up on you.

"yes. all good." you flash him a toothy smile with a thumbs up. jungkook smiles, tongue poking his cheek. "c'mere." he pulls you closer by your waist and securely wraps his right arm around you. your cheek was resting against his peck while he caressed your hair, giving your scalp a few massages here and there.

jungkook trails kisses from the back of your ear down to your neck, darting his tongue out to lick some areas known to make you moan. "let me take care of you, doll."

your sugar daddy gently lays down your body on the bed, hovering over you quickly. he takes a moment to stare down at you, a stupid little smile brightening up his face. you raise your eyebrow, quick to pick up on that. "what? why're you smiling like that?" you ask.

"why not?" jungkook snickers, he pinches the tip of your cheek, thumb gently caressing it afterwards. you feel your cheeks heat up. leaning into his touch, you smile a little.

jungkook lifts you hips up, angling his cock with your entrance and you almost— almost forget your plan. immediately, you halt and place your hand on his chest with a shake of your head.

"why? something wrong?"

you nod your head, gently pushing the man back.

"what're you doing?" you shush him up with your index finger pressed against his lips and shaking your head. jungkook raises his eyebrow.

"i wanna ride you."

jungkook just stares at you as if you've just told him the craziest thing ever, eyes wide as well. stop. this is making you feel embarrassed. what if he just laughs at you?

"what, you're gonna ride me now?" jungkook couldn't help but laugh a little, but immediately shutting himself up when he sees the frown on your face. "okay, sorry, sorry."

"yeah, i am." your voice came out almost inaudible. you felt so small in his large presence. with his big eyes boring into yours, you feel put on the spot. like. like everyone's looking at you holding a mic to your mouth expecting you to talk.

the corner of his lip slightly twitches up, then he breaks into a smile. big hands land on your hips and effortlessly drags you closer to him, he then lifts your chin up, thumb swiping over your lower lip. "sure you won't hurt yourself?"

"yes, daddy. not gonna hurt." jungkook chuckles at the nickname, finding it amusing. you both never really used the name daddy, just once or twice. although, you can't deny how the nickname gets you feeling sort of...thrilled? aroused? jungkook could say the same.

"daddy, huh?" he clicks his tongue.

you nod your head with a small hum, raising your body up to sit on your knees. "lie down, please."

jungkook listens to your request with a teasing smirk on his face. hah, you wanted to fuck that smirk off of him soooooo bad. he lies down on the bed with two pillows supporting his back and makes himself comfortable. he raises his eyebrow watching your puzzled expression, trying really hard to read your face. his legs are spread, fat cock rock hard and leaking that precum you love so much. you gulp down the drool that was already pooled up in your mouth, eyes darting between jungkook's eyes and his cock.

"what're you waiting for? come fuck me, girl."

and you do.

gliding yourself over his muscular thighs, you settle yourself on top of him, your thighs on each side of his waist. you avert your gaze down to his massive cock, twitching with pre cum leaking from the tip, impatiently waiting for you. you take a long deep breath before raising your body over his thighs, then angling your pelvis over his cock. wrapping your hand around his base, you teasingly rub the tip on your folds. jungkook tugs on his lower lip as your pussy twitches against his tip, both your juices slightly mixed with eachother. you raise your hips up again and this time, a string of wetness appears connecting your hole and his reddened tip.

"fucking nasty. you're soaking." jungkook couldn't help but reach out to touch your pussy one more time. you groan once his thumb harshly rubs on your clit while his fingers sunk into your pussy for a moment. he pulls them out before you could even enjoy the feeling, ending it with a slap on your clit. "go on. get on this dick."

jungkook was such a slut.

the moment you finally sink yourself in, or try to, both of you let out a soft gasp, taking in how genuinely tight it felt.

"god, kook...mh", your chest heaved up and down as you balanced yourself, still not fully sunk in his dick yet. you move your hand down there to spread your pussy lips a little further apart, then pushing yourself down a little further.

jungkook stayed silent watching you struggle for a few seconds before deciding to step in. "you okay? want help?" his fingers caressed from your waist to hips, trying to soothe you. you whine, frustrated, ugh—

"i can't. can't do this—mh, too big!"

you give up.

jungkook clicks his tongue, clearly disappointed. he shakes his head, disapproving your decision. "come on, baby. 'know you can do this. you're a hardworking girl. it's okay."

"no, no, no, ahh, can't." you shake your head in denial.

"tsk. no. you're gonna do this. slap my thigh if it's too much, m?" a tear escapes your eye as you finally agree to proceeding to pursue your initial goal. jungkook decides to lend a helping hand by rubbing your clit in various patterns slowly to get you wetter and make it easier for you. "better not cum."

"hmm...", you moan out.

with your throbbing clit being rolled in between the tip of the big man's fingers, you sink your hips down his much bigger dick, eyes widening at the newfound sensation.

"SHIT— oh, mm!" his tip hit your g spot, causing your entire body to tremble a little. the action makes jungkook laugh cockily, his lips forming into a mocking pout.

"gonna cum already? my dick only had to get in? you're that needy?" he slaps your cheeks lightly. you give him nothing but a small enticing glare. jungkook groans and taps your hips as a signal for you to get moving.

your knees buried deep into the bed sheets, you steady yourself before guiding your hips up and down slowly. honestly, it hurt. your walls were so mushy and tight, firmly gripping the base of his cock.

"ah, loosen up, angel. if not, you'll make me cum just from that tightness—shiii."

you try to loosen up your pussy hole, relaxing your entire body but ugh, you just can't do it. with a whine, you continue thrusting yourself downwards on his cock. jungkook adjust himself to you fully— your pussy felt soooo full. so fucking stuffed. his tip reached your womb. you didn't even know having him this deep could be possible. it hurt so bad, yet it felt so good. jungkook's hand reaches behind your back to grab the flesh of your ass and mold it into his liking, slapping and pulling on the flesh.

by now you've learnt how to sit on his dick fully inside. and now, you're doing to fuck it.

"h-haaa—" a breathy moan surpasses through as you begin riding his dick, your walls tightly squeezing in his fat base. your moves were slow and careful, careful trying not to hurt yourself too much. it already hurt so bad, no—burnt. your pussy felt as if it was burning, overwhelmed by the size of his dick. you squeeze your eyes shut, suddenly remembering why you've never tried fully taking him in. cause your cunt was too small! and fuck! does it hurt!

still, you try, brushing away the second thoughts. the skin slapping noises grew louder each thrust as you let his cock hit deeper and deeper areas. jungkook was in pure ecstasy. the most attractive woman he's ever seen (he would never never reveal that to you) is riding his dick. he loved every second of it.

his hands cup your tits through the sheer fabric of your skimpy lingerie, thumbing your nipples hard. he could feel your nipples grow harder, he just could. which drove him crazy. jungkook's thumbs swipe on your nipples, swirling the bud around too. the bridge of his nose brush against your collarbone as he leans his face closer to your neck, whispering sweet nothings.

"i fucking love watching you struggle like this." you grip onto his wrist tightly, twisting it around with your nails digging deep into his skin and probably creating scars. thankfully for your wet slick, it progressively got easier for you to slide up and down.

"take this off. mm, now." his fingers toyed with the straps of your skimpy ass top, tugging on the fragile material and pulling on it. you groan, hurriedly taking off the annoying ass top and throwing it away to let it land on wherever.

you breasts were fully bare for him, big and juicy, nipples hard as fuck. you were such an eye candy. he loved—liked everything about you. so fucking hot. he could go insane.

your jaw falls open, shoulder pushed back and chest popped out as you rode his dick. such a pornographc sight. your tits bounced along with each of your jumps. puffy clit rubbing against his pelvis with each thrust of your hips, his dark pubic brushing against your clit, creating some sort of friction as well. fuuuck.

jungkook caresses your hips, fingertips also dancing across your asscheeks, bringing you a relaxing feeling amidst the heavy workout you're putting yourself through. you slam yourself onto his dick, pussy quite literally splitting into two. you've never fucked someone this hard. this is so crazy, you're actually taking him— you gasp, letting yourself feel out his dick fully.

fuckfuckfuck you could feel his dick tightly smuggled inside your chubby cunt, feeling out the tight clasp of your walls as you literally squeezed him shut. shit, you're scared he wouldn't be able to pull out even. you're squeezing him that tightly. you hold onto his broad shoulders, long manicured nails digging into the skin, probably—most probably leaving marks. you inhale in the musky scent he always has once he gets back from work. you loooveeee it.

"please, i—literally—like, fawwkkkk jungkook!" jungkook hisses, hands messily searching for the discarded dirty panties on the side of the bed. he finally finds them and brings them upto his nose to take a long sniff out of it. a looongg nasty sniff. "you're so dirty, daddy."

his eyes drift from the dirty material to yours in a second. he quickly dropped it off and snakes his arms from under your thighs to hoist you up the bed. you squeel in surprise, arms immediately wrapping around his neck for stability. jungkook looks at you from below, big doe eyes glistening at you as you stared back. you giggle a little once you feel his hand slap your asscheek and grab it again.

jungkook leans forward to envelope your lips in a sweet kiss. you sigh in content, kissing him back passionately as your tongues swirled on eachother. you both were eating out eachothers face so good. moving your heads rhythmically in sync while your nails scratched his back real good. you exchanged saliva, head tilting to various sides as you shared a sloppy messy kiss. so fucking hot.

"mmh, put it in...", you try to reach behind your back and grab his dick but jungkook beats you to it, swatting your hand away. he grips his cock, squeezing the red tip with a hiss. "inside me, daddy." his mind feels fuzzy as he slides his dick inside you again. this time, it enters pretty easy, much easier than before. well, since you're well lubricated and all. you both moan in sync, shoulders dramatically falling down as he fills you up again. you hug his muscular body, gliding up and down his dick once again. second time feels much better than last. shiiiit.

"you're so big. i—" you sigh deeply, whole cunt swallowing his fat dick. "hm, it slips in so easily now." you grunt into his neck, trying to adjust yourself. "yeah, cause you're slippery as shit."

"c'mon, sweetheart." he pats your back as you start over, again. you begin riding his dick once more, this time gripping onto the head of the bed and his head. "you know you're doing so good, yeah? never been more proud of you." you could feel the bone of his nose poke your neck as he inhales your sweaty scent in. jungkook presses tiny kisses all over your neck, down to your collarbone. little kisses all over your collarbone. little hickeys forming all over your collarbone ૮꒰ ⊃ ⸝⸝ ⊂ ꒱ྀིა

yeah you know what, maybe you overestimated yourself. fuck does this hurt. did your pussy get smaller or what. you were squeezing him so tight. so fucking tight.

"koo— haaarrd... 'm struggling." you grunt into his neck.

"lemme take over, then."

"wha—no. i'm fucking you." you refuse his offer quite literally right away.

"you're barely holding on. can't even keep my dick inside without moving around. hm?" he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, squeezing your cheeks together mockingly. he treated you as if you were a feeble little being who couldn't even complete the simplest task.

nothing simple about this dick.

he made sure his dick was perfectly tucked inside, ready to absolutely break you apart on it.

your pussy suddenly starts pulsating, clenching around his dick repeatedly. jungkook lets out a gruff moan, palm slapping against your waist.

"stop fucking clenching. you gonna cum, yeah? is that what this is?"

"mmmhm, i don't want to cum." you break into a whine into his shoulder. "'s okay, just let it out on me, yeah?" he sneaks his arm in between you guys and sticks his thumb out on your very swollen clit. you flinch once he starts rubbing your clit, and in no time, you cream his dick.

"fuck, no, i—i don't want to cum yet." you punch his arm and bite his shoulder, agitated that he just had to make you cum. "i wanted to make you cum first. fuck you." "too bad. i barely even moved."

"are you making fun of me?"

"maybe."

you tug on his hair and bite his arm as revenge.

"i haven't cum yet. did you forget?" he pulls on your hair.

"you know that i wanted to ride you." you huff,

"and you did."

"barely." you roll your eyes, snuggling closer into him, face nuzzled into his neck.

"yeah, my bad my dick's too big."

"you're so over the head."

"okay, but we both know i'm right."

"my vagina is burning."

jungkook pinches the top of your ass and flips you over so that you'd be laying on your back. the sudden movement catches you off guard as you yelp in surprise.

"ow! that hurt."

jungkook doesn't respond to you, but slowly, carefully, pulls his dick out of you. he's still rock hard. you're not surprised.

"you said you wanted to make me feel good, yeah?" he caresses the side of your face, moving away each and every hair sticking to your face. gentle kisses all over your face, cheek, nose, eyes—he suddenly stops, the eye contact between you two breaking the moment he looks away. your breath hitch, there's a tingling feeling all over your body, it felt like the tip of a feather gracing over your face.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“Mhm.”

Jungkook squeezes the fat of your belly with a soft kiss on top and suddenly—he was so sly with it too—enters his dick inside your cunt again. “AH!”, you yelp out due to the sudden waves of pain and pleasure sent right from your swollen fucking pussy.

“Come on, girl, take it. I know you can—haah.”

He plunges his dick deep in you with a hard thrust and immediately going at it. He didn’t stop. No he did not. Jungkook rutted into your wet cunt like an animal in heat, desperate to hear the high pitch moans coming out of your swollen lips.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, back arched and gasps left your lips repeatedly. It hurt so bad. Your pussy was fucking burning. It hurt so bad that it felt so good. He’s never done this before. He’s never probably been inside you fully. You swore to the heavens above that your cunt was already torn apart. There was no way.

“Jungkook—mmhphhhhhhhhhttttt!!! It hurts so much! Stop, ah, fuck!”

You raise your legs up, slinking them around his toned sweaty fucking torso. Jungkook grabbed a handful of your meaty thighs, using the fat for support to cling onto you more.

“Please! Stopstopstopstop it hurts so much!”

You didn’t actually want him to stop. You would’ve used to the safe word if so, you and him both knew that very well.

Jungkook grunts in annoyance with a slap on your ass to shut you up.

“Shut up and take my fucking dick. You wanted this. Finish what you’ve started. Take my fucking dick like you said you would!”

He was so big.

“You’re a big girl made for taking big fucking cocks like mine, yeah?”

Without a warning, his palms slap against both your asscheeks before hoisting your entire body up into his arms. Jungkook had you on top of his thighs, carrying your entire weight on his arms as he thrusted from below. His thrusts were so harsh and aggressive with the intention of only wrecking your pussy apart. You were bounced on his cock like a ragdoll. He used you for his pleasure, letting his cock mold the insides of your pussy to the perfect shape that'll fit him always.

"I'm not letting this pussy go now. Hah", he rocks your body upwards again, letting you fall onto his. you cling onto his body for dear life, arms wrapped around his neck, breasts bouncing in front of his face. you could feel his balls slap against your ass repeatedly. they were wet, slimey and sticky. he spread the stickyness on his balls everywhere, constantly reminding you of the fact that he was deep inside you now. like, finally.

"da-ddy! i can't believe you're fucking me like t-this."

you close your eyes tight, your nails gripping onto jungkook's scalp as you let out a scream.

"please, oh my god, oh my god, OH MY GOD! i'm g'na- HAAH!"

jungkook recognizes the familiar high pitched sound you make, hand sneakily rubbing your puffy clit again. and as a cherry on top, he spreads your ass cheeks apart and sneaks his thumb in between to penetrate your neglected tight little hole. he rubs your hole and inserts the tip of his finger in, repeating the process after. You were so tight down there, considering the fact that you were still an ass virgin. He always said he was gonna take your ass sometime, but you always said no. This was your first time. Fuck.

The finger in your ass caught you off guard as you let out a shriek, your asshole immediately tightening at the sensation.

“Jung…hah. My ass—hhnmpht!”

He shushes you up with a kiss and got into work, rubbing your swollen little clit with his right hand and finger your tight asshole with his left hand, all while his cock absolutely ruined you from below.

“Stop! Too much! Too much! Too much!”

You slobber all over his shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably as your entire body shiver and crumble against him. You didn’t have to tell Jungkook once, he knew you were just about to cum.

“Cum, baby. Let go. You’ve done amazing.” He fastens his pace on your clit, giving you just enough simulation.

“Ah! I’m g’na pee! FuckfuckfuckfuckSTOP!!”

You let out one more loud cry before aggressively trembly. Your pussy is so used and swollen and your ass hurts so much. Fuck. It didn’t take that long till your pussy starts squirting angrily. Your eyes widen, back arching as you let your pussy take full control of your body.

Jungkook pulls out of you for a brief moment to let you squirt wherever. His hand never left your clit though, continuing to rub at an increased speed. Your pussy convulses aggressively, squirting on everything and everywhere. The sheets behind you were fully drenched with your squirt and so was his dick, that was right under you.

“I’m sorry I’m making a mess all over your bed,” you cry into his shoulder, completely overwhelmed with everything that’s happening.

You’re still squirting. You don’t know if you’re actually squirting or just straight up pissing yourself on him. This was so embarrassing. Your face was so red. This is so humiliating fuckfuckfuck.

“I’m so”—you choke,“—embarrassed. Ahh, I���ve ruined everything.” You cry out, covering your face with your hands. Jungkook understood that this was an intense moment for you. You’ve squirted before, but never this hard. He soothes you by bringing you into his embrace, tracing patterns on your back to help you calm down.

You choke on your tears again. You were crying so much. You’ve never cried this much during sex before. As concerned he was for you, he was starting to admit he liked that sight. He liked it when you were crying out for him.

You let out the last bit of squirt on his cock, drenching him fully. Jungkook’s cock twitches, it’s angry head starting to let out spurts of cum.

Fuck, he couldn’t believe it. He was cumming. He was cumming so hard from just watching you orgasm. He was getting off to your orgasm.

“Fuck. Shit. Oh my god”, Jungkook groans. He throws his head backwards, letting his cum spurt out as you squeezed his balls. There was a thin layer of sweat covering his forehead as his face changed into various expressions as he emptied his balls into your mouth.

You made sure to put your mouth on it and let his cum fall right onto your tongue, just how he liked it. And you also made sure to swallow it all, just how he liked it.

You were still getting off of your high as well, body still crumbled against his.

“It’s okay, babygirl”, Jungkook coos into your ear and soothingly rubs your pussy slowly with your palm till you calm down.

“It stings”, you whine.

“Hmm, I know, baby. Take a deep breath.”

You obey him, taking a deep breath as he wiped off your tears. You sniffle. Your pussy was still throbbing and hole gaping. Fuck. You’re gonna stay stretched like this for a while. He ripped you apart.

“My gorgeous girl. You did so well.” He presses a kiss to your temple. “I can’t believe I fucking came to you squirting”, he chuckles.

“I wanted you to cum in my pussy.” You whine, spreading your pussy lips apart once again.

“I know. But this is more than enough. You know I get off to your orgasms.” He swats your hand away.

“Let her rest.” Jungkook leans down to press a kiss to your swollen worn out pussy.

You cry out, scooting closer to him.

Jungkook then picked you up, took you to the bathroom, made you pee, and brought you back to bed after changing the sheets.

“I think I’m in love with you.”

What?

[yazmarina]

walk me through it

for the love circuit series

—you're used to being flirted with in front of the camera. but something about franco is really doing you in.

franco colapinto (f1) x fem!reporter reader

warnings/notes: smut, unprotected sex (no condom, yes birth control), guided masturbation, lewd photography, lots of flirting, franco is shameless (naturally), some Spanish sentences and phrases

a/n: will resume hit play for a bit after this one! enjoy franco girlies mwa

Your job was simple enough. Well, for today, at least.

Stand in the media pen, gather statements, and piece together a couple of stories later that evening for publishing first thing tomorrow morning. All in a day's work, like all the other days before.

You've grown immune to the charms of rich, adrenaline-seeking men. Didn't take you too long, the illusion breaking as soon as any one of them opened their mouths. Some you tolerate more than others, but some you'd rather steer clear of completely.

This isn't to say that you've brushed all of them off. You might have agreed to a date here and there but nothing ever stuck, the nature of your jobs a bit too similar and all too different at the same time. You've given up on the prospect that you'll somehow end up with one of the many Formula 1 drivers you've interviewed and spoken to. And you've spoken to a lot. You've had this gig since you were shipped off fresh from uni and one too many 'What happened there?'s and 'Tell me about qualifying's can put a damper on the romantic side of things.

But someone new's in town. Well, er, new in the paddock. And you'd be lying if you said you weren't even a little bit excited.

He's charming, that much you can already tell. He walks into the media pen like he's done it thousands of times before and you have to actively suppress a smile as he walks over. Confidence is always a plus. For the interview, of course.

"Hola, Franco. Antes que nada, enhorabuena," you greet warmly, extending your arm over the barrier to place the microphone nearer to him. Hi, Franco. First of all, congratulations.

Franc's eyebrows shoot up, a wolfish grin settling on his face. "Oh. I thought this was an English interview?"

You smile back. "It is, but I know my way around Spanish, as well."

"Ah," Franco nods. "Gracias, _______."

"You know my name?" You ask, momentarily forgetting that you're being taped and recorded. You clear your throat, ignoring the quiet snicker from your cameraman.

"Yeah, I've seen you around and watched some of your other interviews," Franco confirms, a hand settling on his hip as he leans against the barrier, closer to you.

You can smell his perfume from where you stand.

"Thank you, I've heard and seen a lot about you as well," you respond, trying to return to your original train of thought.

"Which is why I want to ask you how it feels on your first day as a Formula 1 driver," you quickly follow. "Have you done anything special to prepare for this weekend? Other than the obvious, of course."

Another easy smile spreads across Franco's lips. "I've definitely added to my training and done some new things to prepare. I haven't done a full F1 weekend before so everything will be new."

"We definitely don't have reporters like you in the lower Formulas," he adds.

You feel a violent blush rip up through your neck all the way to your cheeks. As if the Monza heat wasn't enough.

"Well, I'm glad you could meet me here," you manage to get out.

The thing is, Franco isn't even the most attractive driver you've met. He's definitely up there, but not the most.

That's a discussion you have with yourself semi-weekly: ranking the drivers in terms of attractiveness, factoring in personalities and general attitudes towards the people around them, specifically the media.

Look, people love to shit on the media and press, calling journalism all sorts of derogatory words, but you're just here to do your job, like anyone else. And it gets pretty fucking hard when your boss is ringing your phone every five minutes demanding four stories by tomorrow and drivers are sassing you out as if you asked them if they've murdered their whole family.

So, naturally, the way they treat you determines a big chunk of how you think your day is going to pan out.

And right now, Franco seems to be lifting your spirits just fine.

"What are your goals for this weekend? Are points on the horizon for you at your first F1 race?" You continue, trying not to stare at the way Franco starts to rub at the back of his neck, bashful all of a sudden.

"We'll try," Franco begins. He plants both his hands on the barrier and leans even closer. You have to physically take a step back.

You gulp. Franco smiles.

"Anything is possible this weekend."

-

"You broke the internet last night."

You scoff, sending your cameraman a vicious side-eye. It's crowded in the paddock today, everyone wanting to get a glimpse of the new rookie, it seems. Such is the eagerness for this young driver that even that 30-second clip of your interview with him blew right up in your face. Your inboxes at capacity, your own voice speaking back to you with every other swipe on your TikTok.

It's not all bad, though. A tweet with one of your Instagram photos attached to it captioned 'TE ENTIENDO MUCHO FRANCO ES MUY LINDA PERIODISTA' did weasel out a chuckle from you.

Your cameraman shrugs, gesturing with a jerk of his head in front of you.

"There he is. I'm sure he knows all about it."

You look over to where he's pointing and lo and behold, Franco is right there, chatting with a few Williams team members, his race suit hanging undone around his waist. He turns to you even before you can fully register that it's him you're looking at.

But your training kicks in even faster. A megawatt smile appears on your lips and you wave enthusiastically at Franco.

"Hi."

"_______," Franco says, face lighting up at the sight of you. Your name seems to fall even more effortlessly off his lips.

You reach over and pull him into a half-hug with one arm, but both his arms wind around you and you have no choice but to squeeze back.

"You saw?" Franco asks, a gleam in his eye as he pulls away. His hand remains casually on the small of your back.

"Saw what?" You know what it is he's asking but you'd like to hear it from him.

"We went viral, no?" Franco says with a laugh, reaching further around you and squeezing your waist. You lean into his touch, heart jumping as his fingers graze just underneath your cropped top.

"That's all because of you," you reason, pointing an accusatory finger at Franco. "I bet you say that to all the other reporters."

The Williams team members standing nearby burst out laughing and even your cameraman affords a snicker. A deep blush spreads across Franco's face as he rubs your side reassuringly.

"No, no, I don't. Just you," Franco admits with another lighthearted laugh.

"Sure," you say with exaggerated skepticism. You pull away from his touch, catching his hand before he slips it fully off of you.

"I'll talk to you later," you say. And it's fully intentional, the words you choose to say. I'll talk to you later. Not 'I'll catch you later' or 'I'll see you later'.

I will talk to you later.

Franco understands, giving your hand a squeeze.

-

Later that day, you pray that no one catches you grinning behind your hand as Franco takes the chequered flag at qualifying.

P11.

Almost there.

-

"Hi. Come in."

Franco beams at you from across the threshold, stepping into your room with slow, measured steps.

"Great qualifying," you compliment, eyes traveling down Franco's body, noting the way his team kit hugs his frame just right, his hands shoved into his pockets, exposing just his arms, veins and all.

Your eyes snap back up to his face when you hear the door shut in place.

"Q2 on your debut. Not bad," you go on, taking a step back. Franco takes one toward you.

"You're just repeating what you said at the media pen earlier," Franco points out. He reaches out and gently circles an arm around your waist.

Always straight to the point.

Like this morning.

You tried not to make it so obvious when you ran into Franco earlier, but all you could think about was The Message.

You were doing your cursory social media checks a few minutes after you had woken up, still snug in your bed and unwilling to get up just yet. A message in your Instagram inbox caught your attention, sitting at the very top of your 'verified followers' tab.

Franco Colapinto: hola, hermosa 😉

It took a minute for your motor functions to return, your fingers hovering over the keyboard as you pored over what to reply. You settled on a nonchalant greeting, asking if Franco needed anything.

You realized rather belatedly that this was looking a little familiar. You wished he wouldn't say the dreaded answer, the more-than-predictable response that every man liked to use.

Franco Colapinto: you, maybe?

You groaned into your pillow, not because you were repulsed by his answer, but because you liked it. If you were easy, then so was he.

You: i finish work at 9 pm tonight...? 👀

It's 9 PM now. Franco's in the room and your hand is running up his chest.

Easy.

"It's such an honor," Franco teases, backing you up further into the room. His hands feel heavy on your waist and your heart hammers against your chest.

"I get to work with people like you now," Franco continues, stopping right in front of the bed.

The kiss comes as a shock more so because of how good Franco kisses. One of his hands is now cradling the back of your head, keeping you in place while he licks into your mouth, groaning with every pucker of your lips.

You pull away for barely a second to get both of your tops off before you dive back in, seemingly too desperate and too starved for each other's mouths. Franco's hands are everywhere; they run down your arms, paw at your waist, tugging at the belt loops of your jeans.

You giggle as he pulls you even closer, your bare chests pressed against each other. Franco pulls back and peers down at you, reaching behind to unclasp your bra. You let it fall, already guiding one of his hands to your tits.

"Couldn't stop staring at them?" You ask, your voice rising with an innocent lilt.

Franco kneads at the mound beneath his hand, eliciting a moan from you. He grins.

"I wanted you to notice," Franco admits simply, kissing you again.

"Perv," you mumble against his lips. Franco laughs, already undoing his trousers.

You wiggle your own way out of your jeans, letting Franco get the shortest of glimpses at your baby pink underwear before you discard them off to the side.

"Mierda, you're so sexy," Franco compliments as you crawl backward onto the bed, laying back and letting your hair splay out beneath you.

Franco pounces on you like a man starved, bare atop your own naked body, his arms caging you in.

"Big moves from somebody so new," you whisper, carding your fingers through Franco's soft locks.

"I like to make a statement," Franco says with a shrug. He glances up momentarily, something piquing his interest off to the side.

"Is that your camera?"

You crane your neck to see where he's looking and sure enough, your personal DSLR is right there on the bedside drawer. You look back at Franco, an eyebrow raised.

"You wanna use it?" You ask, not expecting him to actually say yes. But a mischievous grin settles on Franco's face and you feel your heart skip several beats.

"Knock yourself out," you say.

Franco reaches for the camera and fiddles with it for a few seconds. His eyes scan over your body and you suddenly feel the urge to hide away with how hard he's looking.

"May I?" Franco asks, brandishing the camera. Your mouth falls open as you realize what he's asking.

"You can keep them for yourself. For your eyes only," Franco hurriedly adds, planting his knees firmly on either side of you.

You stare up at him, a million thoughts running through your mind.

"Just...touch yourself."

You gasp, stunned at his proposal. Franco watches through the LCD monitor, glancing up at you through his lashes. Your bottom lip slips between your teeth, and as if on instinct, your hand inches down slowly between your legs.

"You're in front of cameras all the time," Franco reminds with a smirk. "This should be easy for you."

You suppress a whimper at his words, your fingertips swiping through your slick folds. You're already soaked and you start to wonder if it started even before Franco got here.

The shutter clicks and the lens whirs, sharp against the soft breaths you're letting out. Franco is concentrated, snapping photo after photo as you rub yourself closer to release. But it's not enough. You need more.

"Franco...," you implore, peering up with bright, begging eyes.

"Slowly, mi amor," Franco coos. "Just where you like it. Right there."

Click.

"Harder now, but still slow. Yes? Feels good?"

You whine, eyes fluttering shut as your pleasure picks up again. Several clicks. You're panting now, the tendrils of release wrapping themselves around you.

"Faster, yes, like that," Franco eggs on. Your fingers speed up against your sensitive clit and a litany of Franco's name spills from your lips. Before you know it, he's putting the camera away. You reach for him, gripping the back of his neck as he smashes his lips into yours.

Franco bites down on your lip and you cry out, your orgasm washing over you like a tide. You arch against Franco, feeling his own stiffness heavy on your thigh.

You blink, Franco's face coming into focus, barely an inch from yours. He watches you closely, pupils blown wide and plump lips even redder. You hook your legs around his waist, letting him know that you're not done yet.

Franco is quick to pick up, smiling as lines himself up with you. The groan that escapes him is nothing short of delicious as he pushes himself in. You gasp along, the stretch a welcome sensation.

Franco wastes no time and pounds right into you, catching you by surprise. You let your head fall back against the mattress, a long, drawn-out whine erupting from deep within your chest as Franco licks a stripe up your neck.

Your whole body quakes with how hard he's thrusting into you but you're clearly enjoying it if your wanton moans are anything to go by. Franco meets your eyes and you pull him down, wanting nothing more than to drown in those lips of his.

It's feral and it's unrestrained, spurred on by the knowledge that this is more than unprofessional in your line of work. Not illegal by any means, but risky enough to warrant warnings from your coworkers. Never sleep with a driver unless you're committed.

Oh, well.

Franco groans loudly in your ear, movements losing their rhythm as he speeds up. You're clinging to him as if he'd disappear if you let go, your own belly tightening once more with that familiar feeling.

Franco. Franco. Franco.

He kisses you just as he finishes. Passionate, eager, heady. You feel him inside you, a different kind of elation filling you as you release all over him.

Franco pulls away to allow yourselves to breathe. He pulls out, rolling over to your side. You hug your folded knees to your chest, too lazy to get up and find something to deal with the mess.

"No hagas eso. Eso es demasiado doméstico," Franco jokes, moving closer and planting a kiss to your shoulder. Don't do that. That's too domestic.

"Relájate, estoy usando anticonceptiva," you reassure with a lighthearted roll of your eyes. Relax, I'm on birth control.

Franco hums, laying an arm over you. He pulls you close and you face him, reaching up to brush away some of his unruly hair.

He plants a gentle kiss on your forehead.

"Happy that you're a Formula 1 driver?" You ask, grinning.

Franco chuckles. "Very."

[casuallyanidiot]

Got a fair few asks about Danny (aka Yandere Farmboy) and what he'd be like in marriage, with kids and the In-Laws etc. So here are a few HCs about that !

Tw. BabyTrapping, Yandere, Power Imbalance, Forced Marriage, Implied Noncon, Slut shaming, implied abortion, implied homophobia/transphobia at the end, Fem! AFAB! Reader

The Marriage

I've gone into some detail about how Danny would treat you once he got his hands on you in another ask. He likes getting you all dressed up and proper, and he never wants to see you with dirt smeared across your face ever again.

Danny would want to wait until you were pretty far into your pregnancy to actually marry you. Hell, he might even wait until you actually have his baby. You'd asked him to just get it over with right after he got your parent's permission to take you away from the farm and into his home, but he wanted everyone to see what you had become.

You aren't just some rat scurrying around town anymore. No, you're his. And now there's no way you can deny it. Because if you do, you risk being shunned by everyone.

"That poor Petusky kid... getting stuck with that whore."

"She's lucky he even keeps her around. If it were me, I would've run her off a long time ago."

Danny had you moved into his family home soon after the events of the first fic. He likes sitting there, rubbing your growing belly and murmuring words of comfort. He forces you to recline in a plush, padded rocking chair he made with his father just for you.

"This is the happiest I've ever been," he praised as he pressed kisses to your skin. He smiled at the way you flinched, and he cooed softly. "The wedding venue is booked. Plus I've got the bakery prepping a cake. A big one too, with your favorite flavors," He said. You don't remember telling him what they were. "We just gotta wait until this little one arrives. Getting married will be the best thing that's ever happened to you, I swear. Weddings are just... stressful. Don't want anything hurting the baby now, do we?"

Of course he doesn't let you work. You're his precious wife, after all. Plus he seethes at the thought of failing you, of letting you slip from his fingers and back into a life where he can't control your happily ever after. You'll have no financial freedom, that's for certain.

He's eerily attuned to your wants and needs. he's spent years observing you, your interests. The way your eyes would trail longingly on the other women in town with their nicer clothes, the way in school that you tried and tried to keep up with other academically. You wanted a better life. He had that. He could give you that.

He adores you, he really does. He'd buy you old Bronte sister novels and sit there with you when you'd struggle to read them. He comes back to you every day, no matter how sweaty and caked in mud he might be, pressing flowers into your hands.

Maybe if he'd been less of a creep, less desperate to possess you entirely, then perhaps he could've been the love of your life.

The In-Laws

Danny's parents, like mentioned in the original fic, are pretty much the wealthiest people in town if not the entire area. They own several cattle ranches and acres upon acres of land that's perfect for tilling. Really they're the exact opposite of your family.

They aren't unkind per se, but you could definitely feel them judging you whenever you had spoken to them in the past. They'd smile at you in an overly friendly manner that felt empty as it looked nice. Just typical southern politeness wrapped in a shiny veneer.

That being said, when Danny came to them one day, dragging your shaking form in front of them, they knew something was up. There's no reason a girl like you should seem so upset that their precious baby boy was promising her the moon and stars. When he goes on to explain " She's gonna have my baby. I know you should wait until marriage and all, but we got to excited and well..."

A shotgun marriage with the town tramp. Not exactly ideal for a sterling reputation, but they could work with this. Most of the town would probably judge you no matter what, but Danny's parents subtly nudge people to think of you like some gold digger.

They can sense that Danny did something to you. You flinch sometimes when you think no one is looking, and his mother has caught you crying alone in some random room in their big house a couple times. Unfortunately, though, you're far less important to them than their son. If he wanted you that badly, he can have you. They're just gonna make sure everything stays under wraps.

Danny's father doesn't really care for you one way or another. He doesn't really get what his kid sees in you, but then again, he can kind of see why the boy grew up to be so damn possessive. He had traditional values pummeled into him from a young age, and what's more traditional than marrying your high school sweetheart and providing for her and your family? Once you get cleaned up a bit and start living with them more often, he quietly accepts you as part of the family. He likes whittling toys for your new arrival when he's not working or with his wife, and he finds you to be a pleasant addition. Overall, he'll keep his mouth shut on what Danny did for the sake of everyone in the family and for his own peace.

Danny's mother on the other hand is quite involved when it comes to you. Your her daughter in-law! Ain't that something? It's kind of clear that she doesn't like you from the beginning, but she can't get rid of you and sweep you under the rug in the way she'd like. If it was up to her, you'd be headed for some backwater clinic before being shipped off to the big city, never to be seen again. But Danny loves you, and she can't exactly stop him without risking putting him in jail or having their reputation ruined. So, you stay, much to her resentment.

Second to Danny, she spends the most time with you. She's a housewife as well, so she helps you learn how to take care of a proper household for once. Your manners and demeanor are awful in her opinion. You're too skittish and sad looking! So what if you've been forced to marry your stalker? Don't you know how many other girls would've killed for this, young lady? Just like her husband, though, she becomes more fond of you over time. Once you're settled in and start meekly accepting her offers to bake, clean, and do general busy work with her, she starts actually seeing you not as her son's property, but as her daughter. She had all boys after all, so it's nice to have another girl in the house. She keeps tabs on you for Danny, sending him candid photos of you and the baby once it arrives. Now that she actually likes you, sweeping the whole thing under the rug changes to include keeping you as well.

Danny has little sibling as well: two younger brothers. They're both far younger than him, and they don't really have an opinion of you one way or another. You just kind of... appeared in their house one day. Their mom and dad started stressing for a while, and you didn't seem too happy either, so what was this whole deal? I think they'd be very kind to you initially, bothering you to play and sharing sweets when they wished to, and they're both curious and annoyed about the fact that a baby is going to join them soon.

I think that while the siblings don't learn about what happened to you, their perception of love and morality would be heavily skewed by the fact that you, being scared and held in the house against your will, and their big brother are presented as the pinnacle of romance.

Overall, you'd be accepted, but there are definitely a lot of strings attached to that.

The kids

I think Danny really loves his kids with you. Or rather, he loves the idea of having a family more than he actually would the kids themselves. He's always had this dream that the two of you would be lost in a fluffy, domestic bliss until the day you died, and part of that meant a few little ones running around.

He's a good dad in the sense that he'd always be there for them. He'd take them to games, to dance practice, teach them how to work in the fields and buy them gifts. He's very present, but it's always with an undercurrent of control. You don't want to ruin this happy family, do you now? Your kids love their father, they love this happy home, so don't you dare think about leaving, okay?

In addition, I think that Danny would have a really hard time dealing with a kid that deviated from what he considered to be "normal" or "traditional". Part of his whole power in their very conservative town is that his family is a paragon of tradition and "societal values". It's how he trapped the reader after all. But if his kids threatened that balance of power by trying to leave the farm, go to the city, or be anything other that what he'd been trying to turn them into, I think he would genuinely lose it. His kids are not people to him, they are ideas and pawns that he'd become attached to.

If the kids turned out to be more like him in possessive, controlling behavior, then I think then he'd probably recognize them as their own individuals rather than just an fantasy he had for a legacy or a life with the reader.

[kimkaelyn]

Ditto [s. todoroki]

𝒮𝓉𝒶𝓎 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝒾𝒹𝒹𝓁𝑒, 𝐿𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒶 𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓁𝑒, 𝒟𝑜𝓃'𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝓃𝑜 𝓇𝒾𝒹𝒹𝓁𝑒, 𝒮𝒶𝓎 𝒾𝓉, 𝓈𝒶𝓎 𝒾𝓉 𝒷𝒶𝒸𝓀, 𝑜𝒽 𝓈𝒶𝓎 𝒾𝓉 𝒹𝒾𝓉𝓉𝑜 — 𝒟𝒾𝓉𝓉𝑜, 𝒩𝑒𝓌𝒥𝑒𝒶𝓃𝓈

→ summary: when you transferred to U.A., you didn't anticipate slipping on a pair of chopsticks in the middle of the crowded cafeteria during your first week. however, what was more surprising was the unexpected fall for the boy who gracefully caught you.

→ pairing: shouto todoroki x fem!reader

→ genre: fluff, strangers to friends to lovers

→ word count: 13.1k

→ warnings & tags: sfw, female pronouns are used, usage of y/n l/n, Class 1-A are now third-year students aka 18+, swearing, the usual U.A. chaos, reader has a Quirk, misunderstandings, some training violence, minor injuries, mentions and discussions of insecurities, aizawa briefly belittles the reader as a form of motivation, beginnings of a panic attack but it's cut short, there is one instance of the reader appearing to be ‘flushed’ in regards to a fever, since this is my first bnha fic some characters might be ooc? | please kindly let me know if I missed any tags!

→ author's note: AHHHH HERE IT IS! I've been working on this for almost a year now and I am so excited to finally share it with all of you. Honestly, I didn't think I would ever finish this story, but I kept slowly chipping away at it thanks in part to the encouragement from @andypantsx3, @missrosegold, and @getstarried. Special thanks to @pikatsum for beta-reading this for me! Thank you girls. This is for you🫶🏻

The cafeteria at U.A. High School was a pretty chaotic environment, you quickly learned within your first week after transferring from another Hero Course in the countryside. There were multiple things that could and would happen after the famous students had gotten some much-needed nutrients in their systems.

It was only three days into the school year and nothing had happened just yet, but in the U.A. world, that something was overdue.

The first chaotic event of the year that everyone had been anxiously—or in some cases, excitingly—waiting for happened on Thursday.

The day started off average; you got to school with three minutes to spare, which was a new record, but you had forgotten your pencil pouch in your dorm room, so you had to borrow some pencils from a girl who sat in front of you; Mina Ashido.

“Thank you,” you whispered as you took the pastel pink utensil from her. There was even a cute little fluffy puffball at the end in exchange for an eraser. Good thing you had an eraser in your bag.

“No problem! I gotcha!” She physically lit up and gave you a bright smile before turning back to focus on the blackboard.

You somehow managed to get through your morning classes running on the four hours of sleep you got the night before. You were cutting it quite close to passing out at your desk during calculus class, but you were saved by the lunch bell.

As soon as you stepped foot into the hallway, you were wrapped up in the faint, delicious scent of your favorite food coming from the cafeteria. Your mouth instantly watered, and you made a mad dash for the source of the delicious scent.

“Hey!” a sharp voice made you freeze in your steps. You glanced over your shoulder to find Tenya Iida, Class 3-A’s representative, glaring at you. The light reflecting off his glasses made him appear more threatening than he really was, but regardless, you still found yourself shying away from his harsh glare and rapid-moving hands. As they passed by, some students gave you apologetic smiles while others were not shy about openly staring at the scene before them, wondering what you possibly could have done to induce the wrath of the student representative. “There is to be no running in the halls!” You cowered some more at his brisk and overly formal tone.

Geez, what a stuck-up, you thought to yourself.

“My apologies, Iida.” You respond with a bow. He accepted your apology with a curt nod before he continued on his way to the cafeteria.

You waited for him to pass before rising from your bow. “Wow, he makes it feel like I broke the law or something.” You mused aloud.

“Don’t take it personally,” a comforting voice said from behind you. You turned to find Momo Yaoyorozu, Ochako Uraraka, and Tsuyu Asui standing before you. Ochako gave you a slight wave in greeting. “Iida can be quite demanding,” Yaoyorozu reassured you.

“Thank you.”

Tsuyu regarded you with gentle onyx eyes. “It’s L/N, right?”

You smiled, happy that she remembered your name from roll call. “Y-yeah! I’m Y/N L/N.” You introduced yourself. “I, um, already know who you guys are.” You suddenly felt shy, and you bashfully rubbed the back of your neck out of nervous habit.

Before your transfer was finalized, you did extensive research into your future school’s history and future classmates. Thankfully—or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it—a lot of information is public knowledge; the various attacks on the school in the year leading up to and the conclusion of the War between the Paranormal Liberation Front and the Heroes, not to mention the various televised sports festivals, and the fact that the members of Class 1-A are practically household names even before their graduation.

The girls invited you to sit with them in the cafeteria. You had been keeping to yourself the first few days of school, choosing to observe from afar the already established social circles and friend groups. You had waited for an invitation to join one of said groups, and here was your opportunity.

The four of you made small talk as you made your way through the lunch line and to the table. Right away, Asui told you to call her by her given name. You told them about your life growing up in the countryside—with you and Uraraka bonding over your shared reason for becoming Pro Heroes—about the friends you had, embarrassingly funny stories from your junior high days, and eventually what led you to transfer to U.A.

“Well, this is the best Hero Course in the country!” you all laughed. “But to be frank, the only teacher at my old academy who could handle my Quirk retired, and none of the other academies within the prefecture had the resources to help me advance. Plus, my mentor is an U.A. alumnus, so naturally, the only other choice was U.A.”

Yaoyorozu hummed. “It is a shame about your mentor retiring, but that is what led you to transfer to U.A., and for that, I am grateful.” The class vice representative regarded you kindly. “I am a firm believer of things happening for a reason, and your transfer doesn’t change that.”

Uraraka nodded her agreement. “Momo’s right. U.A. is a place where anybody can make a difference, and I think you will find success here.”

You were rendered speechless. The tips of your ears turned red as your classmates regarded you with so much hope and sincerity in their eyes. “Uh . . . I,” you bashfully scratched the back of your head. Not knowing how to respond, you instead reached for the small bottle of milk on your lunch tray and brought it to your lips.

However, before you could take a sip, a BOOM erupted from the front of the cafeteria, accompanied by a gruff voice yelling, “Don’t walk in front of me, Icy-Hot!” You reflexively jolted at the loud noises and lost your grip on the glass, spilling the half-full bottle all over the front of your uniform.

“Shit,” you exclaimed as you instinctually rose from your seat, only to quickly sit down again when the liquid started to fall to the floor. The girls gasped and were quick to hand you all the napkins in the vicinity.

“Are you okay, Y/N?” Asui asked as she watched you pat down your sodden skirt.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” You waved off her concern as you continued to wipe away the remaining liquid. The napkins managed to soak up most of it, but your skirt was still damp. If you didn’t change skirts, you were going to smell of milk for the rest of the day, and you didn’t want to start off the school year with a reputation for smelling vile. “I’m going to go back to the dorm really quickly and change into a clean uniform. Please let Mr. Snipe know that I will be late for class.”

“Do you want us to accompany you?” Yaoyorozu asked. She began to rise from her seat, but you stopped her.

“No, no. I’m okay, really.” You gave her what you hoped to be a reassuring grin instead of a grimace. “Thank you for offering, Yaoyorozu, but I’ll be fine.” Before your classmates could respond, you stood from the table and made your way to the exit.

Great, this is just great, you thought as you walked, not really paying attention to where you were going. As soon as I make some friends, I make a fool of myself.

Unbeknownst to you, there was an obstacle in the aisle directly ahead. You were too distracted by your growing inner turmoil to notice the pair of metal chopsticks lying on the ground before you until your foot made contact and slipped out from under you.

It all happened so fast that you couldn’t even react.

Time froze as you became weightless, and you felt your body become briefly suspended in the air. Before you could react and rotate your body to prevent yourself from violently banging your head on the tiled floor, gravity took hold and yanked you back down toward the ground. You squeezed your eyes shut, not wanting to witness your classmates’ reactions to your misfortune.

Great, now I’m gonna embarrass myself in front of the entire school. Fuck you, chopsticks.

You prepared yourself for the pain of hitting the hard floor but were shocked when you were suddenly wrapped in a chilled warmth. You did slam into a hard surface, but this didn’t feel like the cold tile you expected.

“Are you all right?” a voice asked from above. You opened your eyes, only to find yourself captivated by a beautiful graphite and turquoise gaze. Your mouth opened to respond to the inquiry, but you couldn’t speak. This strange yet calming gaze hypnotized you, causing the rest of the world to fade into a buzzing silence. You watched as the perfect eyebrows of the owner of those magical eyes furrowed downward at your prolonged silence, the action momentarily drawing your attention.

With your attention span no longer zeroed in on the heterochromatic gaze, the world around you suddenly slammed back into your senses at full force. The volume of your fellow classmates’ conversations was deafening at first, but your ears grew accustomed once again to zone them out and focus on the person before you.

It took about thirty seconds for the entirety of your current predicament to register within your brain.

You were hanging about ten centimeters off the ground. The only thing keeping you upright and injury-free was Shouto Todoroki’s firm grip on your wrist.

“Um, hello?” the dual-haired teenager once again drew your attention to him. His grip slightly tightened before he tugged you up onto your feet.

“I think you broke her, Icy-Hot.” A rough voice drawled from your peripheral.

The intrusion of the other voice is what finally brought you out of your stunned silence. “No, I’m okay. Not broken.”

“Did you hit your head?” Todoroki inquired. He steadied you on your feet but didn’t release your wrist from his hold. Katsuki Bakugou was standing off to the side, trying to appear like he wasn’t involved with either one of you.

“I-I don’t think so.” As you reached down to brush yourself off, you caught a whiff of the unflattering scent of old milk emitting from your clothes. You held back your gag and turned to face Todoroki and Bakugou. “I’m sorry to rush, but I really do need to go.” You gave a quick bow. “Thank you for catching me, Todoroki. Bye!”

The two boys watched you sprint away like a bat out of hell. “T’fuck is her problem,” Bakugou muttered. “Fuckin’ extra makin’ me late for lunch.”

Todoroki didn’t respond to his classmate’s remarks. His lips pursed together as he watched you nearly run into a couple of first years before you disappeared around a corner, out of sight.

“Don’ even think ‘bout it, Icy-Hot.” Bakugou drawled from beside him. Todoroki cocked an eyebrow, the only sign of emotion on his otherwise indifferent expression. “Gettin’ involved with ‘hat extra will ruin your precious bloodline.”

You tried to forget about the cafeteria incident, but the embarrassing ordeal refused to secede from the forefront of your mind. As you lay in bed that night, your thoughts ran a hundred kilometers a minute, antagonizing and overanalyzing every second of what had happened.

As the night dragged on, your thoughts shifted from the overall event to one single individual: Shouto Todoroki. You knew who he was, of course. You didn’t grow up underneath a rock. Yet, you weren’t prepared for how much more handsome he was in person than on the news or in photos.

You overanalyzed everything he did in the brief two minutes you were blessed to be in his company, every word he said, and every brief flash of emotion that showed in his heterochromatic eyes. Todoroki had tried to approach you after training in Ground Beta once you had returned from the dorms, but you avoided him, not wanting to face him again so soon after the embarrassing first meeting.

By Sunday, you had begun to forget about your embarrassing cafeteria incident. Your newfound friends didn’t bring up the spilled milk, and thankfully, they didn’t see you slip on the chopsticks and fall into Shouto Todoroki’s muscular arms. You breathed a sigh of relief when you found out that last part. You didn’t want them to think you were a total klutz.

Todoroki may think otherwise.

As you were rounding the corner to walk back up the stairs to head back to your dorm room, Todoroki happened to be walking down. You both turned at the same time and walked straight into each other.

He wasn’t fazed by the sudden collision; however, you were taken completely off guard. No matter how strong you may be, suddenly walking into about a hundred kilos of pure muscle would make anyone stumble. While he remained steadily standing, you, on the other hand, fell back onto your ass.

It took about three seconds for the two of you to comprehend what the hell had just happened. You groaned out when pain flashed across your backside.

“My apologies, I did not see you.” Todoroki said as he offered you a hand. You begrudgingly accepted his assistance, face heating as your super handsome classmate helped you to your feet for the second time in a week.

“Thank you,” you bowed your head to him. You brushed away some dust from your sweatpants, finding yourself too shy to look back up.

You felt a firm, yet gentle hand land on your shoulder. You jerked your head upwards to meet Todoroki’s captivating gaze. “Are you injured?” His heterochromatic eyes searched you for any injury, and they glimmered with relief when he found none.

“No, I’m okay,” you reassured the male. “I may be a little bruised in the morning, but I will be fine.” Not to mention my bruised ego.

Todoroki hummed in acknowledgment, his hand still resting on your shoulder. His eyes were hyper-fixated on you, leaving you to feel bare under his intense gaze.

You shifted your weight back and forth as the silence between you dragged on for a couple more seconds. “Um, I—” You cleared your throat. “I should be on my way now. Got things to study, you know.” You told him with an awkward laugh.

You moved to step around him when it became obvious he wasn’t going to move. Your movements are what must have shaken him out of his stupor, with him bashfully stepping to the side to allow you access to the stairway.

“Right.” He said as you walked by. “Take care, Y/N.” You startled at his sudden usage of your given name, but nevertheless, you felt oddly relieved. You smiled shyly and bid him goodbye. Nothing else was said between the two of you, but you felt his eyes on you as you walked up the stairs.

I hope he likes cinnamon; you thought as you peered into the oven.

To be fair, you should have considered that before laboring for over two hours making kinako cinnamon cookies from scratch—which absolutely failed. Therefore, as a last resort, you were forced to run to the store and buy a box mix.

The he in question?

Shouto Todoroki.

It had been several days since your embarrassing first interaction with the dual-haired male and forty-five hours since your second, literal, run-in—not that you were keeping track, of course.

You wanted to do something nice for him as a way to apologize for your newfound clumsiness and thank him for his assistance in both instances. Your calligraphy skills were not . . . up to par, so to say, by any means, so a handmade thank-you card was off the table, and you highly doubt Todoroki was a flower guy. Not to mention his affluent background, so buying him a gift or offering to take him out to dinner was null—and way too straightforward for two people who were barely even acquaintances.

Therefore, you were left with only one option: homemade cookies.

Besides, all the old aunties back home always said the quickest way to win anyone over was through food.

“Ooooh, something smells amazing!” someone exclaimed from the stairway. Smiling slyly to yourself, you turned away from the oven to the new arrival.

You hadn’t interacted much with Rikido Sato save for the casual good morning greetings and thanking him for the delicious red velvet cupcake he baked for you as a welcoming gift to U.A.

“Thanks,” you said, grinning at the male.

The combined low mutterings of more approaching classmates brought your and Sato’s attention to the doorway where Mina Ashido, Eijirou Kirishima, Denki Kaminari, and Hanta Sero were entering the dorm.

“Woah something smells fantastic!” Kaminari said, gazing into the kitchen in hopes of spotting the source of the delicious scent.

“Yeah, it does!” Kirishima agreed.

“Oh my gosh, what is it?” Ashido asked as she walked over. Her eyes lit up when she spotted you. “L/N! Did you make something?”

“I did.” You confirmed with a slight nod. “I’m making kinako cinnamon cookies.”

“Oooooh, yummy!” the pinkette exclaimed as she bounced over to peer into the oven. Your other classmates quickly joined her, all of them staring into the soft, golden light of the oven with stars in their eyes.

“They look so good!” Kaminari was practically drooling at the tawny treats. At that moment, the timer went off with a soft ting! You politely shooed your classmates back as you pulled a hand towel over your hands.

“Step back, everyone,” you warned as you opened the oven door. “They’re going to be hot.” You carefully reached in and grabbed the cooking tray, cautiously sliding it off the rack and fully into your cloth-covered hands. Despite taking precautions, you hissed as the hot aluminum seeped through the towel and made contact with your flesh. As quickly as you could without dropping the pan of cookies, you turned and set it down on the kitchen island.

“These look delicious!”

“Woah, man, they look amazing!”

“I bet they taste as scrumptious as they lo—”

You zoned out the boys’ compliments as you moved to the sink and turned on the tap.

“L/N, are you okay?” Ashido asked as she followed you. Her question caught the other's attention, and they, too, turned to watch you quizzingly.

“Yes, I’m fine.” Your response ended with a wince as your skin made contact with the cool water.

“Here, let me see,” Ashido gestured to your hand. With your permission, she took your wrist with gentle fingers and held it up for you both to inspect. Your skin was reddened slightly, but it wasn’t anything serious. You let out a sigh of relief. “It’s not serious, thankfully, but we should still put some burn cream on it just in case,” Ashido advised as she turned off the tap.

You nodded your head again and followed the pink-haired girl as she went to retrieve the first-aid kit. Before you walked too far from the kitchen, you shouted over your shoulder to your classmates, “Please don’t eat the cookies, boys! They are still hot and are for someone special!”

There was a noticeable delay in response to your warning. After a pregnant pause, there was a muffled, “okamph!” in response. You were about to turn around and make sure that they weren’t eating your treats, but Ashido calling your name changed your plans.

“Let’s fix you up, yeah?” She said as you both entered the girls' bathroom. Ashido gestured for you to sit on the counter while she dug through the first-aid kit for burn cream.

“Thank you, Ashido,” you said a few moments later as she lightly applied the cream to the worst of the reddening. Your skin wasn’t blistering, which was a good sign, but it was beginning to ache.

“No problem,” she replied. She began to gently rub the cream into your skin, mindful of the sore spots. She beamed at you as she said, “And you can just call me Mina. We are friends!”

You smiled at her. “Okay, Mina.” The two of you were silent for a couple of minutes as Mina continued to dress your burns.

“So,” she started, breaking the silence. “Who did you make the cookies for?”

You sharply inhaled. “W-what? What do you mean?” You tried to play it off by playing dumb, but Mina gave you an are you kidding me look.

“Don’t play that game with me, girl.” She scolded you. “So, tell me, who is this ‘special someone’?”

You let out a heavy sigh, dropping your shoulders in defeat. “One of our classmates. . .” You trailed off, turning away from the pinkette, and absentmindedly twirling a strand of hair around your finger.

Mina’s eyes lit up and her eyebrows shot up to her hairline. “Oh my God, seriously?!?” She squealed. You turned to face her again. “Girl, you absolutely gotta tell me! Who is it?!” She went to grab ahold of your hands but stopped herself when she remembered your injury. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” You said. “But, um, I—” You hesitated, searching for the right words, but you couldn’t find them. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.” You said, barely above a whisper, turning away from your classmate once more in embarrassment.

Mina leaned back, taken by surprise by your change of tone. She studied you for a few seconds, her expression falling when she saw the look on your face; the clenching of your jaw.

“It’s okay, girl,” she reassured you. She set the roll of bandages down on the counter as she finished wrapping your hand. “You don’t have to tell me who your crush is if you don’t want to.”

You whipped back around to face her, eyes wide. “C-crush?!” you stammered out. “W-what?! I don’t have a crush! I never said I did.” you explained.

“Yeah, sure,” Mina smirked at you, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “You wouldn’t of baked cookies for them if you didn’t like them.”

“Um, because I’m nice?” you asked with a lilt in your voice. Mina does have a point, though, you thought.

Mina laughed. “Yeah, sure. Let’s go with that.”

A couple of minutes later, you and the pinkette exited the bathroom, laughing over something Mina had said. Your hand had been expertly wrapped and treated with some burn cream. Your injury didn’t even hurt anymore, but you were still going to check in tomorrow with Recovery Girl as a precaution.

As you rounded the corner to go back into the kitchen, you stopped dead in your tracks as your eyes fell to the now-empty pan where twenty cookies sat not even ten minutes ago. Mina stopped next to you, and you could see her giving you a questionable look, but you didn’t—couldn’t—acknowledge her. You just stared blankly at the pan, trying to process what you were seeing.

What the hell? you thought.

“Ah, man,” a voice drawled out. You slowly turned towards the source; Denki Kaminari. He was lounging against the counter as he rubbed his stomach for emphasis. “Those cinnamon kinako cookies were delicious!” Your brain blanked out when you heard that, the organ pathetically trying to comprehend and respond to the current situation.

“You’re telling me!” Kirishima piped up from beside the blond. Sero and Sato voiced their agreement from where they were seated on the couches. “They really hit the spot after the day I had.” The redhead noticed you and Mina. “Hey, guys, welcome back!” he greeted with a wave, a broad smile overtaking his features. “How’s your hand?”

You did not formulate an answer right away, your brain still processing the crumbled remains of your cookies. Your delay didn’t go unnoticed by the others, but before they could question it, Mina came to your rescue.

“It’s okay! Y/N is alright, nothing major.” She informed them. Kirishima’s gaze left you to focus on the pinkette by your side, but Kaminari’s remained transfixed on your blank expression.

“Oh, well, that’s great to hear! I was worried—”

“But you should be ashamed!” Mina cut the redhead off, tone sharp as a blade. “All of you.”

“What—?”

“Mina, why—?”

Kirishima and Kaminari spoke at once, their voices clashing, but the pinkette interrupted them once more.

“Y/N didn’t make those cookies for you.” She said. “She made them for someone special, yet you guys ate them even after she told you not to.” She just about bit the last part out. The boys gaped at Mina, her scolding catching them by surprise.

“Is that true?” Sato asked, rising from the couch to approach you. Everyone fixated their attention on you, waiting for a response.

You hesitated at the sudden limelight, and also in shyness. When you originally set out to bake the kinako cookies for Todoroki, you didn’t expect them to 1.) burn your hand and 2.) for them to be eaten by others. Even though you were upset, you didn’t want the others to be ashamed or scolded. But they did eat them after I told them not to, you thought, pondering your next move.

After a few moments, you squared your shoulders and steadily said, “Yes. I . . . made them for somebody.” At your words, the room’s atmosphere soured. The boys’ shoulders slumped as they realized their mistake.

“Shoot, L/N, I’m sorry,” Kaminari said, stepping forward to gently grab your uninjured hand and bow.

“Yeah,” Kirishima added, scratching the back of his neck and looking away slightly. “That wasn’t really manly of us.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Sero intoned, looking sheepish.

Sato came to stand in front of you next to Kaminari, who still had a gentle hold of your hand. “I’ll be more than happy to remake the cookies for you.” He said. “If you want that, of course.”

You smiled, though it was closed-lipped. “Thank you, Sato, but not today.” He bowed his head.

Suddenly, the front doors slammed open, startling the six of you. You all watched, shell-shacked—you did, at least—as a fuming Bakugou stepped inside, loudly exclaiming, “I had ‘hat dumbass villain handled! Damn Sidekick extra jus’ had to step ‘n and—” He noticed your little group gaping at him. “The hell ‘re ya fools lookin’ at?” As the words left his mouth, the other two members of the infamous U.A. trio entered as well.

“Kacchan,” Izuku Midoriya said, trying to placate the explosive male. “He was just trying to . . .” The rest of his sentence fizzled into the background as the entirety of your attention span landed on Shouto Todoroki.

It had already been well-established that the youngest Todoroki son was even more handsome in person, but seeing him in his Hero costume did things to you. Your mouth almost dropped open to gawk at his god-like appearance, but you clenched your jaw tightly shut to avoid that catastrophe. Despite that, you were pretty positive your eyes were as wide as saucers, greedily taking every inch of him in as if it were the last time you would see him.

I should sue him for the cost of my medical bills when I develop heart palpitations, you thought.

“Shut the hell up, ya stupid nerd.” Bakugou snapped at a sputtering Midoriya, drawing your attention once more. You could practically see the steam coming out of his ears.

“Is he always this angry?” you asked under your breath; half-serious, half-rhetorical.

“Oh, yeah,” Mina confirmed, voice just as low.

Sero snickered from his post next to Sato. “You get used to it after a while,” he reassured you.

One of Kirishima’s blinding smiles makes its appearance once again. “Katsuki’s always been passionate about, well, everything.” He told you, not bothering to lower his voice. “It’s who he is. We love him regardless.”

Sato chimed in with, “Platonically.” The boys snickered and Mina rolled her eyes, yet there was a small smile playing on her lips.

“Even though his sour attitude can be harsh and lowkey over the top,” Kaminari began, eyes shining with mischief. “It sure makes him fun to mess with!” Your companions groaned in exasperation and started to voice their reservations.

“No, Denki. Leave him be—” Mina urged him.

“Awe, come on, man. Don’t—”

“Heyy~ Katsuki,” Kaminari crooned, rocking back on his heels as the pale blond’s attention zeroed in on him. Kirishima and Sato facepalmed. “Why have trouble catching a ‘dumbass villain’?” he teased. “Bad day? Your head not in the game?” The hair on your arms rose to attention as an electric charge swept the room, putting everyone on edge. Kaminari’s baiting also drew the attention of the explosive male’s companions. Your eyes briefly met captivating graphite and turquoise, eliciting a sharp gasp to leave your lungs.

“You’re gonna regret the day you were born, dumbass!” Bakugou bellowed, pointing an accusatory finger at the electric blond, snapping your attention from the hypnotizing gaze. You fully expected him to charge the male, already taking a cautionary step back, but instead of explosions ripping apart the building, Bakugou grunted and moved towards the showers.

Mina turned to the blond and shouted, “Now why did you do that, Denki? You know better than to rile Katsuki up like that!”

Kirishima dragged a large hand down his face before running it through his unruly red locks. “I’ll go check on him,” he announced before jogging after the sandy-blond. You were at a loss for words as you continued to watch your classmates scold a shit-grinning Kaminari, not even the tiniest bit remorseful for his teasing of Bakugou.

“Please don’t take Kacchan’s rashness to heart.” A new voice piped up. You turned to meet the electric green gaze of none other than Izuku Midoriya, the new generation’s proclaimed Symbol of Peace. “I’m s-sorry, I don’t think we have properly met. I’ve been in and out of campus lately—with missions and such.” He practically skipped over to stand in front of you. He smiled brightly as he gently took your hands in his large, calloused ones. “I’m Izuku Midoriya. I’m so happy you are here at U.A.!” he excitedly exclaimed, lightly squeezing your entwined hands. You couldn’t hide your wince and small gasp of pain as Midoriya unknowingly squeezed your burns. The green-haired male let go of your hands so fast as if he was the one burned instead of you, eyes growing wide. “Oh my gosh, are you okay?!” he asked, noticing the bandages wrapped tightly around your hand. Midoriya’s frenzy caught the other's attention, and all eyes were on you yet again.

The tips of your ears grew hot at the unwavering attention from the Heroes-in-training—especially from a certain icy-hot male who made your heart falter in its beating. “Y-yeah, I’m f-fine.” You stuttered as you met each of your classmate's gazes, trying to reassure them of your stability.

“What happened?” Todoroki inquired, eyes hawkishly zeroed in on your face.

“U-um, well . . .” you trailed off, words fading from your brain as you slightly cowered under his unwavering attention. “I—”

“She burned herself while baking kinako cookies,” Sero spoke for you, having caught onto your growing anxiousness. You didn’t miss Todoroki’s eyes narrowing at the black-haired male’s words. Sato and Kaminari made noises of agreement, the blond absentmindedly rubbing his stomach in content.

Midoriya’s eyes shined. “Really? You did?!” He looked behind you to the kitchen, eyes searching for the aforementioned treats. “Where are they?” he asked when he didn’t spot any, only a plate littered with crumbs. He turned his attention back to you. You opened your mouth to answer, but a wave of shame overcame you as your eyes once again met those of the one you had made the cookies for.

Mina noticed your hesitation, giving you a knowing look as she answered for you. “The three idiots to your left ate them all,” she said with a little bite to her words, glaring daggers at the culprits. “After they were specifically told not to.” She reaffirmed. The boys shuddered at the reminder of their disobedience. The pinkette turned her attention back to the green-haired and dual-haired males. “I patched her up, though. The burns are minor.”

Midoriya nodded his head in understanding. “You should still see Recovery Girl,” he instructed, unashamedly expressing his concern for someone he had just properly met. “At least let her take a look at it.”

“I’m going to stop by to see her in the morning,” you reassured him, words coming back now that your mind was a little clear. His shoulders slumped in relief.

“You should rest, Y/N.” Todoroki’s searing gaze trailed over your form, calculating eyes searching for any additional outward signs of injury or discomfort. “After suffering an injury, no matter how insignificant, rest is important.” He softly chided.

“R-right.” You stammered out, at a loss for how else to respond to your handsome classmate's concern other than compliance. A wave of exhaustion washed over you at that moment. Your feet stumbled as you became lightheaded for a split second. You noticed the dual-haired male take a step towards you, catching onto your sudden exhaustion, but you quickly rightened yourself. “Thank you, Todoroki.” You’re not exactly sure why you thanked him, or what for. His concern, perhaps? He subtly nodded as you turned from the small group, breathlessly mumbling some sort of farewell and something about retiring to your room for the rest of the day.

The others muttered their goodbyes as you made your way to the stairwell.

As you walked up the stairs, head hung low, your throat began to burn and your vision began to blur with tears. The first one fell when you reached your floor, quickly followed by a couple more. You wiped them away, sniffing, as you made your way to your door. You didn’t react to the sudden presence next to you and the weight draped around your shoulders.

Mina didn’t say anything, only traced comforting circles into your back as tears flowed freely down your cheeks.

The next day, you and your classmates were gathered outside Gym Gamma for an impromptu training session. You were surprised that Class 3-A still regularly trained together, but in your defense, that assumption came from someone who didn’t have many options when it came to sparing partners up until your transfer—a major shortcoming in retrospect.

“Today we are working on ‘last stand’ combat.” Mr. Aizawa drawled in his natural I Don’t Give A Fuck tone. “Close-quarter combat in which a violent assailant has obtained the upper hand and corners you in an attempt to defeat you.” He proceeded to explain the instructions of the training exercise and pair the students into groups of four who would take turns being the Heroes and the assailants.

“Midoriya will be with Jirou.” Mr. Aizawa intoned, briefly glancing at the two students to confirm they heard. “Todoroki will be with L/N.” Your muscles stiffened when you heard that. Your heart began to race as you watched the red-and-white-haired male make his way over to you.

“H-hi,” you greeted him, giving a soft smile.

“Hello,” he said, politely inclining his head. “I look forward to working with you.”

“Same here.” You said before facing forward once more as the first group began their round. You and Todoroki observed the match in silence, with you paying extra attention to your classmates’ movements and taking mental notes of how they incorporated their Quirks into hand-to-hand combat.

The sound of approaching footsteps drew your attention. Expecting the new additions to be Ochako and Asui, you turned to greet them with a warm smile but paused when instead of your friends, Midoriya and Kyoka Jirou were standing next to you, both with warm expressions on their faces.

“Hi!” Midoriya greeted with a wide smile and a small wave. “I’m excited for this training exercise! It’s going to be so cool to see everyone’s improvement with hand-to-hand combat over the break! And any new moves! Or Quirk Awakenings! Or—” You had a hard time keeping up with what he was saying as it turned into a stuttering rant as he went on about each individual’s Quirk.

The rumors were true regarding his ramblings, you mused to yourself, wondering how long he could go on for before a small hand on his shoulder made him take pause.

“Midoriya,” Jirou intoned. “Calm down.” His cheeks flushed a bright red. He began laughing nervously while absentmindedly rubbing the back of his neck.

“S-sorry,” he said, shyfully.

“It’s okay,” you reassured him. “I agree with your stance, though. Observing others' skills is an effective way to improve your own. Get an idea or two.” You turned your attention back to the ongoing training, taking mental notes of your classmates’ fighting stances and their defensive moves, trying to get a better understanding of the why behind them. You pulled a small item from your jacket pocket, absentmindedly rubbing it between your thumb and forefinger. The movement caught Midoriya’s attention.

“What is that?” he asked, green eyes alight with curiosity.

“What? This?” You held up your good luck charm; a small, pink parrot keychain from a popular cartoon series you had won years ago at one of your hometown’s summer festivals. It was lucky because at the moment, while little you were trying to win, your Quirk had manifested. “It’s my good luck charm,” you explained the pink parrot’s value to you.

“Oh, cool!” Midoriya exclaimed. “You know, I used to have a good luck charm—it was my super rare exclusive All Might trading card! First edition!” His eyes shined as he reminisced. “I would bring it with me everywhere! Even Kacchan—”

“Deku,” drawled a low voice from the other side of your gathered class. The temperature fell as Bakugou’s vermillion eyes narrowed onto Midoriya. “Don’t say another word.”

“He’s such a fanboy.” Jirou chuckled, fondness seeping into her voice. Midoriya smiled sheepishly, not bothering even to try to deny the label. You spent the time until your group’s turn getting to know the two, quickly finding out that you and Jirou share the same taste in music; vowing to swap playlists after class. You were so caught up in your conversation that you almost forgot about Todoroki's presence, if not for the awareness of a body next to you. His chilled warmth seeped into your muscles, causing you to relax one moment, and tense up another.

“Are you all right?” he softly inquired, spying your tensed posture.

“Yeah, I’m good.” You replied, softly smiling but it didn’t reach your eyes. “Just a lil’ nervous, is all.”

Todoroki frowned slightly, not understanding how you could be experiencing anxiousness. “Wh—?”

“Oh yeah!” Midoriya suddenly interjected. “This is going to be your first time demonstrating your Quirk, huh?” he asked you. “Or at least this is gonna be the first time I will see it. What is it again? Object—no—um, yeah, anyway I bet it is awesome!” His eyes still shined with his enthusiasm and curiosity. “Sometime you gotta let me ask you about it! I have so many! Does it work like Ochako’s Zero Gravity? Or Yaoyorozu’s Creation?”

You couldn’t help but give a small laugh at his eagerness. You had never met someone as enthusiastic about Quirks as Izuku Midoriya. It was kind of refreshing to interact with someone as passionate as he was.

“Kind of,” you began, silently pondering over what you know of the brunette’s Quirk and comparing it to your own. “Ochako and I have the same limitations when it comes to the weight of an object, but besides that, our Quirks are different.” Your Quirk was object manipulation; you could telepathically manipulate objects within a certain range. To you, your Quirk wasn’t all that—wasn’t anything unique by any means—but to others, you were seen as a powerful goddess. “To be honest, I’m lacking in hand-to-hand combat skills.” You sheepishly smiled.

“Really?” Midoriya asked, blinking in shock. “I thought your previous school would have prepared you for all types of situations.” Jirou nodded her agreement with the green-haired male. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Shouto continue to observe you with a calculating expression on his face.

“Unfortunately, no.” You shrugged. “Their curriculum was more focused on improving the individual’s Quirk than learning how to fight without it.”

“Oh, wow,” Jirou said. “That could put you at a great disadvantage down the line.”

You nodded. “Yeah, I know. That’s why—” You were cut off by Mr. Aizawa calling for your group to begin your training round. “Welp, this is it, I guess.” You chuckled nervously.

Midoriya gave you a reassuring smile. “You’ll do great!” he said, giving you a thumbs-up accompanied by a warm smile.

“Do your best,” Jirou added before moving towards the training pitch.

You started to follow, but a cool hand on your shoulder made you pause, shivering softly. You turned to find Todoroki giving you an expectant look. “You’ll do fine,” he said, confidently. He looked as if he put his entire faith in you. “I’ll be by your side the entire time.”

You felt a surge of confidence fill you at his words. You gave him a determined look. “Right,” you said. “We got this.”

You swear up and down his eyes twinkled when he looked at you, but it could have been a trick of the light. “You got this.” He replied, softly. The two of you walked into the pitch together, side by side.

The training went . . . not terrible, but it could have been better on your end.

Todoroki, Midoriya, and Jirou were amazing. Even without using their Quirks, they each were a force to be reckoned with. You were captivated by how swiftly they moved—as if they were ballerinas performing Danse des Petits Cygnes.

You weren’t on the same level as them and the rest of Class 3-A. You knew that, and you acknowledged it, but to see and be confronted by it so bluntly in person made you feel a whole other level of embarrassment and shame. You weren’t weak by any means, you could hold your own in a fight for some time, but not like your classmates could—and had.

Perhaps that is what separates you from your classmates. They have battle experience. Hell, they fought in a fucking war for crying out loud while you were on the other side of the country, guarding civilian shelters. You were fortunate not to see much bloodshed, but maybe that brought you to a disadvantage against these future Heroes surrounding you.

The horn had sounded as Jirou pinned you in the dirt for the sixth time, signaling the end of the round. You heard the sounds of Midoriya and Todoroki’s scuffling come to a halt from somewhere off to your left as Jirou lifted herself off of you. She offered you a hand as you began to rise from the ground. You accepted her extended hand with a grimace as the muscles in your back burned.

“Nice work.” Mr. Aizawa said as the four of you approached. “You performed adequately,” he addressed Jirou, Todoroki, and Midoriya. He turned to you. “You, not so much.”

You flinched as the words landed home. Damn, you thought, but he’s not wrong. You had naively allowed yourself to believe that Eraserhead wouldn’t call out your inferiority, at least in front of others. Then again, he was Eraserhead—infamous for his bluntness and apathy.

“Your skills are greatly lacking in hand-to-hand combat,” he continued. “I haven’t seen somebody so physically inadequate since your classmates were first years. Coming from another Hero Course, especially one with its reputation, it’s to be expected that you’re not up to par with your new classmates, but I didn’t think it would be this bad.” As he spoke, he never broke eye contact with you, scrutinizing you. Even with one eye, his unrelenting gaze made you feel as if he could see every minuscule detail about you. “Based on the performance I saw today, it was a mistake to put you in this class.”

You heard a gasp from one of your classmates; its owner unknown. You gulped down your shame and remained silent. You had a feeling Aizawa wasn’t finished with you.

“From here on out, I expect you to train harder and push yourself further than anyone else. Extra training, extra classes—anything that will make you catch up.” His eye narrowed. “If I do not see substantial improvement in one month, you will be expelled. No exceptions.”

Your eyes widened, but your shock did not stop you from replying. “Yes, sir.” You said, keeping your tone neutral as you mulled over his words. Although extreme, I understand the reason for Mr. Aizawa’s methods, you thought. He’s right though. I’m far from even scrapping the level these guys are on. I need to be more disciplined and work even harder if I want to stand on equal ground with my classmates. Resolve made, you promised, “I will go Plus Ultra!”

“Yaass, Y/N!” Mina cheered. “Woohoo!”

Aizawa didn’t say anything else to you, promptly dismissing the class. Midoriya praised your performance and commented on his wish to sit down and talk in-depth with you regarding your Quirk. You promptly accepted his request, telling him you would let him know when you were free. He smiled before walking off to join Iida and Ochako.

“If it means anything,” a voice suddenly intoned from behind you. You spun around, having not sensed the person's approach. You weren’t all that surprised to find Todoroki there, softly regarding you. “I think you did well.”

You scoffed but smiled softly. “Thank you, but you don’t have to patronize me. I have a lot of work to do if I want to catch up.”

“You will,” he declared, before quickly clarifying, “Catch up. Especially with my help.”

You furrowed your brows. “Excuse me?”

“Should I repeat myself?” he inquired, his heterochromatic eyes swimming in mirth. “I will assist you in your training and classes.”

You didn’t respond right away, regarding him with suspicion. You waited for him to name a condition for his help, but when he offered none, you relaxed. “Thank you, Todoroki.” You inclined your head. “I greatly appreciate it.”

“Shouto,” he corrected.

You blinked at him, taken aback. “What?”

“Shouto,” he reiterated. “You may call me Shouto. We are friends, are we not?”

You gaped at him for a moment, processing his words. “Ye-yeah!” you said a little too loudly. “We are friends, Shouto.”

The small smile that graced his lips lit up your entire world and caused your heart to speed up, pounding almost painfully against your ribcage. “Meet me here tomorrow after class.” He instructed.

“Tomorrow.” You repeated in confirmation.

His smile grew a little wider. “See you then, Y/N.” He said before turning on his heel and strolling away. You watched him go in a daze, in disbelief of what just occurred.

“Oooooooo, Y/N’s gotta date!”

You shrieked at the sudden voice and spun around for a second time to find Mina standing there, hunched over laughing at your reaction.

“Mina!” you shrieked, placing a hand over your heart. “You scared the shit outta me!”

She continued to laugh. “Sorry,” she said once her laughter died down. “You were so entranced with Todoroki that you didn’t even realize I was here!”

“Oh, yeah right.” You responded, playfully rolling your eyes. The two of you began to walk to the dorm. “I wasn’t entranced with him.”

The pinkette gave you a look of disbelief, an eyebrow raised. “Yeah, sure,” she retorted. “You can lie to yourself all you want, but you ain’t lying to me.”

You scoffed but didn’t attempt to refute her claims. You put your hands in your pockets and looked to the ground, lost in thought. Mina didn’t say anything else, allowing you both to walk in silence.

The next afternoon, you met Shouto at the training grounds outside Gym Gamma for your first tutored training session. He regarded you kindly as you slowly approached, suddenly feeling quite bashful.

“Thank you for offering to do this, Shouto.” You said when you arrived. “It really means a lot. I don’t know how I’m going to repay you.”

“There’s no need for repayment.” He softly responded. “I volunteered to assist you. Therefore, no repayment of any sort is necessary.”

“Are you sure?” you asked. “I don’t want to inconvenience you—”

His soft call of your name made your next words die in your throat. “I assure you, this is fine.” He said. “Your company and attention are substantial enough.” You felt your face warm at his admission. Shouto gestured towards the training pit. “Shall we begin?”

He started by teaching you some stretches that are supposed to help decrease sudden muscle spasms and strengthen them. Afterward, he had you show him the little knowledge you had of hand-to-hand combat to gain an idea of where you stand in regard to U.A. training. Once you had demonstrated the few kicks and different styles of punching you knew, you turned to judge Shouto’s impression.

Your breath caught at what you saw.

His handsome features remained stoically blank for the most part, but the pursing of his lips and slight furrowing of his brows spoke a different tale. He grumbled something under his breath that sounded a lot like they didn’t prepare you at all, but you weren’t one hundred percent sure.

“Shouto?” you inquired, voice slightly uneven as your mouth formed the syllables of his name. “Is everything alright?”

His beautiful eyes snapped to yours, and once again you were frozen by the intensity with which he looked at you. His gaze was calculating, and you could just about see the cogs turning in his brain as he silently regarded you. A couple long moments later, his lips parted on an exhale and he finally addressed you.

“We have a lot of work to do.” He declared. “But we already knew that.” You slowly nodded your head, curious as to where he would be going with this conversation. “Thankfully, you’re not completely helpless,” he intoned dryly. “Even though you don’t have many skills regarding physical, non-Quirk combat, I have identified several places where we can start, correct, and then build on.”

You steadied yourself, resolve firmer than ever before. You declared, “I’m ready.”

Shouto gave a quick, but detailed, overview of his plans for your ‘training tutoring’, you referred to your sessions as. He was going to teach you everything he thought you should know—which was everything he knew—in order to successfully become a Hero people could rely on.

The two of you began by improving your physique. You joined him on his early morning run along with Midoriya and Bakugou, who welcomed you with contrasting fervor. When you met for your afternoon training, you would run five kilometers before learning various grades of combat moves, and then concluding your time together by sparring.

It was established early on that neither of you would use your Quirks during your tutoring as the two of you were well-adapted to your respective Quirks—and the strict rules regarding their usage.

For the next several weeks, you worked tirelessly on your training, and your dedication and hard work paid off. At your end-of-the-month assessment, Aizawa was pleased by your rapid and exceptional improvement and announced you could stay at U.A. He also informed you that it was never his intention to expel you in the first place, but nevertheless, he was impressed by your efforts.

You and Shouto continued to grow closer as time went by. You still had your training tutoring sessions in the afternoons, and you became a regular on his early morning runs. You even hung out outside of class and training; preparing pre-workout meals and drinks together, and various study sessions at all hours of the day and night. Once, you even packed him a small canister of his favorite brand of soba noodles for lunch one of the weekends he was interning at his father’s Agency. When he came back to the dorm after his shift, he made a beeline for you and promptly informed you that from then on out, you would be solely responsible for packing his lunches.

“Now why would I do that?” you implored. You crossed your arms, awaiting his response. “Are you gonna pay me?”

Shouto slowly blinked at you in the way a cat would. “Why would I compensate you for an action you chose to do?”

You had no retort for that.

As you spent more time together, you noticed some changes. Shouto would stare at you for seemingly no reason, and whenever you called him out on it, he feigned innocence. He also sought you out more often, insisting on walking to your next class or to and from the dorm by your side. He even began to occupy you on your shopping runs, dutifully holding your bags for you. And whenever you would thank or compliment him, his whole demeanor would light up as if Aphrodite herself had shown favor towards him.

You weren’t any better, though.

If Shouto would do so much as even blink in your general direction, your heart would soar and butterflies would take flight in your stomach. At first, you brushed it off as nerves for being the subject of the Shouto Todoroki’s attention, but you were in denial, not wanting to admit what was actually occurring. Looking back, you realized that deep down, you had known all along what was happening, but at the time, you weren’t ready to admit it—to yourself and him.

Regardless of your rebuttals and lack of admission, you were falling for your dual-haired classmate, hard and fast, and there wasn’t anything you could do about it.

3 months later . . .

“Y/N! It’s starting! You’re gonna miss it!” Ochako shouted from the couches, the other girls of Class 3-A surrounding her, all dressed in comfortable loungewear. It was the class's annual Girl’s Movie Night, which was held every couple of months. Tooru told you earlier that week that they would like to have it more often, like once a month, but given their hectic and ever-changing schedules, the girls had to settle for every few months. They took turns who got to pick out the movie. It was Mina’s turn this time. True to her nature, she selected an early 2000s chick flick set in the States.

“Hold on, wait for me!” you hollered back as you finished pouring the freshly popped popcorn into a large bowl, a few kernels spilling out as you whirled on your heels to sprint into the living area. You nearly tripped over Jirou’s legs as you practically threw yourself towards the last remaining free spot on the couch.

“Ah, sorry!” you exclaimed as you settled yourself into the cushions, checking over Jirou and your popcorn bowl. “Did I miss anything?”

“No, it’s just starting,” Momo said, taking a sip from her cup of tea as the opening credits began to roll.

“Ooh, this is one of my all-time favorite movies!” Mina squealed next to you. “Have you ever seen it before?” she asked.

You hummed, acknowledging her question. You thought hard, trying to recall if you’ve ever seen the characters on the screen before. “I’m not sure,” you said. “I don’t think so.”

The pinkette gasped aloud and theatrically placed a hand on her chest, sprawling backward. “Y/N! You wound me!”

Across the room, Tooru piped up from her spot next to Asui. “How could you not have?! It’s only one of the greatest movies ever made!”

“Oh, I’m not so sure about that,” Ochako interjected. “Gonna have to disagree.” You expected them to start arguing back and forth over what is truly the greatest movie ever made, like your friends back home would have done, but they don’t. Mina stuck her tongue out at Ochako before turning back to the movie.

You all watched the movie in relative silence, save for the light background noise of popcorn moving around in a bowl and slurping from a now-empty straw. It was nice, peaceful; a well-deserved and appreciated respite from the grinding hustle of being Pro-Heroes-in-training.

“Just confess already!” Jirou shouted at the screen as the main character allowed another opportunity for them to confess their feelings for their classmate slip through their fingers. “Gosh!” A corner of your mouth curled at her irritation. A few grumbles of agreement sounded from the others as the movie continued playing.

You had to stifle your laughter as the main characters continued to pine after one another, completely oblivious to the other’s growing feelings. I can’t believe there are actually people in the world who are like them, you silently mused. It’s so obvious they like each other. I can’t believe they don’t see it.

“Ugh, the anticipation and pining is killing me!” Tooru cried out, her slippers moving frantically in the air as she kicked her legs.

Asui raised a brow. “I thought you’ve seen this movie before?”

“Well, yeah, I have,” the invisible female said. “But the suspense still gets to me!”

“It is quite intense.” Ochako agreed. “I hope they confess soon. It hurts to see them think the other doesn’t return their feelings.”

“I don’t understand how they cannot.” You admitted, shrugging your shoulders. The girls turned to look at you as you continued, “I mean, they’re so obvious.”

“Yeah, it’s kinda annoying at this point,” Jirou mumbled.

Mina snickered. “Y/N, as if you’re one to talk.”

You gave her a questioning look, eyebrows furrowing. “What do you mean by that?”

“Oh, come on. You’re so obvious, too, with your crush—”

You cut her off, “I do not have a crush.”

“You have a crush?” Asui asked. You and Mina responded at the same time.

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, she does.”

“What is this about?” Momo inquired, reaching for the remote and pausing the movie.

“Nothi—” you began but was swiftly interrupted by the pinkette next to you.

“Y/N has a crush on Todoroki!”

The girls gasped and gapped at you, eyes wide.

“I do not!” You said, face burning as you tried to mitigate the situation. “We’re not like that!”

“Oh my.” You thought you heard Momo say under her breath, but you couldn’t really hear since Tooru started shrieking with glee.

“You guys would be the cutest couple!” she exclaimed, jumping up from her spot on the couch and racing over to pull you into a tight embrace.

“I mean, it does make sense given they spend so much time together.” Ochako mused, a finger on her chin as she considered the situation.

Asui jumped on the bandwagon with, “Oh they are definitely into each other.”

“One hundred percent,” Mina agreed.

“Girl, you gotta spill the tea!” Tooru exclaimed as she pulled away. “Tell us everything!” The others voiced their agreement.

“I do admit, I am curious as to how this relationship came to be,” Momo vocalized, setting her tea cup down onto its saucer. “That is if the two of you have gotten that far into your companionship.”

You blinked at the midnight-black-haired woman, shock clouding your brain for a moment as you processed her words. “Um, n-no. We aren’t in any type of r-romantic relationship.” You clarified, but immediately you could tell certain people thought your answer was complete horse poop. “We aren’t!”

“Regardless, you guys are pretty close,” Ochako interjected. “I’ve seen the way you look at him.”

Jirou nodded in agreement. “And all the extra training you do together.”

“The early morning runs,” Asui added.

“Okay, okay,” you threw your hands up in a placating manner. “I understand what you guys are trying to get at, but you’re wrong.”

Mina came to stand beside you, giving you a knowing look. “Girl, Y/N,” she began. “You can try with all your might to deny it, but it’s obvious what is really going on between you and Shouto.” She placed a delicate hand on your shoulder. “And I know you know it, too.”

You stared at the pinkette, pondering her and the other’s words. You wanted to continue denying what they were saying, but you were getting tired of denying your feelings to yourself. You slumped your shoulders, the tension leaving your body as you resolved to come clean with the truth—to yourself and your friends, besides a certain dual-haired male. “Alright, fine.” You let out a heavy sigh, mentally preparing yourself for their reaction to your next statement. “I like him a little.” You confessed, looking at the floor, too afraid to meet any of their gazes.

The room was dead silent for two breaths before Mina erupted in choking laughter. “’A little’? Yeah RIGHT!” She laughed so hard that tears began to stream down her pink cheeks. After she managed to calm down a bit, she turned to face you fully, laying a hand on your knee. “Girl, you’re lying to yourself.” She told you, tone light yet serious. “We have all seen the way you look at Shouto—” the others nod in confirmation. “—and your eyes tell it all.”

You flinched as embarrassment flooded you. “Is it really that obvious?” you asked. You turned to the others to gauge their reactions. “Am I?” They all nodded.

“Definitely.”

“For sure.”

“We could see it from a mile away.”

You gasped. “Oh my,” you covered your face with your hands. “Do you think Shouto knows?”

“I doubt so,” Momo said. “Shouto is quite intelligent and a formidable force to be reckoned with, but as I’m sure you’re aware, his experience and understanding of social concepts and cues are fairly limited.”

“In other words,” Jirou interjected. “He’s none the wiser.”

You released a sigh of relief. At least he doesn’t think I’m a psycho stalker or something.

“Hey, give him some credit, guys,” Ochako remarked. “Todoroki’s more aware than he’s given credit for.”

“Moving on,” Mina said. “Have you thought about confessing your feelings to him?”

You crossed your arms over your chest, shamefully looking away. “No. . .”

“What?!”

“Really?!” Tooru shouted. “But he’s so hot!” The sleeves of her shirt crossed in front of her. “I would do anything to be his girlfriend.”

You laughed. “While you are correct about his handsomeness, I don’t even know where I would begin or how I would confess.”

“Your feelings are valid, Y/N,” Asui assured you. “Confessing one’s feelings for another is a life-changing occurrence.”

“You gotta do it before graduation in a couple months, though,” Ochako added. “If not, then you may never get another chance to do so.”

“Why do you say that?” you asked. “As Pros, wouldn’t we work together often? Why does it need to be before we graduate and turn Pro?”

“Possibly, but with our chosen line of work, there is always a possibility. . .” she trailed off with a grimace.

You understood immediately. “Oh.”

“Although rare in the line of duty, it does happen.” Momo said. “I wouldn’t worry about that though, but I agree with Ochako.”

“Plus,” Mina began, mischief glowing in her eyes. “If the two of you get together before you make your Pro Hero debut to the world, you wouldn’t have to worry about him falling in love with some random civilian he rescues on the street or another Pro.”

You nodded. “You have a point.”

“Either way, I think it will all work out in the end,” Ochako said, her cheeks widening with her smile. “I think perhaps Shouto returns your feelings, and just simply doesn’t know what to do about them or how to address them, therefore you should tell him.” The other girls voiced their agreement.

“Yeah, it doesn’t have to be some big romantic gesture or anything,” Jirou said.

“Just be honest with him, Y/N,” Asui said.

“Yeah, girl,” Mina added, giving you a warm smile when you met her gaze. “You got this. Besides, he can’t reject you. You’re too hot for that.”

You squared your shoulders as a burst of confidence filled you thanks to the encouragement you received from your friends. “Okay, I will!” you loudly announced. “I will confess my feelings to him!”

The others cheered as you all held up your lemon water in a faux toast. In your happiness, none of you noticed the shadows shift in the stairwell and the soft noise of retreating footsteps on the wood.

You were screwed.

“How am I gonna tell him!?” you mewled aloud a couple of days later in the cafeteria. You dramatically slumped your forehead on the tabletop, mentally kicking yourself for allowing the girls to convince you that confessing your crush would be an easy endeavor. You felt a reassuring pat on your shoulder. Groaning, you lifted your head from the table to shoot puppy eyes at Ochako. “Ochako, help me!” you cried. “How do I confess?”

The brunette gave you a sheepish smile. “I don’t know, Y/N.” She professed, her eyes apologetic. “Proclaiming one's love for another isn’t really my strong suit.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Asui mumbled under her breath before taking a sip of her drink, receiving a glare in response.

“Y/N, sweetie,” Mina cooed from your other side. “I think you’re overthinking it a little. It shouldn’t be but so hard. Just be honest with him!”

“But that is hard!” you said, waving your hands in the air. “I can’t just walk up to him and say, ‘hey, Shouto, I think you’re really hot and amazing. Wanna go out with me?’”

“Sure you can,” Momo intoned, trying to reassure you. “Maybe not in those exact words, but when the time comes, you will know what to say.”

“I hope so,” you sighed, slumping your shoulders. “I hope so.”

As time passed, you found that you did not, in fact, know what to say when the time came to confess your feelings to Shouto Todoroki. Whenever you were near him, you became tongue-tied and could barely speak without becoming a stuttering mess. During each interaction, Shouto would give you a long, confused look, his eyebrows drawn downwards as he watched you struggle for words. He wouldn’t comment on it, bless him, but he must’ve thought you to be a total weirdo.

Yet, he still accompanied you on the walk back to the dorm every day after classes ended, and he insisted on continuing your training sessions every weekend after he finished his shift at Endeavor’s Agency. The two of you grew closer, to your absolute delight, and yet you still hadn’t managed to work up the courage to confess your feelings to him.

Until one day . . .

You were sitting in homeroom during free period, chatting with Midoriya about the latest episode of the rebooted All Might: The Mightiest Man TV series.

“I’m telling you, Midoriya,” you said. “It doesn’t matter how much the animation and special effects have improved, the original will always be better than the reboot.” You crossed your arms and lounged back in your chair, waiting for the forest green-haired male to start sputtering his counterargument. “You can’t change my mind. I will die on this hill.”

“Are you seriously sayin—?”

A call of your name from a familiar tenor drew your attention. You turned towards the source to meet a pair of heterochromatic eyes. Shouto was making his way to your desk, coming to a stop right in front of you. You had to tilt your head back in order to maintain eye contact. After a moment, he turned his attention to Midoriya next to you. “Pardon me, Midoriya, but I need to speak to Y/N in private.”

You and Midoriya gaped at the dual-haired male for a good twenty seconds before you slowly rose from your seat. “O-okay.” You turned to face your green-haired companion. You hoped your eyes were conveying your inner panic as you said, “Midoriya, I’ll be back.”

All he could do was nod as he watched you follow behind Shouto, wondering why you looked so panicked to go with the male. Maybe you were constipated.

As Shouto led you toward the classroom door, Ochako and Mina shot you curious glances. When you met their gazes, they gave you a reassuring smile and a thumbs up, respectfully.

“Good luck, girl!” Mina whisper-shouted.

“You got this, Y/N,” Ochako said. You tried to match her comforting smile with your own, but it didn’t reach your eyes.

You followed behind the dual-haired male, silently wondering what was going on. Once you were outside the classroom, he led you down the hallway to a little corner nook bathed in the golden light of the afternoon.

“Shouto, is everything okay?” you asked, anxiously shifting from one foot to the other. “Is something wrong?” At your inquiry, he finally came to a stop in front of a set of windows and turned to face you.

“Yes, everything is fine.” He reassured you. “I have something I’d like to discuss with you.”

You blinked. “Okay,” you said. “Shoot.”

Shouto likewise paused at your usage of unfamiliar slang but didn’t comment on it. “Um,” he started, but drifted off, not finishing the thought. He opened his mouth only to shut it again after a moment or two without making a sound. You furrowed your brows as you continued to watch him struggle for words.

“Um, Sho?” you prodded. He didn’t respond, however, still thinking over his next words. Shouto never hesitates, you thought with a mixture of wonderment and anxiety. Is something bothering him? you thought with growing concern. You felt your heart come to a skittering stop as another horrifying conclusion came to mind; am I the problem?

“I overheard you and the other girls’ conversation on Movie Night,” he confessed at last, interrupting your spiraling train of thought. He bashfully looked away as if he was ashamed.

“Oh, okay?” you responded, absentmindedly going through the events of the night in question. Your heartbeat began to calm down to a normal rate. “What conversation?” You couldn’t think of anything in particular and were about to ask him to elaborate before the realization hit you like a freight train.

“I like him a little.”

“Okay, I will! I will confess my feelings to him!”

“Yeah, girl, you got this. Besides, he can’t reject you. You’re too hot for that.”

Oooohhhhh.

Fuck.

Maybe he didn’t hear that particular part of the conversation! You tried to reassure yourself as you waited for Shouto to answer your question. Your heart rate picked back up as panic began to settle in. We were there for several hours. There is so much he could’ve—

“You have an admiration going on.” You hate to admit you gawked at him for a couple of seconds before his formal wording translated into modern speech. You have a crush.

FUCK!

“Oh my God, I am so sorry!” you rushed out, trying to save face and whatever friendship you had with Shouto. You felt your cheeks burn. “Please, just forget you ever heard that!”

Shouto snapped his head to you as your words registered in his brain. “Why would I do that?” he asked after a moment. “We live in the same building with shared living space, barely anything is not overheard by another.”

Oh God, how much did he overhear?

“Besides,” he continued. “At our age, it is completely natural for one to harbor feelings for another.”

You blinked at him as his words registered, your cheeks now tingling due to the burn. Gosh, he sounds like a grandpa giving the birds and the bees talk.

“It—it’s j-just,” you stammered. “I-I-I—” You let out a harsh breath in frustration when your words continued to fail you. Shouto raised a brow before his eyes narrowed. Your heart sank when you saw that.

Oh great, he’s annoyed!

“Are you all right?” he asked before moving so he was right in front of you. You squeaked at the sudden warmth of his body heat as he placed a hand on your forehead. “Do you feel ill? You feel warm, and your face looks to be flushed with some perspiration gathering on your forehead.” His eyes frantically looked you up and down as he examined you for any further signs of sickness. “I should get you to Recovery Girl.”

“N-no!” you exclaimed when he went to sweep you off your feet. “Sh-Shouto, I—I’m fine, really. I’m n-not s-sick.”

“Oh?” Shouto blinked in confusion and, adorably, subtly tilted his head to the side. “Then why are you so febrile? And you are stuttering?”

“It’s not because I am sick. I’m just em-embarrassed.” You whispered the last part, and you couldn’t help but look away from Shouto in shame.

“Embarrassed? Why are you embarrassed, Y/N?” You shut your mouth, refusing to speak. Shouto sensed your hesitation. The light slowly left his heterochromatic eyes and he bashfully looked away from you. “Is . . . is it because you don’t want to be seen with me?” he asked. “For fear that your crush will see us together and not return your affection?”

You let out a gasp in surprise. “What? No!” You are quick to reassure him—your actual crush—of your intentions. “That’s not it at all!”

Shouto met your gaze again. His eyes lit up with what looked like . . . anticipation? Hope? You weren’t sure, but your heart began to race in trepidation. “Then what is it?”

“I like you,” you blurted out. You shut your eyes and covered your face with your hands, trying to hide from your drowning embarrassment. “Like, not even a little bit, but, like, really, really like you.” You whispered from behind your hands.

There was no immediate response from the dual-haired male. You didn’t dare to remove your hands from your face to check if he was still standing in front of you.

He probably didn’t hear me. You internally slapped yourself upside the head.

Before you could react, Shouto was carefully removing your hands from your face. His touch was gentle, like he was afraid you would crack and break under his fingertips. “Why are you hiding from me?” he whispered. Your breath caught in your throat as you stared wide-eyed at him.

“I—I.” Despite your efforts, words weren’t able to come out of your mouth.

“You should never feel like you need to hide,” he continued. He let out an airy tsk before he reached his hand up and gently tucked a piece of stray hair behind your ear. You felt your face heat up even more at the action. “Especially from me.”

What.

“W-what?” you voiced aloud. You blinked a couple times, trying to bring your brain back from the brink of short-circuiting.

Shouto chuckled lowly, moving impossibly closer into your space. “I think you need to get your hearing checked out, love.”

You blinked some more. “What?”

“Have I broken you?” he asked, the corner of his perfect lips turning up at the thought. “First you forget your words, and now you have lost your hearing. . .” he trailed off as he continued to stare intently into your eyes.

What is he playing at. . .? you wondered as you blankly stared at him.

The two of you stood there and took each other in for quite a while. In reality, it mustn’t have been for very long—at most a minute and a half—but to you, it felt like hours. You were so close you could see the light reflecting in his heterochromatic eyes and the small streaks of gray in the turquoise-colored one.

“I . . . like you, too,” Shouto suddenly confessed, violently snapping you out of the daze his proximity causes. “I have harbored feelings for you for some time now.”

WHAT!?

“You . . . do?” you asked, skeptical. You were hesitant to believe his words in fear that this whole thing was some sick prank. But—

No. Shouto isn’t that type of person, you thought. He barely understands humor as it is, so he must be telling the truth.

“I do,” he confirmed.

“Oh, um.” You fumbled again for words, embarrassment flooding your entire system once more. You licked your dry lips, missing the way Shouto’s eyes locked onto the movement. “Cool.”

Shouto blinked at you, one of his perfect eyebrows raising. “Cool?” he repeated with a sly smile overcoming his lips.

“Mhm.” You dumbly nodded. “Cool.” You paused before muttering a small, “Ditto.”

He chuckled again, subtly moving the tiniest bit closer to you. He was just about crowding you into the corner at this point. “Ditto, huh?” He mumbled under his breath with a widening smirk playing at his lips. “I think I have broken you, dear.”

You grinned. “Perhaps.” Shouto chuckled again before falling silent. The two of you stared at the other, lost in each other’s gazes.

“Can I kiss you?” He spoke on an exhale, his deep voice somehow even deeper. Before you could internally flip the fuck out and fully comprehend what was happening, you were already nodding. That was all the confirmation Shouto needed before he brought your lips in for a sensual kiss. Fireworks exploded behind your eyelids as you relaxed into him.

You smiled into the kiss. Thank you, chopsticks.

The next day, you and Shouto walked into the classroom holding hands. Everyone collectively stopped what they were doing to openly gape at the two of you as Shouto, always the gentleman, escorted you to your seat. The shocked silence lasted all but three seconds before Mina and Tooru let out ear-piercing shrieks and practically tackled you.

“Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh!” Mina was shouting meanwhile Tooru was holding onto you so tight to the point that she was nearly crushing you into her invisible body.

“AHHHH, I knew this was gonna happen!” she exclaimed before somehow pulling you in closer.

“Can’t . . . breathe.” You wheezed out before your boyfriend pulled you away from the two fangirls and protectively held you to his chest.

“I would be grateful if you didn’t crush my girlfriend to death, Tooru.” He intoned in his naturally dry tenor. His statement only made them freak out even more.

“Ah! Look at the two love birds!” Ochako swooned.

“Fuckin’ disgustin’,” grumbled a deep voice from somewhere in the back of the room.

Before you could turn to shoot Bakugou a death glare, Shouto was already clapping back. “What, are you jealous, Bakugou?”

The desks which had surrounded the blond a moment prior were blown to shiverines.

“I’LL END YOU!”

Fin.

→ extras: snapshot 1, snapshot 2, fic tag

No plagiarizing, re-uploading, translating, or copying of any kind or on any platform of my writing or inserted into any type of AI generator. Do not recommend my work on TikTok. Do not repost on YouTube.

[no-144444]

prince charming- l.norris

summary: lando brings his niece to the ballet, who knew he'd find love?

pairing: lando norris x fem! ballerina! reader

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

Another show finished, another day done. All you had to do was meet some children and show them around the stage. It was a thing the company had decided to do after every single show, and you were one of the only ballerinas who enjoyed it. Everyone else ran out of there as fast as they could, but you stayed around, in full costume, showing them everything. 

“Y/n! Y/n! Look!” Mila, the little girl that had been assigned to you pulled on your hand and you followed her over. “It’s your Prince Charming!” She pointed at your co-star, Richard, who was playing Prince Charming while you played Cinderella. He was lovely and one of your best friends, but Mila’s face fell when she saw him kiss another girl, aka his actual girlfriend Mia. “He’s kissing someone else!” she gasped, looking at you hurt. 

You smiled. “We’re only together in the show, remember? My name isn’t Cinderella, is it?” You chuckled and she nodded, laughing. “So, that’s Richard, and he’s Mia’s real-life Prince Charming, not mine.”

She nodded understandingly. “Do you have a Prince Charming?”

You internally cringed, why did kids always want to know about your love-life? “No,” you smiled. 

Her face lit up. “OH! Perfect! Uncle Lala!” she called for her uncle to come over as your face fell. “Uncle Lala will you be Y/n’s Prince Charming so she can be my Auntie and we can have fun forever?!” 

Mila’s excited face and the ridiculousness of her statement, reminding him she truly didn’t know how the world worked, made him giggle. And with Lando, when he starts, he doesn’t stop. It took a whole minute for him to stop laughing, while you sat there awkwardly. You knew who he was, you knew why he was laughing, but it was still rude. Just say no, dude. 

“Mila, it doesn’t work like that,” he explained. “She’s way too pretty for me,” he whispered, sitting down beside her, and in front of you. 

Your eyes widened and you looked down, confused at the entire situation. 

“I know she is,” Mila answered (subtle dig at her uncle, but alright). “But you could ask her to dance or something. Princesses like dancing.”

Lando shook his head. “I’m an awful dancer.”

“Why do you just try talking to her!” Mila scoffed, then ran off to go look at some of the set of the show. 

You looked up and met his eyes and you both started laughing. “I’m so sorry about her, she gets like this sometimes,” he admitted, a slight blush on his cheeks. 

“It’s alright, it happens sometimes,” you waved him off, an easy smile on your face. 

“You get hit on through people’s nieces a lot?” he questioned. 

You chuckled. “It’s more common than you think, people love the ballerina shtick.”

He laughed. “How old are you?”

“I’m 23,” you answered. “And I’m Y/n.”

“I’m Lando,” he held his hand out to be shaken. “Nice to meet you.”

“NIce to meet you too,” you smiled, shaking his hand. “Congratulations on the year you’ve had.”

“You watch F1?”

You nodded. “My mom has been into it since she was a kid, she gave that to me, so… yeah.”

“Who’s your favourite driver?” he smirked and you chuckled. 

“Nico Hulkenberg,” you smirked. 

He chuckled. “Understandable,” he smiled, nodding. “Mila is probably off somewhere trying to destroy your set, I should probably go grab her.”

You both got up and smiled at each other. “It was nice to meet you.”

“It was nice to meet you too, Prince Charming,” you joked, he giggled. 

And that was that. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

For the next few days, Lando could not get you out of his head. You were funny, kind, beautiful, good with Mila, everything he wanted in a person, yet he’d let you slip away. You weren’t even on social media, but he followed the company’s instagram and some of your friends to see pictures of you. He decided, once the season ended, he’d go back and find you. Maybe he really could become your Prince Charming. 

He joined the rest of the crowd in their standing ovation as you bowed, smiling brightly. He waited around and followed a few more people backstage to finally see you again. 

“Lando?” you questioned as you looked at him from behind. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see you again,” he shrugged. “Happy holidays.”

You smiled. “So it is true,” your eyes shone with a hint of mischief. “You did follow the company account.”

He screwed his face up in a half-smile-half-grimace, he’d been caught. “You don’t have a public account, thought it would be weird to follow you on your private one.”

You chuckled. “I would’ve let you follow me,” you told him. “You are my Prince Charming, right?”

He beamed. “Right,” he nodded. “Dinner?”

“Let me get out of costume,” you agreed. You started to walk off and he didn’t follow, unsure what to do. You turned back and grabbed his hand. “Come on!”

He was very happy he had brought Mila to the ballet.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

[wcters]

TEENAGER IN LOVE

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

word count: 2k+

summary: your relationship with lando through the teenage years

warnings/contents: mostly fluff, some angst

author’s note: i know lando moved to glastonbury later in his life but 🤫 i also wrote this in 2 hours instead of doing homework because i got excited and had an idea

     You and Lando had first met when you were teenagers. Him being a lanky teenage boy with puffy cheeks and curly hair, and you being a young girl with frizzy hair and a youthful look in your eyes. It wasn’t a surprise to anyone when you first started dating, it’s like you both were on the same wavelength.

You still remember the day you met him ━━ how could you not? You two went to the same school so you knew who each other was, and you had heard of him from people around the town talking about his karting career. Your parents were family friends with the Norris’s, and they never failed to talk about how proud they were of their children.

It was the start of school after the 2013 summer break. You had quite a small friend group in school so when you had classes with no one you were friends with, you tended to be quiet and focus on your school work. That resulted in you being forced to sit next to the rowdy kids. Why? You didn’t know. It’s not like it changed them, and it just bothered you. It was one of those times, and it was Lando who was put next to you. Him and his friend group tended to be the disruptive bunch. They weren’t bad people or bad at school, just got a little too loud at times and forgot to pay attention.

You were sat in the middle row of your math class. The seat next to you was empty at the start of class, but at the end it wasn’t. Lando and his friends got a little too loud and he was “punished” by being put next to you so he couldn’t talk with his friends. You looked at him when he made his way over, but that was it. He was cute ━━ you could admit it. And it didn’t hurt that someone cute was being put next to you, but you shook your feelings off and forced yourself to focus. At them end of class when you were grabbing your things, a hand poked your shoulder. You turned around and came face-to-face with the Norris boy. He looked a little nervous, fidgety and a small smile on his face. You tilted your head. “Hey ━━ I uh ━━ didn’t have enough time to finish some of the notes. Do you mind if I borrow some of yours?”

You were a little surprised, you didn’t think he cared that much about school. Most kids wouldn’t bother getting down a little bit you missed ━━ not even you ━━ but he did. You smiled and nodded. “Sure,” you told him as you grabbed the paper out of your binder and gave it to him, “just return it once you’re done?” He nodded. The next day in class, he walked over to you and gave the paper pack, and you figured he would go back to his friends because the seat want permanent, but he didn’t. He put his bag on the ground and sat in the seat next to you. He did that, every day, for the rest of the year.

You two got to know each other well. You learned more about his competitive karting career and his family, while you told him about your family and friends. Nothing ever happened between you two, you were just friends. You had a crush on him, but you convinced yourself it was your mind tricking you because it was your first friend that was a boy. He thought the same, but he didn’t not believe his, he just didn’t act on it.

It was summer break, a year after you met him, when you realized you did like him. You were chatting with your grandma at her house as you were helping her sting stuff around the house. She had asked about your school semesters and how it was. You rambled on and on, not realizing that you mostly takes about Lando. It wasn’t until you were putting one of the last boxes down for her that it finally hit. “You must really like that boy, no?” You looked at her weird. “All you did was talk about him. You must like him.” It was when she said that that you had a moment of realization. After you finished helping her you went home to your mom and talked to her, confused on how to deal with this newfound information. She just laughed and gave you a hug, telling you that almost every teenage girl goes through this with someone in their life. That made you feel a bit better.

Your friendship turned into something more a couple weeks after that. The Norris family had invited your family to come watch one of Lando’s races at Buckmore Park. Your parents agreed as they wanted to catch up . . . You agreed because you wanted to see Lando. He did well, coming 5th place. You could tell he wasn’t happy about, but you were. You and your family met up with him at the end of the race. He wasn’t looking too happy, but when he saw you his face lit up. When you congratulated him he blushed. Your families talked for a bit ━━ mostly about how summer break was going ━━ and you were about to leave when Lando called out your name.

Your family continued to leave, saying they would meet up with you at the car with your mom winking at you. You blushed. At first there was some awkward silence, and then he asked “would you like to go on a date?” You were a bit shocked, not expecting it, and you were nervous. What did people do on dates anyway? You know adults went out to eat and drink but you were fifteen! You completely forgot that you had to answer his question, and he started sputtering out words saying that you didn’t have to, and he was sorry before you interrupted him with a “yes.” It was his turn to look surprise.

You went on a date the next week, both of you unknowingly doing the same thing and panicking to your parents beforehand. It went fine, a bit awkward ━━ obviously ━━ but you thought it was cute. You went out for icecream and walked around Bristol. Halfway through the date he slipped his hand into yours, and you accepted it, but didn’t dare to look him in the eye.

After that, you two were inseparable. You two were always together, and practically lived at each others houses. Sometimes ━━ for weeks on end ━━ your parents never saw you a lot because you were always at Lando’s house. His parents always updated yours on how you were, and they trusted you. During an interview for Drive to Survive, your parents swore during those times they only saw you in the morning and night, the rest of the time you were with Lando. This would switch between you staying at his and him staying at yours.

Though Lando wouldn’t admit it when he was a teenager, he would do anything for you. If you asked him to jump off a bridge, he wouldn’t even ask why, he’s just do it. There are so many pictures on your phone and Polaroids of him in “embarrassing” situations ━━ like one where he had a face mask on and his nails painted. You keep that one in the back of your phone case. He would let you braid his hair, practice makeup on him, help him with his skincare, and so many other things. This would always be in the secrecy of your room and when your families weren’t there because he dreaded the day his family saw him like that.

He had no idea that you had shown his sisters and parents almost every single one. They promised to keep it quiet, and they did. You also know they won’t tell him that they have some of those pictures on their phones. It’s a secret between you and them, a need to know thing.

Whenever you had sleepovers at his house, you would stay with his sisters because you weren’t allowed to be with him ━━ for good reason ━━ and because you loved his sisters. As you got older, you bonded more with them, helping them out with boy problems and girl problems, because everyone had those girls in high school who made your life a living hell. You broke down crying when you found out they were moving to Glastonbury. How would you survive without not being able to hug your boyfriend? How would you cope without the gossip sessions with his sisters? The talks about your life over helping Cisca with dinner and talking politics with Adam? Laughing at embarrassing moments of Lando with his brother?

Before that, you had put off getting your license. You walked or took buses to most places, and it saved you money. When you found out they were moving though, you made it your life’s mission it get your license and a car. You were on moving day, helping the family with setting things up and cleaning up the place. You still remember the dinner you had that night. It wasn’t fancy, just Chinese takeout on a table in the half put together living room, but it was one of the moments where you truly felt like family. It wasn’t that you hadn’t before, but it was the private ness of the situation that really hit your heart. You begged to stay over, not caring that it was a school night, but you couldn’t. You hugged everyone goodbye with teary eyes, kissing Lando, and promising to be back soon.

And you were. When you had that car, you spent an unbelievable amount of money on gas. You drove to his house almost every weekend. Sometimes he would come over to your house, but it was mostly you going over there out of convenience. If Lando wanted to go to yours, he’d probably have to pile all of his siblings in the car, while you didn’t have to do that. Besides driving to Glastonbury, your car was also used as a pick me up. Whenever something happened with his sisters, you’d be there in a heartbeat, telling them to get in ━━ telling Lando he can’t come with him grumbling something under his breath ━━ and you’d go and grab food. Whatever they needed, you were there ready to do it? Boy problems? Junk food and a sad playlist. School problems? Listening to them vent and giving them advice. Period problems? That depended on that they wanted. You even remember one time on March break Flo had an experience with a boy and you took her to a rage room . . . It was so fun, and you definitely did it again with Cisca.

While you were there for all the important events in Lando’s life, he was the same. He was there when your grandma died, and you swore he was one of the few things that kept you together. He was there when you graduated high school and got accepted into your dream school.

Your relationship stayed the same throughout his whole career, you to where you both were now, living in Monaco. You still acted like teenagers, jokingly fighting over little things and teasing each other. Your love baver wavered, it stayed the same for each other, maybe even became stronger. There were periods in your relationship like when he first started in Formula One and you moved to college that it was tricky, but you go through it. You always would.

As you sat on the sofa in your home and twirled the ring on your finger, you remembered the whole of your relationship and the future of it. You were broken out of your trance by a kiss on your head. You hummed, not turning to look at him. “She’s gone to bed. She’s been changed and given her bottle. You smiled and looked up at him, “thank you.” He kissed you on your lips, “of course. You ready to go to bed, Mrs. Norris?” You chuckled and got up, walking around to the couch to meet him in his arms.

“Always, Mr. Norris, always.”

[mononijikayu]

is it new years yet? — nanami kento.

"Apparently, we're #RelationshipGoals now." "Some of them really think I write poetry about you during my lunch breaks, too. Not inaccurate, of course. But the thoughts I have of you are different." “My darling, behave.” “No <3” ".......In any case, my darling…..this one says I’m lucky to have you. Can’t argue with that."

GENRE: alternate universe - no curses au!;

WARNING/S: afab! reader, secret coworker romance, co-workers to lovers, romance, fluff, nsfw, rated 18 and above, explicit content, kissing, making out, rough sex, fingering, creampie, p to v sex, stairwell sex, orgasm, humor, profanity, pet names (my darling, babe, etc), possessiveness, jealousy, characters speaking in sexual innuendo, mention of sexual euphemisms, depiction of explicit sexual content, actor! nanami kento, actor! reader;

WORD COUNT: 6k words.

NOTE: hello everyone, this is the first fic of 2025!!! this was specifically written because of a conversation between me and @midnight-138 on the afternoon of december 31st 2024. i started progress while on a bus on the way to my grandma's house and for a bit on the 1st. i still wanted to write more for it, but i had to stop because i caught a cold. i still have a cold. and i need a massage cause i feel my body hurt real bad, cause its working hard to save my life from this cold TT TT

but that being said, i shouldn't complain too much. good things have been happening to me despite my problems. i hope that good things continue to come!!! anyway, enough yapping, i hope you enjoy this little fic. happy 2025!!! may good things, good health and happiness come your way always this year!!!

masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

IT WAS ALWAYS LIKE THIS WHEN YOU AND KENTO GET TOGETHER. But it was to be expected, since you graced the screens since you were a child. Nanami Kento was like that too. Of course, it wasn’t something of a brag at all. It was just your normal.

You were lucky, you were favored like that. Kento was favored just like that. Both of you were so beloved. And especially so, in a way that they end up hoping that you both were together. 

Ever since you worked with him on Jujutsu Kaisen all those years ago, it was just too strong — the chemistry between the two of you. It pulls people in for more. They wanted a story, they wanted something that could ease their days from the mundane boredom that it was to the fun, exhilarating excitement that comes with the tea in both of your private lives.

You didn’t mind, your company didn’t mind either. Neither did Kento or his side of the aisle. It helped that you were both good friends. You had met even before landing your roles on Jujutsu Kaisen, after all. So, the ‘will they, won’t they’ between the two of you really did help your careers.

But of course, just like in Gege–sensei’s scripts, some parts are sentences with too many blank pages. And the wholeness of your relationship with Nanami Kento truly only belonged to you and him. And you were not willing to expose it to the world. Not just yet.

Yet — this does not stop them from trying to do something about that.

The studio buzzed with activity as you adjusted the earpiece in your ear, stealing a quick glance at the veteran actor, singer, producer, writer and entertainment personality that is Nanami Kento.

He stood near the stage, his posture relaxed yet impossibly refined. Dressed in a tailored charcoal suit, his tie a subtle but elegant shade of deep blue,everything about him just exuded a quiet confidence that made it hard for anyone to look away. 

You, however, knew better than to let your gaze linger too long. You knew too well that those are reserved for just him and you to interpret and to see. No one else should. You were as possessive about your private moments as he was. But you would never say that outloud and neither will he.

“Can you believe these two again?” a stagehand whispered slowly, behind you. It was still, of course, loud enough for you to hear. “It’s like they were made for this. If they don’t end up together after tonight, I’ll lose faith in love. Really!”

You bit back a laugh, focusing on your notes. No one knew the truth, after all. That you and Kento were already together had been for a while now. Not even your publicists or managers — hell, not even your entertainment companies, knew that this was for genuine actuality, a real thing now. But you and him liked it that way.

You had let your fans go wild with their theories over the years of course. Every post, every comment, every little interaction, every collaboration, every press tour — almost everything seemed to spark a new wave of speculation and fan shipping. 

For years now, the internet was rife with hashtags like #OurSecretLovers and #MrAndMrsNanami with fans pouring over every detail like it's an investigatory report they were doing, a documentary study. You had to admit, it was amusing at times, watching people try to connect dots they couldn’t see. 

Nanami Kento had a reputation for being rather serious, because he gets roles in that league often. But he was a silly little man, well your silly little man. And he often had the knack for finding the most random, yet oddly endearing, posts about the two of you on Twitter. During your five-minute breaks between shoots, when you were in separate rooms or on different sets, his messages would pop up on your phone, accompanied by a link and a deadpan caption.

"Apparently, we're #RelationshipGoals now."

"Some of them really think I write poetry about you during my lunch breaks, too. Not inaccurate, of course. But the thoughts I have of you are different."

“My darling, behave.”

“No <3”

".......In any case, my darling…..this one says I’m lucky to have you. Can’t argue with that."

You’d giggle to yourself, your shoulders shaking as you tried not to draw attention. It didn’t matter how serious the production you were working on either. He had a way of making you laugh even from miles away. And that relaxes you a lot.

When it was your turn, you’d send him TikToks. Fancam edits of the two of you together had exploded in popularity as of late, especially since you both played a married couple who were spies deceiving each other recently. People thought he looked so good, especially when he had his shirt off. You loved teasing him about it. After all, he was really pretty hot in those scenes. And if you were being honest, they did in fact rile you up.

"Look at us, babe." you texted once, attaching a video with dramatic lighting, a love song playing over clips of you two stolen from interviews and behind-the-scenes footage. "We’re icons."

His reply came almost immediately: "Icons, sure. But I’m just a guy who got lucky enough to be yours, you know?"

Those words made your heart swell every time. He’d always been effortlessly humble, never letting fame or admiration inflate his ego, even as his star rose. After all, you were the senpai here—the darling of the Japanese screen since childhood. 

You’d grown up in the industry, your name synonymous with household stardom. He, on the other hand, had been a late bloomer, starting as a teenager and building his career with quiet determination.

He never let the difference in your status get in the way, though. If anything, it only made him more in awe of you. He’d often remind you how much he admired your grace, how you’d navigated the pressures of fame with a poise that still left him speechless.

“You’ve been dazzling audiences since you were a kid.” he’d say, his voice warm with pride. “I’m just lucky to share the screen with you now and your life.”

And you’d roll your eyes playfully, nudging him with a smile. “Don’t sell yourself short, Kento. You’re a fan favorite for a reason.”

“Maybe.” he replied with a soft smirk. “But you’re my favorite. And that’s what matters.”

No matter how busy your schedules got, those small exchanges, be it a funny link or a sentimental text, every bit of this kept you connected. It reminded you both that beneath the glitz and glamour, what truly mattered was the quiet, enduring love you shared.

You were out of your bubble soon enough when Kento suddenly caught your eye from across the room, offering a small, reassuring smile and then a small gentle nod. You felt your cheeks turn red but lowered your head immediately before anyone was to notice. He was too good at making you feel like this. And certainly so, he was hiding his smirk under his cue cards.

“Alright, places, everyone!” the director called.

You finally stood up from your chair, taking a deep breath and calmed down. You gave yourself one more look in the mirror, trying to make sure that your cheeks were natural now. When you felt like it was, you smiled at your manager who handed you the mic and swiftly thanked them. You went to your position. Kento soon approached, his footsteps purposeful but unhurried. 

“Ready?” he asked, his voice low and calm.

“Ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose.” you replied, flashing him a smile.

You were grateful for the reassurance. Even if you were already such a big name, you still did get nervous. And even more so, with such a big show like this — the New Year Countdown, of course you could feel yourself slipping.

The two of you took your positions on stage as the lights dimmed and the opening music swelled. His fingers brushed against yours briefly as he fixed himself up, your pinkies touching. Even briefly, you could feel the warmth. He did that on purpose. You could see it in his caramel eyes. 

You let a brief smile echo on your lips. You gathered yourself as the lift came up slowly. When you both were in the sight of the gathered audiences and the cameras started to broadcast it all live, you both slipped effortlessly into your roles. After all, you both were professionals.

“Good evening, everyone, and welcome to this year’s New Year’s Eve Countdown!” you began, your voice bright and enthusiastic.

“Thank you for joining us as we bid farewell to the old year and welcome the new.” Kento added, his tone smooth and polished.

Your banter flowed naturally, as always. That well beloved chemistry between you is still ever so undeniable. It was easy to fall into a rhythm with him; he was your partner in every sense of the word. And that made your job tonight a little bit easier.

But of course, the real challenge was hiding the little moments that threatened to give you away that bit you kept so dear to you. You just can't help it when it comes to him. He has such a powerful pull on you and he knows it.

There were those little lingering glances, watching and feeling the way his fingers brushed yours when you handed him a card, the subtle softness in his smile when he looked at you. After all, this is the longest you could be together in your very busy schedules this year.

Still, you kept yourself in that cage. And so did he, despite his lack of patience when it comes to you and everything about you. As the night progressed, the energy in the studio grew electric.

Various music performances lit up the stage, and interviews with special guests kept the crowd engaged. Throughout it all, you and Kento remained the perfect duo—professional, poised, and completely in sync.

After nearly a few hours of composure, it came almost all too suddenly. In just a few moments, the final countdown approached, and the excitement was palpable. The two of you stood at the center of the stage, along with the other participants for this year’s event. In front of you, the crowd behind you cheering wildly, waiting excitedly for the new year.

“Here we go!” you said, your voice barely audible over the noise.

Kento leaned in slightly, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “You’re doing great, darling..”

Your heart fluttered, but you kept your composure. “Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself, babe.”

The countdown soon began.

You took a breath, looking at the screen.

You held your cue cards tightly to you.

“Ten! Nine! Eight!”

The lights soon dimmed, and the giant screen behind you displayed the numbers as they ticked down. The crowd’s voices grew louder with each second. The emotions coming through you were indescribable. Another year had gone by. But he was still by your side, like this. And all you could pray for as the time passed into a new age — that you would always be together.

“Three! Two! One! Happy New Year!”

Confetti soon rained down, and the studio erupted in cheers. You turned toward Kento, and for a fleeting moment, the world around you disappeared. The look in his caramel eyes was unmistakable—warm, tender, and filled with a quiet pride that made your chest tighten.

But just as quickly, the moment passed, and you both turned back to the crowd, waving and smiling as the cameras captured every angle. People of course started to pay less attention to you both and the stage and more onto the fireworks now blurring the sky with its bright hues. You and Kento made a steady exit off the stage. 

“Another successful project, isn’t it?” you said, breaking the silence as you leaned against the wall.

Kento smirked faintly, unbuttoning the top of his shirt to loosen his tie. “They’ll be talking about this for weeks, you know?”

“And shipping us even harder, hm.” you added with a laugh.

“They’ll never know, though.” he said, his voice soft but steady.

You stepped closer, your hand finding his. His fingers intertwined with yours, the simple gesture grounding you in a way nothing else could. “They don’t need to, babe.” you whispered, meeting his gaze. “This is ours.”

Kento’s lips curved into the faintest smile as he brought your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “Happy New Year, my darling.”

“Happy New Year.” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

You had thought it would end there, sweet and innocent. You had thought you both were safe for one more year. But when you two are together after a long time…..it was a whole new animal. And nothing can stop such a wave in high tide from occupying something whole. 

The next tithing you know is that the internet exploded the moment the photos dropped. Headlines blared across every platform, hashtags like #FINALLYOMG and #NewYearNewScandal trending within minutes after they were taken.

The pictures were pretty damning. They were blurry but unmistakably you, disheveled and wrapped in Nanami’s coat, your hair a mess. And him? A rare sight indeed.

It was none other than Nanami Kento, usually the epitome of composure, looking uncharacteristically undone. His tie was loose, his shirt wrinkled, and the telltale bruises blooming on his neck left little to the imagination.

You groaned, tossing your phone onto the coffee table as you buried your face in your hands. Beside you, Kento sat unbothered, calmly sipping his tea like the world wasn’t on fire—or at least your career’s PR team.

“I told you we should’ve been more careful, babe.” you muttered, your voice muffled by your palms.

He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his lips quivering into a teasing smile. “You were the one who couldn’t wait with it, y'know?” he replied smoothly, setting his cup down with an elegant clink.

His tone was infuriatingly calm, but the glint in his eyes betrayed his amusement. “Who was it again, begging me to fill you up? By round two, you were going—‘Kento, I need you. Right here. Right now.’ and I was happy to heed the request like always.”

Your scarlet blush was immediate, your head snapping up to glare at him. “Kento!” you hissed, glancing around the living room as if someone could overhear, even though it was just the two of you. “Not helping!”

He leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs with the air of a man thoroughly enjoying himself. “I’m just stating the facts about, I'm the same.” he said with a shrug, his smirk widening as you shot him another flustered look. "That's not a bad thing."

Your phone buzzed again on the table, your manager’s name flashing on the screen. You sighed, picking it up only to immediately huff and toss it back down. “This is really…” you trailed off, searching for the right word but settling on a frustrated groan instead.

“Chaotic? Consequential? Hilarious?” Kento offered, his voice laced with mock innocence.

You shot him a glare that was far more affectionate than threatening. “Horrible. That’s the word. This is horrible.”

He chuckled, reaching over to rest a comforting hand on your knee. “Darling, it’s not the end of the world. Scandal or not, we’ll deal with it.”

“Easy for you to say.” you grumbled, crossing your arms. “Your team probably thinks this is great publicity for your brooding, mysterious heartthrob image. Meanwhile, I’m the one getting texts about how unprofessional it looks for ‘Japan’s sweetheart’ to be caught sneaking around with hickeys and wearing her boyfriend’s coat.”

“Unprofessional?” he repeated, his tone incredulous. “It’s not like we committed a crime. We’re adults in a committed relationship. And in any case my darling....….” he added, his voice dropping to a playful murmur. “You look adorable in my coat.”

Despite yourself, you couldn’t help but crack a small smile. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you love me. Very much." he quipped, leaning over to steal a quick kiss from your lips.

You rolled your eyes but didn’t protest, instead letting your head fall onto his shoulder with a sigh. “Next time, though….really.....” you muttered. “We’re finding a stairwell without photographer cameras.”

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Noted.”

As you leaned against your lover, the memory hit you both like a freight train, vivid and unrelenting. It had started innocently enough—or as innocently as it could between the two of you. The countdown show had gone off without a hitch, and the studio was still buzzing with post-show chaos. 

You both talked for a bit, had a cute moment and then went back to your professional mode when everyone started to surround you both again. It was like a switch, and it was easy. No one suspected a thing.

You went ahead into the dressing room, you talked with everyone. You’d been polite and professional, thanking the crew and chatting with some of the guests. But the moment Nanami Kento had caught your eye as you left the green room, something in his caramel gaze had made your pulse quicken.

You hadn’t seen him in weeks. Between his packed schedule and yours, the countdown project had been the only excuse to be in the same room together. The public facade you maintained only added to the frustration. Every fleeting touch, every shared look—it all built up, an unbearable tension neither of you could ignore.

So, when he’d quietly grabbed your hand and guided you down a quiet, rarely-used stairwell in the building when no one was looking, you hadn’t protested. You were excited, happy even. This was the chance to feel him again this close to you. 

And you were glad for that opportunity. You could feel his touch be so genuine and warm despite the heavy chill in the air, and the firm grip of his fingers around yours sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine.

“Darling, I missed you, really.” he murmured as soon as you were alone.

His voice low and rough, filled with a longing that made your knees weak. His hands cupped your face with a reverence that always left you breathless, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek as he leaned in. The kiss was searing, his lips melding with yours as though it had been an eternity since your last stolen moment together.

The cold winter air bit at your exposed skin, but his touch set you alight. His coat had slipped from his shoulders in a quiet, unspoken gesture, draped over yours as his lips moved to your neck. The kisses were hot, open-mouthed, and deliberate, his tongue tracing the sensitive skin before his teeth grazed your pulse.

“Kento, babe….” you gasped, your voice trembling from a mix of the frigid air and the heat of his attention. Your fingers clutched the lapels of his suit, trying to ground yourself against the onslaught of sensations.

“Shh, just enjoy it......” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. 

His hands slid down your sides, firm but gentle as they gripped your thighs. Without hesitation, he lifted you effortlessly, pressing your back against the wall. The rough texture scraped against your coat, but you barely noticed, too focused on the way his body pressed into yours.

His strength always caught you off guard, even after all this time together. Your eager legs wrapped instinctively around his waist, your heels digging into his lower back. His hands gripped your thighs, spreading you open as he stepped between them, his body fitting against yours like a missing piece.

“Babe!” you breathed again, the sound barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

He kissed you like a man starved, his lips leaving your neck to reclaim your mouth. The intensity of it stole the air from your lungs, leaving you dizzy and clinging to him. He was hungry, perhaps even more than you were. But you had expected that. He has a habit of yearning to touch you a lot.

“I hate not being able to touch you, with all the schedules we fucking had.” he muttered against your skin, the words tinged with frustration and longing. “Hated every fucking minute of it……”

You tangled your fingers in his hair, the silky strands slipping through your fingers as you tugged him closer. “Then don’t stop, babe.” you whispered, the plea soft but desperate. “Cause….I need you badly too. I need you so bad in me—”

He growled softly, the sound rumbling against your throat as his touch shifted. One hand remained steady on your thigh, holding you firmly in place, while the other slid beneath the hem of your dress. His fingers were deliberate, pushing aside the delicate lace of your panties with practiced ease.

When his fingers slipped through your slick folds, a gasp escaped your lips, your head falling back against the wall. He groaned softly, the sound low and satisfied as he gathered your arousal, his touch teasing and unhurried.

“You’re already so ready for me, aren’t you, my darling?” he murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as his fingers moved with precision, finding the spot that made you arch into him.

The cold air around you was a stark contrast to the heat building between you, the quiet of the stairwell broken only by your uneven breaths and his whispered praises. It was reckless, indulgent, and utterly intoxicating—just like him.

“Kento, babe….oh!” you whimpered, your voice trembling as his fingers continued their unrelenting rhythm. Your hands clutched at his shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt as waves of pleasure began to build within you.

“Shh, darling.” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear before trailing back to your neck. His voice was low and soothing, laced with a quiet intensity that only made your pulse race faster. “You’ll have to keep quiet for me. Can you do that?”

You nodded frantically, biting your lip to stifle the moan threatening to escape as he added a second finger. The stretch was delicious, his movements slow and deliberate, coaxing you higher with every stroke. His thumb brushed over your sensitive bud, and your thighs instinctively clenched around his waist.

He chuckled softly, his breath warm against your skin. “That’s my good little lover, hm? My only beloved darling.” he murmured, his praise sending a fresh wave of heat coursing through you. “So perfect for me.”

Your fingers slid up into his messy blond hair, tugging gently as your body arched against him. The rough texture of the wall behind you was a sharp contrast to the soft warmth of his touch, grounding you as he pushed you closer to the edge.

“Kento, please, b–babe….oh!” you breathed, the words barely audible as your head tilted back, exposing more of your neck to his eager lips. “M–more…..more!”

He hummed in response, the sound vibrating against your skin. “So impatient, aren’t you? Greedy too.” he teased, though his fingers quickened their pace, curling just right to hit the spot that made your breath hitch. “I missed seeing you like this, so needy for me.”

The heat pooling in your core intensified, your body trembling as the pleasure built to an unbearable peak. “I’m—” you began, but the words dissolved into a strangled gasp as he pressed his thumb harder against your sensitive nub.

“That’s it, pretty for me, so fucking pretty." He says, coaxing you like a pied piper. His voice was low and intoxicating. Everything about it just burns you as much as his touch did. "I’ve got you. Always.”

With one final stroke, the beautiful echo, that blossoming coil inside you just snapped, pleasure crashing over you like a tidal wave. Your body tensed, your thighs tightening around his waist as you buried your face in his shoulder to muffle the cry that escaped your lips.

He held you through it, his fingers slowing their movements as your body shook with aftershocks. His other hand slid up to cradle the back of your head, his lips pressing soothing kisses against your temple.

When you finally relaxed, your breaths coming in shallow gasps, he pulled back just enough to look at you. His eyes were soft, his gaze filled with a mixture of adoration and satisfaction that made your chest tighten.

“Better?” he asked, his tone light but tinged with affection.

You nodded, still too dazed to form words. He chuckled, adjusting his hold on you as he gently set you back on your feet. Your legs wobbled like jello against him, and he immediately steadied you, his hands firm but gentle on your waist.

“Careful, darling.” he murmured, his brow furrowing in concern. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, babe.” you managed, your voice breathless but steady. “More than fine.”

His lips quivered into a soft smile, and he leaned down to press a lingering kiss to your forehead. “Good.”

As the reality of your surroundings sank back in, you couldn’t help but glance around, the abandoned stairwell suddenly feeling far less private. “We should… probably get back, babe.” you said, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “It’s getting pretty late.”

He followed your gaze, his expression calm and unbothered. “Let them wonder where we went.” he said simply, shrugging off the concern as he adjusted his coat around your shoulders. "It's none of their business."

You opened your mouth to protest, but the mischievous glint in his eyes stopped you cold. He leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, “After all… I’m not done with you yet.”

Your breath hitched, and before you could respond, he was guiding you gently back against the wall. His lips found yours again, this time slower, deeper, igniting the fire he’d only begun to stoke. His hands trailed down your sides, their warmth chasing away the chill of the stairwell as he pressed his body firmly against yours.

“Kento, babe.” you murmured, a weak attempt to regain your composure, but he silenced you with a kiss that left no room for argument. 

“I missed you, a damn whole lot.” he said, his voice low and filled with longing as his hands slid to your thighs, lifting you effortlessly once more. "Like I always do."

Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, your heart pounding as the desire you’d both tried to suppress flared back to life. He pressed against you, the hardness of his arousal undeniable even through the fabric of his pants. The teasing grind of his hips against yours drew a gasp from your lips, and he smirked, his composure slipping just enough to show his need.

"Really....." Kento effortlessly whispered to you, his voice vibrating onto you like a wave crashing onto you at sea. "We shouldn't schedule much this New Year, hm? So we can be together."

"Hm.....Kento." You echo back to him, intoxicated by his touch. "'ake time....for me, okay? I'll.....I'll do the same."

“That's the plan already, you know?" he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear as he shifted, his hands tugging at the barriers between you. “Let me take care of you, like I always do.”

Soon after that, you could feel the wet, thick head of his member pressed against your entrance, the heat and pressure stealing the breath from your lungs. You gasped as he began to push in slowly, his movements deliberate, almost reverent.

It was too good, too damn easy to fall into a high to. You could feel the stretch inside of you, it made you so full. Everything about it was intoxicating, your body yielding to him as he filled you inch by inch, your walls clinging to every part of him like he was made to fit. 

It was like he was trying to make a home inside of it. Inside of you. And it just made you feel so good. A deep, guttural groan rumbled in his chest, his forehead dropping to rest against yours as he buried himself deeper.

“Darling.” he muttered, his voice strained and low. “You feel so perfect.”

You whimpered, your hands clutching at his shoulders for support as your body adjusted to the delicious fullness. The sensation was overwhelming, the slight ache quickly giving way to a heat that spread through your entire body.

“Kento.” you breathed, the sound a mix of plea and surrender.

His large hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he pulled back slightly before thrusting forward again, the motion slow but unyielding. Each movement sent a jolt of pleasure coursing through you, and the friction only made you crave more.

“God, this is so…..you feel so good.” he groaned, his voice rough and filled with need. “You’re so tight. I don’t know how I’m supposed to go slow like this with you.”

“Don’t, babe.” you gasped, your fingers digging into his shoulders. “Don’t hold back.”

His carmel eyes darkened almost instantly at your words, a flicker of something primal overtaking his usual control. With a growl, he began to move in earnest, each thrust deeper and harder than the last. The sound of your bodies meeting echoed in the stairwell, a symphony of shared desire that neither of you could hold back.

The rough texture of the wall behind you only heightened the sensation, grounding you as he took you apart piece by piece. You could feel your back burn against the concrete wall as you throw your head back against it. His lips found yours in a searing kiss, his tongue claiming your mouth as thoroughly as his body claimed yours.

“Darling, my pretty baby darling.” he murmured against your lips, his voice ragged and desperate. “You’re mine. Always mine.”

“Yes, babe. Yours….O–oh…only! Only yours!” you managed to gasp, your head tilting back as he kissed along your throat, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. 

The coil in your core once more tightens with every spark you feel as he pushes deeper over and over in a fast pace. Everything about the pleasure you feel keeps building to an almost unbearable peak. It just felt too good. He felt too good.

His pace quickened, his breaths coming in harsh pants as his control began to slip. One hand slid between your bodies, his thumb finding your sensitive nub and rubbing it in quick, precise circles.

You cried out, your body arching into him as the tension finally snapped. Pleasure crashed over you in waves, your walls clenching tightly around him as your release tore through you.

“Fuck, fuck. I’m close!” he groaned, his movements becoming erratic as he chased his own release. With one final, deep thrust, he shuddered against you, his body going taut as he spilled himself inside you.

For a moment, the only sound was your shared, labored breathing, the intimacy of the moment wrapping around you like a cocoon. His forehead rested against yours, his hands gentle as they smoothed over your thighs and waist, grounding you both.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly, his voice filled with concern despite the lingering haze of pleasure in his eyes.

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “More than okay.”

He chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to your temple before gently setting you back on your feet. His hands remained steady on your waist, holding you as your legs wobbled beneath you. You leaned into him, your breath uneven, your body still humming from the intensity of what had just transpired.

But that wasn’t the end of it, of course. 

The hunger in his eyes hadn’t faded, and neither had yours. The raw desire that simmered between you was far from sated, and you both knew it. Kento’s hands lingered, his thumbs brushing soft, teasing circles against your hips as he studied your flushed face. 

“I just think that I…..” he murmured, his voice a low rumble. “I still want more.”

You barely had time to process his words before your lover’s lips were on yours again, roughly consuming you in a kiss that was as demanding as it was all encompassing. Your hands quickly found their way to his shoulders, pulling him closer to you. Your body instinctively responds to the magnetic pull of his, over and over.

“We shouldn’t…” you whispered between kisses, though your voice lacked conviction. “It’s going to make people suspicious.”

“Probably not.” he agreed, his smirk returning as his hands slipped under the hem of your dress, trailing up your thighs. “But repercussions are damned when we’re hungry. I can’t stop. I know you won’t too..”

The wall pressed against your back once more as he claimed you all over again, the cool stairwell air doing nothing to cool the fire that raged between you. It was reckless, but neither of you cared. Not here, not now. Hunger demanded to be fed, and with Nanami Kento, you were always insatiable.

After a while, you were both removed from the plane of normalcy and you were both panting with joyous weariness. He presses a kiss against your jaw as you keep a steady bite on his neck. He grumbles against you as he gathers himself from seeing stars. You follow him soon after. You released his neck and started kissing his lips once more. 

When you both found yourself satisfied, you both started to make yourselves as presentable as possible. Well, at least what remains presentable and salvageable for both of you. Kento ripped too much of your outfit as much as you did. Still, you both did not care. 

“We should get you cleaned up.” he murmured, his tone tender as he placed his coat on your shoulders and adjusted it tenderly on you, to keep you warm. “I’ll call my car and then we’ll just hop in there. We’ll go to my hotel, okay?”

You nodded again, your cheeks flushing as the reality of your surroundings began to sink in. But as he laced his fingers with yours and led you back toward the main building, you couldn’t help but feel a warm glow of contentment.

Of course, things too did not go the way you both wanted once again. You didn’t know that there were many SNS photographers  and gossip journalists waiting to catch some other celebrity in that area where Kento’s car was going to be. And that’s just how you were caught, not thinking about the logistics of it all. 

But how could you? It was New Years. 

You just got mindlessly blown with really, really, really good sex.

And you were together once again with your lover.

How could you think about anything else after all that? 

Now, back in the present, the two of you sat in the quiet of your shared apartment. Nanami Kento’s calm demeanor was a stark contrast to your frazzled nerves. You sighed, looking up to your lover who presses a kiss on your forehead.

“You know this is going to be everywhere, babe.” you said, gesturing toward your phone.

He set his tea down and leaned back, regarding you with a look of quiet amusement. “Let them talk, darling. It was bound to happen eventually.”

You groaned. “Eventually I didn't need to include hickeys and a ruined coat. And oh god….. was I leaking your cum?” 

You took your phone once again to inspect, but your lover took your phone with his free hand and put it away. You looked at him, almost sulky as one would look as a child. He laughs. He presses another kiss on your hair. Kento couldn’t help but smirk. Both acts had made your heart skip a beat. 

“You look good in my coat though. I could hardly care if my cum was dripping out, darling.” he said simply. “I’m pretty sure I look just as ridiculous. You mauled my neck so happily after that first round.”

“You  do look like you’ve been ravaged.” you shot back, though your cheeks burned at the memory. “I mean, it made sense at the time….I was hungry.”

“Hm, I don’t blame you.”

You sighed. “We’ll contact our PR and everyone later, okay?”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and reached out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Hm.”  he said softly, his voice filled with the steady reassurance you’d always loved about him. “We’ll be fine, okay? I don’t care as long as I am with you.”

You sighed, leaning into his warm touch. “I guess the secret’s out, huh?”

He nodded, his gaze warm. “I don’t mind. As long as we're happy together, I say let them say whatever they want.”

You blinked at him. “You think so?”

“Hm.” He smiles at you. “Because no one will truly know who you are to me. That’s only mine. They’ll have a headline, but I’ll have the whole spreadsheet.”

You feel like your heart is melting with his tenderness. “I love you. So so much.”

“I love you too.” He kisses your lips, smiling wider at you.

And just like that, the storm outside felt a little less overwhelming.

[mirathescientist]

hiii so I saw you said request were open! i really LOVE your writing so yk yk i had to ask but can you do like a story where ony does a being mean to my girlfriend prank but y/n is a reallll crybaby!! BYEE

pairings: onyankopon x sensitive!reader

warnings: smut 18+, ony is a lil mean, reader cries a lil bit

a/n: so sorry it took me this long, life has been....lifing.

What goes around comes around

Actions have consequences, you knew this and yet you still decided to go with your plan.

Setting up your phone you smiled into the camera and started your intro.

“Hi, lovelies. Today we’re gonna do a get ready with me, while I tell you three reasons it's okay to cheat on your boyfriend.” 

Taking a quick glance in the mirror of your vanity, you could see the wheels working overtime in the handsome head that belonged to your boyfriend.

The decision on whether to be calm or tweak out playing tug of war on his brain. 

Settling on the thought that he misheard you he decided to go the calm route.

“Whatchu say, baby?” Deep voice contrasting against the soft tone of Jhene Aiko in the quiet room.

“Hmm?” You feigned innocence as you met his eyes in the mirror.

“I asked, ‘What did you say?’ ” His straightening posture and tone transition to demanding letting you know his patience was thinning by the second.

You were positive this would end with you folded in half, crying from overstimulation as he continuously ripped orgasm after orgasm from you. The thought only excited you and fueled your response. 

With a shrug of your shoulders you hummed a quick ‘I don't know’ and went back to your task.

“The fuck you mean youn know?” He chuckled in disbelief, hand running over his freshly maintained waves before coming down to rub the lower half of his face.

Opting to ignore him, you continued along with your routine, silently. 

“So you just gon ignore me?” Heavy thuds bouncing off the walls as he made his way to stand behind you.

The light pressure applied to your neck, as he tilted your head back having your thighs clench.

Oh, how you wanted to ditch the plan and jump his bones. Brown eyes glaring down into yours, as he tightened his grip. 

Feeling a little risky you decided to do the one thing Ony hates most. Roll your eyes.

“Mmm, aight” He nodded his head. Zero fucks given to the content you were creating as he lifted you from your chair and bent you over.

Never once slowing his assault even after you managed to tell him it was a prank through your moans and cries. 

The new information only encouraging him to go faster as your arousal trickled onto the wood floors while he required you to tell the camera why it wasn't okay to cheat on your boyfriend as he fucked you dumb. 

Usually, your consequences consisted of the audacity being fucked out of you whenever you did something to piss Ony off, but this time he decided to play a prank of his own.

Waiting a week to execute his plan, he chose to carry it out the day you came back from your girl's weekend. 

“You didn't hear me or get my texts?” A small pout forming on your glossy lips as you sat next to him, despite him taking up more than half of the bed. 

“Baby, I'm home” You sang as you wandered around the house looking for him.

Only to find him laid out on the bed as he watched an episode of Judge Mathis.

“I did” Eyes trained on the TV.

“Did something happen?” You gripped his jaw, forcing him to finally look at you.

“Nah, I just don’t feel good.” He removed your hand from his face and moved to the opposite side of the bed. 

“You need me to make you some soup?” Pout returning to your lips as he flinched away when you tried to check his temperature. 

“I’m good. You could leave me alone though.” 

You considered yourself to be very understanding when it came to relationships. Whether it was with family, a coworker, or a client, but more than anything when it came to your relationship with Ony. You understood he needed time to himself just as you did, but the way he said it was just… mean.

The stinging sensation of your eyes was becoming unbearable as the tears pooled in the inner corners of your eyes.

“Oh” Voice cracking despite swallowing the lump that lingered in your throat.

Your tone raised alarms in the man. His own heart gained a pace that matched yours as he saw the tears that began to spill from your eyes. 

“Wait, I'm sorry, ma. I was just playing. C'mere” Hand reaching out to hold you, only to pause when you flinched away from him.

“Mama, it was just a prank. I'm sorry, baby” Panic rising at the influx of tears flowing from your eyes. 

Seeing you cry from any negative emotion always pained him, but knowing he was the reason for the tears falling from your pouty face made him feel as if he failed in life.

“What do you mean it's a prank Onyankopon?” You huffed, the palm of your hand wet as you wiped away your tears. 

“I was just joking. You know how you did that video last week? I was doing something similar. I didn't mean to hurt you, mama. Please believe me” He pleaded.

Maybe it was the immense amount of love you had for him or that it'd be wrong to not forgive him when he put up with all your antics, but you couldn't stay mad at him for too long.

“You really need to work on your pranks. They're terrible” Pink satin pillow softly hitting him along the side of his head. 

“I know, I'm sorry, c'mere” He smiled, happy you were no longer crying and motioned for you to straddle him.

Caring less about the fact you were wearing a dress you crawled over to him, getting comfortable on his lap as you traced the small tattoo of your name behind his ear,

“You know you're gonna have to make it up to me right?”

“Mhm” He mindlessly hummed, eyes trained on your lips before he could no longer resist.

Low groan escaping his chest as he pulls you closer, tongue tracing your bottom lip before diving into your mouth.

“Ony” You whimpered as his lips moved down to your neck, peppering gentle kisses along your skin before sucking on the areas that made you weak. Your body craving for some sort of friction as you ground your hips down onto his.

“I know, mama” He murmured. His fingers sliding up your dress before slipping past the waistband of your panties, digits immediately coming into contact with the slick that was pooling in between your chubby thighs.

“Lil ma already soaked for me” He groaned against your warm skin. A small bruise forming where he was previously sucking. 

“Ony, stop teasing” You whined as he slowly rubbed your clit, the pads of his fingers barely grazing the bud.

With a slight smirk on his lips his fingers gravitated to your entrance, slowly rubbing at the pulsing hole before his fingers worked their way into your walls.

Fingers knuckles deep as he curled them against the soft spongy flesh against your walls. 

“Need you inside now” You pouted, craving something more than the two digits plunging in and out of you.

“Yeah?” He mumbled as he pulled out his fingers. Placing the pads on your tongue as you sucked your arousal off his digits, just as you would do his cock.

Watching you with lust filled eyes he removed his fingers from your mouth, and wrapped a hand around your neck before pulling you in for a nasty kiss. His tongue exploring the path down your throat while you rocked against the growing bulge in his pants.

Pulling away to fumble with the waistband of his pants he pulled down his sweats just enough to release his throbbing cock. Standing tall with his viens prominent and tip leaking a small amount of precum.

“Ride your dick, ma” He pulled your panties to the side rubbing his tip along the slick folds of your puffy pussy, before lining up with your entrance and helping you sink down onto him. Hiss escaping him as your warm walls engulfed him.

“Ony s'so big" You whined in his ear. Allowing him to lift you up and down his cock at a deliciously slow pace, your walls contracting around him at every movement.

“Doing so good fa me.” Two toned lip stuck in between his pearly white teeth as he bucked his hips up to meet your thrust, tip grazing against your cervix.

“Fuck. Faster, daddy, please” You gasped, head resting in his neck as he did all of the work.

Listening to your plea, he picked up his pace, thrusting deeper into you. The sound of your pooling arousal, slapping flesh, and your mixed moans filling the room, atmosphere becoming nastier by the second. 

“I love you so fucking much” His arms wrapping tightly around your waist as you tried to run when he increased his pace.

“Say it back, ma” He grunted. Palm landing on the flesh of your ass.

Tired off your running, his hands gripped your hips and he pulled you off him, flipping you over onto your back before ramming back into you.

“Ohh, shit, Onyyy” You cried, knees near your ears as he pushed your legs back.

"Say it or I'm stopping" He threatened. Eyes focused on your sopping pussy sucking him in, sticky ring of arousal dripping from the base of his cock.

“I- mhmph love you too Ony, so much” Bed creaking under the speed and force of his thrust.

Releasing your legs he leaned down, lips immediately on yours in a sloppy kiss. 

“I'm so close, pa" A mixture of moans and whimpers escaped your agape mouth, nails digging into his back with every thrust.

“Mhm, I know, baby. Let go for me” He grunted, reaching between your bodies to rub his thumb against your clit.

A series of curses left your mouth as you creamed around him. Walls contracting so tightly that he had no other choice but to cum.

“Fuuuck” He groaned, hips stilling inside you as he flooded your walls.

“I'm sorry for making you sad, baby. I love you so much, I'll never do anything to hurt you again” He whispered into your neck.

“I know Ony, I forgive you"

Pulling out he kissed you once more before laying flat in front of you, your thighs on each side of his head.

"Lemme show you how sorry I am, yeah?"

[muniimyg]

BAD HABIT // JJK

09 | stars in your eyes // series m.list

note: jealousy jealousy <3 mwah ;) ,, sorry this ch took forever ... i think u'll understand why lol

//

you’re proud of yourself.

over the past few weeks, you’ve adjusted well—faster than expected, even. part of it is because you belong here. the other part is because the people around you make you feel like you’re truly home. for a long time, you’ve craved that feeling. living outside the palace had never been easy... especially not when you spent your whole life keeping being a part of the divinity a secret.

although, you still keep the friends you made outside these walls close to your heart, but the ones you’re making here… they feel different.

they are different.

for the first time, it feels like you’re falling into place. like everything is falling into place.

even being soulmates with jungkook feels lighter these days.

it’s conflicting, really—this soulmateship with him. stranger than any situationship, more serious than any relationship. maybe that’s why you’ve been trying so hard to perfect your friendship with him. if you can make that work, maybe everything else will follow.

but you’re an idiot if you think you can ever just be friends with jungkook.

yes, friendship is the foundation of any partnership. but who are you kidding? you two are bonded. the string is tied, glowing, dusted in gold. there’s no undoing it. there’s no pretending you don’t feel the weight of it, the way it tugs—the way he tugs.

and, not to mention, you’d rather die than be his friend (that’s the bond talking).

being away for the past week has been rather... reflective on your end. aside from the silyl groupchat messages the guys initiated and the random check-in ones jungkook would send you; you haven't really seen them around.

but it's fine.

it's nice to get some space. since you've been here, you've spent every waking minute with them. during your rest days, your parents came up to see you too. it was fun catching up with them and spending time together.

but you're so ready to be back.

you miss them.

some more than others.

today, you arrive early, ditching jimin and yoongi. jungkook’s grey hoodie is bunched up in your hands as you step into the classroom, the fabric warm and worn. you hadn’t meant to keep it this long.

the plan was simple:

walk in. toss it onto his desk. say something casual like, “here.” pretend like it didn’t make a home in your closet for too many nights.

pretend like you weren't holding onto it for this long because it smells like him. like you didn’t sleep in it once…

twice, if you’re counting the nap you took in it yesterday. pretend like it wasn't the one thing that made you smile during your week off.

but the moment you step inside, all that excitement fizzles out.

something blooms in your chest. warm and haunting. unsettling. you struggle to understand it—until you see it.

then, you feel the string tug inside your chest.

you feel it before you even realize why... then, when you do; you don't know what to do say or feel. it happens too fast. your vision blurs and then it focuses on her.

her.

there’s a girl sitting in your seat.

your freaking seat.

with jungkook.

your jungkook.

jungkook isn’t half-asleep with his hood drawn over his eyes. for once, he’s awake. engaged. talking to her. and worse—he’s smiling. that stupid boyish smile, the one that softens him in a way you’re sure he doesn’t even realize. he says something, and she laughs. bright. airy. the sound of it curls around your chest.

your heart races, a tight, erratic thump against your ribs. and maybe—just maybe—in a split second, you let your guard down. because jungkook’s breath hitches.

quickly, you tighten your grip on his jacket and shove it deep into your bag.

jungkook scans the room.

his eyes find you.

before he can do anything, you move past him. you don’t look. you don’t acknowledge him. you just walk.

he shifts, taken aback by the blatant rejection of his (attempt at a) greeting. the girl beside him notices. she follows your movements, then looks back at jungkook. then back at you.

“hey,” she says sweetly as you pass. "recover well?"

"yeah. thanks," you force a smile. short-lived. fleeting. half meant.

then she gives you a look.

not quite smug. not quite innocent. just knowing.

your stomach turns. your gaze drops, your mind suddenly heavy with overthinking thoughts.

from behind you, jungkook watches without watching. eyes half-lidded. head tilted against the back of his chair. fingers drumming against the desk in a slow, lazy rhythm. he doesn’t turn, doesn’t follow your movements outright—but he doesn’t need to.

he already knows exactly where you’re going.

you reach namjoon’s desk. it’s a placement he’s long past rolling his eyes at. he may not be able to manipulate you, but it’s honestly no problem when you’re this fucking predictable.

just as you reach for the chair—

it moves.

the wood scrapes against the floor, the legs dragging in one long, grating noise before it stops. a loud thud makes it known what just happened. the chair is set... well...

beside him.

the sound cuts through the low hum of the classroom and heads turn. at the door, jimin, yoongi, jin, and hobi watch, poorly concealing their amusement. namjoon huffs, lips parting, already prepared to scold jungkook for using his aura.

you freeze. your fingers twitch at your side.

god.

what do you even do in times like these?

when jungkook makes it excruciatingly obvious that he does whatever he wants, whenever he wants? when everyone just…

lets him?

from the corner of your eye, jungkook shifts.

his arms uncross. one hand rises slightly. and with the subtlest motion—two fingers flicking out, then curling in—he gestures at the chair.

his aura hums faintly. a ripple in the air.

you feel it.

your jaw clenches. slowly, you turn, eyes narrowing.

"jungkook," you seethe, voice low, controlled. "you can’t just—"

"you were gonna sit here, right?"

his tone is bored.

like he didn’t just drag a whole piece of furniture across the room with his aura. like it’s not a big deal. like he hasn’t been watching your every move since you walked in.

more snickers echo around you. and he enjoys it, doesn’t he? the attention? the fact that he’s just so fucking sly?

he knows perfectly well that he shouldn’t be using his aura for stupid things like this.

you don’t get it.

is he trying to boast? is he trying to prove something? the gesture is too sudden. too early. yet, it earns looks and murmurs.

jungkook doesn’t acknowledge it.

instead, his gaze flickers—just briefly—to your bag. the fabric of his jacket peeks from the unzipped opening, barely visible. but he catches it.

he notices it. then, slow and deliberate, his gaze returns to yours.

"sit here, princess."

the air shifts when the guys crowd around your desk.

hobi’s already perched on top of it, swinging his legs like a kid while namjoon leans against jungkook’s, arms crossed, lips pressed in thought. jimin and taehyung pull up chairs, dragging them across the floor with a grating screech that earns a sharp look from the professor at the front—but neither of them care.

"glad you aren't limping anymore," yoongi says.

you smile and nod. "yeah. my parents sent a nurse in once a day to check up on me. it felt a little... overprotective but it's whatever."

nam joon huffs. "you're telling me."

"why? what did they do?" you ask curiously. honestly, a part of you answers frantic. you know how your parents can be... "i can talk to them—"

"it's fine," he assures you. "i just got a speech from the council about safety and making sure that i'm not only encouraging divine quality behaviour, but also monitoring it."

you're eyes widen at his words. was he serious? how could he possibly have that much responsibility? besides, jumping into the lake was your idea.

"nam joon," you start. "i'm so sorry. my parents are—"

"it's fine," he repeats. "you're the princess. they're your parents. we’re the divinity. this shit has to be taken seriously whether we like it or not. just... try not to get hurt again, okay? really pissed your parents off and jungkook."

your eyes shake.

jungkook doesn't flinch. he doesn't even breathe. he's just... still.

then, the focus shifts.

“so... the game’s tonight.” jin says, earning a few groans from the guys. then, he rubs his temples like he’s dealing with a personal crisis. “i need to see it in high quality. i will not accept buffering.”

namjoon sighs, tipping his head back. “problem is, we have, what? one couch and a ten-inch laptop?”

“it’s embarrassing,” hobi groans. there’s a growing frustration in his face that makes you a little curious. was the game really this important?

jimin frowns, eyes darting to taehyung. “can’t you get us into the lounge?”

taehyung scoffs. “not after last time.”

“which wasn’t my fault, by the way,” jin mutters, but no one acknowledges it.

a pause.

jungkook, who’s been silent the entire time, exhales sharply through his nose. his knee bounces under the desk, fingers tapping against the wooden surface in a steady rhythm. truth be told, he’s fighting the urge to touch you right now. in any and every way… he wants to put his hand on top of your bare knee so bad. he wants to touch your skin and feel your warmth. 

is it the bond?

he doesn’t know and he doesn’t care. sitting beside you, controlling himself—this is fucking torture. yet, he pushes through the distraction. 

“i mean, if it comes down to it, we can just—”

but before he can finish, you shift forward, resting an elbow on the desk.

“you guys can just sleep over at mine.”

silence.

then—

“wait, what?” taehyung blinks.

“i have the highest view in the palace,” you say easily, tilting your head. “i mean… as someone previously mentioned… it’s perfect view of the city, and the biggest room. jin can project the live game with his aura. i can put a few paintings down to make the walls bare. i have a kitchen so we can cook some things up. it’s basically a studio—w-what? why are you guys looking at me like that?”

a beat.

then—without a word, jungkook shrugs off his uniform jacket. the fabric crinkles as he bunches it up and drops it onto your lap, as if it’s second nature. no glance, no explanation. just a quiet, instinctive action. you glance down at the skirt you’re wearing. before your focus shifts, the guys chaos keeps you in place.

"are we allowed?" taehyung blinks. "because if we are... then i'm really fucking upset you're not my soulmate."

"that’s actually genius."

"yo, what about your guards?"

“again, are we even allowed?”

you just laugh, shrugging. “who said i was gonna ask for permission?”

namjoon shakes his head, but there’s amusement in his eyes. “___, you’re insane. i don’t want to get disciplined for this—”

“then i’ll take responsibility,” you urge him. “please, nam joon? come on... is it that horrible that i want to spend time with my friends? i think my grandparents have bigger things to worry about. and my parents? i'll just tell them the truth. i missed my friends. oh! how about we invite others too so it's a bigger gathering and we can all chill?”

again, silences follows. 

then—

“uh, she’s kinda the coolest person ever?” hobi throws an arm around your shoulders, grinning. “we should’ve been best friends sooner.”

“you’re just saying that cos she solved your problem,” jin points out.

“and i’m grateful!”

the energy crackles between everyone—everyone except jungkook.

he stays quiet, but not in a way that goes unnoticed by you.

jimin nudges jungkook’s arm. “you’re in, right?”

jungkook leans back in his chair, stretching slow.

“dunno.”

for some reason, he answer upsets you.

clearing your throat, you pretend not to hear what he said and push the conversation forward. jungkook stays leaned back, arms crossed, gaze unreadable.

clumsily, everyone sneaks inside the west wing. 

laughter fills the hall as steps hurriedly make it to your door. before you know it, taehyung appears in front of your door with a wide grin and drinks. 

“you sent the guards away?” taehyung practically giggles, as he looks over his shoulders. “this is so fucking thrilling. i can’t lie… i feel like i’m meant to be a spy or something.”

you laugh at his words and open your door wider. 

“i scattered them around with errands,” you reply. “they’ll be held off for at least three hours… and then, i’ll be known as the picky princess for at least three months.” 

popping his head in, nam joon lets out an impressed hum. quickly, the guys all make it to your door. you step aside, gesturing for them to come in. as they do so, pure adoration fills the room. 

for a moment, their laughter dies down. 

“fuck,” yoongi breathes. “this is truly ‘eat the rich ’ kind of shit.”

your dorm has to be one of the most unreal places in this palace. the ceilings are high with golden accents threading through the marble walls. it’s a studio-like layout that unfolds so elegantly. the kitchen is to the side, there’s a huge living space near a fireplace, and your bed—is massive, draped in sheer silks. there’s a canopy above, completing the perfect princess flow of the tower. 

yet, what really takes the boys breath away is the window. 

it takes up nearly an entire wall and gives access to a balcony. the window stretches from floor to ceiling, revealing the glowing city below. the garden view is utterly romantic too. one thing is for sure—their dorms do not look like this. 

“holy shit.”

“ohhh, this is nice… girl,” taehyung sings. “this all you do right here? okay…. it don’t smell like roaches in here or nothing!” 

you burst into laughter and gesture for everyone to make themselves feel at home. to which, jimin mumbles; “unlikely, but if you insist...” 

just then, jungkook walks in.

his hair is freshly washed and he’s wearing this oversized black t-shirt that hugs his chest nicely. he’s scanning your dorm before his eyes fall to you. just as you’re about to take a step towards him with some teasing remark already forming on your tongue—

“jungkook!”

a presence. a laugh. a shift in the air. 

then, she appears. 

the same girl from this morning. except, now she’s even more pretty? it’s strange. you’ve never really felt much for comparison but it’s hard when she… looks like what could be jungkook’s type. in a swift way, she breezes in front of you.

“oh!” she breathes, brushing shoulders with you in the process. she doesn’t seem to notice. “sorry—just wanted to give this back. thanks for inviting us here by the way, ___! your place is great. wish all our dorms looked like this.”

your stomach dips. 

suddenly you hate the fact that you brought this unto yourself. what were you thinking? wanting to invite more people aside from the seven of them? 

fuck. 

this is all your fault. 

jungkook blinks, visibly caught off guard, but reaches out, his fingers brushing the material.

“oh—uh, thanks.”

she lingers, arms crossing over her chest. “also, didn’t think you’d actually be that bad at giving directions. thanks for that.”

she laughs. light, teasing.

and then it hits you. 

it’s an inside joke.

and worse—jungkook chuckles back.

it’s brief, casual, a mere breath of amusement. but it’s enough to make something cold settle in your chest. enough to have your fingers curling into the hem of your sleeves, nails pressing faintly into your skin.

she glances at you then, finally acknowledging your presence in full. her smile is polite, and unassuming—nothing malicious in her gaze. 

it's annoying really... how she's so easygoing.

so... opposite of you? because in times like this, she's the kind of girl that can push through and smile. you? not so much. though you know you should smile back, you don't. rather, you can't.

so, instead, you nod.

with that, she lets out a small laugh and excuses herself, the warmth of her presence fading as quickly as it came.

but the damage is done.

your thoughts race, irrational and loud, clawing at the inside of your head. jungkook barely gets the chance to turn before he notices—the way you’ve gone still, the shift in your expression, the way your shoulders have tensed ever so slightly.

“she’s into jimin,” he murmurs, voice low. like it's barely above a whisper. like it's just for you.

you blink. 

then, a wave of relief crashed over. 

jungkook lifts the jacket in his hands, his fingers pressing into the fabric as he exhales. “this isn’t mine. it’s jimin’s.”

your brows furrow, processing.

“ai and jimin have this… thing.” he grimaces. “on and off again situationship, i guess… he never likes to talk about it so ai does this thing where she makes it everyones problem but jimin’s. i don’t know. i just keep getting caught in the middle.”

oh. 

oh.

something in your chest eases—just a fraction.

but not entirely. 

it’s stupid.

completely, utterly stupid… because why should it matter? it’s not like you—

you shift on your feet, suddenly hyperaware of the way jungkook is watching you. the way his gaze lingers, studying, picking up on details you wish he wouldn’t.

“you okay, princess?” he asks.

you clear your throat. “y-yeah—i just…” you glance toward the girl, now chatting with someone else across the room. “i didn’t know that about jimin.”

jungkook hums, tilting his head slightly. 

“you sure that’s all it is?”

you scoff at him. “what else would it be?”

he doesn’t answer right away. instead, he just watches you… like he’s waiting for something... the way he waits, makes you fidget.

you hate that it makes you fidget. 

that it makes you feel seen in a way you don’t want to be.

“i’m gonna go greet the others,” you mutter, turning on your heel, and moving toward the others. "catch you later—"

"___—"

as you step away, annoyance still lingers beneath your skin. your chest feels so tight still… meanwhile, jungkook places his hand on his chest and clenches it. 

something is wrong. 

and you can’t hide it from him.

it starts off slow. subtle.

almost like a silent war.

at first, you ignore him. at least, you try to.

for the past half-hour, you’ve kept yourself busy, drifting from one conversation to the next, laughing at half-hearted jokes, nodding at stories you aren’t fully listening to—all while avoiding his gaze.

but jungkook is relentless.

he stares, unwavering, dark eyes burning through the space between you. it makes the people you talk to uneasy, shifting under the weight of his presence. he doesn’t care. doesn’t even blink. he just watches, jaw clenched, frustration simmering under his skin.

weren’t you two fine before?

what changed?

it’s not fair. you’re being unfair.

by the hour mark, he’s done waiting. his patience—thin and fraying—snaps. he moves, weaving through the crowd with a single-minded focus, no longer shooting daggers at anyone in your orbit. now, his attention is solely on you. people try talking to him, but he brushes them off with a distracted nod, a quiet hum. jungkook has never been the most social, but tonight? he’s something else.

steady. controlled. purposeful.

and everyone can see it.

everyone except for you.

he wants something.

he wants you.

so, he decides he’s getting you. one way or another.

this distance? this coldness? he hates it.

it’s not like you. not with him.

his feet move before he can stop them, a sharp exhale leaving his lips as he finally closes the space—

but just as he reaches you, you stand.

his steps falter.

you’re heading towards the kitchen, slipping past taehyung, ready to lose yourself in the crowd there.

his jaw tenses.

then—

“the guards!”

your voice cuts through the room, loud and urgent. “everyone hide!”

chaos erupts.

yoongi flicks his wrist and darkness swallows the space. shadows stretch across the walls, flickering like ghosts. your breath catches, adjusting to the sudden shift. silhouettes blur, people scrambling into hiding—under the bed, behind curtains, pressed against the ceiling with their auras. you move toward the door, but—

then you see it.

or, more accurately, you feel it first.

a sharp pang, like a fist tightening around your stomach.

jungkook brushes past you, fast, purposeful. he heads for the closet, but then—

his hand reaches out.

not for you.

for ai.

he pulls her close, murmuring something low in her ear as he guides her across the room. she laughs, light and breathy, before slipping inside the closet with him.

the sight is gut-wrenching.

sickening.

heat rises to your face, burning at the back of your throat. you don’t know if you want to yell or walk away. your fists clench at your sides, nails digging into your palms.

you shouldn’t care.

but you do.

knock.

“princess?”

another knock.

“we’ve returned from the errands you sent us on. you'll be pleased to know everything went well... princess, is everything alright? we heard some noise... do you have company?”

your heart pounds and your hands shake as you answer the door. yet, regardless of how you feel; you smile.

“yes,” you breathe, voice smooth despite the chaos in your chest. “everything is fine. t-thank you for running those errnads... i’m having a self-care night and streaming a game with friends. excuse the noise. please, take your posts at the guard house. i'll be fine for tonight. it's late anyway and your shifts are ending soon. take the extra hour off."

the guard hesitates, then nods. “as you wish.”

you wait until their footsteps fade before closing the door and locking it. the second the latch clicks, the tension collapses.

everyone exhales, heavy and relieved.

laughter spills into the space, nerves unraveling. yoongi flicks the lights back on, dimmer than before. jin groans. taehyung lets out a breathless chuckle.

but you barely hear it.

because the closet door creaks open.

jungkook steps out, ai right behind him. she grins at something he murmurs under his breath.

and just like that, the feeling returns.

tight and suffocating. curling deep in your gut.

he didn’t hesitate.

not even for a second.

it presses against something inside you, something sharp and unwelcoming.

so you turn away.

“you good?” taehyung side-eyes you from the couch.

“yeah. i'm fine.” you answer him rather too quickly. too sharp.

taehyung's mouth twitches, unconvinced. but he doesn’t press. you sink down beside him, trying to ground yourself, but the moment you do—the couch jerks backward.

your body stumbles.

the guys groan. you look up and see jimin glaring at jungkook.

“jungkook!” jimin whines. “don’t use your fucking aura right now. stop messing with us.”

“jungkook,” namjoon warns. “don’t move furniture for attention.”

but it works.

he has yours.

your head snaps toward him. he tilts his head, slow and assessing, as if you’re the problem.

frustration bubbles under your skin. you take a deep breath, standing to head to the kitchen. you need space. you need something to do.

you reach for a piece of bread. but suddenly, it's taken out of your hand.

jungkook then takes a slow, deliberate bite.

“did you want this?”

you stay silent.

his eyes glint. “use your words like a big girl.” he’s teasing. but it’s different. charged and edged with something unreadable.

you reach for another piece—

his aura glows.

suddenly, all the bread lifts into the air, floating just out of reach.

your patience snaps.

“jungkook—”

“not so fun, is it?” he murmurs. “having something right in front of you, but never being able to reach it.”

it’s a loaded statement.

the bread drops.

his mood shifts. his aura flickers between you, pulsing hot and heavy. before you can react, his fingers wrap around your wrist, tugging you to the side.

eyes snap to you both.

“don’t make a scene—”

he chuckles. “this isn’t a scene.” his voice drops lower. “do you want me to make a scene?”

you grab his hand, gripping it tight. “stop.”

“you stop,” he hisses. everyone begins to whisper around you two. then, louder, to the room—“holy shit. watch the fucking game.”

the command in his voice—his aura—shifts the air. he lifts his hand in the air and waves it towards the projection. suddenly, everyone turns to the screen, despite the protests, despite the groans. they don’t have a choice. they're under his control.

jungkook leans in.

“what’s wrong, princess?” he asks, eyes dark and searching. “why are you mad at me?”

you hesitate.

“i’m…”

“you’re?”

you swallow, looking around. everyone's eyes are fixed on the screen and you can tell they're all uncomfortable. you are too.

then, you take a deep breath in. you turn to everyone and notice how his aura still radiates through them. with pleading eyes, you ask him; “can you… not do this? let them watch if they want to watch. let them talk if they want to talk. let them stare—”

“only if you talk to me. like, really talk to me.”

you nod, accepting the exchange.

jungkook shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath. as he exhales, so does the room. everyone’s posture goes back to normal and they continue on with whatever they were doing before. once you see that everyone is comfortable again, you look at jungkook and tilt your head at him.

“you can’t always use your aura to get what you want.”

jungkook shrugs. “using it or not, there’s not much difference.”

“what do you mean?”

“you don’t like me regardless,” he assumes. “right? you hate that i have this aura.”

you shake your head.

“i hate the way you use it.”

then, he snaps.

“i hate the way you make me use it.”

silence.

and then, the weight of it crashes down.

“i don’t hate you.”

… is all you manage to say. 

jungkook’s lips twitch.

just like that, ease takes over his eyes. he can’t help but feel a sense of hope. like every negative thought he made up about himself throughout this entire night ceases to exist because of your four words… but it still stings. how you treated him tonight… how much of a fucking pull you have on him that he acts like a manchild. how badly he wants your attention… and how suffocating it is to be without it. 

“you don’t?”

“no.”

the air stills between you two. 

jungkook doesn’t know how to explain it… but there’s a warmth that blooms in his chest. like a relief takes over. it’s so.. special to him. he’s never felt better so fast. he has never… believed anyone so fast. your words cut deep into him, carving themselves into his heart. then, the familiar feeling of wanting to touch you kicks in. he knows it’s not the time, so he fights the urge. 

but it’s difficult. 

so, just as he reaches—

“did you find it?” you ask.

he tilts his head, confused. “find what?”

“your hoodie.”

“my hoodie?”

you nod. “yeah. it was in the closet.”

slowly and then all at once, jungkook’s face falls. 

the warmth in his eyes dim like the sunset swallowed by night. i’s slow, almost imperceptible—the slight twitch of his brows, the way his lips part as the realization sinks in. but then, it’s unmistakable. his expression shifts, unraveling from confusion into something softer, something edged with regret. you swallow, but it does nothing to ease the ache blooming in your chest, jealousy and hurt tangling like thorns in your throat. 

you shouldn’t care. 

you shouldn’t. 

but the weight of it sits heavy in your lungs, pressing against every breath. and jungkook sees it—sees the way your fingers curl in your sleeves, the way your gaze flickers away like you can’t bear to hold his. the air between you turns fragile, laced with something unspoken, something that trembles on the verge of breaking.

“you…” he pieces it together and sees the picture whole. “you can’t be serious? are you upset that i hid her? ___, we were going to get caught—”

“but did you have to hold her waist?” you hush him. “why couldn’t she just hide on her own? why was that your responsibility—”

“okay, fuck. do you want me to hold your waist so you two can be even or something?”

“what?” you raise your voice. “are you insane? no. a-and… we’re not even. she and i are—”

“you’re what?” 

you pause. 

“well… she’s not your soulmate. she’s not supposed to be even with me.” you choke out, almost cringing at your own words. "i... i'm your soulmate."

jungkook huffs. then, a small chuckle comes out. soon enough, a laugh. 

“sorry,” he attempts to stop himself. “this is kind of ridiculous. i mean, i told you she’s into jimin, didn’t i? why can’t you trust me—”

“because i don’t know you!” you cry. “god, i don’t know you enough to trust you. and it’s confusing because my heart—or rather, the bond—tells me i do. but my mind… spins every time you do something that i don’t expect. like… why didn’t you just let jimin bring her to the closet? why was it your responsibility? do you know how i felt during those two minutes? what you could’ve done in two minutes?”

“two minutes?" jungkook's eyes widen. "___, are you seriously jealous about me spending two minutes with ai in a closet—”

“yes!” you breathe. “because… w-why did you just leave me—”

“what did you want from me?” jungkook asks rather sincerely. “to stand by you and get caught? they would’ve thrown my ass out. soulmate or not, they would have thrown me out and everyone would have been caught.” 

you swallow. 

then, you mumble, “you just… you didn’t have to go in the closet with her.” 

to your surprise, jungkook nods.

there’s no defensiveness in his expression, no sharp retort on the tip of his tongue. just quiet acceptance, like he’s already replayed it in his head and realized there’s nothing to argue.

his shoulders drop, the fight leaving him all at once. a slow exhale pushes past his lips, and when he speaks, his voice is softer—lower, like an admission he doesn’t want to make.

“okay.” his gaze flickers to yours, holding it. “i didn’t have to go inside the closet with her.” a pause, then the slightest huff of a breath, something like regret tugging at the corners of his mouth. “you’re right. my bad.”

he says it so simply, like it’s the easiest thing in the world to agree with you. and maybe that’s what surprises you the most—not the words themselves, but the way he says them, like he means them.

“do you forgive me now?” his voice is quiet, careful, like he already knows the answer.

you exhale, pressing your lips together. “jungkook, you didn’t even say sorry—”

before you can finish, the room is swallowed in darkness.

a sharp inhale. 

the shuffle of feet. jimin’s voice cuts through the quiet. 

“someone’s coming.”

you freeze. 

jungkook does too. 

the air weighs down on you two. thick, unmoving. somewhere in the dark, a faint rustle of fabric, the soft creak of wood settling under shifting weight. muffled whispers. hurried footsteps. you hear everyone scrambling into hiding, bodies pressing into corners, behind furniture.

but jungkook doesn’t move.

he stays beside you.

then, a gentle nudge against your arm. deliberate. teasing.

"hey, p?"

his voice is low, quiet, but the way he says your name—it curls at the edges, soft and familiar.

"hmm?"

you feel him shift closer. not much, just enough. enough that the warmth of him bleeds into your skin, enough that the air between you turns thinner, charged.

"do you think we have two minutes?"

his voice is impossibly close now, warm against the shell of your ear. and even though it’s dark, even though you shouldn’t be able to see him—somehow, you do.

you feel him.

the slight tilt of his head. the barely-there curve of his lips, smug and knowing. the way his lashes dip, his gaze dropping to your mouth before flicking back up, unhurried, unreadable.

your breath catches.

"for what?"

you don’t know why you ask. maybe you do. maybe you just want to hear him say it.

but he doesn’t.

he just lingers—close enough that you can feel the heat rolling off him, the faint scent of something warm and clean, something undeniably him.

his silence stretches, heavy, expectant.

and you think he’s waiting but—

instead, he tugs you forward, slow and certain, hands skimming down your arms before settling at your waist. his grip is light—tentative. 

now. 

now he’s waiting. it’s like he’s giving you the chance to step away.

but you don’t.

and the moment you don’t, something changes. in fact, you feel it in your heart. something glows.

his hands tighten, just barely. his head dips, his breath warm against your cheek, and then his lips brush yours—once, then again, like he’s memorizing the feeling, like he’s giving you another chance to stop him.

but you don’t.

the world suddenly stops as jungkook’s lips meet yours. he kisses you. your soulmate kisses you for the first time.

slow and deep, careful and desperate all at once. his fingers press into your waist like he’s trying to tell you something without words… and maybe he is. maybe you are, too, because your hands find his shirt, fisting the fabric, pulling him closer, letting him steal another second, another breath.

then—

a flicker. a buzz.

light floods the room, washing over you both like a wave crashing against shore.

you break apart instantly, breathless, dazed.

jimin blinks at you both, unimpressed. 

“sorry everyone! false alarm.”

just like that, the room shifts back to life. conversations pick up, laughter hums through the air, the moment folding neatly into the chaos like it never existed at all.

except it did.

you can still feel it—still feel him. the heat of his hands, the ghost of his lips, the unspoken words lingering between you.

you stand side by side, staring ahead, breathing uneven.

your fingertips still linger, barely brushing.

your heart still races, pounding against your ribs, aching for a moment that belonged only to the two of you.

jungkook turns to you, searching, chasing your gaze as if the answer is there—written in the spaces between your lashes, in the soft parting of your lips. and maybe it is. because when he looks at you now, really looks at you, he sees something he hasn’t noticed until now.

something familiar. something timeless. something extraordinary.

a glint.

a sparkle.

your breath hitches when you realize how close he is, how his eyes trace over you like he’s trying to commit you to memory. and for a second, just a second, it feels like the universe quiets—like nothing exists outside of this moment, outside of you.

then, he sees it.

and when he does, a breath slips past his lips, soft, relieved. because there’s no need to split the sky or rearrange the cosmos. this entire time, he hadn’t realized it before—hadn’t seen it, the same way people forget that the stars don’t disappear in the daylight. they’re always there, quiet and constant, just waiting for the right moment to be seen. and this? this is his time to see—to know it.  

yes, he’s right. 

there are stars in your eyes.