#I'm so so sorry this took so long to answer!!

[the-oc-king]

Gonna be honest, you had me nodding along until "because of Tiktok, Trump won". Like, are we gonna ignore Elon Musk here? And the fact that Trump almost certainly interfered with the election??

At a certain point it seems like you devolved from an actual thoughtful analysis on history to tired old "kids are all stupid idiots and Tiktok is inherently bad" type rhetoric. I'm mostly confused about how you took the time to explain how we Americans were intentionally led into reduced literacy levels by this point, but then don't offer any sort of compassion or empathy to that point?? It's just, oh Americans are all stupid and illiterate, especially the kids, which definitely has nothing to do with long COVID. It's all our fault this happened.

Our youth have been purposefully and systematically failed, and I won't ever fall into the trap of making generalizations about them because of this.

The bottom line is, we haven’t all just been falling for the propaganda that’s been forcibly shoved down our throats our whole lives! Trump never would have won this election without what was likely illegal interference, and the evil cowards who ensured he could be sworn in despite being impeached twice and being a convicted felon.

I can promise you all as a young American myself, we didn’t want this. Most of us didn’t want this. The bigoted, illiterate white folk is simply the loudest and most dangerous group here, and unfortunately they also control our government, so they get the most attention. But please, keep the rest of us in your hearts. I know we could have done more, tried harder to prevent this, and I’m so sorry. But a great deal of us aren’t just “fucking STUPID” or whatever; we’re horribly tired, and scared, and many of us are disabled and struggling just to stay alive.

Not to mention, those of us who want to stay informed and literate are constantly fighting against waves of propaganda and rhetoric, telling us that everything is fine, it’s okay to not think critically about things, go ahead and use AI (especially so our shareholders can get their money back). It’s not an easy feat.

Things around the world are going to be much much worse for a minimum of four years now that Trump is in office again, and those of us who care will do our best to stop what’s happening. But please, all I ask is that you remember that Americans aren’t a monolith any more than people in any other country are, and that a great deal of us are the victims of a cruel system. Under the current state of things the average citizen has basically no power; to the rich elite we’re nothing more than fodder that can be used and crushed and thrown away at their whims, and they’ve made sure that the current system allows them this power without challenge.

Things are rarely as simple as the easiest answer makes them appear to be. Those of us who haven’t fallen into complacency will keep trying to fight for a better world, but most of us are terrified and exhausted and don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do. I’m sorry.

To my Asian, European, African, and Canadian friends...do y'all wanna know how the United States found itself under a fascist, Hitler-loving dictator named Donald Trump?

In another post, I started my timeline in 1980. The year I was born. But, it was also a turning point in US politics.

First, let me share my credentials.

- Bachelors of Arts - History

- Juris Doctor - Public Interest Law (Critical Race Theory)

- Masters of Philosophy (research degree) - Sociology (Race, Ethnicity, Conflict)

Just recently, we buried President Jimmy Carter, who was the president, when I was born. Jimmy was from Georgia, like my grandmother, and he came from a Southern Baptist background. Southern Baptists are known for being very conservative Christians who did not support abortion.

Jimmy, despite that background, actually supported LGBTQ rights by lifting a federal ban. He supported Roe v. Wade which protected access to abortion. And, he established the federal Department of Education.

However, Jimmy had an antagonistic relationship with Congress, and that alienated several Democrats, including Ted Kennedy, who was the brother of John F. Kennedy, a president who was assassinated.

The Kennedy family has an established name brand due to JFK and Robert F Kennedy (another brother and JFK's attorney general who was also assassinated). Ted was the younger, drunken brother who caused the accidental death of a college friend.

In 1980, Ted challenged Jimmy for the presidency even though they were both Democrats. Jimmy has the incumbent shouldn't have faced a challenge from his own party, but he had just been that bad.

So, this internal strife weakened the Democratic Party entering the 1980 election. In that same year, Jimmy boycotted the 1980 Olympics in Russia due to Russia's invasion of Afghanistan. Furthermore, there was a recession.

The Republican Party nominee was a former Hollywood actor turned politician named Ronald Reagan. Ronald was the governor of California and was trailing Jimmy in the polls until a presidential debate in which Ronald used his acting skills to make Jimmy seem incompetent.

Ronald believed in "trickle down economics." He believed that if the wealthiest people were taxed less, then they would spend more, thus boosting the economy and allowing prosperity to "trickle down" to the working & Middle class.

He also believed in increased military spending as this was the height of the Cold War with Russia. My own parents voted for Reagan because my dad was in the military.

Instead of trickling down, the wealthy just grew wealthier. Republicans continued to lower taxes for these individuals and businesses, so the money never trickled down. Social services were underfunded & unemployment increased. Reagan's response was to blame Black "welfare mothers" for abusing the system.

Republicans latch onto this. They implement work requirements for government assistance and make it harder for folks to pull out of poverty. As a result, a wealth gap separated white folk from the rest. White folk felt their hard earned money was supporting lazy white & Black folk, so they continued to constrict welfare programs.

[Section added] During Reagan's term, an unknown illness is killing young, gay Black & Latino men. It's AIDs. Reagan deemed it a gay disease that only affects gay people, so no funding is allocated to study this disease. It's viewed as retribution for their homosexua lifestyle. However, overtime, they learn about HIV once non-gay men were infected. Children die from the disease because blood is not tested for it, so some are born from it through their mothers while others were given transfusions.

Under Reagan, the Fairness Doctrine ends. Under this doctrine, news agencies had to report both sides of an issue. Because of this, television stations can now present one side. Fox News opens as a conservative network.

Ronald is well-loved by white folk. He gets elected to two terms. By the end of his term, the economy has recovered, and white folk are prospering. Then, his VP, George H.W. Bush, is elected.

Under George I, the Cold War ends, but we have the Gulf War in Kuwait. He signs trade agreements that result in several American companies, namely the auto industry, to shutter their doors and build factories overseas. This is due to a change in tariffs!

Millions of Americans lose their jobs as factories close. Detroit, as the leading auto manufacturer city, is devastated. Back in the 90s, Detroit was the 4th largest US city after Chicago. These factory closures hit the Midwest, especially hard.

This makes Bush unpopular. He is challenged by a young, charismatic Democrat named Bill Clinton.

Bill was a southerner like Jimmy, but Bill was a very well-known ladies' man. Bill appeals to Black Americans, though, and that allows him to defeat George.

Bill continues expanding trade agreements. He's a fiscal conservative despite being a Democrat, and under Bill, military spending is reduced.

[Section added] The rise of AIDs leads to further hate directed at the LGBTQ. During the 90s, several queer people are murdered. One such kid was Matthew Shepard. A college kid in Wyoming, he is beaten by a gang of white men. His family was terrorized so much, that they couldn't bury him because of fears his grave would be desecrated.

[A white woman Bishop in DC invites Shepard's parents to bury him in their graveyard. That Bishop is Marian Edgar Budde, the same Bishop who gave Trump his inaugural sermon this past week. She pleaded for Trump to have mercy on the queer community because she was the Bishop who buried Shepard!]

Bill is a popular president. The economy is booming, but he's still a lady's man, and he gets in trouble with a college intern.

This scandal adversely impacts the last few years in office so much so that his VP, Al Gore, loses the presidency to George W. Bush.

George Bush won the Electoral College while Al Gore won the popular vote. There was such a tiny margin that there were numerous recounts because of faulty ballots (hanging chads). Eventually, the Supreme Court intervenes and tells them to stop the count and certify George as president.

George II is the son of George I.

George II is a popular Texan with swagger. He wants to build up the military once again.

Clinton left a surplus of money, so what did George II do? He implemented tax cuts for the wealthy. That damned "trickle down economics" again. The wealthy get wealthier, increasing the wealth gap between white folks and everybody else.

They cut taxes while cutting social services. One of his biggest "achievements" was a restructuring of our educational system called "No Child Left Behind."

NCLB emphasizes test scores. School administrations are penalized if they don't meet these standards. They lost funding, so electives such as home economics, art, Music, etc are trimmed to make room for these test standards. By this time, my dad has retired from the military and is a school principal, and I remember the stress of trying to meet these standards.

These standards emphasize STEM at the expense of liberal arts. This is happening just as the internet becomes available to all.

Amazon opens as an online used book store. Facebook is started as a college message board. There's a tech boom, so everyone is being pushed into tech fields. Liberal arts education was devalued.

During his term, 9-11 happens. We declare war on Afghanistan. Islamophobia spikes. Fox News helps drive this narrative. Christianity is now being pushed into schools, whereas schools were previously secular.

[Section added] In 2004, the assault rifle ban was lifted. Now we are seeing a dramatic spike in school shootings. The Far Right embraces the expansion of the 2nd Amendment.

Then, we go to war in Iraq.

We aren't quite sure why we're at war with Iraq. We overthrow Suddam Hussein (from the Gulf War). George declares victory, then terminates the Iraqi Army.

This triggers an insurrection. Massive casualties are coming out of Iraq. The war in Afghanistan is overshadowed.

George serves two terms, but his VP is so unpopular that he doesn't run for president. Instead, the Republican nominee is John McCain.

Two Democrats fight for the nomination. Hillary Clinton, the wife of Bill, and Barack Obama.

Barack was a young, biracial Senator from Illinois. I attended law school in Illinois, and one of my classmates had been his legislative aide. I met Barack twice while a student. The first time, he had come to campus to propose a college-savings account. After his press conference, I latched onto his arm and refused to let go until he heard me, and I explained that his proposal was unrealistic because it assumed that a single mother would have the resources to save for an education when it was more likely her money would go towards groceries & rent or other immediate needs. (Fast forward two-three years, and the dude is repeating my line during the State of the Union! I had changed his mind!)

Barack beats Hillary for the nomination. He defeats McCain and is sworn in as the 1st black (not Black) president.

Obama is popular and well-loved by most Americans. Under his tenure, gay marriage is legalized.

Fox News triples down on their hatred.

Their network booms. They push Islamophobia 24/7. Highlight the fact that Obama's father was Muslim and that his middle name was Hussein.

Older Americans are watching program after program of this negativity. A movement starts called the Tea Party movement, which positions itself as a fiscally conservative movement. A bankrupt slumlord with a reality TV show gains popularity with these folks.

I wrote my master's dissertation on the Tea Party movement. It's called "Jesus and the White Man."

Donald Trump

Donald latches onto the Islamaphobia. He calls Barack by his middle name and questions his birth certificate. Donald grows popular with older Americans.

At the end of Obama's term, the son of VP Biden dies. This devastated Biden. He had lost his infant daughter & first wife in a car accident. He decides not to run for president.

Obama supports Hillary.

It is now Hillary v. Trump.

Trump pushes misogyny and Islamaphobia. Hillary is Bill's wife and a woman. She is the most qualified presidential candidate to ever run (at that time).

During Obama's last year in office, Justice Antonin Scalia* dies. Obama has the privilege to nominate that next Justice, but Mitch McConnell stalls through the election.

But older white Americans were barely okay with a black president. They were not about to let a woman serve as President. At the same time, an organization called Cambridge Analytica began to fine-tune an ultra conservative agenda.

With the help of Russian intelligence, they use Facebook ads to try to persuade voters to support Trump. They succeeded with white folk, but they did not succeed with the Black vote.

Russians used African bot farms in order to try to persuade Black Americans to support Trump. We rejected him at 90%.

Donald wins the Electoral College but not the popular vote.

Donald is a corrupt and ineffectual president. He tried to bribe foreign leaders and shared US intelligence with Russia.

However, as a populist, he latches onto the Christian Right. He nominates 3 Supreme Court Justices who lie during their confirmation hearings. These Justices will ultimately vote to overturn Roe v. Wade.

The Christian Right love this. But then COVID hits and the incompetence of Donald leads to millions of deaths. These Christian folk refuse to get vaccinated or wear masks.

Donald is an unpopular president and ranks as the worst president of all time.

Biden challenges him and wins.

Donald refuses to accept that he lost, so he organized an attempted coup. January 6th.

He's impeached. Twice.

McConnell refuses to take the step to have him permanently barred from office.

Biden takes office when COVID is still rampant. The Christian Right continue to push their agenda, seeking to remove protections for the LGBTQI.

Right wing media generates a lot of money. Podcasters jump on the bandwagon. Red pill content spills into the mainstream.

Kids who were isolated during COVID are now at home watching Joe Rogan & Theo Von. They spend hours upon hours on TikTok.

But unbeknownst to these kids is the history of Russian interference.

Schools emphasize STEM. They don't emphasize liberal arts or social sciences such as history or literature. The literacy rate plummeted to an all-time low. The average white American's reading level is at the 4th grade. They aren't able to engage in critical thinking.

They don't know the history of the Spanish Influenza. They don't know the history of a trade war that triggered the Great Depression. They don't know that our government has imprisoned citizens in internment camps. They don't know Hitler's rise to power.

In fact, Fox News frequently features individuals who deny the Holocaust.

Russia move their troll farms from Facebook to TikTok, where the algorithm serves as an echo chamber. Uneducated, illiterate folks gobble up 30-second videos but can't be arsed to watch anything over 5 minutes so complex issues are stripped down to sound bites.

The algorithm pushed right-wing fascist talking points. They rehabbed Donald while shifting Gen Z to the far right. They do not know how to verify information for themselves, so they gobble up misinformation and disinformation.

If a TikTok creator has millions of followers with thousands of views and likes, these kids assume that that info is factual. They do not vet shit for themselves.

Russia pushed anti-American propaganda that posed as pro-American talking points. Pushed isolationism. Pushed anti-democratic rhetoric. In fact, one of their greatest accomplishments is convincing Gen Z and uneducated, white Millennials into thinking we aren't a democracy.

We are a fucking Democratic Republic. Our constitution begins with: "We the people".

So, because of TikTok, Trump won.

That's why Biden was pushing for it to be banned before the election. The algorithm was being corrupted. But folks couldn't part from their addiction.

Folks who had been anti-Trump just 5 years ago are suddenly Trump supporters. They were brainwashed.

So, how did we get here?

We got here because most Americans are fucking STUPID.

[fortunekookie07]

hii can i request a highschool au, where sylus is the scary but popular jock x nerdy/normal reader😫 thank you!!

Not Just The Girl Next Door

Nonnie, I absolutely adore your request. Because you brought it to me. Thank you sooooo much for trusting me to craft your desire. Love you for it.

I am immensely sorry it took so long. I hope I haven't disappointed you. I struggled with this one a bit, and not because your request was hard, I didn't want to deliver a cliché. I rewrote this one a couple times. If you want to see the unfished alternate, let me know.

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

Sylus, how could one name make your heart feel full of giddines? Put those butterflies in your stomach and make your brain mush?

He'd been your classmate since preschool. He even lived on your street. How could one person be so close and yet so far out of reach?

You never minded his teasing, he'd never taken it too far. After all, it was to be expected. Many times, you'd examined yourself just to count all the things you saw as flaws.

Unruly wild red curls hung around your face and trailed over your shoulders all the way down your back to your hips. Your mother absolutely loved your hair. You'd lost count of how many times she'd begged you not to cut or change the color.

The round glasses perched on your nose framed your face nicely, but you hated their necessity. If only you'd gotten your mother's perfect vision. You had yet to win the debate on trying contacrs.

If only you were taller, being the shortest one in the senior class was irritating. People often mistook you as a freshman and sometimes you knew it was on purpose.

Sylus had been the one to start the jokes. While the rest of your classmates were getting taller, you didn't. The only thing that has grown was your curves. Your mom liked to say that you had the perfect hourglass figure. One that you worked hard to hide. Being teased for having no boobs as opposed to being well-endowed was much better.

It was easy to hide with the schools mandatory uniform. Button up white collared shirts, a sweater vest in dark blue or gold. For the girls, a pleated plaid skirt in the same colors. The boys could wear black or dark blue pants. During the winter months, a black jacket could be worn.

As you stood in front of the mirror, examining your appearance, you could hear your mother calling you from downstairs. "Are you ready yet? You need to be leaving now!" You scrambled to shove your feet into shoes while trying to smooth your hair back so you could braid it. "I'm coming, mom!" You shouted back to her, tying the end of the briaid and scooping up your bag.

"Have a good day." She said, kissing your forehead and then pushing you out the door. It was windy today. Spring was just around the corner. Hurrying to your car, you quickly started the engine just as your phone rang. It was Tara.

"Hey girl!" She answered with her usual bubbliness. "Can you pick me up? My dad confiscated my keys this morning." You knew instantly that she had a story and had gotten into trouble again. "Yeah, I'll be there in three minutes." Her sigh of relief had you shaking your head.

Tara was extremely outgoing and well liked. It was a miracle that she had picked you, the quiet introverted girl with her nose always in a book as best friend. But that had been the case from the first grade till now. She tended to get into trouble with her dad a lot. He was always trying to calm her down and teach her patience. He wasn't mean, just very strict. Sometimes, he would compare the two of you. About how well-behaved you were and your much quieter nature.

She really tried sometimes to play the role he wanted, but it was hard. It was her nature to be loud, rowdy, and very outgoing. Maybe this was why you were friends. You balanced each other out.

Fifteen minutes later, you were settled into your first period English class waiting for the teacher. He was running late as usual. He had a knack for being perpetually late. Around you, you could hear whispers and the scratches of pens as people scrambled to do the homework from last class.

Ever the one prepared for class, your books and notebook sate neatly on your desk. No one was paying you any mind. Too focused on their own affairs. Well, you thought no one was watching you. How wrong you were.

"Well now, look here. The little Kitten is all ready for class." His deep baritone voice sent shivers down your spine. Sylus hadn't used your actual name in years. Ever since the day he'd dubbed you Kitten, that's all he would call you.

He swooped in and grabbed your notebook. Dodging your hands as you scrambled to get it back. "Give it back." You said, trying to remain calm. Getting angry or showing your frustration only spurred him on.

"Then jump for it." He said a smirk on his face as he held the notebook high in the air well over his head. He knew you couldn't get it. Your short stature would never allow it. What he didn't count on was your resourcefulness. Or the fact that you were agile.

Swiftly, you stood from your seat and climbed onto your desk. Anger fueling your actions. You jumped for it, fingers just barely brushing the spine as he changed the way he was holding it.

Forgetting yourself and where you were, you lunged, throwing your full weight at him as you jumped higher. This time, you managed to grasp your notebook. It would seem your mom's insistence on dance classes was not useless.

Sylus stumbled as your full weight pushed him back. He clearly wasn't expecting you to throw yourself at him for the notebook.

"What's going on in here?" The sharp voice of Mr. Reynolds snapped you back to reality. The position you were now in was clearly inappropriate for a classroom. Your body was firmly pressed against Sylus. His hand pressed firmly against your waist. He was practically laying on the desk with you on top of him. Still holding the notebook with your hand tightly grasping it as well.

The look in his eyes was a mixture of surprise, amusement, and something you couldn't quite name.

Mr. Reynolds sharply called your name, and you scrambled back to standing. Face bright red with embarrassment. How you wished the floor would swallow you whole. This had to top any embarrassing moment you'd ever had in your eighteen years on this Earth.

Seeing how mortified you were, Mr. Reynolds turned to Sylus. "Explain yourself right now!" He was angry, face turning red as he glared.

"Just having a bit of fun. Just a joke." Sylus said nonchalantly. His ears were slightly red. Was he embarrassed, too? "Detention, both of you, go right now." He pointed to the door, shaking his finger as he did so. "I do not allow such nonsense in my classroom. If I ever see this level of disregard for school decorum again, I'll have you both expelled. I don't care if you are the star player or the top academic student. I'll not have it!"

Snatching your notebook from Sylus' hand, you scooped up your books and walked to the door, footsteps heavy with dread. Never, not once in all your years of school had you been in trouble. A teacher had never reprimanded you before, never mind yelling at you.

Your eyes burner with unshed tears. This was all his fault. You tried hard not to cry. You would not let him of all people see you shed a tear. A quick glance beside you, he looked completely unphased. How could he be so calm right now?? Anger took over.

"This is all your fault. Why can't you just leave me alone? I'm not a toy for your amusement. I do not exist to entertain you when you're bored." You chest heaved as you finally said what you'd always wanted to. "See me, Sylus. I am not your Kitten. I'm a person." Despite your best efforts you were crying now.

Tears slipping down your face as you finally told him all the things you'd wanted to say for years. You'd stopped walking, and so had he. His face had a broken expression as he stood there helpless while you cried. "See me." You said in a begging tone.

He stepped closer to you, gently pulling your glasses from your face. Using his sleeve, he wiped the tears even as they continued to fall.

He stared down at your face, puffy from crying, nose red. Cupping your cheeks as he looked down at you. You couldn't name the expression in his eyes. It tore at your heart.

How much you wanted something you were sure you couldn't have. Sylus could pick any girl he wanted, so why would he choose you? The small girl, the one who was always studying. Who didn't wear makeup or pretty jewelry. The one who hid herself away instead of showing off what she had. Why would he choose you? With a heart of gold, a fierce loyalty to the few friends you have and a deep love of your family.

Still wiping your tears away with his thumbs, he finally speaks. "Silly girl, why are you so silly? I've always seen you. How can I not see you?" His expression was tender gazing at you like he held the most precious thing in the world.

"You always make fun of me. You're always calling me short and teasing me for never handing in assignments late. For always being top of the class. You called me four eyes in primary school. You pull my hair and hide my books." You sniffle loudly, finally your tears have stopped.

He sighs loudly, breaking eye contact as he hangs his head. "For someone so smart, you're incredibly dense. I hope you know that." He looks at you again. "Have you never heard that a guy will pick on the girl he likes? I don't know how else to get your attention. You're not like other girls. You don't follow after me. You never talk to me unless I start. I've never seen you at any of my games. Tell me how I'm supposed to bring you back to my level?"

He's looking at you earnestly now, but your brain has disconnected. Surely he didn't mean that he liked you. You must have misheard him. "Wh-what did you say?" You stutter out after a minute of silence.

Sylus sighs deeply again. "Words have no effect, I see." He tilts your face upwards more, and before you can react, his warm lips steal yours. If your brain was disconnected before, it's completely offline and mush now. Unable to think of anything, slowly, your hands come up to grasp the lapels of his jacket, crushing them in your grip.

You stand on your toes so he doesn't have to lean down so far. In the back of your head, you're glad he took your glasses off. The lenses would be fogged up now. Pressing yourself closer, you give in. Your lungs are starting to beg for air, but you never want this moment to end.

But end it does, he pulls back, and you stare deeply into his red irises. The depth of his emotions is swirling around, trying to pull you in.

"Do you understand me now?" He asks quietly, watching you intently.

"Why me?" You mumble quietly. "Why not you? I've always been drawn to you. Ever since we were kids. You're like a flame that burns just for me. I don't want to be apart from you anymore. Don't pull away from me now." His voice is not more than a whisper, but it still pierces your heart.

The sincerity in his voice sends you over the edge. Your face burns red again, and you hide it in his jacket. "Is this going to be a habit of yours?" He asks, chuckling as he wraps his arms around you. "Shut up." You mutter against his chest. "We're still in trouble and have detention." He comments, and you freeze. You'd forgotten that detail.

"I'm still mad at you for that." You say stepping back. He grasps your hand and leads you to the office laughing.

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

I'm so sorry again for the long wait. I hope you get all the fluffy feels out of this that I tried to pack in.

If you want to read my original draft, message me. If you want to take a different route and finish the one I started, I will relinquish it. Just let me know.

[lou-struck]

Made With Love Part 5

Made with Love  pt 5

OM Brothers & Datables x reader

Featuring: Simeon and a bonus character

SERIES MASTERLIST

Warnings: yandere Simeon, mentions of kidnapping, passing out, overexertion. Slightly suggestive behavior.  Love Potion based personality changes, obsessive behaviors, mention of suggestive behavior, lots of teasing, kissing, touching, etc.

A/n: Thank you to everyone who stuck with me through this process, I know it took awhile to finish this mini series but I hope that it’s worth it.

As the Sorcerer's words echo through the dark, a disbelieving shiver trails down your spine. "Can you please repeat that, Solomon," you ask, hoping that your fatigue has made you auditorily hallucinate and everything will be fine.

His hand comes to rest on your arm, the comforting gesture does little to calm your nerves when the worry in his eyes shines as bright as the human world sun. "Depending on many factors, potions can affect individuals differently. As an angel, this twisted love potion may be much more potent on Simeon than it was on any of the Demons. I advise you to be on your guard when confronting him."

"So the kiss may not work at all?" you ask, trying your best to remain calm, but the slight tremor in your voice betrays you.

He shakes his head, "I'm afraid that's the case." His eyes fill with concern as they flick to the window. "I wonder if I should head back to the lab to try and create an antidote, in case you were to, to."

"In case I fail," you say dryly, understanding the severity of the situation. "But there still is a chance that I can help him, so I'm gonna take it. You should go back to Purgatory Hall; Luke should be…~"

Crap

For the first time in hours, you remember that you did not start this quest on your own. Poor Luke must be freaking out all by himself. You were supposed to check in with the angel, but after your DDD was waterlogged, thanks to Levi, you haven't been able to contact him at all. 

"What's the matter Mc?" Solomon asks gently, grabbing ahold of your arm. The warmth radiating from his fingertips brings you back down to earth. "You look like you've seen a ghost. 

"It's Luke," you answer, guilt flooding your features at just the mention of the little helper's name. "I was supposed to call him and check in while he has been working on the antidote but I couldn't. Do you have your DDD on you by chance?"

"Do I?" He furrows his brows and pats his pockets. Finding nothing, he frowns. "Sorry, I must've left it in the Banquet Hall. I recall having it when I arrived, but after everything that happened, I must've forgotten to pick it up."

You frown. Just standing around is wasting precious time, but you dread the words that are about to leave your lips. "You should head back. Get the others up to speed and check up on Luke for me, okay?"

"I don't want to leave you," he says; the fire in his eyes tells you that he means it with every fiber of his being. "Not when things are the way they are. 

"Technically, I should be the safest out of everyone." you mention, "At least we know what Simeon wants with me; if one of you guys ran into him, it could be a different story."

The determination on your features draws a long sigh from Solomon, one that really reveals his age. "Are you really okay with trying to find him on your own?"

You nod, giving him what you believe to be a convincing smile. "There is still a possibility that I can break the spell on my own. But if I can't, I promise I will call for help. 

"If that's what you think is best," he sighs, "But I can't say I'm happy with this arrangement."

"I know you aren't," you say quickly.  "But thank you for going along with my plan."

Before he turns to go, he grabs your hand and looks deep into your eyes. "Please be careful, Mc. He may look the same, but that is not the Simeon you know. If things get dicey, just call for me. Please, Mc, promise me you won't try to be a hero and do this on your own. None of us would be able to handle it if something were to happen to you. I wouldn't be able to handle it if you got hurt."

"I promise. I'll be careful," you say solemnly and he shoots you one last glance, begging for you to change your mind before he turns and leaves through a door. 

The feeling of loneliness comes quickly; all of your senses feel as if they have been heightened by your current fear. Every shadow that passes you resembles a hand ready to pull you into the darkness, and now you really want to go home. 

Where could Simeon be?

The Library?

The Botanical gardens?

The Bathroom?

With the thousands of hiding spots in front of you, you can't help but feel a tad overwhelmed. Your heart rate rises and the stone pattern on the tiles blur under your overwhelmed gaze. You stumble slightly over a divot in the hall and reach out to a long end table to steady yourself. 

The porcelain vase rattles but, thankfully, doesn't come crashing down. 

Just as you breathe a sigh of relief, a low laughter reaches your ears, and you turn your end to the wall of shadows at the end of the hallway.

Ah, alone at last Mc," Simeon coo's stepping out from behind a pillar, brilliant white wings out on display as he takes you in with dark eyes. "You have no idea what kinds of fun I have planned for the two of us now that I have you all to myself. His usual angelic aura is replaced with one that is dark and menacing; against your better judgment, you are hit with an incapacitating wave of fear. 

All it takes is one single step toward you for your courage to falter as one thought races through your mind on loop.

This isn't Simeon…

You turn and run.

~

At long last, Luke has done it…he thinks. 

The Lab smells of black licorice and garlic as the angel's slightly elongated reflection stares back at him as he gazes into the Deep lavender concoction that is supposed to solve everything. This cure should make everyone stop acting so scary, and you can still have the Valentine's Day party you deserve. 

But something feels wrong. 

You haven't messaged him once through this whole process. Every time Luke stares at his empty inbox, his heart breaks a bit more as he imagines those obsessive demons taking you away forever. 

Simeon'

What is going on over there?

Unable to wait any longer for the potion to cool, Luke takes it off its burner. The vial is painfully hot in his hands, but he doesn't let go as he puts a cork in it and runs out of the Lab in a flash. 

The sudden burst of cold air in his lungs makes the little angel struggle to breathe, but he keeps running. The taller demons he passes on the street give him odd looks as he passes, but he doesn't have time to care. 

Keeping his eyes trained on the wet ground below, he doesn't see the large man-shark demon stepping into his path until he makes contact with his slick, gray skin. Being much lighter than that massive demon, Luke bounces off of him and hits the ground hard. 

His knees sting as they scrape the ground and turn an angry red color, but as he struggles to regain his breath, all he can think of is the potion. 

Did he break it?

"Hey, little guy?" the demon he had crashed into earlier says, holding out a fin. "Are you okay? That was quite the spill."

Luke takes the fin and gets to his feet. He holds the antidote a bit closer to his chest. "I'm fine, I'm really sorry for running into you, but I have to go."

"It's cool, I get it." the demon says, smiling with his rows and rows and rows of jagged teeth. "Have a good one."

Luke nods and starts to run once more. His stomach twists and turns as he thinks of Simeon, of Barbatos, of you. 

While his tired, little mind may be making him think the worst, he has this strange feeling that you are in trouble. 

Simeon~

You're in trouble. 

Out of breath, you find yourself in the middle of the empty ballroom. The crystal chandelier gleams in the moonlight as a few white feathers float gently to the ground, each one casting a new shadow in Simeon's image. 

He's toying with you. 

"Are you done running?" His voice echoes through the darkness. "You must be tired, poor thing, won't you come here?" his tone is soft, angelic, and it brings tears to your eyes as you fight your natural instinct to run into his arms. 

Although you cannot see him, you can feel his presence, he isn't just watching you at this point, he's hunting you. The intense power radiating from the darkness causes your knees to tremble as you stumble over to the wall. Your body feels far weaker than normal, but your mind is still sharp. 

The potion is clearly still effective on him, so it could be entirely possible that he truly is as possessive as the others claimed he was. Meaning, you can use it to your advantage. 

"Simeon, c-could you please come out here?" you call, forcing your voice to waver a bit more than necessary to lure him out.  "Please, I got rid of the others, so It's just us. I-i want to spend my Valentine's Day with you."

You pause, awaiting his response, but get nothing. If your angel heard you, he doesn't seem to be taking the bait. Squinting through the room, you search for any sign of motion finding nothing. 

Walking over to the partially drawn curtains, your fingers close around the thick woven cord and give it a light tug. A bit more moonlight would make your search for Simeon a bit easier, but you find it doesn't budge. 

Gritting your teeth, you pull at it again and again, until the velvet drapery slides, revealing a disheveled Simeon who greets you with a manic grin. 

"You've done well my darling." he coo's those bright, beautiful blue eyes of his practically concealed by those enlarged hearts. "You found what was behind curtain number one."

His skin feels like it's on fire as his hand latches around your wrist. You gasp at the sensation and instinctively try to step away, but he doesn't let you. 

You are enveloped in his steaming embrace as he nuzzles his face into your hair. The faint glow of his wings illuminates the room as his feathers cocoon you. Despite the circumstances, you relax under his familiar touch. "Please don't be afraid of me." he murmurs, his voice soft and genuine as he tries to comfort you.

"I'm not afraid of you Simeon," you answer truthfully, "I could never be afraid of you. Today has just been difficult."

"I know My Love," he says, smiling into your hair. There is something eerie in his tone that puts you on edge. "It must've been difficult playing this little game of hide and seek all by yourself, but you did it. You found everyone, Just like I thought you would."

As his words wash over you, your stomach sinks and you twist around to face him. "What are you talking about?"

He smiles as he grabs your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze as he eyes you with predatory hunger. "Did you have fun getting your special little moment with everyone else? Did you enjoy their pathetic displays of infatuation, picking off each lovesick fool one by one and sending them off with just a little kiss?"

The Venom in his words causes you to squirm in his hold. "You were watching me?"

"Since you stepped foot in this castle," he grins his nails gently tracing the side of your face. "But unlike those demons, I showed restraint and waited for them to get out of the way. Like always, they were too greedy to focus on the big picture."

Perhaps it's the unusual bout of exhaustion you are feeling, but you're having trouble seeing what Simeon is referring to as the 'big picture' as well. "And what would that be?" You ask carefully.

"Before now, I was always the one to make sacrifices when it came to spending time with you. Whenever I try, you always get taken away from me to either play peacemaker to those selfish demons when they cause problems they lack the mental fortitude to fix themselves, get treated like one of Solomon's little lab rats, or play babysitter to Luke, who is afraid of his own shadow." He is so vexed at the words spewing out of his mouth that his body temperature increases even higher than before, making this smothering contact stiflingly warm. 

There is real pain behind his harsh words, the kind that definitely could be exploited by a personality-altering Love Potion; your heart breaks for the neglected angel. "Simeon…"

"So you can see it too?"  I am done taking a backseat and watching everyone sweep you off your feet while I am obligated to give up my heart's desire." White feathers twitch as their owner stares down at you darkly. "So I will take you away and dedicate every waking moment of my life to keeping your content."

With wings like those, Simeon could easily carry you away from the Devildom, and judging from the look of desperation on his face, he is planning on doing just that. 

"Please listen to me," you plead, placing your hand on his chest; his heart is beating out of control, "It's the Love Potion talking; you don't really want to do this. Let me help you."

He looks as if you had just slapped him across the face. His emotions are going from one extreme to the other. "How can you say that, Mc? How can you say that I wouldn't want to be near you at all times?"

"I'm sorry, I just never saw things that way until now." you apologize softly. "I never realized how little time we get to spend together. But I would like to fix it if you would allow me to."

The hearts shrink in size as you gently cup his overheating face, his blush looks painfully deep as you press your lips to his, softly at first, but the kiss quickly turns desperate as you think of all the times Simeon has had to play the good sport. 

Although kindness is one of his best traits, you fell in Love with Simeon, not the worn doormat he perceives himself to be at the moment. You love his wit, his creativity, his warmth. 

You pour your affections into the kiss, but something feels off. 

Your body tingles as you feel your energy being drained from you at a rapid pace. Your arm becomes slack as it falls from Simeon's face and hangs limply.

Your eyes widen as you stare up at Simeon helplessly. A look of Victory on his face as he boops your nose. "Oh come on Darling; You're going to have to give me much more than that."

~

The doors to the banquet hall part for Solomon as he approaches, but as he sees the nine pairs of eyes on him, he wishes he could be anywhere else at the moment. When the awaiting demons realize it is just him, their eager, hopeful looks turn mostly cold and disinterested.

It stings. 

"Diavolo is the first to greet him with a warm smile as the Prince strides over and pats him on the back. "Solomon, I am relieved to see that you have come back to us in one piece~."

"Where's Mc?" Mammon says interrupting his monarch, earring a murderous glare from Barbatos and a thwack to the back of the head from Lucifer.

Exhaling, his thoughts return to you, "Mc…Stayed behind to find Simeon on their own. I offered to help but they felt it was best if they faced him alone. Given the circumstances."

Satan sits up straighter in his chair, "That appears to be the best course of action," he relents. "We all saw Simeon; I fear if he were to run into one of us, he might become violent. But he would never hurt Mc, potion or no potion."

Asmodeus, the only one of the Avatars of Sin Solomon has a pact with, narrows his eyes, and sends the Sorcerer an accusatory glare. "There's something you're not telling us Hon; what is it?"

Signing deeper, he internally curses the demon for seeing through him so quickly. "There is a chance Mc will not be able to break the spell on Simeon with just a kiss. I heard Luke is back at Purgatory Hall working on an antidote as we speak in case they were to fail."

The room goes deathly quiet as everyone recalls Simeon's deranged promises from earlier. If you are at his mercy with no way of breaking the spell, he may have the upperhand and escape the Devildom with you. 

"That is serious," Diavolo frowns, addressing the room, "We must find them and restrain Simeon before he does anything he'll regret. Mc's safety takes priority right now."

"Something's wrong," Lucifer says from his seat. "I'm having trouble detecting Mc's presence."

"Has the Dark Angel made his move already?" Levi shudders. 

"Did you really give Simeon a nickname at a time like this?" Belphie asks, looking rather irritated. "I'm tired of waiting around while Mc is in danger."

Tired

That one little word causes Solomon's eye to widen as the passage of potion side effects flashes through his mind. 

"I know that look," Barbatos says wearily. "What are you thinking about?"

"I think," he says, his mouth bone dry as he speaks. "We need to go find Mc, right now."

Simeon II ~

"Did you really think it was going to be that easy, Mc? Did you really think that I would just throw away the chance to keep you all to myself because of a little kiss?" He asks, his hand rising to gently stroke your cheek, forcing you to stare into his unnerving heart-shaped pupils. The hearts are dilating and constricting so rapidly they look as if they are beating. "I want more…"

"What's going on?" you breathe as Simeon holds your numb body like you're a porcelain doll. "Simeon, why can't I move?"

"Don't worry My Darling. It's not permanent, but this does make our dramatic escape a bit easier for me." He smiles, pressing another kiss onto your forehead as if he is mocking your earlier attempt of breaking the spell. Upon seeing your frightened features, he gently bushes a few strands of hair from your face. "Oh, don't look at me like that, Mc; my heart won't be able to take it."

"What did you do?"

His smile grows wider, "I didn't do anything. The one responsible for the little state of exhaustion you find yourself in, is you."

"Wha~"

"My selfless little love, did you not realize that with each kiss you gave to break the spell, you have been draining your energy?" he asks amusedly. "Or did you believe you were tired from walking all this time?"

"You're right," you say after a moment of contemplation. You have felt the tug of exhaustion but never even considered that breaking the spell would have an effect on you. You really thought you were feeling the effects of stress or not drinking enough water. "But how did you know?"

"Because I see you, Mc," he coos, "The others, time and time again, take advantage of that big, beautiful heart of yours. Let me help you. Let me take you away from all of this so I can worship you the way you deserve to be. Every day will feel like heaven; I will dedicate every waking moment to your rapture; you will be so content, you will never long for anyone else, only me."

He steps closer to the balcony doors as you scream at your tired limbs to move. Your Fingertips twitch slightly, but it's not enough. You need to buy yourself some more time. "Simeon, we can't do this. We can't just leave behind everyone else."

He stops in his tracks, "You don't love me?" he asks, his voice tender with emotion as hurt fills his bewitched eyes. The hearts have stopped beating, but yours aches at the accusation. 

"Of course I love you Simeon," you say quickly, the wide, lovesick grin returning to his face at your words. "But I am happy here, and I know you are too. The other~"

"Will never stop using you," he interrupts, not taking his eyes off of you. "Aren't you tired Mc? Every day, you get thrown into the path of danger. And have to be the one to fix it. I saw what Leviathan did to you. I was this close to stepping in and striking him down, but then you broke the spell, And he was back to his pathetic self."

"That was an accident, he wasn't in control of his own actions." You say, coming to the thirdborn's defense. "But I still care about him."

"The others are not different, Beelzebub, Diavolo, Solomon. Their Love does not even compare to what I feel for you." Tears well in Simeon's eyes as he shakes. These words coming out of his mouth are so unkind; there is no way Simeon would say these things about his friends, his former brothers, and Luke, the one who looks up to him like an older brother.

"What about the Love you have for them? These are your friends, your family. How can you turn on them so easily?" 

"Because you are~" he pauses, furrowing his brow as he tries to remain focused on his words, on his obsession. It seems that the real Simeon is fighting below the surface, trying to break out of the enchantment. "You are everything to me, the only Love I need. And I will do whatever I can to keep you safe."

He starts to walk out the balcony doors. The cold air makes you shiver as your stomach sinks in despair. You can't fail, not now. 

"Simeon, I can't let you do this." 

With your remaining energy you reach up to grab his face, kissing him once more, pouring not just your Love into the action, but everything else you possess. With Simeon fighting the battle on the inside, the two of your souls meet at the impact point.

Your muscles go slack as you and Simeon drop to the floor, exhausted. Your lids are heavy as you watch him blink away the hearts in his eyes. 

With the fog cleared, he stares down at your weakened form with fear. "Mc? What happened? What did I do?"

"You're back. I'm so relieved." you murmur before you lose consciousness. 

~

Simeon holds you gently, real tears streaming down his cheeks as he sobs out quiet apologies for only you to hear. Although the details come back to him slowly, he knows that he is the one to blame for the state you are in. Alive, but completely drained of energy.

He had brought you back inside from the chilly balcony, allowing his wings to disappear. He does not feel very much like an Angel right now.

A stampede of footsteps approaches and he tenses up, waiting for the consequences of his actions to tear him apart. 

~

Being completely drained of energy is a weird sensation. 

You aren't unconscious, but you aren't quite with everyone. Many concerned voices come through your ears, muffled, as if your ears have been stuffed with cotton. 

Mammon, as the fastest of the bunch, was the first to come to your side. You recall him sliding across the marble floor, stealing you away from Simeon's trembling arms, trying desperately to shake you awake. 

"Why aren't they waking up?" he mumbles, his tone worried, yet angry, and you know he is looking at Simeon.

"They used all their energy," another voice, Solomon, says plainly. "It was a side effect from breaking the spell we were under. I didn't put two and two together at the time, but Mc gave us each a bit of their energy with their kiss."

"I see," Barbatos muses "So that was what was bothering you Solomon."

You feel your body taken carefully from Mammon's arms as you are cradled against a broad chest. Diavolo's voice is comforting in your ear as he whispers. "You did well, Mc; once again, the Devildom is in your debt." his warm power courses through you as you begin to recover a part of your strength. 

"But when will they wake up?" Beel asks worriedly. "They need to eat if they want to restore their strength."

"Maybe we should let them sleep," Belphie hums. "That always makes me feel better."

"Yer always sleeping," Mammon sighs. 

"I'm awake." You mutter weakly, opening your eyes. You are completely surrounded by your loved ones, the nine demons and the Sorcerer look weary but relieved to see you awake.

"You did it, Hon." Asmo smiles, smoothing your messed up hair. "You saved us all."

"And I'm sure I've never looked better," you quip, earning a warm chuckle from Diavolo and the others, but you notice something just out of the corner of your eye. "Oh Simeon.."

Simeon watches you from afar, still on the floor. When he notices you looking at him, he quickly averts his gaze, ashamed of his actions under the spell.

Seeing him like this breaks your heart. Sensing your distress, Lucifer breaks away from the group. You watch as he walks over to Simeon and extends a hand to his former brother. "Come on," he says, "Mc should spend the rest of the day with everyone they care about." 

You nod encouragingly to Diavolo to set you down as Simeon takes Lucifer's hand, getting slowly to his feet. His steps are small as he approaches. "How are you feeling?" he asks softly. 

You wrap your arms around him, and he relaxes under your gentle touch. "A little tired, but I'm glad that everything is back to normal."

"I'm relieved to hear you say that. But words cannot express how sorry I am for putting you through all that." he begins, this time looking around at everyone. "The potion seemed to feed on my inner insecurities, twisting my desires and taking control of my body, please believe me that the words I was saying were not entirely my own."

"I am sure we all said things we didn't mean," Diavolo shudders, recalling his earlier behavior, "But I promise you that no one here is at liberty to pass judgment.

"Even so, you were an amazing Final Boss Simeon." Levi gushes, the respect he has for his idol not diminished in the slightest.

"Oh, well thank you Leviatan." Simeon replies. "Perhaps this will make for an entertaining plot in my next novel. Perhaps you could assist me with the details."

Levi looks so overjoyed he is about to faint, so you step in, taking Simeon's hand and giving it a squeeze, "I'm just glad we are all together now."

"Does that mean we can get back to the feast?" Beel asks hopefully. "I'm starving."

"What else is new?" Satan sighs, turning his attention to you. "You had us worried, you have to stop doing that."

"Speaking of worried." Barbatos adds with a frown. "Where is Luke?"

"Oh my," Solomon pales. "In the excitement, I forgot to contact him when I arrived at the banquet hall. Should I go find him and tell him that the spell has broken?"

"Poor Chihuahua, he must be freakin out right now." Mammon sighs, running a hand through his hair. 

"Perhaps you should go get him, Mammon," Lucifer says. 

"I'm here," a small voice calls, pushing through the doors. 

Luke pants hunched over, holding a small glass vial close to his chest. "I got the antidote."

"You created an antidote all by yourself?" Simeon asks, coming over to crouch next to his out-of-breath companion. "I am so proud of you, Luke."

"Me too," you hum, coming to the other side of him. 

He preens under your praise but looks around the room, counting each individual with a frown. "Wait… Is everyone back to normal? What did I miss?"

The room falls silent as everyone glances at each other awkwardly, not wanting to discuss the more intimate details of your afternoon with the Little Angel. 

"Mc was able to break the spell," Babatos answers simply. "But your alchemic success will not go unnoticed, I'll see to it that you receive extra credit in your chemistry class."

Luke's cheeks burn crimson at Barbatos' compliment. "R-really?"

"Absolutely, you did well Luke," you say kindly. "But I am sorry for not contacting you, I fell into the pool and my DDD was ruined."

"My bad," Levi mutters, his face turning redder than Lukes. 

Diavolo, being the diplomat he is, claps his hands together. "Since we are all together now, I saw we all return to the banquet hall and enjoy the rest of the party. I believe Mc would enjoy some rest and refreshments."

"No more cookies though," Asmodues chuckles, sending you a playful wink. "I don't think Mc could handle any more excitement today."

"I'll dispose of them personally when we get back to the banquet hall," Lucifer promises you, placing his hand on your lower back, "But I will make sure to reward you for your efforts when you regain your strength."

"Hey, stop flirtin' with 'em, Lucifer," Mammon grumbles, yanking you away from the firstborn. "They've had enough of that today."

Mephisto (Bonus) ~

Although the President of the RAD Newspaper Club heard that today, Lord Diavolo had thrown together a private celebration in your honor and canceled his many appointments, he still decided to stop by the castle.

There is a large, elegantly wrapped present in his hands as he walks eagerly toward the banquet hall. Imagining the look of surprise on your face when you see that he has brought you some of your favorite gifts. 

Presenting you with such a gift would surely make the Noble Demon look better in the eyes of his Prince. 

It certainly isn't because he has feelings for you or anything like that. 

It's just politics… or so he tells himself. 

Checking his reflection in the hallway mirror just outside of the banquet hall. He readjusts his tie and smoothes out his hair, making it look just so.

With no attendants on duty, the doors open for him, magically revealing, much to his disappointment, an empty room. 

'Where is everyone?' he murmurs, scanning the room. The tables are filled with food, and there is a large, unopened pile of gifts by the fireplace, but none of the attendees are around to enjoy them. 

The dark hum of magic fills the room causing the demon to turn to the end table, where a small plate of heart-shaped cookies sits innocently seeingly appeared out of thin air. 

"Strange," he says to himself observing the platter. The warm smell tantalizes his nose, and he is reminded of the sweet vanilla fragrance you wore to the ball the other night. "I wonder…"

He looks around sheepishly, hoping no one observes his little lapse in self-control. He had been taught by his governess from a young age that it is rude to take food from a gathering he wasn't invited to. 

But he can't help it. 

Raising the cookie to his lips, he takes a bite.

Tagging; @pixelcafe-network

[allthingsfangirl101]

Hey, Bartender Part 2 – Jake Seresin

Part 1

After our second talk next to the dumpster, Jake texted me constantly. We haven't had a chance actually to go on a date yet.

"Okay, are you or are you not going to tell me what happened when I saw you talking to Seresin last Saturday," Penny asked as I was wiping down the bar.

"We talked," I sighed.

"About. . ."

I checked the bar to make sure Jake and his friends weren't here. When the coast was clear, I leaned against the bar and told Penny about last night. As I recounted our conversation, Penny was practically jumping up and down.

"That is so sweet of him!"

"Yep," I sighed.

"What's wrong?" She asked, going into her Protective Momma Mode.

"Nothing," I stuttered. "It's just. . . I used to imagine Jake coming to me and confessing his feelings for me. I imagined him completely abandoning his friends and spending a lot of time with me."

"Sounds like it's about to happen," she said optimistically.

"What I meant was that I've built all of this up. What if I'm disappointed?"

"What if you're not?" She asked. "What if it's even better than what you imagined? You were in high school then. Now you're bartending to get yourself through medical school. You're different. And so is he."

My breath got caught in my throat when my phone started ringing. Without seeing my phone, Penny giggled and pushed me toward the back office.

"Hello?" I answered as I closed the door behind me.

"Hey, you," Jake answered. "Are you free tonight? I need to take you on our first date."

"I am free," I answered, slightly stuttering.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah," I lied. "Just tired. I've been on my feet all day."

"Wasn't that retirement party today?"

"Yes, it was," I smiled when he remembered what I told him a few days ago. "They left about an hour ago. Penny and I are trying to clean up before the after-dinner rush."

"Maybe I'll come by later tonight and help you out," he said, his smirk clear in his voice.

"You mean distract me?" I challenged.

"It's not my fault that my presence distracts you," he chuckled. I heard him clear his throat before he continued, "I'm sorry it's taking us so long to go on our date. They keep adding training sessions the closer we get to our mission date."

"It's okay," I said gently. "I understand. We'll go on our date soon."

"I'm really sorry, Y/N," he said, his voice dropping.

"It's fine, Jake. I mean it," I tried to reassure him.

"We will go on our first date, Y/N," he said firmly. "I promise."

* * * * *

A couple of days later, Jake came jogging into the bar.

"Hey," I smiled. "You want a drink?"

"Nope," he smirked. "What I want is the beautiful bartender behind the bar."

"Wait, what?"

"Penny didn't tell you?" He smirked.

"Tell me what?" I asked slowly.

Just then Penny walked up behind me. She leaned in and playfully whispered, "You have the night off so you can finally go on your date."

I turned toward her but she smirked as she walked a drink to a customer. When I turned back to Jake, he was smiling.

"You ready to go?"

"I guess so," I said, my face burning. He grabbed my hand and pulled me around the bar. He walked me out of the bar and toward his car with his hand still holding mine. My nerves were jumping all over the place as we got into his car.

As he pulled out of the parking lot, he reached over and grabbed my hand. I sent him a smile before turning back around. The entire drive to the restaurant, my mind was racing with 'what ifs' and 'how could he like me'.

Eventually, we pulled up to the restaurant. He kissed my cheek before getting out of the car. He jogged to my side and opened the door. I smiled when he grabbed my hand and helped me out. He kept his hand in mine as he led us into the restaurant.

"Please stop overthinking," he whispered. "Just relax and have fun."

It took a while but eventually, I relaxed and started to enjoy dinner. We started talking about what we've been up to since high school. He talked about instantly learning to fly and dedicating his life to the Navy. I couldn't help but feel a little nervous as he told me about his upcoming mission.

"Sounds like you found your calling," I smiled.

"I did," he nodded. He looked at me before asking, "What about you? What made you want to become a bartender?"

"I don't plan on being a bartender my whole life," I stuttered. "I'm just working here to get me through med school."

"Med school?" Jake asked, slightly scooting closer to the edge of my seat. "I didn't know you wanted to go to med school. When did you figure that out?"

"I've kind of always known," I shrugged. "I want to help people and use my knowledge to help heal people."

"That's amazing, Y/N." He smiled, making my stomach flip. "Can I ask something though?" He waited for me to nod before continuing, "What made you choose bartending? You could've done a number of things. Why bartend?"

I looked into his eyes and realized that he didn't remember. He didn't remember how many times I had to pick up my dad from a work party or help my mom carry him home from the neighborhood barbeque. I looked down at my hands, not really wanting to tell him.

"What is it, Y/N?" He asked gently. The second he said my name, my resistance fell away.

"I decided to go to bartending school because it was the only kind of thing that my father would finance."

"Are you serious?" He asked carefully. I continued to play with my hands, not looking at him.

"He thought that if I worked at a bar, he'd drink for free," I said, the tears burning my eyes.

"You work at a bar that only Navy officials frequent," he said, sounding like he was connecting the dots. "Nowhere close to our hometown."

I bit my lip when he reached across the table and grabbed my hands, pulling them away from each other.

"Y/N," he said my name barely a whisper, "did you move out here and take this job to distance yourself from your dad?"

"Is it bad if I say yes?" I whispered, looking up at him through my eyelashes.

"Absolutely not," he said firmly but still gently. He smiled as he added, "If you hadn't moved here, we never would've run into each other and I never would've had a second chance to ask you out."

I smiled, my face on fire as he looked at me. The rest of the night, we talked about as much as we could come up with. We left the restaurant and Jake drove us back to the bar. He walked me to my car and stopped me from getting in.

Jake pulled me into his chest and wrapped his arms around my waist. I let out a small giggle as I wrapped my arms around his neck. He looked into my eyes before leaning in and gently pressing his lips to mine. As our lips started slowly moving in sync, my mind started to overthink.

"Jake," I whispered, breaking the kiss.

"What's wrong, gorgeous?"

"I don't really know how to ask this," I started hesitantly.

"Just ask," he shrugged as he reached up and moved some hair out of my face. "I promise I won't get mad."

The understanding look in his eyes and the soft smile on his face gave me enough courage to tell him what I was overthinking.

"Do you mind if we keep this low-key?"

"What do you mean?" He asked.

"I just. . . This is new," I stuttered. "And it kind of feels like there's a lot of pressure on us right now. If we kept this low-key and, maybe to ourselves, we could figure out what this is."

"To ourselves?" Jake asked, taking a small step back. "Wait, you don't want to tell anyone about us?"

"I'm just a little worried," I tried to explain.

"About what?"

"I work at the bar where you and your friends. . ."

"My friends," he said, slightly cutting me off. "Are you saying you don't want my friends to know about us?"

"It's just. . . You guys come in almost every night. What if your friends know about us and they don't leave us alone? What if they continually tease us? What if they decide that I'm not good enough and start to try and get you to break up with me."

"They would never," Jake brushed off. "Yes, they may tease us a little, but I guarantee that they'll tease me more than they'll tease you."

"But what if. . ."

"People aren't going to make fun of you, Y/N," he laughed. "This isn't high school."

I instantly stepped out of his arms. I wrapped my arms around myself and bit my bottom lip to stop the tears.

"I didn't mean. . ." Jake stuttered.

"No," I cut him off. "You're right. This isn't high school. Which means I'm not going to let a jock push me around."

I turned toward my car but Jake quickly tried to stop me. "Y/N, wait," he said, grabbing my wrist and turning me toward him. "I'm sorry."

"You know what?" I scoffed, pulling my hand out of his. "I was wrong. All the years of wishing that Jake Seresin, the basketball star, would stumble into the library and whisk me off my feet? What a load of bullshit. Turns out, those teenage romance movies were wrong. The basketball star falling for the bookworm only happens in the movies."

"Y/N. . ."

"Bye, Jake."

* * * * *

After the night that started so well and ended up going up in flames, I turned off my phone and took a couple of days off from work. When my "vacation" was over, I walked back into work with my phone still turned off.

"Hey, sweetie," Penny smiled softly. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," I shrugged.

"Really?" She gently nudged. I sighed when I saw the knowing look on her face.

"Okay," I gave in. "I feel like crap. And the thought of seeing him after that disastrous date. . . I know I can't avoid him forever but still."

"Are you sure you're ready to come back?"

"I don't have a choice," I sighed, pulling my hair into a high pony. "I need money for school. I guess I could always switch. . ."

My voice got caught in my throat when I saw Jake and his friends walk into the bar. It felt like everything around us froze when Jake looked up and instantly made eye contact with me. I'm not sure how long we stared at each other. Eventually, Jake's friends pulled him away.

I looked down, struggling to stop the tears as all the pain came rushing back. I busied myself with starting to serve customers. Throughout the night, I could feel Jake's eyes on me but I forced myself not to return the stare.

"Hey there, gorgeous."

The drunken voice made me cringe. I put on my fake smile and turned toward the customer.

"What can I get for you?"

"What do I have to order to get you in my car?" He asked with a drunken smirk on his face.

"There is not a drink strong enough in the world," I mumbled. I cleared my throat before asking, "What would you like to drink?"

"I would like a tall drink of you," he said, leaning on the bar.

"Seriously," I sighed, losing my patience, "what do you want?"

"Isn't it clear, gorgeous?" He smirked. I swore under my breath when he sat down. "I want you."

I scoffed as I turned on my heel and started serving customers on the other side of the bar. The entire time I made drinks, his drunk eyes followed me.

"Can I ask you a question?" The guy said a little overly loud. I sighed before turning around. I kept my distance as I answered.

"It depends," I shrugged. "If it's 'will you go home with me', then no. If it's 'can you call me a cab', then yes."

"Witty," he chuckled. "I was going to ask what a guy has to do to get you to turn that scowl into a flirtty smile. What can I do?"

"Nothing," I said, flatly.

"Come on," he laughed. "What kind of guys are you into?"

My eyes instantly drifted toward the group of pilots over by the pool tables. My heart jumped into my throat when I saw that Jake was already watching me.

Well, not me but the drunk guy.

"Unless you're not into guys," the drunk man giggled like a schoolgirl.

"I'm not," I said, looking away from Jake. I smirked as I added, "I'm into men."

The guy stayed in that spot for another twenty minutes. He kept trying to get my attention, but I kept brushing it off. I started to keep my distance when I noticed him getting more and more annoyed. I also noticed that the more annoyed the drunk guy got, the more I felt Jake's eyes on me.

"You know," the guy started again, "I think you and I would get along quite well."

"I highly doubt that," I said, under my breath. "Look, I think it's time you leave."

"Come on," he brushed off. "We were just getting to know each other."

"I have made no effort toward getting to know you," I said, throwing down my towel. "Instead, I have made a great effort in getting you to leave."

"You don't really want that," he tried to answer that for me.

"I really do," I exaggerated. "Now, please leave."

"I think I'll have another beer when you get a chance, gorgeous."

"No," I said, crossing my arms over my chest. "I'm cutting you off. Get out."

"You can't cut off a paying customer," he scoffed.

"Actually, I can," I said. "As the bartender, I have the right to stop serving anyone I see fit. Or should I say unfit to hold another drink?"

I started to walk away, but he quickly grabbed my wrist. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jake drop his pool cue and run over.

"It would be in your best interest to let the lady go," Jake said, his voice seeming to get slower and deeper with each work. He was standing directly behind the guy, but his eyes kept glancing at me.

"This has nothing to do with you," the guy spat at him. Jake's eyes drifted to the guy's hand, which was still holding my wrist. Seeing it made him angry. He roughly grabbed the guy's arm and tore him off of me. I gasped when Jake pinned the guy's arm behind him and shoved his face into the bar. He looked up at me, his eyes instantly softening.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," I said, my voice a little shakier than I had wished.

"Everything alright, Hangman?"

I instantly wrapped my arms around myself when Jake's friends walked over. A few of them looked between Jake, the guy, and me. It was the only female pilot that turned fully toward me.

"Are you okay, Ms.?" she asked. She glanced down, her eyes landing on my wrist. I looked down and could already see bruises forming. I quickly covered the bruise with my other hand and subconsciously started to rub it. She looked back up at me before turning towards her friends.

"Coyote, Payback, I think this gentleman needs help out to his car."

They followed her eyes, their own eyes darkening when they saw me rubbing my wrist.

Jake let the guy go and tossed him toward two of his friends, (I'm guessing Coyote and Payback). I didn't stop rubbing my wrist as I watched the two pilots, followed by the rest of their crew, escort the drunk guy out the door. After they literally threw him out, they waited for him to leave.

I turned away from the door, my heart jumping into my throat when I saw Jake was still standing on the other side of the bar.

"Are you sure you're alright?"

"I'm fine," I whispered.

"Can I see your wrist?" He asked gently.

"I said I was fine," I brushed off. I turned around and started shakily cleaning the bar.

I looked up and saw Jake's friends walk back into the bar but I didn't turn around.

"He's gone," Coyote reassured Jake.

"We made sure," Payback chuckled. They stopped laughing when they looked up at me, my back still to them.

"Is she okay?" Coyote asked, lowering his voice.

"She says she's fine," Jake sighed.

"Please tell me you don't actually believe that," Phoenix said with a small smirk on her face.

"No," Jake whispered. "I don't."

"You think we should call, Mav?" Asked the one I think is Rooster.

"Why him?" The quieter guy asked.

"Isn't he out with Penny tonight?" Rooster asked. "She might want to know what happened."

"There's no need for that," I said, quickly turning around.

"You were attacked, Y/N," Jake sighed.

"He just grabbed me," I tried to brush off. "It happens all the time."

"Wait, what?" Jake asked, stepping closer to the bar. I studied him, the panic in his eyes making the butterflies return.

"I'm a female bartender," I stuttered, glancing behind Jake at his friends. "Guys get drunk and think they can flirt their way into free drinks. Or they want to brag about sleeping with the female bartender."

The look in Jake's eyes changed. All I could see was anger. With a small side of jealousy.

"You work at a Navy bar," the one named Fanboy said slowly.

"I'm sorry to say this, but it doesn't make this place safe," I sighed. A customer called for me so I walked away from the group. I could see them still talking but couldn't hear their conversations.

A little while later, I made my rounds around the bar. I was cleaning some of the used glasses when I noticed the pilots were gone. My eyes glanced around the room, looking for a specific pilot. The butterflies danced when I found him sitting at a table by the door.

I grabbed the beer I knew Jake liked and took it to him. I put it in front of him and subconsciously started rubbing my wrists.

"What's this for?" Jake smiled.

"It's a thank you," I said. "For intervening with that guy."

Jake stood up, completely ignoring the beer. He gently grabbed my hands, pulling me in closer.

"I'm really sorry about the other day," he said under his breath. "I didn't mean what I said. I shouldn't have said it. I was just confused. And I hated thinking that you didn't trust my. . ."

"I was wrong," I cut him off. "I was wrong about your friends, Jake. The way they all stood up for me despite the fact that they had no idea who I really was. . . To you."

"They actually knew," Jake chuckled.

"What do you mean?"

"After the first time I walked up to the bar and ordered a drink from you, I went back to my friends and they instantly knew something was up," he chuckled. "They kept badgering me about why I suddenly turned into an insecure 16-year-old. I then told them all about the girl I let get away."

"The girl you. . ."

He pulled me in closer as he continued, "I swore to them that I would not make the same mistake I did in high school and let my cowardice keep me from being with the girl I'm meant to be with."

"Jake," I stuttered. He pulled me in and pressed a sweet yet firm kiss to my lips. I moaned as I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him back. He broke the kiss, the two of us already out of breath.

"I promise," Jake whispered, "I will not make the same mistake I did in high school. No more being a coward. I mean it, Y/N. You and me."

"Just a pilot with a crush on a bartender?" I teased. He laughed as he pulled me in closer. The look in his eyes slightly changed.

"The pilot who's madly in love with the bartender."

"You're not really. . ." I stuttered. He leaned in his face inches from mine. I felt his breath on my face as he whispered.

"I really am, Y/N."

[selkienight60]

SELKIE

Give me your top 10 fic recs of 2024. I must know :)

I will do my very best 😤 (All the recs I've included were published or began publishing on Ao3 in 2024).

🌸 a cuckoo in the nest by antebunny ( @antebunny )

🌸 Detachment by smilebackwards ( @smilebackwards )

🌸 Don't Go Far by Myrime ( @blancheludis )

🌸 Ground-Bird's Nest by bobbinrobbins ( @bobbinrobins )

🌸 Growing Pains by SalParadiseLost ( @salparadiselost )

🌸 Just How Long I'll Love You by SilverSkiesAtMidnight ( @sunflowersandink )

🌸 Lucky Number Three by Sohotthateveryonedied ( @sohotthateveryonedied )

🌸 Nobody by goldenraeofsun ( @goldenraeofsun )

🌸 Northern Attitude (I Was Raised on Little Light) by theskeptileptic ( @theskeptileptic )

🌸 What's in a Name? by Bog_Witch841 ( @ tag unknown )

&

Bonus 2025 Rec:

🌸 How the Apple Falls by Batbirdies ( @batbirdies )

I hope you enjoy these recs as much as I have, Stamp! Thank you for the ask, and I'm sorry it took me so long to answer it!!

I suspect some of these tags will not link back to the author's tumblr because tumblr has some arbitrary amount of tags you can include on one post, apologies to anyone looking to click through to these amazing authors.

[grandpeachpersona]

It's A Man's World

Chapter 10 ☆Moment 4 Life☆

Sorry this took so long I just kept hitting a roadblock while writing it but I finally finished it. I hope you all enjoy as always feedback is appreciated ;) Word count: 2.17k Warnings: Lots of sports talk, Mentions of alcohol consumption, and tension😏

24 Hours before The World Series 

The stage was set: Atlanta Braves vs. Houston Astros. And believe me, I was ready.

I let out a deep breath as I racked the bar on the squat rack. Working out always seemed to calm my nerves before a big game, especially this one.

I sat down on the beach and took a sip from my water bottle. Part of my brain hadn’t fully processed the fact that tomorrow was the biggest game of my career, while the other part was trying to focus and get into the zone.

“Hercules! Hercules! Hercules!” my mom called out, quoting The Nutty Professor while clapping her hands.

Looking over my shoulder, I shook my head and laughed. “Morning, Ma.”

“Good morning, sweetheart! Breakfast is ready,” she said, leaning against the doorway.

“You didn't have to; I was going to grab something before—” I started to say, but she cut me off.

“You know how I am,” she waved her hand. “Come on upstairs and eat before the pancakes get cold.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

After a fantastic breakfast made by Mom—something I'm sure my trainer will have a few words about later—I walked onto the field for practice. The familiar scents of fresh paint and damp dirt filled the air.

Practice felt different today and in a good way. Everyone was pushing themselves just a little harder, and smiles were on everyone's faces; rightfully so, considering tomorrow is the World Series—who wouldn't be excited?

Walking into the media room for what could possibly be my final time, I took a seat and quickly greeted everyone in the room.

“Sierra, how are the nerves less than 24 hours away from the World Series?” the first reporter asked.

I took a breath before answering. “Pretty good! I won’t lie and say I’m not nervous, because that would be a lie. But the right kind of nerves are good.”

“The last time you all played against the Astros, you lost a three-game series. Are you confident that you can beat them?” another reporter inquired.

Confident? Man, please.

“We don’t have any other choice but to beat them. I am confident that we’ve learned from our mistakes, and we will win,” I replied with conviction. 

Once again, Mom commandeered my kitchen for dinner, but honestly, I can't complain. There's something comforting about her culinary prowess that makes the house feel warm and inviting.

Later that evening, as I settled down to unwind, I scrolled through Instagram when a notification caught my eye. I had been tagged in a video posted by the Bengals, and my curiosity piqued. Tapping on the notification, Joe's familiar face filled my screen, a snippet from his press conference earlier that day.

“The World Series starts tomorrow. Do you plan on watching?” a reporter asked, his voice steady with anticipation.

“Yeah, I do. Got to watch my girl get the win,” Joe replied, a wide grin lighting up his face.

Wait a minute—did he just say “my girl”? 

It struck me like a bolt of lightning. We hadn't even been on a date yet, let alone discussed any labels or commitments, yet here he was, claiming me in front of the world.

Possessive? Yes. But I have to admit, I liked it.

World Series Game 1

Today is the day: Game 1 of the World Series.

Waking up felt different today. Getting dressed felt different. Even having my hair and makeup done felt different. Everything feels different, but not in a bad way—more like, this is my moment.

As I walk into the ballpark, I find myself not really paying attention to the cameras. My focus is on the game ahead of me, and I’m also trying not to trip in these heels. I see why I don’t wear them often—they hurt!

But that pain quickly faded away when the first pitch of the game was thrown.

Two teams will play between 4 to 7 games, all for one prize: the Commissioner’s Trophy. This is the World Series.

Game 1 is in the books. Unfortunately, we didn't secure a win, but that's okay; you win some, you lose some. The score was 4-8.

In Game 2, we bounced back with a blowout victory of 7-0.

Game 3 saw us lose home-field advantage, but we still managed to win in Houston, finishing with a score of 4-1.

In Game 4, Houston gained some momentum and narrowly won by one run, with a final score of 6-5.

Game 5 went into extra innings, but we pulled through and got the job done, ending with a score of 10-9.

In Game 6, the Astros clinched a victory with a grand slam, keeping their World Series hopes alive. The final score was 8-7.

Now, we find ourselves back in Atlanta for the last game of the series. As of right now, my nerves are on edge because, in this game, every hit counts, every out matters, and most importantly, every score matters.

It all comes down to this pivotal moment. The stadium is electric as I stand at the bottom of the 9th inning, two outs secured, with a runner perched on second base. With the score hanging in the balance at 8-7 against us, the weight of the situation bears down heavily on my shoulders.

I know exactly what I need to do: connect solidly with the ball and drive it deep into the outfield, giving the runner a chance to dash home. Easy, right? Just a casual swing in front of 31,000 fervent fans who are all hoping for a miracle.

Stepping into the batter's box, I adjust my helmet and take a deep breath, trying to drown out the cacophony of cheering and chanting that envelops Truist Park. The familiar strains of "It's A Man's World" echo in my ears, heightening my focus as I mentally prepare for what lies ahead.

I set my stance, feeling the cool air against my skin, and lock eyes with the pitcher on the mound. He’s a seasoned player, his demeanor calm, yet I can sense the tension rippling through him as he glances briefly at the runner on second before facing me again. With a swift motion, he winds up and launches his pitch toward me.

I tighten my grip on the bat and, as the ball approaches, I make the decision to check my swing. I hold back just in time, watching the ball sail past me — it’s a ball, one count, no strikes. I exhale slowly, mentally recalibrating for the next pitch.

Gathering my concentration again, I position myself for what could be my final chance. The pitcher goes through his routine again, taking a moment to check the runner’s position before propelling the ball towards me once more.

This time, I hold my breath as I watch the projectile race toward the plate. I swing my bat with everything I’ve got, the wood making solid contact with the ball. The sound is explosive, resonating like a whip crack through the air, sending a thrill through my veins.

As I adjust my stance, I see the ball soaring into the sky, arcing beautifully as it heads toward the outfield. It continues its ascent, disappearing over the stadium's walls and splashing into the waterfall display that adds to the ambiance of this incredible venue.

In that exhilarating moment, it hits me: we just won the World Series.

Holy shit… WE JUST WON THE WORLD SERIES!

In an adrenaline-fueled rush, I slam my bat to the ground, the echo of victory reverberating in my ears as I begin my journey around the bases. The stadium erupts in a deafening roar — fireworks burst overhead, illuminating the night sky, while the crowd erupts with cheers and shouts, a collective celebration of triumph.

Tossing my helmet aside, I approach home plate, my heart racing as my teammates swarm me the instant I touch it. They envelop me in a chaotic celebration, screaming and jumping in unison, pure joy radiating from every face.

This is the pinnacle of my dreams, a moment I’ve envisioned since I was just a nine-year-old girl playing wiffle ball in my backyard with my uncle. From being the only girl on the high school baseball team to earning a full-ride scholarship at LSU, and culminating in winning the state championship, this moment eclipses them all: winning the World Series.

God. 

is. 

good. 

Every ounce of hard work, every sacrifice, every moment of doubt pales in comparison to the realization of this dream. I stand amidst the celebration, grateful, overwhelmed, and utterly elated. This is why I play.

After a whirlwind of interviews followed by a bear bath celebration, a refreshing shower, and an energetic afterparty, I finally stepped back into the comforting embrace of my home. 

“Thanks again, Kyle,” I called out, watching as he made his way back toward the elevator, his figure illuminated by the soft hallway lights. 

“No problem, sleep well,” he replied, flashing a warm smile before disappearing behind the elevator doors. The best driver in the world, hands down.

With a sigh of relief, I unlocked my front door and crossed the threshold, the familiar scent of home washing over me. I locked the door behind me and, with a gentle thud, dropped my duffle bag right at the entrance, mentally promising myself I’d unpack it tomorrow—or, more likely, later today. All I craved was the soft cocoon of my bed, a well-deserved sanctuary after such a long day.

As I rounded the corner toward my room, I noticed a sliver of light cutting through the darkness—the kitchen light glowed unexpectedly. I furrowed my brow, certain I hadn’t left it on. Perhaps my mom had flicked it on before heading out to the airport. 

Curiosity piqued, I padded softly toward the kitchen, only to be met with an utterly unexpected sight: a strikingly handsome quarterback, standing 6’3” with tousled hair and piercing blue eyes, casually leaning against my counter like he owned the place.

“Surprise,” he said, an amused smirk playing on his lips.

A smile broke across my face as I shook my head in disbelief. “Surprise indeed,” I replied, the warmth of his presence igniting a flutter of happiness in my chest.

“C'mere,” Joe beckoned, his arms outstretched, inviting me into a hug that felt both familiar and incredibly grounding. 

I stepped into his embrace, surrendering to the moment as he nestled a tender kiss on the top of my head. “Proud of you,” he murmured, his breath warm against my hair.

Emotions swelled within me, and I simply nodded, overwhelmed by his kindness. 

Joe pulled back slightly, his gaze searching mine, an edge of concern etching his features. “You okay?”

Looking up at him, I nodded, a smile slipping out as I exhaled. “Yeah,” I breathed, “Just really, really happy—and maybe a little drunk,” I chuckled, the effects of the evening buzzing in my system. “When did you get here?”

“About an hour ago,” Joe replied, his tone laced with both excitement and regret. “Today starts my bye week, and I figured, why not surprise you? Just wish I could have been here to see you win,” he added a bittersweet note in his voice.

“It’s okay, you’re here now, and that’s all that matters to me,” I reassured him, my eyes drifting from the depth of his gaze to the inviting curve of his lips, only to return to his eyes—intensely captivating.

Ugh, why did he have to look so kissable? Damn you, vodka!

A comfortable silence enveloped us, a fragile moment stretched between us, thick with unspoken words and electric tension. 

Clearing his throat, Joe broke the stillness, “Come on, you look like you might pass out,” he teased gently, nodding toward my bedroom. It was true; the exhaustion was pulling at me, whispering sweet nothings of sleep. So, without resisting, I unwound myself from his embrace and began the trek to my room, Joe following closely behind.

I couldn’t tell if it was the lingering alcohol buzzing through my veins or the undeniable desires I felt, but the need to be close to him was intoxicating. In his arms, everything felt perfectly right.

Groaning as I woke up to the bright Atlanta sun shining in my eyes, I pulled the blanket over my head to block out some of the light. I really need to invest in blackout curtains.

Eventually, I decided it was time to get up and start my day.

But as I opened the door, I heard a noise coming from the living room. Is that the TV?

Curiosity got the better of me, and I walked into the living room.

“Morning, sweetheart,” 

@enretrogue @hoodharlow

[rieamena]

two plus two equals six

nerd!takuma ino & popular-ish!fem!reader

contains... both of you being absolute losers and incredibly embarrassing. that's about it.

word count: 9.4k (its been a while since i've written something this long...)

riea's comments: it's been a terrible couple of days but this idea really stayed in my head and i really had to act on it. idk if its one of my best works but i still like it! i will prove my spot as the mayor of takuma city!!!

technically, you weren't supposed to bother him. something about threatening a restraining order but a threat is really just empty words, amiright?

"hey…," you called out towards the man just two feet in front of you, as a result of you sneakily sliding into the seat across from him at the cafe table he sat at. your lips hung on that final syllable, really stretching out that "eyyy". "you're in my gen chem right?" the harmonic clink of your bangles rang through the space you occupied as you focused on making your voice sound as sweet and sultry as possible

the man in question, y'know, the ones your friends call p.f.b.b.. the p.f.b.b. thing was all credits to you of course. every time you talked about that day's writing or chemistry lecture, he was always mentioned as just that: pretty face black beanie, even though "pretty face black beanie" never looked your way once. it was several continuous moments of pure delusion, your pure delusion

p.f.b.b. glanced up at you and gave a small head nod before turning back to his laptop. it had a clear case with a bunch of stickers from bands you didn't recognize amongst other things you assumed he liked. "of course you are! the chemistry between us is just so genuine maybe its cause you're such a gentleman!"

a giggle escaped you as you continued talking. "see what i did there? the gen from genuine and the gen from gentleman both correspond to the gen from gen chem. which i know means general by the way, i'm not—"

"are you okay?"

p.f.b.b.'s eyes were now trained on your form, looking with an expression you couldn't discern as anything but pure concern. but of course, for you, that meant something completely different. under his gaze, you felt your cheeks heat up and you began to fidget. "p.f.b.b., stop looking at me like that! you're making me shy…"

it was silent for a few seconds before he spoke. "why do you keep calling me that?"

"i'm sorry?" you tilted your head a bit

"this is maybe the third or fourth time you've called me p.f.b.b.," he takes a sip from his coffee cup before continuing to type away on his laptop

i've spoken to you before??? is what you thought

and its also what you said.

"well yes," he started, gaze never leaving the blue light of his device, "like that time i answered professor's question and you said 'wow p.f.b.b. you're so smart!'. or that other time when i picked up your pencil case for you as i was leaving the lecture hall. or when—"

"okay i get it! i seriously don't remember that happening at all though… maybe i should start taking memory pills…" you muttered

"i know you're popular and stuff but we're in university now. the bullying thing is outdated and super uncool."

you had to take a couple of moments to fully grasp what he was saying. he thought you were bullying him. he thought you were a bully. and worst of all, he thought you were uncool. your body shivered at that thought and a pit formed in your stomach

"wait—!" you exclaimed, even though he wasn't going anywhere, "first off, i'm not bullying you! the p.f.b.b. thing is an inside joke—"

"am i in on the joke?"

you froze in place. he got you there. "well no—"

"exactly. move to the second thing please." he bluntly stated as he took another swig of coffee

"okay um, i'm not uncool! i'm actually really cool. and i wouldn't consider myself to be popular either!" you scrambled to find your words and for each syllable that you said, you felt that pit in your stomach growing bigger

"everyone in the school knows you. you're popular." he said as he reached into his messenger bag, pulling out glasses and putting them on

you usually would be entranced, but you had way bigger fish to fry. "i—i can't be popular! what if someone asks me for the best date spots, or amazing places to eat, or secret secluded areas for a bit of privacy!? i'm not from here! i wouldn't know! and—and then i'll look like a failure! i'll look like a loser! p.f.b.b. i can't!—wait."

it was only when you stopped talking that he looked up from his laptop, "what…?"

you'd never noticed it before but his voice was really nice, almost to the point where even you would shut up just to hear him talk about any topic that came to his mind 

"are you from here?"

"uh, yeah? i was born and raised in this area. why?" p.f.b.b raised his eyebrow at your sudden question to which you sighed in response. "oh nothing…," you cupped your hands on your jaw and looked out a nearby window. "i just wish a local, y'know, someone who's lived here all their life and was born and raised here, knows all the ins and outs of the city…, yeah just wish someone like that would show me around. i'm still new here…"

"well, i hope you find that person."

your eyes snapped open to see him all packed up, headphones on, and that suspiciously never-ending coffee cup in hand. "bye for now."

sitting in shock was all you could do. and sit you did. a calm five or so minutes had passed before you noticed something shiny in your peripheral. a card, but not just any card, a pokémon card, but not just any pokémon card, an ultra rare pokémon card at the back of a phone, but not just any phone, p.f.b.b.'s phone

you struck gold. pretty face black beanie will certainly be looking for this soon enough, and then you'll be there to swoop in and save the day. and it'll go something like this…

"ugh, where is that thing!" p.f.b.b. mutters frustratingly

"what thing?" you say sweetly, batting your eyelashes

"my phone. i must've misplaced it."

"oh perhaps…" you walk over to where he's standing, his phone in hand, "is this your phone?" you look up at him cutely

"yes! this is my phone! you found it! how can i ever repay you?"

"oh… you don't have to. i was just looking out for you…"

"i know! let's get married!"

"well if you insist…"

"of course! i love you!"

cue flowers and glitter and sparkles 

you giggled from how creative and vivid the scene was but unfortunately that sound broke you from your delusion and brought you right back to the real world

"i have p.f.b.b.'s phone." you said flatly, opening the door to your shared apartment. shouts of "what?!" and "huh??!" filled the space as you set down your things and laid on the couch. your best friends quickly flooded the living room, throwing questions at you

"ladies, ladies, please. one at a time."

nobara hit your thigh, "stop acting so high and mighty! how did you get his phone?"

mimiko massaged the area as she listened to you, "so long story short, we were talking at a cafe and then he left but forgot his phone so i just picked it up!"

"so… you stole his phone." nanako stated

"no. he left it and i picked it up."

"wait— don't you know his schedule?" nobara mentioned, resting her head on the plush couch, "shouldn't you have been able to give it back to him?" 

"well no… i'm not a stalker! i just have general knowledge of when and where his classes will be during the week."

"so why didn't you give it back to him, instead of stealing it?" mimiko teased, now kneading at your calves

"not you too, mimi!" you whined, "like i said, i didn't steal his phone! he left it on the cafe table and i picked it up!"

their voices mixed together to try and get the same two words through that thick skull of yours

"that's theft!"

the arguing of you and your roommates concerning your concerning ethics filled your ears, preventing you from hearing anything else. especially that banging on the front door

nanako shushed you all, bringing her voice to a barely audible whisper, "do you guys… hear that?"

thump. thump. thump.

"its probably one of your packages," nobara mentioned, earning an enlightened nod, "you seriously have a shopping addiction."

the shopaholic stood up and walked over to the door, still whispering, "you're one to talk!" you, nobara, and mimiko watched on as nanako's hand slipped over the door handle and turned it open. you swore that the door wasn't even open for a full five seconds before it was slammed shut. "it's a man."

the four of you exchanged confused looks. "yeah… maybe it's the delivery man…? check for a package," you said reassuringly. the door opens and it closes. nanako's voice right after. "no package."

"well… uh… what does he look like? maybe he's returning something one of us misplaced?" mimiko stammered, feeling the tension in the air rise at the unexpected stranger. the door opens again and it closes again. "brown hair. brown eyes. he's kinda emo looking…"

"spencer's emo or hot topic emo?"

"spencer's."

"wait!" you realized, practically falling over yourself as you ran to the door and pulled it open, "its–!"

"uh, hi..." you said, voice suddenly small compared to your usual playful demeanor. he was standing right outside your apartment door, looking more tired than annoyed, though the crease in his brow said he was definitely annoyed

"hey," he replied, with little emotion. his eyes briefly flicked to your roommates huddled behind you, who had all gone suspiciously silent. "you have my phone."

you unfortunately understood his intentions of finding where you live. it wasn't to ask you on a date, or to take you up on that offer you made earlier, it was to get his phone. you could've lied and said you didn't have it but…

"i do!" you held it up triumphantly like some kind of trophy, though the look on his face immediately made you regret it. "...but i swear, i wasn't trying to steal it or anything!"

his eyebrow raised slightly, and for a second, you thought he might actually laugh. instead, he sighed and reached out his hand. "can i have it back?"

"of course," you said quickly, but just as you extended it toward him, you froze. "wait! how do i know this is really your phone?"

"i'm sorry?" he blinked, looking somewhere between incredulous and exhausted. "you know it's my phone. you picked it up."

"yeah, but..." you stepped back slightly, holding it just out of reach. "what if it's not your phone, and you're just some random guy who also happens to wear a black beanie and drink coffee in moody cafes?"

your roommates groaned audibly from behind you, and you heard nobara mutter something like she's impossible under her breath

p.f.b.b., stared at you for a long moment before pinching the bridge of his nose. "okay. fine." he held out his hand again, palm up. "ask me something only i'd know if it's my phone."

you paused, scrambling for a question. "uh... what's on the back of your phone case?"

"a meowscarada pokémon card. holo, rare," he said without missing a beat. "which you clearly already saw, since you're holding it."

damn. he had you there.

"okay, okay," you relented, placing the phone in his outstretched hand. "i believe you. say no more."

he chuckled softly—barely audible, but enough to make your heart do a little somersault. "thanks. i appreciate you picking it up. i was worried i'd have to replace the card."

before you could stop yourself, you blurted, "you must really like pokémon, huh?"

"it's nostalgic," he admitted, remembering his childhood. "my brother and i used to play together when we were kids."

your lips curved into a grin. "that's cute. guess you're not as emo as you look."

his head tilted slightly at that, but you caught the faintest twitch of a smile at the corner of his lips. "guess not. anyway..." he glanced past you at your still-curious roommates. "thanks again. i should go."

"wait!" you called after him as he started to turn. he stopped, looking at you expectantly. "how do you know where i live? do you live around here or something?"

"i… uh… live just over there," his thumb pointed behind him and you followed that direction to…

the unit right across from yours.

703.

"what?!" you gasped, "how come you never said anything? plus, i never see you in the mornings? how is this possible?!"

"one, we don't know each other well enough yet to know where the other lives," p.f.b.b. scrolled through his missed messages while he continued, "and two, i make sure to leave early and come back late every day just so i can avoid you."

grumbling, you wanted to slam the door in his face again but remembered that you had to choose peace. "that's great! i hope you're happy!" aaaand you slammed the door anyway

yet. we don't know each other well enough yet.

"oh p.f.b.b~!" nanako swooned

"oh [name]~!" nobara giggled

"insert kissing sounds and the actors are running their hands over the other's body." 

"stop that!!"

music was blasting and your spirits were up. you were practically skipping to your next class. that was… until you caught sight of a familiar head of blonde behind the granite fountain 

"uncle ken!" you called out, rounding the fountain's corner

"hello, [name]. what brings you here?" the well-composed man paused his previous conversation, giving his research assistant a silent apology while he focused on you

you nodded to p.f.b.b. before answering kento, "nothing much! just walking to my next class,"

"uncle…?" p.f.b.b questioned under his breath

unfortunately for him, his mentor picked up on it. "my apologies, i should introduce you two," kento turned towards the other man who seemed to regret his decision of speaking his thoughts, "ino, this is [name]. her parents and i are close so, naturally, she calls me her uncle. and—"

kento spun back to you, using his hand to motion towards "ino". you noticed a bracelet adorning his right hand. kento doesn't like wearing anything that's not a watch and it looks handmade and those colors… yellow, blue, black and brown??? how odd… "[name], this is takuma ino. he's been my research assistant for two years."

it was kind of weird to realize that p.f.b.b.'s name wasn't… well— p.f.b.b. like, he has a whole name: takuma ino. it hung on your lips and your tongue savored the taste. "hi," you spoke, giving ino a small wave. "hey," he responded, parroting your motions

"was that what you were working on at the cafe yesterday? some data stuff?"

"uh…, yeah. yeah i was."

kento silently watched this happen and even he was uncomfortable. there was a slight tension in the air. it was missable but apparent enough if you looked for it. he cleared his throat softly, bringing your attention back to him. "how are your parents?" he asked.

"they're good," you replied, smiling, though your voice carried a slight hesitation. "they always ask about you, by the way. mom wanted me to tell you that you're still her favorite."

kento allowed a rare chuckle, shaking his head. "i'm flattered, but i imagine that makes your dad roll his eyes."

"it does." you laughed

"speaking of family," you continued, "my brother is getting discharged from the military soon! and we're planning to have a little get together or something. nothing too crazy, but it'll be our first one together since he left and i know how much he loves you so…" your voice trailed off, hoping that the silence was strong enough to carry your unspoken words

"i understand. of course i'll be there."

kento smiled when he saw you beaming, on the verge of jumping up and down from happiness, and from the corner of your eye, you swear that you saw the corner of a lip curl up from that "ino"

"great—oh shoot—!" you checked the time on your phone and realized that… if you didn't go now, you'd be late. and that professor does not play. you showed up three minutes late to one of his lectures and he basically publicly humiliated you. "i gotta go but text mom and dad about it, okay uncle? bye now! bye ino!"

as you speed walked away, you felt ino's eyes lingering on you. a soft chuckle escaped your lips. takuma ino—you liked the way it sounded

the campus library was unusually quiet for a wednesday night, the usual hum of late-night chatter replaced by the occasional sound of a book being flipped or the muffled footsteps of a librarian making their rounds. you had no plans to be productive tonight; in fact, you'd come here specifically to procrastinate. or, more accurately, to bother someone

your target was easy to spot, tucked away in the far corner of the library like a hermit hiding from civilization. p.f.b.b was hunched over his notebook, one earbud in, one out, the faint sound of rock music drifting in the air around him

you made a beeline for him, sliding into the seat across the table before he could even process what was happening. "fancy seeing you here," you whispered conspiratorially, even though this was his obvious habitat

he didn't even look up, just sighed. "you're aware this is a library, right?"

"and you're aware you're in my study spot, right?" you countered, setting your bag down with an exaggerated thud

finally, his eyes flicked up to meet yours, unimpressed as always. "you… study?" before you could fight back, he continued, "anyways… pretty sure i've been coming here since the semester started, so if anything, this is my study spot."

"well that's too bad for you because i've been coming here since the first day i set foot on this campus," you shot back with a grin, leaning forward on your elbows. "but i'm willing to negotiate. how about we share?"

p.f.b.b. stared at you before shaking his head and returning to his notes. "as long as you don't talk too much."

"me? never."

silence settled between you for a few moments, a fragile truce held together by his focus and your determination not to annoy him too much. but that didn't stop you from sneaking glances at his notes

"why are you studying organic chem?" you asked after a while, squinting at the complicated diagrams on his page. "i thought we were suffering through general chem together."

"because i'm actually trying to graduate," he replied flatly

"well, me too," you said with a dramatic sigh, leaning back in your chair

he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, finally setting his pen down. "if you're not here to study, what are you here for?"

you grinned, pulling a pack of gummy bears out of your bag and sliding them across the table toward him. "to make sure you don't pass out from starvation, obviously."

he looked at the gummy bears, then at you, his expression unreadable. after a beat, he shook his head, a small, reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "you're weird, you know that?"

"compliments will get you everywhere," you said, plucking a gummy bear from the pack and popping it into your mouth

for the rest of the night, you sat across from him, not saying much but somehow managing to get under his skin with every little comment or movement. oddly enough, seeing him work made you itch to do some studying of your own. and when he finally packed up to leave, muttering something about having an early class, he didn't tell you to leave him alone or call you annoying

instead, he paused just before he walked away, turning back to you with a bemused look

"thanks for the gummy bears."

"anytime— wait! aren't we going the same way…? wait for me!" you scrambled to pack up your pencils and books, stuffing them in your bag, not realizing that p.f.b.b—i mean— ino, was kinda, sorta, maybe, if you had asked him he'd say "no", but from what i saw, he was… waiting for you…

"then move faster, idiot."

you walked through the halls, passing numerous rooms, a small skip in your step. your body froze as you recalled a certain room's number, kento's research lab. walking back to where it was and peeping through the windowed door, you saw that it was… organized chaos. papers and binders were stacked, whiteboards covered in dense equations, and the faint scent of coffee could be smelled from outside the door. looking closer, you could see someone hunched over a desk, scribbling something on a notepad. ino.

you twisted the handle of the door, opening it with a push, "tough work?"

ino looked up from his desk, blinking at you in mild surprise. his hair was slightly disheveled and rid of that beanie, and there was a smudge of something that looked suspiciously like marker on his cheek

"i'm fine," he said, though the dark circles under his eyes told a different story. "really. i've got it handled."

you raised an eyebrow, looking him up and down. "you're drowning in… whatever this is. don't worry about it, i'll just provide extra assistance."

he groaned, leaning back in his chair. "seriously, you don't have to. it's not a lot of work."

the phrase held so much irony considering there were sheets upon sheets of paper, and towers of that. you guessed he realized his small lie once he glanced around the room

ino sighed but didn't argue further, instead gesturing to the mountain of work in front of him. "fine. if you're so eager to help, you can start with that pile over there."

you pulled up a chair beside him, scanning the papers and the spreadsheet open on his laptop. "okay, let's see what we're working with."

as you both settled into the task, the room grew quieter, save for the sound of typing or the rustle of papers

"you're surprisingly good at this," ino said after a while, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye

"surprisingly?"

he winced. "i didn't mean it like that. just… i didn't expect you to pick it up so quickly."

"thanks for the backhanded compliment," you said dryly, but there was a hint of a smile on your lips

he chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "sorry. i meant it as a real compliment. you're making this way easier."

"you're welcome," you said, turning back to the spreadsheet. "but seriously, how have you two been doing this without losing your minds?"

"coffee," he said immediately

you snorted. "yeah, i can tell. your bloodstream is probably ninety percent caffeine at this point."

he smirked, but the teasing in his expression softened into something more genuine. "it's been… a lot. nanami keeps me grounded, though. he's really good at this kind of thing."

"yeah, he is," you said, pausing for a moment before adding, "but so are you."

ino blinked, caught off guard. "me?"

"yes, you," you said, glancing at him. "you're smart, ino. you don't give yourself enough credit."

he looked at you for a moment, his usual demeanor towards you faltering. "thanks," he said softly

the moment lingered longer than either of you expected, the air between you feeling just a bit heavier

the hours passed in a steady rhythm of work and banter sprinkled in, and by the time the sun began to set, the two of you had cleared more than half of the tasks kento had left behind

"see?" you said as you leaned back in your chair. "teamwork makes the dream work."

ino laughed, shaking his head. "alright, fine. you win. maybe having you here wasn't the worst thing."

"don't get too used to it," you teased, grabbing your bag. "next time, i might just let you suffer alone."

he playfully shot you a look while stretching in his chair, "hey, how about i show you around."

"what? are—are you joking?"

 he got up and packed his bag with never before seen speed, "yeah. i am."

"you—!"

"follow me."

ino led the way out of the building, his energy contagious despite the long day you both had. the evening air was cool and refreshing, the city humming quietly as the golden glow of the setting sun bathed everything in a warm light

"i know this great spot," he said with a grin as he walked slightly ahead, hands casually stuffed in his jacket pockets. "you've been here for a while, but have you actually seen the good stuff?"

you raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite yourself. "define 'good stuff.'"

he smirked over his shoulder. "you'll see."

as you followed ino down the bustling streets, the city seemed to transform as it got darker. neon lights flickered to life, illuminating the shop windows and casting colorful reflections on the wet pavement from an earlier drizzle. the aroma of street food mingled with the faint scent of rain, creating a vivid tapestry of sights and smells

"so," you began, dodging a biker weaving through the crowd, "what's the first stop on this magical mystery tour of yours? please tell me it's food. i'm starving."

ino grinned, gesturing dramatically toward a food cart that had a line of eager customers. "you, my friend, are about to experience the best takoyaki this city has to offer."

"oh, come on," you teased, falling in step beside him. "isn't that what everyone says about their favorite food cart?"

"don't disrespect taro-san like that," ino shot back, placing a hand over his heart in mock offense. "this man has been perfecting his craft since before i could hold chopsticks."

moments later, you stood together, balancing plates of piping hot takoyaki drizzled with sauce and topped with dancing bonito flakes. ino took a bite, his expression almost reverent. "see? what did i tell you? food of the gods."

you took a bite, and your eyes widened. the crisp shell gave way with a soft crunch, revealing the molten, creamy filling inside. it was so warm it nearly melted on your tongue, a perfect blend of savory depth and a subtle sweetness that made your mouth water instantly. the octopus at the center was tender, just the right amount of chewy, and so fresh it almost seemed to bring a whisper of the ocean with it. the sauce on top was like a burst of fireworks—sweet and tangy, with a smoky undertone that paired flawlessly with the creamy mayo drizzled alongside it

you had to pause for a second after swallowing, just to appreciate it. the warmth lingered in your mouth, and you already knew one bite wouldn't be enough. within seconds the entire thing was gone, but you couldn't give ino the satisfaction of being right

"it was alright i guess." you shrugged, "i suppose you're not as full of it as i thought."

"right…," ino said with a suspicious grin, nudging you lightly with his elbow. "stick with me and i'll make you a connoisseur."

he didn't waste any time bringing you to the next point of interest, grabbing your hand with his and dragging you to a small, secluded alley lined with string lights and small artisan shops. it was beautiful, to say the least

"it's… quieter here."

"yeah," ino agreed, his voice softer now. "this is one of my favorite spots. it's like the city pauses for a second."

you glanced at him, noticing the way his eyes softened as he looked around. "you come here often?"

"used to, back when i needed to think. or when i was avoiding studying," he admitted with a sheepish grin

"you? avoid studying? how unlikely…" you sneakily caught a glance at your still interlocked hands, noticing a small, oddly colored, handmade bracelet around ino's wrist. but it seems you were staring at it for far too long

"oh! sorry!" he stuttered, pulling his hand from yours, and bringing it to his chest. you immediately felt the slight chill of the night but still flashed a bittersweet smile that conveyed something of a don't worry about it. out of the corner of your eye, you saw one of the shops practically twinkling. getting a closer look, your wallet itched once you saw the array of jewelry and hair accessories. it was sorted by color and then by type, gold earrings on the far left and silver necklaces on the far right. but you were inexplicably drawn to one item: a hair clip with four small, white seashells on it

"that one?"

ino's voice next to you made you jump slightly. giving him a small hit on his shoulder, you followed his finger to the item you were just admiring. "yeah, that one. it's really pretty, isn't it?" ino hummed in response, surprised to see you turn away from it and walk down the alley instead

"but…, maybe i'll get it another time."

after a minute or so of window shopping the rest of the stores, ino caught up to you. "next up is the park. you can't say you've really seen the city until you've walked through it at night."

once you got closer, ino pointed at the beautifully lit area in the distance. lanterns illuminated the paths, and the sound of a bubbling fountain echoed softly. children chased each other, their laughter carrying through the crisp air, while couples strolled hand in hand. ino brought you to a bench overlooking a pond, the moonlight reflecting off its surface like a scene from a painting

"alright, i'll give it to you," you said, leaning back and stretching, stomach craving that takoyaki from earlier. "you weren't kidding. this is incredible."

"see?" ino said with a smirk, leaning back beside you. "i'm full of surprises. and speaking of that… here." ino reached into his left pocket, pulling a small item out, and pushing it into your hands

staring down at it, you realized it was the seashell hair pin you were eyeing from earlier. overrun with happiness, you flung your arms around ino, showering him in thank you's. pulling away and on the edge of bouncing in your seat, you slipped it into your hair, looking at ino for validation

"how does it look?"

oh. oh.

she's… beautiful. though, i've always known that…

thanking the cashier and gathering your bags, you made a beeline for the exit. you see, you were trying to make it home as quickly as possible because it was friday and you and your roommates always watched a specific show on friday nights. you guys ordered in and it was just amazing, until nanako said that she was craving your cooking, everyone agreed, and then you somehow lost the four way rock, paper, scissors on who goes to the store to get the ingredients. so here you were, standing under the awning of the nearby grocery store, bags in hand, watching the wall of rain as it drenched the street. the rain that wasn't in the forecast and the kind of downpour that left everyone scrambling for cover

great. just great.

your phone buzzed in your pocket, and you pulled it out to see a text from kento

kento: the rain was unexpected. are you alright?

you sighed and quickly typed back

you: yeah, just stuck waiting for it to stop. don't worry, i'll figure it out

after a couple minutes of you standing and contemplating your next move, a sleek black car pulled up to the curb, and the passenger window rolled down, revealing p.f.b.b.'s grin that even though you've seen about three times, you'd never get used to

"need a ride?" he called out, leaning casually over the center console

you blinked at him, caught off guard. "what are you doing here?"

"i was with nanami when he mentioned you," he said, shrugging. "said you were stranded. figured i'd play the hero."

you tried to cross your arms but the weight of the bags were kind of weighing them down, "play the hero driving kento's car? do you even have your license?"

"hey—," he explained, raising his voice just a bit, "it may be nanami's car but he said i could take it! and yes, i do have my license!"

you rolled your eyes but couldn't help the small smile tugging at your lips. "alright, fine. but what about these?" you gestured to your grocery bags

"pop the trunk," he said, pressing a button on the dash. the trunk lid opened smoothly. "problem solved."

with a sigh, you stepped into the rain long enough to stow your bags before climbing into the passenger seat, shaking droplets off your jacket as you settled in. the interior was warm, the faint scent of leather and air freshener filling the space

"comfy?" he teased as you buckled up

"more than i'd be waiting in that rain," you shot back

he laughed, the sound light and easy, as he pulled back onto the road. the rain drummed steadily against the car, but inside, it was quiet, almost peaceful

"alright, then…, let's go home."

home, huh?

the blue light of your laptop pierced your eyes as you typed the final words of your assignment, and submitted it, chemistry work abandoned at the edge of your desk. as you were looking at it ashamedly, a ping came through your phone

xxx-xxx-xxxx: have you done the writing assignment yet?

you: wrong number

xxx-xxx-xxxx: no. it's p.f.b.b.

you: oh! how did you get my number?

p.f.b.b.: don't worry about that. did you do the assignment?

you: yeah i just finished. why?

p.f.b.b.: can you come over? i need some help with it. in exchange, i'll help you with your chem work that i know you didn't start

you: well since you're offering…

"do you still even like him?" nobara questioned, "before you'd be jumping up for joy."

"yeah, i do," you put your laptop and chemistry work and textbook in your tote, grabbing some snacks from the pantry too, "i'm just not as upfront about it anymore. maybe it's cause we're friends now, but i don't know!"

you slung your tote bag over your shoulder, opening the door to your apartment and saying a quick "i'll be back" to your girls. walking just across the hall and knocking on his door, you barely had time to exhale before it swung open to reveal ino in a hoodie and sweats, his hair slightly tousled like he'd just slipped off that beanie

"right on time," he said with a grin, stepping aside to let you in

"you texted me like two minutes ago—"

"make yourself at home," he interrupted, already moving to clear space for you

his apartment mirrored yours in layout but had its own chaotic charm—textbooks and notes spread across the coffee table, an empty coffee mug sitting precariously on the edge

you dropped your bag and slid onto the couch, pulling out your laptop. "let's see what you've got so far."

ino groaned, flopping down beside you with an exaggerated sigh. "barely anything. writing isn't my thing."

you rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself. "that's what i'm here for."

the second session, where you both stumbled through the assignment, bickering over comma placement and syntax while munching on the snacks you brought. you teased him for his messy handwriting, and he fired back with jokes about your overuse of sticky notes

the fourth session, where ino finally made good on his promise to help you with chemistry. he sat cross-legged on the floor, explaining concepts in a way that actually made sense while you leaned over his shoulder to read his notes

the sixth session, where the stress of exams had both of you yawning into your notebooks. he brewed coffee—terrible coffee—but the gesture made you smile. you fell asleep on his couch that night, waking up to a blanket draped over you

or that one time he showed up at your door, unannounced, holding a coffee cup in one hand and a thick textbook in the other for an "emergency study session,"

today was no different. you walked over to ino's apartment that he graciously started leaving unlocked around this time—just for you. walking in and greeting him briefly, you sat on his couch, your knees brushing against his as you both hovered over the same textbook as you reviewed chemical equations. the proximity made it hard to focus; you were acutely aware of the way his shoulder brushed yours every time he shifted, and you wondered if he was too 

"see?" you said, pointing to a diagram. "like what does that even mean? what does this show me?"

"okay so, this shows esterification.  ethanoic acid and ethanol produces ethyl ethanoate and water in the presence of an acid catalyst like sulfuric acid. the reaction begins with the acid protonation of the carbonyl oxygen of the carboxylic acid, making the carbon more electrophilic." he replied, the words falling off his tongue with ease

you glanced up at him, finding his eyes already on you. though the usual playful spark was there, his words went in one ear and out the other, and you felt embarrassed that you didn't understand a word except acid, produces, reaction, and catalyst

neither of you spoke for a long moment. the tension was palpable, the world outside his apartment fading away until it was just the two of you in this bubble of uncertainty and longing

"ino, repeat that for—" you started, but your words were cut off as he leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a kiss so tentative it felt like a question

your breath caught, your mind racing even as your heart leapt. what is happening right now? it was almost an immediate reaction that you kissed him back, the touch lingering just long enough to send your thoughts spiraling before you pulled away

"i—" he started, his expression a mix of surprise and hesitation. "i didn't mean to—"

you shook your head, rising from the couch as you scrambled to gather your things. "i should go."

"wait," he said, standing as if to follow, but you held up a hand to stop him

"i'll… see you later," you murmured, avoiding his gaze as you slipped out the door

the walk across the hall to your apartment felt endless, your heart pounding in your chest. once inside, you leaned against the door, your fingers brushing your lips as you replayed the moment over and over

what the fuck?

the party was in full swing, a cheerful celebration of your brother's long-awaited return. laughter and chatter filled the room, plates of food were passed around, and glasses clinked in endless toasts. you were busy setting a tray of drinks on the counter when you spotted takuma ino standing near the door, looking a little out of place but still managing to charm a small group of your family members and friends with his easygoing smile

your steps faltered, your chest tightening. he hadn't mentioned he'd be here. not that you blamed him—why would he? last night's kiss wasn't a topic either of you seemed ready to breach today. but still, the sight of him caught you completely off guard

turning on your heel, you found kento by the kitchen, nursing a glass of wine. marching up to him, you jabbed a finger in his direction

"why is he here?" you hissed, keeping your voice low

kento raised an eyebrow at you, calm as ever. "he's here because i invited him. your brother wanted to know more about my project. what better way to tell him about it than to bring my research assistant? why?"

you rubbed your temple, biting back a groan. "look, i'm not saying that he can't be here, but… you could've given me a heads-up."

kento's gaze turned suspicious, and his lips twitched into a slight frown. "why would you need a heads-up? haven't i introduced you two?"

you felt heat rising to your cheeks, the embarrassment seeping into your voice as you fumbled for an explanation. "well, yeah, formally, but he and i—we—we're—he and i—NO!"

kento stared at you, unblinking, while you buried your face in your hands, muttering curses under your breath. his frown deepened, and you could practically feel his uncle intuition kicking in

"wait," he said slowly, his tone sharpening. "what do you mean, 'he and i'?"

"nothing!" you snapped, dropping your hands, "i meant nothing. just—just forget i said anything."

kento's expression didn't waver. he studied you for a moment longer before sighing and shaking his head. "whatever you're freaking out about will pass. ino's a good guy."

"yeah, i know," you muttered under your breath, glancing back toward ino, who was now engaged in a conversation with your brother. his laugh echoed across the room, and you couldn't help the flutter of nervous energy it sent through you

as the party continued in full swing, you moved around the room, trying to keep busy—refilling snacks, grabbing empty plates, and avoiding ino's gaze whenever your paths seemed to almost cross

you weren't sure how long you could keep this up. every time his laughter reached your ears or you caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of your eye, your heart seemed to skip a beat. the kiss from last night lingered in the back of your mind, a constant, unspoken weight

you had just finished setting down a fresh tray of drinks when you heard a voice behind you

"hey."

you froze, recognizing it immediately. slowly turning around, you found ino standing there, his hands holding a can of soda; they were shaking. his usual smile was softer now, almost nervous

"can we talk?" he asked, his voice low enough that no one else could hear over the party noise

your heart sank and leaped at the same time, "uh, sure. now?"

he nodded. "yeah. just for a minute. outside?"

you hesitated, glancing around the room. kento was chatting with your brother near the couch, and the rest of the guests were engrossed in their own conversations. no one would miss you for a few minutes

"okay," you said finally, your voice quieter than you intended

ino led the way to the front door, holding it open for you before stepping out into the cool night air. the silence stretched as you stood there, arms crossed against the slight chill. ino rubbed the back of his neck, clearly searching for the right words

"so," he started, his tone careful, "i uh… figured it was probably a bad idea to bring this up inside. with, you know, everyone around."

you nodded, unsure of where he was going with this. "probably."

he let out a small breath, finally meeting your eyes. "about last night…"

your stomach flipped. of course, he'd bring it up. you'd been bracing for this moment all day, but now that it was here, you didn't know what to say

"look," he continued, "i don't want to make things weird between us. especially not with nanami, or your family, or—"

"it's not weird," you interrupted, surprising even yourself. "at least, it doesn't have to be."

his brows lifted slightly, a flicker of hope in his expression. "really? because i was worried i'd screwed things up."

"you didn't," you said quickly. "it's just… unexpected."

ino nodded, stepping closer. his voice softened, almost hesitant. "i don't regret it, you know. the kiss. but if you're not okay with it, i'll back off. no questions asked."

the sincerity in his tone made your chest ache. you looked up at him, taking in the way his usually confident demeanor seemed so tentative now

"i didn't say i wasn't okay with it," you murmured, barely louder than a whisper. "believe it or not, but i've been flirting with you for a while now."

ino blinked at you, his brows knitting together in confusion. "wait… what?"

you tilted your head, giving him a look that said seriously? "flirting, ino. you know, dropping hints, teasing, trying to get you to notice me?"

he stared at you, his lips parting slightly as if the realization was slowly dawning on him. "you're kidding."

you let out a soft laugh, part amused and part exasperated. "no, i'm not kidding. you're telling me you didn't pick up on any of it? not even when i started making excuses to see you more?"

ino's hand went to the back of his neck, rubbing it in that familiar sheepish way. "i thought you were just being nice! like, nanami-level nice."

you raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. "nanami-level nice? ino, i bought you coffee with your weirdly specific order three times in one week. kento would never do that."

he opened his mouth, then closed it, a look of genuine shock crossing his face. "wait… that was flirting?"

"yes," you said with a small laugh. "and the time i told you your new haircut made you look good? or when i made sure there was always a snack for you at kento's? flirting, ino."

ino's jaw dropped slightly, his hands falling to his sides as he processed your words. "oh, my god. i'm the dumbest guy alive."

"well… maybe," you said, trying not to laugh at his adorably stunned expression

"i am," he insisted, his voice rising slightly in disbelief. "you've been into me this whole time, and i've been walking around like an idiot, completely missing it."

you couldn't help but laugh now, the sound easing the tension between you. "well, now you know."

he took off his beanie and ran a hand through his hair, still looking flustered but with a hint of something softer in his eyes. "yeah. now i know."

for a moment, neither of you spoke, the quiet night stretching around you. then, almost shyly, ino glanced at you again. "so… does this mean i can kiss you again? like, now that i'm finally catching up and all."

you smiled, warmth blooming in your chest. "i think that depends. are you going to keep being oblivious, or are you going to start paying attention?"

he grinned, his usual confidence flickering back. "oh, i'm paying attention now. promise."

before you could respond, he stepped closer, his hand brushing against yours as his gaze met yours. slowly, he leaned in, his lips expecting to meet yours in a kiss that was as sweet as it was certain, but… instead they met your pointer finger

"do you hear that? i think someones calling for me." you walked back into the house, leaving ino to wallow in his self-inflicted embarrassment for a while

the convenience store's fluorescent lights buzzed softly above the aisles, casting a harsh glow on shelves stocked with instant noodles, snacks, and cheap energy drinks. you and ino—or, as he let you call him in private, takuma—had wandered in after a long evening of hanging out at his apartment, the kind of night where laughter and teasing filled the silence

takuma leaned against the refrigerator door, his black beanie pushed back enough to reveal a few strands of his messy hair. he squinted at the drink selection like it held the answers to life's greatest mysteries

"you've been staring at that for a full minute," you teased, sliding up beside him. "it's not that deep. just grab the green tea like you always do."

he smirked without looking at you. "and miss out on your expert critique of my choices? never."

you reached past him to grab a bottle of sparkling water, your shoulder brushing his arm. it wasn't much, just a small touch, but it was enough to make the air between you shift. for a second, it felt like the buzzing of the fluorescent lights got louder, the hum filling the space where words should be

he cleared his throat, stepping back just slightly. "you always drink that fizzy stuff. isn't it just soda pretending to be fancy?"

"it's called having taste," you corrected, placing it in your basket

"right. taste," he said, rolling his eyes but smiling anyway

as the two of you wandered through the aisles, the quiet of the late hour settled over you, broken only by the occasional sound of a cashier scanning items. you found yourself in front of the snack section, takuma trailing behind you with his hands shoved into his jacket pockets

"you want anything?" you asked, holding up a bag of chips

"nah, i'm good," he said, but his eyes lingered on the pack of pocky in your hand

you smirked, tossing it into your basket. "liar. i'll grab it for you. consider it a thank you for giving back that hoodie you stole last week."

"i didn't steal it," he argued, though his tone was more defensive than adamant

"oh, so it just walked out of my closet on its own? how did you even get in?"

he scratched the back of his neck, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, "mimiko let me in… and… it's comfortable."

you grinned, but decided to let it go. instead, you nudged him lightly with your elbow as you headed toward the counter. "next time, just ask. i might even let you keep it."

he followed you in silence, but when you glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, you caught the faintest hint of pink on his ears

after paying for your haul, you stepped outside into the crisp night air. the streets were quiet, the kind of stillness that felt rare in the city. takuma walked beside you, the pocky in his hand already opened

"you're eating that now?" you asked, digging through the bag for that sparkling water of yours

"why not?" he said around the stick in his mouth, offering you the box

you took one, the chocolate coating melting slightly against your lips. for a moment, the two of you just walked in comfortable silence, the tension from earlier still lingering but softer now, like a thread pulling you closer without snapping

"thanks," he said suddenly, his voice quiet

"for what?" you asked, glancing at him

he shrugged, not meeting your eyes. "i don't know."

"he knew. he definitely knew," you insisted, gesturing wildly as you paced the living room

mimiko tilted her head thoughtfully. "but if he knew, why wouldn't he just say something?"

nanako smirked. "maybe he's waiting for you to say something first. or maybe he's just an idiot who can't read the room."

nobara clicked her tongue. "i mean, the guy's not exactly subtle. pretending he needs help with writing assignments? clearing his schedule to go grocery shopping with you so that you never have to carry the bags in by yourself? and don't even get me started on how he looks at you when you're not paying attention."

you threw up your hands, exasperated. "what am i supposed to do, just march up to him and demand he explain himself?"

"yes," they chorused

"ugh!" you groaned, grabbing your bag and stomping toward your room. "i don't wanna do this anymore!"

their laughter followed you down the hall, but your irritation evaporated the moment you stepped inside. on your desk, there was a letter

your name was scrawled across the front in unmistakable handwriting. your breath caught as you picked it up, hands trembling slightly as you unfolded the paper. the words inside were written with care, each line pulling at your heart:

to you, the one who's always on my mind,

i've started and restarted this letter more times than i can count, and even now, i'm not sure if i've found the right words. how do you tell someone that they've completely changed the way you see the world? that their laugh is the best sound you've ever heard, or that their smile makes even the worst days feel a little brighter?

i've never been good at this—putting my feelings into words—but for you, i'll try. because you deserve to know how incredible you are, even if i can't say it as smoothly as i'd like.

you have this way of making everything feel easier, lighter, just by being yourself. and it's not just the big things, like how you help me with work or how you always know exactly what to say when i'm frustrated. it's the little things too. like how you hum under your breath when you're focused, how you tilt your head when you're confused, how you always manage to start an argument over the stupidest of topics, how you light up when you talk about something you love. it's those little things that make me fall harder for you every day.

i don't know when it started—maybe it was the late nights we spent working together, or maybe it was how you didn't let me quit when things felt impossible. but now i don't think i want to stop. you make me want to be better, just so i can be someone worthy of being by your side. and maybe i'm not saying this the right way, but i hope you understand what i mean.

i don't know what you'll do with this letter, and maybe i'm an idiot for writing it (and asking mimiko to put it on your desk for me), but if nothing else, i just needed you to know.

yours (if you want me to be),

p.f.b.b.

your chest tightened, emotions flooding through you as you reread the letter. before you could realize it, you were across the hall, in front of takuma's door

you knocked on it and pushed it open without waiting for a response. "takuma—"

he was standing in the kitchen, and your eyes immediately caught the bouquet of your favorite flowers on the counter. the vibrant blooms were arranged with care, their familiar scent wafting through the room

takuma turned, his face a mix of surprise and panic. "oh. uh… hey."

"you're unbelievable," you said, holding up the letter, trying to fight back your smile

his ears turned red as he scratched the back of his neck. "so, you found that."

"takuma, what is this?" you gestured to the flowers and the letter, your voice a mix of exasperation and something softer

he hesitated, looking uncharacteristically shy. "i… i wanted to tell you how i feel, but every time i try, i just… i mess it up. so, i thought maybe this would be easier."

you stared at him, your heart pounding. "and the flowers?"

"i thought they'd make you smile," he said simply, stepping closer. "do they?"

you felt your lips twitch despite yourself. "they do."

his shoulders relaxed slightly, but the tension between you only seemed to grow. his voice dropped, softer now. "i meant every word in that letter. i did."

your breath hitched, and before you could stop yourself, you blurted, "why didn't you tell me sooner? i've been…" you trailed off, shaking your head

"been what?" he pressed, his eyes searching yours.

"waiting," you admitted. "i've been waiting for you to say something since the party. anything."

takuma stepped closer, his hand brushing against yours. "i'm saying it now," he murmured. "i care about you. a lot. more than i probably should. and if i'm being honest, you terrify me a little because of how much i feel when i'm around you."

your heart twisted at his words, and before your mind could find a reason to say no, you leaned up, capturing his lips in a kiss. it was hesitant at first, soft and searching, but when his arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer, the world seemed to melt away

when you pulled back, both of you were breathless, his forehead resting against yours

"i think we should date," he said, a small smile playing on his lips

you laughed softly, your nerves giving way to warmth. "i think we should too."

his grin widened, but before the moment could get too serious, he quipped, "does this mean i get to steal your clothes now?"

you smacked his arm playfully. "i'm pretty sure it's supposed to be the other way around."

"hey…, what does p.f.b.b. stand for?"

"mmm," you hummed, looking at your… boyfriend. "don't worry about it."

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[allthingssteddie]

⚠️ Warning there is some violence in this so if you’re not comfortable please don’t read.

One day, Eddie Munson and his friends hatched a plan to toilet paper Steve's house. As they were about to drive away, Eddie suddenly remembered something. "Shit, I forgot the eggs!" he exclaimed, jumping into the backseat to grab them.

He threw the eggs with precision, but his aim was off. Steve unaware of the impending attack, opened the front door just as the egg hurtled towards him. It splattered squarely in his face.

Eddie's friends erupted into howls of laughter as Eddie yelled, "Drive, drive!" His friends scrambled to get back into the car, speeding away from the scene.

Steve stormed out of his house, furious. "My dad is going to kill me!" he yelled, egg still dripping from his face.

Tommy stood beside him, seething. "We have to get that freak," he growled.

Seeking revenge, Steve and Tommy headed to Eddie's trailer. Steve thought they'd just return the favor, throwing eggs and toilet paper. But Tommy had other plans.

As they approached the trailer, Tommy started vandalizing it, smashing windows and causing chaos. Steve was horrified. "Tommy, stop! You're going too far!"

But Tommy wouldn't listen.

The next day, Eddie seethed with anger at school. "I know it was you, Harrington," he spat. But without proof, he couldn't do anything.

Steve just shrugged. "You started it."

Eddie vowed to take Steve down, and the prank war escalated. Each tried to outdo the other. Their rivalry turned in a chaotic confrontation at a school event. In the heat of the moment, they found themselves locked in a storage room together.

Steve glared at Eddie, furious. "Have you had enough, Munson?"

Eddie shrugged, a hint of innocence on his face. "I didn't know it would escalate this far."

As they stood there, locked in the storage room, Steve's expression softened. "There has to be something I can do to make it right."

Eddie's eyes narrowed. "Pay me back."

Steve hesitated. "I don't have the money."

Eddie raised an eyebrow. "What are you talking about? You're rich."

Steve corrected him. "My parents are. Not me."

Eddie's gaze locked onto Steve's, a sly smile spreading across his face. "There's something you can do," he said, his voice low and suggestive.

Steve's eyes widened in alarm. "Like hell I'm not doing that! What's wrong with you?"

Eddie chuckled, holding up his hands in defense. "Get your mind out of the gutter, Harrington. I just need you to pick something up for me."

Steve banged on the door of Eddie's trailer, and Eddie answered with a mouthful of cereal. "You got it," he mumbled.

Steve barged in, slamming the bag of drugs onto the kitchen counter. "Drugs?!" he exclaimed, outraged.

Eddie's eyes sparkled with mischief . "Well, I couldn't go myself. It's too shady."

Steve's face turned red with anger. "Yeah, no shit it's shady! I'm picking up drugs, and you told me it was candy."

Eddie shrugged, still chewing his cereal. "Yeah, and you were stupid enough to believe me."

Steve's voice rose in indignation. "Eddie, what if I was caught? Huh?!"

Eddie's grin was unrepentant. "You said you'd do anything to pay me back, right?"

Steve's eyes narrowed. "Yeah, but not this, man."

Eddie shrugged. "Yeah, well, I need a few more pickups."

Steve's face fell. "What are you talking about? I thought this was it."

Eddie settled into the couch, lighting a cigarette as he gazed out the shattered window now duck taped. You smashed my van windows and my trailer. Do you know how much money that's going to cost me?" He turned to Steve, his eyes stern.

Steve sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry."

Eddie's voice was laced with a mix of anger . "Yeah, well, sorry isn't going to fix it." He took a long drag on his cigarette, his eyes never leaving Steve's face.

Steve's voice was curt, resignation etched on his face. "Fine."

As the days passed, Steve continued to make pickups and drop offs for Eddie. He arrived at Eddie’s place, knocking on the door. An older man answered, eyeing Steve warily.

“We don't want what you're selling," the man growled.

Eddie appeared behind him, “Uncle Wayne it’s for me,” taking Steve's hand and dragging him inside. Steve felt a shiver run down his spine at the touch.

Eddie closed the bedroom door, his expression stern. "I told you six o'clock on the dot, not four hours later."

Steve explained, "Yeah, well, my tire blew .

Eddie cut him off, his voice curt. "I don't care about your life story, man. Just give it here."

He grabbed Steve's backpack, dumping its contents onto the floor. “So that’s your uncle,” he asked already knowing the answer.

Eddie's silence was palpable before he replied, "Yeah."

Steve asked, "Does he know?" Eddie's laughter was low and husky. "Yeah, no. He would kill you from where you're standing."

Steve felt a pang of guilt at that. Eddie handed Steve his backpack. "You can leave now."

As Steve walked out, Eddie's uncle stopped him at the front door. "You Ed's friend?" he asked, glancing back at Eddie's closed bedroom door.

Steve hesitated, feeling uneasy about the lie. "Yeah."

The older man's expression turned sad. "I guess you've seen what those punks did to our trailer."

Steve offered a sympathetic apology. "Yeah, I'm sorry, sir."

Wayne raised an eyebrow. "You've got nothing to be sorry about, boy. It wasn't your doing."

Steve gulped, feeling a sense of relief that he didn’t suspect him.

Wayne's expression softened. "Be good to my boy, will you? He might seem tough, but he's really a good kid. Doesn't have many friends."

Steve stuttered, "Y-yeah..." He quickly added, "Hey, I actually got to get home for dinner, but it was nice talking to you."

He hastily walked out to his car, smacking his hands on the steering wheel in frustration. He layed his head on it,taking a deep breath. "I’m such an asshole," he whispered to himself.

Steve arrived at a secluded house, getting lost a couple of times before finally finding it. A burly man answered the door, eyeing him suspiciously. "Eddie?" he questioned.

"No, Steve," he replied.

The man raised an eyebrow, opening the door wider to let Steve in. Steve sat on the leather couch, taking in the scene before him. Men lounged in the living room, drinking and all over them. Steve's gaze landed on one man with a gun holstered at his hip. A shiver ran down Steve's spine as he thought,

He's going to kill Eddie when he sees him."

The man who let him in disappeared, replaced by a taller, skinnier guy who looked annoyed. "Who are you?" he demanded.

Steve stuttered, "Uh, Steve. I'm here to pick up for Eddie."

The burly man sat down beside Steve, making him squirm uncomfortably. The skinny man sat on the other side, shoving a picture of a younger guy into Steve's face. "You know this man, huh?"

Steve shook his head, "N-no, I uh..." he stuttered.

The skinny man leaned in, his voice menacing. "Come on, kid."

"No, I don't, sir," Steve squeaked out, his voice trembling.

The two men exchanged a glance. "What do you want to do, Rich?" the burly man asked.

Rich's eyes blazed with fury as he turned to Steve. "I'll tell you what I'm going to do," he sneered. "What's your name again, Steve?" Steve nodded nervously.

Rich's smile twisted into a snarl. "Yeah, well, Steve, I'm going to lock you in that basement," he pointed to a door, "and tie you up. Then I'll pistol whip you until Eddie boy gets here."

Steve's eyes widened in terror. "Wait, no, please!" he begged.

The burly man grabbed Steve by the shoulders, dragging him away.

Meanwhile, Eddie answered a phone call in the kitchen. "Steve, are you coming or what?" he asked.

A menacing voice replied, "Not Steve."

Eddie's tone turned icy. "Where is Steve?" he demanded.

Eddie arrived, a hand gun concealed in his boot. He had been warned if the cops showed up, Steve would be killed. As he entered, a man announced, "Rich, the kid's here."

The man proceeded to pat Eddie down, discovering the small handgun. "What, you thought you'd come in here guns blazing?" he sneered.

Rich walked in, laughing. "Look at this, thinks he's some kind of hero." His amusement was laced with menace, and Eddie's eyes narrowed, his grip on his composure tightening.

Rich gestured to the couch, and Eddie sat, his eyes scanning the room for Steve. "Where's Steve?" he grunted.

Rich sat down in a chair, positioning it so that his legs were in front , "Steve's here, but don't you worry about that," Rich said, his voice dripping with malice. "I have some questions for you."

He leaned forward, shoving a picture in Eddie's face. "You recognize this man?" he demanded.

Eddie's gaze dropped to the photo, and his expression faltered. It was Rick. He was confused why would Rich want Rick?

"Yeah, I know him," Eddie said, his voice neutral. "So what?"

Rich's expression twisted into a mocking grin. "So what? Rick, that son of a bitch, sped off with my money, that's what."

Eddie shook his head, his eyes locked on Rich. "I don't know where he is, honest."

Rich's face darkened, and he backhanded Eddie, who felt a searing pain as his cheek throbbed. His lip began to bleed, but he kept his face neutral, refusing to give Rich the satisfaction of a reaction.

Rich's voice dropped to a menacing growl. "How about one of my men starts beating the shit out of that kid downstairs? Will that help you remember?"

Eddie's composure cracked, and panic etched his face as he glanced at the basement door. "I really don't know," he said, his voice laced with desperation. "I couldn't get ahold of him last night, and he's not at his place. I even went to one of his hideouts looking for him. I don't know, really."

Rich's fist connected with Eddie's nose, the crunching sound echoing through the whole house. "Fuck," Eddie groaned, clutching his shattered nose.

Downstairs, Steve's he hears Eddie's anguished cry. He was bleeding from his own head wound, but his concern for Eddie distracted him from his own pain. "Eddie!" he shouted, his voice hoarse from the gag.

Eddie's battered body was dragged downstairs, and he landed with a thud beside Steve in the basement. Steve's eyes widened as he took in Eddie's injuries, and he gasped in horror

Eddie's eyes fluttered closed, and he passed out from the pain. Steve was left alone, his own injuries momentarily forgotten as he gazed at Eddie's broken form.

When Steve woke up from the sound of Eddie's labored breathing. With a surge of adrenaline, Steve struggled to sit up, wincing in pain. He gently turned Eddie onto his back, assessing the damage.

With a deep breath, Steve began to tend to Eddie's wounds, using his shirt to try to stop the bleeding as he held the shirt to him , Steve's fear and anxiety gave way to a sense of determination. He would get Eddie out of there, no matter what it took.

I love this, but I won’t be continuing it, but if someone wants it, please message me.

[luuvprincess]

✰࿎1࿎✰

Now play Stranger by Jhené Aiko

Sierra

🩵3 Weeks Ago🩵 "C'mere Sierra." Shawn said grabbing my arm. "No Shawn im done with your lies." I said as yanking my arm out of his grip but his grip was little to tight. "Ouch Shawn let me go your literally hurting me."

"Sierra listen to me and stop tryn a fucking leave. That's your damn problem, that's all you do is run, run and run you don't ever wanna talk shit out."  He says as he let me go.

"What the fuck is there to talk Jashawn all you do is lie to me and I all I fucking ask is if you would be fucking honest with me for once."  I said.

"I'm sorry my heart." He said. I rolled my eyes folding my arms over my chest. "Fuck you Jashawn I'm done new year new nigga cuz you ain't it for this year." 

"Man what? New Nigga? Sierra you better go on somewhere with all that shit." He says as he laughed in my face.

"You thinking everything a fucking joke." I said shoving him causing him to stumble back little grabbing my purse off the couch and I started walking away towards his front door. "Whatch when I pop out with my Nigga we gonna see who's really laughing."

🩵 Present time 🩵

Sierranicole 7mins ago(💚closes friends💚)

"I'm gonna miss you Ko." I said as I sat in between Imani and Dakota. This was mines and Imani last 2 weeks in New York before we moved to Florida. We made plans with Dakota to take little mini weekend trips to fox woods Casino up in Mashantucket, Connecticut.

"I'm gonna miss yall too." She said pouting.

"Y'all stop all that pouting shit let's go dance I see some fine ass niggas on that dance floor." Imani said as she stood up pulling us out our seats and on to the dance floor.

We were on the dance for about 30mins before we decided to go back to section and sat down for another round of drinks and a smoke session.

"Oh my god yall look who's calling." Ko said showing us her phone as my brother contact name flashed on her screen. I took her phone and answered it.

"Wheres DaKota?" He asked. "Don't worry about her she enjoying herself with her friends." I said hanging up on him before he could speak again.

"Girl you gonna get me in trouble doing all that on my phone." She said as she took it back. I rolled my eyes. "Girl please we're two hours away."

"Right Ko relax we took this trip for a reason." Imani said passing me the blunt. I grabbed it taking a hit out of it. I hit it a few more times before passing it back to Imani since Ko doesn't smoke.

After spending another hour out we decided to call it a night and got back to our hotel. We reached our room and got settled in for the night ordering room service. We all took a shower and watched a movie while we ate to call it a night.

The next morning a came along and we were just checking out and bring out bags to the car. We all had fun on our little weekend getaway but now it was time to get back home so me and Imani could finishing packing up the rest of our things. The ride was on 2 hour drive so we weren't on the road for that long I dropped Imani off at her place first then me and Ko headed to my mom's house.

"CECE!" Selena yelled running up to me as we walked into the door. I picked her up hugging her tight then my twin nieces came up to us hugging their mom first.

"Auntie Cece look my tooth came out." Brielle said smiling showing me her missing tooth.

"Oh my goodness your becoming a big girl now." I said picking her up. I walked to the kitchen seeing my mom. "Hey mom." I said.

"Hey yall back how was the trip?" She asked.

"It definitely needed we had fun." I tell her putting bri down. "Whatchu cooking?" I asked:

"Chicken pasta with garlic bread you want a plate?" She asked.

"Please I am hungry."  I said just as Saint walks in the kitchen. "Hey big brother." I said.

"Hey big head you finally returning my wife back?" He asked.  I played rolled my eyes and nodded my head.

"Here baby girl."  Mom said handing me my plate. "Thank you mom." I said taking plate to the dinning room I sat down at the table and ate my food. After I ate I went upstairs to my room and took a shower then after I started to finish packing my room up.

🩵 A month later 🩵

Sierra's and Imani's Apartment Orlando Florida📍

It's been a month and we have officially moved into our new apartment. We just got back from grocery shopping. After the first week of being out groceries. We had been eating out all week.

"Now we talking now this apartment is starting to get come together." Imani said closing the cabinet after filling it up with the groceries while I finished filling the refrigerator up. I laughed closing the door and took a water to full fill my thirst. After we everything was away we both a took a shower then relaxed on the couch.

Joshua 🩵 2 days later 🩵 Joshua's house

Getting up from the couch. My dogs were all braking after someone ringing the doorbell. I walked up to the front door turning my back to the door as I looked at the dogs they all stopped barking and sat down but still very concerned at who was at the door. I opened the door seeing my new Assistant standing there.

"Mr.Fatu right?" She asked as she pushed her glasses up her nose. "I'm Sierra your new assistant." She said sticking her hand out.

"Joshua. How you doing next to meet you." I said shaking her hand then let her in. "I'm good how are you." She said. She looked around admiring my place as I shut and locked the door. My dogs running over to her jumping up and down around trying to get her attention which they won.

"Oh my gosh y'all the cutest." She said as got low giving the 3 them of a little of attention. "Sorry I'm a big lover for a dogs." She said as she stood back up turning to me.

"Nah you good don't even worry about it." I said.

"You have a beautiful place Mr.Fatu." She said.

"Thanks I can show you around real quick." I said as I began walking I heard her following behind me. "If you wanna put your things down in the kitchen you can."

She placed her things down and I started showing her around which probably took a quick 5 mins then we sat down in the living room. I explained to her what her job was as assistant.

"Your job is pretty simple I don't expect you be by my side 24/7 so most of things I need done can really be done at home, all I need you do is literally just schedule my meets, and any events I have coming up, manage my emails, answering phone calls, making travel arrangements, preparing documents just me help keep things organized." I tell her.

"Oh yea that's easy work." She said.

"Great I'll send you all my information so you can do your thing. You look like a hard worker." I said making her blush  she tried to hide her face but failed.

"Thank you." She said just loud enough for me to hear. Before I could say anything else I heard my son jeyvon walk downstairs.

"Sup son you done with your homework?" I asked.

"Nah I actually need help with this math problem." He said. 

"Let me see." I said he handed me his homework read the problem. "I'm not gonna lie it's been a little minute since I had to do this kinda work. You know how to do this?" I asked turning to Sierra.

"You said it's math?" She asked Jeyvon nods his head.

"Oh Von this Sierra my new Assistant. Sierra this my youngest son Jeyvon, my other son barely home." I said.

"Nice to meet you." She said.

"Say to you." Jeyvon said.

"Okay you ever heard of the saying please excuse my dear aunt sally." Jeyvon shook his head no. "Well listen up cuz it's gonna help you with all these problems." She said and began explaining to him how to do is homework. I watched them as she helped do one then they did one together and she let him do the last 2 on his own.

I think I made a good choice getting a assistant that not only helps me but my son too.

Hey gurls. I hope you enjoyed so sorry for the very long wait and for any mistakes I just be second guessing my writing so I be rewriting everything over like 20plus times it's bad but imma try and get better at that so please bear with me I am not ghost yall.

I also am making few different changes just small one likes names of Jey's kids the book. In the intro I put Jeyden and Jemil I'm just changing it Jeyvon and Jeylyn.

But yes I hope yall enjoyed chapter one now I gotta go procrastinat on writing chapter two while getting distracted reading other writers good stories. Shout out to yall talented writers.

Anyways, stay Jucey🫧🩵.

[everestgale]

I SLIDE U SMITTEN ACROSS THE FLOOR FOR THE CHARACTER ASK STUFF -OWL

SMITTEN OUR BELOVED...

[Send Me a Character and I'll List Ask Game]

favorite thing about them

Smitten is so full of love! And he is so open about his love! He loves the Princess no matter what she looks like, no matter what she does to you, how much hurt she inflicts on you. He will always love her! He is so passionate, so devoted to her, even to his own detriment-

Yes, my favorite thing about Smitten is how absolutely deranged and passionate he is. No, I am not sorry /lh

least favorite thing about them

This is less "least favorite thing about him" and more about disliking how some people misunderstand him as possessive and malicious in HEA. He is unhealthy and flawed, and he caused harm, absolutely, but he is not doing anything in HEA from the place of malice, and I will die on that hill <3

favorite line

"Oh, just you wait and see! My vengeance will echo the depths of my bereavement!"

brOTP

I really like the Grey Brothers (Skeptic + Smitten), I like the idea of them having a weird sibling-ish bond, but in a "distant sibling who you don't talk to much because you two are so different... but it's nice to chat and catch up sometimes, and you are still there for each other if you really need one another" kind of way.

OTP

Ironically, I don't actually ship Smitten all that much... who am I kidding, the answer is CheatedSmitten, and I really need to draw more of them when my wrist recovers, or I will EXPLODE-

(If you'd like a reason, a friend wrote a very nice description on how this ship would play out, and I've been rotating it in my head for a few weeks. Smitten, the kind of person to extend his heart wide open, but also to probably wonder if he will ever be enough after he disastrously failed with HEA... and Cheated, the guy who repeatedly failed over, and over, and over, and over, someone who would understand this feeling of not being enough- Okay, I gotta stop, otherwise it will take over this whole post)

nOTP

Definitely not a nOTP, it's just that out of popular Smitten ships, I have a very hard time imagining Smittunist (Smitten/Opportunist), and it's entirely because of how I designed and how I write both of them. In fact, I actually really like seeing how other people write and/or draw that ship!! So it's decisively a "me" and "my designs/interpretations" problem 💔

random headcanon

People-pleaser Smitten. You can see it throughout this entire post, I'm very deep in the "people-pleaser Smitten" headcanon mine, and I can't get out of it /lh

unpopular opinion

Once again, don't know how unpopular it is, but I think specifically in the Unknown Together ending, where Smitten knows that she left with the Long Quiet, while he would be sad for a while over the fact that the Princess is gone, he will eventually bounce back, accept the fact that she is happily with "the big guy" somewhere, wherever that might be, and then choose to extend his over-the-top loving self to other people (mainly, his fellow voices) <3

...this is specifically for the Unknown Together endings. If we're talking about A New and Unending Dawn... well, we get an entirely different Smitten.

song i associate with them

It's more of a mixed HEA + Smitten song, but there is no other song that I associate with Smitten more than this one, so "Predator" by The Crane Wives it is!

"What were you thinking? Shouldn't you know better? You took advantage of another anxious people pleaser"

I'm kind of obsessed with how these lines fit well as HEA singing about Smitten... but also as Smitten singing to the Long Quiet, or rather, you, the player, for choosing to stay in the cabin and create this "Happily Ever After" ending... only to be dissatisfied with it.

favorite picture of them

This is what happens when the character we're talking about is a disembodied voice who has no canon design. So! How about my favorite drawing of him, which is this illustration with the Damsel. Look at them! They are so happy :]

Ignore the fact that it's part of the illustration set and in the rest of the illustrations they are not so happy, that's not what the question was asking!

[sassysnakedemon]

Sorry - it's been a while

So, I've been missing for a while. I had to take a break from socials of all kinds (although, tbh, I really only have tumblr and Ao3). There's been a lot of stuff happening. Trump getting re-elected was just the first brick in the wall (enjoy the Pink Floyd reference, if you like). I've been going through deep clinical depression, which is not unusual for me, but a real stop sign for social activity. I can cope, but only with a very basic amount of social activity, which includes 'real' relationships only, as those make my paycheck come through, where social media relationships do not put ramen on my table.

This sounds bleak, but on the plus side, prioritizing my real world activities has netted me a side gig that pays a hundo an hour for teaching the elderly to play the ukulele. That sounds like a joke, but it really isn't! And it's uniquely fun!!

I've also had to divest all of my investments that were made in the US, and transfer the funds to my bank up here in Canada - that took several days, and I was making sure to make it happen before the Inauguration took place. Luckily, I was able to make that happen, but I have a bunch of work to do now to make sure I can make some good investments in Canada instead. I would surely love to invest so properly that I actually become wealthy, and then I can start giving back in a really big way to the various communities that I so desperately want to support. But that's kinda first world problems, so I understand if you don't care about that! (I mean, my real dream is to become like Michael Sheen and just give up everything to help the people around me, and only keep that which I really need to live - unfortunately, with inflation and everything, what I have now is barely what I need to live for the next couple of years - and again, first world problems, but I have some plans - that don't include crypto - that might actually make it possible for me to turn what little I have into something big that could actually be life changing for the world around me)

On a far more personal note, I've finally made the decision (at the ripe old age of almost 48) to finally transition to male. I wanted to, like 30 years ago, but the LGB community was really unfair to trans people back then, so I spent the last almost 30 years trying so hard to be femme, when that's not what I am. I'm going for top surgery, as soon as I can lose enough weight to make it look good (I'm not enough overweight to have a problem with surgery, but enough that I wouldn't be happy with the results), and then we're on the road. If anyone wonders, my name now is Ezra - partly a cultural thing, and partly a Good Omens fan thing (if you know, you know), and I've gotten approval from everyone - friends, mother (and that was the hardest one, friends were all like 'yeah, we knew', but mom is a bit difficult) and best of all, my husband, who said 'I'm not much of a boob man anyway' in answer to my revelation. He also said that he couldn't live without me, no matter who, or what I was. That's something special right there! The plus is that I would be a gay man after transition anyway - never been really attracted to women in the first place, just didn't want to be one. So, I'm still wildly attracted to my husband of 20 years (this year in November - on Guy Fawkes Day, no less), but now I'm coming at the attraction as the man I've always been, rather than the woman I've been cosplaying for way too long. That's something, and it's been a big thing eating at my mind and soul for a long time. It's been keeping me from being completely open with everyone, and I apologize for that. But I had to wrestle with this particular demon one last time before I could rejoin the world.

I've also had walking pneumonia for the last month and a half, which does NOT make it easy to do anything, so I've been avoiding anything which isn't strictly necessary to do. I'm starting to recover though, so I will try harder now to rejoin 'all y'all', to make an appropriate Texasism, as I lived there for enough time to pick up the local jargon.

Suffice it to say that I will try harder to be a better friend to the friends I've made here, but give me a minute - I'm still finding my feet. And I've had a bit of trouble with the GO fandom, as I am finding it hard right now to hyper-focus on it when I've got so much else going on.

Can I say that the world sucks right now? Can I say to all of my friends here, and all of the friends that I'm yet to make, that I feel you, and will protect you? I am really feeling a sort of way, and it's hard to deal with. I wish the troubles were over, and that we could all sing together in fields of green - that we could love each other, even when we don't always agree. I would give anything, including the blood in my veins, for that future.

Sorry for the ramble - meds are partly to blame, but so is my depression - and my planning for a future I cannot see. I want to be engaged, but I'm finding it difficult. I want to be present for you, but that may not always be possible. I'm trying though, and I haven't forgotten any of the friendships I've made here - I'm just trying to be a better version of me before I come back and interact with everyone again!

@missunderstoodlyrics, @naturallyteal, @isiaiowin, @ilikeblue, @inezrable, @copperplatebeech,@phoen1xr0se, @di-42

[hailthegodsong]

MAYBE

One Shot ~ Sam Kiszka x Female Reader

Word Count: 17k +

A/N: This one shot was requested in October last year, so I'm so so sorry that it has taken so long to come out with. I also strayed from the ask dramatically, I hope you don't mind anon. Huge huge thanks to @hailtheaeon for being there to help me brainstorm in the process of writing this story <33

Summary: After years of struggling to move past the damage left by abusive relationships, you’ve built a life focused on safety— for yourself and your rescue dog, Bella, who carries her own scars. But when Sam's quiet kindness enters your life, the walls you’ve built start to crack. Even when fears and trauma threaten to push him away, Sam’s patience and understanding help you begin to heal. Maybe, just maybe, letting someone in doesn’t have to be a risk after all.

Content warnings: Trauma from domestic violence, descriptions of past verbal, emotional, and physical abuse, fear, anxiety, panic attack, trust issues, crying, swearing kissing.

🐾

The late afternoon sun cast golden hues over the grass that Bella ran across, her golden coat shining in the glow. This park was a quiet place, your sanctuary, where the world felt a little less sharp and the noise of your thoughts could settle. Bella, the dog you’d rescued from a local shelter just over a year ago padded beside you, her nose to the ground as she sniffed along the blades of grass and dirt below. She was your anchor, your constant companion, and a reflection of your own guarded— if not fearful nature.

Like you, she didn’t trust easily. You’d chosen her for that reason— a timid, gentle soul who had been hurt at the hands of another, just like you had. Someone who needed a safe space just as much as you did. A safe space from her fears of men. She had been rescued from neglect, and the bond you’d formed felt like a quiet understanding. You’d protect each other.

Today was supposed to be a peaceful outing, a routine part of your shared journey toward confidence. But as you strolled, you noticed a flash of movement. A dog— small, brindle, and full of energy— bounded toward you, stopping just short of your dog. Its tail wagged furiously, and it let out an excited little bark.

“Well, hello,” you murmured, crouching slightly, to show Bella that other dogs were safe. Your dog stiffened for a moment, but as the brindle one nudged her gently, Bellas tail gave a tentative wag. You blinked in surprise. That was… a quick turnaround. Bella was usually timid, cautious, and would hide behind your legs as you greeted other people, or other dogs.

Before you could process it, another dog approached— a darker one this time, bigger but just as lively. The two newcomers sniffed at your hands, tails wagging like flags in the wind, and you felt a small smile tug at your lips despite the suddenness of it all.

You glanced around the park, searching for an owner, but there was no one in sight— only you, Bella, and the two lost pups. The puppy had a collar, so you knelt and carefully checked for a tag. The name read Fox, and luckily, there was a phone number beneath it.

Your stomach twisted. Calling a stranger— a man, judging by the name scrawled on the back of the tag— made your pulse quicken. Sam, was the name. But Sam could be a woman's name too, couldn’t it? But it could also be a man, and the prospect of being alone out there with a man whom you didn't know frightened you to your core. Your hand tightened around your phone as you hesitated. What if it’s a trap? What if he’s someone you should fear? The thoughts came unbidden, unwelcome, but familiar.

You glanced back down at the dogs. They were sitting now, panting happily at your feet, and your own dog— your cautious, wary girl— was watching them with what looked like joy. You took a breath, pushed the fear aside just enough, and dialed.

The phone rang exactly twice before a man’s voice answered, slightly breathless. “Hello?”

“Hi,” you said, your voice more clipped than you intended. “I found your dog. Two, actually— Fox and another one… but I don’t know her name, she doesn’t have a collar.”

The relief in his voice was immediate and overwhelming. “Oh my God, thank you. I’ve been looking everywhere for them. Are they okay?”

“They’re fine,” you answered, glancing down at the dogs, who seemed completely unbothered by the situation. “We’re at the park with the walking trail and the big open field, near the creek. You can come pick them up.”

“Thank you so much,” he said again, his words tumbling out in a rush. “I’ll be there in ten minutes. I’m so sorry— they must have gotten out of the yard. Thank you, thank you.”

“No worries,” you forced out. “See you soon.” You hung up, still gripping the phone tightly. The rational part of you knew there was no reason to distrust him— he sounded genuinely relieved, even frantic— but the cautious part, the part shaped by years of bad experiences, kept your guard up.

You sat on a bench, watching as the three dogs sprawled out near your feet. Your dog rested her head on her paws, more relaxed than you’d seen her in a long time. It stirred something warm in your chest, seeing her so content in a place that wasn't the foot of your bed. Still, a knot of worry lingered. She’d never been good with men— you’d never been good with men— and the thought of one arriving soon made your shoulders tense.

Ten minutes felt like an eternity, but eventually, a figure appeared in the distance. He was tall, with long, dark, slightly unruly hair and a hurried stride. The moment the dogs spotted him, they were off like rockets, tails wagging furiously as they lept toward him.

He dropped to his knees, his laughter ringing out as they practically bowled him over. “Hey, hey— there you are,” he says, his voice warm and full of relief. “I was so worried about you two.”

Bella stood now too, her ears perked and her tail giving the smallest of wags. She looked at you, then back at him, as if asking permission.

You rose slowly, your pulse quickening. He stood as well, the two dogs happily circling his legs, and the smaller one jumping up at his calves for attention. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, you were struck by how kind they seemed.

“I can’t thank you enough,” he said, his voice earnest. “Fox is new, and she must’ve slipped out somehow. Rose must have followed her. I’ve been looking for them everywhere.”

“It’s no problem,” you assured, your voice softer than you expected. “They’re sweet dogs.”

As you spoke, Bella stepped closer to him, her nose twitching as she sniffed his ankle. He noticed and crouched slightly, holding out a hand. “And who’s this?”

“That’s Bella,” you said, quickly adding, “Um, maybe don’t— she’s not great with men. She’s a rescue.”

He pulled his hand back immediately, nodding in understanding. “Got it. Sorry about that.”

But to your shock, Bella didn’t shy away. Instead, she sniffed a little longer before her tail started wagging— a hesitant flick at first, then more assured. She stepped closer, nudging his hand with her nose.

He laughed softly, his voice gentle. “Well, hello there.” Although her advances were friendly, Sam still refrained from petting her, allowing her to feel him out herself. You stared, completely baffled. Bella didn’t do this. She didn’t trust men— not after everything she’d been through.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s gotten into her,” you said, your voice tinged with awe.

“It’s okay, I don’t mind,” he replied, his tone light. “Maybe it’s because I have long hair,” he joked, and you smiled softly at him. 

Rose and Fox joined in, playfully bumping into your dog before breaking into a game of chase. They darted around your legs, tails wagging as they barked at one another and spun in dizzying circles.

Sam straightened, his smile soft. “Looks like they’ve gotten well acquainted.”

You laughed lightly, feeling a little of the tension drain from your shoulders. “Yeah. They clicked pretty fast.”

“I’m Sam, by the way,” he greeted, holding out his hand.

You hesitated for only a moment before taking it. “Nice to meet you,” you replied, the words feeling more natural than you’d expected. You introduced yourself too, watching as Sam's mouth grew into yet another gentle smile as you spoke. You pulled your hand away timidly, and turned back to your dogs, avoiding his gaze. 

As the dogs played, you caught yourself smiling— not just at them, but at him too. He seemed kind, and he seemed to understand your need for silence. It was comfortable being around him.

Sam watched the dogs play, his face lit up with genuine joy. “I think they’ve already decided they’re best friends,” he commented with a soft laugh, glancing over at you. “Rose doesn’t usually warm up to other dogs this fast.”

You smiled, a little hesitant but unable to help the warmth spreading in your chest as you watched the three of them chase each other in joyful circles. “Same with her,” you admitted, nodding toward your dog, whose tail was wagging furiously as she bounded after Rose. “She’s usually... cautious, especially in new situations.”

Sam tilted his head, studying the dogs for a moment before meeting your eyes. “You’ve done a great job with her, though. She seems really happy.”

His words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn't know how to respond. Compliments always felt awkward, especially from strangers— especially from men. They were almost always ingenuine. A ruse to have you trust them— so that they could hurt you. But there was something disarming about the way Sam spoke, casual but earnest, like he really meant it.

“Thanks,” you managed, your voice soft. “It’s been a process, but... she’s worth it.”

Sam smiled sideways, and this time, it felt a little more personal, like he understood in a way that didn’t need further explanation. “I get that,” he started. “Rose was a rescue too. Took me a while to figure out her rhythm. And Fox... well, she’s still a work in progress.” He let out a boyish laugh. “But… I think we’re all a little rough around the edges, right?”

“Yeah, I guess we are.”

The conversation lulled, but it was another comfortable silence. The dogs continued their game of back and forth, weaving around the two of you with an almost choreographed grace. Bella, at one point, paused in need of a breath and trotted over to you. You bent slightly to give her a scratch behind the ear, her hand leaning into your touch, before you pulled away. Casually, she meandered over to Sam, her tail wagging slowly but surely. She nudged his hand again, and he remained mostly still, offering his hand carefully so as not to startle her.

Bella then turned, and leant her body weight against Sam's legs, watching as Fox and Rose continued their game of chase.

You watched, a mix of awe and confusion swirling inside you. “I’ve never seen her do that before,” you commented quietly. “She doesn’t trust men.”

Sam looked over to you, his expression unreadable for a moment before it softened again. “Well she’s very brave, for taking a chance on me.”

Before you could think of a response, Fox barked sharply, demanding his attention. He laughed and stepped back. Bella skirted away from him at the movement, jumpy still— almost as if she had remembered to be scared.

“Alright, alright, I’m coming,” Sam called, his voice light and teasing. He glanced back at you, his expression a mix of gratitude and something else you couldn’t quite place. “We should probably head home now. Thanks again, by the way. For calling me. And for... you know, everything.”

You nodded, a little flustered but managing a small smile. “It was no trouble. Really.”

“Well,” he said, taking a step back but clearly not wanting to leave just yet, “If you’re ever back at this park... maybe our dogs could have another playdate?”

The suggestion caught you off guard, but the nervous manner of his tone eased your anxiety. Instead, you actually found yourself nodding. “Yeah, maybe. They seem to like each other.”

“And maybe,” Sam added, grinning, “They could even convince us humans to talk again.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Maybe,” you repeated, the word feeling like a tentative step forward.

As he walked away, his dogs trotting happily at his heels, Bella nudged your hand, looking up at you with a curious tilt of her head. You scratched behind her ears, still trying to process everything that just happened.

“Maybe,” you murmured again, this time to yourself. 

🐾

The next few days were rather bland. You and Bella meandered around the house lazily, keeping each other company with cuddles on the couch and in bed. 

You were confused, to say the least. Proud of yourself for spending so much time with Sam— and for being able to hold a conversation with him without breaking down into a panicked state, like you most often did when speaking to men, especially alone. But another part of you— the dark, afraid exterior you had put on to protect yourself— was ashamed. You’d experienced too much hurt to be naive. And letting yourself grow so fond of a man after only one introduction, solely based on a feeling you had, was utterly ridiculous. 

You wanted to keep yourself indoors forever at the thought. The idea of curling yourself in your bedsheets and never remerging sounded more alluring with each day that passed. Alas, Bella was restless, and you knew you couldn't keep her cooped up and isolated with you, no matter how much you dreaded leaving the comfort of your home. 

Getting up with a dramatic sigh, you showered, dressed, and made yourself look somewhat presentable, Bella excitedly trotting by your heels in anticipation as you got ready. You were soon out the door, as Bella gave a particularly harsh tug on the lead to get the walk started as you fumbled with your keys to lock the front door. 

It wasn’t unusual for her to be excited for her walks, but this was different, and her enthusiasm didn't let up any further into the walk. Your whole body, slanted awkwardly in an attempt to control her pulling, lest you go flying face first into the concrete, was beginning to tire at her relentless eagerness.

“Bella, what has gotten into you?” you grunted as you feebly tried to control her near frantic pace. 

Your question was answered when she turned a sharp, deliberate corner down the trail that led you to your local park. The same park where you had met Sam, and his dogs. 

“Oh, Bella,” you cooed. Her happy little face looked up at you, tongue hanging out and tail thwacking your legs as it wagged uncontrollably. 

You weren’t sure what to do. On one hand, you doubted he’d even be there again. He hadn’t even been there in the first place— had only come to pick up his dogs. But, strangely you weren’t opposed to seeing him again. His presence wasn’t forceful or uncomfortable in the slightest. Sam was easy to be with. 

But the other part of you— the rational, protective part of your mind, reasoned with you through memory. You hadn’t been treated fairly by a man— ever. Did you really expect that to change now? You’d learnt your lessons, and promised to never put yourself back in a situation like that, ever again. Yet here you were, contemplating returning to an otherwise empty park in hopes to find yourself alone with a man you had quite literally just met. 

Bella sat by your feet and whined, her paws pressing into the ground impatiently. Alas, be it naivety or some pathetic kind of hope, Sam didn’t make you feel scared. Not like other men did, at least. Sure you felt nervous, jittery, and a little guarded around him, but it was nothing compared to how you reacted to the presence of other men. No sweaty palms, erratic heart beats, panicked breathing, or racing thoughts. Just Sam, and the strangely peaceful air he had about him.

You sighed, “Alright then.” With that, Bella jumped from her spot, springing to her feet and tugging on the leash. 

After battling her tugging for the next five minutes of the walk, you re-emerged in the park you had been at a few days prior. Bellas head, much like yours, was high, scanning the area in sight of any others— in sight of Sam. 

“Get it Rose!” 

Your head turned at the sound of his voice, echoing through the park as a familiar brindle dog whizzed passed you. There Sam stood, just off to the edge of the grass, a ball thrower in hand as he watched Rose chase his latest throw. Fox was by his feet, tugging on his maroon scarf which hung unevenly over his shoulders. 

You couldn't help the small smile that tugged at your lips when you saw him, a big, cheesy smile stretched across his face. The smile turned to a frown when he felt the incessant tugging of his scarf slowly sliding off his shoulder, and he peered down to see Fox chewing at the threads. 

“Fox!” he exclaimed, kneeling to take it from her mouth. “We’ve talked about this young lady. No chewing on Daddy’s clothes, that's what your toys are for, remember?” he explained as he pried her mouth open to snatch his scarf back. 

You leaned down to unclip Bellas leash and in a flash she was bouncing off to greet them. Sam still hadn’t noticed your presence, and he startled slightly when Bella approached, dancing around his legs excitedly. 

“Well hello there!” he greeted Bella as she pressed herself into his legs. His eyes quickly jumped up to see you walking towards him, his smile returning to his face at the sight of you. “You’re back,” he commented as he rose, and took a few tentative steps forward. 

“I’m back,” you repeated, your voice kind, but a little timid. You continued to walk towards him until you stood only a couple of feet away. “Bella pulled pretty hard to come here today— couldn’t say no to that face,” you joked, gesturing to her slobbery, open mouthed smile. 

Sam blinked, and opened his mouth to say something but hesitated. He seemed to think for a moment before he settled on, “Well good, I’m glad to see you again.” By now, Rose had come bouncing back, and was sniffing at Bella by your feet. 

“Thanks… you too,” you replied, rather awkwardly you thought. 

Sam gestured to the small bench beside you with his arm. “Shall we sit?” 

You nodded, letting out a quiet breath as you moved toward the bench. Bella followed, although unclipped, her leash was tight in your grip as if it were the only thing keeping you steady. Sam sat last, leaving a respectable amount of space between you, like he somehow sensed you’d need it. 

Okay, this is fine. He’s just a guy. Sitting on a bench. It’s fine.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again so soon,” Sam said, breaking the quiet. His tone was casual, but there was something genuine behind it, something that made your chest feel tight. Bella sniffed at his feet, her tail wagging like she’d known him for years instead of just one brief meeting. “Rose has been acting like a lovesick puppy since the last time we were here.”

You managed a small smile, glancing down at the two dogs. Rose’s tail wagged furiously as Bella sniffed at her face, the two of them falling into an easy rhythm. You envied that— how simple it was for them to just... connect. No overthinking. No fear.

Why couldn't you be like that? Why did this have to be so hard?

“I’m glad she dragged you out,” Sam added, leaning back slightly on the bench. His voice was light, but the way he said it— like he really meant it— made you glance at him. He caught your gaze for half a second before you looked away, your heart thudding too loudly in your chest.

“I almost didn’t come,” you admitted before you could stop yourself. Your gut twisted in embarrassment. Why did you have to say that?

“But you did,” he pointed out gently. “And I’m glad.”

You swallowed hard, your grip tightening on the leash. He was kind. Too kind. The way he looked at you, like he wasn’t in a rush or expecting anything from you, made something in your chest ache. It would’ve been easier if he was pushy, if he gave you a reason to shut down. But he wasn’t.

The silence stretched, and you could feel the familiar pull to retreat, to make an excuse and leave. But then Sam spoke again, his voice cutting through the fog in your head.

“You know,” he said carefully, “I’ve been meaning to try that little café down the street. The one with the uhhh…” he clicked his finger as he thought, willing the memory to existence, “What's it called? You know, the flower with the long stem and uhh…” He continued to click his fingers as he dropped his head into his other hand, rubbing at his brow bone as he tried to remember. 

“Tulip?” you offered meekly. 

“Yes!” he pointed at you, body straightening. “That big tulip artwork on the front window. Have you been? It looks nice,” he explained, hands gesturing in front of him as he described the art. 

You shook your head, “No, I haven’t been. But I’ve walked past it a few times— smells nice in there.”

Sam smiled, leaning forward slightly. “Maybe we could check it out together sometime. If you’re up for it.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs. 

You looked at him, unsure what to say. The idea of sitting across from him, having a conversation in a quiet café, felt like a massive leap. You were not ready for this. You’d sworn off men— off dating. It hadn’t even been a question, you knew you weren’t mentally prepared to handle the things that came with being in a relationship— not now.

But at the same time, there was a tiny spark of something else— something that wanted to say yes. Would you ever be ready? Or would you spend the rest of your lonely life at home with Bella? Forced by the mental confines of your mind.

“I—uh...” You stumbled over your words, your brain fighting with itself. Say something. Say yes. He’s not going to wait forever.

“No pressure,” Sam added quickly, his tone easy. “It doesn’t have to be soon. Or ever, if.. you don't want to, or…you’re not comfortable, or… whatever.”

You exhaled shakily, gripping Bella’s leash like it was a lifeline. “No, I…” you sighed. “That sounds nice,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sam’s smile didn’t falter, and that surprised you. Most people would’ve pushed or tried to pin you down for a time. But not him. “Okay,” he said simply. “Whenever you’re free.”

You nodded, feeling a flicker of relief but also something else. Maybe you could do this. Maybe.

The dogs ran off again, chasing each other in lazy circles, and for the first time in a long time, you allowed yourself to believe that you could take a step forward. Even if it was small, even if it was terrifying, you wanted to try. 

Sam's voice brought your gaze back to him again. “How about you give me your number and we can arrange a time that you’re free. Or— I mean, I can give you mine if that's better,” he shrugged, his speech beginning to turn more into a ramble than an offer. “That way you can, y’know, choose when— or if you’re free, or if you even want to do it, cause—”

“I do want to do it. Stop overthinking it,” you joked, though you knew he had every right to be worried. You had no idea how you were going to show up to this… date? Catchup? You weren't sure what it was, but the title didn't make the occasion any less daunting. Sam's happy grin encouraged your next words. “Do you have your phone on you? I can put my number into your contacts,” you suggested. 

His eyebrows lifted as he nodded, “Yeah, yeah, for sure.” He awkwardly patted his pockets before finding his phone lost somewhere inside his coat. “Here y’go.”

Sam handed you his phone, an empty contact card open for you to put your details in. This was huge. You were willingly giving a man your phone number— a man you'd practically just met. Something tugged at whatever part of your brain was responsible for decision making persistently, willing you to question if what you were doing may be stupid. You knew it wasn't smart, not after what you’d been through— what you’d experienced with men. They always started off kind, you knew that. Yet there was something about Sam that you felt you could trust, and that frightened you the most. 

As your fingers hesitated on the keyboard against his phone, you glanced down to where Bella settled by Sam's feet, staring off into the park and allowing Sam to lightly pet the middle of her back. You sighed, willing away the thoughts like they were just some annoying, unwelcomed pest, as you forced your fingers to tap the phone screen. 

“Done.” You handed his phone back to him, fingers picking at your cuticles nervously as you watched him smile and type something into his phone. Your phone buzzed from your back pocket and you slid it out to see a text message: “Here's my number too :)”

The lightheartedness of the message made your lips twitch, the faintest hint of a smile pulling at the corners. You glanced at Sam who was still sitting beside you, leaning back against the wooden table, looking completely at ease.

You shifted awkwardly, fiddling with Bella’s leash, though she had sprawled out at Sam's feet, panting contentedly after her play. Sam didn’t seem to notice your nerves— or maybe he did, and he just chose not to draw attention to it. Either way, his relaxed energy made it hard to feel completely on edge.

“So,” Sam began, breaking the comfortable silence. “Is this Bella's favourite park, or…?”

You nodded, glancing at him briefly before looking away. “Yeah, usually. She likes how quiet it is.”

“Quiet’s good,” he agreed, his voice warm and easy. “I usually go to that busy dog park across the city when I get the chance. Rose and Fox like to drag me out of the house to get there.”

You chuckled softly, looking at Rose, who was now sprawled out a few feet away, eyes half-closed in the sunlight. “Looks like she’s not too demanding right now.”

“Yeah, don’t let that fool you,” Sam said, leaning toward you a little as he itched his forearm, his elbow brushing yours briefly. “Ten more minutes, and she’ll be up, trying to wrestle me or something. That girl hasn't known how to take it easy for her whole life,” he laughed.

You smiled faintly, your fingers tightening on Bella’s leash. It was strange, sitting here with someone you’d only just met. Normally, this would feel like too much— too close, too personal— but with Sam, it felt... manageable.

“Anyway,” he continued, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, “I figured I’d send that text so you’ve got my number too. Just in case, y’know, Bella needs a playmate or something.”

You raised an eyebrow, your lips twitching again. “Just for our dogs, huh? Not for our coffee outing?” 

Sam grinned, his shoulders shaking with a quiet laugh. “Fair point. I’m more of a sidekick in this operation. I let Fox and Rose do the heavy lifting.”

That small flicker of humor in your chest felt foreign but not unwelcome. There was no pressure to say anything. He wasn’t watching you, waiting for a response. Instead, he looked out at the park, his expression calm, like he was perfectly content to just be here.

“I don’t usually... give my number out,” you said suddenly, the words escaping before you could stop them.

Sam glanced at you, his brows lifting slightly, but he didn’t press. “Yeah? Well, I don’t usually ask for numbers in dog parks, so I guess we’re both a little out of our comfort zones.”

You snorted softly, shaking your head. “That’s... one way to look at it.”

He shifted slightly, his tone softening. “I get it, though. It’s not always easy to, uh... put yourself out there— socially, or otherwise.”

You glanced at him, feeling a pang of something— gratitude, maybe? He wasn’t prying. He wasn’t asking why or trying to dig into things you weren’t ready to share. He just... understood.

Bella nudged at your leg, and you reached down to scratch behind her ears, your fingers trembling slightly.

“You seem pretty good at it,” you murmured, almost to yourself.

Sam tilted his head, a small, almost self-deprecating smile on his lips. “You’d be surprised. I just talk a lot and hope something sticks.”

That earned a small laugh from you, and you saw his smile widen.

“Seriously, though,” he added, his voice dropping just a little, “We don’t have to do anything you’re not up for. I mean it.”

You nodded, swallowing hard. “I know.”

“Good,” he said, leaning back again, his shoes toeing into the dirt beneath him nervously. “But for the record, I think Rose, Fox and Bella would make a great tag team. So if you ever want to let them hang out again, just say the word.”

Just say the word. The offer was there, present for you to take at your own accord. It didn't press you, and it didn't make you feel like if you didn’t reach out, you were letting anybody down. It was comfortable— as was everything that Sam said. The casualness of his tone made it easier to breathe.

“Okay,” you said softly. Sam smiled, his eyes crinkling at the edges. 

You glanced at your phone to check the time, a small pang of disappointment blooming in your chest. You hated that you had to leave. You wanted to stay— maybe not talk much, but just exist here with him, in the easy quiet of the park.

“I, uh, should probably head home,” you said reluctantly, rising to your feet. “I’ve got a meeting in thirty minutes.”

Sam’s brows lifted as he stood too, the easygoing smile on his face flickering with something softer. “Oh? Do you work from home?” he asked, as Bella jumped to her feet beside you, shaking out her coat.

“Yeah,” you nodded, clipping the leash onto her collar. “I don’t have to leave Bella alone for hours, so it works out.”

“Lucky Bella,” he said lightly, though his mouth stayed open, as if he wanted to keep talking— as if he didn't want the moment to end. He shook his head lightly before continuing, “Well, I’ll let you go. Don’t want you to be late or anything.”

You smiled, a small, genuine curve of your lips. “Thanks. I’ll, uh… I’ll text you,” you said, the words slipping out before you could second-guess them. The certainty in Sam’s returning smile made your chest flutter. Maybe saying it wasn’t such a bad thing.

“I’ll look forward to it,” he said warmly, his eyes meeting yours in a way that felt reassuring and kind.

You nodded, a little too quickly, gripping Bella’s leash tightly as if it could keep your nerves steady. “See you.”

“Bye,” he said, his voice lingering just a moment longer. He reached for Fox and Rose, gently holding them back as they strained toward Bella, their tails wagging wildly.

You gave a small, awkward wave before turning away, the crisp air filling your lungs as you and Bella walked toward the park gate.

As you reached the edge of the park, you couldn’t help glancing back. Sam was still standing there, a hand resting idly on Rose’s back, watching as you left. When your eyes met his, he raised a hand in a casual wave, his grin as easy as ever.

You turned back around quickly, your cheeks warming against the cold. Maybe this wasn’t as terrifying as it seemed. Maybe.

Bella tugged gently on the leash, grounding you as you crossed the street and started for home. Your phone buzzed in your pocket— a message from Sam. It was a photo of Fox and Rose, their ears pricked up and eyes fixed on the empty entrance of the park, as though they were waiting for you and Bella to return.

A second message followed right after: “Looks like they’re already missing you both.”

A smile tugged at your lips before you could stop it. It was a small gesture, but something about it made your chest feel a little lighter. You slipped your phone back into your pocket without responding, telling yourself you’d reply when you got home. Maybe you’d even send him a photo of Bella in return. Maybe you’d keep the conversation going.

For the first time in what felt like forever, the thought of staying connected didn’t seem so impossible. It felt… nice.

🐾

The coffee meet-up had gone so much better than you’d imagined, better than you had even allowed yourself to hope for. The worst part— unsurprisingly— had been the lead-up. You’d paced your apartment for what felt like hours, second-guessing every decision. Your mind raced with a thousand doubts: Was this smart? Was this too soon? Were you setting yourself up for heartbreak again? Bella sat patiently by the door, watching you with her big, soulful eyes, almost as if she were silently urging you to go, to just try.

You’d arrived at the café early, jittery from nerves and a lack of sleep. When Sam walked in, his warm smile immediately eased some of your tension. He looked genuinely happy to see you, like there was nowhere else he’d rather be. He’d waved and slid into the seat across from you, his presence grounding but not overbearing.

Conversation had flowed naturally, which surprised you. Sam had a way of filling the space between you without making it feel stifling. He’d asked about Bella, what you did for work, and even shared a funny story about Rose stealing one of his socks that morning. When the conversation lulled, as it inevitably did, Sam didn’t make it awkward. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, his gaze wandering to the people passing by outside the café window.

“See that guy?” he’d said, nodding toward a man hurriedly crossing the street with a mismatched pair of gloves, and a bright pink scarf. “What do you reckon? He’s either late for something important or has a really funky sense of style.”

You’d followed his gaze, smiling faintly. “Maybe both.”

And just like that, the quiet moments turned into a game of people-watching. Sam made up lighthearted stories about strangers, his voice calm and easy, and for the first time in a long time, you felt safe in someone else’s company. There was no pressure, no expectation— just two people sitting across from each other, sharing a moment.

By the time you’d parted ways, your nerves had transformed into optimism. You didn’t regret coming. In fact, you were already looking forward to seeing him again.

The next morning you saw him again at the park. You hadn’t planned to go at the same time, but there he was, with Rose and Fox bounding around in the grass. You’d exchanged a smile and a wave, and soon enough, it became a daily routine. Every morning, you’d take Bella to the park, secretly hoping he’d be there too. And every morning, Sam was.

One day, as you approached the park, you noticed him holding a cup of coffee, a familiar logo on the side. He smiled as he handed it to you, his expression a mix of shy and pleased.

“I, uh, noticed what you ordered the other day,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “Thought you might like one this morning.”

You stared at the cup in your hands, warmth spreading from your fingertips to your chest. “Thank you,” you said softly, touched by the small but thoughtful gesture. From that day on, he always seemed to have a coffee ready for you. It wasn’t a grand gesture, but it meant more than he probably realized.

Still, as much as you looked forward to those mornings, your mind wasn’t entirely at ease. The scars of your past whispered doubts in the quiet moments. This is too good to be true. Men like this don’t stay this way. You’ve been here before. The memories of past relationships, of violence and betrayal, were like shadows you couldn’t shake.

But then there was Sam— patient, kind, and attentive in a way that felt entirely genuine. He didn’t push when you hesitated. He didn’t pry when you grew quiet. He just was.

When he invited you to a dinner at his house, casually mentioning that his brothers and their friends would be there, you froze. The thought of being in a group setting, of being in his home, felt like too much too soon. You’d declined, softly but firmly, and to your relief, Sam had taken it in stride.

“All good. Another time, maybe,” he’d said with a smile, as if to let you know the door was always open.

The refusal had felt good— not because you didn’t want to go, but because you were learning to set boundaries. You were opening yourself up, little by little, but you weren’t letting go of yourself in the process.

Throughout the week, Sam continued to send you pictures of Rose and Fox. They were always candid and endearing— Rose sprawled out on the couch, Fox sitting attentively by the window as if waiting for you and Bella. One evening, you found Bella lounging in her usual spot, her head tilted just so, and before you could overthink it, you snapped a picture and sent it to Sam.

“She says hi,” you’d typed, your heart fluttering as you hit send.

His reply had come almost instantly: “Tell her we say hi back. Same time tomorrow?”

You’d smiled, and without hesitation, replied: “Of course.”

🐾

A couple of days later, you found yourself bracing for a high-stakes work meeting with some of the most important executives in your company. Stress clung to you like a second skin, tightening your shoulders and quickening your breath. Your living room reflected your frayed state of mind— dog toys scattered across the floor, an abandoned mug of coffee perched precariously on the edge of the table, and a pile of laundry slumped in the corner, forgotten in your whirlwind of preparation.

You’d spent the entire morning darting between tasks: fussing with your hair, adjusting your blouse for the hundredth time, and sifting through the jumbled notes on your desk in a desperate attempt to find some semblance of order— despite the fact that the meeting started at noon. Bella had shadowed you every step of the way, her quiet presence an unspoken reminder of her unmet need for the walk she’d come to expect every morning.

Her brown eyes followed you as you paced the room, and when you finally sat down at your desk with a heavy sigh, she whined softly, settling herself at your feet.

“Bella, please,” you muttered, reaching down to give her a quick pat before returning to your computer screen. You flicked your eyes to the clock— thirty minutes until your call. The number pulsed in your mind like a ticking bomb, making your stomach twist.

Bella’s tail thumped against the floor, slow and deliberate, each wag a pointed reminder of her dissatisfaction. She huffed, letting out a low whimper, and you resisted the urge to groan. Normally, she’d be sprawled out in her favorite spot by now, worn out from a romp at the park. But today, skipping that routine had thrown her off entirely, and her restless energy was only adding to your own mounting tension.

“Bella,” you said again, your voice sharper this time, though guilt twisted in your chest. She wasn’t trying to annoy you— she just didn’t understand why things were different today. You ran a hand over your face, leaning back in your chair and staring at the ceiling.

Another loud whine that trailed off into a howl broke the silence, and you glanced down to see Bella staring up at you with wide, imploring eyes. She shifted closer, her tail wagging faster now, and let out a short, sharp bark.

“Okay, okay, I get it,” you muttered, your voice tight. “You’re stressed. Join the club.”

The tension in the room felt suffocating as Bella circled your chair, her nails clicking against the hardwood floor. You bent down again, this time stroking her fur more firmly in an attempt to calm her. But as soon as you pulled away, she was pacing again, her frustration palpable.

You checked the clock once more— twenty-five minutes now— and felt a rush of panic. This meeting was important, one you couldn’t afford to be distracted during. But how were you supposed to focus with Bella practically climbing the walls? You sighed, sitting back in your chair and opening your phone to check your emails. 

Instead, you saw a new message from Sam. “Hey, no park today?” Attached was a photo of Rose and Fox, both sitting by the edge of the park, their ears pricked up like they were waiting for someone. He was still there, despite it being hours after you’d usually meet. Guilt twisted your gut.

You smiled despite yourself, typing a quick reply. “No park today :( I’ve got a busy afternoon of meetings and needed to prepare. I meant to let you know— sorry about that!”

His reply came almost instantly. “Ah okay, no worries! Good luck with your meetings :)”

Before you could put your phone down, Bella let out another pitiful whine, pacing back and forth near the door.

You replied. “Thanks. I think I’ll need it— Bella won’t stop whining and whimpering. I think she missed you guys. I don’t know what to do.”

Sam responded immediately. “Maybe just lock her in another room with some toys and treats?”

You sighed, wincing as Bella barked piercingly. “Can't. She’s got attachment anxiety. Starts to rip things up if she's left alone.”

You hit send, leaning back in your chair as Bella plopped down dramatically near the door, her eyes fixed on it like she was willing it to open, letting high pitched whines leave her throat.

A minute passed without a reply, and you were about to set your phone aside when it buzzed.

“I can come by and look after her for however long if you’d like? Take her out for a walk until your meeting is over?”

You stared at the message, your heart skipping a beat. He’s really offering to do this? The idea of letting someone into your space, even Sam, made you hesitate. But at the same time, you couldn’t deny how kind the offer was— or how badly you needed help right now.

You bit your lip as you replied. “Thanks Sam, but Bella doesn’t like being away from me. She gets really anxious.”

His reply came quickly. “I could just hang out with her in another room if you’d prefer? All good if not, of course, but the offer’s there.”

You set your phone down, your thoughts spinning. Bella whined again, pacing back to your chair and pawing at your leg.

“Bella,” you scolded gently. “Quiet.” You stood and grabbed her bowl, filling it with a few treats in hopes of distracting her, but she barely glanced at it. She let out a sharp bark, scratching at the front door now.

“Bella! Stop!” you said, exasperated, but she wasn’t listening.

You glanced at the clock— twenty minutes until your call. Another bark echoed through the apartment, and you dropped your head into your hands. “Okay, okay!” you muttered, grabbing your phone and opening the messages again.

“Yeah, I might have to take you up on that offer, if you wouldn’t mind.”

His response came almost immediately. “Of course :) Do you mind if I bring the girls?”

You sighed in relief. “Of course not. I’ll text you my address. My call is in 20 minutes, though.”

“Perfect. I’ll be there in 10.”

You exhaled, tension leaving your shoulders as you sent him your address. Bella looked up at you expectantly, and you gave her a small smile. “Someone’s coming to rescue you, happy now?” She whined at your words, eyes looking to and from the door as she impatiently waited for you to take her out. 

While you waited, you found yourself fidgeting with your reflection in the hallway mirror. It was ridiculous, really— the meeting with the board members hadn’t inspired this level of concern, but knowing Sam was on his way had you smoothing down your hair and adjusting the hem of your sweater like a teenager before prom.

“Get a grip,” you muttered under your breath, brushing an invisible speck of lint off your sleeve. Bella whined softly from her spot near the door, her tail wagging with anticipation. And now, you tried to focus on the sound of her impatience instead of the nervous fluttering in your stomach.

The sharp knock at the door made Bella erupt into a frenzy of barking, spinning in circles by your feet. You felt your heart jolt, but not from the noise. It was that brief, nagging moment of doubt— a voice in the back of your mind reminding you that you were about to let a man into your home.

For a split second, you froze, your hand hovering over the lock. But then Bella barked again, her paws scratching at the door in her impatience, and you shoved the thought aside. This was Sam. Sam, who brought coffee to the park every morning. Sam, who made you feel safe in a way you hadn’t in a long time. You took a breath and opened the door.

“Hey!” Sam greeted you, his smile warm and disarming.

The dogs went wild, Bella barking and wagging her tail like a propeller as Rose and Fox tugged excitedly on their leashes. The narrow entryway became a chaotic blur of wagging tails and happy whines as you tried to wrangle Bella away from the tangle of Sam’s dogs.

“Come in, quick,” you said, stepping aside to let them all in before the noise woke your neighbors. Bella followed Rose and Fox eagerly as they darted into the living room, their tails wagging in unison.

“You can take their leashes off,” you told Sam, watching as he crouched to unclip them. The dogs bounded off to explore, Bella right on their heels, and the house fell into an almost eerie quiet after the explosion of noise. 

You turned back to Sam, who had straightened up and was now standing with his hands tucked casually into his coat pockets. His gaze lingered on you for a moment, his expression softening.

“You look nice,” he said, his voice warm but casual, as though it was just a simple observation and not a compliment that sent your pulse racing.

Your cheeks flushed, and you glanced down, brushing at your sweater even though you knew there was nothing on it. “Oh, uh… thanks. This meeting’s kind of a big deal.” Lie. You fixed your appearance for him. “Thank you for coming”

Sam’s smile widened, and he shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. I’m happy to help. Plus, I could hear Bella whining from the street.” 

You laughed as you watched her whizz past you both into the living room, Rose and Fox hot on her heels. 

“Where do you want me?” Sam asked, reminding you that you needed to get a move on if you wanted to make this meeting in time. 

“Anywhere is fine. I’ll be in my little office so as long as Bella doesn't come in it’ll be fine. Though, I suspect she’ll be quiet now that you guys are here.”

Sam nodded and ran a hand through his hair, and you took a moment to admire how long and healthy it looked. You had to ask him what products he used to get it looking so shiny. “Does the living room sound okay?” he asked, gesturing to the couch. You cringed at the sight of the messy room. 

“Yeah, of course. Sorry the place is such a mess. And help yourself to anything from the kitchen if you're hungry or thirsty. We have tea, too, if you'd like.”

Sam smiled as his gaze swept over your living room. “Alright, thanks. I'll go... gather the pack.”

You laughed softly, grateful for his ease. “Thanks. My meeting is until two, and I’ll have just a little bit of work to get through after that. Give me a shout if you need anything.”

With that, you headed back to your office, the door clicking gently behind you. As you settled into your chair and shuffled through your notes, the familiar sound of the kettle whistling from the kitchen reached your ears, accompanied by the rhythmic panting of the dogs as they sprawled in the living room. The noises were oddly comforting, grounding you in the moment.

Two minutes before your call was set to begin, the door to your office nudged open, creaking softly on its hinges. You glanced up, expecting Bella, but instead, there was Sam. He held a steaming mug of tea in his hand, hovering just inside the doorway, careful not to disrupt anything. His gaze darted to your screen, checking to see if you were on the call yet.

“Oh,” you said, pleasantly surprised. “Thank you so much. You really didn’t have to do that.”

Sam waved it off with an easy shrug, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Pfft, it’s nothing. Good luck with your call,” he said, holding up a thumbs-up.

You smiled, warmed by the gesture, and murmured your thanks again. He slipped out just as quietly as he’d entered, carefully shutting the door behind him.

The call, as expected, was long and dull— slides full of graphs, executives droning on about projections, and polite but strained small talk. Your attention kept drifting. Every so often, you’d hear faint noises from the next room— Sam’s voice, low and warm, talking to the dogs. You couldn’t make out the words, but the sound of his laughter reached you now and then, and it made you smile. You wished you were out there with him, soaking up his easy energy instead of slogging through a seemingly endless meeting.

When the call finally ended, and you’d rushed through whatever work you needed to do for the rest of the day, you exhaled a long sigh of relief and pushed yourself up from your chair, stretching your arms overhead. You made your way to the living room, the low hum of conversation growing clearer as you approached.

But as you rounded the corner, you stopped in your tracks.

The living room, which had been a mess of dog toys, cushions askew, and Bella’s fur tumbleweeds, was now spotless. The toys had been neatly piled in the corner, the couch cushions were fluffed and straightened, and even the coffee table had been wiped down. You glanced toward the kitchen and saw the dishes that had been piled in the sink were now washed and drying on the rack. The counters, which had been cluttered with remnants of your rushed breakfast, were clear.

Sam was crouched on the floor, tugging gently at a rope toy while Bella growled playfully. He looked up as your shadow crossed the room, his face lighting up with a grin. “Hey! Meeting over?”

Your heart squeezed at the sight of him so effortlessly at home. “Yeah,” you said, your voice soft. “Did you… clean up?”

He shrugged, standing and brushing his hands on his jeans. “Hope you don’t mind. I figured you had enough on your plate, and the dogs were napping.”

You blinked, momentarily stunned. “That’s… really sweet. Thank you.”

“It wasn’t trouble,” he insisted, his voice gentle but sincere. “I just wanted to make things easier for you.”

You hesitated, your heart stumbling over itself at his kindness. Before you could stop yourself, the words were tumbling out. “You know… you’ve already done so much, but if you don’t have plans, you could stay for dinner?”

Sam blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose—”

“You wouldn’t be,” you interrupted quickly, then added with a soft laugh, “Honestly, I’d love to make you dinner as a thank-you. You’ve helped so much today.” You glanced at your watch seeing it was just after three in the afternoon. “I know it’s still early but…” you shrugged.

His hesitation lingered for a moment, but then his lips curved into that easy smile. “If you’re sure, I’d like that. But only if I get to help.”

“Oh, you don’t have to—”

“Come on,” he interrupted, already heading toward the kitchen. “You’re doing me a favor by letting me stay. Let me at least chop something.”

You sighed with a sarcastic roll of your eyes. “Alright then, if you insist.”

Sam smiled cheekily and jumped from his spot on the couch to follow you to the kitchen. You'd decided on a simple pasta dish, and the kitchen quickly came alive with activity as you both worked side by side. Sam had insisted on chopping vegetables, though his knife skills left much to be desired.

“You know,” he said, holding up a piece of onion that was noticeably uneven, “I think I’m getting the hang of this.”

You raised an eyebrow, smirking as you took the cutting board from him. “Sure, if you were trying to invent abstract vegetable art.”

He laughed, leaning against the counter as he watched you take over. “I’ll have you know, my abstract art is highly sought after. Just wait till you see my tomato slicing.”

“God help me,” you teased, shaking your head.

The banter flowed easily between you as you moved around the kitchen. Sam stirred the sauce with dramatic flair, claiming he was a “culinary genius,” while you rolled your eyes and corrected his seasoning suggestions.

“You’re gonna regret doubting me when this sauce wins an award,” he said, tapping the spoon against the edge of the pot.

“Uh-huh,” you replied, turning to grab a pot for the pasta. “I’ll make sure to nominate it for Most Over-Seasoned Dish.”

“Rude,” he muttered, though he was grinning.

At one point, while you were boiling the pasta, Sam stepped behind you to grab plates from the cabinet. The brush of his arm against yours was fleeting, but it sent a jolt through you. You glanced at him, finding his focus entirely on the task at hand, as if he hadn’t noticed.

The domesticity of it all was surreal. You hadn’t had anyone in your kitchen like this in years— working together, laughing, existing in a space that felt so normal, yet so foreign to you.

Once the food was ready, you carried the plates while Sam grabbed the water glasses, and without much conversation, the two of you gravitated toward the couch. Somehow, eating there felt more natural than sitting stiffly at the dining table.

Sam handed you your plate before settling in beside you, leaving enough space between you to keep it comfortable. He looked around, scanning the small stack of DVDs you had near the TV. “Dinner and a movie,” he said, glancing at you with a grin. “You’ve officially spoiled me.”

You smiled softly, sitting down a little more cautiously than him, keeping a small gap between you. “And you can pick the movie, too.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Bold move, letting me choose. I’m warning you, I have excellent taste.”

“Let’s see how excellent it really is,” you teased, tucking your legs beneath you as you took a bite of your food.

Sam, however, froze after his first bite. His eyes widened, and he turned to you with an exaggerated look of awe. “Okay, what is this? Did you make a deal with the devil or something? This is incredible.”

You snorted, trying to hide your grin. “It’s just pasta, Sam.”

“No,” he insisted, pointing his fork at you dramatically. “This is art. It’s poetry. I didn’t even know food could taste like this.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re keeping me fed. It’s only fair I hype you up. But you better give me the recipe before I leave tonight.”

Your cheeks warmed at his playful sincerity, and you ducked your head to take another bite, hoping he wouldn’t notice. The banter eased something in you, though— like you weren’t trying too hard, like you could just be in the moment with him.

Eventually, Sam settled on a movie, popping it into the player before sinking back into the couch with his plate. “Okay, so this one’s a classic,” he said, gesturing toward the TV. “If you hate it, I’ll take the blame, but I promise, it’s amazing.”

“I’m holding you to that,” you said, though your tone was lighter than before.

The movie started, and for a while, the focus shifted to the screen. You found yourself occasionally glancing at him out of the corner of your eye— his easy posture, the way he laughed a little too loudly at the jokes, the way he balanced his plate effortlessly while gesturing with his fork as if narrating the scenes. God, he was such a dork. 

You seemed to gravitate towards one another as you settled into the couch, your dogs soon joining you as they lay on top of each other happily. 

The movie continued to drone on in the background. At first, you’d tried to stay engaged, nodding along at the occasional joke Sam laughed at, but gradually, your attention began to wander. Your fingers toyed with the hem of your sweater, and your plate of half-eaten pasta sat forgotten on the coffee table.

It had been such a nice evening so far— surprisingly so. Sam had been kind, thoughtful, even funny in a way that made you feel at ease. But now, in the quiet comfort of your living room, with him sitting just a little too close, the questions started creeping in.

Why had you asked him to stay?

It had felt right in the moment, natural even. But now, the edges of doubt started to fray that confidence. You barely knew him. Sure, you’d seen him at the park almost every morning, but how much did you really know about him? Enough to invite him into your home? Enough to cook dinner together like… like this was normal?

Your fingers fidgeted against your lap as your chest tightened.

Sure, he seemed nice. But doesn’t it always start like that?

The thought hit you like a cold wave. Your mind turned back to memories you tried so hard to keep buried— moments you didn’t want to revisit but couldn’t stop from surfacing. The times when smiles and kind words turned into raised voices, sharp insults, slammed doors. Or worse.

Your breathing quickened as flashes of those memories filled your mind: the weight of someone’s anger looming over you, the sting of being told you weren’t enough, the fear of not knowing what would set him off next. The boundaries you’d built so carefully around yourself now felt perilously close to crumbling, all because you’d let one man in.

Your stomach twisted. What if this was a mistake? What if he was just better at hiding it than the others?

You glanced at Sam from the corner of your eye. He looked completely at ease, focused on the movie, his body relaxed against the couch. But that didn’t calm the growing unease in your chest. He was sitting close— too close. And while you knew it wasn’t threatening, the proximity still made you acutely aware of your vulnerability.

Your mind raced. You shouldn’t have asked him to stay. You shouldn’t have sent him your address. You shouldn’t—

Bella shifted from her spot on the floor, her soft snuffling breaking your spiraling thoughts. She curled up closer to Sam’s feet, her tail thumping lazily against the floor. He reached down to give her a gentle scratch behind the ears without breaking his attention from the screen.

Something about that small gesture grounded you for a moment. Your breath caught, and you tried to focus on it— on Bella, on the way Sam’s touch was calm and unassuming. And on the way Bella trusted him. But the unease lingered, creeping in at the edges.

This was too much. Too fast.

Your chest felt tight, and you didn’t know how you were going to make it through the rest of the movie. You wanted to get up, to create some space, to pull yourself out of this situation— but you didn’t want to draw attention to your panic. You didn’t want him to notice.

Sam noticed, of course. He always did. “You okay?” he asked, his tone casual, but his eyes searching.

“Yeah,” you said quickly, trying to sound convincing. “Just… full. Food coma incoming.”

He chuckled, not pressing the issue. “Understandable. I’d be out cold too if I wasn’t so invested in your reaction to this movie.”

You gave him a small smile, but your nerves didn’t completely ease. You shifted slightly, creating just enough space between you to make yourself feel a little safer.

The movie carried on, and so did your thoughts. 

You were so lost in your thoughts that the sudden movement beside you felt like a thunderclap. Sam shifted forward on the couch to grab the remote, reaching toward the coffee table. The motion was quick, his hand brushing past yours as he grabbed the remote.

It was such a small movement, but with your mind racing the way it was, you knew anything could have set you off. You flinched, hard, instinctively pulling back as if you’d been burned. Your body reacted before your mind could catch up, muscles tensing and your breath hitching audibly.

The air between you shifted immediately. Sam froze, his hand hovering midair as his eyes snapped to yours. His brow furrowed with concern.

“Woah,” he said softly, his voice calm but tinged with worry. “What was that? Are you okay?”

You tried to force a laugh, to wave it off, but the sound that came out was shaky and unconvincing. “Yeah, sorry. Just… startled me.”

Sam didn’t look convinced. He set the remote down gently on the table and turned his full attention to you, his hands now resting loosely on his knees. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said carefully, his tone deliberate and measured, as though he didn't want to push you further into discomfort.

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks, embarrassment mixing with the lingering panic in your chest. “It’s fine,” you mumbled, looking down at your lap. “I just… I don’t know. I guess I was in my own head.”

He nodded slowly, his gaze steady but soft. “Okay,” he said, leaving a pause for you to fill if you wanted to. When you didn’t, he added, “If I did something to make you uncomfortable, you can tell me. I’d never want to—” He stopped himself, his words trailing off, but the sincerity in his voice was unmistakable.

He sighed, and you listened awkwardly as the film continued to play in the background. 

The tension in your chest loosened just a fraction at his words. He wasn’t pressing, wasn’t pushing for answers. He was simply… there. Present. And the way he sat, his posture open and relaxed, made it feel like the ball was entirely in your court.

“It’s not you,” you finally admitted, your voice quiet but steady. “I just… sometimes I get a little jumpy. It’s stupid.”

Sam shook his head immediately. “It’s not stupid.” He hesitated, glancing briefly at Bella, who was now watching the two of you with curious eyes. When he looked back at you, his voice was gentle but firm. “Whatever made you feel like that, it’s not stupid. And if there’s ever something I’m doing that doesn’t feel okay, just tell me. I mean it.”

The knot in your stomach unraveled just a bit more at his words. You nodded, not trusting yourself to say anything without your voice shaking. You bit your cheek as you felt your eyes fill to the brim with tears. God, this was so embarrassing. 

Sam's features softened impossibly further, his hand lifting to reach you, but it hesitated in the air. 

You quickly turned your head away, scratching the back of your head nervously as you blinked furiously, trying to will away your tears. “I’m sorry, I don’t—” You shook your head, wiping a hand over your face before you reluctantly faced Sam again. “I don’t know what's gotten into me.” 

You did, but Sam didn’t need to know that. You pulled all your energy together to force the tears at bay, and returned your gaze to Sam. 

Sam shifted slightly on the couch, his expression caught somewhere between concern and uncertainty. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice careful like he was walking a tightrope. “I don’t want to overstep or make you uncomfortable, but if there’s anything I can do... or if you just want me to shut up and leave you alone, I can do that too.”

You shook your head quickly, your breath hitching as you fought back the lump in your throat. “No, it’s not you,” you repeated, your voice strained. “I just... I’m a mess right now. You don't need to do anything.”

Sam tilted his head, studying you for a moment before he spoke. “I want to, though. Because I care,” he said simply, shrugging like it was the most natural thing in the world. His gaze flicked over your closed-off body language, the way your arms were wrapped tightly around yourself, and you could see the hesitation in him. He didn’t want to push.

He sighed softly, glancing down at Rose and Fox, who were curled up near his feet. “Maybe I should get going,” he said carefully, testing the waters. “It’s late anyway, and these two need their beauty sleep.” He smiled faintly, gesturing toward his dogs, but his eyes stayed on you, gauging your reaction.

Your heart twisted at his words, and you bit your lip instinctively, and your voice came out quiet and unsure. “I’m sorry.”

Sam hesitated, his lips pressing into a thin line before he offered you a small, understanding smile. “No, it’s alright,” he said gently. “I can see you need some time to yourself. And that’s okay. I get it.” His tone was so soft, so genuine, that it made your chest ache.

You couldn’t bring yourself to argue. You just nodded, your voice caught somewhere in your throat as you stood to walk him to the door. Bella followed silently at your side, her usual energy replaced with a quiet understanding of the tension in the room.

Sam gathered Rose and Fox, leashing them up before turning back to you. “Thank you for tonight,” he said, his voice warm despite the weight in the air. “Dinner was amazing. And... I hope you’ll text me if you need anything, alright?”

You nodded again, barely able to meet his eyes. “Thanks, Sam. I will.”

With that, he gave you a faint smile, one last glance that lingered a second too long before he opened the door and stepped out into the night. As soon as the door clicked shut, you let out a shaky breath, your legs giving out as you slid down the wall, burying your face in your hands.

The tears came fast and heavy, spilling over like a dam had finally broken inside you. It felt like you cried for hours, each sob pulling from a deep well of pain and frustration you’d kept buried for far too long. You hated this— hated the way your trauma had its claws in every part of your life, ruining even the good things you tried so desperately to hold onto. You wanted to be normal, to feel normal. But instead, you felt broken, incapable of letting anyone in without breaking apart.

Your phone buzzed on the floor beside you, and you wiped at your tear-streaked face as you reached for it, your vision blurry as you unlocked the screen.

It was Sam. “Thank you for dinner tonight. I had a great time. I’m sorry if I upset you.”

The knot in your chest tightened at his words. Even now, he was worried about you, trying to make sure you were okay when he didn’t have to. You stared at the message for a long moment, your fingers hovering over the keyboard as fresh tears blurred your vision.

🐾

The next morning, sunlight streamed through your curtains, far brighter than it should have been. You groaned, sitting up in bed as Bella stretched out beside you, her tail thumping against the blankets. Reaching for your phone, you squinted at the time and felt a pang of guilt hit your chest.

It was late. Too late. You’d missed the park. Again.

“Bella,” you murmured, the sound more like a frustrated groan than anything, rubbing your face as the weight of your restless night settled on your shoulders. Her ears perked up at her name, and she let out a soft, hopeful bark, her eyes darting to the door. She didn’t understand why you hadn’t gotten up earlier, why your routine had been thrown off, but she still looked at you like she trusted you to make it right.

Your thoughts immediately flicked to Sam. He’d probably been at the park with Rose and Fox, glancing toward the entrance like he always did. Waiting. And you hadn’t shown up. Guilt twisted in your chest, but it wasn’t just about missing the park. It was the reason you’d overslept.

The dream— no, the memory— had dragged you back into the dark. It had been so vivid, so real. His voice still echoed in your mind, sharp and cutting, a hand falling down to strike you. It wasn’t the worst memory you’d ever had, but it reminded you of everything. The fear. The helplessness. The suffocating feeling of never being safe, no matter what you did.

And then there was last night— flinching at Sam. The look on his face when you pulled away. The ache in your chest knowing it had nothing to do with him and everything to do with what had been done to you.

You sighed, staring at Bella as she sat at your feet, her tail wagging cautiously, as though trying to coax you into feeling better.

“I know, girl,” you whispered, reaching down to scratch behind her ears. “We’ll go tomorrow.”

But tomorrow wasn’t really what weighed on you. It was the thought of Sam. The thought of how kind and patient he’d been. And the fear that you’d ruined whatever fragile thing was starting to grow between you two.

You weren’t going to let it happen again.

Your past— the yelling, the broken glass, the bruises you’d hidden under long sleeves— had taken so much from you already. But it wasn’t going to take this. It wasn’t going to take Sam. You refused to let those men, those memories, ruin something good. You weren't going to let them continue to control you. 

As you made your way to the kitchen, Bella trailing at your heels, you resolved to text him. To explain, even if it felt awkward or difficult. You couldn’t let the silence between you grow. But before you could, your phone buzzed on the counter. Picking it up, you saw Sam’s name lighting up the screen, and your heart gave an involuntary jolt.

The text read: “Hey, just wanted to check in. Missed you guys at the park this morning. Everything okay?”

You stared at the message for a long moment before typing out a reply. “Hey, yeah, I’m okay. Just overslept, sorry.”

His reply came almost instantly: “Not a worry :) I hope you got some rest at least. The girls missed Bella.”

You smiled softly, though a flicker of nerves still lingered before recycling. “I did, thanks.” 

Before you could overthink it, another message popped up: “I was thinking, I’ve been working on this recipe, and I might need some help. You know, use your culinary skills and all. Also could use someone to taste-test it and tell me if it’s edible.”

You blinked at the screen, reading it twice. Your heart gave a small flutter, but you couldn’t tell if it was from nerves or something softer.

Another message popped up: “No pressure, though. If you’re busy or not feeling it, totally fine. Just thought it might be nice.”

He was careful. You could tell he was trying not to push after last night, and the effort didn’t go unnoticed. Your chest tightened, but not in a bad way. You stared at the message, torn. Dinner. At his place. Alone. The idea felt heavy, but not because of Sam— because of you. Still, you didn’t want to let fear win again. And besides, the way he framed it felt low stakes, almost casual.

Before you could overthink it, another message arrived: “Also, Rose has been stealing things off the counter lately, and I could really use some advice before she eats something she shouldn’t.”

That made you smile, your fingers hovering over the keyboard as Bella nudged your leg. 

“Okay”, you finally typed. “But I’m not an expert, so no promises about Rose.”

The reply came almost instantly: “You’ll do better than me. Friday night? Around 7?”

“Yeah, that works,” you wrote, your pulse quickening.

Sam followed up quickly: “Great. If you change your mind, don’t feel bad, just let me know.”

“I’ll be there,” you replied, before you could talk yourself out of it.

His final message was simple, but it made you smile again: “Looking forward to seeing you. And Bella too, of course. She’s my secret weapon to keep Rose and Fox in line.”

You set the phone down, exhaling slowly. Bella wagged her tail, watching you like she knew something important had just happened.

“I guess we’re going to Sam’s on Friday,” you murmured to her.

Bella’s tail thumped harder, and you reached down to scratch behind her ears. Nerves churned in your stomach, but there was something else there too. Something steadier. A kind of strength in the fact that you knew you were growing. You were leaving that shit behind you. 

Though, the doubts were still there, lingering just beneath the surface like they always were. As you stared at Sam’s text, you tried to push them down. You wanted to move on. You wanted to reclaim the part of your life that felt stolen. Dinner with Sam was a step forward. It wasn’t a declaration of trust or a promise to let your guard down completely, but it was something. Besides, Sam had never given you a reason to fear him. If anything, he’d gone out of his way to make you feel safe. You reminded yourself of his soft patience, his quick smile, the way he’d thanked you for dinner even after you’d practically fallen apart the night before. If anyone deserved a little faith, it was him.

The next few mornings at the park felt like an unspoken agreement to ease the tension. Sam didn’t mention your flinch or your teary goodbye. He treated you just the same as always— grinning as you approached, offering Bella a warm hello, and making little jokes as the dogs ran wild. It was comforting in a way, like he knew you needed the space to find your footing again.

By the time the evening of the dinner rolled around, you’d talked yourself into believing this was a good thing. A normal thing. Still, nerves clawed at your stomach as you approached Sam’s place. Bella trotted at your side, oblivious to your inner turmoil, but her calm presence grounded you just enough to knock on the door.

Sam answered almost immediately, his face lighting up when he saw you. “Hey, you made it,” he said warmly, stepping aside to let you in.

“Yeah,” you replied, your voice a little quieter than you wanted it to be. “Thanks for inviting me.”

Sam offered a small shrug, like it wasn’t a big deal. “Of course. And thanks for bringing Bella. The girls will be happy to see her.” 

As you stepped inside, you glanced around nervously. His house was cozy, filled with warm light and signs of life— a guitar leaning against the wall, a piano tucked into the far corner and a few books stacked on the coffee table, and a faint smell of something savory coming from the kitchen.

“You can let her off the leash if you want,” Sam said, gesturing toward Bella, who was already sniffing around curiously. “The girls are in the backyard. She can join them whenever.”

“Okay,” you said, unclipping her leash. Bella wagged her tail, giving you a reassuring glance before trotting off to explore.

“Dinner’s going to take a little while,” Sam said, nodding toward the kitchen. “Hope you’re ready to help, because I’m not exactly known for my cooking skills.”

You let out a nervous laugh, following him toward the kitchen. “Should I be worried?”

“Probably,” he teased, opening the fridge to pull out some ingredients. “Honestly, I need you to save me here. If you leave me to it, we’re eating charred chicken and plain rice.”

You couldn’t help but smile as you reached for a cutting board. “Good thing I’m here, then.”

“Exactly,” he said, smirking as he handed you a knife. “I knew you’d make this work.”

The lightness of his tone started to ease the tension in your chest. As you chopped vegetables and Sam worked beside you— throwing in exaggerated instructions and grinning every time he “consulted” you— it felt easy. Comfortable, even. You found yourself laughing more than you thought you would, and when Sam tasted the sauce you made and dramatically declared it “life-changing,” you couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

“You’re ridiculous,” you said, shaking your head.

“Ridiculously lucky to have you helping me,” he shot back, his grin boyish and teasing. You looked back at the chopping board with a hint of a blush. 

As the minutes ticked by, it became painfully clear that Sam and the sauce were not meant to be. He stirred it with all the confidence of a man who thought he knew what he was doing, but the sizzling sounds and occasional splatters told a very different story.

“Sam,” you said slowly, watching as he aggressively poked at the bubbling liquid with a wooden spoon, “what exactly are you doing?”

He glanced at you, utterly unbothered by the chaos he was creating. “Improvising,” he replied with a grin, giving the sauce an extra stir that sent a small splash onto the counter.

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “It looks more like you’re waging war on it.”

“I’m adding character,” he said, feigning offense as he swirled the spoon around dramatically. “This is what chefs do— they experiment.”

“Chefs don’t usually burn the sauce, though,” you teased, leaning over to sniff the air. “Seriously, is that… smoke?”

He froze, his grin faltering as he gave the pot a closer look. “Okay, maybe it’s a little toasted. That’s a flavor profile, right?”

“Not when it smells like a campfire,” you shot back, stepping in to gently nudge him aside. “Alright, sauce master, let’s trade. I’ll handle this before it becomes a kitchen emergency.”

Sam relinquished the spoon with a mock pout, stepping back to let you take over. “Fine,” he said, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. “But only because I don’t want to deprive you of the joy of saving dinner.”

“Oh, how selfless of you,” you replied dryly, shooting him a playful glare before turning your attention to salvaging the sauce.

From behind you, Sam muttered something about being unappreciated, but when you glanced over your shoulder, you caught him grinning as he began chopping vegetables with exaggerated precision, clearly unbothered by his failed attempt at culinary greatness.

“You know,” he said, watching you expertly stir the sauce, “I think this is your master plan—let me screw something up so you can come in and save the day.”

“Obviously,” you quipped, shaking your head. “I mean, what better way to assert dominance in the kitchen than by rescuing dinner from your reckless hands?”

As you got started on stirring the sauce, Sam opened a cabinet and frowned. “Forgot the thyme. Again. Be right back— got some in the garden.”

You blinked, surprised. “You have a garden?”

“Don’t sound so shocked,” he shot back with a grin, grabbing the back door handle. “I’m full of surprises.”

You snorted. “What’s next? A compost bin?”

“Mock me all you want,” he called over his shoulder as he stepped outside. “But when this thyme makes you cry over how good this sauce tastes, you’ll owe me an apology!”

As Sam slipped out the back door to grab herbs from his garden, the house fell silent, save for the faint shuffle of the dog's paws as they followed him to the window, tails wagging lazily. You stood in the kitchen, absently wiping your palms on a tea towel. It was strange how quiet everything felt without Sam’s warm, easy presence nearby.

You glanced at the knife you’d been using earlier, resting precariously close to the edge of the counter. Muttering under your breath, you reached out to adjust it. As you stretched to grab the handle, your wrist brushed the corner of a wine glass that had been drying by the side of the sink.

Time seemed to slow as the glass tipped, wobbling once before gravity claimed it. It slipped from the counter and plummeted to the floor, shattering with a deafening crash.

The sound tore through the stillness like a gunshot. Instantly, your chest tightened, your breath catching as your heart began to race. It was so loud. So, so loud. And there was glass everywhere. Shit, shit, shit, shit. The sharp, crystalline sound echoed in your ears, and your mind reeled.

For a moment, you froze, staring at the shards scattered across the floor, gleaming like jagged little stars. Your vision blurred, and the kitchen around you seemed to waver, the walls closing in as a familiar, suffocating sense of dread washed over you.

The world around you dissolved into a haze. The glass wasn’t just glass anymore— it was every slammed door, every smashed object that had signaled danger in the past. Your pulse roared in your ears, drowning out any rational thoughts. Your hands shook as you instinctively dropped to your knees, fumbling for the larger shards, desperate to clean it up before Sam came back inside.

“Oh God, oh God,” you whispered frantically, your voice trembling. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! Oh God.”

The words tumbled out in a panicked, incoherent mess as your hands worked faster, clutching at the broken pieces, heedless of the sharp edges biting into your fingertips. The sting barely registered; all you could think about was fixing it, making it right, undoing the mistake.

Bella barked once, and you wondered briefly if it was at Sam, but you hardly noticed. Your breathing grew shallow and uneven, your chest heaving as you fought to keep the panic at bay.

The back door swung open with a creak, and Sam’s voice called out, worriedly, “Hey, what was that? Are you okay?”

He stepped inside, his gaze falling to the scene before him. You were kneeling on the floor, your shoulders hunched and trembling, surrounded by a sea of broken glass.

“Whoa, whoa, hey,” he said quickly, his voice softening as he set the herbs on the counter. “What happened? Are you okay?”

You couldn’t look at him. You couldn’t do anything but mumble a frantic stream of apologies. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to— I’ll fix it, I’ll clean it up, I promise. I’ll—”

“Hey,” Sam interrupted gently, crouching down a safe distance away. His tone was calm, careful, like he was trying not to spook a skittish animal. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it. Just stop for a second, okay? You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

You shook your head, your hands still trembling as you tried to pick up another shard. “I have to clean it up. I— I can’t leave it like this. I didn’t mean to—”

“Stop,” Sam said more firmly this time, his hand hovering near yours but not touching. “Please. Just stop.”

His voice cut through the haze, grounding you for a moment. Your hands faltered, falling still as you finally looked up at him. His face was open, his brow furrowed with concern. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t upset.

“Let me handle it,” he said softly, holding your gaze. “You don’t have to do this. Just… take a breath for me, okay?”

You shook your head, fresh tears spilling over. “I ruined everything—”

“You didn’t ruin anything,” he said, cutting you off again. “Hey, listen to me. It’s fine. Really. I don’t care about the glass. I care about you.”

His words hit you like a lifeline, cutting through the spiral of panic just enough for you to take a shaky breath.

You bit your lip, wiping at your face as you tried to pull yourself together. “I’m sorry,” you whispered again.

“Don’t be,” he said simply, without a hint of frustration or condescension. “It’s okay.”

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you nodded, your chest heaving as you tried to follow his instructions. Your hands hovered over the shards for a moment longer before you finally let the glass clatter to the floor, your hands falling limply into your lap.

“That’s it,” Sam murmured, his voice low and soothing. He crouched in front of you, his hands hovering just over yours, hesitant. “Can I—?” he started to ask, and when you gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, he gently wrapped his fingers over your hand. His touch was careful, deliberate, as if he knew the wrong move might send you spiraling further.

His thumbs brushed over your knuckles, his touch warm and grounding. “Okay,” he said softly, his eyes fixed on yours, kind and steady. “Let’s just breathe together. You’re safe. Right here, you’re safe.”

You tried to focus on his words, but your chest felt like it was collapsing in on itself, your lungs refusing to fill properly. Your breaths came quick and shallow, each one catching like it wasn’t enough.

“In through your nose,” Sam coaxed, his voice a quiet anchor in the chaos. He exaggerated the motion, inhaling deeply, slow and steady, his shoulders rising just enough for you to notice. “Like this. Just follow me.”

You tried, your breaths hitching at first, but he stayed with you. His eyes didn’t leave yours— not for a second. They weren’t impatient or searching for the right thing to say. They were just… there, holding you in place like a tether.

“That’s it,” he encouraged when you managed even a fraction of a steady inhale. “Now out through your mouth. Slow, like this,” he demonstrated again, his exhale controlled and quiet, and you mirrored it as best you could.

Your hands trembled under his, and he squeezed them gently, his thumbs never stopping their slow, soothing rhythm. “You’re okay,” he said, his tone so soft, so certain, it almost broke something inside you.

Your chest still felt tight, but the air was coming a little easier now, your breaths slowing in uneven increments. Your vision, blurry from tears and panic, began to clear, and you could see the worry etched into his face, the way his brow furrowed just slightly.

“You’re doing so good,” he said, his voice steady, never wavering. “Just keep going. One breath at a time.”

You nodded weakly, tears spilling over despite your efforts to keep them at bay. A shaky sob broke free, and you quickly turned your head, ashamed, but Sam’s grip on your hands tightened, grounding you.

“Hey,” he said softly, pulling your gaze back to him. “It’s okay. You don’t have to hide. Not from me.”

His words hit like a gentle wave, washing over the raw edges of your panic. You blinked rapidly, trying to pull yourself together, but his unwavering presence made it harder to keep the walls up.

“I’m sorry,” you managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Don’t,” he said immediately, his tone firm but gentle. “You don’t have to be sorry for anything. I promise.”

His words wrapped around you like a safety net, and though the panic hadn’t completely left, it was no longer suffocating. Slowly, your breathing evened out, the shaking in your hands subsiding under the warmth of his.

Sam stayed there, crouched in front of you, never rushing, never looking away. His kind eyes softened further when you finally met them fully, your body still trembling slightly but no longer on the edge of breaking apart.

“There you are,” he said quietly, a small, relieved smile pulling at his lips.

Sam waited until he was sure you wouldn’t move before he stood, grabbing the broom and dustpan from a nearby corner. As he swept up the broken glass, he spoke gently, his tone casual but soothing. “I broke my favorite coffee mug last week. Sent coffee everywhere. It was a disaster.”

His attempt to lighten the mood made something stir in your chest— something that felt like gratitude, even if it was buried under layers of shame and panic.

Once the glass was gone and the floor was safe again, Sam turned back to you. “C’mon,” he said softly, holding out a hand to help you up. “Let’s sit down for a minute, yeah?”

You stared at the hand extended toward you for a few long beats, your eyes fixed on his fingers as if they were foreign objects. It wasn’t just a hand— it was trust, it was care, it was safety, and yet all you could feel in that moment was a deep, gnawing hesitation. Your chest still felt tight, your heart racing as echoes of past moments flooded your mind.

The trembling in your hands betrayed you, but Sam didn’t push. He didn’t frown or look impatient. His hand remained steady, palm open, an unspoken reassurance that the choice was entirely yours.

His voice was soft, cutting through the storm in your head like a lifeline. “It’s okay. Take your time.”

That was all it took for something to shift. You blinked, the edges of your vision clearing as you finally looked up at him. His expression wasn’t pitying, wasn’t concerned in a way that made you feel small— it was just patient. Steady. Kind.

Your fingers twitched at your sides before you finally reached out, your hand trembling as it found his. His grip was gentle but firm, warm in a way that made your chest ache with a mix of relief and vulnerability. He didn’t pull you up too quickly or make a big deal of it. He just guided you to your feet, his other hand hovering nearby as if ready to catch you should you falter.

“There you go,” he said quietly, his tone light yet soothing, as if you’d just accomplished something monumental. And, in a way, you had.

Your legs felt shaky as you stood, and when Sam gently guided you to the couch, you didn’t resist. Hearing the commotion, Bella, Rose and Fox had joined you both, sniffing carefully at you, no doubt smelling the anxiety in the air. 

Sam guided you gently to the couch, his hand never leaving yours until you were seated. The soft cushions welcomed you, but your body remained stiff, your shoulders drawn tight as though bracing for impact. He sat beside you, his eyes scanning your face carefully. His hands rested on his knees, open and unassuming, making no move to invade your space further.

“I didn’t mean to freak out like that,” you murmured, your voice barely audible.

Sam's movements were slow and deliberate as he nodded. “I know. But something tells me this wasn’t just about the wine glass.” He hesitated, his gaze softening as he shifted to sit beside you on the couch, leaving a comfortable distance between you. “Do you want to talk about it? If you don’t, that’s okay. But if you do… I’m here. No judgment.”

You swallowed hard, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. “It’s a long story,” you said quietly, your words a little rushed, almost as though you were trying to dismiss the idea altogether. “It doesn’t really matter.”

“It matters,” Sam countered gently. “You matter. But I won’t push you. We can just sit here if that’s what you need.”

His words felt like an anchor in a storm. He wasn’t pressuring you, wasn’t prying— he was just there, a steady presence that made you feel like maybe, just maybe, you could let some of the weight go. You drew in a shaky breath, staring down at your hands as the words started to form in your throat.

“It’s not pretty,” you warned, your voice trembling. “It’s… it’s a lot.”

Sam nodded, his expression unwavering. “I can handle a lot.”

You hesitated, the weight of Sam’s steady, concerned gaze almost too much to bear. You’d never been good at this— letting someone in, being vulnerable. But here he was, sitting so close you could feel his warmth, his eyes searching yours like he genuinely wanted to understand. It felt impossible to explain everything, but you knew if you didn’t at least try, the moment would pass, and the weight you carried would stay right where it always had— on your shoulders alone.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady the tremor in your voice. “It’s… it’s not an easy thing to talk about,” you began, staring down at your hands, which were clenched tightly in your lap. “I’ve never really told anyone before.”

Sam leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees. His voice was gentle but firm. “You don’t have to tell me if you’re not ready. But if you want to, I’m here. I want to listen.”

The sincerity in his words made your throat tighten. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to continue. “I’ve… been in bad relationships. Really bad ones.” Your voice wavered, and you paused, your fingers digging into your palms as if the pressure could keep you grounded.

Sam didn’t say anything, but you felt the shift in his posture, the subtle way he straightened like he was bracing himself for whatever you were about to say.

“It started off so small,” you whispered, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “Little things, you know? Like comments about how I dressed, or what I did. Controlling stuff. But it didn’t stay that way. It got worse— way worse.”

You glanced up at him briefly, and the look on his face made your stomach twist. His brows were furrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line, and his eyes… God, his eyes were filled with something you couldn’t quite place. Anger? Sadness? Maybe both.

“Soon it wasn’t just words,” you continued, your voice barely audible now. “There were… fights. Things thrown at me. And sometimes it wasn’t just things— sometimes it was…” You trailed off, your throat tightening painfully as the memories threatened to overwhelm you.

Sam’s jaw tightened, and his hands flexed where they rested on his knees, but he didn’t interrupt.

“They’d hurt me,” you finally forced out, the words feeling sharp and jagged in your throat. “Physically. Emotionally. In ways I didn’t even realize until it was too late. And I let it happen because… because I thought it was normal. Or that it would stop if I was better.”

Sams broke your train of thoughts, his voice slightly croaky. “‘They’?” He swallowed. 

You felt a tear slip down your cheek, and you wiped it away quickly, angry at yourself for falling apart like this. “It happened twice. Got away from one abuser just to get into a relationship with another.” You chuckled humorlessly, “I was young, and stupid.” There was a long beat of silence, your uneven breaths and Sam's anchoring, steady ones the only sound in the room. “Even now, I… I can’t stop expecting someone to yell, or grab me, or…” You shook your head, unable to finish the sentence.

Sam exhaled softly, the sound filled with a quiet frustration that wasn’t aimed at you. “I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I can’t imagine… I can’t even begin to imagine what that was like for you.”

You shrugged, your shoulders hunched. “I got out. That’s all that matters, right? I should just be over it by now.”

“No,” Sam said firmly, his tone so sudden and certain that it startled you. You looked up at him, surprised by the intensity in his expression. “That’s not how it works. What they did to you— it doesn’t just go away. And it’s not your fault that it doesn’t. None of it was your fault.”

His words hit you like a physical blow, and before you realized what you were doing, you leaned into him, your body tilting toward his as if seeking comfort. You rested your head on his slim shoulder. He didn’t move, didn’t pull back or hesitate, just stayed perfectly still, letting you make the decision to close the distance.

“I hate how much power they still have over me,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I hate that I can’t even break a stupid glass without falling apart.”

Sam shook his head, his hand lifting hesitantly before settling lightly on your arm. His touch was warm and steady, grounding you in a way you didn’t expect. “You’re not falling apart,” he said softly. “You’re still here. So strong, and brave, for trusting me.”

You let out a bitter laugh, the sound catching in your throat. “It doesn’t feel like strength. It feels like I’m barely holding on most days.”

Sam’s grip on your arm tightened just slightly, his thumb brushing against your skin in a way that was both comforting and careful. “Help me ease the burden? Maybe you are holding on. But I can help you carry some of your weight.”

You blinked back tears, the warmth of his touch and the sincerity in his voice making it harder to keep your defenses up. “Why are you so nice to me?”

He smiled faintly, the corners of his mouth tugging upward in a way that softened his entire face. “Because I care about you. And I hate that anyone ever made you feel like you weren’t worth caring about.”

His words shattered something inside you, and before you could stop yourself, you let out a soft, broken sob. Sam’s hand moved to your back, his palm resting there lightly.

“And,” he added cautiously, his voice quiet, “I really, really like you.”

You lifted your head to stare at him, the words hanging in the air like they’d been suspended just for you. A part of you wanted to shy away, to laugh it off, to hide behind that defense you’d built so carefully. But his eyes— those warm, steady eyes— kept you anchored. He wasn’t taking the words back. He wasn’t looking away.

When he spoke again, his voice was softer, almost cautious. His hand moved up your arm in a featherlight touch. “Don’t feel like you have to say anything,” he murmured, his thumb brushing just slightly against your sleeve. “And I’m sorry if… if that wasn’t the right time. I just—” He exhaled, his lips twitching in a nervous half-smile. “I just want to be here for you.”

You dropped your gaze to your hands, fidgeting with your fingers, trying to steady the racing in your chest. When you glanced back up, your eyes moved over him with quiet curiosity, as if seeing him for the first time. The faint scruff lining his jaw, the soft mustache that twitched just slightly when he breathed, the way his brows dipped, like he was bracing himself for you to pull away. And those eyes. God, those eyes.

“Sam,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. Your hand moved almost without thought, finding the solid warmth of his forearm.

His gaze flicked down to where your fingers rested before returning to yours, his brows lifting just slightly. “Yeah?” His voice was soft, but there was something raw in it, something that made your chest ache.

You leaned in a fraction, testing the space between you. Your heart hammered, but you couldn’t stop yourself. “Kiss me, please,” you murmured. The words felt foreign but right, trembling as they left your lips.

His breath caught. You could see it, feel it. His hand shifted slightly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice low and deliberate, like he was giving you every chance to back away.

You nodded, your body moving closer, instinct overriding fear. “Yes.”

Sam exhaled, his lips parting slightly as he leaned in, closing the distance. The first press of his lips against yours was gentle, impossibly tender, like he was holding back everything he wanted to give. His hand moved to your face, his fingers warm and steady as they cradled your jaw, grounding you.

The kiss deepened just slightly, enough to make your breath hitch, enough to remind you of just how good it felt to do this, with someone you liked— someone that made you feel safe. His other hand slipped down to yours, fingers intertwining in a way that made you feel tethered, present. His thumb brushed softly over your skin.

When he pulled back, it was slow, deliberate, his forehead resting against yours like he couldn’t bring himself to let you go just yet. His breathing was steady, calming, and you let yourself match it, your chest rising and falling in sync with his.

“I’ll make sure you feel safe,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. His hand lingered at your jaw, his thumb brushing a tear you didn’t even realize had fallen. “Every day, if you let me.”

You let out a shaky breath, your eyes closing as the weight of his words settled over you. They weren’t just pretty promises; you could feel the truth in them, in him. Slowly, you opened your eyes and nodded, your lips curving into the smallest, most vulnerable smile.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you believed him. Or, at the very least, you wanted to try. Maybe this could work. 

🐾

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[fuqnia]

I Thought I Was Unique (1) ₊˚⊹♡

♡ kyle broflovski x fem!reader insert | college au, smut

♡ A/N | sorry this took forever, i genuinely struggle writing kyle. this is definitely not one of my best works, but i'm proud as there is some good moments! i really do like kyle, so i'm sorry that i didn't do him justice </3 as usual this is a long one LOL sorry.

♡ C/W | nsfw (18+), all characters are aged up! drinking, inexperienced reader, oral sex (female receiving), fingering, p eating, squirting, kissing, reader is kinda dumb (?)

♡ Synopsis | kyle thought being your best friend was enough—until damien came along. now, the jealousy he buried beneath sarcastic remarks is impossible to ignore. as he watches you drift further away, Kyle’s left wondering if he ever had a chance—or if he’s already lost you for good.

event masterlist | part two ₊˚⊹♡

"Kyle, are you even listening to me?"

You shot him a pointed look as the two of you walked side by side toward the library. Kyle’s gaze was fixed ahead, his brows furrowed slightly, and his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket.

“I am,” he replied flatly, though the monotone delivery screamed otherwise.

“No, you’re not,” you huffed, stepping in front of him to block his path. He stopped abruptly, his green eyes meeting yours with a mixture of annoyance and impatience. “You’ve had that scowl on your face for the last five minutes, which, by the way, is not the appropriate response when your best friend is talking about their existential dating crisis.”

Kyle raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching. “First of all, no one says ‘existential dating crisis’ except you, and that might be why you’re single.”

You gasped, mock-offended. “Excuse me for being self-aware, Mr. Cynic of the Year.”

Kyle sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, fine. I heard you. You’re freaking out about what to wear for your date with Damien. I just don’t get why you’re trying so hard to impress a guy who probably spent this morning journaling about how the rain ‘matches his soul.’”

“What the hell does that mean?” you snapped, narrowing your eyes at him.

“It means,” Kyle said, crossing his arms and giving you a sharp look, “that Damien is all image and no substance. He’s, like, the human equivalent of a faux-leather jacket from Wish.

“Jesus Christ, Kyle,” you groaned. “You don’t even know him.”

Kyle threw up his hands in mock surrender, his expression darkening slightly. “I know enough. I know he thinks silver chains and brooding looks make him hot shit. And I know you’re wasting way too much time stressing about impressing a guy who probably uses the word ‘capricious’ in casual conversation.”

“Why do you even care so much?”  you muttered, your face hot.”

“I don’t,” Kyle shot back, but the slight edge in his voice made you wonder. “I care that you’re running yourself into the ground over this pretentious asshole when you could literally do better in your sleep.”

You stared at him, caught between being pissed off and wondering if he had a point. 

You had met Damien a few weeks ago at the beginning of the semester, in one of your shared sociology classes. He had this certain presence, the kind that made people instinctively lean in when he spoke. His dark hair was always perfectly styled, sharp against his pale skin, and he had these striking gray eyes that seemed to study everything—like he was dissecting the world in real time. He dressed like he’d stepped out of an indie rock band’s music video, all sleek black jeans, worn leather boots, and button-ups with just enough undone to show a silver chain beneath. His answers in class discussions were always thoughtful, maybe a little pretentious, but captivating.

You never expected him to notice you, let alone talk to you, but then one day he did. It started with him borrowing your pen when his ran out of ink, followed by a few casual comments after class. Before you knew it, he was sliding into the seat next to you, effortlessly chatting about everything from sociological theory to obscure albums. Then, out of the blue, he’d asked you out. Just like that. He’d said it so casually, like it wasn’t a big deal at all, but you’d been internally screaming ever since.

Kyle must’ve noticed your hesitation because he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face like dealing with you was a full-time job.

“Look,” he started, his tone a little softer but still blunt. “Wear whatever you want. It doesn’t matter. Damien wouldn’t notice if you showed up in a clown suit, and if he does notice, it’s probably just so he can complain about the way it doesn’t match your ‘aura’ or some other pretentious crap.”

Your jaw dropped. “Okay, wow.”

Kyle shrugged, stepping past you and motioning toward the library steps. “I’m just saying, if this is the guy you’re stressing over, I’m not impressed.”

“Well, thanks for the pep talk, Dr. Phil,” you shot back sarcastically, already walking backward toward the Sociology building. “I’ll text you after my classes are done, okay? Maybe you can teach me how to not overanalyze everything and be more like you—effortlessly smug and annoyingly confident.”

Kyle rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress a small smile. “Don’t trip and die on your way to class,” he called after you, voice light but laced with affection. “Not that Damien would notice.”

Class finally ended, the professor’s words fading into a dull buzz as students shuffled out of the lecture hall. You stayed seated for a moment, gathering your things at a leisurely pace, before pulling out your phone.

You typed out a quick message to Kyle: “my class is over. u still at the library?”

When you hit send, the notification that his phone was on Do Not Disturb popped up. Of course. You rolled your eyes, shoving your phone into your pocket as you stood. Typical. It wasn’t like he was hanging on your every word, especially when it came to Damien. If anything, he probably preferred not hearing about him at all.

The hallway was crowded, the noise of chatter and the shuffle of feet blending into a familiar campus symphony. You maneuvered through the crowd, adjusting your bag on your shoulder as you headed toward your dorm. The walk wasn’t long, but the lingering thought of Kyle’s passive-aggressive silence made it feel a little longer.

It wasn’t like you expected him to be glued to his phone waiting for updates, but a part of you wondered if he just didn’t care. Or maybe he cared too much and was tired of hearing about something he clearly thought was a waste of time. Either way, it stung.

You pushed open the door to your dorm, the faint scent of your floral air freshener barely cutting through the oppressive quiet. As expected, Red wasn’t there. She rarely was, always out doing something that made her the life of whatever party or adventure she stumbled into. Normally, her absence didn’t bother you, but today, the empty room felt suffocating.

You let out a heavy sigh, dropping your bag by the door and kicking off your shoes. You had been counting on Red’s help to figure out what to wear for tonight—her sharp eye and brutal honesty would’ve made this whole process easier. But she wasn’t here, and the weight of the decision fell squarely on your shoulders.

You paced in front of your closet, chewing on your bottom lip. Your fingers twitched nervously at the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head before tossing it onto your bed. “Okay,” you muttered to yourself, stepping toward the closet and gripping the handle. “Just… pick something he’ll like. It’s not that hard.”

But it was that hard. Every piece of clothing you owned stared back at you, a glaring reminder of how none of it seemed to fit Damien’s style. Your usual wardrobe was colorful and comfortable—completely you. But Damien was sleek, dark, and brooding. The kind of person who probably thought wearing black was a personality trait.

With a frustrated huff, you dug through the farthest corner of your closet, pulling out a black, fitted dress Red had convinced you to buy for a Halloween party last year. It was tight in all the right places, with lace detailing and a slightly sheer neckline. Paired with the black ankle boots gathering dust on the shelf, it felt like the kind of thing Damien would approve of.

You slipped into the dress, the unfamiliar fabric clinging to your body in a way that made you fidget. Tugging at the hem and smoothing the neckline, you stepped into the boots and walked over to the mirror.

The person staring back at you felt alien. The dark silhouette, the sharp edges of the dress, the stark contrast against your usual style—it all screamed Damien. It screamed trying too hard. But wasn’t that the point? You were trying.

You leaned closer to the mirror, your hands fiddling with the lace at the neckline. “Is this what he wants?” you muttered under your breath, your voice laced with doubt. The longer you stared, the more the reflection seemed to mock you.

What was Kyle’s snarky comment earlier? Something about not needing to impress Damien because he wouldn’t notice anyway. You scoffed at the memory, shaking your head as if it would banish the thought. “What does he know?” you whispered, even though a small part of you wondered if he was right.

You sighed, tearing your gaze away from the mirror as the unease twisted in your stomach. Damien better notice. Because if he didn’t… what was even the point of all this?

Crossing the room, you grabbed your makeup bag from your desk and set it down in front of the mirror. The familiar routine of foundation and concealer was oddly grounding, your shaky hands steadying as you worked. The familiar strokes of the brush, the soft dabs of the sponge—it was comforting, like muscle memory guiding you through something that felt normal.

But when you got to your eyes, you froze.

You stared at the neutral palette you always used—soft browns, light golds, and shimmers that never felt too bold. They were safe. Predictable. And completely wrong for tonight.

Your hand trembled as you reached for a darker palette, one you’d barely touched since buying it on a whim months ago. The smoky grays and deep blacks seemed to mock you, daring you to take the plunge. You swallowed hard, gripping the eyeliner pencil like it might slip through your fingers if you didn’t hold tight enough.

“Okay,” you whispered to yourself, your voice barely audible over the quiet hum of the dorm’s air conditioning. “Just do it. It’s not that hard.”

But it was hard. Your hand wavered as you dragged the pencil along your lash line, the dark line feeling heavier, bolder than you expected. You leaned in closer, your breath fogging the mirror slightly as you added a dramatic wing, thick and sharp, until it almost didn’t look like your face anymore.

The lashes came next—long, dark, and voluminous. They felt foreign on your eyelids, their weight adding to the unfamiliarity staring back at you.

And as you worked, the silence of the room pressed down on you. You couldn’t stop the thought from creeping in: I wish Kyle were here.

He’d know exactly what to say. He’d probably roll his eyes and call you ridiculous for overthinking all this. He’d tease you, sure, but he’d also tell you what looked good, what worked and what didn’t. Kyle was brutally honest like that, in a way that could cut you down and build you back up all at once.

Kyle had been your constant since childhood. Through scraped knees, middle school insecurities, and late-night talks about whether you’d ever have your first kiss, he’d always been there, grounding you with his sharp wit and unflinching honesty. He had a knack for calling you out when no one else would—like in seventh grade when you tried to impress your crush by wearing glittery blue lipstick, and he deadpanned, “You look like you ate a Smurf.” Or the time in high school when you nervously asked if you were undateable, and he scoffed, “No, you’re just waiting for someone who doesn’t suck—maybe lower your standards just a little, though.” Even if Kyle didn’t consider you his best friend—Stan held that title, obviously—you couldn’t imagine anyone else filling that role for you. He was your rock, your voice of reason, even when his words were sharp enough to sting. But you knew Kyle cared in his own way, enough to tell you the truth, even when it wasn’t what you wanted to hear.

But Kyle wasn’t here. And the absence of his steady, no-nonsense presence made the room feel colder, quieter, and lonelier than you wanted to admit.

You blinked at your reflection, biting your lip as the final touches of your makeup came together. The smoky eyes, the dark lashes, the sharp winged liner—it was bold. Dramatic. Something Damien would like, you told yourself.

But was it something you liked?

You shrugged into your black cardigan, the soft fabric settling over your shoulders like a weak shield. It didn’t fit the look—too cozy, too soft against the sharp edges of the dress. But without it, you felt exposed, like your skin wasn’t your own. You tugged at the sleeves, glancing once more at your reflection. 

Your stomach twisted as you turned away, sinking onto the edge of your bed. The mattress dipped under your weight as you grabbed your phone, unlocking it with a swipe that felt too slow. You scrolled to Stan’s chat, hesitating for a moment before typing. hey, u busy? The message sent, and you watched the screen like your life depended on it. Nothing.

You bit the inside of your cheek, navigating to Cartman’s contact. what’s up? Maybe he’d say something snarky, something that would distract you from the gnawing doubt in your chest. But the seconds dragged on, and his name stayed gray.

Kenny was next. yo, help me out w something. It wasn’t like him to leave you hanging, but the silence was deafening.

Your phone fell from your hands, landing softly beside you on the comforter as a sharp breath escaped your lips. The walls of your dorm seemed closer than usual, the air thicker, heavier. Your hands trembled slightly as you ran them through your hair, trying to ground yourself, but it wasn’t working.

The dress felt too tight, the cardigan too warm, the makeup too much. Everything was too much. What am I even doing? you thought, your head dropping into your hands.

Kyle’s name floated to the front of your mind, uninvited and yet completely necessary. He’d probably hate this. He hated being interrupted when he was in the zone. You could practically hear his voice in your head—sharp, sarcastic, always cutting straight to the point. You seriously couldn’t figure this out on your own?

You frowned, staring at the blank wall in front of you as guilt twisted with the anxiety already brewing in your chest. He was probably still at the library, hunched over some massive textbook or typing out yet another med school application.

Don’t bother him, you told yourself. Figure it out. You don’t need Kyle for this.

But you did. You hated how much you did.

You stood up abruptly, your heart pounding as you grabbed your bag. You paced the room for a moment, chewing on your lip as if the movement would somehow settle the storm in your chest. It didn’t.

“Fuck it,” you muttered under your breath, slinging the bag over your shoulder and heading for the door. You didn’t care if he snapped at you or told you off for showing up unannounced. You’d deal with the fallout later.

You made your way out of your dorm building and speed-walked across the empty campus, your pulse hammering in your ears as you prayed you wouldn’t run into anyone you knew. It was Friday evening, and most people had already vacated the grounds, either heading home or off to start their weekends. The deserted paths only heightened your nerves, the sound of your footsteps echoing faintly as you neared the library.

The glass doors slid open with a soft hiss, and you were greeted by the faint smell of old books and disinfectant. The quiet inside felt oppressive, making your anxiety bubble even higher. Without hesitation, you walked straight to the elevator and jabbed the button for the third floor. You rubbed your sweaty hands against the sides of your dress, the fabric doing little to calm the clammy sensation on your palms.

He’s probably still there, you told yourself nervously.

The elevator dinged, and the doors opened to the silent expanse of the library’s upper level. It was eerily still, with only two people visible—one slouched over a textbook near the shelves, the other scrolling on their phone near the windows. You bit your lip, glancing around nervously, the thought of Kyle having already left sending a spike of panic through your chest.

Finally, your eyes landed on him. He was tucked into a corner table near the far side of the room, hunched over his laptop. His AirPods were in, his curls a familiar mess as his fingers tapped furiously at the keyboard. Relief washed over you so fast your knees almost buckled.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself before making your way over. Each step felt painfully loud despite the carpeted floors, and by the time you reached him, your heart was pounding again.

You slid into the seat across from him, dropping your bag onto the floor with a soft thud. Kyle didn’t look up at first, too focused on whatever he was typing. But then he stopped, his brow furrowing as if he sensed your presence.

When he finally glanced up, a scowl was already etched on his face, his lips parted in irritation—probably expecting some random person to bother him. But the moment his green eyes landed on you, the scowl faltered.

“Wait—” he began, pulling out one AirPod as his expression softened. But his gaze quickly swept over your outfit, his brows shooting up in confusion.

“What…” Kyle trailed off, his eyes narrowing slightly as he leaned back in his chair. “What the hell are you wearing?”

You stared at Kyle, his question hanging in the air like a challenge, and suddenly it was like a dam broke inside you.

“Does it look bad? Be honest—no, wait, don’t be too honest, because if you say yes, I’ll spiral, but I need you to tell me if I look like an idiot. Like, what was I thinking? This isn’t even my style. I mean, I literally look like I crawled out of some e-girl TikToker’s algorithm. Do you think Damien’s into that? What if he isn’t? What if he takes one look at me and thinks I’m trying too hard? Or, worse, what if he doesn’t notice at all? Like, maybe he’ll just be polite about it, but secretly he’ll be thinking, ‘Wow, she really doesn’t know how to dress.’”

Kyle’s lips pressed into a thin line, and his eyebrows pulled together slightly, a flicker of irritation crossing his face as he glanced briefly at his laptop. You didn’t notice, too lost in the chaos of your own thoughts, twisting the fabric of your dress between nervous fingers.

“And my makeup—ugh, is it too much? I mean, I’ve never done a smokey eye before, and it seemed like a good idea at the time, but now I’m worried I look like a raccoon. Or, like, someone trying to cosplay as a vampire but not fully committing to it. God, why didn’t I just stick with my usual eyeliner? Simple. Safe. Normal. But no, I had to go full-on drama queen because, oh, Damien likes bold looks, right? Or does he? Do I even know what he likes?”

Kyle’s jaw tightened slightly, his hand shifting to rest against the edge of the table. He still didn’t say anything, his green eyes watching you closely now, his gaze unreadable—not because it lacked emotion, but because it seemed to hover somewhere between amusement and exasperation.

“And what if my dress is wrong? It’s black. Classic, right? But what if it’s not his version of black? Like, what if he likes… edgier black? I don’t even know what that means, but I feel like it’s a thing. Do I look too try-hard? Or not try-hard enough? God, I probably look like I’m trying to impress him. Which I am! But it’s, like, obvious, isn’t it? Am I overthinking this? Kyle, am I overthinking this?”

You barely paused for breath, your fingers digging into the table as you leaned forward. “And what if he doesn’t like me at all? Like, not just the dress or the makeup, but me. What if this whole thing is a pity date and he’s just doing it to be nice? What if he—”

“Are you done?” Kyle’s voice cut through your frantic rambling like a knife, calm but firm.

You froze mid-sentence, blinking at him, startled by the interruption. His mouth was slightly open, like he was about to sigh, and his brows were arched in a way that screamed, “Are you serious right now?” His gaze wasn’t indifferent anymore—it was laced with the kind of tired fondness that only came with putting up with someone you cared about, even when they were driving you insane.

Kyle leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as he fixed you with a look that managed to be both irritated and patient. “Seriously. Are you done? Or is there more?”

Your face flushed as you realized how far you’d spiraled, your words tangling in your throat. Your hands trembled slightly as you reached across the table, grabbing his hand without thinking.

“Kyle,” you said, your voice trembling, “I really, really need your help.”

Kyle stilled for a moment, his gaze softening as he looked at your hand wrapped around his. His fingers twitched slightly before he let out a small sigh, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. “Alright,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Tell me what’s going on. And this time, maybe try breathing between sentences, okay?”

You took a deep breath, your fingers twisting nervously in your lap. “Do I… look good?” you asked, your voice quieter than you intended.

Kyle studied you for a moment, his green eyes narrowing slightly as he leaned forward, letting go of your hand and resting his elbows on the table. He didn’t say anything right away, which only made your stomach churn harder. Finally, he let out a small sigh, tilting his head to one side as if trying to figure out how to word his answer.

“Do you want the brutally honest answer,” he started, his tone deadpan, “or the one that’ll make you stop looking like you’re about to puke on my laptop?”

Your lips twitched, but you weren’t sure if you wanted to laugh or cry. “Kyle, please. Just… tell me.”

He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms and letting his gaze trail over your outfit, your makeup, and finally landing on your expression. “You look fine,” he said, his tone even, but then he quickly added, “Actually, scratch that. You look good.”

You blinked at him, your brows furrowing. “Just… good?”

Kyle’s lips quirked into a faint smirk. “Would you rather I said you look like a goddess descended from the heavens, ready to smite mere mortals with your beauty? Because I can do that if it’ll help.”

Your cheeks burned, and you shook your head. “No, I just—ugh, I don’t know what I was expecting. I’m not fishing for compliments.I just… I need to know if I look like me, or if I look like I’m trying too hard.”

Kyle’s expression softened at that, and he tapped his fingers lightly against the table. “Alright, I’ll give you the real answer. Do you look like you? Not exactly. This whole goth-y, smokey, whatever-you’re-doing thing isn’t your usual vibe. But does it look bad? No. It’s different, but it works. You pull it off.”

You stared at him, your breath catching in your chest. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Kyle said, shrugging as if it wasn’t a big deal. “You’re overthinking it. Like you always do. Damien’s not gonna be analyzing your makeup or whatever. He’s gonna see you, the same person you always are. That’s what matters, right?”

You wanted to believe him, but doubt still gnawed at you. “What if he doesn’t like it?” you whispered.

Kyle’s jaw tightened slightly, and for a moment, he looked like he was biting back a sharp remark. Instead, he let out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair. “If he doesn’t like it,” he said carefully, “then he’s a fucking idiot. And he’s not worth all this stress you’re putting yourself through.”

The conviction in his voice made your chest tighten, and you found yourself nodding, even as tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. “Thanks.”

He rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth tugged into the faintest of smiles. “Yeah, yeah. Now, are we done here? Or do you want me to give you a breakdown of your accessories next?”

You shook your head, settling back into your chair. “No, we’re not done.”

Kyle’s brows lifted, and he tilted his head, giving you a look of mock exasperation. “Oh, great. What now? Are we dissecting your shoe choice?”

“No,” you said, your tone firmer than before. “I wanna know what first dates are like.”

That made him pause. His teasing expression dropped, replaced by something more serious, though his lips pressed into a thin line. “You’re seriously asking me?” he said, his voice measured but tinged with disbelief.

“Yes, I’m seriously asking you,” you replied, frustration creeping into your voice. “You’ve dated, what, like ten girls? You have experience.”

Kyle’s shoulders stiffened, his fingers curling slightly against the edge of the table. “Okay, first of all, ten is an exaggeration,” he muttered, his gaze darting briefly to the side. “Second, why are you even asking me? You’ve probably read more romance novels than I’ve had dates.”

“Because books aren’t real life!” you snapped, throwing your hands up. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do or say. What if there’s an awkward silence? What if he doesn’t like me?”

Kyle exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “God, you’re overthinking this. It’s not a job interview. You sit, you talk, you eat. That’s it. Done.”

Your frustration boiled over, and you leaned forward, jabbing a finger in his direction. “Easy for you to say, Mr. I-Can-Date-Whoever-I-Want. Not all of us have your stupid… whatever you have!”

Kyle blinked, his mouth parting slightly, as if taken aback by your outburst. For a moment, the two of you stared at each other, the tension thick between you. Then, he sighed, his shoulders relaxing as he leaned back in his chair.

“Look,” he began, his voice softer but still carrying his usual bluntness. “First dates… they’re awkward. They’re supposed to be. You’re figuring each other out. But if Damien’s not willing to sit through some awkwardness to get to know you, then he’s not worth it.”

You bit your lip, his words settling over you like a weight. “But what if—”

“Stop,” Kyle interrupted, holding up a hand. “Seriously. You’re gonna be fine. Just be yourself.” His gaze softened, and for once, there was no sarcasm in his tone. “If he doesn’t like that, then he’s the idiot. Not you.”

You blinked at him, his words settling over you like a weighted blanket. For a second, you thought you might actually relax, but then the nerves came rushing back, bubbling over before you could stop them. “But, like… what does a first date even look like? Am I supposed to, I don’t know, laugh at everything he says even if it’s not funny? What if I say something dumb and he judges me for it? Or—”

Kyle let out a sharp exhale, dragging his hands down his face like he was trying to physically hold onto his patience. “You’re doing it again,” he muttered. “You’ve got to chill. Seriously. Just talk to him. It’s not that comp—”

“What was your first date like?” you blurted, cutting him off mid-sentence.

Kyle froze, his brows knitting together in confusion. “Why does that matter?” he asked cautiously, leaning back slightly like he wasn’t sure where this was going.

“Because I don’t know what I’m doing, Kyle!” you shot back, your voice trembling as you gestured wildly. “I’ve never been on a date. I’ve never kissed anyone—not for real, anyway. I’ve never had someone look at me like I actually mattered. And now, here I am, with someone who might actually like me, and I don’t want to blow it!”

The rawness of your confession lingered between you, and for a moment, Kyle’s sharp features softened, a flicker of concern crossing his face. But then he shook his head, his lips pressing into a stubborn line.

“Nope,” he said firmly, crossing his arms over his chest. “Not telling you.”

Your jaw dropped. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious,” he replied, his tone flat but his eyes glinting with defiance. “What my first date was like has nothing to do with your existential crisis.”

You slammed your hands down on the table, leaning in so close that Kyle instinctively pulled back. “You’re going to tell me,” you hissed, your voice low and menacing. “Or I’ll call Sheila, crying, and tell her you did something to me.”

Kyle’s eyes widened, his face flushing an almost comical shade of red. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he hissed, glancing around to make sure no one was within earshot. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I absolutely would,” you replied smugly, crossing your arms as you leaned back in your chair. “I’ll even throw in some fake sobbing to make it sound extra dramatic.”

“Jesus Christ,” Kyle groaned, rubbing his temples like the weight of the world was suddenly on his shoulders. “You’re an actual menace, you know that?”

“And yet, here you are,” you shot back, your smirk growing. “So spill. What was it like?”

Kyle glared at you for a long moment, the muscles in his jaw working as if he were physically restraining himself. Finally, he slumped back in his chair with a heavy sigh. “Goddammit,” he muttered under his breath.

Your hands clapped together excitedly, a wide grin spreading across your face. “I knew it! Your first date was with Heidi, wasn’t it? You mentioned it once, like, forever ago, but you never said what happened. Spill, dude!”

Kyle shot you a withering look, his eyes narrowing as if debating whether or not to humor you. “Are you seriously this invested in something that happened in middle school?” he asked, his tone dripping with disbelief.

“Yes, I’m seriously this invested,” you replied, crossing your arms with a determined glare. “Come on, I want the details. Where did you go? What happened? Did you wear something embarrassing?”

Kyle scoffed, but as you waited for him to answer, a familiar thought crept in. The boys rarely talked about their relationships in front of you. Whether it was Stan’s on-again, off-again drama with Wendy or Kenny’s stories about his flings, the conversations always seemed to stop short when you were around. You had a hunch it was because you’d never had anything to contribute—no first date stories, no breakups, no experiences to commiserate over. It was like they didn’t want to remind you of what you didn’t have. And while you knew they meant well, it still stung.

Kyle groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “Fine,” he said, his tone reluctant. “But don’t expect some big, romantic thing. It was middle school. Everything about it was stupid.”

You leaned forward eagerly, ignoring his grumbling. “Okay, so what happened?”

Kyle slouched back in his chair, crossing his arms as he stared at the ceiling like he was trying to summon the memory from the depths of his brain. “Heidi asked me out first, which should’ve been my first clue it was gonna be a mess. She told me to pick where we’d go, so I panicked and said we could meet at the arcade after school. I thought it’d be low-pressure—play some games, get a soda, whatever.”

“That actually sounds cute,” you admitted, tilting your head.

“Yeah, except I showed up wearing a hoodie with a giant ketchup stain on it because I didn’t notice it until I was already there,” Kyle muttered, his ears turning slightly red.

You bit your lip to keep from laughing. “Oh no.”

“Yeah, she didn’t mention it, but I could tell she noticed,” Kyle continued, shaking his head. “Anyway, we played some games—she destroyed me at air hockey, by the way—and it was actually kind of fun. I thought, ‘Okay, maybe this isn’t so bad.’ But then we went to get snacks, and I spilled half my soda on her shoe.”

“Oh, Kyle…”

“I know!” he exclaimed, throwing his hands up. “I was mortified. I kept apologizing, and she kept saying it was fine, but I could tell she was annoyed. I thought for sure she’d never speak to me again after that.”

“But she did?” you prompted, intrigued.

Kyle sighed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table. “Yeah, she did. When the arcade was closing, I walked her home because her mom wasn’t there to pick her up. Right before we got to her door, she, uh… kissed me.”

Your eyes widened, and a nervous laugh bubbled out of you. “She kissed you? Like, on the lips?”

“Yes, on the lips,” Kyle muttered, his cheeks turning pink. “And then she just said, ‘Thanks for walking me home,’ like it was no big deal, and went inside. I stood there for, like, five minutes trying to figure out if that actually happened or if I imagined it.”

You froze as Kyle’s words sank in, your stomach twisting at the thought. A kiss. You barely heard the rest of what he said because your brain was spiraling into panic mode.

“On the lips?” you repeated faintly, sitting up straighter.

“Yes,” Kyle said again, slower this time, his eyebrows furrowing. “Are you okay? You’re looking at me like I’ve got two heads.”

You didn’t respond. Instead, you pushed your chair back with a sharp scrape, rounded the table, and plopped down into the seat directly next to him. Kyle blinked in confusion, but before he could say anything, you grabbed his sleeve, your fingers twisting nervously.

“What if Damien tries to kiss me?” you blurted, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

Kyle blinked again, his lips parting slightly. “...What?”

“What if Damien tries to kiss me on the first date?” you repeated, your voice rising as panic seeped into your tone. “I don’t know what to do! What if I screw it up? What if I’m bad at it? Kyle, I’ve never kissed anyone before!”

Kyle exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face like he was bracing himself for a train wreck. “Oh my god,” he muttered. “Here we go.”

“I mean, technically, I’ve been kissed,” you continued, ignoring his exasperation. “But it doesn’t count because Kenny was high as hell at Clyde’s party, and he thought I was Tammy fucking Warner! And you spit out your drink when it happened, Kyle! You spit out your drink!”

Kyle closed his eyes briefly, his lips pressing into a tight line as he let out a long, measured sigh. “Yeah, I spit out my drink because Kenny was groping your hair like a creep, and you just stood there like a statue.”

“It was mortifying!” you wailed, throwing your hands up. “And now I’m going on a date with Damien, who’s, like, a whole other level of sophisticated. What if he expects me to be good at it? What if I mess it all up?”

Kyle opened his eyes, fixing you with an unimpressed stare. His lips were set in a straight line, and his eyes were as sharp as ever. “It’s not some cosmic test. If Damien tries to kiss you, you just… kiss him back. That’s it.” he said flatly

“That’s it?” you repeated, your voice incredulous. “Kyle, it’s not that simple! You’ve kissed people before—you don’t get it!”

Kyle snorted, shaking his head slightly. “Look, if it’s freaking you out that much, go practice on someone. Get it out of your system before your big date. Problem solved.”

“You’re so helpful,” you snapped, throwing your hands in the air. “Who the hell am I supposed to practice with? My date is in less than 30 minutes! What, should I just grab a stranger off the quad?”

Kyle’s mouth opened, likely to say something scathing, but you didn’t give him the chance. Instead, you lunged toward him, your hands gripping his shoulders as you tried to physically push him out of his seat.

“You!” you yelled, your voice shrill with desperation. “You’re gonna help me! Get up!”

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?” Kyle barked, shoving back against you. His chair scraped against the floor as he dug his heels in, his lips pressed into a hard line of disbelief. “I’m not doing this!”

“You said I should practice! Who else am I gonna practice with?!” you shouted, your weight leaning into him as you tried to push him upright.

Kyle’s hand shot out, slapping over your mouth to stop your tirade. “Shut up before the entire library thinks I’m murdering you,” he hissed, his eyes darting around. A couple of heads turned your way, but Kyle shot them all a glare that made them quickly look away.

You mumbled something against his palm, your words muffled and unintelligible, but the damp sensation against his skin made it clear you were licking his hand.

“For fuck’s sake—” Kyle groaned, pulling his hand away and wiping it on his jeans with a look of utter disgust. “You’re like a feral dog.”

“I’m literally asking for help here!” you spat, crossing your arms. 

“And I’m trying to help!” Kyle snapped back. With a long-suffering sigh, he turned to his laptop, his fingers flying across the keyboard. “If you’d stop acting like a lunatic for five seconds—”

He paused, then spun the laptop around to face you. The screen displayed a WikiHow article titled How to Kiss Someone. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms with a smirk. “There. Study up.”

Your eyes narrowed as you scanned the article. “Are you serious right now?”

“As a heart attack,” he replied dryly, looking far too pleased with himself. “Read the diagrams. Learn something.”

You glared at him but reluctantly turned back to the laptop. The WikiHow article stared back at you, its bright illustrations and overly simplistic instructions almost mocking in their unhelpfulness. Tilt your head slightly. Close your eyes. Relax your lips.

Your chest tightened with every word, frustration building with each vague instruction. “What the hell does ‘relax your lips’ even mean?” you muttered under your breath, scrolling down as a lump began to form in your throat. The cheerful, clinical tone of the article felt like a slap in the face.

You gripped the edge of the table, your breathing shallow as the panic started to creep in. I can’t do this. I’m going to screw everything up, and Damien’s going to laugh, or he’ll just look at me like I’m pathetic. The thought of his cold, gray eyes filled with judgment made your stomach churn.

Why does this feel so impossible? The realization hit like a punch to the gut: this wasn’t just about tonight. This was about all the moments you felt left behind—watching everyone else grow up and move on while you stood in the same place, pretending it didn’t bother you.

Kyle’s voice snapped you out of your spiraling thoughts. “Hey.” It was softer than you expected, almost hesitant. You glanced up to see him watching you, his tone carried something that almost resembled concern. “You good?”

You shrugged, trying to play it off, but your voice betrayed you. “Yeah. Fine,” you muttered, staring down at the table as your nails dug into your palms.

Kyle sighed heavily, leaning back in his chair like he was bracing himself for something. “Look,” he began, his tone awkward and reluctant. “Kissing’s not that complicated, okay? Just—” He waved a hand vaguely, his attempt at reassurance painfully half-hearted. “Lean in. Make sure you’re not smashing your nose into theirs. And don’t do that weird fish-lips thing people do in movies. That’s it.”

You stared at him, heat rising to your face as the lump in your throat threatened to choke you. “That’s it? That’s your big advice?” Your voice cracked, frustration and embarrassment bubbling over.

Kyle raised an eyebrow. “Pretty much. I mean, what do you expect me to say? There’s no step-by-step manual.”

You let out a bitter laugh, your head falling into your hands. “This is a disaster,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I’m going to screw this up so bad.”

Kyle’s exasperated groan broke the tension, but it only made your chest tighten more. “You’re not going to screw anything up,” he said sharply, leaning forward. “It’s a kiss, not brain surgery.”

“But what if—”

“Stop,” Kyle interrupted, his tone snapping like a rubber band. He reached out suddenly, grabbing your hands and forcing you to look at him. “Do you just want to practice on me?”

The words hung between you like a live wire, crackling with tension. Your heart stumbled in your chest, your breath catching as his question settled over you. “What?” you managed to whisper, barely able to process what he’d just said. You weren’t serious about you practicing on him earlier, you were just so worked up and panicked about Damien.

Kyle sighed again, his grip on your hands tightening slightly, grounding you despite the whirlwind in your head. “You’re spiraling,” he said, his voice lower now, steadier. “If you don’t stop, you’re going to psych yourself out so bad you won’t even show up to the date. So, yeah. If it’ll help you stop freaking out, then fine. Practice on me.”

Your thoughts collided, tangling into a chaotic mess. The idea of kissing Kyle, your best friend, felt so far-fetched, so surreal, that you almost laughed. But at the same time, there was a pull, a strange comfort in the fact that it was him offering this. He’s safe, you thought. It’s just Kyle.

Your heart pounded like it was trying to escape your chest. “You—you’re serious?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, your gaze searching his for any sign of a joke.

“Dead serious,” Kyle replied. “But decide fast, because I’m not sitting here all night while you freak out about this.”

Your hands trembled in his grip, and you swallowed hard, your heart thundering in your ears as you tried to find your voice. “Okay,” you said finally, barely audible. “Okay.”

Kyle’s face turned an alarming shade of red, the tips of his ears glowing as he avoided your gaze. He glanced around the quiet floor, his sharp green eyes darting to the two other students seated far away, confirming no one was paying attention. Still, he muttered under his breath, his words a string of half-cussed frustrations. “This is so fucking stupid.”

Before you could respond, he scooted his chair closer to yours, the legs scraping faintly against the floor. His hands tightened around yours, his grip firm but not rough, grounding you in a way that made the tension in your chest ease ever so slightly.

“Y-You don’t have to,” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable or anything. I—”

“Shut up,” Kyle interrupted, his voice low and clipped. He still wasn’t looking at you, his gaze fixed on some arbitrary point past your shoulder. “It’s fine. Let’s just get it over with.” His voice wavered slightly, but his words carried an unyielding bluntness that could only belong to him.

You blinked, caught off guard by his tone, and he finally turned his eyes toward you. They softened just a fraction, but the pink in his cheeks deepened as he muttered, “This changes nothing, alright? We’re still friends. Just friends. Don’t… don’t get weird about it.”

The sheer awkwardness of the moment sent your emotions into overdrive. Relief and embarrassment collided in your chest, making your breath hitch. It’s just Kyle, you reminded yourself, though the thought wasn’t as comforting as you wanted it to be. “Okay,” you whispered again, your voice cracking slightly. “Just friends.”

Kyle’s grip on your hands tightened once more, and he exhaled sharply, almost like he was psyching himself up for something monumental. His jaw worked like he was chewing over words he wasn’t ready to say, and when he finally looked at you, the vulnerability in his expression was something you hadn’t seen before.

“Don’t make this a big deal,” he muttered, though the way his eyes flickered nervously over your face said otherwise.

Your gaze dropped to his lips, your breath catching in your throat. The air between you felt heavy, thick with unspoken emotions that made your heart pound so loudly you were sure he could hear it. You didn’t say anything, too afraid that any words might shatter the fragile moment.

Kyle hesitated, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. His voice dropped to a near whisper, so soft you almost missed it. “I’m gonna… I’m gonna kiss you now, okay?”

Your eyes lifted to meet his, wide and uncertain, but you nodded. “Okay,” you said, your voice barely audible, your fingers tightening slightly against his as you leaned in instinctively.

His lips met yours, and for a moment, everything felt… manageable. But the second he began to move his mouth against yours, panic surged. You leaned in too fast, bumping his nose with an awkward thud that made both of you flinch.

“Jesus,” Kyle muttered, pulling back and rubbing his nose. His brows furrowed, but there was an edge of amusement in his voice. “You trying to break my face or something?”

“I’m sorry!” you blurted out, your face burning with embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to—I was trying to…” You trailed off, unable to finish as you covered your face with your hands.

Kyle sighed, though the corner of his mouth twitched like he was holding back a laugh. “Okay, let’s try this again, but, like… aim better this time.”

You peeked at him through your fingers. “I’m trying!”

“I can tell,” he deadpanned, his eyes narrowing slightly. “That’s the problem.”

You groaned, dropping your hands and shaking your head. “Fine. Let’s just do it again. No more aiming for your nose. Got it.”

Kyle leaned in again, his expression a mix of determination and exasperation. This time, as his lips met yours, you managed to avoid his nose, but in your desperation to keep up, you tilted your head too far, effectively smashing your mouth against his in a way that felt clumsy and awkward.

Kyle broke the kiss, pulling back with an incredulous look. “Are you serious right now?”

Your face burned hotter than ever, and you shrank back, covering your face again. “I said I’m sorry! This is hard!”

He let out a short, sharp laugh, not quite amused but more in disbelief. “It’s not rocket science. It’s just a kiss.”

“Easy for you to say,” you mumbled into your hands.

Kyle sighed, his lips pressing into a straight line as he reached out to pull your hands away from your face. “Okay, look,” he said, his voice quieter now, but still laced with his usual edge. “We’re practicing. That’s the whole point, right? You’re supposed to be bad at it. Stop freaking out and just… follow my lead this time.”

You nodded reluctantly, swallowing the lump in your throat as he leaned in again. “This is so embarrassing,” you muttered, your voice barely audible.

“Yeah, well,” Kyle sighed, his voice tinged with exasperation. “You agreed to this.”

His hand came up to cup your cheek, the smoothness of his palm grounding you as he leaned closer. When his lips met yours, it was softer than before, slower, and you could feel the deliberate way he guided the kiss. He was giving you time to adjust, to fall into the rhythm he set.

You tried to focus, to match his movements, but your nerves kept you stiff. Your shoulders tensed, your hands clutched awkwardly at your lap, and your breath hitched in short, uneven bursts.

Kyle pulled back slightly, his lips brushing yours as he murmured, “Relax. It’s just me.” His voice was low and steady, with an uncharacteristic gentleness that made your chest tighten.

You nodded faintly, exhaling shakily as you forced yourself to loosen your shoulders. His lips found yours again, this time with more intention. The warmth of his mouth was overwhelming, but his touch remained careful, his thumb brushing along your jawline as if to reassure you.

When he tilted his head, angling the kiss, your breath caught again. His movements grew bolder, his tongue flicking against your bottom lip. You gasped softly, your lips parting instinctively, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss. His tongue slid against yours, slow and deliberate, coaxing you to respond.

Your hands flew to his shoulders, gripping him tightly as you tried to keep up. His tongue moved with confidence, the pressure and rhythm steady, and your heart pounded in your chest as a warmth spread through your entire body.

Kyle’s other hand slid into your hair, threading through the strands as he tilted your head slightly to better angle the kiss. The shift made you gasp again, and the sound seemed to spur him on, his tongue tracing along yours in a way that made your knees feel weak, even though you were sitting.

Your mind was racing, a frantic swirl of disbelief and confusion that you struggled to push aside. This is crazy, you thought, your hands tightening slightly on Kyle’s shoulders. You were kissing Kyle—your best friend since you were kids. The one who teased you about your braces in middle school, who shared his notes when you bombed a math test, who walked you home when it was too dark for you to feel safe alone. Kyle, who probably never even thought about kissing you, not once, not until this ridiculous, desperate practice session. And yet here you were, feeling his lips move against yours with a confidence that made your heart race.

Your breaths grew shallow, soft pants escaping between kisses as you leaned further into him, your body instinctively seeking his. The closeness was intoxicating, his scent filling your senses as his hands held you steady. The kiss was consuming, every part of you hyper-aware of the way his lips moved, the heat of his touch, the way his chest rose and fell against yours.

When Kyle finally pulled back, his breathing was heavier than before, his lips slick and slightly swollen. His face was flushed, a deep red spreading from his cheeks to the tips of his ears, and his green eyes darted away from yours as if searching for something to focus on.

He ran a hand through his hair, muttering under his breath, “Jesus Christ.” He cleared his throat, his voice a little uneven as he finally looked at you again. “Okay, so… not bad for a first real kiss, I guess.”

You stared at him, still breathless, your chest rising and falling as you tried to process what had just happened.

Kyle’s eyes narrowed slightly as he studied you, and his expression turned serious. “But you need to loosen up more,” he said, his tone shifting into something almost instructional. “You’re way too tense. I could feel you holding your breath half the time.”

You blinked at him, your cheeks heating further as his words sank in.

“And,” he continued, his blush deepening as he spoke, “don’t just sit there. Move a little. Match the rhythm. Kissing isn’t supposed to feel like one person’s doing all the work.”

Your lips parted as you tried to come up with a response, but he kept going, his eyes avoiding yours as he muttered, “And stop clenching your hands so hard. You’re not fighting me, you’re—ugh, never mind.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, his expression a mixture of flustered and annoyed. “Look, just… try to relax next time, okay? You’ll get it.”

The corner of his mouth lifted, like he was about to say something else but decided against it. He glanced at you briefly, then back down at his laptop, muttering, “You’re lucky I even helped you with this.”

You pressed your hands to your cheeks, the warmth radiating from your skin almost unbearable. Your heart was still pounding, and the ghost of his lips lingered on yours, leaving a faint tingle that you couldn’t shake. “Thanks,” you whispered, not trusting your voice to say much more.

Kyle didn’t respond, his eyes fixed on his screen, though the stiffness in his posture told you he’d heard you. You let out a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself as you reached into your bag for a makeup wipe and your lipstick.

Brushing your fingertips against your lips, you noticed the smudge in your reflection on your phone screen. Great. Your lipstick was smeared, and you couldn’t help but wonder if it had transferred to Kyle. The thought made your stomach flip uncomfortably.

Digging out the wipe, you turned your attention to him, and before he could react, you cupped his cheek, gently forcing his face toward you.

“What the hell are you doing?” Kyle protested, his eyes wide with confusion and just a hint of annoyance.

“Hold still,” you muttered, focusing on the faint smear of color on his lower lip. The sight made your heart skip a beat, but you pushed it aside, carefully dabbing at the corner of his mouth with the wipe.

Kyle flinched slightly, but he didn’t pull away. “I could’ve done this myself, you know.”

“You should be thanking me,” you countered, still focused on cleaning him up.

“Yeah, thanks,” he muttered, his voice laced with sarcasm, though he stayed perfectly still as you wiped away the smudge.

When you were satisfied, you leaned back and applied a fresh coat of lipstick to your own lips, all while Kyle stared at you with an expression somewhere between exasperation and disbelief.

“Happy now?” he asked, his tone dry as he turned back to his laptop.

You didn’t answer, your fingers brushing against your lips again, feeling the tingle that refused to fade. Instead, you focused on packing up your makeup, trying to ignore the way your hands still trembled slightly.

Kyle’s fingers clacked furiously against his keyboard, but his usual precision was off. His cheeks were still flushed, the tips of his ears burning red, and you could see his jaw tighten as he typed, clearly trying to focus on something—anything—that wasn’t you.

You got up, watching him for a moment, guilt creeping in. He didn’t have to help you with this. You knew how stressed he was, buried under med school applications and coursework. You shouldn’t have interrupted his study session, but here he was, your unfailing constant, helping you anyway.

Without thinking, you moved behind him, leaning down to wrap your arms around his shoulders. He stiffened immediately, his hands pausing over the keyboard. “What the—”

“You’re the bestest friend ever,” you murmured, pressing your cheek against the top of his head. The soft curls tickled your skin as your fingers gently combed through his hair. “I seriously don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Kyle sputtered, his hands hovering like he wasn’t sure whether to push you off or let you stay. “C-cut it out,” he stammered, his voice coming out higher than usual.

You ignored him, smiling softly as you hugged him tighter. “Nope. Just let me have this moment, Broflovski. You deserve the praise.”

“Insufferable,” Kyle muttered, though his voice was less annoyed and more resigned.

“I mean it,” you continued, straightening up but keeping your hands resting on his shoulders. “Everything’s going to be fine, you know. Damien’s not going to know what hit him. And it’s all thanks to you.”

Kyle snorted, finally glancing up at you with a look that was equal parts exasperation and disbelief. “You’re seriously giving me way too much credit. It’s not like I did anything that—”

“Shut up, yes, you did,” you cut him off, squeezing his shoulders playfully. “You’re the reason I’m not curled up in my dorm crying right now.”

His lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes darting to the side as if avoiding yours. “Yeah, well…” he muttered, shifting awkwardly in his chair. “Just… don’t tell anyone about this, okay? Seriously. Not a word.”

Your grin widened, teasing lacing your voice as you leaned down closer to his face. “Why? Afraid people will think you’re actually nice?”

Kyle rolled his eyes, though the faint flush in his cheeks deepened. “No, I’m afraid they’ll think I’ve lost my goddamn mind, letting you drag me into this,” he shot back, though his tone was light.

You smiled at him, picking up your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. For a moment, you just looked at him, thinking about how much he put up with for your sake. Kyle might’ve been blunt and sarcastic, but he was also steady—your constant when things felt overwhelming. You knew how stressed he was, how much he had on his plate, and yet here he was, helping you prepare for a date with someone he clearly couldn’t stand.

The buzz of your phone in your hand broke the moment. You glanced at the screen, unlocking it to reveal a text from Damien: “heading over now. see you in like 10. :)”

Your heart jumped, and a squeal escaped before you could stop it, echoing in the quiet library. Kyle winced, giving you an incredulous look as he rubbed his ear. “What the hell, dude?”

Ignoring his protest, you spun the phone around to show him the message, your grin threatening to split your face in two. “He’s on his way! Damien is literally coming to pick me up!”

Kyle leaned back, squinting at the screen like it personally offended him. His lips pressed into a thin line, and he muttered under his breath, “Lucky you.”

You smacked his arm lightly, your excitement bubbling over. “Kyle! This is a big deal! He’s literally coming to pick me up. Like… this is happening!”

Kyle’s expression didn’t change much, his green eyes flicking from your phone to your overly enthusiastic face. “Yeah, I can see that,” he said flatly. “Congrats. Hope it’s everything you dreamed of and more.”

“Oh, come on!” you laughed, playfully shoving his shoulder. “Can’t you at least pretend to be happy for me?”

Kyle sighed, shutting his laptop with an audible click. “I’m ecstatic,” he deadpanned, resting his chin on his hand. “Really. Over the moon.”

You rolled your eyes at his tone, turning your attention back to your phone. You used the screen as a makeshift mirror, adjusting the neckline of your dress and smoothing your hair. Your hands trembled slightly as you wiped away an imaginary smudge of lipstick from the corner of your mouth.

Standing tall, you glanced over at Kyle. He was slouched in his chair, chin propped on his hand, watching you with a mix of indifference and… something else. His brows furrowed ever so slightly, and his lips were pressed into a thin line. He looked tired, like he was holding back a comment that might come out too sharp.

“I’ll text you about how it goes, okay?” you said, your voice trying for lightness but landing somewhere between hopeful and nervous. “Promise.”

Kyle’s lips twitched, but his gaze shifted down to the table, his fingers tapping lightly against the wood. “Yeah, sure,” he muttered. His voice was flat, but there was a faint edge to it, like he was forcing himself to keep his usual sarcasm in check. “Have fun.”

You paused, the smile on your face faltering slightly. Something about the way he said it—it wasn’t dismissive, but it didn’t feel like encouragement either. It felt more like resignation, like he was bracing himself for something.

“Thanks for everything,” you said softly, your voice carrying an undercurrent of gratitude you hoped he’d catch.

Kyle gave a noncommittal hum in response, his gaze never quite meeting yours. For a moment, you hesitated, watching him in the dim library light. His jaw was tight, and his hand gripped the edge of the table as if he were steadying himself.

But you didn’t press him. With a deep breath, you grabbed your bag, adjusted it on your shoulder, and turned to leave.

As you walked away, you thought you heard him mutter something under his breath, but when you glanced back, his face was turned toward his laptop again, the screen reflecting in his eyes.

Time slipped by unnoticed, and Kyle found himself leaving the library long after the sun had set. The night air was crisp, and Kyle welcomed the bite of the cold against his flushed face. It gave him something else to focus on besides the turmoil in his chest. He shouldn’t feel like this. You were his best friend, practically a second sibling at this point. Sure, he’d kissed you. Sure, it had been… different. But that didn’t mean anything.

Right?

Kyle shook his head, his curls bouncing with the motion. His sneakers scuffed against the concrete as he walked, the faint hum of the campus nightlife buzzing in the distance. The tension in his chest only grew the closer he got to his dorm, and he groaned under his breath.

Why did it feel like this? Why couldn’t he just shrug it off? He’d kissed plenty of people before—casual flings, some serious—but this… this felt like something he couldn’t compartmentalize.

By the time he reached his dorm, his fingers were trembling, whether from the cold or something else entirely. He fumbled with his keys, muttering curses under his breath as they jingled uselessly. Finally, the door clicked open, and he stepped inside.

Stan was sitting cross-legged on his bed, earbuds in as he scrolled through his phone. He looked up briefly, giving Kyle a once-over before going back to his screen. “You good?” he asked casually, pulling one earbud out.

“Yeah, fine,” Kyle muttered, kicking off his sneakers and tossing his bag onto his desk chair. He slumped onto his bed, leaning back against the headboard with a heavy sigh.

Stan didn’t push, probably sensing Kyle’s mood. But as the room settled into silence, save for the faint sound of music leaking from Stan’s earbuds, Kyle’s phone buzzed.

He ignored it at first, but the buzzing continued, insistent. With a huff, he pulled his phone from his pocket. Your name lit up the screen, and his stomach twisted.

"omg kyle the date was AMAZING!! damien even said i looked incredible 😭 and he kissed me!! can u believe it??"

Kyle stared at the message, the words blurring slightly as his grip tightened on the phone. His chest felt heavy, his breath coming in short, uneven bursts. He unlocked the phone, reading the message again. And again.

You were exalted. You’d had the perfect date, and Damien—the asshole Kyle had spent the past week silently resenting—had kissed you. Complimented you. Held you, probably.

Kyle locked his phone, tossing it onto the desk without replying. The silence in the room felt oppressive now, like it was pressing down on him.

“Who was that?” Stan asked, his voice cutting through the tension. He pulled both earbuds out, watching Kyle with mild curiosity.

“[Y/N],” Kyle replied shortly, running a hand through his curls.

Stan raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t she have that date tonight? Guessing it went well?”

Kyle let out a bitter laugh, the sound sharp and humorless. “Yeah, it went fucking great. She’s over the moon. Damien kissed her.”

Stan winced, sitting up straighter. “Ah, shit.”

Kyle didn’t respond. His fingers drummed against his thigh, his jaw tight as he stared at the ceiling. The confession sat on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed it down, unwilling to let it out.

Stan sighed, running a hand over his face. “You like her, don’t you?”

Kyle didn’t answer immediately. His eyes flickered to Stan, and for a moment, he looked like he might deny it. But instead, he let out a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping. “Yeah,” he admitted quietly. “I do.”

Stan nodded, leaning back against his headboard. “That sucks, dude.”

“Yeah,” Kyle echoed, his voice hollow. “It does.”

The room fell into a heavy silence, both boys lost in their own thoughts. Kyle picked up his phone again, staring at your name on the screen, his thumb hovering over the keyboard. But no words came.

He left you on read.

Kyle stabbed at his salad like it had personally wronged him, the plastic fork creaking under the pressure. Across the table, Cartman was in the middle of an overly dramatic retelling of his latest triumph—something about humiliating some poor freshman who dared to question his "undeniable genius" in one of his psychology classes. Kenny was egging him on, occasionally choking on fries as he laughed at Cartman’s ridiculous embellishments.

Stan sat silently, methodically peeling the label off his water bottle, his eyes flicking to Kyle every few seconds. He didn’t need to say anything to know Kyle was having a nervous breakdown. It was written all over his face—the clenched jaw, the tense shoulders, the way he refused to meet anyone’s gaze.

“You good, dude?” Stan finally asked, his voice low enough to be drowned out by Kenny’s cackling and Cartman’s exaggerated monologue.

“I’m fine,” Kyle muttered, stabbing another piece of lettuce like it owed him money.

“Sure, because nothing screams ‘fine’ like trying to commit a hate crime against your salad,” Stan deadpanned, leaning back in his chair.

Before Kyle could retort, Cartman cut in, his voice dripping with mock concern. “Oh no, is Kahl feeling moody again? What’s wrong, Princess? Did someone forget to bow when you walked into the dining hall?”

“Fuck off, Cartman,” Kyle snapped, his grip on the fork tightening.

Cartman smirked, leaning across the table. “Seriously, though. What’s your problem? Is it because [Y/N]’s off playing dress-up with her hot-topic boyfriend while you’re here sulking like a little bitch?”

The fork clattered against Kyle’s tray as he stood abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. “I said, fuck off,” he growled, glaring at Cartman with enough heat to melt steel.

“Whoa, chill,” Kenny said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Cartman’s an asshole, but he’s not wrong. You’ve been acting like you’ve got a stick up your ass for weeks now. What gives?”

Kyle didn’t answer, his chest heaving as he looked between Kenny and Cartman, his fury bubbling dangerously close to the surface.

Stan sighed, setting his water bottle down. “He’s been ignoring [Y/N],” he said bluntly, crossing his arms. “Which, by the way, is a real dick move, considering she’s been texting me, worried about him.”

“Wait,” Cartman said, his smirk growing. “You’re ghosting her? Oh, this is rich. What, is it too painful watching her run off with her eyeliner-wearing Prince Charming?”

“Seriously, shut the fuck up, Cartman,” Kyle barked, but Cartman wasn’t done.

“Admit it, dude,” Cartman said, leaning back in his chair with a shit-eating grin. “You’re jealous. You’ve been in love with her since, like, third grade, and now you’re losing your shit because she’s finally moved on.”

“I’m not doing this,” Kyle muttered, grabbing his bag.

“Where are you going?” Stan called after him, exasperated.

“Somewhere I don’t have to listen to you assholes,” Kyle retorted, storming out of the dining hall.

The moment he was outside, the cool air hit him, but it didn’t help clear his head. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out reluctantly. The screen lit up with yet another text from you. 

“hey kyle! hope ur doing okay :)”

Kyle stared at the message, his chest tightening. He hated himself for the satisfaction that came with ignoring it, for the way it fed some small, bitter part of him. It wasn’t fair—not to you, not to himself—but he couldn’t stop.

He shoved the phone back into his pocket and began walking aimlessly, his thoughts circling the same miserable drain. You were happy. You were with Damien. And as much as he hated every part of it, he couldn’t bring himself to tell you how he felt.

What was he supposed to say? That he couldn’t stop thinking about you? That every time he saw you smile, it felt like someone had punched him in the gut because he knew it wasn’t for him? That the thought of you with Damien made him sick with jealousy?

By the time he made it back to his dorm, his head was pounding. He unlocked the door and stepped inside, greeted by the sight of Stan sitting at his desk, headphones on as he scrolled through his laptop.

Stan glanced up, pulling off his headphones. “You okay?” he asked, his tone cautious.

Kyle didn’t answer. He dropped his bag on the floor and flopped onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling as the weight of everything pressed down on him.

“You’re gonna have to talk to her eventually,” Stan said after a long pause.

Kyle scoffed, covering his face with his hands. “Yeah? And say what? ‘Sorry for being an asshole. By the way, I’m in love with you’?”

Stan didn’t respond right away, and when Kyle peeked through his fingers, he saw the look on Stan’s face—sympathetic but firm.

“It’s better than this,” Stan said quietly. “Whatever this is.”

Kyle swallowed hard, his throat tight. He knew Stan was right. But knowing didn’t make it any easier.

The air in Damien’s dorm was thick, tinged with the faint scent of incense and something deeper, darker—like the storm that always seemed to linger behind his striking gray eyes. His music played low in the background, some brooding indie rock band you didn’t recognize, their melancholic lyrics weaving into the moment.

Damien’s lips moved against yours with deliberate slowness, his touch calculated but unhurried. He kissed like he didn’t care about time, like the world could crumble around him and he’d still be content with his hands gripping your waist. You were perched on the edge of his bed, but when his fingers tightened, he pulled you closer, dragging you into his lap like it was inevitable.

The weight of his hands on you sent a jolt through your nerves. You felt the heat of him even through your clothes, and when his lips parted, his tongue brushing yours in a teasing stroke, it stole your breath.

He tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss. His movements were confident but not rushed, like he knew exactly how to unravel you bit by bit. Your fingers tangled in his dark hair, your nails grazing his scalp as he let out a quiet groan, the sound reverberating through you.

Damien’s hands slipped lower, finding the curve of your ass, his grip firm as he squeezed. A soft moan escaped you, muffled by his mouth, and you felt him smile against your lips—smug, almost. Like he was proud of himself for pulling that sound from you.

“Didn’t know you had it in you,” Damien murmured when you broke apart briefly, his voice low and rough, his breath fanning against your skin. A faint string of saliva still connected you, catching the dim light before it broke, and he smirked like he’d won something.

You wanted to snap back with something witty, but your thoughts were clouded, muddled by the feel of him. “Guess I’m full of surprises,” you managed, your voice shaky as you tried to catch your breath.

“Mm,” he hummed, leaning back slightly, his eyes scanning your face like he was trying to read you. “That so?” His thumb traced a slow circle on your thigh, his other hand still gripping your waist like he was afraid you’d pull away.

The intensity of his gaze made your stomach flip. There was something unnerving about how he looked at you—not predatory, exactly, but like he was dissecting you, picking you apart piece by piece and filing you away for later.

Your lips parted to say something, anything, but then he was kissing you again, his mouth stealing the words before they could form. This time, it was slower, darker somehow, as if he wanted to take his time with you. His teeth caught your bottom lip, tugging just hard enough to make you gasp.

That sound—it was like a spark to gasoline. His tongue slid against yours, deepening the kiss, and you melted into him, gripping his shoulders for support. His hands moved again, squeezing your ass like it was second nature, and the soft sound you made in response sent a shiver up your spine.

He pulled back, his lips brushing against yours as he spoke. “You’ve been holding out on me,” he muttered, his tone laced with amusement but carrying that edge of something darker, something uniquely Damien.

You couldn’t help but laugh, though it came out breathless and shaky. “Or maybe you’re just bringing it out of me,” you replied, trying to sound casual, but the way your voice wavered gave you away.

He smirked, his thumb brushing the side of your jaw. “I could get used to this,” he murmured, his tone softening slightly, though his eyes still held that stormy intensity.

You tried to relax into the moment, to ignore the small, nagging voice in the back of your mind that whispered you didn’t belong here—that this wasn’t really you. But Damien’s hands and the heat of his lips grounded you, kept you tethered to the present, even as doubt clawed at the edges.

You leaned in to kiss him again, desperate to shake off the unease that clung to you, and he met you halfway, his movements smooth and practiced. His lips pressed against yours with a precision that felt almost too perfect, as though he’d done this countless times before—and maybe he had. That thought burrowed into the back of your mind, unwanted and distracting, as your tongue met his in a rhythm you were still struggling to master.

Your hands, unsure of what to do, hovered for a moment before one drifted to the hem of his jeans, your fingers lightly brushing the fabric. It was meant to ground you, to give you something to focus on besides the chaos inside your head. You didn’t even realize how charged the gesture might seem until Damien groaned softly into your mouth—a sound low and rough that sent a jolt through your chest.

You jerked back instinctively, your breaths uneven. “Are you… okay?” you asked, your voice trembling, your gaze darting over his face as if searching for an answer.

Damien’s lips pulled into an easy, amused smile, his gray eyes glinting in the dim light. “You’re cute,” he said, his tone effortlessly calm, as though nothing could faze him.

Heat surged into your cheeks, and you stammered, words tripping over each other. “I—I wasn’t trying to—um—sorry, I didn’t mean—”

His soft chuckle cut through your flustered rambling, a sound that felt both reassuring and maddening. “Relax,” he murmured, his hands still steady on your waist. His thumbs brushed over the fabric of your skirt, his touch gentle but charged.

You tried to follow his instruction, to let go of the tension knotted in your shoulders, but it wasn’t that simple. Your thoughts were tangled, shifting between the moment you were in and the lingering questions that never seemed to leave you alone. Damien was right here, holding you, touching you, and he liked you—didn’t he? That should’ve been enough to push everything else aside, but it wasn’t.

Your fingers tightened around the hem of your skirt, a subtle attempt to steady yourself, but it did little to calm the discomfort settling in your chest. What was wrong with you? Why couldn’t you just enjoy this?

Damien’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. He leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear. “Can I touch you?” he whispered, his tone low and intimate, his fingers brushing the edge of your skirt.

Your heart stuttered at his words, and you froze. Heat rushed through you, and uncertainty quickly followed. Did you want this? Could you even handle this right now? You swallowed hard, your throat dry as the weight of his question hung in the air.

You focused on the present—the way his hands felt on your waist, the heat radiating from his body, the intensity of his gaze. This was what you’d been hoping for, wasn’t it? The moment you’d dreamed about when you thought of Damien—the effortless allure, the magnetic confidence, the way his presence seemed to pull you in without even trying.

But something about it felt off. Like you were trying to force a puzzle piece into a space it didn’t quite fit.

“The party,” you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper, “it’s soon, so maybe… not?”

Damien stilled for a second, his hands loosening their grip on your waist. You held your breath, half expecting him to push back or, worse, to shut down entirely. Instead, a low chuckle rumbled in his chest, and he pulled back slightly to meet your eyes.

“Yeah, all good,” he said, his voice smooth, like nothing had fazed him. “No pressure or anything.”

He cupped your face gently, his thumb brushing along your cheekbone as he leaned in to press a kiss to your lips. It was slower this time, softer, like he was dialing everything back to put you at ease. The tenderness of the gesture was almost disarming, and for a brief moment, you forgot the knot of unease in your chest.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his gray eyes searching yours, his tone lighter now. “For real, don’t stress about it,” he murmured. “We’ve got all the time in the world, yeah?”

The casualness of his words was both reassuring and frustrating. You nodded weakly, forcing a smile as his hands moved from your face to your waist again, his grip looser now.

“Thanks,” you said, your voice wavering slightly.

“Don’t sweat it,” he replied, his lips quirking into a faint smirk. “But maybe we should make sure you don’t show up to this party looking like you’ve been… I don’t know, thinking too hard or something.”

You let out a weak laugh, the teasing in his tone lightening the tension. “Thinking too hard?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah,” he shot back, leaning casually against his headboard, his grin lazy but amused. “You’ve got that look on your face like you’re solving world hunger or some shit. Let me guess—freaking out about whether your lipstick’s smudged?”

Despite yourself, you laughed again, rolling your eyes as you adjusted your skirt. “Shut up.”

“Just saying,” he teased, nudging your chin up with his knuckle. “Relax a little. We’re about to go get wasted in someone’s trashed living room. It’s not that deep.”

He stood, stretching slightly before brushing his fingers through his dark hair, fixing a strand that had fallen out of place. His confidence and ease felt like a stark contrast to the quiet storm in your chest.

As you adjusted your appearance in the mirror, you wondered if you were putting too much weight on tonight. If maybe Damien wasn’t the issue, and you were just too caught up in trying to make things perfect. But even as you told yourself to relax, a flicker of doubt lingered, quiet but stubborn.

The night air was cold, but inside Kenny’s beat-up pickup truck, it was pure chaos. The windows were cracked open just enough to let in the smell of cigarettes and damp earth, mixing with the lingering scent of fast food wrappers shoved under the seats. The engine groaned with every bump in the road, and the muffler was definitely dragging somewhere behind them.

Kyle sat stiffly in the passenger seat, gripping the door handle as though his life depended on it. He hated this truck—he hated the way it rattled and creaked, the way the passenger door didn’t quite close all the way, and the fact that the seatbelt was frayed and probably not even functional. But what he hated even more was the conversation happening in the backseat.

“Man, Kyle, I’m honestly impressed,” Cartman started, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the back of Kyle’s seat. His grin was wide and full of malice, the kind of grin that meant he was gearing up for something terrible. “You’ve got balls, dude. Showing up to this party knowing damn well you’re gonna have to watch Damien stick his tongue down her throat all night? That’s some masochist-level shit right there.”

Kyle’s jaw tightened, and he stared straight ahead, refusing to take the bait.

“Oh, come on,” Cartman pressed, clearly delighted by the lack of response. “You’re just gonna sit there and pretend you’re totally fine with it? ‘Oh, it’s cool, she’s only dating Damien—you know, the guy who probably writes shitty poetry about her in his Moleskine journal. No big deal.’”

“Cartman, shut the fuck up,” Kyle muttered, his voice low and strained.

“Seriously, dude, what’s your plan?” Kenny chimed in from behind the wheel, his voice light but teasing. “You’re just gonna stare at her all night and hope Damien spontaneously combusts? Because, uh, spoiler alert: that’s not gonna happen.”

Kyle turned his glare on Kenny, but before he could say anything, Stan finally looked up from his phone, his tone flat. “Will you guys just leave him alone already?” He shot Kyle a quick look in the rearview mirror, one that said I’ve got your back—but also, you’re an idiot. “You’re not exactly helping.”

“Helping with what?” Cartman crowed, his grin widening. “Stan, are you telling me Kyle actually thinks he has a shot with her? Oh my God, that’s even better than I thought!”

“Cartman,” Kyle snapped, his voice sharp, “I swear to God, if you don’t shut the fuck up—”

“What?” Cartman interrupted, leaning even closer, his tone mockingly sweet. “You gonna cry, Kyle? You gonna get all teary-eyed thinking about how she’s probably sitting in Damien’s lap right now, twirling her hair and giggling at all his deep, brooding observations about life?”

Kenny snorted, one hand loosely gripping the wheel as he glanced over at Kyle. “For real, though, dude. Are you gonna do something about it, or are you just gonna keep sulking and jerking off in your dorm while she’s out with him?”

Kyle’s face turned an alarming shade of red. “You guys are fucking assholes,” he muttered, sinking lower into his seat.

“Yeah, yeah,” Cartman said, waving a hand dismissively. “But, like, seriously, when are you gonna stop being such a little bitch about this? Everyone knows you’re into her. Even she probably knows you’re into her, and she’s still choosing Damien over you. That’s gotta sting, dude.”

Kyle clenched his fists in his lap, his nails digging into his palms. He wanted to snap back, to tell Cartman to go fuck himself, but what was the point? Everything Cartman was saying—everything Kenny and Stan weren’t saying—was already running on a loop in Kyle’s head.

He hadn’t wanted to admit it at first. He’d tried to brush it off, to tell himself he didn’t care when you’d started hanging out with Damien. But then you’d told him about your first date—how amazing it was, how Damien had kissed you—and something inside him had cracked.

Kyle had never been in love before. He didn’t have anything to compare it to, but he figured it had to feel like this—like a constant, gnawing ache in his chest that wouldn’t go away. Like every time he saw you smile at Damien, it was a punch to the gut. He hated it. He hated feeling like this, and he hated that he’d never even realized how much you meant to him until it was too late.

Now, every time you sent him a text about Damien, his stomach twisted in knots. Every time you laughed at one of Damien’s jokes, Kyle wanted to throw something. And every time he saw you with Damien, he felt like an idiot for thinking he’d ever had a chance.

Stan knew, of course. Kyle had confessed it to him after that first date, after you’d sent him that text about Damien kissing you. He hadn’t planned on telling anyone, but Stan had a way of getting the truth out of him without even trying. And while Stan hadn’t exactly been helpful—his response was basically “that sucks, dude”—at least he hadn’t laughed. At least he hadn’t made Kyle feel worse than he already did.

But Cartman? Cartman was relentless. And Kenny wasn’t much better.

“Look, man,” Kenny said after a moment, his tone surprisingly serious. “You can either sit here and let Damien win, or you can grow a pair and tell her how you feel. Your call.”

Kyle let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, because that’s gonna go great. ‘Hey, I know you’re dating Damien, but I’m in love with you. Wanna make things super fucking awkward?’”

“Why not?” Cartman said, smirking. “At least then she’ll know. And when she inevitably rejects you, we can all move on with our lives. Win-win.”

“Jesus Christ, Cartman,” Stan muttered, rubbing his temples. “You’re such a dick.”

“What?” Cartman said, feigning innocence. “I’m just being honest.”

“Honest or not,” Kyle snapped, “no one asked for your opinion, so do me a favor and shut the fuck up.”

The truck fell into a tense silence for a moment, the only sound the faint hum of the engine and the bass-heavy music blasting from Kenny’s shitty speakers.

Finally, Kenny pulled up to the curb outside the party. The house was already packed, the music loud enough to shake the windows. People spilled out onto the lawn, red Solo cups in hand, and the faint smell of weed lingered in the air.

“Alright, we’re here,” Kenny said, throwing the truck into park. “Time to drink away our collective shame.”

Stan climbed out first, stretching as he stepped onto the grass. “God, I need a drink already.”

Cartman followed, brushing crumbs off his jacket. “I’m heading straight for the snacks. Later, bitches.”

Kenny glanced at Kyle, who was still sitting in the passenger seat, staring at the house like it was the last place on earth he wanted to be.

“You coming, or what?” Kenny asked, raising an eyebrow.

Kyle sighed, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Let’s get this over with.”

Kenny smirked, patting him on the shoulder as they climbed out of the truck. “That’s the spirit. Don’t worry—if it all goes to shit, at least you’ll have beer.”

“Great,” Kyle muttered, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets as they headed toward the house. He kept his eyes on the ground, scowling at the sight of crushed beer cans and cigarette butts littering the yard. He wasn’t even drunk yet, and he already wanted to leave.

Kenny, on the other hand, was in his element. He grinned as he slung an arm over Kyle’s shoulders, dragging him along like they were on some kind of triumphant adventure instead of a slow march into hell. “Cheer up, Kahl,” Kenny teased, his voice light and playful. “It’s a party! Who knows? Maybe you’ll finally grow some balls and make a move tonight.”

Kyle shrugged him off with a glare. “Can you not?”

“Aw, come on,” Kenny said, laughing as they stepped onto the front porch. “You’re such a buzzkill.”

The front door swung open before Kenny could knock, and the sound of pounding bass and drunken laughter hit them like a freight train. Kyle winced, his shoulders tensing as they walked inside. The living room was packed with people—some dancing, some shouting over the music, and others sprawled across the furniture with beers in hand.

“Ugh, I already hate this,” Kyle muttered, his scowl deepening.

“Yeah, no one cares,” Cartman said, brushing past him to head straight for the snack table. “Have fun wallowing in self-pity, loser. I’ve got a date with some chips and queso.”

Stan rolled his eyes, following Cartman with his hands shoved into his pockets. “Try not to eat the entire table this time, fatass.”

“Fuck you, Stan!” Cartman shouted over his shoulder.

Kenny stayed by Kyle’s side, navigating through the crowd. Kyle’s eyes darted around the room, catching glimpses of familiar faces. Tweek was in the corner, jittering nervously as Craig leaned against the wall next to him, looking completely unbothered as usual. Clyde was nearby, loudly retelling some exaggerated story to Tolkien, who was nodding along politely but clearly not listening.

On the couch, Red, Wendy, and Bebe were huddled together, laughing over something on Red’s phone. Wendy looked up briefly and waved at Stan, who gave her a small nod before disappearing into the kitchen.

Kenny grinned, raising a hand in greeting as they passed. “Yo, what’s up, guys?” he called out.

“Hey, Kenny!” Bebe replied, flashing him a bright smile before nudging Red and whispering something that made her giggle.

Kyle’s scowl deepened as he caught sight of Damien across the room. He was leaning against the wall with that same infuriatingly relaxed posture, his black leather boots crossed at the ankles and a cigarette dangling from his lips. He wasn’t even doing anything—just standing there—but somehow, he still managed to look like the cover of an indie rock album.

Kyle quickly looked away, his stomach twisting.

“Don’t even think about it,” Kenny said, leaning closer to him. “You’re not allowed to start sulking until you’ve had at least one drink.”

“I don’t sulk,” Kyle snapped.

Kenny raised an eyebrow, his smirk growing. “Sure you don’t. Come on.”

Before Kyle could protest, Kenny steered him toward the makeshift bar set up in the kitchen. It was a sad assortment of cheap liquor bottles, half-empty mixers, and a bucket of melted ice with a few beers floating aimlessly inside. Someone had written “BAR” in black Sharpie on a cardboard sign taped to the wall.

Kenny grabbed two plastic cups and handed one to Kyle before reaching for a bottle of rum. “Alright, dudel,” he said, pouring a generous amount into Kyle’s cup. “Time to loosen up. You’re gonna drink this, and then we’re gonna find something to talk about that isn’t Damien or [Y/N]. Deal?”

Kyle stared at the cup like it was full of poison. “I hate rum.”

“Then drink faster so you can move on to something else,” Kenny replied, adding a splash of Coke to his own cup.

Kyle sighed, taking the cup reluctantly. He sniffed it, wrinkling his nose at the strong smell of alcohol, before taking a small sip. It burned on the way down, and he immediately grimaced. “This is disgusting.”

“Welcome to college, buddy,” Kenny said, clinking his cup against Kyle’s with a grin.

Before Kyle could respond, a voice called out from behind them. “Kenny! Kyle! You guys made it!”

They turned to see Clyde stumbling toward them, already holding a beer in each hand. His cheeks were flushed, and he had that goofy, half-drunk grin that Kyle always found irritating.

“Of course we made it,” Kenny said, slapping Clyde on the back. “Wouldn’t miss the chance to watch Kyle have a mental breakdown in public.”

“Fuck off,” Kyle muttered, taking another reluctant sip of his drink.

Clyde laughed, clearly not picking up on the tension. “Man, this party’s already insane. You guys gotta hit the beer pong table later. Surprisingly, Tweek and Craig are undefeated right now, but I’m calling bullshit on some of their shots.”

“Maybe later,” Kenny said, throwing an arm around Kyle again. “First, I gotta make sure my boy here doesn’t bolt the second he sees [Y/N].”

Kyle froze, his grip tightening on the cup. “Kenny.”

“What?” Kenny said innocently. “I’m just saying, you should at least try to enjoy yourself. She’s not gonna be stuck to Damien’s hip all night, you know.”

Kyle glared at him, his face heating up. “I’m not talking about this right now.”

Clyde tilted his head at the two of them, clearly intrigued by Kyle’s reaction, but didn’t push further. “Alright, well, Tolkien’s probably wondering where the hell I went. You know how he gets—acts like my damn babysitter anytime I’ve had more than two beers.” He took a swig from one of the bottles in his hands before jerking his thumb toward the other side of the room. “I’ll catch you guys later. Oh, and Kyle, if you’re playing beer pong later, you’re on my team. Tolkien sucks at it, and I’m not losing to Craig and Tweek again.” He winked and walked off, rejoining Tolkien, who was still standing by the snack table with his usual air of mild exasperation.

Kenny chuckled, shaking his head as he watched Clyde go. “Man, that guy’s a mess. You gotta give him credit for his energy, though.”

Kyle said nothing, his gaze fixed on the rim of his cup as he swirled the contents inside. His thoughts were already slipping back to the one person he was desperately trying not to think about, and Kenny’s incessant teasing wasn’t helping.

Kenny let out a long, exaggerated sigh, clearly annoyed by Kyle’s silence. “Alright, dude, enough with the brooding.” Without waiting for a response, he grabbed Kyle’s wrist, pulling him toward the couch where Wendy, Bebe, and Red were seated.

“What the hell are you doing?” Kyle hissed, stumbling slightly as Kenny dragged him through the crowd.

“I’m saving you from yourself,” Kenny replied without looking back. “You’re a buzzkill, and it’s killing my vibe. Come on, we’re talking to people.”

“I don’t want to talk to anyone,” Kyle muttered, but Kenny ignored him, weaving through the mess of bodies like it was his second nature.

The girls looked up as they approached, their conversation pausing as Kenny flopped down onto the arm of the couch with his usual casual charm.

“Kenny!” Wendy greeted, her dark eyes brightening as she glanced at him, then over at Kyle. “Hey, Kyle!”

Red waved, a grin spreading across her face. “Look who finally decided to join us!”

Bebe, leaning lazily against the back of the couch with a drink in hand, raised an eyebrow as she looked Kyle up and down. “Wow, you actually got him out of his cave? Impressive.”

Kenny grinned, tipping his drink in their direction. “What can I say? I’m a miracle worker. Kyle  here would’ve spent the whole night moping if I hadn’t dragged him out.”

“I don’t mope, you prick,” Kyle said defensively, his face already flushing under the weight of their attention.

“Sure you don’t,” Bebe said with a smirk, swirling her drink. “You always look this miserable, right?”

Kyle shot her a look but didn’t respond, choosing instead to take a sip of his drink. He hoped it would help him tune out the conversation, but it didn’t stop Kenny from throwing an arm around his shoulders.

“So,” Kenny said, glancing at the girls with a grin, “what’s the damage so far? Who’s hooked up? Who’s gotten blackout drunk? Give me the highlights.”

Red laughed, brushing a strand of red hair over her shoulder. “Butters is trying to play DJ but keeps fighting with Jimmy over the aux cord, Nichole and Heidi are arguing about whether Taylor Swift is overrated, and someone already spilled an entire drink on the couch. Pretty standard so far.”

“Nichole and Heidi at it again?” Kenny asked, laughing. “Man, I’d pay to see that. It’s like a weekly debate club with those two.”

“I give it ten more minutes before they start throwing drinks,” Wendy chimed in, rolling her eyes.

Kyle stood stiffly next to the couch, trying to focus on their chatter instead of his own thoughts. But the knot in his stomach refused to loosen, no matter how many sips of rum and Coke he took.

And then, over the noise of the party, he heard it—your laugh.

It pierced through the chaos like a knife, sharp and clear, and Kyle froze, his grip tightening around his cup. His head turned instinctively toward the sound, and there you were.

You were by the beer pong table, standing between Craig and Tweek, holding a bright red Solo cup in one hand. Your cheeks were flushed, and your movements had that slightly loose, carefree quality that only came with being tipsy. You gestured wildly as you spoke, making Tweek laugh nervously while Craig smirked.

Kyle’s stomach twisted as his gaze drifted lower, taking in your outfit. You were wearing a short black skirt with a silver belt, paired with an oversized black sweater that hung off one shoulder. It was edgy, sleek, and completely different from the way you used to dress. Your boots had a chunky heel, making you look taller, and the silver chain around your neck glinted under the dim party lights. Even your makeup was different—darker and heavier, with smudged eyeliner that gave you a dramatic, smoky look.

You looked incredible.

And Kyle hated it.

He hated how much you’d changed to match Damien’s aesthetic, as if you’d molded yourself into his perfect counterpart. He hated the way your skirt clung to your hips, drawing every pair of eyes in the room, including his. He hated the way you were laughing with Craig and Tweek, so at ease, so happy, while his insides were in knots.

But most of all, he hated how his chest ached just looking at you.

“You good, dude?” Kenny asked, leaning closer to Kyle and snapping him out of his trance.

Kyle blinked, tearing his eyes away from you and fixing them on the rim of his cup. “I’m fine,” he muttered, though his voice lacked any conviction.

Kenny tilted his head, following Kyle’s gaze across the room. When he spotted you by the beer pong table, his smirk widened. “Ah. I see what’s going on.”

Kyle bristled, glaring at Kenny out of the corner of his eye. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Kenny said innocently, though his tone was anything but. “I’m just pointing out that someone’s looking real good tonight. Guess Damien’s rubbing off on her, huh?”

Kyle’s jaw clenched so hard it hurt. “Shut up.”

“Relax,” Kenny said, clinking his cup against Kyle’s. “I’m just messing with you. Besides, if you don’t want to stare at her all night, you could, I don’t know, talk to her?”

Kyle shot him a withering glare. “Yeah, because that’s exactly what I want to do right now.”

“Suit yourself,” Kenny replied with a shrug, leaning back against the arm of the couch. “But if you keep standing here looking like you just lost a fight with a blender, everyone’s gonna notice.”

Kyle ignored him, his knuckles tightening around his cup as your laugh rang out again, bright and unguarded. He hated how easily it cut through him, how it made his chest tighten even as he tried to shove the feeling down.

Red, noticing Kyle’s stiff posture, glanced between him and Kenny. “What’s his deal?” she asked, lowering her voice.

“Nothing,” Kenny said, grinning. “Just loves a good party, don’t you, Kyle?”

Kyle shot Kenny another glare but didn’t respond. Across the room, you were standing with Tweek and Craig, laughing at something Craig had just said. Your cheeks were flushed, and the way you tilted your head back in laughter was enough to make Kyle’s stomach churn uncomfortably.

He tried to look away, forcing himself to focus on his drink, but Kenny wasn’t about to let him off the hook. “Dude, you’re not subtle. You might as well hold up a neon sign that says ‘I’m in love with [Y/N] and I hate myself.’”

“Shut the fuck up, Kenny,” Kyle muttered, gripping his plastic cup tighter.

“Relax, bro,” Kenny said, smirking. “It’s a party. Maybe if you stopped glaring at her like you’re auditioning for The Bachelor, you’d actually have some fun.”

Before Kyle could respond, Cartman and Stan strolled up, Cartman holding a plate of nachos stacked so high it was practically a health hazard. He took one look at Kyle’s face and grinned like a shark smelling blood in the water.

“Aw, what’s wrong, Kahl?” Cartman asked, his tone dripping with mock sympathy. “She not paying enough attention to you? Guess that’s what happens when you’re boring as shit.”

“I swear to God, Cartman,” Kyle growled, his knuckles whitening around his cup.

“What? I’m just saying, she’s got options,” Cartman said, gesturing toward you with his nacho plate. “Look at her, all dolled up and smiling like that. If I were her, I’d walk right past you too.”

Stan raised an eyebrow, glancing between Kyle and you across the room. “She does look happy, though,” he said casually, taking a sip of his drink. “She’s been smiling all night.”

Kyle turned to glare at him, but Stan shrugged. “What? I’m just saying. Maybe you should stop overthinking everything and just… go talk to her.”

Kyle opened his mouth to retort, but then he noticed it.

You had left Craig and Tweek, your drink still in hand, and were making your way toward Damien.

Kyle’s heart sank as he watched you walk across the room, your black skirt swishing lightly with each step. You looked confident, carefree, and… happy. Too happy. When you reached Damien, you flashed him that big, bright smile—the kind of smile that used to feel like it belonged to Kyle.

Damien smirked down at you, taking a drag from his cigarette before casually flicking the ash into a nearby beer can. He leaned closer to you, saying something that made you laugh again, your hand lightly brushing his arm.

Kyle’s chest tightened as he stared at the scene, his drink frozen halfway to his lips.

“Uh-oh,” Kenny said, noticing Kyle’s expression. “Here we go.”

“I’m fine,” Kyle muttered, though his voice cracked slightly. He quickly downed the rest of his drink, hoping the alcohol would drown out the growing knot in his stomach.

“Sure you are,” Cartman said, his grin widening. “Meanwhile, Damien’s over there stealing your girl. Guess she’s got a thing for guys who dress like they shop exclusively at Hot Topic.”

“She’s not my girl,” Kyle snapped, his voice sharp. “And I don’t care what Damien does.”

“Oh, you care,” Kenny said with a laugh. “You care so fucking much it’s hilarious. Dude, just look at your face right now. You’re one bad comment away from going full Incredible Hulk.”

Stan chuckled, shaking his head. “Maybe you should just go over there,” he said, clearly enjoying Kyle’s discomfort. “Say hi. You know, remind her you exist.”

“Yeah, Kyle,” Cartman said, his voice dripping with faux encouragement. “Why don’t you go introduce yourself to Damien while you’re at it? Maybe he’ll give you tips on how to not be a total buzzkill.”

“Fuck all of you,” Kyle muttered, pouring himself another drink with slightly shaky hands.

But the boys weren’t done.

“Seriously, dude,” Kenny pressed, leaning in with a grin. “You’re just gonna let her laugh at all his shitty jokes like that? You know he probably writes cringe poetry about this shit, right? Like, ‘Oh, [Y/N], the light of my dark soul, your laugh is the melody to my eternal despair.’”

Stan snorted into his drink. “Pretty accurate, honestly.”

Kyle glared at all of them, his face growing redder by the second. “I’m not going over there.”

“Why not?” Cartman said, feigning innocence. “What’s the worst that could happen? Oh, wait, I know—she’ll ignore you and keep talking to Damien, and you’ll have to sit here and watch. But hey, you’re already doing that, so really, you’ve got nothing to lose!”

“God, you’re such a fat piece of shit,” Kyle spat, his voice rising slightly.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Cartman said, waving him off. “Look, either grow some balls and interrupt, or stop staring at her like a creepy stalker. Pick one.”

Kyle’s grip on his cup tightened, his mind racing as his friends’ voices buzzed around him like mosquitoes. Part of him wanted to stay put, to stubbornly refuse to give them the satisfaction of seeing him crack. But the other part of him—the part that couldn’t stand the sight of Damien smirking down at you—was already inching closer to the edge.

“Do it,” Kenny whispered, his voice low and teasing. “Go over there. Be the hero of your own tragic love story.”

Kyle slammed his cup down on the table, the sound cutting through the noise. “Fine,” he snapped, standing up so abruptly that Kenny nearly spilled his drink.

“Holy shit, he’s actually doing it,” Cartman said, wide-eyed with amusement. “This is gonna be fucking gold.”

“Shut up,” Kyle muttered, his fists clenching at his sides as he stormed off toward you and Damien.

“Good luck!” Kenny called after him, grinning ear to ear.

As Kyle pushed through the crowd, his heart pounded in his chest, each step feeling heavier than the last. By the time he reached you, his palms were clammy, and his thoughts were a tangled mess of frustration and adrenaline.

You looked up as he approached, your smile brightening. “Kyle! Hey!”

Damien raised an eyebrow, his smirk never faltering as he exhaled a plume of smoke. “Well, well,” he drawled, his voice smooth and low. “Didn’t expect to see you here, Broflovski.”

Kyle ignored him, forcing a tight smile as he looked at you. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

Your brows furrowed slightly, but you nodded. “Uh, yeah, sure.”

Damien’s smirk widened as he took another drag of his cigarette. “Don’t let me stop you,” he said, stepping aside with an exaggerated bow.

Kyle shot Damien a glare before turning back to you, his stomach churning as he tried to find the words. The alcohol buzzing in his system wasn’t helping—it only made his thoughts heavier and harder to untangle. You were standing so close, your big, tipsy smile softening into concern as you looked at him, your wide, glassy eyes locking on his.

“Kyle, are you okay?” you asked, your voice gentle and warm but slightly slurred. You placed a hand on his arm, squeezing it lightly. “You look… I dunno, kinda stressed out or something. Are you sick?”

“I—uh, no, I’m fine,” Kyle stammered, his face heating up. He was hyper-aware of your hand on his arm, your touch sending a jolt of electricity through him that made his heart hammer in his chest. “I’m not sick.”

“You don’t look fine,” you said, your brows furrowing. “Your face is all red. Did Cartman say something to piss you off again? I swear, I’ll fight him.”

Before Kyle could respond, you turned to Damien, who had been silently watching the two of you with that same lazy smirk on his face. “Hey, Damien,” you said, your voice light and sweet. “I’m gonna take Kyle upstairs for a bit. He doesn’t look too good.”

Damien raised an eyebrow, taking another drag of his cigarette. “Whatever you say, babe,” he drawled, exhaling smoke through his nose.

You smiled at him, completely unfazed. “I’ll find you later, okay?”

“Sure,” Damien said, waving you off lazily. “Take your time.”

You turned back to Kyle, grabbing his wrist with both hands. “Come on,” you said, tugging him gently. “Let’s go somewhere quiet. You look like you’re about to explode or something.”

“I’m fine—” Kyle started to say, but the words died in his throat as you began pulling him through the crowd.

“Shush,” you said over your shoulder, your tone light but firm. “You’re coming with me, and that’s final.”

Kyle had no choice but to follow, his heart pounding as you led him up the stairs. The noise of the party faded slightly as you reached the second floor, and Kyle’s mind raced with a chaotic swirl of emotions: guilt, frustration, and that stupid, unbearable ache in his chest every time you smiled at him.

You pushed open the door to one of the bedrooms and tugged him inside, closing the door behind you with a soft click. The music from downstairs was muffled now, the quiet making the room feel oddly intimate.

You turned to face Kyle, your eyes scanning his face with drunken concern. “Okay,” you said, your voice softer now. “What’s going on? And don’t say ‘nothing,’ because I know that’s a lie.”

Kyle hesitated, his throat dry as he searched for an answer. “It’s not… it’s not a big deal,” he said, avoiding your gaze. “I just needed to get out of there.”

“Bullshit,” you said, crossing your arms. The motion made you wobble slightly on your feet, and Kyle instinctively reached out to steady you. You smiled at him, leaning into his hand for a moment before continuing. “You’ve been acting weird for weeks, Kyle. And now you’re all quiet and broody, and it’s freaking me out. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

Kyle stared at you, his chest tightening as the words he’d been holding back for weeks clawed at the edges of his mind. The alcohol in his system buzzed like static, loosening his tongue just enough to make him consider saying them out loud.

But then he thought about Damien. About the way you’d smiled at him downstairs. About how easily he’d called you “babe.”

The knot in Kyle’s stomach twisted tighter, and he looked away, clenching his jaw. “It’s nothing,” he said quietly. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” you said, stepping closer to him. “Kyle, come on. You can talk to me. You’re my best friend.”

Kyle’s heart sank at those words. Best friend. The title felt like a prison sentence, locking him into a role he didn’t know how to escape.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t mean to ignore you.”

You frowned, your bottom lip jutting out slightly in a tipsy pout. “Then stop ignoring me,” you said, your voice soft but insistent. “I hate when you shut me out. It makes me feel like… like you don’t want me around anymore.”

Kyle’s chest ached at the vulnerability in your voice, and he swallowed hard, forcing himself to meet your gaze. “That’s not true,” he said quickly. “I do want you around. I just…” He trailed off, the words dying in his throat.

“Just what?” you asked, tilting your head.

Kyle hesitated, his mind racing. He wanted to tell you the truth—to tell you everything. But the words felt too heavy, too dangerous to say out loud.

“It’s complicated,” he said finally, his voice barely audible.

You studied him for a moment, your expression softening. Then, to his surprise, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into a hug.

“I don’t care if it’s complicated,” you said, your voice muffled against his shoulder. “I just don’t want you to shut me out anymore.”

Kyle froze for a moment, but then he slowly wrapped his arms around you, his chest tightening as he rested his chin lightly on your head.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice barely above a whisper.

“It’s okay,” you said, pulling back slightly to look up at him. Your cheeks were flushed, and your eyes were glassy from the alcohol, but your smile was warm and genuine. “Just… promise me you won’t avoid me anymore, okay?”

“I promise,” Kyle said, though his voice wavered slightly.

“Good,” you said, grinning. “Now sit down before you pass out or something. You look like you need it.”

Kyle sat down on the edge of the bed as instructed. He stared down at his hands, his fingers fidgeting nervously in his lap. The faint buzz of alcohol in his veins did little to steady his thoughts as the quiet room pressed in on him.

You followed his lead, plopping down beside him with a soft sigh. “God, my feet are killing me,” you muttered, leaning forward to tug at the zipper of one of your boots. You struggled with it for a moment, your fingers fumbling before letting out a small huff of frustration. “Why did I think heels were a good idea? Damien said they looked cute, but these things are, like, torture devices.”

Kyle’s jaw clenched at the mention of Damien, but he kept quiet. Instead, his eyes drifted toward you, watching as you wrestled with your boot. The dim light cast soft shadows across your face, and for a moment, Kyle was struck by how different you looked.

It wasn’t just the makeup—though the smoky eyeliner and dark lipstick were so far removed from your usual style that it almost felt like you were playing dress-up. It wasn’t just the clothes, either, though the short black skirt and off-the-shoulder sweater made you seem like a stranger in your own skin. Something about the way you carried yourself tonight—tipsy, carefree, and so eager to please Damien—felt like a version of you he didn’t recognize.

He hated it.

“Ugh, these boots suck,” you grumbled, finally freeing one of them with an audible thud as it hit the floor. You let out a breath of relief, wiggling your toes through your tights before moving on to the other boot. “I swear, I’m gonna burn these things when I get home.”

Kyle’s lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smile breaking through his otherwise tense expression. “You love those boots,” he said quietly, his voice low and edged with disbelief.

“Yeah, well, I loved them before they tried to murder my feet,” you replied, flashing him a lopsided grin. “Tonight might be their last hurrah.”

Kyle didn’t respond. Instead, his gaze lingered on you, taking in the slight sheen of sweat on your brow from the crowded party, the smudge of dark lipstick on the corner of your mouth. You looked… tired. Beautiful, yes, but not the way you usually were.

You caught him staring, your brow furrowing slightly as you set your other boot on the floor with a soft thunk. “What?” you asked, your voice softer now, tinged with curiosity.

Kyle hesitated, his throat suddenly dry. “Nothing,” he said quickly, looking away. He felt his cheeks heat under your gaze, and he cursed himself for being so obvious.

But you didn’t let it go. You shifted closer to him, your knee brushing against his. “It’s not nothing,” you pressed, tilting your head to try and meet his eyes. “You’ve been quiet ever since we came up here. What’s on your mind?”

Kyle clenched his jaw, his fingers curling into fists in his lap. He could feel your eyes on him, and it was unbearable. Part of him wanted to lie, to brush you off with some sarcastic comment or a half-assed excuse. But another part—the part that had been screaming at him all night—wanted to tell you the truth.

“You look… different,” he said finally, his voice low and hesitant.

You blinked, caught off guard by the statement. “Different?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

Kyle swallowed hard, his gaze darting to your face before quickly looking away again. “I don’t know. It’s just… the makeup, the clothes… It’s not… you.”

Your brows furrowed, and for a moment, you didn’t say anything. When you finally spoke, your voice was quiet, almost defensive. “I thought it looked good.”

“It does,” Kyle said quickly, his words tumbling out before he could stop them. “I mean, you look… amazing. But it’s just… it’s not the you I’m used to. That’s all.”

You frowned, your fingers picking at the hem of your skirt. “Damien likes this look,” you said softly, almost as if you were trying to convince yourself. “He said it suits me.”

Kyle’s chest ached at the mention of Damien again, and before he could stop himself, the words slipped out. “What about what you like?”

Your frown deepened as you turned to face him fully, your body shifting so that your knees touched his. “What does it matter what I like?” you asked. “For the first time in my life, someone’s actually interested in me. Someone thinks I’m… I don’t know, worth noticing. And you… you can’t even be happy for me.”

Kyle froze, his lips parting as he processed your words. “That’s not—” he started, but you cut him off, your voice rising just enough to make him stop.

“Don’t,” you snapped, your hands balling into fists on your lap. “You’ve been ignoring me for weeks. Ignoring my texts, rejecting every time I tried to hang out—like I don’t even matter to you anymore. And now, when I finally feel like someone cares, you’re sitting here questioning me. What’s your problem?”

Kyle felt his frustration bubbling just under the surface, a mixture of guilt, confusion, and the alcohol buzzing in his system. “I don’t have a problem,” he said sharply, his eyes locking with yours. “I just—Damien’s not—”

“Oh, my God, don’t start with that again!” you exclaimed, throwing your hands up in exasperation. “You don’t like Damien. Fine. But maybe, just maybe, this isn’t about you! Maybe I don’t need your approval for every decision I make!”

Kyle’s jaw tightened, his fists clenching against his thighs. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying?!” you demanded, your voice cracking as the anger surged in your chest. “Because all you’ve done since Damien and I started hanging out is act like I’m making some huge mistake. You don’t know him. You don’t even try to get to know him. You just sit there and judge me like… like I’m doing something wrong by being happy for once!”

Kyle opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat. He didn’t know how to explain it—how to tell you that seeing you with Damien made his stomach churn, that every time he thought about you two together, it felt like he was losing something he didn’t know how to hold onto.

But before he could even try, you leaned in closer, your voice dropping to a low, biting tone. “And don’t think I didn’t notice, by the way,” you said, your eyes narrowing. “The way you’ve been acting ever since that night.”

Kyle’s heart stuttered, and he froze. “What night?” he asked, though he already knew.

“Oh, come on, Kyle,” you snapped, your expression sharp with anger. “You know what I’m talking about. The practice kisses. Remember that? Or are you just going to pretend it didn’t happen?”

Kyle’s face flushed, and he looked away. “I wasn’t pretending anything,” he muttered, his voice low.

“Bullshit!” you shot back, your voice rising. “Ever since that night, you’ve been weird. You won’t talk to me, you won’t look at me—hell, you won’t even answer my texts half the time! What the hell, Kyle? Was it that horrible? Was I that horrible?”

Kyle’s head snapped up at that, his eyes wide with disbelief. “What? No! That’s not—God, that’s not what it is, [Y/N]!”

“Then what is it?” you demanded, your voice breaking slightly. “Because I can’t figure it out. One minute, you’re helping me, you’re… you’re my best friend, and then the next, you’re shutting me out like I don’t even exist. And now, you’re sitting here acting like you care, but all you’re doing is making me feel like I’m doing something wrong. What do you want from me?”

Kyle wanted to say something—anything—to make you understand, to fix the mess he’d created, but the words wouldn’t come. He felt like he was caught in a trap of his own making, his own silence pulling him further and further away from you.

“Nothing,” he said finally, his voice hollow. “I don’t want anything from you.”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head as you stood up abruptly, putting distance between the two of you. “Right. Nothing. Of course,” you said, your tone dripping with sarcasm. “Well, congratulations. You’re doing a great job of getting exactly that.”

Kyle flinched at your words, but he didn’t move, his hands gripping the edge of the mattress like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. His knuckles had gone pale, the tension in his shoulders evident even though he was sitting so rigidly still.

You noticed immediately, the anger draining from your face as guilt flooded in to replace it. "Shit," you muttered, scooting closer to him. Without even thinking, you reached out and carefully pried one of his hands from the mattress, your fingers sliding between his. His palm was clammy and tense, but you held on anyway, squeezing his hand gently.

"I’m sorry," you said softly, looking up at him with wide, apologetic eyes. "I didn’t mean to snap at you. I just… I don’t know. I feel like I can’t talk to you about this stuff anymore, and it really sucks. You’re my best friend. You’re supposed to be the one I can go to about anything, but it feels like every time I try to bring it up, you shut me out."

Kyle’s eyes flickered down to your intertwined hands. With a small shake of his head, he whispered, "You’re right. I have been shutting you out, and that’s on me. I’m sorry, okay? I’m… I’m listening now. I promise. You can talk to me about Damien, or whatever else, and I won’t be a dick about it this time."

Your lips twitched into a small smile, the tension in your shoulders easing just a little. "You mean it?" you asked, your voice quiet, almost hesitant, like you were afraid of pushing too far.

Kyle nodded, his eyes finally lifting to meet yours. "Yeah. I mean it. I’ll actually listen this time. No more… whatever the hell I’ve been doing lately." His voice was soft but firm, like he was trying to reassure both you and himself at the same time.

The smile that spread across your face was so big it made your cheeks ache. You beamed at him, your eyes sparkling with a mix of relief and happiness. "Thank you," you said, your voice filled with genuine gratitude. You shifted your position, pulling your legs up onto the mattress so you could sit cross-legged, still holding onto his hand like it was some kind of lifeline. "You have no idea how much that means to me."

Kyle let out a shaky breath, a small smile graced his features. "You don’t have to thank me," he muttered. "I’m just trying to make up for being an asshole."

"You’re not an asshole," you said quickly, squeezing his hand again. "You’re just… complicated sometimes. But that’s okay. I mean, I’m not exactly the easiest person to deal with either, so…" You trailed off with a small laugh, your free hand brushing a strand of hair out of your face.

Kyle huffed out a soft laugh, shaking his head. "You’re easier to deal with than you think," he said, his voice tinged with something almost… fond. But he quickly cleared his throat, looking away as if to hide whatever had just slipped into his tone.

You didn’t press him on it, instead letting the moment hang in a comfortable silence for a few seconds. Then you shifted slightly, leaning your shoulder against his. "So… what do you want to know?" you asked, your voice light and teasing, but with an edge of sincerity. "Because if I’m finally allowed to vent about Damien without getting side-eyes and snarky comments, I’ve got a lot to say."

Kyle groaned, his head falling forward slightly as he rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. "God, you’re really gonna make me suffer through this, aren’t you?"

"Yep," you said with a grin, popping the "p" for emphasis. "You owe me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kyle muttered, though there was a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Alright, fine. Let’s hear it. What’s the latest Damien drama?”

Your face lit up at his begrudging interest, and without hesitation, you launched into a breathless rant, leaning forward slightly. “Okay, so, don’t laugh. But, um, you know how we… uh… practiced, right?”

Kyle froze for half a second, his smirk fading as his lips pressed into a thin, flat line. His grip on the mattress tightened imperceptibly, though he tried to play it off. “Yeah,” he said, keeping his tone as neutral as possible, though his jaw had already started to clench.

“Right, well, I think it’s actually been paying off,” you continued, oblivious to the way Kyle’s entire posture had shifted. “Damien and I were in his dorm the other day—”

Kyle’s stomach dropped. He could already tell where this was going, and he had no idea how he was going to get through it.

“—and we were making out,” you said, your voice softening slightly as if you were confessing a deep secret. You laughed lightly, looking down at your lap, where your fingers fidgeted nervously. “Don’t laugh!”

“I’m not laughing,” Kyle muttered, his tone clipped as he stared straight ahead.

“Anyway,” you continued, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, “we were making out, and then Damien—uh, well, he asked me if he could touch me.”

Kyle’s throat felt like it had closed up. His mind was blank for a moment, his ears buzzing faintly as he tried to process what you were saying. His grip on the mattress edge tightened so much that his knuckles turned white, but you were too lost in your own thoughts to notice.

You laughed again, more nervously this time, and quickly added, “I didn’t know what to do! I panicked and made up some excuse about how we needed to get ready for this party. Like, how stupid is that?”

Kyle's eyes darted to the floor as a wave of irritation, jealousy, and something darker coiled in his chest.

“And I know this is gonna sound dumb,” you continued, still completely unaware of Kyle’s growing anger, “but, like… what does he mean by ‘touch’? Like, do guys have a specific definition for that? Does it mean, like… everything? Or just…”

You trailed off, your cheeks flushing as you turned to Kyle for answers. When you noticed how quiet he was, you frowned slightly. “Kyle, are you listening?”

“Yeah,” he muttered through gritted teeth, not trusting himself to look at you.

“Okay, good, because I have questions.” You shifted on the bed to face him fully, your expression earnest despite the awkward subject matter. “So, like… how does that even work? Like, if he were to finger me or, um, go down on me or something… What are guys even thinking about when they do that? Is there, like, a technique or…?”

Kyle’s head shot up at that, his eyes burning as he finally met your gaze. “Seriously?” he snapped.

Your brows furrowed, taken aback by his tone. “What? I’m just asking. You’re a guy—you should know this stuff!”

Kyle let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Why the hell are you even asking me about this?”

“Because I trust you!” you said, your voice rising slightly in exasperation. “And you’re supposed to be helping me, but you’re just sitting there acting all weird and pissed off! What is your problem?”

“My problem,” he bit out, his voice low and taut, “is that I don’t want to hear about how you’re letting Damien stick his hands down your skirt like he’s auditioning for a fucking porno!”

Your mouth fell open, your cheeks heating up. “What the fuck, Kyle?!”

“I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking!” he snapped, standing abruptly and pacing a few steps away from the bed. His hands balled into fists at his sides as he struggled to keep his voice steady. “You’re sitting here asking me for advice on how to let that pretentious asshole feel you up like it’s some kind of fucking homework assignment, and I’m supposed to just be okay with that?”

You stared at him, your expression caught between anger and hurt. “You’re being a total asshole right now,” you said, your voice trembling slightly.

Kyle laughed bitterly, running a hand over his face. “Yeah, well, maybe I don’t give a shit about Damien and all his ‘techniques.’ Did you ever think about that?”

You stood up, your hands shaking as you pointed an accusatory finger at him. “Why can’t you just be happy for me? Huh? For once in my life, someone actually likes me, and instead of being supportive, you’re acting like a jealous, immature dick!”

Kyle froze at that. For a moment, neither of you said anything. Finally, he turned to face you fully, his green eyes blazing. “You think this is about jealousy?” he said, his voice low and biting. “You think I give a shit about Damien liking you? Newsflash, [Y/N]: I’m pissed because you’re better than this—better than him. But you’re too fucking blind to see it.”

Your lips parted in shock, your heart pounding as his words sank in. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” you demanded.

“It means you’re wasting your time with some asshole who only wants you for one thing,” Kyle shot back, his voice shaking with anger. “And the worst part is, you’re letting him. You’re letting him treat you like you’re some… some easy conquest, and you don’t even realize it!”

Your eyes widened, the sting of his words landing like a slap to the face. You blinked, stunned into silence for a split second before the anger surged in your chest. “That’s not true, and you don’t know a damn thing about him! Damien isn’t like that!” You snapped, your voice trembling as much with fury as with hurt. 

Kyle scoffed, throwing his hands up in frustration. “Oh, come on. You really think he’s not? Guys like him don’t just stop at making out. They push. They push until they get what they want. And if you think he’s any different, then you’re being delusional.”

Your mouth fell open, but it wasn’t shock that overcame you this time—it was white-hot rage. “You’re such a shitty best friend!” you shouted, the words spilling out before you could stop yourself. “I don’t even recognize you anymore!”

Kyle flinched at your words, but he didn’t respond, his jaw tightening as he stared at you. That only made you angrier.

“You know what’s funny?” you continued, your voice rising. “I didn’t act like this when you started dating in middle school. Or high school. Or whenever the hell you were hooking up with random girls while I sat there and helped you come up with stupid lines to impress them!”

Kyle opened his mouth to interject, but you cut him off. “No! Let me finish!” you snapped. “When you were fumbling through your first relationship or getting ghosted by whatever girl you liked at the time, I was there. I was supportive. I didn’t tell you that you were being stupid or delusional, or that you were wasting your time. I actually cared about what you were going through!”

The alcohol in Kyle’s system buzzed in his head, loosening the filter on his words. Before he could stop himself, he shot back, his tone laced with venom. “Yeah? Well, maybe that’s because I didn’t need someone holding my hand every five seconds and begging me to tell them what to do.”.

You inhaled sharply, trying to keep your composure, but your voice trembled as you spoke. “I wasn’t… I wasn’t asking you to hold my hand, Kyle,” you choked out, wiping at your eyes. “I just wanted advice. That’s it. I wanted my best friend to help me, the same way you helped me with… with…” Your voice cracked, and you covered your mouth with your hand for a moment, trying to steady yourself. “The same way you helped me when I asked for tips on kissing.”

Kyle froze, the sight of your tears was like a punch to the gut, but the alcohol clouded his better judgment, and he didn’t reach out to comfort you. Instead, he clenched his fists, his own emotions bubbling too close to the surface.

You sniffled, wiping at your face again, though the tears kept coming. “It’s not fair,” you said, your voice breaking as you looked at him with glassy, red-rimmed eyes. “It’s not fair that all four of you—Stan, Kenny, Cartman, and you—you’ve all had sex, and I haven’t. You’ve all done it, and I’m the one who feels like… like I’m the weird one. Like I’m stuck behind everyone else.” You laughed bitterly, though the sound was shaky and laced with pain. “I just wanted to feel like I belonged for once. Like I wasn’t the last one left behind. And I thought… I thought Damien might actually like me enough to change that. But I guess you think I’m just stupid for even trying, huh?”

Kyle shook his head quickly, the guilt in his chest growing heavier with every tear that rolled down your face. “That’s not—” he started, but you cut him off again.

“No, Kyle, it is!” you said, your voice rising as the emotions poured out of you. “You’re not even trying to understand! All you’re doing is making me feel like I’m pathetic for wanting someone to like me back. Do you even realize how lonely it feels to be the only one who hasn’t—who hasn’t…” You trailed off, your voice breaking again as a fresh wave of tears spilled down your cheeks.

Kyle swallowed hard, his throat tightening as he watched you crumble in front of him. He wanted to reach out, to apologize, to fix this, but the words felt trapped in his throat, tangled up in his own mess of emotions.

“I don’t get it,” you said quietly, your voice barely audible over the pounding of Kyle’s heart in his ears. “Why can’t you just be happy for me? Why does it feel like you’re trying to tear me down every time I talk about Damien?”

Kyle’s fists tightened at his sides, his nails digging into his palms as his frustration finally boiled over. “You’re so goddamn oblivious!” he snapped, his voice cracked slightly, but he didn’t care. He tilted his head at you, his eyes burning with an intensity that made your stomach churn. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

You flinched at the venom in his tone, but you held your ground. “Get what, Kyle? That you’ve been treating me like shit for weeks and now you’re trying to act like you’re the victim? Enlighten me!”

Kyle let out a bitter laugh, the sound laced with mockery as he leaned forward, his gaze locking onto yours. “You want me to spell it out for you? Fine. You sit here, all teary-eyed, whining about how unfair it is that you haven’t had sex yet—like it’s some fucking milestone you need to check off—and then you come to me for advice like I’m your personal guide to navigating Damien’s bullshit!”

Your breath hitched, his words hitting you like a slap to the face. “I—that’s not what this is about! I just wanted—”

“What, more tips?” Kyle interrupted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He leaned back against the wall, his arms crossing over his chest as he glared at you. “You want me to give you a step-by-step guide, is that it? Hell, maybe I should just show you, huh? Is that what you want?

The room fell into a heavy silence, the weight of his words hanging between you like a storm cloud. Your eyes widened, a mix of shock and hurt flashing across your face as you stared at him, your chest tightening.

“Wow,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “You really are an asshole.”

Kyle’s smirk faltered for a moment, but he quickly masked it with a defensive scowl. “Yeah, well, maybe I’m tired of pretending everything’s fine when it’s not,” he shot back, his voice quieter now but no less biting.

You frowned, his words digging under your skin like splinters, too deep to ignore. Your hands curled into fists at your sides, your nails biting into your palms as you bit back the lump forming in your throat. “Maybe you should,” you said.

His brow furrowed, and for once, he looked caught off guard. “What?” he asked, his voice softer, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard you right.

“Maybe you should show me,” you snapped, taking a step closer, your heart pounding in your chest. “At least then you wouldn’t be able to ignore me afterwards, right? Isn’t that what you want—to stop pretending?”

Kyle froze, his eyes wide and unblinking as he stared at you like you’d just dropped a grenade between the two of you. His mouth opened, but no words came out, his jaw working silently as if he was trying to piece together something coherent to say.

You laughed bitterly, the sound sharp and humorless as you crossed your arms over your chest. “What’s the problem? You were so eager to offer, weren’t you? You can guide me through it—give me tips, just like we did with the kissing practice. Isn’t that what you want?”

His face flushed, the tips of his ears burning red as he averted his gaze, his hands flexing at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them. “That’s not—” he started, but his voice caught, and he let out a frustrated breath instead.

“That’s not what?” you pressed, stepping closer still, your voice shaking with anger. “Not what you meant? Not something you actually want to deal with? God, you’re such a fucking coward.”

His head snapped up at that. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said sharply, his voice taut as he glared at you. “You don’t get it.”

“Then help me get it!” you shouted, your frustration spilling over. “Because all I see is you treating me like shit! You push me away, you won’t talk to me, and now—now you’re acting like I’m the one who’s out of line for trying to fix this!”

Kyle flinched at your words, his shoulders stiff as he dragged a hand through his hair. “You don’t understand,” he muttered, his voice quieter now but no less tense.

“Then make me understand!” you demanded, your voice breaking as tears pricked at your eyes. “Because I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep chasing after you when all you do is make me feel like I don’t matter to you at all.”

“You do matter!” he shouted, his voice cracking as his fists clenched at his sides. He looked away, his breathing uneven, as if he was struggling to keep himself together. “You matter more than—” He stopped himself, biting down hard on the words.

“More than what?” you asked, your voice trembling. “If you won’t say it, then show me. Because I don’t know what else to do.”

Kyle frowned, his eyes narrowing as he stared at you. Your words echoed in his mind, loud and relentless, daring him to cross a line he’d spent weeks trying to avoid. He didn’t want to be here—not like this. He didn’t want to hurt you, didn’t want to lash out and say something he couldn’t take back.

But the frustration, the jealousy, the suffocating weight of everything unsaid—it was too much. It burned in his chest, tightened his throat, and made him want to rip out his own hair. Part of him wanted to tell you the truth, to finally explain why he’d been so distant, why the sight of you with Damien made him feel like the ground was crumbling beneath his feet. But the other part, the louder part, told him it was a bad idea. You wouldn’t understand. You’d look at him differently, maybe even hate him. And that thought—that fear—was worse than anything else.

He clenched his jaw, forcing the words down before they could escape. If you wanted him to show you so badly, fine. He’d show you. Maybe then you’d finally realize what you were doing to him, how impossible you’d made it to keep pretending.

His hand shot out, grabbing your wrist. You gasped softly, your eyes widening as he tugged you toward the bed. The surprise left you off-balance, and you stumbled slightly as he guided you backward. His grip wasn’t harsh, but it was firm enough that you couldn’t pull away.

The edge of the mattress hit the backs of your knees, and you sank down onto it without a word. The quiet creak of the springs filled the room as you looked up at him, your lips parted in shock.

Kyle moved without hesitation, sinking to his knees in front of you, his heart was pounding so loudly he could barely hear himself think. His hands found your knees, the warmth of your skin beneath the hem of your skirt grounding him and rattling him all at once.

His lips twisted into a bitter smirk as he looked up at you, his eyes dark with frustration and something bitter. “I’ll show you. I’ll give you tips, advice, whatever the hell you need—for Damien, of course.”

A mixture of anger and a sharp pang of longing twisted in your gut. The intensity in his eyes—focused, almost searching—held you captive, leaving you breathless. The weight of his hands on your knees felt grounding, but the heat of his gaze burned into yours, making it impossible to look away.

“Kyle…” you started, but your voice faltered, your words dying in your throat as his smirk widened.

“Go on,” he said, his voice soft but sharp, his fingers tightening slightly against your skin. “You’ve got questions, right? About what he’ll want, what you’re supposed to do. I’m here to help. Just like you wanted.”

Your hands rose instinctively, pressing against your cheeks as if the pressure could ground you, could slow the racing of your heart. Your palms met the streaked remains of your makeup—smudged eyeliner, sticky mascara—and you could feel the remnants of your tears clinging to your skin. The sweater you wore suddenly felt suffocating, clinging to your body like it weighed a thousand pounds, and your throat tightened as a fresh wave of emotion threatened to overtake you.

You wouldn’t cry. Not again.

You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment, forcing down the tears. When you opened them, Kyle’s gaze was still locked on you, his expression intense. The weight of his hands on your knees, warm and steady, felt like a tether keeping you in place even as everything else spun out of control.

Taking a deep breath, you forced your voice to steady, though the words trembled slightly as they left your lips. “Yeah,” you said quietly, the word almost catching in your throat. You swallowed hard, your voice firming as you met his gaze. “Yeah, this is what I want.”

His reaction was immediate. His smirk disappeared, his lips parting slightly as his hands froze against your knees. He stared at you, his eyes wide with something between shock, guilt, and confusion. The mocking edge he’d wielded so sharply just seconds ago seemed to falter, crumbling under the weight of your words. He didn’t say anything, didn’t move, his breathing shallow as he looked at you like he couldn’t figure out if you were serious or just trying to call his bluff.

The silence stretched, until you broke it with a quiet voice that carried a sharp edge of defiance. “Don’t people usually… kiss … like before they do stuff?”

Kyle flinched, the question cutting through the tension like a blade. His jaw tightened, and his fingers flexed against your knees before pulling back slightly, hovering like he wasn’t sure if he should stay or retreat.

“[Y/N]…” he started, his voice hoarse, almost uncertain.

But you didn’t let him finish. You leaned forward, your eyes searching his face as your voice dropped to barely above a whisper. “Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do? Or were you just going to skip all that and get straight to the lesson?”

His breath caught in his throat, his shoulders stiffening as his hands fell to his sides. He couldn’t look at you, his gaze darting away, but the tension in his body told you he’d heard every word loud and clear. “You wanted me to show you,” he said finally, his voice low, like he was trying to convince himself more than you. “You said—”

“I know what I said,” you cut him off, your voice sharper now. “And I’m still waiting. Are you going to follow through, or are you going to keep pretending?”

For a moment, it looked like Kyle was going to apologize. His lips parted, and you could almost see the words forming in his head, the tension in his shoulders easing as if he’d decided to back down. But then his eyes flicked to your face—the frown you were wearing, the way your lips were set tight with frustration—and something in him twisted. The guilt, the jealousy, the anger—it all came rushing back, crashing over him like a wave. You were too close, too vulnerable, and the way your expression cut through him like a blade only made it worse.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, almost detached, like he was stating a fact instead of responding to the charged moment between you. “Yeah. People usually kiss beforehand.”

You hesitated, your fingers fidgeting with the hemline of your skirt. The fabric bunched between your fingertips, the nervous motion grounding you as you tried to find your voice. “So…” you started, your tone softer now but no less steady. “We should kiss, right?”

Kyle let out a sharp breath, dragging his hand over his jaw in frustration. His fingers brushed against the rough stubble along his chin, the motion almost aggressive, as though he could scrub away the tension building in his chest. He looked at the wall for a moment, as if it held an answer he couldn’t find in you, then sharply turned back.

His hands returned to your knees, warmer and heavier than before, and he leaned in until your faces were level.  “Yeah,” he said, his voice low and edged with mockery. “We can.”

One of his hands slid up from your knee, his fingers trailing over the curve of your thigh before settling against your cheek. His palm was warm, his grip firm but not harsh as he tilted your chin up. The motion was precise, calculated, like he was laying claim to this moment—not to you, but to the control he needed to feel.

Kyle leaned in slowly, his thumb brushing against your cheek as his smirk widened. “You want tips, right?” he murmured, his voice soft and mocking, the words settling heavily in the space between you. “You want to know how it’s done?”

Then he kissed you.

The moment his lips met yours, everything else fell away. The kiss wasn’t gentle, wasn’t tentative or shy—it was confident, almost overwhelming in its intensity. His lips moved against yours with a practiced ease that left you scrambling to keep up, the heat of his touch and the weight of his presence drowning out every coherent thought in your head.

Your hands twitched at your sides, unsure of where to go, what to do. You wanted to reach out, to steady yourself against the torrent of sensations crashing over you, but your limbs felt frozen, your inexperience glaring like a neon sign in the darkness.

Kyle tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss. His other hand remained on your knee, his grip tightening just enough to anchor you, to keep you from pulling away—not that you could have, even if you wanted to. The kiss was messy, and you could feel your lips trembling against his, your movements hesitant and uncoordinated. He noticed immediately, and his smirk returned, barely breaking the kiss as he slowed his movements, guiding you without saying a word. His lips parted, his teeth grazing your bottom lip in a way that made your stomach flip, and you couldn’t stop the small, startled sound that escaped you.

Kyle pulled back just enough to hover close, his breath warm against your lips as he smirked again. “Relax,” he said softly, the word dripping with amusement.

You nodded slightly, swallowing hard as you tried to follow his lead. When he kissed you again, his lips softer this time but no less insistent, you let yourself lean into the moment. Your hands finally found their way to his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his hoodie as you tried to steady yourself.

The kiss stretched on, your body growing warmer with each passing second. Kyle’s hand slipped from your cheek to the back of your neck, his fingers threading lightly through your hair as he shifted closer. The movement pressed him further into your space, and the overwhelming intimacy of it all made your heart race.

When he finally pulled away, your lips felt swollen, your breath coming in shallow, uneven bursts. Kyle stayed close, his forehead almost brushing yours as his thumb traced slow circles against the back of your neck. His eyes locked onto yours, as his lips quirked into a small, knowing smirk.

“That’s how it starts,” he said, his voice low and rough, his words heavy in the quiet room. “Did you get all that, or do you need me to show you again?”

The weight of his words settled over you, pressing against your chest like a stone. The warmth of his hand on the back of your neck, the lingering heat of his lips on yours—it all felt too much and not enough at the same time. Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, a mix of frustration, embarrassment, and shame. 

You swallowed hard, willing the sting back, and fixed him with a frown. Your voice was quiet but firm when you spoke, every syllable trembling with the emotions bubbling dangerously close to the surface. “I know how to fucking kiss people,” you snapped back. “Damien likes it when I kiss him.”

The words hit like a slap, the sharp edge of your voice cutting through the tension in the room. Kyle froze, his smirk faltering as his eyes narrowed. His hand dropped from the back of your neck as though it had been burned, and for a moment, he just stared at you, his jaw tightening.

“Yeah?” he said finally, his voice laced with mockery, though there was something else beneath it—something raw, almost vulnerable. “Well, maybe Damien has low standards.”

Your heart lurched, the insult landing harder than you wanted to admit. “What the hell, Kyle?” you fumed, your hands tightening on the fabric of your skirt.

He let out a bitter laugh, dragging a hand through his hair as he leaned back slightly, putting distance between you. “What? I’m just being honest,” he said, his tone biting but uneven, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to keep going. “You’ve already got Damien to boost your ego.”

You flinched at his words, the ache in your chest blooming into something sharper, angrier. “Why are you being like this?” you asked, your voice breaking slightly as the frustration boiled over. “You don’t get to act like you’re better than him just because—”

“Because what?” Kyle cut you off, his eyes blazing as he leaned forward again, his hands gripping his knees tightly. “Because I don’t spend all my time feeding you bullshit lines and telling you exactly what you want to hear?”

Your mouth fell open, the shock coursing through you like a jolt of electricity. The room was silent save for the faint thump of music and chatter from downstairs, but inside your head, it felt deafening. You stared at him, your chest tight, the words caught in your throat as you tried to process what he’d just said. Finally, your voice came, low and trembling, like you were balancing on the edge of a cliff. “You’re such an asshole.”

He flinched slightly, the harshness of your tone cutting through his anger. His shoulders stiffened, but he didn’t look up, his gaze still fixed on the floor.

“You’re all assholes,” you continued, the words spilling out now like water breaking through a dam. “You, Kenny, Cartman, Stan—all of you. Do you have any idea what it’s like to sit there and watch you guys get into relationships? To see you all with girlfriends, hookups, whatever, while I’m just… nothing?”

Kyle’s gaze softened slightly, his fists loosening as your voice cracked. He looked like he might say something, might reach out, but you didn’t give him the chance.

“You didn’t even talk to me about it!” you said, your voice rising. “None of you ever said anything. You just acted like I didn’t exist in that department. Like I wasn’t even worth considering.”

The tears you’d been holding back threatened to spill again, and you blinked hard, willing them away. Your fists clenched in your lap, your nails biting into your palms as you fought to steady your breathing.

Kyle looked up at you then, his eyes softer than before, like he was trying to figure out how to respond without making things worse. But your anger was still boiling, and the words kept coming.

“And you—you’re the worst,” you said, your voice thick with emotion. “You shut me out for weeks. You treat me like I don’t matter, and then you have the nerve to say shit like that? Do you even hear yourself?”

He didn’t respond, but his expression shifted, his gaze flickered with something dark. Before you could say anything else, he leaned forward, his movements deliberate but sudden enough to make your heart skip a beat. For a split second, you thought he was going to kiss you again, his face so close to yours that you could feel the warmth of his breath. But instead, his head tilted slightly, and his lips brushed against your neck.

Your breath hitched, your body stiffening as his mouth moved against your skin, soft but insistent. His hands slid back to your knees, steadying himself as he kissed the curve of your neck.

“Kyle, what—” you started, but your words were cut off by a sharp gasp as his teeth grazed your skin, followed by the heat of his tongue.

You tried to keep going, your voice faltering as you spoke through the growing haze of confusion. “I’m… I’m not done—ah—yelling at you,” you said, your words breaking as his lips pressed against a sensitive spot near your collarbone.

He didn’t respond, his mouth trailing slow, deliberate kisses along your neck. The suction of his lips sent shivers down your spine, and you couldn’t stop the small, involuntary sounds escaping you.

“D-don’t think this means—ngh—I’m forgiving you,” you stammered, your hands gripping the edge of the bed as his mouth lingered just below your jawline, the sensation making your knees weak.

Kyle hummed softly against your skin, the low sound vibrating through you in a way that made your heart jump into your throat. “Keep talking,” he murmured, his voice muffled but teasing as he pressed another kiss just below your ear. “You’re making it interesting.”

You wanted to snap at him, to push him away and continue your rant, but every time you tried to form a coherent sentence, his lips found another sensitive spot, leaving you gasping and clinging to the mattress for support.

Swallowing down another gasp, you forced your hands to let go of the bed and instead gripped Kyle’s shoulders, your fingers digging into the soft fabric of his hoodie. His lips moved lower, brushing against the delicate skin of your throat, and the warmth of his breath sent shivers racing down your spine.

“Y-you think this is—” you started, but your voice broke as he sucked lightly at a spot just below your jaw. You bit your lip hard, trying to steady yourself as your mind fought to regain control.

Kyle didn’t let up, his lips trailing kisses down the curve of your neck, his hands gripping slightly on your knees to hold you steady. Your breath hitched, but the frustration burning in your chest wouldn’t let you stay quiet.

“You’re—you’re such a goddamn idiot,” you said, your voice trembling as you dug your nails into his shoulders. “You think this makes you better than me? That it makes you some kind of—ah—expert?”

He hummed against your neck, his tongue brushing over your skin in a way that made your legs tense. “Go on,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

“You’re not—you’re not even good at this,” you spat, though the way your voice wavered betrayed the lie. “Your exes probably faked every second of it. All of them. Every. Single. One.”

That made him pause, his lips freezing against your neck for a moment before he pulled back just enough to look at you. His gaze bore into you, like he was both annoyed and amused by what you just said.

“Is that so?” he asked, his voice laced with mockery and amusement.

“Yeah,” you shot back, even as your cheeks flushed from the intensity of his gaze. “I bet they faked it because they couldn’t stand you. I mean, look at you, Kyle. Overthinking, over-analyzing—you probably spent more time lecturing them than actually doing anything.”

Kyle’s smirk widened, his hands sliding slightly up your thighs as he leaned back in. His breath brushed against your ear as he spoke, his voice low and taunting. “You’re awfully bold for someone who can’t even sit still when I touch you,” he said, his lips grazing the shell of your ear.

You opened your mouth to fire back another insult, but it dissolved into a sharp gasp as he bit lightly at the sensitive skin just below your ear.  “I can sit still,” you snapped breathlessly, though the words lacked conviction as your body betrayed you, leaning into his touch despite yourself. “You’re just—you’re just—”

“Just what?” Kyle asked, his tone dripping with mockery as he pressed another kiss to your neck, his lips lingering this time, soft but mean.

Your body betrayed you, leaning into the heat of him as the sensations overwhelmed you. Unable to meet his gaze, you buried your face in his shoulder, the fabric of his hoodie soft against your cheek. His lips moved with calculated precision, each kiss lingering longer, the occasional flick of his tongue sending jolts of electricity down your spine.

You could feel it now—an undeniable warmth pooling between your thighs, the wetness a stark reminder of just how much your body wasn’t listening to your mind. Your cheeks flushed, humiliation creeping in alongside the heat, and it only made everything worse.

“I hate you,” you muttered, your voice muffled against his shoulder, though the words lacked any real conviction.

Kyle hummed against your neck, his lips curling into a smirk as he latched onto the sensitive skin just above your collarbone. His mouth moved with purpose, the slight sting sending a sharp jolt through you as it became clear he was leaving a mark. You lifted your head from Kyle’s shoulder, the sudden realization striking you: when you went back downstairs, everyone would see it. Your chest tightened at that, panic mingling with the lingering frustration and heat. Sliding your hand up to his cheek, you pressed your palm against his jaw, trying to push him away, your voice breaking as you gasped for breath.

“Kyle,” you said, your voice trembling, “stop—ah—everyone will… they’ll see—”

His lips didn’t pause, his mouth trailing lower toward your collarbone, the sensation pulling another sharp intake of air from you. You pressed harder against his cheek, your fingers brushing the soft stubble on his jaw as you tried again.

“I mean it—nngh—Kyle, we have to—oh my god, just… stop!” you gasped, your words cutting short as his teeth grazed the edge of your collarbone.

Kyle pulled back slightly, his lips hovering just above your skin as his hands tightened on your thighs, keeping you in place. “You’re the one who wanted this,” he said, his voice low and rough, the smirk on his lips sending a shiver down your spine.

“I didn’t—I didn’t mean like this,” you stammered, your voice shaky as you tried to steady your breathing. “Come on. Everyone’s going to see it, and—”

“And what?” he interrupted, his tone sharper now as he raised an eyebrow. “You don’t think Damien would like it? You don’t think he’d want to see proof that you’ve been practicing?”

The words sent a fresh wave of heat through you, your cheeks flushing hot as you tried to push him away again. He had no right to bring up Damien, so you changed the subject. “What do you think Kenny or Cartman would say if they walked in right now, huh? Or Stan? What would they think about you doing this?” You hissed out.

His jaw flexed, the tension so visible it was as if he was biting back a retort. But his eyes didn’t waver from yours, waiting for you to finish.

“About you being such a—” You hesitated, your breath catching as you debated whether to say it, but the heat of his hands on your thighs, the sting of his earlier words—they all pushed you past the breaking point.

“—such a pathetic, jealous asshole.”

Kyle’s eyes darkened, his lips parting as though he was about to say something, but instead, he pressed them together into a thin, tense line. His hands stopped their subtle movements, his fingers stilling against your legs. His expression shifted, the simmering frustration now flaring into something harder, sharper.

But he didn’t speak.

Instead, his hands moved again, this time sliding to the hem of your skirt. His fingers brushed the fabric, his touch firm and deliberate as if testing the waters. The subtle press of his fingertips against your bare skin sent a shiver up your spine.

“What would they say?” Kyle said finally, his voice low and steady, though it carried an edge that made your breath hitch. “Probably the same thing Damien would if he knew about this.”

He leaned closer, his lips brushing against your ear as his breath fanned against your skin. “Or maybe they wouldn’t say anything at all,” he murmured, his tone cutting through the charged silence like a blade. “Because they don’t see you like this.”

“Kyle,” you managed, his hands pressing a little higher, the heat of his palms searing against your skin. “You don’t know what you’re—”

Kyle interrupted you, his tone harsh. “Are we doing this, or not? Because if you’re just gonna sit there running your mouth, maybe I should remind you what you asked for in the first place.”

Your chest tightened, the weight of his words pressing down on you like a physical thing. Your eyes darted toward his face and then away just as quickly. Finally, you mumbled, “Yeah.”

You gripped the hem of your skirt, the fabric cool under your fingertips as you pushed it down over your hips. The smooth material slid along your legs, pooling at your ankles in a crumpled heap. The cool air against your skin was a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from your face, your cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and something you refused to name.

You didn’t look at him at first, your gaze fixed on the floor. But you could feel his eyes on you, heavy and unrelenting, and it only made the heat in your chest spread like wildfire.

“Happy now?” you muttered, your voice unsteady as you glanced up at him, the frustration creeping back into your tone.

Kyle didn’t respond immediately. Your eyes traced over his face, catching on the freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks like constellations against pale skin. His nose, slightly crooked from that time he broke it in middle school, gave his face a stubborn kind of charm. And his hair—messy, bright red curls that always looked like they were on the verge of rebellion—framed his expression in a way that softened his sharp features, even now.

For a moment, your face softened too, and the ache in your chest bloomed into something heavier. You missed him—really missed him. The Kyle who didn’t snap at you, didn’t shut you out, didn’t make everything feel so impossibly complicated.

The thought was too much, and you darted your eyes away, breaking the connection. You squeezed your thighs together, the movement grounding you in the present as you felt the faint, rhythmic pulse of the bass from the party vibrating through the walls. It was a distant reminder of where you were, of the world beyond whatever this was.

You took a shaky breath, your voice barely audible as you mumbled, “Let’s just do this… so we can get it over with.”

The words hung in the air, and you felt the weight of Kyle’s gaze on you even as you refused to meet his eyes. There was a beat of silence, thick and uncomfortable, before his hands shifted on your thighs, his grip steady but not as tight as before.

“Get it over with?” he repeated, his voice quieter now but tinged with something you couldn’t quite place—anger? Hurt? His head tilted slightly, and you could feel him studying you, his expression shifting as if he was trying to piece together what you meant.

When you didn’t respond, he exhaled sharply through his nose, his fingers curling slightly against your skin. “Fine,” he said, his tone clipped, though there was a faint waver to it, like he wasn’t as sure of himself as he wanted to be.

His hands slid higher, his touch slower, as if testing your resolve. His gaze lingered on your face for a moment longer, searching for something he didn’t seem to find, before he finally dipped his head toward you again.

Kyle kissed you, and the world seemed to tilt. His lips were firm and confident, moving against yours with a practiced rhythm that made your head spin. You tried your best to keep up, but Kyle didn’t waver, his lips guiding yours in a way that made your breath hitch.

When his tongue slipped past your lips, brushing against yours, a soft, startled whimper escaped you. Kyle responded instantly, his grip on your thighs tightening as his fingers pressed into your skin. The pressure sent a shockwave through you, your body reacting before your mind could catch up.

You moaned into his mouth, the sound muffled but unmistakable, and it was enough to break through the haze of heat clouding your mind. Embarrassment crashed over you like a wave, and you pulled back abruptly, breaking the kiss with a gasp.

Your chest heaved as you buried your face in your hands, the warmth of your palms doing little to hide the warmth spreading across your cheeks. “God,” you muttered, your voice muffled and trembling. “I can’t—Kyle, I can’t—”

Your words stumbled over each other, your body trembling as the weight of the moment pressed down on you. Kyle didn’t say anything right away, his breathing heavy as he stared at you, his hands still resting on your thighs but no longer squeezing.

“[Y/N],” he said softly, his voice rough around the edges. It wasn’t mocking or teasing this time—just your name, quiet and uncertain, as though he wasn’t sure what to say next.

You squirmed where you sat, the tension in your body making it impossible to stay still. Your hands slid from your face, trembling as you stared at your lap, avoiding his gaze. “Just… continue,” you mumbled, your voice barely audible.

Kyle’s hands flexed slightly against your thighs, and you could feel his hesitation like a tangible weight in the air.

His eyes searched your face, his lips parting as if to respond, but instead, he exhaled softly, his breath warm against your skin. Slowly, his hands moved, sliding down to hook under the hemline of your panties, his fingers brushing lightly against your skin in a way that sent a shiver up your spine.

Kyle paused, his hands stilling as he spoke, his voice low but steady. “Are you really sure about this?”

You nodded, your eyes fixed firmly on the floor, unable to meet his gaze. Your heart pounded in your chest, your breathing uneven as you mumbled, “Yeah… I’m sure.”

He didn’t move right away, his fingers curling slightly around the fabric as he waited, giving you one last chance to pull back. When you didn’t, he shifted closer, his hands steady as he began to ease the material down, his voice breaking the tense silence.

“Alright,” he murmured, his tone softer now, laced with something careful, almost protective. “Just… tell me if it’s too much, okay? I need you to say something if you want me to stop.”

You nodded faintly, still refusing to meet his eyes. Your chest felt tight, your heart racing as his hands moved again.

Kyle’s lips pressed against the soft skin of your thigh, his touch featherlight. The sensation sent a jolt through you, making you shiver as his kisses trailed lower, following the path of his hands as he slid your panties down your legs.

The cool air hit you, a sharp contrast to the heat pooling low in your stomach, and you couldn’t stop the tiny curse that slipped past your lips. “Fuck,” you mumbled, the word faint as you clenched your thighs together instinctively.

Kyle stilled for a moment, his hands hovering near your knees as his lips lingered against your skin. “Relax,” he said softly, his voice steady but low. “It’s just me, okay?”

His words only made it worse, the reality of the situation crashing over you like a wave. It’s just him. Kyle, your childhood best friend. Kyle, the boy who used to tug on your hair and steal your snacks. Kyle, who was now kneeling between your legs, his lips brushing against your thighs as though this was something he’d done a thousand times before.

“This is insane,” you muttered into the sleeves, your voice muffled but audible. “I can’t believe… God, Kyle, I can’t believe this is happening.”

Kyle paused, his hands resting lightly on your legs as he looked up at you. His expression softened slightly, the sharp edges of his frustration giving way to something more uncertain. “If you want to stop—”

“No,” you cut him off quickly, your voice firm despite the trembling in your body. You lowered your hands just enough to peek at him, your gaze meeting his for the briefest moment before you darted your eyes away again. “Just… don’t stop. I need this. Just keep going.”

Kyle exhaled softly, his hands moving again, his touch grounding as he leaned back in. His lips found your thigh once more, warmer now against your bare skin. Your panties slid further down, the fabric pooling at your ankles as you shifted uncomfortably. The faint sound of them hitting the floor made your stomach twist.

Kyle was deadly quiet, his hands still resting on your thighs. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, the tension between you palpable as the cool air of the room seemed to wrap around you.

A soft whine escaped your lips, your face burning as you whispered, “Don’t make fun of me, okay?”

Kyle’s head lifted slightly, his eyes meeting yours, and for a moment, his usual sharpness was nowhere to be found. He nodded weakly, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. “I won’t,” he murmured, his voice quieter than you’d ever heard it.

Without saying anything else, his hands slid lower, gripping your ankles. He gave them a small tug, pulling you closer to the edge of the bed. Your heart pounded wildly as you felt his stare. It was impossible to ignore, the way his eyes lingered, the heat of them settling on the most intimate part of you. 

Kyle shifted slightly, his hands still steady on your thighs. Finally, he broke the silence, his voice hesitant but firmer than before. “I’m going to touch you now, okay?”

You nodded weakly. Slowly, you slid your hands from his shoulders, your fingers trembling as you brought them up to your face. Burying your face in your hands, you mumbled something inaudible, too quiet even for yourself to hear.

Kyle’s fingers moved, inching closer to your heat with a slowness that made your stomach twist in anticipation. You felt the faint brush of his knuckles against your inner thigh, the sensation so light it sent a shiver racing up your spine. The closeness was too much, and you squirmed instinctively, your thighs tensing under his touch. The motion was unintentional, but it only seemed to spur him on, his fingers adjusting as he drew nearer.

“You’re okay,” Kyle said softly, his tone steady, though there was a faint tremor beneath his words. His hands were warm, his touch grounding despite the tension coiling in your chest. “Just… let me know if you need me to stop.”

Kyle’s words hung in the air, a quiet reassurance that did little to steady your racing heart. You felt the warmth of his fingers inch closer. Then, finally, his fingers brushed against your slit. The touch was so light at first, almost tentative, but it was enough to make your breath hitch audibly. You felt Kyle pause, his fingers lingering as though testing the waters, before you heard him murmur under his breath, “Holy shit.”

Your face burned even hotter, the embarrassment and arousal mixing into a heady rush that made your skin prickle. You knew what he’d noticed—you were dripping, and the realization made your thighs clench. But the motion only made things worse, pressing you more firmly against his fingers, and you squirmed in response.

Kyle’s hand shifted slightly, his touch growing more insistent. His fingertip slid upward, tracing a slow, teasing line until it found your clit.

“You’re so—” Kyle started to say, but he cut himself off, exhaling sharply instead. His thumb brushed against the sensitive bundle of nerves. His  fingers continued their slow exploration. Each touch was electric, sending waves of heat coursing through you as he traced over your clit again. It was too much to hide from, too overwhelming to keep your face buried away. Hesitantly, you pulled your hands from your face, lowering them to your lap as your chest rose and fell with each shaky breath.

When you finally looked at Kyle, his focus was entirely on you, his eyes half-lidded and intent as his fingers continued prodding you. The moment he noticed you weren’t hiding anymore, his gaze flicked up to meet yours. His lips parted slightly, as though he might say something, but instead, he leaned forward. His warm breath ghosted over your skin before his lips pressed against the soft curve of your inner thigh.

Your mind raced, flashing back to just minutes ago, when the air between you had been thick with anger and sharp words. You could still hear them, echoing in the back of your mind—the insults, the taunts, the bitterness that had burned so fiercely.

Now, the heat was different, just as overwhelming but softer, quieter. You stared down at Kyle, his lips brushed another kiss along your thigh, his hands steady on you as though he’d forgotten every cruel thing either of you had said.

His fingers didn’t stop their slow movements, brushing over your clit with a maddening precision that left you trembling. Your hands gripped the hem of your sweater as you frowned, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “You’re supposed to be teaching me,” you muttered, the words shaky and uneven as you avoided his gaze.

Kyle’s lips twitched—not quite a smirk, but a ghost of one, softer and tinged with amusement. “I am,” he said calmly, his voice steady but with a faint teasing lilt that made your stomach twist. He shifted his hand, his fingers pressing just a little more firmly against you, and the jolt of pleasure made a sharp gasp escape your lips before you could stop it.

“Then… stop messing around,” you said quickly, your face burning with embarrassment as you tried to push past the sound you’d just made.

Kyle tilted his head slightly, his expression shifting. His brows furrowed just enough to show concentration, his lips parting as though he were about to speak, but instead, his gaze softened. It wasn’t condescending or smug; it was intent, his focus entirely on you as though he was trying to read your every reaction.

“I’m not messing around,” he murmured, his voice quieter now.“I just need you to trust me. Can you do that?”

You swallowed hard, his words settling over you like a challenge and an assurance all at once. His eyes stayed locked on yours, unwavering, and for a moment, the intensity of it all made it hard to breathe.

“Yeah… okay,” you whispered finally, your voice trembling as you nodded faintly, your chest rising and falling with shallow, uneven breaths.

Kyle’s lips twitched into a small, tentative smile, a flicker of something softer breaking through the tension in his expression. His hands remained steady on your thighs as he shifted closer, his face moving toward your bare heat with an intent focus that made your pulse thunder in your ears.

He paused for a moment, his breath warm against you, before leaning in and giving you a tentative lick. The sensation was electric, making your entire body jolt. You quickly brought a hand to your mouth, covering it as a muffled moan escaped despite your best efforts.

Kyle didn’t stop. He licked again, the motion slower this time, as if testing your response. His thumb returned to your clit, moving in slow circles that perfectly complemented the flick of his tongue. The combination was overwhelming, pleasure surging through you in waves that left you trembling.

Your free hand clutched the sheets at your side, your knuckles white as you gripped them tightly. Your chest rose and fell in erratic rhythms, your breaths coming in gasps as you tried desperately to contain the sounds threatening to spill from your lips.

Kyle’s movements grew more confident with each pass, his tongue exploring you with a mix of precision and curiosity that made your legs tense. His thumb pressed just slightly harder against your clit, his touch steady as his mouth worked in tandem, and the sensations had your mind reeling. The tension coiling in your stomach was unbearable, the heat pooling low in your body making it harder and harder to hold yourself together.

Kyle glanced up briefly, his eyes flicking to your face as though to gauge your reaction. The sight of him there, his mouth on you, his expression focused and intent—a fresh wave of heat rushing through you that left you clinging to the sheets even tighter..

Then you felt it—his index finger, pressing gently at your entrance.

The sudden shift made your body tense, your thighs clamping instinctively as a sharp intake of breath escaped your lips. Kyle paused, his finger still hovering, as his eyes snapped back up to meet yours.

“You okay?” he asked softly, his voice a little rough, though there was an undeniable gentleness to his tone. He didn’t move, his hand steady, waiting for your response.

You swallowed hard, nodding faintly as you tried to will your body to relax. “Y-yeah,” you whispered, though your voice wavered.

Kyle hesitated for a moment longer, his gaze holding yours as if searching for any sign of doubt. Carefully, he began to press his finger forward. The sensation was strange, unfamiliar, and you couldn’t stop the way your hands tightened against the sheets, your breaths shallow and quick.

“You’re doing good,” he murmured, his voice steady and reassuring as his finger slid in further. “Just breathe, okay? It’s supposed to feel a little different at first.”

You nodded again, your chest rising and falling as you tried to match his calmness. The tension in your body slowly began to ease as you adjusted to the intrusion, the warmth of his hand against your thigh grounding you.

Kyle leaned forward again, his mouth returning to you as his finger began to move. The combination of sensations left you trembling, your grip on the sheets tightening as soft. Then his finger curled.

The motion sent a spark through you, and your back arched slightly off the bed. The tension coiled in your stomach intensified, a tight knot of heat that had you gasping. You tried to speak, to say something—anything—but the words wouldn’t form. The only sounds that came out were high, whiny moans that made your face burn with embarrassment. Your lips trembled as you managed to stutter, “K-Kyle, I—” but the rest of the sentence dissolved into a sharp cry as his finger curled again, hitting just the right spot.

Kyle’s lips twitched into a small, almost triumphant smirk against you, but he didn’t stop. Instead, he pressed forward, slipping another finger inside you. The stretch was noticeable but not uncomfortable, and the added pressure only heightened the intensity coursing through your body. His mouth worked in tandem, his tongue flicking over your clit before he latched onto it fully. The sound of him was obscene, the faint, wet noise of his lips and tongue practically slurping on you making your face flush even hotter.

Your legs quivered, your thighs tensing around his head as you tried to keep some semblance of control, but it was useless. Every movement of his fingers, every press of his tongue, sent you spiraling further, your voice breaking into breathy whimpers and desperate moans.

“Kyle, oh my God,” you gasped, your hands flying to grip his hair instinctively, your fingers tangling in his messy curls as your body betrayed your embarrassment and gave in to the overwhelming pleasure.

The sensations were too much, too intense. Heat pulsed through you in waves, each movement of his fingers and flick of his tongue unraveling you further. Your chest heaved as you struggled to catch your breath, the pleasure bordering on unbearable, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to stop him. You felt like crying, the overwhelming mix of embarrassment and pleasure making your throat tighten and your eyes sting. You tried to speak again, to say something coherent, but every attempt was interrupted by your own high, desperate moans. A tear slipped down your cheek, followed by another, the sensation so overwhelming it spilled out in every possible way. Your fingers tightening in his hair like it was the only thing grounding you.

Kyle didn’t stop. If he noticed your tears, he didn’t comment, his focus completely on you. His tongue circled your clit with maddening precision, and then you felt it—he added another finger.

Your grip on his hair tightened, your hands trembling as you tried to focus on the texture of his curls under your fingers. The way they felt, soft and slightly damp from the heat of the room, gave you something to anchor yourself to as your body quivered under his touch.

“Kyle,” you whimpered again, your voice breaking as your hips moved instinctively, pressing against his hand and mouth as though seeking even more. Then Kyle did something—his fingers curled deeper, hitting a spot inside you you didn’t even know existed. At the same time, his tongue pressed firmly against your clit.

A high-pitched, desperate whine tore from your lips, your moans louder and sharper than before as your thighs trembled around his head. Your grip in his hair tightened reflexively, your body betraying you completely as the sensation overwhelmed every thought, every hesitation.

Something shifted. A new sensation built low in your stomach, a pressure that was unfamiliar, intense, and slightly alarming. Panic flickered in your chest, and you stammered out, “I—I feel like I have to—ah—pee, Kyle.” Your hips squirmed against him, your body fighting the overwhelming sensation as you tried to pull away, but Kyle’s grip on your thighs tightened.

“You’re fine,” he murmured against you, his voice muffled but firm as his tongue flicked over your clit again. “Just let it happen. Don’t hold back.”

“I—ah—I can’t,” you gasped, but he didn’t stop, his fingers and tongue pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

You shook your head desperately, your body squirming as the sensation built to an unbearable peak. “No, s-seriously, Kyle,” you whined, your voice high and panicked, trembling with the weight of what you were feeling. Your chest heaved, your hands tugging at his hair as you tried to process the unfamiliar pressure threatening to overwhelm you.

Kyle’s movements stilled for the briefest moment, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. His gaze was steady, softening slightly as he whispered, “You’re okay. Just trust me, baby. I’ve got you.”

The unexpected tenderness in his voice, the way he called you baby, hit you like a spark. Before you could react, he leaned back in, his mouth and fingers working in perfect harmony, his tongue pressing firmly against your clit while his fingers curled deep inside you, finding that spot again and again.

A choked cry escaped your lips as your body convulsed, and then you felt it—a hot, sudden release that you couldn’t stop. Warm liquid splashed from you, wetting your thighs, his hand, and even his face. The sensation was unlike anything you’d ever felt leaving you gasping and trembling as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through you.

“Oh my God,” you stammered, your voice breaking as you gripped the sheets tightly, your knuckles white. The sheer intensity of the moment left your mind blank, your body quivering as you tried to process what had just happened.

Kyle didn’t pull away, his fingers slowing but not stopping as he worked you through it, his lips brushing against your thigh as he murmured, “That’s it. Good girl. Just let it all out.”

You could feel the wetness spreading, pooling beneath you as your legs trembled, the slick sound of his movements only adding to the heat in your cheeks. When the waves finally subsided, your chest heaved with shallow breaths, your entire body buzzing as you tried to ground yourself. Kyle sat back slightly, his fingers slipping free as he looked up at you, his face glistening, a mix of satisfaction and something almost reverent in his expression. “See?” he said softly, his voice low and steady. “Told you I’d take care of you.”

Shaking your head, you squirmed back, trying to create some distance between you and Kyle. His touch, his words, the mess—was too much. Kyle seemed to notice immediately, pulling his fingers away as you shifted, his touch lingering for just a second longer than it should have before leaving you completely.

The absence was immediate, jarring. You felt impossibly empty, the ache lingering even as your body began to settle. Your wetness was everywhere: on your thighs, on the sheets beneath you, sticky and warm, a reminder of how far this had gone.

You couldn’t look at him. Your throat tightened as you tried to speak, the words forming somewhere in your chest but getting stuck before they could reach your lips.

“I…” you stuttered, your voice barely above a whisper, but the rest of the sentence crumbled under the weight of your emotions. You shook your head again, biting your lip as you tried to focus on anything but the way his words—good girl, baby—reverberated in your mind, making your cheeks burn even hotter.

He gave you hickeys.You squirted all over his face.What the fuckjust happened?

Kyle was still on the floor in front of you, kneeling between your legs at the edge of the bed. His eyes searched your face, his expression a mixture of concern and hesitation, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet his stare.

“[Y/N]?” he said softly, his voice low and cautious, as though afraid to push too hard.

Ignoring him, you shifted unsteadily, your body trembling as you pushed yourself upright. You needed to move, to find something—anything—to anchor yourself.

Kyle stayed where he was, his hands resting on his thighs, his posture tense as he watched you. “Are you okay?” he asked again, his voice breaking the silence, but you didn’t answer.

Your eyes darted around the room, landing on the crumpled fabric of your panties near the edge of the bed. Without looking at him, you leaned forward, grabbing them with shaking hands and quickly tugging them on.

“Hey,” Kyle tried again, his tone soft but tinged with something sharper. “Talk to me. Don’t just—”

“I’m fine,” you cut him off  as you reached for your skirt. It was bunched up on the floor near the nightstand, and you stumbled slightly as you grabbed it, your hands fumbling to pull it up over your hips. Your boots were next, shakingly lacing them up.

Kyle shifted on his knees, his hand lifting slightly as though he was about to reach for you, but he hesitated, his fingers curling back into his palm. “You don’t have to—”

“I said I’m fine,” you snapped, your tone harsher than you intended, though it did nothing to hide the tremor in your voice.

He stayed silent for a moment, his lips pressing into a thin line as he dropped his hand back to his side. His shoulders sagged slightly, the tension in his body visible even from the corner of your eye.

Once your skirt was in place, you turned away from him, still refusing to meet his gaze. The tears that had blurred your vision earlier returned, threatening to spill as you made your way toward the door, your steps unsteady and your chest tight.

“[Y/N]…” Kyle said again, his voice quieter now, but you shook your head, cutting him off before he could say anything else.

“Just—don’t,” you muttered, your hand reaching for the doorknob. All you wanted was to get out, to put distance between yourself and the chaos that had just unfolded.

The floor creaked as Kyle got to his feet, his footsteps hesitant. You didn’t fully turn to look, but out of the corner of your eye, you saw him lift a hand to his face, wiping his jaw and cheeks where they still glistened with your wetness.

“[Y/N], wait,” he said softly, as he took a cautious step toward you.

You couldn’t stay. You couldn’t even face him. With a sharp tug, you yanked the door open. The sound of the party hit you immediately—a roaring blend of music, chatter, and laughter that felt jarring compared to the suffocating quiet of the room you were leaving behind.

“[Y/N]!” Kyle’s voice was louder this time, urgency lacing his tone as you stepped out into the hallway.

You didn’t stop. Your boots thudded against the floor as you rushed forward, your mind racing with fragments of thought, none of them coherent. Your lips felt raw from his kisses, your thighs sticky from what he’d done to you, and your face—your face was a mess.

You wiped at your face with your sweater sleeve as you reached the stairs, but it didn’t matter. No amount of rubbing would erase what had just happened or how you looked right now.

“Wait!” Kyle called again, his footsteps heavy behind you as he followed.

You practically stumbled down the stairs, gripping the railing to steady yourself. By the time you reached the bottom, the noise of the party seemed to dim, conversations faltering as people turned to watch.

You felt their stares like daggers.

Stan was the first you noticed, standing near the drinks table with a cup in hand. His face twisted into a mix of confusion and concern as his eyes darted from you to Kyle, who was right behind you. Kenny stood beside him, raising his eyebrows, his lips quirking into a faint, awkward smile as if unsure how to react.

Cartman lounged against the arm of the couch, his grin spreading wide the moment he saw you. He elbowed Stan, clearly thrilled by the scene unfolding in front of him. His eyes practically sparkled with delight, the gears turning in his head as he stored this moment away for future ridicule.

Damien stood near the corner, his dark eyes fixed on you with a sharp intensity. His brows drew together, and his jaw clenched, his grip tightening around the drink in his hand. You could see the flicker of emotions crossing his face—confusion, suspicion, irritation—before his expression settled into a tense neutrality, his lips pressed into a thin line.

Wendy and Bebe exchanged wide-eyed glances, their heads tilted toward each other as they whispered furiously, while Tolkien, Craig, Clyde, and Tweek all turned to look, their conversations coming to an abrupt halt.

You wiped at your face again, scrubbing harder this time, but the tears and smudges wouldn’t disappear. Kyle’s hand caught your arm gently, his grip firm but not forceful as he tried to stop you. “[Y/N], wait. Just… stop for a second!”

“Don’t touch me!” you snapped, your voice breaking as you jerked your arm free. The tears welled up again, spilling over despite your attempts to keep them at bay. “Just leave me alone!”

His face fell for a moment, the frustration in his expression softening to something else—something closer to guilt or regret. “I’m trying to talk to you!” he shouted, his tone harsher now as his own emotions bubbled over.

“I don’t want to talk to you!” you screamed back, your voice hoarse as your sobs grew harder. Your fists clenched at your sides, and you turned toward the living room, your legs shaky but determined to put as much distance between you and Kyle as possible.

The whispers in the room grew louder, people murmuring to each other as they pieced together what was happening. You caught snippets of words—your name, Kyle’s name, quiet gasps and murmurs of “What’s going on?” and “Did you see her face?”

You felt utterly exposed, like a spotlight had been turned on you, magnifying every tear, every smudge, every flaw.

Kyle’s voice broke through the noise again, sharper this time. “[Y/N], will you just listen to me?”

You spun around, your tears blurring your vision as you screamed back, “For what, Kyle? What could you possibly say that would fix this?”

The room went quiet again. You glanced around, realizing how many people were staring—how many of your friends were watching you fall apart.

kyle makes me laugh | part two

[writingmyheartsout]

Nobody's Soldier - a Bucky Barnes story.

(chapter 2)

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first of all i have to apologize for not updating all these past months, me head wasn't in the right headspace to do that as intrusive thoughts kept telling me this was bad.

second, i literally rewrote the whole chapter, because i wasn't feeling it anymore as I used to be, it's still very much angsty but I had the feeling I was going a lil too much OOC (but you'll tell me that if it still are)

third and last, imposter syndrome at its best...

i'm truly sorry for made you wait this long

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This fic is also on wattpad and soon on Ao3

Nobody's Soldier playlist on Spotify

CW: talking about trauma, PTSD, nightmares, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning himself), trauma, unexpected feelings, obsession, anxiety, denial, mention of manipulation, slight mention of sa, crying, desperation, unhealthy attachment, limerence, fighting over unrequited feelings, reader has female pronous.

(chapter is 8k words more or less)

chapter 1 is here

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Ch. 2 - Popular monster

Bucky kept checking on his phone, expecting a text from you, an update, anything that would let him know you were ok. But the phone remained silent.

It took you a while to gather the will to leave your bed and eat something, but as soon as you stepped out of the bedroom and looked around the living room, you nearly cried again.

The tv sat there, broken and half torn apart, as a reminder that what happened was all too real.

Your first instinct was to go back to bed and cry until you passed out, but your brain thought otherwise as your body moved on its own. You began picking up random items all over the room and throwing them into large black garbage bags, tv included.

This behaviour wasn’t new or unexpected; you often reacted this way when you were nearing your breaking point, and right now, you were very close to it.

After spending part of the day and night back and forth from your apartment to the dumpster, you finally began to feel exhausted again, your mind finally empty.

But the moment your head hit the pillow, the screen of your phone lit up with a notification. 

It was Bucky

Bucky cursed at himself with every word he knew as thoughts slowly began to swirl inside his mind. The clock continued ticking, and the phone lay untouched on the table in front of him.

Should he message you? Would you even want him to? When exactly had he started to care? He pondered these questions as he picked it up once again, debating whether to send you something or not.

But before he could process it all, his fingers acted on their own, opening the chat and typing something, much to his dismay. 

-From Bucky: Hey... are you okay?

You probably stared at the preview of his text longer than you'd like to admit, resisting the urge to open it while still grappling with disbelief that he had actually done such a thing.

On the other hand, you didn't want to give him the wrong message, especially since you suspected he had feelings for you.

Yet, the growing sense of relief settling in the pit of your stomach was unmistakable, and you realized something so simple yet so terrifying.

You cared about him. A lot actually.

Bucky's heart raced in his chest as he stared at the chat, waiting for your response. He felt a wild range of emotions, going from a sense of guilt to utter shame.

Shame for not being able to control his growing feelings or for pushing you to the brink of an episode. Still, he couldn't shake the fact that deep down, he knew you were right. That he shouldn't feel this way...and yet, he did.

But all he needed at that moment was to know you were okay.

However, you didn't answer him. Sure, you were about to, more out of habit than anything else, but you were still very much in shock. The thought that the situation was utterly crazy wouldn’t leave your mind.

Nonetheless, you had to stop this, whatever this was, from spiralling into something you couldn't control.

You didn't sleep much after that. By the time you crawled back into bed, it was already early morning, so you decided to resume reading.

Maybe this would help to distract you for a while, you thought. But as soon as you went to pick up a book, memories flooded your mind.

You remembered that time when Bucky called you after a nightmare and how you helped him calm down by reading him your favourite story.

This whole situation felt like torture, and the strangest part was that you couldn't stop thinking about how, with just a simple hug, he had made you feel better than you had in years.

On the other hand, Bucky felt a sense of despair welling up in his chest when no answer came, as anxiety gnawed at him.

You were the one suffering the consequences, and he was the only one to blame. A frustrated huff escaped his lips as he ran his metal hand through his hair, then collapsed onto the couch with a loud groan.

Thoughts flooded his mind, too many to be healthy. In an act of desperation, he unlocked his phone again, texting you... again.

-From Bucky: Please... say something.

You eventually fell asleep, your reading glasses on and the book resting on your chest. When you woke up later that day, your phone screen was lit with yet another text.

...say something... the message read, simple as that, making you feel guilty for not responding earlier. You knew you didn't have to reply, but you couldn’t help but think that maybe you were exaggerating the whole situation. Perhaps it was just a slip-up and nothing more.

But another part of you, the rational side, kept reminding you that this was how everything had started.

The manipulation, the controlling habits, the abuse. It all started with someone developing feelings right when you were at your weakest.

You couldn't do this anymore, not when you had worked so hard to get to where you were now.

You chose not to answer again, confident that somehow he would get over it.

Bucky's mind raced as he stared at his phone, willing a reply to appear on the screen.

All he wanted, was some sort of sign, anything that let him know you were okay. That you weren't as mad at him, at least not completely. That you still felt comfortable enough to talk with him.

But when hours passed and you hadn't answered, his heart sank as more thoughts started to creep in.

The realization that he had lost you overwhelmed him, leaving him feeling numb.

His eyes started to prick with tears as he cursed himself for letting his emotions get the best of him. He couldn't wallow in despair, not over you, not over someone he barely knew.

But someone who seemed to understand him.

No, he couldn’t go there. He had to distract himself and focus on something else.

So, with a deep breath, he stood up and turned on the tv, trying to fill the silence of his apartment, which had become too loud for him in that moment

After that incident, nearly three weeks passed. You returned to your usual safe routine, but it felt like something was wrong, like something was clearly missing.

Then one morning, just after breakfast, your phone rang and Dr. Raynor's number appeared on the screen.

It was strange, she had never called you before. When you answered and she asked where Bucky was, you felt confused.

It turned out he had stopped showing up for his therapy sessions without saying a word. She had tried to reach out to him, but he didn't pick up.

He was alive, that much she knew, yet you could clearly hear the concern in her voice.

After you explained what had happened between the two of you, how he had come over and the incident that followed, she added something that left you stunned and altered the perception you had of him up to that point.

His whole history, the abuse, the manipulation, who he was and the... arm.

“The arm?” you curiously asked, not quite getting what she meant.

“He has a prosthetic arm, a vibranium one...” the doctor began to explain, her tone careful “...although it's not the same as the one he had, it's a harsh reminder of what happened to him and what he did.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t mention this sooner, but it’s already complicated as it is,” she added.

At her words, the pieces started to fall into place. His behaviour, the way he addressed you, how he looked around the apartment as soon as he walked in and the… gloves he hadn’t taken off that day.

Another hour passed as Dr. Raynor continued to explain that Bucky still saw himself as some kind of monster, an experiment and how losing himself for so long had inevitably changed him. It only made sense that once the call was over, you texted him without thinking twice.

You were worried and maybe a little furious.

-to Bucky: your doctor called me. Why did you stop therapy? You know you have to go.

Then you quickly added a second one.

-to Bucky: she also gave me the whole story, your story I mean.

Bucky was laying on his bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to get himself to relax enough to sleep. He had been feeling exceptionally crappy, for lack of a better word, having spent the whole night awake when his phone went off.

His mind was in a constant battle, and all he wanted was some peace and quiet. So when he lazily picked up his phone to check and saw your name, the first thing he felt was relief.  

However, as he eagerly sat up, he almost dropped the phone when he read your texts, his heart nearly stopping.

The doctor told you everything... Those words echoed in his head as his thoughts spiralled out of control.

He had been lying to you for the most part. He hadn't meant to keep things from you, but deep down, he knew you would see him differently from now on. You would look at him with pity, unable to see him as a person anymore, but rather as... a monster.

He desperately wanted to text you back, but he felt stuck, unsure of what to say or do.

So he just lay on his bed for the next half hour, his phone still clutched in his fingers as he tried to come up with something that wouldn’t push you away again.

All he needed was to see you, but he was terrified of how you would react now that you knew about his secret.

Seconds turned into minutes, and minutes stretched into hours as anxiety began to eat him alive, until he finally pressed send.

-from Bucky:..It’s complicated... can we talk tomorrow? I’ll come over.

You didn't expect a fast reply, hell you didn’t expect a reply at all.

So when he texted back after hours of leaving you on read, the content of his message startled you.

 ...I’ll come over... The words ran through your mind, almost triggering your panic as you tried to come up with a polite reply. 

You knew you had to start somewhere, but you felt torn.

You were caught between wanting to give him a chance to explain and the absolute fear that something worse might happen if you saw him again.

-to Bucky: we'll see about that..but you can call me, we can still talk…if you want.

You suggested instead, thinking it would be better for both of you, at least for now.

Bucky stared at your words for a long minute, a small smile grazed his lips while his heart did a weird flip in his chest.

You hadn’t said a definitive no to his request, you were still willing to talk to him. But those words, that we'll see about that lingered in his mind, giving him a glimmer of hope while leaving a bitter taste on his tongue.

As he fought the growing urge to call you right then and there, he decided to send a message first.

-from Bucky: I’ll call you in ten, alright?

He sent the text and hastily placed his phone on the bedside table, letting out a shaky breath.

If you agreed, there was a good chance he would get to hear your voice, something he hadn’t realized how he missed so much until now.

For a long moment, after his last reply, you stared at the short message almost as if it were some kind of riddle waiting to be solved. A smile crept onto your face at his eagerness without you even noticing it.

What the fuck were you doing? Why were you smiling? You chided yourself, shaking your head in confusion as you tried to suppress the knot forming in your stomach.

With ten more minutes until the phone call, you thought distracting yourself would be a good idea, more to calm your nerves than anything else.

Instead, Bucky's call came a few minutes early, and you didn’t pick up, your phone lay on the bed while you were in the next room.

Bucky had to resist the urge to call you again immediately after he sent the text.

His mind wouldn’t quiet down, racing with thoughts about a million things. About hearing your voice again, the possibility that maybe you weren't as mad at him as he thought, and how nervous he suddenly felt.

And the ten minutes felt like an eternity. 

He tried to keep himself busy and away from the phone, but as soon as the ten minutes were up, he found himself with his phone in hand, calling you... only to be sent to voicemail.

He was not panicking, absolutely not.

His thoughts immediately spiralled into worst-case scenarios. maybe you had changed your mind or maybe calling you was indeed a mistake.

But he tried to push those feelings aside, convincing himself that you were probably just busy.

And while those thoughts filled his mind, he found himself in the middle of his fourth time re-dialling your number. The ringing sound the only thing echoing in the room.

On the other hand, you had lost track of time while focusing on cleaning the apartment, a standard behaviour when you were unable to concentrate and something clearly upset you.

When you finally checked your phone, you nearly dropped it upon seeing five missed calls.

"Damn it Bucky, you wasted no time," you mumbled with a sigh.

That alone should have served as a warning sign, but you ignored it completely. Thinking nothing of it, you called him as you sat down on your bed, waiting for him to pick up.

Bucky was startled when his phone suddenly rang. His eyes fixed on the screen as your name appeared, causing his heart to leap into his throat and almost miss the call.

When he finally answered, a shuddering breath escaped his lips before he said anything.

"Hey," he said quietly, a nervous smile tugging at his lips while anxiety fluttered in the pit of his stomach, waiting for an answer… craving it even.

His soft exhale, the hushed hello and his gentle tone caught you off guard, making your cheeks blush slightly.

It had been long since you heard his voice you thought, still reluctant to admit you missed him…in a way. 

"Eager much..?" you joked, attempting to break the awkward silence between you and hide your distress.

"How are you?.." you added then, genuinely asking. It had been weeks since his last therapy session after all, and even though you both had a setback, you wanted to check on him, making sure he was okay.

Bucky chuckled lightly at your words, the small smile on his face widening slightly.

"Sorry for the multiple calls. You didn't answer so I was..." panicking the hell out. He almost confessed, then he cleared his throat and continued, not particularly keen on discussing how worried he had been up to that moment.

"M'fine, mostly. How have you been?"  he asked instead, quickly dismissing your question, trying to stay calm and hoping you wouldn't notice how strained his voice really was.

"You don't have to justify your worry, y'know?" you said honestly, understanding where his words were headed. Then he lied, probably out of habit.

"And…I know you're not, if you were, why did your doctor call me this morning?." you stated, your tone soft yet firm, not wanting him to feel at fault. 

Meanwhile, if you had to be completely honest, he didn't seem that dangerous. Maybe a little eager, but not a total red flag.

Bucky's breath hitched the moment you called him out, and he cursed himself for it.

Of course you’d noticed, he should have expected you to be more observant than most people.

"Right.." he said, running a hand through his hair, letting out a tired sigh as he did so.

"The good doctor called you, huh?” he asked ironically, unable to hold back a bitter remark. 

"C'mon she's not that bad" you playfully replied, still sitting on the bed as a light huff left your lips.

“She’s just worried…” you added, your tone gentle yet firm “...and to be honest, I am too”

Bucky let out a small chuckle as you teased him about his doctor, rolling his eyes even though you couldn't see him. But then you said more, catching him off guard.

Were you worried? Did that mean you probably cared? Right? 

He immediately shook that thought away, it wasn’t the right time, not now, though those words kept lingering in his head.

“You? Worried? About me?..” he asked, genuinely baffled by your comment as a slight frown crossed his face.

"Yeah, Bucky...y'know like a normal human being would.." you bit back, not really annoyed, at least not that much, as it wasn't entirely his fault...or so you thought.

"There is so much going on lately, like being affected by someone trying to help you?” you stated honestly, not wanting to scold him but rather hoping to settle things.

“Maybe we can talk about that? " 

From honest discussions to fights, you had learned not to shy away from confrontation anymore. It was something you picked up in therapy. Now, when a problem presented itself, you just went straight to the point, only to find out that most people couldn't handle a simple conversation.

Bucky's heart picked up once again when you hinted at his behaviour, and he honestly had no idea how to deal with it.

You really didn't hold back, did you, sweetheart? he thought, nervously running his metal fingers through his hair as he tried to come up with a decent answer.

Finally, he let out a weary exhale before speaking again.

"It's not that simple. But yeah, we can talk about it..." he said quietly, as the weight of shame settled back in.

After his answer, after sensing his evident reluctance, you couldn't help but feel a little guilty about your words. However, it was no use dwelling on it.

"No? Then talk to me. Believe it or not, I'm not mad at you" you urged him, your voice still gentle.

What you were trying to do was reassure him and help if possible, even if it meant confronting an uncomfortable truth.

“I've been there before, I know how it seems… " you added, showing him that you understood what he was going through. 

You? So you weren’t mad at him. Why? You should have been, it's what he deserved. 

Bucky was speechless for a moment longer as your words sank in. He had made you uncomfortable and pressured you, this was his fault.

His throat felt constricted, and he had to swallow once, then twice, before he could answer.

"Y'mean, someone... had feelings for you? In therapy?" he found himself asking instead, unnerved by the thought of someone becoming obsessed with you, knowing deep down he was doing the same.

You should have seen that coming, still, yet it still took you by surprise.

"It's.. it's one the reasons I'm still dealing with the program, Bucky..." you replied, your tone growing quiet.

You understood that, as your therapy partner or former one, he should have been informed about the situation. Still, it was hard to articulate.

"It was straight-up manipulation, as my doctor put it. This other person, he..well...he… he used me" you tried, but the words wouldn't come out. Staring into nothing, you felt too scared of another episode happening. Taking a deep breath, you steadied yourself as you felt panic building inside you.

"I honestly thought it was real, I thought it was love…” you added, your voice barely above a whisper by the end.

Bucky felt his heart sink the moment you began to explain. Those words were all too familiar, and they hurt him as guilt washed over him again. 

"I'm sorry for what happened to you...."  he only said, his jaw clenching as he spoke, yet his voice sounded almost gentle.

He wanted to say much more; he wanted to express how much he hated himself for nearly doing the same to you. But the words got stuck in his throat, leaving him feeling like a coward.

I'm sorry I did that to you, he thought, as guilt consumed his mind.

"You... you know I would never do anything like that to you, right?" he asked carefully, trying to change the subject while feeling nervous about a possible backlash.

At his words, you let out a light scoff, noticing how tense his voice had suddenly become.

"No shit, Buck..." you joked after a moment “.. I would hope so” you added quietly, shaking your head in disbelief, hoping it was true.

For Christ's sake, you even found him attractive, you thought, as a small smile tugged at your lips. 

"But I'm at fault too, I should have thought better than to hug you like I did, no matter how bad I was feeling..." you stated, genuinely believing it was your fault as well.

"It gives off the wrong idea...most of the time”

After everything that had happened, you blamed yourself? Thinking you caused all this? He thought, staring at the floor as he processed your words in his head, feeling even worse.

Good job, Bucky. Really great job. he chided himself silently.

"You... didn’t know where you were. You had a panic attack..." he said, hating the idea of you taking responsibility for something like that. He knew damn well you weren’t in control of your actions during an episode. He had been there before, more times than he could possibly count.

"I'm the one at fault... not you," he said firmly, remorse coursing through him with every word he spoke.

"Bucky...I.. " you started to say, feeling the need to try and justify yourself once more."... I was just grounding myself " you confessed, falling back onto the bed with a frustrated groan as you ran a hand over your face. 

"Still, I...I got you what? Obsessed? Addicted? Whatever this is..." you added, not really asking any actual questions but rather stating a fact."... surely something went wrong here”

Bucky’s thoughts momentarily halted as you spoke. 

"No!... no, no, no. You didn't do anything." He shot back, his voice laced with disbelief at how much you were taking the brunt of his mistakes.…"..you didn't ask me to feel this way, sweetheart. I did it myself, it’s on me.”

He hesitated, mentally scolding himself for letting that term slip out so easily. Yet, he felt compelled to make sure you understood that none of this was your fault, that you were innocent and he wasn't. You were simply trying to be kind, nothing more

"Do you really think you're responsible?” he honestly asked again.

"Well...yeah?..." you replied, your voice uncertain. That little name didn’t go unnoticed, leaving you taken aback as your cheeks dusted pink instinctively. "...I mean, my first therapy partner thought I led him so..." you added quietly.

And it was the truth. In the very early stages of the program, before Bucky was involved and before you were even paired with anyone, you met a lot of people.

Most of them complete idiots.

"It's one of the reasons why I flinch when someone suddenly touches me when I'm not myself.." you confessed, feeling a wave of shame rise within you. "...that's why I reach out and hold onto whatever I can find most of the time”

Bucky's heart tightened uncomfortably as you referred to the people you had met before him.

Led him on? Seriously? Why was your first partner such a jerk? Did he even have any issues? he thought, listening to your explanation.

Bucky felt horrible. He was already upset about his slight obsession and how he had made you uncomfortable, but now,  hearing you open up about your past and how others had treated you, he felt even worse.

He was no better than all of them.

"Then... why did you hug me?” he asked simply, letting out a deep sigh as his tone grew quieter, almost apologetic.

"Because you were there and felt safe..." you blurted out without much thinking, your gaze fixed on the ceiling.

“ And I... I was weak.." you added, feeling embarrassed to admit the truth as you tried to find a rational explanation for your behaviour.

But then, you remembered how terrified you had been right after when irrational fear took over.

Bucky's heart fluttered at that. Did you feel safe with him? Could he calm you down? You trusted him? The realization took him off guard as his brain processed the information.

He had to take another deep breath to steady his heartbeat while a small smile appeared on his face.

But then he remembered your reaction afterwards and that same smile faded, making him want to scream in frustration.

"I felt safe?..." he asked, more to himself than to you, almost as if he couldn’t believe it. But you were on the other end of the line and heard anyway…

"But you? You flinched away..” he added, trying to make sense out of your words.

"That's how irrational fears work usually.." you said bluntly, letting out a heavy sigh.

"Trusting you as a person? Yes absolutely, I could do that..." you tried to reassure him, hearing silence on the other end.

"But as a man? it's a little more complicated, to put it simply” you explained, trying to make it as clear as possible and leaving no space for misunderstanding.

If that meant you wouldn’t hear from Bucky anymore, so be it.

“I still don't know if you want something out of me..or not" you added quietly. 

But those words stung him more than he would like to admit, though he wasn’t surprised. No, he clearly understood your point; still, it hurt to hear you say that, even if he was the one at fault.

He ran a hand through his hair again and swallowed hard as you continued, feeling as though he was being accused.

You knew him well already, because your words hit the mark as you called him out once again. An irrational anger welled up inside him, and he swallowed hard. 

He didn’t want you to be scared of him, after all, he needed you. You were the only one, after so many years, who finally understood him and made him feel calm.

"Why would you even think I want anything from you?” he said, a slight edge creeping into his voice, his tone turning unexpectedly cold.

The change in tone genuinely frightened you. You hadn’t seen it coming.

"With the way you got so obsessed, so quickly...” you started, trying to keep yourself as calm as possible, relieved there was a phone between you both.

“Or... how you already sound pissed,  even after I’ve tried to reason with you..." you continued, sitting back up at the edge of the bed.

This whole situation started to scare you more than it should. You just wanted to live your life peacefully, nothing more, nothing less.

"I'm sorry Buck but...I don't.." you added, fear and guilt plaguing your mind at this point, wanting nothing more than to put an end to this conversation already. “...I don't think we should speak again, not until you work on these issues by yourself…”

Bucky felt like someone had stabbed him right in his chest with a rusted knife. All the guilt and shame he felt earlier were soon replaced by anger.

You? Wanted to stop talking? Cut all contact? What about him then? What would be of him without your soothing voice? he thought. He couldn’t do that, not now, not ever.

"We're not doing that.” he snapped. The very thought of never hearing your voice again, not talking to you, triggered something deep inside him.  His heart was racing in his chest as he spoke through clenched teeth.

When he spoke again, his tone had grown slightly more threatening, and that's when you reacted. Although calm and collected most of the time, there were times, usually when someone crossed a line or something felt off, that another side of you came out.

"You don’t realize it, do you? Even now? You’re so desperate to be accepted that you can’t see how you're behaving?..." you said, your voice raising a little as your tone sharpened.

"Can’t you see how your little addiction is clouding your mind? It’s really a simple concept to understand..." you continued, frustration edging into your voice.

"Having feelings for someone doesn't mean forcing that obsession on them. And here I thought you were smart, but clearly, I was wrong.”

Bucky was taken aback by your sudden outburst. You spoke with passion and determination, far from the calm and gentle demeanour you usually showed him, and your words stung.

However, they also made a few pieces click into place. You were right, you had been from the very beginning. 

But that realization only infuriated him even more.

"How dare you judge me? You're no better than I am.” he retorted, his voice rising with each word that left his mouth, still reeling from a mix of anger and blame.

"You have irrational fears and trauma just like I do. Don't you dare pretend that I'm the bad guy here."

Deep down, he knew he was taking out his anger on you, even though you didn't deserve it. But it felt like he couldn't stop, his mind tangled in a haze of angry thoughts. Above all, he was terrified of losing you.

You might have laughed when he snapped back, if the situation hadn't been so tense and if you weren't feeling so scared. But that didn't mean you had nothing to say in return. After all, it wasn’t the first time someone had used your situation to hurt you.

"Really? I’m judging you now? " you repeated in disbelief, scoffing slightly as you didn’t quite believe what you just heard.

"I never said I was better than anyone, not even you. I know my problems, but at least I can manage my own feelings.." you added, not even bothering to defend yourself against his accusations.

"So how dare you speak to me like that …”

Your words only turned his anger into desperation, and Bucky stopped making sense. You were taunting him, teasing him, mocking him even and he knew It was only his fault. Unfortunately, even if he understood, that realization did nothing to ease his feelings in that moment.

"You really have no idea how you affect me? How you make me feel?" he spat out, guilt overwhelming him along with hurt.

"Why do you think I became obsessed in the first place, huh?” he added, taking a deep breath and trying to calm his racing mind, his body tense with emotions.

"And now you're telling me you don’t want to speak with me anymore? Just banishing me like that, without a second thought?"

He could attend all the therapy sessions possible, and it wouldn’t change a damn thing. How you made him feel, how you made him laugh, smile, and long for more.

And that was the one truth that terrified him the most.

"You really think I can stay away from you?" he suddenly asked, his voice both distressed and unsteady, almost on the verge of tears.

The pain in his last words made you pause for a moment as remorse began to creep in.

Was he truly hurting that bad? Did he really not do it on purpose?

"Then tell me.." you started, your tone softening as you sought a way out of this pointless fight. 

"If I have no clue as you said, talk to me…… let me understand,” you added, trying once again to reason with him, hoping it would be the last time.

But even now, your first instinct was to distance yourself from him as much as possible. You thought you understood, but you were still very much afraid, unable to shake the feeling that this situation would only worsen.

Bucky felt his jaw clench as you asked him why. He didn’t know how to answer, his mind was working against him, and the right words eluded him.

He knew he was going too far, but it felt impossible to stop. The prospect of rejection and blame weighed heavily on him.

"What about…” he started “...what about the fact that just hearing your voice drives me crazy? That, the more I talk to you, the more I want you? ” he confessed, his voice quiet yet edged with emotions as his heart ached.

“I'm… I’m obsessed with you, happy now?”

He was obsessed, and he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t change the fact that he was feeling something he hadn’t felt in years. And if this was what obsession felt like, then so be it.

"The problem is wanting to control me, Bucky..." you retorted “...the problem is shoving all your sudden feelings onto me”

“The problem is making me feel guilty" you went on, your voice growing serious, sounding angrier than you intended.

At that you stood up, nervously pacing up and down the room, your jaw clenching as you tried to keep the anger down.

"I should be yours no matter what, that’s what you’re saying? Just because you are hooked on my voice?" you bit back, almost as if you were accusing him, stopping in your tracks as a frustrated sigh left your mouth.

Bucky hated the way you described his feelings. But the more you talked the more he realized, for real this time, how he was acting. How he let his desperation, his fears control him as soon as you said you didn’t want to speak with him anymore, that you wanted to stay away.

You were being reasonable, he was the one who started acting crazy.

"I wasn't trying to control your actions, doll. I just..." he only said then, stopping only to better collect his thoughts as the little nickname slipped out his lips without realizing it.

"I need you. You have no idea how calming you are for me, how I find myself craving to hear your voice..." he continued, speaking in a low frustrated tone, his anger now mingled with his inner desperation as he felt his eyes starting to sting.

"You're the first person that understands, how do you expect me to stop needing you?”

"This is not the right way to do it, clearly.." you replied, still slightly pissed at his stubbornness, but noticing how he was starting to calm down. 

"The thing is, emotions are never wrong, you just learn to manage them..." you went on while now pacing back and forth in the living room. 

Still, you felt stressed, on edge even as the whole discussion brought up some unresolved issues that you completely forgot about. You could only hope that it wouldn’t bring up a panic attack as well. 

"When you have feelings for anyone, or supposed to have..." you started, mostly annoyed now "..you don't need them, to the point of feeling sick"

Then you stopped for a moment, sighing heavily and closing your eyes, your fingers went to pinch at the bridge of your nose as you tried to think about what you were about to say.

"Jesus, I can't believe I'm explaining this.." you huffed then, calming down your nerves.

"When you feel something, you want to spend more time with them” you then started explaining, hoping it would break down into his stubbornness. 

”Needing someone is a coping mechanism.." as your voice wavered a little “...you know what a coping mechanism is, right? " 

Bucky clenched his jaw even more when you spoke. He did, in fact, know what a coping mechanism was. 

He also knew that you were absolutely right with what you were saying.

His obsession, was a coping mechanism, an unhealthy one. He had gotten obsessed with you because you were the first person that made him feel something good, so he latched onto it, not wanting to let go. 

He felt a pang of guilt in his chest.

"I know what a coping mechanism is..." he muttered through gritted teeth.

"But I didn’t do it on purpose. I just couldn’t help it. You make me feel calm, you make me forget about everything. You make me want to try again."

Now the hint of anger, the bite he had in his tone had disappeared almost completely, replaced with pure panic.

"How am I supposed to deal with that, huh? You feel so so good to me.”

Hearing the change in Bucky's voice made you stop suddenly as your heart clenched at the fear now evident in his tone. You felt bad with the way you were speaking to him but at the same time you didn't, given the fact that, maybe, you were able to knock some sense into him.  

"That's why I.." you started, voice now more gentle than before "... I told you we should be apart for a while"

It wasn't ideal, not even for you since you were at fault too here. With the way you acted when you hugged him or with how dangerously comfortable you were getting with him.

Feeling so calm and safe with someone you barely know shouldn't be happening. You reminded yourself more than once.

"If I'm the trigger here, you should understand how much of your feelings are real and..." you stopped for a fraction, realization dawning on you as well.."...and how much is just an unhealthy obsession.."

If you were just a means to an end in this absurd scenario, just something to help him cope with, then you don't want to be. You wanted to be seen, for yourself, as a person.

Bucky's heart was beating faster in his chest, your words, your reasoning filled his mind and he found himself agreeing with that. Still, despair and guilt filled his heart as the sole thought of not hearing from you anymore felt so wrong to him.

"You're not a trigger..." he protested, weakly so as his voice wavered slightly.

But you were once more right. What he was feeling towards you wasn't normal, wasn't right. He was obsessed with you because you made him feel calm at a time when he was at his lowest.

"I want you..." he mumbled, his voice lacking the greedy, possessive edge he had before.

"I don't want to lose you…please” he pleaded with you, desperate to make you agree to stay, at least, in touch.

"I'll do anything. I'll work on myself, find a way to deal with this obsession." he insisted, absolutely hating using that word, even if it was the truth.

"Please, don't cut me off. I'll lose my mind if you do.”

You exhaled deeply, moving to sit on the couch and taking the phone with you. He was doing it again, begging you. But again, it was just the addiction talking.

"Then what, Bucky?.." you asked then, after a long moment, exhaling deeply as you closed your eyes..."... every time you need a fix, you call me?.." 

You know you didn't have to be so harsh right now, but you truly wanted him to realize how deep he was in this and how bad it was affecting him.  

"It's the addiction talking here.." you added as another deep sigh left your lips...

"You're not even asking yourself if I feel something for you..." you stated as your stomach churned the more the anxiety grew…

"You only see what I can do for you..."

Guess you weren't that lucky. But with the history you had, that didn’t surprise you much. Maybe it was really your fault. Maybe you really led them on. Maybe they got obsessed because you did something.

You really don’t know, but everytime you tried your best and this time you truly believed he could have been the right therapy partner for you.

That was a low blow, but Bucky knew you were right.

He really hadn’t even thought about the possibility that you might not feel something for him, that he was hurting you by acting like this.

He had been selfish… no, he had been damn greedy. He was using you as his own personal drug, his only way to feel better.

He wanted to protest, to fight back, but he couldn’t.

"That’s not true..." he muttered, his voice even more laced with guilt and desperation now.

He wanted to tell you that he actually cared for you, that it wasn’t just about what you could do for him. He wanted to tell you that he saw you as a person, not just as a way to feel less alone but he couldn’t.

Because he had been treating you like an object, like a goddamn cure for his loneliness, he was using you exactly like others did. 

And the worst thing was that, deep down, he knew what that felt like and that made him feel even more horrible.

"I thought I was doing the right thing..." He protested weakly, still trying to convince you, still trying to bargain his place in your life.

"I'm not..." you started, stopping mid-sentence soon after to recollect your thoughts, trying to find the right words.

But his words, his final candid confession, his regret, all this made your heart ache, probably more than you could have imagined. But, at least, he finally saw the whole picture.

"I'm not blocking you Bucky, that I can do but you need to go back to therapy.." you stated, a slight tremble in your voice betraying how you really felt as you were questioning yourself if it was the right thing to do.

"Go back to your doctor, talk with her about everything but not for me or anyone else..." you added, your voice now gentle.

"Do it for yourself, to feel better..."

Hoping that your final advice would suffice, that your words would be heard once and for all, and that he would finally try to understand why he was acting like this.

Bucky remained silent for a long minute as he listened to you. Deep down, he knew you were right about everything, realizing he had been selfish and obsessive without a valid reason, treating you poorly and being a terrible therapy partner.

And the thought that you might despise him for it hurt his heart the most.

"I will, I promise." He answered finally, taking a deep breath as his voice was still shaky and broken.

"But, what about you?" He dared to ask after another minute of silence, still the idea of letting you go tearing his heart apart.

"What about me, what?.." you chuckled softly, caught off guard by the sudden question.

You were aware he just wanted you to keep talking to him, that he just wanted to have your voice in his ear. Maybe there was a small part of him that cared about you, about what you would do without him around but still.

He was a goddam addict right now, acting desperately like one.

"I'll just keep with mine I guess.." you said honestly, sighing heavily as your voice went soft. The whole so-called fight had drained you, making you even more tired than you already were.

"Still, i don't know what I'll do with the program though, for now at least"

To be fair, you weren't sure what you were going to do next. If you would find another partner or quit the program altogether. But saying it out loud, voicing the inner thoughts inside your head, definitely helped making a decision.

"Uhm listen, Bucky..I...I have to go.." you suddenly said then, trying to find a way to close the call without hurting him further. 

"But as I said, you still have my number, just...if you message me I can't assure you a reply, ok?" you added, reassuring him still even if your brain reminded you how stupid this decision was.

The words struck him harder than any bullet could have. He felt the jolt of panic, wanting desperately to keep you on the phone, feeling his eyes welling up. No, he knew he couldn’t explode with everything he was feeling or he’d lose you forever.

He knew he needed your voice in his ear, needed to hear you talk to him, needed you like air to breathe. 

But his hand was shaking as he held the phone to his ear, struggling to stop himself from begging. He swallowed, realizing he’d been silent while you assured him you wouldn’t block his number even if you won’t text him back. 

That gave him the tiniest reassurance, but the doubt nagged at him almost instantly. Would you stick to your word? What if you didn’t? Panic lapped at his heels again and he clenched his jaw, forcing his words down.

"I understand." He whispered, his voice low and uncertain.

Don't beg, don't beg, don’t beg...Bucky repeated to himself as he felt a familiar sense of obsession creeping back in.

He had to fight it, he had to stop this before it consumed him completely. After all, he had promised to return to his therapist, to try and deal with this issue, to begin feeling better.

After that heartfelt call, he reached out to you the very same night. However, as you mentioned, you chose to ignore it, not wanting to give him a false sense of hope or start another discussion so soon.

A week went by, and then his doctor called you again, asking for your side of the story. At that, you recounted everything that had happened, sharing every detail you could remember of without placing the blame on him, convinced it wasn’t entirely his fault. 

And what she told you helped you understand the situation better. She explained that Bucky had an episode of limerence, a state characterized by an intense infatuation that bordered on obsession most of the time, and that it was dangerous for the current state of his mind.

She also advised you to maintain some distance for the time being, a decision you had already considered, since she wanted to break through the patterns deeply rooted in his mind.

"James' not a bad man, it's just that people had shown him very little kindness for a long time," she added. She suggested that while some of his feelings might be genuine, she wasn’t entirely sure, encouraging you to act according to your feelings when you heard from him again. 

“Just be honest with him, for both your sakes,” she concluded before ending the call with another thoughtful piece of advice.

After that conversation, you felt a sense of relief, to be honest, as much as an unexpected happiness.

Why were you even happy? 

Why were you so relieved that his feelings could be real? 

Did you actually have feelings for him?

Regardless, you followed her advice, until more than two months later when you finally heard from Bucky again.

It had been a long, hard two months for Bucky.

His therapy sessions focused on helping him work through his feelings and analyze his behaviors. He realized he had become obsessed with you, but it took him a while to understand the root of that obsession.

After much reflection, he discovered that his desire for you stemmed from a deep need for connection. Unlike many others, you had seen him not as an asset or a monster, but for who he truly was. This realization helped him make significant progress.

It was tough for him to go without talking to you, as his thoughts continually returned to the conversation you shared and your words.

However, he was working hard to manage his feelings, control himself, and learn to understand the difference between obsession and genuine emotions.

Finally, when his therapist gave him the green light to reach out to you, he didn’t hesitate. With a somewhat clearer mind, he picked up his phone, his hands shaking. After what felt like an eternity, he sent you a message.

-from Bucky: Can I call you?

_____________

If you're here so you read it all, and for that I thank you (let me know what you think about it)

Again, i'm sorry for the wait, i want to promise you all I'll do better next time, and I want to keep it that way, I just hope my brain won't fail me again.

Also, there will be a bonus chapter later next week, it's something I wrote as literally a...bonus...so you're free to read it or not, it doesn't change the story <3

[ducktracy]

(1) Hello! I don't know if you guys in the USA heard about this, this morning the greatest presenter and communicator on Brazilian TV, Silvio Santos, passed away😢 and some people were complaining on Twitter that while other TV channels were reporting his death, the SBT channel, which he owned, continued showing cartoons as if nothing had happened lol And I think these people don't understand that this is exactly what he wanted. And that made me think about how visionary he was...

(2) with the law that banned children's advertising on television, there are basically no more children's programs and cartoons on open TV (I don't know if "non cable TV" is called like that in english), this channel SBT was the only open TV channel that continued with children's programming, Silvio Santos himself said: "I don't care if I'm losing money [in the mornings] because [for me] showing cartoons is an obligation!", and that shows how much he cares about this younger audience...

(3) And until recently, the Rede Recond channel stopped showing Woody Woodpecker after 7 decades on the air (WW was the first cartoon to be shown on Brazilian TV, in the 50s) because there was no more audience, and it's really annoying see how cartoons have lost their place on open TV over the years, as if they were just a mere disposable product. I'm going to miss him a lot, I can't put into words how important this man was to the televition, and I really don't want to make this text even...

(4) longer, and btw I'm sorry for the long text, I don't even know why I sent you all this rant, I just love your blog a lot and I thought maybe you would be interested in it im sorryyy

HI THERE! firstly, NO NEED FOR APOLOGIESSSS I’M sorry i didn’t answer this sooner!!

secondly: WOW!! THANK YOU for sending this in!! this is so touching!! I’M INCREDIBLY INTERESTED!! i recall hearing about his passing and knew he was beloved, but that’s about it…. what a sweet guy!! this makes me so happy to hear :’) i think that’s a perfect tribute!! if you ask me, all the other cartoons should have been playing cartoons in his honor, too!! i had absolutely no knowledge about any of the bans—that’s so interesting to learn!! i also knew that Woody was VERY beloved in Brazil (good!!! Woody rules!!) but completely missed that he was the first to be shown on Brazilian TV, that explains so much and is so interesting!!

AHHH i’m rambling myself, i don’t have much to add other than THIS IS SO SWEET and i’m so appreciative you took the time to send such a sweet tribute!! this really makes me want to look into his legacy more; this is so sweet and i’m so happy you shared this!!! thank you so much for thinking of me!!

[daeron-the-daring]

Hi could you tell me how you picture Daeron in your head for now when we don't know how the writers will portray him? I mean, do you think he would be the most Hightower coded out of all Alicent's kids or maybe he would have more Targ qualities? Because book description of him indicates that he was the gentlest, daring, great commander and would be the best king out of all of them and I just can't help thinking that he got all the best genes from Alicent and Hightower family as he spent a couple of years in Old Town and grew more accustomed with Hightower way of thinking, manners, behaviour and so on and I think despite being a Targaryen he would be more Hightower like just the same as Jon Snow is Targaryen, but at heart he is a Stark because Starks raised him and OMG that would be so epic because Daeron is Jon idol so that would so cool, 2 Targaryen guys who take after their mothers side of family in terms of personality, beliefs, behaviour. And speaking of beliefs, in intro where Aemond sigil was a sapphire, Daeron had EXACTLY THE SAME sigil as Alicent, it has to mean something right? I am so excited for him to come in next season, my baby boy 💖

Hi Anon! Thank you for your message and your patience, if you are still here! 💚

That's a good question, but not easy to answer, mostly because the writers usually add their own ideas to the characters, and that's fine if it makes sense and serves a purpose. It's not always the case in this series, I think, so I can't fully predict what Daeron's full personality is going to be.

On the other hand, you're right, he is a sweet boy, he would make a good king probably, and he is really popular because of his good qualities. The show hasn't told us his story yet; we don't know anything about his relationship with his family for example, which would have been crucial. If we are thinking of the canon, he is a real ride or die for his family, and I would really like it if the show would keep it this way. I think we will definitely see some Hightower influence on him in a good way. He is the most presentable out of his siblings, has good manners, is humble, gives credit when it's due, and has this sense of duty (like Aemond, who is the closest to Alicent). I think his sigil in the intro is more like a cup(?), showing he's still the cupbearer to Ormund. Maybe because he is training to be a knight and has to climb the ladder, that's why he is different from his brothers. Maybe not, and he has a good nature. Either way, I'm sure (or hope) he is going to be loyal to Aegon and his family. I have my concerns about how things are going to turn out between Aegon and Aemond next season (based on Ewan Mitchell's interview), but the Greens are loyal to each other, and in some weird way, they love each other. I mean, you don't raise a statue of your fallen brothers unless you love them, right?

Most of the Greens have this "oopsie" moment, like Aemond killing Luke or Alicent misinterpreting Viserys' last words, so "it's not their fault". I don't hate this in every scenario, but I hope they won't turn Daeron into the inexperienced young boy under Ormund's influence, who doesn't want to do anything wrong. I mean, this would have worked if they hadn't played this card before. However, I can imagine him dealing with some emotional distress during the war, seeing its horrors, and him striving to prove himself better and not always succeeding in this. Also, since the circumstance of his death is uncertain, I hope they make his character well-beloved and make our hearts bleed for him.

I think Jon's idol is not our boy, but a later Daeron. Nevertheless, you have a perfect memory. I completely forgot about this info!

Long story short, I can't wait to see him next season!