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miniwheat77 · 3 days ago

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Cherry. (Captain Price x Reader.)

!nsfw, SA, reader is attacked, smut, fingering, p in v sex, virginity loss, virgin!reader, unprotected sex, pining!

For the most part, you were quiet.

By far the most quiet soldier on base. Soap and Gaz liked to joke about it.

You might’ve been silent, but it’s because you’re an observer. You watch and listen. Most of all though, you’re watching him.

Your captain.

You’ve had an obvious crush on him since the day you met him, and when he recruited you for his task force, you wanted to scream. Working alongside him every day. Seeing him every day. It was torture really but you looked forward to it because than, you’d be around him. Before, you seen him a couple times a year, now you see him every day.

Some days are harder than others, you want him so bad but know you can’t have him. That’s tough, but you’re managing.

Nobody has clued in on your little crush yet, thank god. If someone else found out, you’d never hear the end of it.

Captain Price feels bad. He feels bad because he recruited you for hands on missions but you ended up being so much better than everyone else at paperwork that you usually get stuck with the work load. You didn’t exactly like it but you liked the quiet time. Even though you usually got left behind on base to do it. You liked that you spent some time in his office though, seeing as it smelled like him. You were too scared to snoop through his desk, but the smell of him lingers and when you’re in his office, sometimes the both of you are inside. He makes small talk with you and those days you look forward to.

You’re making your way through a stack of paperwork. It’s tedious really, reading over everything, filling out mission reports. It’s all the same repetitive paperwork. But Soap always screws up and Ghost will weasel his way out of any paperwork. Gaz is capable but gets distracted so easily that only half of it will get done. When Laswell isn’t here, there’s no one to do it. So here you are.

Your phone dings in your pocket, technically you’re not supposed to have it on you since you’re actively working but you did anyways. You sigh when you see who it is.

A newer recruit to the base had gotten your phone number from Johnny. Told him some lie about needing to ask you about your watch together. So Johnny gave it to him. Now he’s done nothing but message you nonstop. More specifically, wanting to get closer to you because he liked you. The messages were starting to get a little threatening. You’d been meaning to talk to Captain Price about it but hadn’t gotten the chance yet.

You ignore the few dings that go off, finally digging it out of your pocket.

Hey, what’re you up to?

Soap said you’re in the captains office doing paperwork again, need some company?

Hello?

I see, playing hard to get. I’ll come to you than.

Nerves set in right as you see the last message but before you can react, the door handle twists.

Your lips part, eyes wide. Relief floods through you as your Captain steps inside. You quickly appear to be doing something else, not wanting to incriminate yourself.

A knock at the door right after Captain Price sits down has your hair raising. “Yeah?” Captain Price calls. The door opens and there he is. “Ryan, how can I help you?”

“I just wanted to speak with Y/N for a moment sir.” He nods. His eyes glance to you, seeing that you’ve gone completely rigid at the sight of him. Why are you apprehensive like that?

“Uh.. I’ll be done in a couple hours, can it wait?” You mumble.

“Suppose so.” He nods. He stands there for another few seconds before leaving.

“That was awkward.” Captain Price chuckles. “Tell me about it.” You mumble. “Something going on between you two?” He asks. “No. He wants there to be but no.” You mumble. “I’m not going to be that hard on you. Whatever happens off base happens off base.” He shrugs. You shake your head. “I- no. I’m not interested in him at all.”

“Yeah, you kind’ve got all tense there.” He laughs.

“He got my phone number from Johnny. Sometimes his messages give me the creeps.” You shake your head. “Really? What does he say?”

You read out some of the things he’s said. Seeing his smile. “Think he’s just interested and doesn’t know how to express it.” He mumbles. “I’ve never had a boyfriend before so I don’t know what’s predatory and what’s normal.” You snort. He freezes up. “Wait.. are you still a virgin?” He asks. You can feel crimson rising up your cheeks. Fuck. You’d just incriminated yourself. You shrug your shoulders, avoiding his gaze. He laughs. “Well. Maybe if you get laid you won’t be so uptight, hm?”

You look away from him. In disbelief that he’d just said that to you. You try to laugh it off, but it doesn’t sit right with you.

After a few more minutes, he ends up getting called out by Johnny for something else. Leaving you alone in his office once more. You feel gross, the pedestal you’d put him on. Refusing to believe that he wasn’t like every other guy, and how he’d just proved you so wrong.

Later that same night, when you’re getting text messages from Ryan again, you’re not in your right headspace. He’s out drinking with Johnny and Ghost, they play pool sometimes off base. He stays out, and tells you to come join him.

Maybe your Captain is right, maybe you do need it. Clearly it’s never going to be him. You don’t know what you’re thinking as your feet carry you down the sidewalk. Catching a cab to the bar.

You step into the dive bar and see him sitting on a stool at the bar, clearly chatting up the bartender. You swallow hard, making your way up to him. You sit down next to him. “Hey. Finally joining me?” He laughs. You smile, every cell in your body is telling you to run but you stay. You’re in the military, when your body says to run, you run. But you don’t.

You buy a couple of drinks, he never offers you any.

What a gentleman.

“Hey, cmon.” He grasps your arm. You can hear it in his voice that he’s trying to get lucky. You swallow hard.

He leads you out to the back alley of the bar, pushing your back up against the old brick wall. A gasp leaves your lips and you try to turn your head but he forces you to kiss him. “You’re so sexy. Been waiting for you to come out with me.”

As his fingertips glide past your waistband and into your jeans, you feel bile growing at the back of your throat. “Wait- Ryan stop.” You breathe. He forces his lips over yours, muffling your sounds. “S-stop!” He clamps a hand over your mouth.

He forces a finger between your legs, the intrusion and tearing feeling has you crying out. On instinct you throw your face into his, forehead knocking into his face, sending a knee into his groin. He cries out and topples over into the ground. You try to rush away from him but he snatches you by your arm, pulling you back into the wall, the back of your head hits the brick wall and stuns you.

He forces you to the ground and you try to fight him but you’re still dizzy. His hand meets with your cheek in a harsh slap, knocking your face to the side. He forces your arms above your head with one hand, the other going for your waistband. He’s about to line himself up with you and seal the deal when you slam your face into his once again, this time bloodying his nose completely, and yours in the process. You get your feet up onto his chest and kick him off of you, knocking the air out of him. You stand up and run away in a hurry. He tries to call out to you that he didn’t mean it but you don’t stick around.

You run until your lungs burn. The muscles in your legs crying out for relief. But you keep running.

You don’t know at which point you stop. Calves still burning as you walk back into the base. Luckily the tears have stopped falling and now you were just cold. The pain you feel between your legs is dull and aching. How dare he.

You’re speed walking to your room where you know there’s a lock on the door but you turn the corner and slam right into someone, you scurry back. Scared that it’s him again but Ghost reaches out to steady you, Soap standing right at his side. “Woah! What the hell happened?”

You’re about to hyperventilate when Soap reaches out.

“Y/N!” Ryan calls out to you from the hallway. Had he really caught up that fast? That means he was so close to you…

You scramble to get away but Soap holds you still. “What the fuck is going on?” Ghost growls. “It… it was just a misunderstanding. Y/N, can I please talk to you?” You break free from Soap’s grasp and take off running at a full sprint to your room. You’re terrified. “What the fuck did you do to her?” Soap asks. “I swear I didn’t do anything.”

“Yeah, we’ll see about that. Go to your room, I’m gonna be watching.” He threatens. Ghosts eyes are stone cold.

You try to forget about it for the night.

—

The following day when you’re sitting in your captains office, the dread you feel is unmatched. He notices that there’s something off about you, every time you move, you wince like something is hurting you. You’ve also got makeup on when he’s told you it’s not allowed, but he ignores it. Just this once.

You’ve also got a small bruise on your forehead with a cut in the middle which means something hit you, something you couldn’t hide with makeup. He chooses to ignore it, maybe you’re just sore from sitting all of the time or something. Maybe you’ve just hit your head. A knock at the door draws his attention away from you, and he looks up. “Yeah?” He calls. “Uh. Sorry to bother.” You hear his voice. Captain price narrows his eyes when he sees Ryan has a line across his nose and a bruise around his eye, where he’d clearly been hit. “Y/N, can I talk to you? In private.” He mumbles. He’s bold.

Captain Price can see how rigid you’ve gone, how you clearly are even more uncomfortable than the day before. “No, you need to leave me alone Ryan.” You mumble. This raises a massive red flag and Ryan hoped you wouldn’t bring it to your captains attention. He leaves quickly after. Captain Price sighs. “Alright. What happened?” He mumbles, turning in his chair. “Nothing.” You mumble.

“Y/N.” His voice is deeper. “Don’t you lie to me.”

“Hey.” Johnny's voice startles the both of you. "Captain. A word?" He nods. John stands up from his desk and follows Johnny out.

A while later, they come back.

"Sweetheart." Johnny nods.

You look up from the table toward the door, seeing Soap, Gaz, and your Captain standing there. “Uh.. hey?” You sit up, trying to hide the wince.

“Uh… We talked to Ryan. You know... You looked hysterical last night. I just.. wanted to come check on you.” He swallows hard. You look down. “I’m good, Johnny.”

“Y/N. I’m sorry I gave him your phone number. I can’t help but feel like this is my fault.” He sighs. You laugh. “It’s not your fault Soap. I think he wanted my number bad enough to get it from anyone.” He sits down in front of you. Your captain pulls up a chair next to him. They’re cornering you and it’s making you nervous. “Why don’t you take the day off?” He mumbles. “I could do this or I could go sit in my room alone.” You smile. “I’m alright Johnny. Is.. something wrong?”

“We uh… got the whole story from Ryan.” He mumbles, looking at your Captain. “Oh…”

“You made it sound like it wasn’t that bad. So.. maybe we should hear your side?” He mumbles.

“Uh.. alright? I guess.” You shrug. “I.. agreed to go get a drink with him and he pulled me around to the back of the building, I’m assuming to get me alone. He.. tried to kiss me and put his hand…” you swallow hard. Clearly getting choked up. “Down my pants and I pushed him back but he wouldn’t move. Than he… forced his fingers in… so I headbutted him and got him off and tried to run but he grabbed my arm.”

You roll your sleeve up, the handprint bruise where he’d grabbed you still shows. Even darker now. “He slammed me back into the brick wall and it stunned me a little bit. He got me onto the ground, hit me, and than…” you freeze, eyes boring into the desk. “Tried to uh.. tried to-“

“Okay.. we don’t need anymore alright but Y/N.” Captain Price gets your attention. “This is not something I should be finding out about the next day, this is something you come right to me over. This is serious, he attacked you.” You nod. “Yes sir.” He stands up. Walking out of the room, clearly pissed.

Johnny sighs. “It’s going to be alright. You need anything just ask alright?”

You nod. “Thanks Johnny.” You smile. Once he’s gone, you’re alone again. Thank god. You needed the space. You feel like there’s a massive weight on your shoulders. It doesn’t take long and you’re losing track of time. Zoning out and losing yourself in the endless paperwork.

The sound of yelling and commotion in the hallway drags you away from your thoughts, you stand up to go find out what it is. As a soldier you learn to run toward the danger, not away from it.

You make your way down the hallways quickly, turning the corner and running straight into your Captain. He's got his arms crossed, watching Ghost try to contain Ryan.

Your eyes widen and you step forward, your Captain realizes it's you, putting a hand out to stop you.

“What? Now that you’re with him, you’re big and bad huh? Couldn’t defend yourself alone?” Ryan taunts you. Something you've grown to really hate in the military. Taunting.

You grit your teeth.

His words fade out but he’s still talking, your ears begin to ring and you hear no more of the mess around you. He breaks free out of Ghost's grasp and moves toward you. Before you realize it, you’ve got your Captain’s gun out of his waistband and you’re aiming it at Ryan. His eyes widen as you line up with his body.

“Y/N NO!”

They try to get to you but don’t reach you in time.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Soap grasps your arm and raises it in the air, eventually knocking the gun from your hand. Everything moves in slow motion as Ryan topples to the ground.

———

It’s hours later and Captain Price is out looking for you but he can’t find you. It’s passed midnight and you’re not in your room, he doesn’t even think to look in his office still. There’s no way you’re there still. But he checks anyways.

To his surprise, you’re still sitting right where he’d left you. Only now, there’s no paperwork left and you’re just staring off into space. You’ve still got blood all over you from the incident. It's amazing how far blood travels when the body is penetrated by a .45.

“Y/N?” He asks. He doesn’t get a response. He approaches slow not wanting to startle you. “Y/N?” His hand on your shoulder is what finally drags you out of your thoughts. You jump away from him, eyes going wide. When you realize it’s him, your heart settles. “The hell are you still doing in here?”

“Oh- I don’t know. Lost track of time I suppose.” You mumble. “I’d say so. It’s passed midnight darling.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” He laughs. “Got through all of that paperwork.” he nods toward the empty part of your desk that was once piled. “Oh.. yeah. That was a while ago.” You mumble. “Are you sure you’re going to be alright?” He drags his chair toward you to sit down near you. His close proximity sends warmth pooling between your thighs. It feels like your veins are on fire when he’s this close to you. “Yeah. I’m good. Just.. out of it.” You look down. You’re fumbling with your hands and he knows why.

You feel like what happened the night before is your fault.

He rests his hand on your thigh. “I know that you probably think that this is your fault because you think you initiated whatever happened between you and him, but it’s not. A grown man knows that when someone tells him to stop, he stops. That’s just that. Doesn’t matter who started what or where you thought it was going, when someone says no or stop, they’re supposed to. This isn’t your fault and you don’t have to stress like this over it. You owe him nothing.” You look down at the ground. Knowing that he has a point. “Yeah.. I know. I just regret being stupid enough to go in the first place. But I’m fine. I get shot at and kill people for a living. He doesn’t bother me.” You roll your eyes, looking down at your desk. “It should bother you, and I don’t believe you when you say that. I can tell that it does. But I’ve taken care of it.” He sighs. “What did you do?” You ask. “He’s off my base and away from you, that’s what matters.”

“Did.. did he survive?” You ask. “Yeah, he’ll be fine. But I have to say I’m impressed, all three shots you took even without aiming still hit.” He laughs. You smile.

“Captain?” You ask. “Yeah?”

“Why do you think he was so persistent?” You ask. He sighs. “I don’t know Y/N.” He chews on his lip. “There’s obviously something about you that captivated him bad enough to want to hurt you in that way.” His voice is low. “But you’re a real pretty girl and you’re a genuine person. It doesn’t surprise me, but his persistence was terrifying." He’s exasperated. “I’m okay. I’d rather take a punch than be-“ you freeze before the word can come out of your mouth. He swallows hard.

"What made you even decide to go out with him in the first place? I saw you yesterday talking to him. You clearly didn't like him.”

You sigh. “I.. tried to take your advice.” You mumble.

“Fuck.. can’t you take a joke? I was only pulling your leg.” He sighs. You roll your eyes. Turning away from him. “Y/N. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for that to happen to you.” He asks. You pause for a minute, unsure of what to say. “Hey. Look at me.” He grasps your chair, forcing you turn toward him. You swallow hard, stiffening at his close proximity. Despite the situation, your body still fucking wants him. Curse this. He grasps your chin, forcing you to look up at him.

You tug your face away from him.

“Y/N.” He mumbles. He rests his hand on your thigh. “Let me take a look at you. You refused to get looked at by a medic.”

"He just hit me. Nothing I can't handle.” You mumble. “That’s not what I meant.” he glides his hand up your thigh, seeing your eyes widen. “What? I don’t know about that.”

He laughs. “It’s nothing weird alright? Just to make sure you’re alright. I can see you wincing every time you sit down. I just want to make sure than he didn’t.. hurt you too bad. Because if it’s bad enough you’ll need to see a medic.” You look down. Nodding your head. “Okay..” you mumble. He helps you up, nodding to the couch in his office. “Sit down.” He makes his way to the door, locking it. You sit nervously on the couch. Seeing him laugh at your nervousness. “Nothing weird alright? You can trust me.”

He helps you remove one of your pant legs, seeing you still making an effort to cover yourself. “Just lay back, let me see.” He mumbles. He pushes your knees apart, hearing you gulp. You turn your head to the side, you jump when his fingertips touch you. “It’s okay, I’m just getting a good look.” He mumbles. You clench your eyes shut. “I can see where he hurt you, it’s just red but he didn’t draw any blood.” He mumbles. “Does this hurt?” He asks, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the wound. It’s right at the entrance. “It’s.. a little sore. Yeah.” You breathe.

He chews at his lip.

You shouldn’t have let him do this, because if he was ever suspicious of you having a crush on him which he was you’d just showed him the truth. He clears his throat. “I’m going to try something. You trust me?” You nod your head. “Use your words darling.”

“Y-yeah, yes. I trust you.” you breathe. He can hear your heart thumping in your chest. “Deep breath okay?” You take in a breath, but it gets caught in your throat by his finger penetrating you.

You gasp out, flinching away from him slightly. “W-what are you doing?” You shudder as he curls his finger up. You reach down, grasping hold of his wrist to still him, but he moves yours away with his free hand.

“Tell me I’m not mistaken sweetheart. But.. he hurt you just right at the entrance. And.. you hurting?”

He glides his finger back almost completely out, adding another and hearing you gasp out as he pushes them back inside of you. “No- no it doesn’t hurt.” You gasp, trying to move away from him. “That’s two fingers darling. You’re fucking soaked.” He laughs. He holds you down against the couch, so that you don’t wiggle away from him. “You must really not like him for him to have hurt you so easily. And you must really like me.” He laughs. He draws them back, plunging them back inside of you, starting to pump them into you until you’re crying out and squirming. The burning sensation from where Ryan had hurt you is gone now, replaced by pure bliss. You’re crying out, unable to control your sounds. You gasp out, clutching at the couch as he holds you still. Fucking you with his fingers.

When you cum, you let out a mewl. It’s how he knows you cum. His fingers piercing into you, like being touched by a god himself. When he draws his fingers back, you’re panting. Sliding away from him and holding your knees to your chest. Making an attempt at covering yourself up. Staring at him in complete disbelief. How he’d touched you and was so nonchalant about it.

He laughs. He’s resting on the couch, one knee on it, one foot still on the ground. His hand hangs beside him, strings of your arousal drawn between his fingers. He’s still chuckling. “What? Cat got your tongue?” He stands up completely, moving closer to you. You look up at him like you’re mesmerized by him.

“I know about your little crush on me, have for some time.” He breathes. “What I said yesterday, I was just being a dick. And I’m sorry you got hurt because of it.” You nod your head, eyes still glossy as you look up at him. He steps back.

He’d just touched you.

Not only had he touched you, but he made you cum.

The first person to ever do that.

“Captain Price?” You look up at him again. “Yeah darling? Maybe we should get going, it’s about time for bed, it’s la-“

"You're right. I do have a crush on you. I have since I met you."

“I know.”

“How?”

“There are ways you act around me and no one else.”

You smile. “I thought I was better at hiding it.”

“I would’ve never picked up on it if you hadn’t been around me every day.” He laughs.

You smile. Looking up at him.

He smiles. “How do you feel? Still hurting?”

“Not really. It’s weird but that kind’ve helped with the pain.”

“Just opened you up a bit more probably.” You nod, eyes avoiding his once again.

After a moment of silence, you break it.

“Will you have sex with me?”

Those words take him completely by surprise. He freezes up at the request.

“Y/N… I really think you should do some healing first befo-“

“I’m fine.” You smile. “I swear. I’m fine. It just.. it scares me that he came so close to taking my virginity like that. I want you to take it.”

He thinks for a second. “Y/N…” he warns. “You don’t have to, not if you don’t want to of course.” He snorts. “It’s not that I don’t want to, of course I do. It’s just that… I don’t think now is a good time.” You look up at him, smiling. “Neither was a minute ago, but you still fingered me.” You smirk. He rolls his eyes. “Cmon.” He grasps your wrist gently and tugs you out of the office, leading you to his room. “If you really want me to do this, I’m going to do it right.” He mumbles. You nod your head. “Slow. And if you feel any kind of discomfort and don’t want to go any further, I’ll stop.” You nod. “Yes Captain.”

He cups your cheeks and kisses you.

You melt right into him, and you know that this is exactly how it’s supposed to go.

Before you know it, he’s on top of you. He’s got you in his bed. It’s warm, he’s got soft sheets and it smells like cologne. You’re dazed, in a trance by his touch. You feel high off of him. All of this time you’ve waited and it’s finally happening.

He's gentle with you. Something you didn't entirely expect out of a man like Captain Price. He seemed so rough around the edges. He was usually a stern man.

Feeling that his rough hands could be so gentle, running over the most sensitive parts of you.

You'd seen him out on the field. You saw him earlier with Ryan. You knew how violent he could be. All the man really seemed to care about anymore was his task force. You happened to be on it.

"Deep breath for me okay? It's going to hurt."

You nodded your head. You were breathless as he laid over you. His bare stomach pressed to yours as he brushed his cock over your folds. Letting you feel him. He wants to keep you grounded. He doesn't want you to feel forced.

Your eyes are glossy as you look up at him. It eats him alive really, how much you trust him.

You were too trusting with him. He was nothing but a man, a man who you barely knew. Yet here you were. Exposing your most precious parts to him. For no good reason at all, other than the fact that you'd had a crush on him for a while. You were lucky that he was such a good and caring man. Because he would take care of you. He'd do his best to protect you. He always had anyways.

He pushes into you. Inch by agonizing inch, and the saddest part was it hurt nothing like when Ryan had hurt you. But that's how this was supposed to be.

That's why he's walking around with 3 holes in him.

"Look at me."

He grounds you again. He can tell your mind is wandering, and not to a good place. "I want you to look me in the eyes and tell me a story." He forces you to focus on him. "Tell me about the day we first met."

While he's got you distracted, he's sliding in further.

"I- I was on a mission in Iran. Your force stopped at our base to rest for a couple of days." You freeze, closing your eyes.

He draws his hips back and thrusts back in. He'd successfully buried himself to the hilt and was going slow to keep you focused. "Laswell was walking to my superiors office and saw me inside. I was in the back doing paperwork, but earlier in the day s-she-" A moan leaves your lips as he thrusts in. "Keep going. Stay focused."

"She had seen me training a couple of new soldiers to our base. She thought t-that I would be a good fit for the task force, so she went to find you. She brought you back and when you walked in I-"

You gasp out. "I saw you- and than I met you. Found out who you were and you offered me a spot on the task force and I took it."

He chuckles. "Tell me darling. Did you take it because you wanted to be here or did you take it because of your crush on me?"

You smile wide, a grin on your lips that he hadn't seen from you before. Crimson rose on your cheeks.

"Naughty girl." He teases.

"You did so good. You feel me?"

Only now do you realize that he'd been freely thrusting himself inside of you, pain free.

"Holy sh-" Your eyes widen slightly, seeing your body take him. "You're doing so good. Not even bleeding darling." He leans down, pressing his lips to yours. "I knew you were a good fit. You didn't mind doing paperwork. I didn't expect you to follow orders as well as you have. That's your best quality." He smirks.

He lowers himself into you. His body weight completely on yours. Your bare chest presses to his and for a moment it feels like he's trying to suffocate you but he's trying to keep you focused. He's starting to overwhelm you. He uses his right hand to move your hair out of your face, kissing you again.

You close your eyes tightly, trying to keep quiet.

You've got a knot forming in your stomach and you know what it is.

You tilt your head, whining out. "Do you trust me?" He asks. You nod your head.

He presses his hand against your mouth. He's testing you.

He knows you're getting close, he can't deny the fact that he is getting close too. You're wrapped perfectly around him, milking him for all he's worth. You're so tight on him.

You stay relaxed and he's impressed. He knows that you trust him which is what he wanted. He wanted you to stay focused enough on him that the event of the night before would be washed away to the back of your mind while he took your virginity.

You cry into his hand when you reach your peak. Your chest heaves as you take in air like it's limited. He grits his teeth and buries his face into the crook of your neck as he finishes inside of you. The way he sounds is intense.

When he pulls his hand away, you take in a deep breath.

"You alright?" He draws away. You nod your head, still panting. "Your lips are flushed. It's pretty. Like cherries." He smiles. You turn away from him. Already intimidated by him enough.

"It'll get better. The more we do it." He breathes.

"So there will be a next time?" You smile. Cheeks pink.

"If you think you aren't mine after this, you're mistaken."

"Was hoping you'd say that, sir."

———

You make your way down the hallway, head held high. Like you hadn’t taken a beating or shot one of your own the day before. You walk into the mess hall and go right for the coffee. Everyone goes quiet. “Uh.. hey!” Gaz smiles. You turn and smile at him. “Hi.”

“You’re up early.” He mumbles. “Nah, got watch in like… ten minutes.” You look down at your watch.

“What? Y/N, I’ve got your watch covered. No worries.”

You laugh. “I got punched in the face, not shot. I’ll be fine Gaz.” You walk out of the room, everyone exchanges a glance. They don't know the real reason you're in such a good mood.

“She’s one tough girl I’ll tell you.” Ghost mumbles. “Yeah she is, sometimes too tough for her own good.” Soap sighs.

“Wonder what Cap told her about Ryan.” Gaz mumbles.

“Probably some story about him being alive and well.” Soap mumbles.

“Yeah, he might’ve been. Had Ghost not finished the job.” Gaz laughs.

Simon rolls his eyes. “I like Y/N. She’s a good girl. And I don’t like rapists. So.. now we’ve got one less to worry about in the world.” He continues eating his breakfast like nothing has happened.

You stay in the unknown. They think that's the perfect place for you. At least for now.

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harrywavycurly · 1 day ago

Text

Handle With Care: Sunshine and Citrus

Masterlist: Here

CW: Language, miscommunication, jealousy Harry and one brief mention of your ex and angst like hella angst.

Tag List: @gmikaelson @ell0ra-br3kk3r @tulips4harry @mellamolayla @mads3502 @empathyroad @idk199o @sassamanda77 @maudie-duan @macy-tpwk @namoreno @coralferrio1 @stylesftcher @mema10 @cherryloveshs @umadirectioner @styleswithaseaview @sunflower-tia @fangirl509east @howling-wolf97 @outofthisworl-d @triski73

A/N: There’s only one more part left in this mini series and I am so sorry in advance but just know this does have a happy ending so just hold on okay? 😅

Summary: Harry is on a mission to show you he’s not an asshole but little does he know you’re also on a mission of your own✨📦

Harry feels all the knowledge he has about flowers, as little as it may be begin to slip away as he stares at the multiple bouquet options that are in little black bins right in front of him. For the life of him he can’t seem to remember the color of the flowers he ruined when he ran into you coming off the elevator almost a week ago, so he’s struggling to even know where to start in his efforts to replace them. He chews on his bottom lip as he scans his options for the third time, his eyes landing on an arrangement that has different hues of orange and yellow tulips with the smallest bit of red from a few roses tucked in as well.

A small smile slowly spreads across his face as he reaches for it because it reminds him of all the colors of a sun and if anyone deserves to have a bouquet of flowers that look like the sun it’s you. The girl who smells like pure sunshine and flowers rolled into the perfect mixture with a hint of something fruity, a smell Harry found himself missing so much he even went as far as trying to recreate it with candles and an odd room spray he found at a home decor store and while he likes the way they smell, nothing compares to the real thing.

“Thank fuck you finally picked something we’ve been here for ten bloody minutes staring at flowers like a pair of weirdos.” Niall’s statement of annoyance snaps Harry out of his thoughts as he rolls his eyes at Niall rant, having momentarily forgot he was even standing next to him the whole time he was staring at the bouquet options.

“Why are you even here?” Harry asks as he heads towards the checkout counter so he can get the flowers wrapped up in paper with some string.

“Because we both know you’ll somehow manage to ruin this whole thing if you do it alone.” Niall states as he looks at the roses next to the checkout counter while Harry just lets out a scoff as he places his bouquet on the counter for the nice woman to ring up.

“I’m more than capable of picking flowers for someone you tw-”

“You’re like an overgrown toddler Harry. Always making a mess of things that should be simple especially when it comes to her.” Niall cuts him off making Harry’s cheeks get warm at his words that even though they may be true doesn’t make them hurt any less. But when Niall looks over and sees Harry just rubbing his lips together he lets out a sigh and gives him a harsh pat on the back. “But don’t worry H m’not gonna let you fuck it up this time.” Niall says trying to reassure him as Harry smiles at the woman as she hands him the bouquet that’s been beautifully wrapped in white paper and some ribbon that’s tied in a nice bow.

“Good luck honey. I’m sure she’ll love them.” Harry feels his face get warm at the woman’s kind words and all he can offer in return is a tight lipped smile and a nod before he turns around and heads out of the store with Niall following behind him.

“Why won’t you just let me give you her number so you can better arrange this whole thing?” Niall asks as the two of them begin to walk the short distance back to Harry’s apartment complex.

“I already told you why.”

“Okay yeah but what if-”

“I don’t want to hear any what ifs okay? I want to get her number myself because I want to make sure she actually wants me to have it and that’s the end of it. We both know if I just text her she’s way too nice to tell me to fuck off so I’ll never know if she wanted me to have her number or not.”

“I get all that Harry I really do. But what if she’s out of town for a week and you leave these on her door and they’re ruined by-”

“Niall.” Harry stops walking so he can turn to face his friend who is usually always trying to look out for him but in this moment he’s not doing much besides annoying him. “I don’t care if she’s out of town for a month the point is she will see that I tried and that’s all I really care about right now. I need her to see I’m not an asshole.” He explains with a sigh as he runs his hand that’s not holding the flowers through his hair. Niall just nods and turns his head in the direction of Harry’s complex.

“You gonna leave a note with the flowers or just drop them off like a secret admirer?” Niall questions with a raise of his brow as he looks back at Harry.

“Fuck no I’m not just dropping them off are you insane?I’m not letting some random asshole take credit for my flowers.” Harry answers making Niall laugh as the two of them start walking again.

You rub your lips together and try to fight off the nerves that are beginning to creep back up as you stand in front of Harry’s apartment door, the pep talk you gave yourself in the elevator long forgotten as you rethink your whole plan. But before you can give yourself anymore time to possibly back up and turn to head back down the hallway to the elevators you raise your hand up and knock on the door. Not trying to be nosey or be seen as a creep to anyone that might glance out of their peepholes or come out of their front doors, you just stand there and do your best to listen for footsteps or any signs that someone is home but after a solid two minutes of silence you come to the conclusion no one is going to answer.

The sigh that you let out if a mixture of relief and also disappointment, having texted Niall asking for Harry’s apartment number so you could try to talk to him about the other night when he showed up at your door talking about zaps and a party but ended with you accidentally hurting his feelings. As you turn to make your way towards the elevators you begin trying to work through what exactly he was talking about when he mentioned feeling a weird static like shock every time you touch him but you’re certain that if something like that was happening to him then you’d have to feel it as well and yet you haven’t, not even once. But most importantly you begin to wonder why you can’t seem to just let the whole thing go, why you can’t just forget about the tall tattooed man who’s been nothing but mean to you since you met him minus the one time he showed you an ounce of kindness when he was drunk standing in your door at one in the morning.

“Why does he have to be so cute?” You mumble to yourself as you step into the elevator. “Like really cute.” You add with a sigh as the doors close and you press the number for your floor. All of a sudden you feel annoyed with yourself for letting Harry’s looks get in the way of the fact he’s not nice nor does he seem to be interested in you, because even when he knocked on your door to invite you to his party he only did it on Niall’s behalf and hours after the party even started meaning he didn’t really want you there.

“He doesn’t like you. So we are letting him go.” You say with a firm tone, you nod at your reflection in the elevator door just before it opens up on your floor. “He doesn’t-” you are about to repeat your new mantra but the words get stuck in your throat as you look down the hallway and see Harry bending down to leave a bouquet of flowers on the welcome mat outside your front door while Niall stands off to the side with his back against the wall.

“Jesus Harry you writin’her a damn novel? Just sign the card and let’s go. I’m hungry.” You hear Niall’s voice from down the hall and you instantly look around for a place to hide so neither of them see you, deciding you don’t really know if you’re ready to be face to face with Harry yet since just a few moments ago you were ready to swear him off and now he’s suddenly leaving you flowers.

“Oh fuck off you’re always hungry.” You hear Harry’s voice snap at his bestfriend and you feel your cheeks get warm at how deep it is but you don’t have time to wonder if he’s always sounded like that or not because you then hear them begin to walk towards the elevators because Niall’s keys he keeps on his belt loop begin to jingle with each step. Quickly you dart into the stairwell and thank your lucky stars they don’t opt to get in some cardio and choose to use the elevator instead.

“You think she’ll like them?”

“I mean yeah why wouldn’t she?”

“Because I don’t know? What if that’s the kind of flowers she hates? Or what if she’s allergic to them or-”

“What happened to not wanting to hear any what ifs?”

“You’re such a twat.” You cover your mouth with both hands to stop yourself from letting out a laugh at Harry’s choice of insult and to keep yourself from audibly awing as he voices his worries about if you’ll like the flowers he picked for you.

“Yeah yeah whatever at least m’not in-” You don’t get to hear the rest of Niall’s sentence due to the very obnoxious sound of the elevator doors opening. You chance a glance through the small window on the door to the stairs and let out a sigh of relief when you see the doors to the elevator have closed and the arrow shows they are heading down.

“Just because he left flowers doesn’t mean he likes you.” You repeat over and over again in your head as you quietly exit the stairwell and begin to slowly walk down the hallway towards your front door.

“Love, Harry.” You whisper to yourself as you hold the card from the bouquet of tulips and roses that are in a yellow and white polka dotted vase on your kitchen counter.

It’s safe to say you’ve been staring at the flowers and the card that was tucked inside them ever since you picked them up off your welcome mat two days ago. It’s also safe to say you have been doing everything humanly possible to not run into Harry since then because you just don’t know what you’d say to him. You’re trying to figure out what exactly it all means, because if you wouldn’t have heard Niall complain about how long it was taking Harry to write the card you never would’ve thought something so sweet could be written by him, the man that usually is extremely short and snarky towards you.

“Tried to pick some that reminded me of you. Hope you like them and they make you smile. I really like it when you smile.” You read aloud hoping that saying the words out loud and not just in your head it’ll help you uncover the secret message that you feel is hidden somewhere within the three simple sentences. “He likes it when I smile?” You question while placing the card down next to the vase.

“Doesn’t mean he likes you.” You remind yourself as you turn to go into the living room, ready to get comfortable on your couch and decide what you want for dinner before starting a movie. Right before you sit down you hear three loud knocks on your front door making you raise a brow because you don’t have plans with anyone tonight and you haven’t ordered anything to be delivered. When you get to your door you look through the peephole and you feel your eyes go wide at who you see standing on the other side.

Harry tries not to let the idea that you’re avoiding him enter in his mind as stands outside your door after his second round of knocks. He thought you moving into the same complex as him would make it easier for him to run into you but he’s quickly learned that’s just not true. Much to his disappointment he hasn’t even gotten a whiff of your floral and sunshine scent in the elevators and he finds that extremely odd because usually it lingers long after you’ve left the room. So naturally that has him convinced that you just haven’t left your apartment recently or you haven’t been home, but when he sees the flowers he left on your doorstep two days ago are gone he knows you’ve at least been home in the last forty eight hours. When he reaches up to knock one more time before giving up he hears what sound like locks being undone so he takes a small step back to give you some space once you open the door.

Now Harry swears he’s not one to really believe in the whole love at first sight thing, thinks it’s silly and probably just a really hearty dose of lust getting mixed up with love. But something about the way your eyes almost get a whole shade brighter when they meet his has his knees wanting to give out and his mouth to hang open as he tries to come up with something, anything to say since he is the one who knocked on your door after all. He finally feels a brief moment of clarity when your eyes break away from his and travel down to the box in his hands.

“Uh hi Harry what-what are you doing here?” He hates how unsure of yourself you are as you cross your arms over your middle as you stand in front of him in a pair of bike shorts and a pink and purple tye dye shirt. He knows it’s his fault that you don’t know how to act around him, he’s the one who can’t seem to get it together around you but that’s also the whole reason he’s here.

“I got these for you.” You look down at his hands as he holds the box out for you and that’s when you get a good look at the picture and label on it, it’s a dish ware set that looks like the ones he broke when he dropped your box. “Sorry if they aren’t the exact same as the ones you had I looked everywhere for-”

“You didn’t have to do that.” Harry feels the corners of his mouth fall a bit at your words, he absolutely did have to do this because he’s the reason you don’t have plates and bowls but he knows you’re just trying to be nice per usual.

“We both know it’s the least I could do.” He counters making you just rub your lips together as you take the box from him.

“But you didn’t do anything right? Nothing happened?” You repeat the same words he snapped at you with when you confronted him after you watched him drop your box, but to his surprise there’s a smile on your face as if you’re teasing him.

“You know that’s the uhm-only box I’ve ever dropped.” He admits with warm cheeks making you quirk a brow at him as if you don’t believe him. “Really out of all the moves I’ve done over the years your box of dishes is the only casualty I’ve ever had. I had a perfect track record.” He explains making you let out a light chuckle as you shake your head.

“Sorry I ruined that for you.” You apologize as you look down at his feet that are once again covered by his scuffed brown boots.

“You didn’t ruin anything.” It’s the way he says it that has you swallowing nervously as you dare to look up at him and you almost have to take a step back at the intensity of his stare. “I’m sor-”

“It’s okay.” You don’t want to hear him apologize right now because you’re not sure you’d be able to keep yourself together if he does it while he continues to look at you as if you hung the moon and all the stars. Harry just runs a hand through his hair as he nods his head but he doesn’t turn to leave like you assumed he would, instead he takes a small step towards you and reaches out to gently tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I uhm-sorry I just you had-a hair.” He stumbles over his words as if his tongue doesn’t know how to help him form proper sentences. Meanwhile the spot on your cheek his knuckles lightly skimmed when he brushed the hair behind your ear feels as if it was stung by a bee but without the pain, leaving behind a warmth and slight tingling feeling.

“Are you okay?” Harry asks a few moments later when concern replaces his earlier embarrassment, he bends his knees a bit so he’s eye level with you as you stare off into space with wide eyes and pink cheeks. You don’t know how to answer him, because inside you feel all warm and tingly but your mind is cloudy as if it’s stuck in a fog and can’t find its way out leaving you unable to do much besides just stand there staring at him.

“Uh-uhm I think-” Before you can finish your sentence Harry is grabbing the box just before it hits the ground having slipped out of your hands in your dazed state. “Thank-thank y-you.” Normally Harry would be flattered at someone getting so tongue tied around him but in this moment all he’s feeling is worried as he looks you over and realizes something isn’t quite right.

“Let’s get you off your feet okay? You look like you’re about to pass out on me.” Harry takes your small nod as his permission to softly put his free hand that’s not holding your box of plates on your shoulder so he can quickly maneuver around you and walk into your apartment. He rushes over and places the box on your counter, only briefly catching a glimpse of the flowers he left for you sitting near your sink in a vase before he’s back at the door standing behind you.

“Sorry it’s uhm just me.” He whispers when you flinch at his touch as he places his hands on both your shoulders so he can help you turn around so you’re now facing inside your apartment with him close behind you. “Let’s go to the couch okay love?” He suggests before he takes a step so he’s now by your side and kicking your front door closed with his foot, his eyes don’t leave your face as he drops his hands from your shoulders so he can wrap an arm around your middle so he can help you walk since he can tell your legs seem a bit wobbly.

You feel like you’re floating as Harry practically drags you to your couch, a trail of warmth and tingles left everywhere his hand touches you in the process. Right now it’s your hip he has a firm grip on and it’s sending the tingling sensation right down to your knee almost making you take Harry and yourself out but luckily he manages to get you to the couch before that happens. Your heart is beating so fast you think it’s going to explode as Harry sits on the edge of your coffee table right in front of you so he can get a good look at you.

“Are you okay? Do you need-”

“Why-why’d you get me-me the flowers?” Your words are rushed and jumbled but Harry understands you because you watch him turn and look towards your kitchen where they are sitting on your counter.

“I just want to fix what I broke.” He answers when he turns back to look at you, he wishes so badly he could have an inside look at what’s going on in your mind because the way you’re staring at him has him thinking you’re about three seconds away from kicking him out or you’re about to start crying and in this moment he’s not sure how well he’d handle either option.

“They remind me of sunshine.” You whisper as you place a hand on your chest and try to help clam yourself down a bit. Harry feels a grin take over his face as you tell him the exact reason why he picked that arrangement in the first place.

“They reminded me of you.”

“Sunshine?”

“Yeah.”

“What does that mean?” You question making Harry let out a deep breath as he tries to ready himself to explain evening to you.

“From the moment you opened your apartment door I haven’t been able to get you out of my head and a massive reason for that is because you smell just like sunshine and flowers and-”

“It’s called sun washed citrus.” You correct him making him quirk a brow. “It’s my body wash. It’s called sun washed citrus not sunshine and flowers.” Your words are less mumbled as you begin to gain a little bit more control of yourself. Harry chuckles and nods as you blink at him a few times and he’s honestly not even sure you’re really understanding what he’s saying but that doesn’t stop him from continuing on.

“I was mean to you and I’m sorry. I swear I’m never like that-I’m a nice guy but I think I just knew you were too good or too nice for me from the first time you smiled at me.” You watch him slowly place a hand on your knee and you feel grateful that you’re already sitting down because it sends a tingling jolt down to your toes. “I didn’t want to hurt your feelings or make you upset and I’m sorry that’s all I’ve seemed to do but I think I realized the real reason I just can’t get my shit-”

“Stuff.” You interject making him laugh as he gives your knee a little squeeze.

“Sorry. I know why I can’t get my stuff together around you and it’s because I uhm-well I uh I really like you and it’s got me all messed up.” Harry tries to focus on how much lighter he feels after admitting he likes you, as if the weight that’s been holding him down ever since his party has been lifted off his chest. But he also can’t stop himself from trying to get a sense of how you’re feeling about the words he just let slip out, and right now he really can’t tell because you’re just staring at him with big eyes and a blank expression on your face.

It’s not until Harry removes his hand that’s on your knee so he can use it to run through his hair that you begin to feel the fog lifting from your mind allowing you to think more clearly. You try to register everything he just said to you, the fact he likes you and how he really seems to enjoy how you smell but you can’t make sense of how his feelings for you had him acting like a complete jerk. So with a clear head and a full control of your limbs you push off the couch making Harry quickly stand up and hold his hands out for you to grab just incase your knees give out of your legs feel wobbly still.

“I don’t think you really like me Harry.” Of all the things Harry was prepared to hear you say that sentence wasn’t on the list. He gets a sinking feeling in his gut as he watches you look down at the floor. “You don’t treat the people you like the way you treated me. Thank you for the flowers and the plates that was very nice and-”

“I’m sorry I’m-I’m so sorry for everything I did and said to you I never wanted to hurt you I just-”

“But you did.” When you look up from the floor Harry feels like he’s been punched in the gut, your eyes are glossy and the very tip of your nose is turning a light shade of pink as you sniffle a few times. “I know you’re sorry and I do forgive you for everything but I don’t think you did all of that because of how much you like me. We aren’t in junior high anymore Harry we aren’t mean to the people we have crushes on.” Your words hit him right in the chest as you move away from him and towards your kitchen.

“I’ve seen glimpses of the nice guy you say you usually are but then you just turn right back into this jerk and I’ve already dated a guy who treated me like dirt and it didn’t end well so I’m-I’m ending this before it even starts to save us both the trouble because you’ll just get bored with me while I’ll probably fall in love with you and it’s not fair so you-you should just go.” You cross your arms over your chest and let out a shaky breath as you try your hardest to keep yourself held together, but Harry can see very clearly that you’re moments away from a breakdown and he hates knowing that it’s because of him and the way he’s made you think he’s exactly like your shitty ex boyfriend.

“I swear I’m nothing like him.” He tries to get you to look at him as he takes a step towards you but you just shake your head and take a step backwards until your back is hitting the edge of the counter.

“Then why do you act so much like him?” Harry feels like the wind just got knocked out of him as you stare at him right in the eyes and break his heart piece by piece with every word that comes out of your mouth. He doesn’t try to argue with you because there’s nothing to argue about, you’re right he’s been acting exactly like your ex he just didn’t realize it until now.

“Can I try to explain why I’ve been acting that way? I know it doesn’t make sense right now but I swear there’s just something about you that has me-”

“Please just go Harry I can’t-can’t do this right now.” Your voice is low and watery making Harry feel sick to his stomach at the thought of you shedding even a single tear because of him but he can’t do anything about it since you no longer want him in your space. He lowers his head and lets out a long sigh before he starts to head for your front door.

“I know you felt it.” You turn your head and find Harry already looking at you from where he’s standing by your front door. “I don’t know what it felt like to you but I know you felt something when I touched you and that’s why you looked like you could pass out. So I know you at least feel something for me.” You feel your heart sink to your stomach as he runs a hand over his face to try to distract from the sound of his own sniffles. “If you ever change your mind and want to maybe start over you know where to find me.” With that Harry opens your front door and steps out into the hallway, quietly closing it behind him leaving you alone in your apartment with nothing but your thoughts.

Harry does his best to hold himself together until he makes it to his apartment, only letting out a few shaky breaths and some sniffles in the elevator. When he finally closes his apartment door he can’t hold back anymore as he sinks to the floor with his back up against it. He brings his hands up to his face as he lets out the first of many tears he knows are coming, he swears he’s had his heart broken before but the feeling he has now is as if someone reached inside of him and ripped the entire organ out of his body and replaced it with a black hole. He didn’t see it ending like this with you especially since it ended before it even began, he didn’t imagine for a moment that you’d want nothing to do with him but he can’t blame you because he brought all of this upon himself with how he treated you.

“God I’m a fucking idiot.” He mumbles between sobs as he thinks back to how he really thought some flowers and plates would magically fix everything and have you jump into his arms and want to be with him the same way he wants to be with you. In a moment of pure selfishness he allows himself to cling to the small shred of hope that maybe in time you’ll want to start over with him, you’ll let him show you the man he really is and the story of the two of you can get the happy ending he so desperately wants. So even though he knows it’s probably just going to end up hurting him, he lets a tiny smile form on his face as he tells himself that you just need time and then you’ll come around because you felt it, you felt the zap just like he did and that has to mean something.

116 notes · View notes

ranikyani · 2 days ago

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Ok, listen… I waited until I finished the main parts so I wouldn’t blow up your notifs. So here we go.. This.. right here… ughh

I freaking LOVE this couple they are sooo sweet and lowkey messy and nasty and in loveee. Imma save some of my questions until I finish the snapshots cause maybe it’s been revealed already cause why tf did he disappear for 10 years when he had a love like this waiting for him!? Niggas are stupid.

I love your writing style and how I feel like I’m getting to know them as individuals outside of them being a couple. Here is a flower. Mwah 💋

Just some of my favorite moments so far:

“I know what I need.” he exaggerated his mimicry for maximum effect. “You see how that was childish?”

“"Terry," she spoke, slow and measured to keep the peace. "Take the other half of this list and get out of my face. Don't come back until you find everything. I'll meet you at the register."

Terry ignoring that lady in the grocery store took me tf outttttt. Cause why he never said nothing!? 😭 Treecey had it fr she really ain’t need no help but to not engage at all is funny as fuck to me. This how I imaged Terry when Treece respectfully ate that lady up.

“What’s this?” *knows exactly what it is and proceeds to turn on her pink vibrator* Cause Terry why tf would you do thatttt. I woulda been so mf sick...

He made up for it tho & The support she gave him during the trial was soo wholesome (btw this might be the only fic I read so far where Summer ain’t getting draggedddddd 🤭) the “Fuck ‘em” made my heart melt

“Put me to work. Tell me what you need,” he whispered, breathless as blood began to rush south from the slight pain of Patrice’s fingernails digging into his shoulder blades. “You. Fold me, bend me, flip me, I don’t care. I just need you.”

I am so overjoyed that I still have so much more of this couple to catch up on… read the Bonus and they already 2 kids in so I need to rewind. But anyway you are such a gift and you bring such light into the room. Thank you. I appreciate you. 🩵

Stay A While (BONUS)

Summary: A peak into the future.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC

Word Count: 1,865

Warnings: None. Fun fluff!

A/N: Sorry, y'all. I had some more left in the tank.

Chapters: One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

As a bright sun began to set over the Fayetteville horizon to transform the bright cerulean sky to one glowing with orange and purple hues, 22 young men huddled at the 50-yard line of Francis High School’s freshly lined football field. The wind lightly blew around them for a welcomed cool breeze while they ran through yet another play before their first playoff game of the season.

“Defense, we in man coverage. Offense, run a Go. We need to tighten up this late-game execution. How you gon’ react under pressure? Show me somethin’ boys!”

While the head coach rattled off instructions to the team, Terry stood nearby with his arms folded and eyes intently focused on the two wide receivers occupying the field. Cam and CT Wilson were tall and lean twin boys who reminded him of how he looked by senior year except they were sophomores with room to grow. He told them on day one that they were physical specimens with unreal speed and high IQ made for a few semesters at Clemson if they could focus through the head-spinning four years that made up their high school experience. He promised their father that he’d be there to guide them through it all save for a few months during Spring practices.

“Cam, you goin’ inside on this one. You remember the count,” he hollered out from the sideline.

“Locked in!”

Terry answered with a thumbs up and adjusted his stance for optimal comfort. The child-sized weight on his shoulders was starting to get heavy but he knew the tongue-lashing that awaited him if he dared to make a false move.

“He goes too slow. Make him count fast so he won’t drop, Daddy.”

The small voice from above made him look up for confirmation to find her already looking down at him with a scrunched nose and missing teeth that resembled her mother when she was that age.

“You sure?”

“Just watch.”

Together, they watched the play unfold. Terry counted along in his head to time when the ball should leave the quarterback’s hand in comparison to where Cameron should’ve been on the field. Sure enough, he was a step slow causing the quarterback to throw the ball slightly ahead of him for a bobbled pass.

“Hm,” he grunted more to himself than anyone else. “I’ll be damned. Aye, Cam, come here for a second!”

Above him, perched on her throne, Nyla Naomi Richmond rested a smart tablet on her father’s head to watch film from the previous game like she always did. Her mahogany skin was shiny under the bright white LED lights illuminating the field from her mother’s overzealous lotioning before they left home. Per her request, Terry had braided half of her hair back to give way to a collection of moisturized zigzag coils for first-grade picture day. Glasses rested at the tip of her nose with a bright yellow strap to keep them attached to her face. She kept her attention focused on the tablet’s screen, even as Cam jogged toward her and her father on the sideline.

“Yeah, Coach? I do something wrong.”

“Too slow,” Nyla answered without looking up. “Speed up. You’re like a turtle out there. We gotta win, man!”

Terry and Cameron chuckled together as Terry tapped the top of Cam’s helmet.

“A little quicker on the count, man. If you get there when you’re supposed to, that’s a catch all day. Make ‘em beat you. Don’t beat yourself.”

“Type shit. I got you, Coach.”

“Hey! Don’t say bad words.”

“My fault, Coach Ny. Can I do my pushups later?”

“Yeah yeah yeah.”

Cam laughed at her dismissal before accepting a fist bump from Terry and rejoining the field. Terry couldn’t contain his smile as he reached up to tickle his firstborn's sides for that high-pitched giggle he loved so much.

“Be nice, MiMi. Remember the rule?” He craned his neck to look up at her for the lesson he’d been struggling to get through her head since she began joining practice.

She sighed dramatically and frowned. “Be hard on the work, not the person. I know, I know.”

“Be better next time, champ. We’re here to help, not hurt.”

“Yes sir.”

“Yes sir,” he repeated to mock her childish grumble. “You’re so mean like your mama. Gimme a kiss.”

Like she always did, Nyla lifted her daddy’s cap to kiss the crown of his head before placing the hat backward atop her own head.

From the day she first showed herself in a routine sonogram, Terry knew she’d be a firecracker. She refused to show her face to him and Patrice. She carefully concealed her features during an expensive 3D scan and almost hid her gender had they not caught her during an in-utero nap.

She came into the world kicking and screaming at a long 24 inches and a head clean as a whistle just like her pops. With Patrice, she was the perfect baby. She slept all night, cooed and babbled when spoken to, and grew into a little girl who loved to cuddle into her mommy while they watched Pixar movies on the weekends. With Terry, she was a hell-raiser. Loud and rambunctious with a love for NFL games on Sunday afternoons and playful wrestling on the living room rug.

Their smart girl had her hand in everything imaginable and, when they’d listen to other parents complain about the difficulty of raising young ones during playdates and birthday parties, they always came away feeling like they’d lucked out with Nyla.

Across the way, Patrice stepped onto the newly refinished running track with the cheerleading team for warm-ups. Under her school t-shirt, her belly protruded enough to tell anyone looking hard enough that she was expecting. Behind her, she pulled a cooler meant to supply the football team with cold water and snacks for the next day.

“Mrs. Richmond, you want me to help you? You always be actin’ like you Superwoman or somethin’.” her captain called out from behind her, jogging to catch up with Patrice’s long stride.

Patrice waved her off. “Nuh-uh. Y’all start stretching. I need to drop this off personally.”

“Uh-huh. You going to your little boyfriend. Being fast!”

“I learned from you, Z.”

“Not you in my business!”

Patrice’s loud laughter created an echo in the stadium, becoming a bat signal for Terry and Nyla’s attention.

“Hey, Mommy!”

Nyla rushed to hop off Terry’s shoulders like he was a jungle gym, unconcerned with any harm she inflicted with her long legs as she shimmied down his body. He winced in pain until she was safely on the ground before lightly trotting behind her to greet his wife.

Seven years of marriage hadn’t changed much of their love. They’d navigated the growing pains of newlywed life and parenthood to come out stronger on the other side. So much stronger that they’d neglected to follow through on contraceptives to keep their family of three from growing to a family of four. Their parents called a second pregnancy a blessing. And though they mostly felt the same, they also knew that baby number two was the result of too much booze and ignoring the cycle tracker during a kid-free night in Charlotte.

Patrice braced herself for impact once Nyla got closer and wrapped her body around her legs.

“Hey, baby,” she greeted, rubbing circles at the center of her back. “You look so pretty. Did you finish your homework?”

“Mhm! I got 100 on my math test, too!”

“Alriiight! That’s my smart bestie. Now you gotta pick a place for dinner this weekend.”

“Can we get piz-”

“A place that is not buffet pizza again. Pick something else.” Terry interjected, making Nyla groan. Dad’s word was final whether she liked it or not. His eyes flickered to Patrice’s still for extra confirmation. Mom’s word was final final.

She offered a small smile while zhushing the back of Nyla’s hair. “Try something new, Naomi. Maybe chicken tenders this time?”

Nyla accepted her parents’ redirection with another dramatic sigh that made Terry and Patrice stifle laughter.

“I know, mama. It’s so hard being six years old. We can write a book about it tonight when we get home so you can help your little sister or brother when they get here.”

“I hope it’s a girl. Boys are boring.”

Neither of them could muster a response before Nyla abandoned them to supervise the cheerleaders as they started to run through cheers.

They waited in silence until she was out of earshot to face each other with equally broad smiles.

Terry spoke up first as he reached down to take the cooler’s handle from Patrice’s hand.

“Didn’t I tell you from the jump she’d be a second you?”

“Oh no, she’s a second DeeDee. She might have my mom’s middle name but she is your mama through and through.”

“Touché.” Terry chuckled. That’s why the duo got along so well. They were twin flames in more ways than one.

A lull in the conversation made Patrice subconsciously bring her hand up to her stomach for a soft rub. Terry looked on with a fond smile, proud of the way her wedding ring reflected the light back into the night sky like a star on the ground.

He pushed the cooler to the side and grabbed her free hand to pull her into a side hug. He kissed her temple several times over, making Patrice giggle like a schoolgirl at the sensation.

“We make a cute kid, don’t we?”

Patrice hummed and closed her eyes for a brief second to feel the full press of his chest on her body and his arms squeezing a little tighter than before. “So cute. She talks too much, but that’s okay.”

“Wonder where she gets that from?”

“Her damn daddy.”

The vibration from Terry’s deep baritone encased in laughter tingled against Patrice’s arm to cover her in warmth from head to toe. A whistle and call of his name from the field snapped both of them from their semi-private moment, making them reluctantly pull away.

Terry leaned down to kiss the corner of her lips as a parting gift before slyly sneaking the tip of his tongue into her mouth. She playfully pushed him to save them from the embarrassment of taking it too far in public.

“C’mon, MiMi, we not done yet.” Patrice watched Nylah quickly ditch her squad to meet her daddy’s outstretched arms for him to place her back on his shoulders and rejoin the team. He called back over his shoulder for her attention. “I love you, baby! Go get off your feet!”

“Sit down, Mommy!”

“Yeah, sit down, Mrs. Richmond!”

Patrice wore a semi-serious scowl on her face and threw her hands up to stop the barrage of demands.

“Woah, woah, woah! I am grown,” she hollered back to everyone in the area. She began the slow journey toward her team and clapped her hands. “Just for that, let me see that Hot To Go routine. If you mess up, you owe me a lap.”

A collection of teenage girl groans made Patrice crack a smile.

Maybe Terry was right.

---

TAGS: @planetblaque @wvsspoppin @thatone-girly @avoidthings @slutsareteacherstoo @eilujion @amyhennessyhouse @yaachtynoboat711 @jenlovey @pinkpantheris @blowmymbackout @onherereading @hrlzy @becauseimswagman1 @thiccc-c @urfavblackbimbo @blackburnbook @ashanti-notthesinger @xo-goldengirl

247 notes · View notes

namgyunation · 22 hours ago

Note

Hi, absolutely love your writing style and that you not oversimplify characters.

You wrote before, that Nam-gyu and y/n (I’m not sure if she is even y/n) are fighting fiery and a lot. Could you write about one of those scandals and the behavior of both after it.

It can be your headcanons or a full drabble, you choose. Though I’d love to see replicas of both during the argument and afterwards.

Once again, love your works 💋

addicted to the drama

— pairing: nam-gyu x f!reader — summary: a relationship with someone like nam-gyu isn't easy, or peaceful. far from it, but you're in this shit for the long haul. OR; three fights with nam-gyu and three ways it gets 'resolved.' — warnings: suggestive moments, a littleeeee gross, he's especially gross in the second fight i'm sorry :(, mentions of sex but no crazy explicit smut, 18+, the girls are fightinggg, there's a little fluff in here, nam-gyu is veryyy not nice in the third fight and uses rather mean language, drug use, not proof-read! — word count: 11.3k — a/n: hiiiiii thank you so so much for the request and the kind words omg (seriouslyyy thank you :*)) <333 this is my first time ever doing one, so i hope i didn't stray too far from what you wanted, haha. i think nam-gyu is definitely a petty little shit when it comes to arguments with his s/o and definitely more than a little emotionally constipated. i went ahead and included 3 different fights, all with varying levels of seriousness lolol. i'm sorry it took so long, i got a little carried away LMAO. there's a bunch of my headcanons sprinkled in here ofc, but maybe i'll make a separate headcanons only post in the future TToTT I hope you like it!!! <3

In a bad mood, baby, come work me out.

You don't ask for much. You don't think you do, at least.

A tidy space meant a tidy mind meant a tidy life. It doesn't seem that hard of a concept to grasp. To you.

Nam-gyu's shoes are strewn lazily across the floor in front of you, shoe prints outlined and punctuated by a wetness that traced their path from start to finish. Rain water pools beneath the soles, dripping like a damn crime scene. You let out a deep sigh, swallowing your anger as you hung your jacket on the rack.

Your eyes flick over the apartment, taking a mental note of every offense and sorting them in the framework of your mind as you built your case. A discarded glass of iced tea on the island, half sipped, then forgotten. A stray sock on the floor, far from its home in the laundry bin overflowing with Nam-gyu's unfolded clothes. A cup of ramen with the chopsticks still in it. You step forward, grabbing a box of snacks on the coffee table. It was too light, nothing but cardboard and air as you shook it. Empty. You slam it into the recycling bin with more effort than necessary.

Your anger simmers, about ready to spill over as you push past the door to your bedroom. He's exactly where you knew he'd be, splayed out lazily across the bed in shorts and a loose shirt, one hand pillowing his head while the other gripped his phone.

"Nam-gyu."

He hums in vague acknowledgment, eyes still trained on his phone. You swipe at it, knocking it out of his hand, watching his face bloom with a mix of confusion and anger as it tumbles onto his chest, narrowly missing his face.

He curls his lip. "The hell is your problem?"

"Your shoes."

"My shoes," he responds flatly.

You suck in a breath. "In the middle of the floor. Dripping."

He rolls his eyes at you and puncutates it with a scoff. "My god. You're so dramatic."

You throw your arms out. "Is it that hard to wipe them and put them on the rack?"

"Yeah, yeah," he says. Dismissal. "I'll do it later, relax."

"You will not do it later."

He exhales, a hand dragging down his face like you're the one exhausting him. "Shit, you're so uptight sometimes. It's just a little mess."

You scoff. "A little mess that you leave sitting there for days!"

He grunts, the only sign that he heard you, before turning over onto his side to unlock his phone again.

Your eye twitches.

Fine.

The next morning, you don't put your makeup away after getting ready for work. Your cups populate the apartment, gathering on every surface like a small village. Your jackets find homes on the couch, the floor, the backs of the few chairs you two had. A stray sock joins his on the ground. Then a shirt. A pair of underwear. Fuck it. You add another sock for good measure.

It only takes two days for Nam-gyu to break. He catches you on the way to the bathroom, his hand digging into your waist as he whips you around, interrupting your plans to continue building the ongoing crime scene of makeup in the sink.

"Cut it the fuck out."

You smile. "I don't know what you mean."

He narrows his eyes, jaw clenching. "Oh my god, you're insane. I get it, okay? Fuck." His hand goes up to rub at his temples for a moment before dragging slowly down his face in defeat.

He points past you at the bathroom sink surrounded in puffs of eyeshadow and smears of foundation. "Deal with... that. I'll get the rest of it."

You stand there, biting back a smile as he lets out an exasperated sigh, pushing up his sleeves and tucking his bangs behind his ears before leaning down to tackle the mess—half you and half him. You're about to tease him when his eyes zero in on something on the ground. He picks it up with a smirk, holding it up in the air in front of you. It's your underwear.

"Honestly?" He looks away from you for a moment, his eyes dragging over it for too long, as if inspecting every twist of the lace. "I don't really mind if you keep leaving these around." He raises his eyebrows at you as a grin stretches across his face. You roll your eyes with a disgusted scoff, but you don't care, not really.

He opens his mouth to say something more, but you're already shutting the bathroom door behind you with a click.

You lean against the sink, hands gripping the cool marble as you let out a sigh of relief. Victory.

---

The next time you fight, it's under the pretense of something fun. You'd complained about how little time the two of you had spent together in the past week. Every time you were home, he was at work. Every time he was home, you were at work— or too exhausted from said work to do anything.

So he proposed a compromise. A night out together at the nightclub, he'd said. A nice way to spend time with each other even when he was on the clock. Like 'take your kid to work' day, except the 'kid' was his annoyed girlfriend. And the 'work' was a shady nightclub filled with too many loud, intoxicated people. And the 'day' was actually a night choking on smoke and sweat and too much noise that stretched way too long, like a guest overstaying their welcome.

You lean against Nam-gyu, staring out into the crowd of people as he tangles in conversation with another one of the club's regular VIPs. You found your head spinning from the revolving door of people that he'd spoken to all night. You wonder how someone as naturally introverted and—rough as him could stand this job.

You listen in, attention flitting in and out as they spoke. He says something so out of character that it catches you off guard. You let out an amused puff of air. He's too animated, too bubbly, too eager to please people that barely know his name. For what it was worth, he was certainly one hell of an actor. Anything to get the guests—and the drugs—coming over and over again, you suppose.

It's not long before you feel his warmth inch away from your body. An alarm. You look up, and his hands are already on your shoulders, rubbing quickly up and down in a way that signals 'hey, I'm about to do something that you probably don't want me to do, but I'm gonna do it anyways'. Your mouth is already opening to complain, but he beats you to it.

"I'm gonna step out for a second, okay?" He's not looking at you. He leans in closer, voice dropping to a whisper. "This guy is offering me some good shit. Gotta take it. He's real important."

He brushes the ghost of a kiss to the back of your head, no doubt an attempt to placate your already building annoyance, but it barely registers. His hands pick up speed on your shoulders, rubbing the last bit of warmth into you before he's pulling away, smiling with enthusiasm as he leaves to pump more chemicals into his body.

You let your head tip back as your eyes shut. Nam-gyu never ceases to amaze you with just how many bad decisions he can make in one night. The air around you hums with music, closing in on your little spot by the bar. You drum your fingers against the counter, trying and failing to convince yourself that you're having fun.

You're about to stand—go outside to get some air maybe—when someone slips into the seat behind you, filling Nam-gyu's spot.

"Hey."

You startle a bit, not expecting the sudden conversation.

It's a man dressed in all black, a silver chain glinting against his collarbone. He smells like smoke and beer. Based on his attire, it's not hard to deduce that this is one of Nam-gyu's coworkers, another promoter, you were sure.

You nod at him politely, not really sure what to expect but not wanting to be rude, either. It'd be best not to cause problems with anyone working alongside your boyfriend, you figure. "Hello."

He's nice enough, asking you about how your night was going, what other clubs you'd been to, what kind of drinks you like.

Your face softens into a smile as the conversation continues, your initial suspicion simmering down and settling into something resembling ease as you realize he's just another guy on the clock doing his job: promoting the club.

He leans over, taking his phone out to show you something, and that's when you notice just how close he'd gotten to you since he sat down. You inch away slightly but still listen politely as he pitches one of the club's themed parties.

You nod your head with a vague interest as he scrolls through his photo gallery. Although you were never much into clubbing, you could admit that some of the events looked kind of cool. As he continues going through the photos, one in particular—a Valentine's night—catches your eye. You lean in, and your shoulders brush at the movement.

"That one's cute," you say, pointing at it as you take in the background details. Pink strobe lights, heart balloons, and rose bouquets. A small smile tugs at your lips as you imagine Nam-gyu in his work outfit, his sleeves rolled up and hair tucked behind his ears, knee-deep in a pile of cutesy, pink decorations. The thought brought some color to your cheeks. You'd have to bring it up to him later. Maybe that would be a more fun night for you to attend with him.

Unbeknowst to you, the man beside you was in the middle of taking your statement the completely wrong way. He raises his eyebrows, studying the pink dusting your cheeks and the way your face focused in on his phone screen. He scoots even closer, testing. When you don't react, he reaches out an arm, slowly draping over you as his hand finds its way to your shoulder. His grip on you is light, not forceful, not trapping, but you still stiffen at the contact.

"You think so?" he says, a smirk on his face. He ducks down so he's eye level with you. Too close. "Hey, if you promise me you'll go to our next one, I'm sure I can get you a discount," he brings his phone up again, tapping quickly until he's at the 'contacts' screen, "here, let me get your number so you can—"

You shrink back sheepishly, realizing that you have to nip this interaction in the bud. He looks at you, confusion written across his face, but he lets his arm fall to his side.

"Uh, sorry—do you know Nam-gyu?" you ask, thinking it was as good a time as any to bring him up.

He raises his eyebrows at the sudden shift in topic. "Nam-gyu...? Yeah. I work with him." A flash of recognition. His eyes widen. "Oh. Shit—are you the girl he came in with?"

You nod, a polite smile returning to your face as the man immediately retracts from you, an apologetic look on his face.

You open your mouth to speak, "Yeah, he's my—" Boyfriend, you try to say, but you're cut off by a rush of hands looping at your waist, tugging you backwards into a tight hold.

The familiar rumble of Nam-gyu's voice fills your ears as he leans over you. You twist around, looking up to see his face, both startled and relieved at his sudden entrance. He's staring down at you lazily through half-lidded eyes, and you can see how blown out his pupils are, even in the dim light. You barely have time to react or make a snarky comment before he's pressing his lips to yours, earning a small noise of surprise.

The kiss is welcome until a hand drifts to your chin, tilting you upwards, deeper, drifting into something that felt a little too intimate to be doing in a public space.

Remembering your audience, you pull away, a gentle hand on his chest acting as a barrier between the two of you. His coworker is looking at the two of you, his expression both sheepish and embarrassed, like he was intruding on something he shouldn't be— and honestly, he kind of was, what with the way Nam-gyu was glowering at him.

He stands up, giving Nam-gyu an apologetic nod as he clears his throat, hands flying to his pockets as he prepares to leave.

Nam-gyu smiles, nodding curtly back at him, but you know him well enough to recognize the tension in his jaw, the ingenuity in his smile. "Hey, man."

"Hey." He looks off to the side and then back again. "My bad, man. I didn't know she—"

"I think I can handle this one from here," Nam-gyu says, cutting him off with a barely disguised edge in his voice. There's a squeeze at your waist, a hand on your shoulder. "You can go find some other chicks to bother, right?" He cocks his head to crowd of people gathered in the center of the club, a small, mocking laugh leaving his lips. "I'm sure one of them will fuck you."

You recoil at his tone—and his gross implication, hand going up to lightly smack at his chest. You wonder if the drugs were cutting off the circulation to his brain.

"Nam-gyu!" you hiss, but he doesn't look at you.

His coworker curls his lip, eyes narrowing. "Jesus, dude. I said my bad. I didn't realize she was with you, alright?" He shook his head, turning around and promptly removing himself from the situation. He shot one last look at the two of you over his shoulder, returning the glare that Nam-gyu was still giving him.

Once his back fully disappears into the crowd, you stand up, knocking Nam-gyu's hands off of you as you fix him with a stare.

"What the hell was that?" you deadpan, arms crossing. "He literally said he was sorry."

"'What the hell was that?'" he mocks, his voice climbing a few octaves to match yours. He snorts, ignoring the frustration coloring your face. "I could ask you the same damn thing." He leans down, a hand drifting to the nape of your neck as he crowds into your personal space. "So. What were you two talking about? You seemed real interested." His tone dips low into something icy, accusatory.

You scoff at him, explaining how the conversation was friendly, how he was unaware of your status as a couple, how he instantly backed off at the first sign that you were uncomfortable—

But Nam-gyu ignores you, his hands travelling over your body until they find a home at your shoulders. He spins you around, and you let him, exhaustion hitting you as you realize that your statements were going in one ear and out the other. He rubs at your arms yet again as he pushes you forward, making you walk with him as he leads you to one of the side rooms—a VIP room, you come to realize.

"C'mon," he says, voice thick with whatever drug he'd just taken, "got s'more guests to entertain in here, and you get to come with me."

You roll your eyes. "Yayyy." You continue to count down the minutes left in his shift, but something told you that he was in the mood to clock in some over time.

The lounge is nice, spacious. It's at least a bit quieter than it is out in the main area, a perk you're somewhat thankful for as you adjust yourself on the couch. The guy from earlier is there too. You'd nodded at him when the two of you entered, small and polite and slightly apologetic. He ignored you, presumably for his own sake. You don't blame him.

The night continues, and you're silent, not really wanting to get in the way or be dragged into the conversation. You lean closer to Nam-gyu, craving his contact despite how annoying he's been. It wasn't exactly easy for you to relax in a room full of supposedly 'very important people' that you didn't know, all smiles and raucous laughter as they smoked and drank and huffed whatever came their way.

You were never the biggest fan of the world your boyfriend operated in, surrounded by substances and fast people with fast money that seemed to move quicker than their minds could make decisions, but it's what you signed up for when you got into a relationship with him, after all.

He's chatting it up with a particularly loud, and—unique-looking guy to his left, two girls practically melted into him at both sides. Goes by 'Thanos', you come to find out. A famous rapper with a lot of status and—from how he was speaking—a whole lot of money. His purple hair draws your attention, making his presence impossible to ignore in the confined space, that and his peculiar way of speaking, puncutated by random bursts of english.

You carefully snake a hand around Nam-gyu's arm, wanting to be closer but not wanting to interrupt. He gives you a small glance before brushing you off, you shoot him a look but then his arm is looping around your waist, pulling you into his side. He adjusts your legs so they're draped over his lap, and you redden, feeling like it was the slightest bit too much.

The others at the table didn't seem to mind, though, too caught up in their own conversations to care about your inner turmoil.

You slowly relax as he returns to his conversation. His hands are warm against you, one resting gently at the small of your back, the other rubbing light circles into the exposed skin of your leg. Nam-gyu was a touchy guy, something that you'd gotten used to in your time together. Always a hand at your shoulder, fingers ghosting against your hip, an arm slung lazily across your lap. Nothing too out of the ordinary.

It was fine at first, a comfort amidst the torturously long shift. His touches were soft, subtle, light, a welcome feeling.

Then, it escalates. He laughs at a particularly stupid joke from Thanos, too loud, too eager. It sounds fake. Whether it was due to the drugs or his desire to get into Thanos' good graces, you weren't sure. Either way, you don't have time to dwell on it before he's pulling you again, closer, until you're on his lap, his arms locking against your middle.

This, you conclude, was most definitely too much. You're quiet for a few moments as Nam-gyu's laughter winds down and Thanos turns to accept a joint from one of his lady-friends, a momentary calm falling over the room with the distraction.

You take the gap in conversation as an opportunity, fidgeting in your spot as you try to inch off of his lap. "Nam-gyu, can I get down?" you whisper.

He looks at you, his eyes blank as a playful smile creeps onto his face, but there's a tinge of something else there.

"What?" He lets out a breathy laugh, raising his eyebrows. His fingers ghost over your waist, your ribs, the slope of your neck. Then, he's tucking a fallen strand of hair behind your ears, smiling at you like a lovesick fool. You balk at the attention. He wets his lips before biting down on them. Eyeing you with a sudden razor-sharp focus. His voice comes out even, "You bored of me all of a sudden?"

You stare at him, incredulous. "What is with you right now?" He's not normally like this—touchy, yes, but not this... animated.

Nam-gyu just chews on his cheek, thinking for a moment before ultimately choosing to ignore your question. He pulls you closer until you're flush against his chest, your face burning red with embarrassment as he continues to hold you, his touch skimming dangerously close to indecency. You turn to the side, not wanting to meet anyone's gaze. At least he was warm, a silver lining.

Across the table, Nam-gyu locks eyes with his coworker, a silent battle still simmering in the weight of their stares.

This—his performance—was for everyone to see.

For him to see.

It wasn't even about you anymore. Just Nam-gyu's pride, his desire to win, even when no one else was playing the game.

A small misunderstanding, of which an apology had already been issued, it's fairly easy to let go, but Nam-gyu was never a fan of 'easy'.

The night pushes on, as does he. He whispers things you'd deem not very appropriate for company, much closer than necessary as he breathes against your neck, lips skimming the sensitive skin just beneath your ear. You mumble back a response, his fingers toying with the strap of your dress.

His behavior finally comes to a head a few moments later. Everyone at the table is chilled out, seemingly in a haze, likely from the weed and whatever else was spread out on the table. You wonder if it was finally about time for you to shove Nam-gyu in the car and go home.

Then, his hand is on your chin, guiding you to look up at him and fixing you with a stare that lasts a few beats too long, and then he's leaning down, closer, too close, pressing a kiss to your lips that he tries to deepen. It's dizzying, overwhelming, and entirely unlike him. You quickly break the contact, not giving him the opportunity to up the intensity. Not in front of all these people.

Thanos whistles from his seat, long and drawn out. It makes you want to melt into the couch.

Your face is red as you stand, suddenly aware of all the eyes on you.

"I'm going to the bathroom," you say, voice coming out in a flurry as you turn away from him.

Behind you, he meets eyes with his coworker for the last time that night, a cocky, infuriating smirk on his face.

He picks up the jacket that you'd left on the couch, throwing it over his shoulder before tossing a lazy 'goodbye' over his shoulders as he follows you. The performance was over.

The silence on the car ride home is suffocating, the engine humming beneath the tension. The energy shift is palpable—one second he was all over you, whispering into your ear and raking his fingers over every expanse of exposed skin, and then, nothing.

Nam-gyu had sobered up enough to drive, thankfully, because you were in no mood to do so. He drives with one hand on the steering wheel, his other arm leaning out the window. His posture is lazy, leaning back in his seat with his legs spread out in a way that appears casual, but the way his jaw is set, the tension in his knuckles where he grips the steering wheel, the effort he expends to not meet the stare you're boring into the side of his head—it all betrays him, how he really feels.

His lips are set into a thin, irritated line as he drives. His eyes flick to the radio, and his hand leaves the steering wheel for a moment as he turns it on, upbeat pop music filling the car but doing little to mask the fact that he was simmering, barely keeping his temper in check.

You ran out of patience from waiting for him to speak first. "So. You done being weird now?"

Nothing.

"Nam-gyu."

Still nothing.

You let out a small huff that trails off into a laugh. "Wow. So you can run your mouth all night, but now all of a sudden you're quiet?"

His fingers tighten on the steering wheel at that, his pointer finger twitching as he taps against it, the subtle clinking of his ring against the wheel queueing you in to how close you were to getting a reaction.

You roll your eyes. "You're such a fucking child, sometimes. You know that?"

"Shut up."

Your eyes widen. "Excuse me?"

"I said," he hisses, eyes narrowing as his grip on the wheel tightens, "shut up." There's something in his voice that makes you listen. It's low, firm, clipped in a way that tells you he's barely keeping himself from snapping.

You study him, taking note of the way he bites at his lip, the bob of his adam's apple as he swallows hard, and the way his hand flexes against its resting spot by the window.

You huff, turning to face the window and mirroring his posture.

Fine.

Soon, he's shifting the car into park, but he doesn't move. Doesn't turn off the engine.

Just sits there.

You don't turn around to face him. He doesn't ask you to, either.

The low rumble is the only sound between the two of you.

You didn't want to be the first one out of the car, and clearly, he didn't want to be either. It was like you two were in a standoff—a childish, petty standoff.

The silence is pointed, buzzing under the weight of all the things you weren't saying to each other. He lets out a sharp exhale, and you feel his stare on the back of his head. You refuse to turn around, refuse to give him the satisfaction.

You feel it, the way he's sitting there waiting for you to break the silence, as if this was somehow your fault and it was your responsibility to rectify it—waiting for you to sigh and grab his hand or say something snarky to give him an excuse to argue with you. It doesn't come.

He's the first to break, clearly tired from his shift, not to mention hungry for something to put in his body other than drugs ands cheap beer. He lets out a scoff before finally shifting the key in the ignition, shutting off the comforting thrum of the engine. He throws his door open, slamming it behind him as he fishes the apartment keys out of his pocket, not sparing you a glance as he walks towards the building.

You roll your eyes as you follow him, not like you had much choice.

The apartment is dim when you step inside, the only light coming from the fridge where Nam-gyu is standing, his body haloed in white as he pulls out a few snacks.

You flick on the light, ruining the dramatic environment he was building. You hang up your jacket and kick off your shoes, shutting the door behind you with a click as you fix him with a stare.

He turns, popping a few bites of something in his mouth before he leans against the counter, not meeting your eyes and instead staring at the wall across from him as if it had somehow become the most interesting thing in the world.

You suck in a breath, a mixture of annoyance and exhaustion swirling inside you. In all honesty, you just want to go the fuck to sleep.

"Nam-gyu."

Nothing.

Fuck, you hated this. Hated when he clammed up and backed himself into a corner, turning his nose up at you and forcing you to drag the issue out of him like you were pulling teeth, like he was a damn child. Because why would he ever just tell you what the problem was so you two could talk it out? That'd be way too easy for the both of you.

You drag a hand down your face, pushing past him and moving towards the bedroom, your patience running extremely, extremely thin.

"Jesus, you're exhausting."

His lip twitches at that. "What, running away again?" he says, voice indignant as he steps in front of you, cutting you off.

"Ohhh." You throw your hands up at him, a mocking smirk on your face. "Now you wanna talk."

He closes in on you, so close that you can smell the smoke and chemicals still clinging to his clothes. He looks like he's going to speak, but he doesn't, just presses his lips into a tight, thin line, his expression laced with irritation.

You roll your eyes at the silence. He has no room to talk, and you know it. He knows it too, clear in the way he won't open his mouth.

"If you're gonna throw a temper tantrum every time a guy speaks to me, go ahead. Just leave me out of it." You step back from him, finding your way to the couch. If he wants to act like a dick, fine. Let him.

"I threw a tantrum?" he says, voice laced with something icy as his jaw ticks.

"Yes, Nam-gyu," you say, voice going high as if you were speaking to a child, "a whole fucking scene, actually."

He watches you with silent anger as you fluff up the couch pillows.

You hear a snort behind you. "Oh, sleeping on the couch, huh? Cute."

"Better than sleeping next to you right now."

A beat of silence.

Then— "Fine. Whatever. Do whatever the fuck you want."

He stomps into the bedroom, the door slamming shut behind him.

You stare down at your lap, brows furrowed in anger as you gave yourself a moment to calm down. Then, it dawned on you that you were still in the dress you'd worn to the club with makeup still on your face, the only change of clothes being in the room now occupied by your angry boyfriend.

Dammit. You lay against the couch. It's too lumpy. Too cold, without your thick blanket and Nam-gyu's shared body heat. The dress is tight against your skin.

Still, you lay there for a good ten minutes, refusing to fold.

When your efforts to wait him out prove to be fruitless, you let your eyes flutter shut with a sigh, not wanting to give him the satisfaction but knowing that there was no way you were going to get a good night's sleep out here.

Reluctantly, you get to your feet and shuffle quietly to the bedroom door. You linger there for a moment, steeling yourself.

Behind the door, Nam-gyu is laying in bed, clad in only his boxers as he stares up at the ceiling in the dark, his arms crossed over his chest as he drums his fingers anxiously, angrily, against his skin. His work clothes sat in a crumpled heap by the laundry basket, taken off and dumped in a flurry as he waited for you, refusing to get ready for bed before you cut the act and gave in, like you always did. He knew you'd kill him if you found out he'd laid on the bed with outside clothes.

He reaches over to his phone on the night stand, quickly clicking it on before shutting it off again.

Ten minutes. Fuck. How long were you gonna keep this up for?

His body twitches in reluctant defeat, and he's about to get up, swallow his pride to scoop you up from the couch and drag you into bed so he could get some goddamn sleep—but the sound of the door creaking open saves him. He swallows, body going still against the bed as you step inside.

A wave of relief washes through him, and he exhales like he's been holding his breath since the two of you had stepped foot in the car. He quickly recovers, though, a smug expression replacing his initial relief, hiding the fact that he was waiting for you.

You slink across the floor, refusing to make eye contact with him as you push the closet open and search for your pajamas.

"Oh, look who it is," he laughs, propping himself up on his elbows. "Miss me already, huh?"

You don't respond, eyes narrowing as you stack your clothes in a pile next to you. After gathering everything, you stand up and make your way towards the door without shooting him a glance.

You pause, curling your lip as the smell of the nightclub reaches your nose.

"You stink. At least have the decency to shower after the club before you roll around in our bed."

His expression sours behind you as you make your way out.

You shower quickly, half convinced if you took too long that Nam-gyu was going to bust in and try to argue with you again. You dry your hair, pull on your pajamas, and brush your teeth. When you open the door, he's there, sitting on the couch in his boxers. He doesn't look at you as he gets up, nudging you with his shoulder as he makes his way inside.

"Took you long enough," he scoffs.

You roll your eyes.

His shower is quick, rushed. When the door to the bathroom opens, all the steam escapes. He stands in the doorway with his towel clinging loosely to his hips, hair dripping as he shuts the door behind him, his skin pink from the scorching water.

You quickly still on the couch, shutting your eyes as you pretend to be asleep, trying to play it off like you weren't listening intently, waiting for his shower to be over. Waiting for him to crack so you didn't have to actually spend your night on the damn couch.

He lingers in the doorway for a moment, squinting as he zeros in the outline of your body. Then, you hear the soft pad of his footsteps as he makes his way over, the sliver of light pouring in from the bathroom being his only guide as he towers over you.

"I know your ass isn't asleep," he says, eyes narrowing as he crouches down next to your face.

You don't react. He wets his lips, mind reeling, searching for his next move.

Then, his hands are gently resting on your side. You swallow, holding your breath in anticipation. The heat of his skin prickles against you, still steamy from his shower, the damp scent of his shampoo filling the space between you.

And then—his fingers press into your sides, and he's tickling you.

You yelp, eyes flying open and body jerking violently as his fingers dig into your ribs, mapping over every ticklish spot on your body that he'd come to know in the time you two had been together.

"N-Nam-gyu!" you try to yell at him, but it trails off into shaky laughter, his touch relentless.

You can't hold it in, after all, who could? And then you're a red, laughing mess beneath him, your hands coming out from where they were pillowing your head a few moments prior, trying-- and failing, to get him off of you.

You try to twist away from him, but he follows, grinning now.

"Oh?" he says, his voice mockingly sweet, "I thought you were asleep?"

He clambers on top of you, water dripping from his hair and onto your dry, warm pajamas. You want to yell at him for not drying off completely before he came out, but you can't get it out between your laughter.

He's laughing now, too, his grin growing wider, and this time, there's no venom there, no smug satisfaction, no anger. It's just him and you. Giggling in the almost-darkness on your lumpy couch in your small apartment, tucked away in your own little pocket of the world.

"You—asshole!" But you can't stop laughing, grinning so hard it hurts, despite how badly you wanted to be mad at him. "I hate you!"

He shakes his head, eyes not leaving you for a second. "No, you don't." He smirks, pressing one last ticklish squeeze in your side, before relenting and taking a seat at your legs.

You're breathless, gasping and heart racing, still half-trapped beneath him.

He stares at you for a moment. His grin softens. Yours does, too.

He knows he'd been an asshole this whole night. Knew it before and after the drugs had worn off.

And though he still doesn't say it—I'm sorry—as if his body won't allow him to say it—he leans forward, hair still dripping onto your face, and he nudges his forehead against yours. Just once.

You let out a shaky, exasperated breath, finally able to compose yourself.

Your hand goes up to rest on his bare shoulder, a beat passes, and then you're tugging him gently down, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips.

"You," you say, shutting your eye as a droplet narrowly misses it, "are the biggest fucking baby alive."

He grunts.

You laugh, amused. In that moment, you know you'd won.

"Jealous little freak."

That earns you a huff.

The two of you sit there for a while, coming down from the moment. Once you can no longer stand the water dripping onto you, you shove him off.

"Hurry up and get ready for bed. I'm tired."

There's a ghost of a smile on his face as you push past him and collapse onto the bed.

Soon, he flops down next to you, the bed shifting under his added weight.

Silence.

He turns his head. A beat.

"So. You wanna fuck? Or..."

You exhale sharply through your nose in lieu of a response, rolling over to curl into his chest.

You press a kiss to his jaw as he drapes a hand across your waist, your voice sweet and laced with sleep as you lean into him, breath brushing against the shell of his ear as you whisper, "Go the hell to sleep."

He snorts, and soon, you're both drifting off into your own worlds.

---

The third time, it's not petty, not over a bout of jealousy.

It starts over money.

Of course it does. It always does.

You stand over him, trying to rub away the tension in your temples as he scrolls through his phone, ignoring you like he has all the time in the world.

"Seriously? You spent how much?" Your face is hot. "Are the drugs that good? They have to be, with how much money you throw away over them!"

Nam-gyu doesn't even look up at you. He's slouched, legs spread against the couch as he scoffs. "Why the fuck do you care?"

Your eyes widen. "Why do I— Nam-gyu, are you actually serious right now?"

He exhales sharply, shutting his eyes for a few seconds, as if this wasn't an extremely important and serious conversation. The sight makes your blood boil. He shuts off his phone and tosses it onto the coffee table with a clack.

"Look. I made the money—so I spent the money." He looks up at you then, his expression screaming that he'd rather be anywhere ot her than here. "I don't think it's that hard to understand."

"Yeah? With what fucking rent money, genius?" you spit back, your pulse quickening at his condescending tone.

He narrows his eyes at you, jaw flexing. Dangerous. "I said." He stands, looking down at you now. "I'll handle it." He presses two fingers to your chest, shoving you back lightly, a warning. "Now can you get the fuck off my back?"

You laugh, but there's no humor in it. "Really? When? Before or after the landlord's knocking on our door?" Your voice rises, the anger bubbling in your chest, getting ready to spill over. "Fuck, Nam-gyu! You always do this! Blow through your money—our money—like it's nothing and then act like I'm the problem for calling you out on it!"

"Oh yeah?" he says, stepping closer. His neck is tense. "And you do what? SIt there and bitch at me like you're my fucking mother?"

The words sting, but you don't back down. You open your mouth to fire back, but he's already speaking, practically yelling now.

"I was working. What the hell do you want me to do?"

"Working?" You bark out a laugh, mocking, incredulous. "That's what you call working? Getting fucked up and blowing your money on drugs for people that won't even remember your damn name?"

He takes a deep breath, nostrils flaring as he bites his lip. You're sure he's about to explode. It doesn't scare you.

"It's my job!" he yells, lips curling into a sneer. "What, you think you're an expert on my job now?"

"Your job is to promote the club, not snort half the fucking inventory!"

His face darkens, and something ugly twists in his features. You can't deny the way your hands shake at your sides.

"Fuck you."

"Fuck you too," you spit back.

The air shifts, the silence hanging between you two heavy and suffocating.

He shakes his head, looking off to the side like you were being ridiculous as he runs a hand through his hair. "You love doing this shit, don't you? Acting like you're so much better than me, like you've got everything figured out." He juts his chin out at you. "I bet you were just waiting for a reason to fucking lecture me again, huh?"

"Oh my god, Nam-gyu, this isn't about me. This is about your reckless spending habits—"

"And there it is! It's always my fault, isn't it? I'm always the villain, the big, bad piece of shit ruining your life. A screw-up that you have to fix." He smirks. "Go ahead. Call me a screw-up. I know you fucking want to."

You groan. "Do you hear yourself right now? I've never called you a screw-up! That's all in your head."

"Oh, yeah, but you sure as hell think it," he sneers, taking a step towards you. You don't move, determined to stand your ground. "You're always talking down to me like I'm an idiot. Like i'm just some loser that you have to babysit, because you're such a saint for putting up with someone like me." His eyes flash with anger. "You just wanna control me."

"Oh?" you huff, eyes narrowing. "So that's what this is about? Your ego?" Nam-gyu's jaw flexes at that, daring you to continue. "I don't wanna control you, Nam-gyu! I want to build a life with you! But you just keep sabatoging yourself—blowing through our savings on useless shit and poisoning your body while I try to save you!"

He laughs, a bitter, hollow sound. "I knew it!" He turns around and walks away from you, hands going up to tug at his hair as he paces across the floor. "You're just like every other bitch I've ever met. Always running your fucking mouth—acting like you know better. Acting like I need to be saved."

Your anger comes to a head, simmering and simmering until it was at the edge, just about ready to boil over. You step forward, cutting him off. "Maybe because you fucking do!"

He pauses, his face going blank as he stares at you. For a second—just a second—he looks wounded. Like you'd slapped him.

Then— "Oh, fuck off." He spits the words out like it's poison, hands falling from their place in his hair and leaving it a tousled mess. "You wanna 'save' me? What are you, my fucking mother?" His fingers twitch at his side. Then he scoffs, shaking his head at you, and a bitter smile stretches across his face. "No. You're not like my mom. You're worse. At least she knew when to shut the fuck up."

That did it.

Your anger boils over finally, coursing through every vein and artery until your body moves faster than you can think.

You slap him.

The sound cracks through the apartment like a gunshot.

He stumbles back, eyes wide and lips parted in genuine shock. He says nothing as he brings a hand up to his cheek, fingers pressing against the red mark blooming against his cheek. He's quiet for a moment.

Then: a laugh. Sharp and cold, slashing through the silence.

"Oh. Hah. There she is." He grins, but his eyes are wild. "The real you. The one who pretends to be so mature and understanding, but the second I hit a nerve, you turn into a hysterical, emotional bitch."

Your heart is slamming against your ribs now, and there's something hot pushing behind your eyes.

"I hate you." Your voice was shaking.

He doesn't flinch, just stands there, staring at you, but his fingers twitch, something cold taking form in his chest like a stone.

"Good." His voice is low, cold. Fake. "Then why the fuck are you still here?"

Something inside you snaps. Because underneath all the anger, you can hear what he's really saying.

Why haven't you left me yet?

But you're too furious to give him the reassurance you know he desperately wants—the reassurance he's waiting for with bated breath and clenched fists.

You won't give him the satisfaction.

You push past him, throwing the door open to the bedroom, one hand grabbing frantically at your clothes, the other clumsily fishing in your pocket for your phone. He follows you, suddenly silent.

You hear his breathing from the doorway. Heavy. Unsteady. Panicked. You pretend not to notice.

You dial your best friend, quickly bringing it up to your ear to hide the screen from Nam-gyu, hands trembling with anger.

"Hey," you say as soon as your friend picks up, voice shaking, "can you come get me?"

Nam-gyu's blood runs cold, something icy snaking through him and squeezing his chest like a vice.

Despite it all, he still finds a way to be an ass, another sharp laugh clawing its way out of his throat. "You're serious? That's all it takes?" He steps forward, his indifference betrayed by his breathing, fast and raggedy. "What, been waiting for an opportunity to finally be rid of me, you whore?"

You turn to face him, your hands going still as you lock eyes with him, eyes burning.

"You don't mean that." Your voice comes out so, so small.

Nam-gyu's breath stutters, disarmed by the way you're looking at him.

You see his face rewind before you, and for a second, he's the boy you met back in university. Vulnerable, unsure, timid, scared—and you saw it. A flicker of panic and regret across his face, knowing he'd pushed it the slightest bit too far. Knowing you were at the edge. It was up to him to pull you back.

And for a second, you really believe it. That he will.

But then—

Ego.

His pride.

His biggest fucking downfall.

"Nah," he scoffs, looking away as he feigns indifference. "I meant every word."

Your stomach twists. You grab your bag and pull yourself to your feet. You won't cry. Not here. Not in front of him.

He turns around, leaning against the doorframe and forcing you to watch his back while his face goes slack, teeth grit behind his lips as he holds his breath. "So. Are you leaving, or not?"

You push past him, bag in hand as you make your way to the door. He follows you, watching as you pull on your coat. He doesn't reach for you, doesn't stop you. His expression doesn't change, but the way his throat bobs—the way his hands shake despite his best efforts to hide them in his pockets—it tells you everything.

And this time, you don't have it in you to read between the lines, to decipher the stupid act he's putting up. All because he can't be an adult and say what he really means.

You grab your bag from the floor, a ding popping up on your phone: a text from your friend saying that she was outside.

Your hand is resting on the door knob, twisting, when his voice comes out—low, cracking.

"You're really gonna do this?"

You don't look at him. Just push through and slam the door shut.

He doesn't follow.

And just like that, Nam-gyu was alone. He lets out a shaky breath that he forgot he was holding, gripping at his sides like it would keep him from falling apart.

Suddenly, despite your absence, everything is much too loud. Louder than before. The hum of the refrigerator. The buzz of the wiring in the walls. The padding of his footsteps against the hardwood as he threw himself onto the couch, his legs suddenly too shaky for him to stand.

"Whatever," he says to the oppressive silence. "She'll be back." His voice cracks, unsure. Like he doesn't even believe the words as he's saying them.

Tension crawls up his back, settling into his limbs like a concrete block. He sits there for longer than he should've, an invisible weight pushing down on his shoulders. He won't say it, but he's waiting for you.

You don't come back that night.

The next day passes by him in a blur, thick with alcohol and chemicals. He's in the bedroom, his phone on the floor next to him. He pushes his palms against his temples, quick gasps burning his lungs.

His fingers twitch, exhausted with the effort of keeping still, but he won't do it. He won't text you. Won't call you. He won't let himself. His heart pounds craters into his chest as he sucks in a deep, labored breath.

His own words from the day before echo in his head. He'd wanted to push you, break you down, make you feel as small as he did. And it worked.

And now?

Now you were gone.

It was fine. It was fine. He pulls himself to his feet, something icy creeping up his spine. Nothing some weed couldn't fix.

As he stumbles to his feet, he catches himself wishing that he'd been scheduled for work today. Something to distract him. The thought makes him laugh, hollow and flat.

His hands shake as he struggles with his lighter, trying and failing to get a flame. He curses, arms dropping to his sides as he leans against the couch. Fuck this.

He slides down the couch until he's spilling onto the floor in a heap. There's something hot and wet pushing behind his eyes now, betraying him as it finally falls. He swipes at his face, biting back the frail noises threatening to spill from his throat. He doesn't want to hear it. His hands make fists in the material of his shirt, and he hardens his jaw, forcing himself to breathe slowly as his mind short circuits.

It was fine.

You'd be back tonight. He was sure of it. He tries the lighter again, and this time, it catches.

You crash at your friend's place. She doesn't ask questions, and you don't offer answers. It wasn't like this was the first time you fled to her house after a fight with Nam-gyu had gone sour. Your friend's guest room was practically yours, at this point.

The bed is comfortable, warm, but it does nothing to calm the threads of anxiety twitching through your limbs. You grab your phone, checking for the fifth time to make sure that it wasn't on silent.

It wasn't, and as you thought, there was nothing new. No text, no call. You let out a puff of air and continue to pretend like you don't care.

A few moments later, you turn over, fumbling for another pillow in the darkness. You hold your breath, lip trembling as you squeeze it tight, biting back your tears. He didn't deserve it. To make you cry.

"Fucking asshole."

Unfortunately for you, he was right.

The next day, you do your best to stay away. Enjoy your friend's company. Calm the images of Nam-gyu's limp body flickering through your mind like a cruel recording on loop.

Then— "I'm sorry," you say, ducking your head at your friend. She pauses the movie the two of you are watching, and she doesn't startle, as if she already knows what you're going to say next. "Could you drive me home?" Your voice is sheepish, embarrassed, as you keep your eyes on the floor.

You can almost hear Nam-gyu's voice. 'How typical. Knew you'd come crawling back.'

Your friend just nods, keeping her thoughts on the matter to yourself. For that, you're thankful.

Soon, you're rounding the corner, fumbling with your keys before finally pushing past the door, betraying yourself yet again.

And he was there, right where you left him.

He’s half-slouched on the ground, his back against the couch as he stares up at the ceiling. He'd shoved the coffee table out of the way to make room for himself. His limbs are outstretched on the floor, loose and lazy. Like a cat, you think. It would've been cute, had it been under different circumstances.

A joint burns low between his pointer finger and thumb, dangling dangerously close to the rug at the foot of the couch. He brings it to his lips and takes a long drag. A stray piece of ash falls from the end and burns black into the plush fabric. A permanent stain. A reminder.

The room reeks of weed, a cloud of smoke floating lazily around the ceiling in a slow-motion circuit. The smell curls in your lungs like the argument still lingering between you. You don’t even care.

He didn't look at you when the door opened. Not when the door shut. Not when you cover your nose and mouth with your sleeve, quickly throwing the window open and ushering the hazy cloud outside as if it had the agency to listen.

He doesn’t blink when you come to a stop at his feet, your shadow falling over him like a blanket. He continues to stare up at the water stained ceiling, regarding it with a calm indifference, like a painting he couldn’t understand.

Your eyes rake over him, taking in every inch of his sorry state. He’s in the same clothes you last saw him in, shirt wrinkled and pants twisted low on his hips. His hair stuck out oddly like he’d just woken up from a nap. His eyes are red and swollen, but you know it’s not just from the weed. He barely acknowleges you, save for a lazy flick of his eyes.

You kneel next to him and and press a palm to the warmth of his chest. His face is blank, even, his mouth pressed into a thin line, but his heartbeat betrays him, hammering beneath your fingers like it was trying to get out. A bird making panicked circles on the floor of an open cage.

He lets out a quiet laugh, but it’s weak and tired, bordering on something desperate.

"You stink," you mutter.

Nam-gyu lets out a humorless snort. "Then leave." But he doesn't mean it, not really. His heart quickens beneath your fingers, no doubt scared that you actually might.

But you don't. Instead, you pluck the joint from his fingers and stub it out in the ashtray on the coffee table.

He blows smoke into your face. You don’t blink.

Your fist closes around the fabric of his shirt just above his heart, the soft cotton spilling out between the gaps of your fingers as you clamber on top of him.

He doesn’t react. Doesn’t meet your eyes. You lean down, tilting your head forward so that your foreheads touch. Your hair falls from behind your shoulders, draping over the two of you in a gentle curtain.

The smell of weed is thick as you press a kiss to his cheek. Your free hand comes up to cup his face, thumb tracing his bottom lip softly before straying to the nape of his neck. His lips part weakly, as if he's going to say something snarky, something mean, to remind you of the other day.

Your breath is hot against the shell of his ear as you speak, voice barely above a whisper, “Just... Shut up, okay?” You press another kiss to the top of his forehead, pleading. Soon, your face finds its home in the crook of his neck. You breathe him in, the smell of his skin grounding you, still managing to reach you through the haze of smoke and chemicals. "Please."

And for the first time in a while, he listens.

Nam-gyu says nothing. Not when your fingers comb through his mess of hair. Not when you're tugging his limp body up, up, pushing him—stumbling and dazed—into the shower. Not when you're peeling off his clothes and yours, switching on the faucet and rubbing circles of soap onto the gentle slope of his back as the shower fills with steam.

He won't tell you how much he appreciates it. He won't tell you a lot of things.

He's quiet as he pulls on his pajamas and sinks into the bed like a stone. Relief washes through him as the bed shifts beneath your added weight. His shoulders ease up for the first time since you'd left, though he won't tell you that, either.

The next morning passes like any other. There is no sorry. No kisses pressed to your neck or hands looped around your waist. You weren't expecting it, anyways. You don't dwell on it. Not like you had the time, to. Instead, you roll out of bed, shake the sleep from your body, pull your work clothes on, and start your day.

Later that day, when your key clicks in the lock and your legs cross the threshold, the apartment smells different.

Not weed, not chemicals, not the lingering smell of smoke.

Your eyes trail across the apartment, taking note of everything. The counters are wiped down, the floors swept. Even the clutter that usually lingered around—his clothes, empty bottles, dirty dishes—gone.

You raise your eyebrows as you hang the jacket by the door.

You lean against the counter, unable to keep the look of pure surprise off of your face as you watch his back. Nam-gyu is cooking, a novelty from when you two first got together. Before he'd sunk deeper into his drug habit.

"What's this?"

He doesn't look at you. "Food."

"Wow," you press, testing. He looks at you over his shoulder before turning back to the pot on the stove. "You? Cooking?" You lean in closer, trying to catch his eyes. "Am I dreaming right now?"

He shrugs, stirring the pot. "You always bitch about me eating. So I'm eating."

You purse your lips, deciding not to comment on his wording.

You can't remember the last time he'd cooked. It was always you. Or takeout. Or you reminding him to eat, that drugs and alcohol weren't enough to make up a healthy diet.

He flicks the stove off and grabs a plate from the cabinet, wordlessly spooning a scoop of freshly cooked rice onto the plate, still steaming. He shoves it into your hands before grabbing another plate for himself. He moves out of the way, gesturing at the pot like it'd inconvenienced him.

"It's still hot," he says blankly. His voice is tight, clipped, but you know it's just his way of masking his nerves. Tiptoeing around you like one wrong word might send you flying out the door again. "Now shut up and eat."

The food was delicous.

It tasted like nostalgia, bringing you back to the early days where he'd always cook for you, butterflies blooming in your stomach as your legs bumped against each other under the table, flirting under the warm kitchen light.

Back when his job was just a job. A 'for now'. Before it tangled and spiraled with his being, melting into him until you weren't sure where it ended and he began, the fuel for his fire, stoking his addictions and anger and insecurities until it grew big and ugly and distorted.

The thought made your chest tighten a bit, so you push it out of your mind, hands readjusting in your lap as you refocus on the movie playing in front of you.

The two of you sit on the couch, the glow of the TV flickering dimly across the walls.

Nam-gyu is beside you, sprawled as usual, his legs spread wide and taking up an offensive amount of space. His fingers drum absentmindedly against his knee, his other hand fidgeting with his ring. He hasn't reached for you all night, but every now and then, you feel his eyes flick toward you.

Like he was waiting.

And then, without a word, he pushes something into your lap.

You startle a bit at the sudden movement. You look down, and your mouth falls open.

A plushie. It's a chubby, white bunny. Soft and cute.

You wonder when he went to the store. You picture him walking up and down the aisles, scanning the shelves and chewing his lip nervously as he decides what to get you. You imagine him checking out, slamming the plushie down on the counter before roughly tapping his card.

Then, you notice the small, black box sitting on its tummy. You almost didn't notice it, blinking down at it in shock.

You pick it up, face incredulous as you turn to him.

"You bought me something?" you say, breathless, as you turn it over in your hands.

He doesn't answer, just keeps his eyes trained on the screen. His leg bounces restlessly, both hands fidgeting with their respective rings.

You sigh, and it's soft, so soft, as something wells up in your chest. "Nam-gyuuu..." you start, leaning towards him.

"Just shut up and take it," he grumbles, still refusing to look at you. "Or don't. I don't care."

You stare at him for a long moment. His ears are pink, just barely hidden behind his long, black hair.

You decide to give him a break and open the box. Inside is a silver chain, dainty, shiny, and exactly your style. It's also real. You lift it out with a gasp.

Nam-gyu doesn't turn his head, but his eyes flick to you for a moment, taking in your reaction. Something in him unclenches.

The pendant hanging off of it is small, but it's beautiful, sturdy. You let it fall against your palm, the silver catching the dim light from the television as you inspect it. It's a star.

You pout, eyes going wide and glossy as you turn to look at him. He exhales sharply. Then, you notice something else in the box, a baggie tucked away in the corner of the velvet lining. You hold it up to the light, trying to see what it is.

It's another star, just as dainty as yours, except somehow smaller.

"Is this an extra one in case I lose mine?" you ask, genuinely curious.

The moment he sees what you're holding, his whole body tenses. His knee stops bouncing, and his fingers freeze. Then, without hesitation, he snatches the bag from your grasp.

"Nothing," he mutters, shoving it deep in his pocket.

You blink. "Did you—" your voice trails off, realization dawning on you. Your heartbeat picks up. "You bought a matching charm?"

Nam-gyu glares at the TV like it'd personally offended him. "Oh my god. I said it's nothing."

You stare at him stunned. He was never the type to do this—sweet, thoughtful things. No, that was too corny for him. And yet he had. He'd gotten two of the same pendant. One for you, and one for himself.

Maybe to add to his own chain. Maybe to turn into a charm for his keyring.

Either way, it meant something. And you knew it.

"Nam-gyuuu," you press, all discretion gone as you cuddled up to his side. You watch his jaw clench as you rub his side, all smiley and starry-eyed. "You wanted us to match?"

"Okay. Shut up." He's tensing up, leaning away from you as he leans into the armrest, but you know for sure that it's all an act now. The plushie at your side and the necklace gleaming on the coffee table was enough proof of that.

But you can't. You can't stop staring at him, at the way his fingers dig into his knee like he's resisting the urge to snatch the whole damn box back from you. He's sulking like a kid caught red-handed.

Your grin widens, head going loopy with love. "Ohhh my goodness," you say, voice dripping with amusement, "you're so cute, Nam-gyu."

His head snaps toward you, eyes narrowing as he finally makes eye contact with you, but there's a color to his face that wasn't there earlier. "Don't start."

But you do start. You lean in, resting your chin on his shoulder, batting your eyelashes at him. "You wanted us to have matching charms? So that even when we're apart, we'll always have a little piece of each other?"

Nam-gyu gorans, tipping his head back against the couch. "Shut the fuck up." But there's no venom in it, not even a drop. Something tells you he might even be enjoying this, in his own way.

"It's like a promise, isn't it?" You sigh dreamily, pushing through the excitement in your chest, but also because you can't help but relish the way he squirms under the attention. "A silent vow that no matter where we go, we'll always be connected. Like two stars floating through space, spinning in a galactic embrace of eternal love—"

"I'm gonna kill myself," he mutters, rubbing his temples. The movie drones on in the background, completely ignored.

You laugh, finally letting up as you nudge him with your shoulder. "You're so romantic," you coo. "Who knew you had such a soft heart under that shitty attitude of yours?"

"I will throw you out that fucking window," he threatens, but it's weak. His ears are red, so red, and he won't meet your gaze.

You let the moment linger, then tilt your head, lowering your voice to something softer. "Thank you," you say, genuine this time. "I love it."

Nam-gyu scoffs, but his knee starts bouncing again. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever."

But later that night, when you finally slip the necklace on, the bunny plushie sitting gingerly in your lap, you catch him staring.

When you lay down next to Nam-gyu, there's something between you two. Something charged, electric. You don't say anything, but you know it's coming.

When his hand drifts over to you, lingers on your waist, you let it.

Then he's on top of you. His weight presses you into the bed, and you stare back up at him. His touch is soft, gentle, as he brushes the hair away from your face, from your neck. The necklace he bought you is cool against your skin. He stares at it again, touching it gingerly and turning it over in his fingers.

Your breath catches, and then he's leaning down, pressing a kiss to your lips. It's gentle, soft.

It's not like him at all.

That night, it's like a race. Except there’s only one pedestal, and it's a spot reserved just for you. So he's grunting, biting down on his lip as he presses his fingers into the dip of your waist, pushing you closer and closer to the finish line. There’s a ghost of his breath on your neck, a graze of teeth at your collar bone, something sickeningly sweet in your ears— something you likely wouldn't be hearing tomorrow.

Then, you reach the edge, and he’s staring in your eyes, gripping your chin so you can’t look away. He dips low and smashes his lips onto yours. The ribbon snaps, and you tip over, breath being ripped from your lungs as you gasp, sighing his name like it's a prayer.

It's been a couple minutes since he'd rolled over, your skin still slick with sweat as you continue to catch your breath, heart drumming steadily beneath your skin.

His hand is heavy on your waist, his breathing steady. He was practically half-asleep already once he'd finished.

"Fine," you breathe into the silence, eyelids growing heavy as you swallow. You push your hair out of your face and roll over to cuddle into his side. Defeat. "I forgive you."

Nam-gyu, even in his exhausted state, smirks weakly in the dark. He slowly turns to press his face into you, rubbing slow, possessive circles into your skin.

He feigns ignorance as he smiles against your hair, because accepting your forgiveness would be an admission of guilt, and he couldn't— wouldn't do that.

"For what?"

ao3 link, if you'd prefer to read it over there

a/n: omggg i had so much fun writing this! obviously, a lot of this is my interpretation / speculation of how he'd act 'normally', so when he's not crazy hopped up on drugs and locked up in a life or death situation, but hopefully it's somewhat believable. i'm like rushing to get all my writing out before season 3 potentially crushes all my hopes and dreams and imagination and/or my motivation leaaves me haha. although school's still been kicking my ass, as always please feel free to send me any thoughts / suggestions in my inbox <3 i'm in this shit for the long haul, y'all.

#nam gyu x reader #namgyu x reader #nam-gyu x reader #player 124 x reader #squid game #divider c: strangergraphics #lilyposting #my fic #nam gyu #namgyu #nam-gyu #player 124

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meiluu · 3 days ago

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Soft and Gentle

Zayne/ Reader(MC)

Zayne pushes himself too far, and you his valiant hunter the woman who he loves with ever fiber of his being is now fusing over his fever. Maybe being sick isn't all that bad... Not Edited

Having just sat down on his couch, Zayne lets out an exhausted sigh fingers reaching up to take of his tie. Head pounding, he throws an arm over his eyes as he lays down onto the soft cushions. And from there he slips into a much needed nap. Though it seems like it only last for but a moment when he is woken up but gentle fingers cupping the side of his jaw. A familiar voice rings through his head, its you. It takes him much longer to come to his sense than usual and when he finally comes to he can hear the worry within your voice, "Zayne you're really warm, do you feel okay?"

Slowly rising from the couch, he brushes your hands away. "I'm probably just tired." Zayne moves to get up from the couch only to halt in his motions when he sees your angry pout. "Nope you sit right there, I'm getting the thermometer if you aren't running a fever I'll let you get up." And with that you quickly turn towards the medicine cabinet in the kitchen, Zayne wants to insist that he truly is fine but he feels so weak and tired that he just sinks right back into the couch. A few moments pass before he feels your hands upon him again and your muffled words. "You're running a fever Zayne." He can picture the sad pout upon your face, opening on of his eyes he finds that to be true. "come on lets get you cleaned up and in bed as soon as possible."

And with those words you are leading him into your shared bathroom, leaving only to come back with a clean pair of pajamas for the both of you. Turning on the tub you let it fill before you help Zayne to take off his clothes. Although any other time you would be flushed from head to toe at your daring moves, but now in its place is a level of intimacy that only you can share with each other. Finally free from his work clothes and in the tub you help him to wash his body and hair. Fingers gently massaging into his scalp, letting the cool water rinse him of the soap while also hopefully quelling some of his fever.

Smelling no longer of antiseptic and papers instead smelling like his favorite soap that has a soft fragrance of jasmine flowers. Grabbing a fluffy white towel you help to quickly dry off Zayne, letting him brush his teeth while you hand him his clothes. With him finally dressed, he heads towards the bedroom sinking heavily into the plush comforter and mattress. Mind drifting off as the sound of you taking a shower lulls him into near unconsciousness. Zayne is again woken up by your familiar hands on his face, "Take this it'll bring down your fever." a quietness falls around you both after Zayne swallows the pills, one that it broken with his tired voice. "I'm sorry." there's a barely noticeable pout upon his lips.

"Zayne there' no need to apologize, everyone gets sick."

"I just-" he lets out a sigh before continuing, "I'm not used to being taken care of like this, the last time was when I was a child."

a soft bout of laughter leaves you, "Zayne I will always be here to take care of you especially when you are sick, just like how you always care for me when I'm hurt or sick. You don't need to go this on your own anymore, you have me now." You reach your hand up, carding through his soft onyx hair. Zayne reaches a scarred hand up to yours cradling it to his face, then bringing it down to his lip to give your palm a chaste but loving kiss. "Thank you, my love"

a.n. I may or may not of had a very vivid dream about helping Zayne while he was sick... (also I've been playing this game for over a year now and I am so in love with it, all the characters hold a special place in my heart. Will definitely be writing for all the boys in the future, I actually have a few ideas I'm writing at the moment.) hopefully you guys like this little drabble :)

...sorry about not posting in literally 6 months, college has been crazy and I've been having the worst writing funk. But I am slowly getting back into my normal rhythm and have begun writing again!

#x reader #fluff #lads zayne #love and deepspace zayne x reader #zayne #zayne love and deepspace #zayne x reader #love and deep space #zayne x mc #lnds zayne #l&ds zayne #lads x reader #lads #loveanddeepspace #lads mc #love and deepspace zayne #zayne lnds

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bonnie-the-butcher · 9 hours ago

Text

Rip Tide | Chapter VI

[ MDNI ] [ word count: 8.928 ] [ Masterlist ] 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: Canonverse/Canon-Divergent; Dark! Content; NSFW (p in v, unprotected, implied m!masturbation); Strong Language; Cheating; Drug Use; Mentions of overdose; Some shades of Munchausen syndrome from dear old Rafe; Manipulation; Toxic, obsessive behaviour; Stalking; Violence; DUBCON/NONCON; My writing is really pretentious and English is not my first language, so please feel free to call me out in whichever grammar mistakes you might find find.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | You and JJ have always been in each other's orbit. He's your brother’s best friend, the guy you've known your entire life. He was kind, protective, familiar. You never meant for the two of you to start hooking up. And you never meant for it to last so long. But when this boy you thought you'd come to know like the back of your hand turns out to be no better than the men he'd warned you about, you find yourself in the sights of the guy he hates most, regardless of wether you want that or not.

OMG Bonnie what is that? A JJ chapter? Yeah, maybe I went insane. Likes, asks, reblogs, and comments are always greatly appreciated! Thank you in advance for reading <3

JJ takes a slow step forward, his shoulders rolling back, his fingers still coiled tight around the handlebars of his bike. There’s a heat rolling off of him, a barely contained energy that makes your stomach twist.

His gaze drifts over to you. The rage burning through his eyes as he climbs down, drifting through Rafe’ arms, how they wrap around you, how close he’s holding you to him. – What’s going on, huh? – His voice is taught, barely restrained. You think of the hiss a rattlesnake makes before pouncing, the barely restrained violence simmering under each sound. – What are you doing here?

– I could ask you the same thing, Maybank. – Rafe hums. You call his name, trying to reel him back before it gets dangerous, but he seems entertained more than anything. – We’re a little far from the salvation army. Not much for you to do around here.

– Rafe!

The kook holds your hand to his chest when you push him, smiling down at you like it’s the funniest thing in the world. – I’m just having a little fun with him, that’s all.

– Get off of her, Rafe.

He’s looking at you with a focus that’s never a good sign, but don’t miss the way his eyes flick to where Rafe’s hand still lingers at your waist. The moment stretches, thick with the weight of his anger, but you can’t bring yourself to move first.

Rafe doesn’t bother hiding his grin. If anything, it grows, slow and deliberate, like this is the most fun he’s had all night. – Why? You scared she won’t come back when she realizes there’s more to life than being leeched off of by her brother’s friends?

– Rafe, this isn’t funny.

– JJ must think it is, it’s the only thing he does well. – Rafe drawls, tilting his head as he finally steps back from you—but not without dragging his fingers along your side, a pointed reminder. – Right, JJ?

JJ’s lips press into a thin line. His fingers flex around the handlebars, his nostrils flaring as he exhales hard through his nose. His gaze cuts to you now, sharp and demanding. – What the hell are you doing with this asshole?

His voice grates you. Every word echoing in your head like nails on a chalkboard.

– This is none of your business, JJ.

He doesn’t even pretend to hear you. – Kie told me what happened at work. We were all worried about you.

You open your mouth, but Rafe hums before you can speak, stepping in again, loose and easy, barely putting in effort but still commanding all the space between you. – Worried? Were you worried that you’re finally gonna have to get a job and deal with your own shit?!

– You don’t know what you’re talking about, okay?! Shut the fuck up!

– Or what? Are you gonna freeload off of me too?

JJ moves before you can stop him. His bike crashes to the pavement as he lunges, fists already clenched, fury twisting his face. Rafe barely shifts, like he’s been expecting this all along, like he’s been waiting for the moment he can finally push JJ over the edge.

– THIS SHIT ISN’T ABOUT YOU RAFE!

You step in fast, hands catching JJ’s arm before he can swing, your pulse hammering. – JJ, don’t. Fuck off. Don’t fucking do this right now.

– He’s the one who needs to fuck off! We’re talking right now, it’s none of his fucking business! – His breath is ragged, his muscles stiff under your grip. But Rafe just grins, smug and taunting, eyes alight with something dark. – Tell him to go away.

– You can’t tell me that yourself? Is that how much of a bitch you are, JJ?

JJ lunges, nearly pushing you into the asphalt by mistake. Rafe’s the one that catches you, his hand steadying you as you hold JJ back. – LET GO OF ME!

– JJ step the fuck back, I’m not even kidding you.

– He started it!

Rafe whistles lowly, laughing just under his breath as his arm wraps around you again. – Your brother really knows how to pick them, doesn’t he?

�� Not helping, Rafe.

– I’m just trying to enjoy myself while you talk him down from his tantrum. I’m great.

– Stop fucking talking to her like that!

– Or what? You gonna hit me? – He muses, tilting his head, like the thought actually amuses him. – Go ahead, man. Take your shot. I bet it’ll feel real good.

JJ’s jaw tightens, his arm twitching under your hold. You can feel the war inside him, the barely restrained urge to throw that punch, to finally give Rafe the fight he’s clearly asking for.

But you don’t let go.

And JJ doesn’t swing.

For a second, the only sound is the thick silence between you.

Then Rafe sighs, exaggerated and disappointed. – Shame, – He mutters, stepping back, shaking his head like JJ’s let him down. – I was really hoping you’d play along, JJ. It’s been what? A week since you last got arrested? Has it ever been so long? I bet they’re missing you down at the station.

He flashes a grin at you, sharp and knowing, before brushing past, hands moving over your back like he owns you. – Y’know what, baby? We should really get going. I’m getting kinda bored.

– You’re out of your fucking mind if you think she’s going anywhere with you.

– JJ. – You warn, but he doesn’t seem to hear you.

– She came here with me, buddy. Maybe you wanna look around you. – He glances at you, blue eyes gleaming as he takes you by the arm. – C’mon. It’s getting late, right? Your brother’s probably struggling to figure out the oven right now.

– You don’t know what the fuck your talking about. – JJ growls.

– You’re gonna go home with this pogue? –The question comes out in a hum, almost condescendingly. His laughter thrills up your spine like a shiver of fear. – You’re gonna let him strongarm you like this?

You swallow, breathing in deep.

Rafe’s grip on your arm tightens, fingers warm against your skin, but you don’t move. His smirk twitches—just barely—before he tilts his head, watching you with curiosity, even if the smile he’s giving you doesn’t seem too pleased.

JJ notices too. He exhales sharply, barely holding himself together. – You’re not leaving with him.

His voice is low, coarse. And he’s clinging, moving his arms within your hold like a whiny kid. But it’s not a plea. It’s a demand.

Rafe hums under his breath, low and pleased, like this is all going exactly how he wanted. – She’s not staying for you, JJ. – He flicks his gaze over, like he’s looking at something stuck to the bottom of his shoe. – You have John B’s useless ass to thank for her not leaving with me right now.

JJ clenches his jaw so tight you swear you hear his molars crack. – Shut the fuck up, Rafe.

Rafe grins, slow and knowing. – I will if she makes me. Right, baby? Maybe you can give me a goodnight kiss before I go.

JJ takes a step forward, but you press a hand to his chest, stopping him. He seethes, nostrils flaring, but you shake your head. – Just go, Rafe. Please. – Your voice isn’t sharp—it’s tired, annoyed.

And that’s exactly why Rafe thrives on it.

He tsks, squeezing your waist in his hold on you before pulling his keys from his pocket. – That’s okay. We’ll have plenty of time for that tomorrow, right? – He leans in, voice dipping lower. – You can make it up to me.

You sigh, rubbing your temple. – Rafe—

– You’re cute when you get all flustered. – He laughs, tapping your chin with his knuckle. – I’ll call you later.

JJ lunges, and it takes everything in you to shove him back.

Rafe just whistles, all relaxed amusement, stepping back with an easy grin. – Damn, Maybank, you’re really gonna let her hold you back like that?

JJ is shaking in anger, chest heaving.

Rafe doesn’t wait for an answer. He shoots you a wink and a lazy salute before finally turning away, tossing over his shoulder, – Don’t miss me too much, baby.

JJ exhales sharply, shaking off your hold. His head drops for a second, his hands clenching at his sides before he looks at you, eyes blazing. – What the hell was that?

You swallow hard, the weight in your chest pressing down heavy. – JJ—

But he shakes his head. – Nah. No way. You don’t get to brush this off. – His voice is rough, disbelief coating every syllable. – Tell me you’re not— He stops himself, exhaling sharply again before taking a step back, shaking his head like he’s trying to make sense of it. – Tell me you’re not seriously falling for this shit.

You don’t know what to say.

Because maybe you don’t have an answer he wants to hear.

– Oh my God. – You don’t know what exactly in his face shifts, but you feel the air around you thicken. – You are, aren’t you?!

– Spare me the outrage, JJ. I’m not in the mood for your lectures.

– The guy is a fucking psychopath! There’s no fucking way you do’t see that! He’s insane!

You roll your eyes, a sigh falling from your lips before you can think of it. – You say that like you’re some sort of model of normalcy.

– I can’t fucking believe you!

– I don’t fucking need you to believe me, JJ. Clearly you fucking don’t. It doesn’t matter what I say, you already have your pitchfork ready! So what exactly am I supposed to be getting out of this?! Huh? Tell me. – A beat of silence lingers between you, as you turn your back on him. It’s long past 6 PM. The sky is pitch-black. – Can we just go? I don’t wanna do this.

You can see the gears turn in his head when you speak. His eyes soften, jaw unclentching. – I’m trying to look out for you. – You scoff. – Look, I know you’re stressed and all, but you don’t need to be taking it out on me, okay?! Chill out.

– Thanks, Mother Teresa. I feel much calmer now.

– Can we just put down the boxing gloves, right now?!

– I don’t know JJ, can we? I can’t put my guard down with you for a moment. Because that’s what you do. You tell me I should calm down, and when I do, you come up with some insane shit to piss me off all over again!

JJ watches you, chest still rising and falling like he’s trying to catch a breath that won’t come. Then his expression shifts—like something clicks into place, like he’s realizing something he doesn’t like.

His lips curl, his tongue running over the inside of his cheek. – Are you serious? – His voice is quieter now, almost disbelieving. – This is where we’re at?

You shake your head, swallowing back the lump in your throat. – I don’t want to do this right now, JJ.

– Oh, that’s rich. You don’t wanna do this right now? – He lets out a sharp, humorless laugh. – You wanna pick a better time? Should I make an appointment? Because it’s like you never have time for me these days! You’ll speak your mind, talk all the game you fucking want, but when it’s time to talk about my feelings, suddenly you’re too tired to deal!

Your stomach twists.

JJ scoffs. – You know, I keep trying. I keep trying to get through to you, and you just— He stops, shakes his head again, shoving a hand through his hair like that’ll help get rid of some of the frustration bleeding off of him.

– Trying to what, JJ? What is it that you’re trying to get through to me so much? That I can’t even talk to people while you go around fucking whatever girl you want? – The words come out before you can stop them.

– That’s funny, I don’t remember leaving with your mortal enemy!

– And I don’t remember kissing your best friend after leaving your bed, JJ. But here we are!

JJ goes still.

For a second, neither of you speak.

Then he exhales sharply through his nose, shaking his head like you’ve just confirmed something he was trying not to believe. – There you go again, – He mutters, half in laughter, half in scorn. – You’re insane. Like. You’re actually sick in the fucking head. You and Rafe are perfect for each other. Maybe that’s why you’re here right? I was too normal, so you got bored. And that’s why you’re here in the Country Club, fucking that psychopath!

You stare at him, heart still pounding, but there’s something else gnawing at the edges of your mind now—something off. Something you didn’t notice in the heat of it all.

The country club.

You’re not at your job.

You’re not at home.

You’re not even on your side of the island.

Your stomach twists again.

– JJ, – you start, voice quieter now.

But he doesn’t hear it, or he doesn’t care. He scoffs again, throwing his hands in the air as he turns away, pacing. – I should’ve known. I should’ve listened to John B. He always said you were fucking twisted! But leave it to me! It’s my fault or thinking you could act like a person for once!

Your pulse stutters.

You don’t even register his words.

You don’t remember telling him where you were.

Your job isn't anywhere near the Country Club. You didn’t text him. You didn’t call him.

So how did he find you?

Your skin prickles as you stare at him, the words barely coming out. – JJ... how did you know I was here?

– What?! – He laughs, like you’ve just said something stupid, but you’re not gonna let him do this. Keeping your face neutral, even while your blood runs cold, you repeat:

– How did you know where I was? – He looks at you for a moment, frozen in place. You don’t even see him breathe. But the thoughts run wild behind his eyes, his mouth hanging open, unable to keep up with the speed at which his mind is running. – Answer me. How did you know I was here, JJ?

– I— He swallows, looking between each of your eyes frantically. – I was gonna pick you up at work,

– At a quarter to seven PM? You know I get the bus. It leaves at 5:20. You know that.

– Why are you making a big deal out of this?! I was driving to the wreck and I saw you here—

– No you weren’t. The wreck is East. To get here, you need to be going West.

He’s quiet again.

– Are you following me? How did you even— Realization dawns on you. JJ and John had your phone all day after you left. The notification you saw when you finally got it back, was from your maps app, which you’ve never opened in your life. You pull your phone out of your pocket. The location is on, but you don’t remember activating it. You open your messages. The latest contact is JJ. But you haven’t texted him in days. The chat is empty. – You sent my phone location to yourself, didn’t you? You and John are fucki— Your voice dies within your throat. The hair at the back of your neck standing. – John doesn’t have my password, though.

– You’re acting insane.

– How the fuck did you figure out my password, JJ? It’s a thousand characters long. I expect that shit from Pope, but— You stop again, opening your settings. A second fingerprint is set there, next to yours. – What the fuck is wrong with you?

– Don’t turn this around right now!

– That’s rich, JJ! And I’m the one who’s insane?! You’re a fucking stalker!

JJ scoffs, but it’s different now—less angry, more… wounded. Like you just slapped him in the face instead of uncovering something deeply fucked up. He shakes his head, stepping back like he needs distance from you.

– Are you serious right now? – His voice is quieter, rougher. – After everything?

You stare at him, blood still thrumming in your ears. – After everything? JJ, you just—

– No, you don’t get it. You don’t fucking get it. – He lets out a breathless laugh, dragging his hand down his face. – I knew something was off. I knew you were pulling away. I knew you were sneaking around, lying to me—

– I’m pulling away because you’re messing around with Kie!

– I’m not! Baby, I— He’s slapping himself, pulling out his hair. – I was trying to make you jealous, okay?! I just want you to pay attention to me! But you’re either glued to your phone talking to Barry, or you’re around John B, doing everything for him, everything I want you to do for me!

– What the fuck are you talking about?! He’s my fucking brother, JJ!

– BUT HE DOESN’T DESERVE IT! – He screams, the vitriol burning against his lips like acid. – He was always horrible to you, and I was there! I was there! I wanted you!

– What are you talking about?! You’ve hated me since we were kids!

– NO! I— I wanted you to look at me. I just wanted you to—Please. Just look at me, okay? I don’t want you sneaking around with Barry or with Rafe, or whatever! I want you here! With me!

– Sneaking around—JJ, you broke into my fucking phone—

– Because you wouldn’t fucking talk to me! – His voice cracks on the last word, and it throws you for a second—because the anger is still there, but there’s something else now, something desperate. His hands are in his hair, gripping like he’s holding himself together. – Do you even hear yourself? Do you even care? Or are you just gonna act like I’m some fucking psycho and not the guy who’s been there for you? The guy who—who has wanted you since I was kid?!

Your breath catches.

JJ exhales sharply, jaw clenching like he hates himself for saying it, for letting it slip out in the middle of this.

– You were there for me. – He continues. – When your brother couldn’t be. When my dad started— When he drank. You remember that, don’t you? You took care of me. You always took care of me. John B couldn’t get that! Even if he tried, y’know, who knows, maybe he did! But he was always this golden boy! Your dad, he— He treated him like he could do no wrong— He’d never get it. But you did! You always got me!

You’re quiet. Because you remember.

You remember taking a beating for JJ the day John sent you there to give him his surfboard. You remember laying there on the floor, his dad pulling you by the hair, because you stood there while JJ ran. You remember the face he made when his dad threw you out.

How he fell apart in your arms.

How you remained there, holding him, as he bled through your clothes.

And it tears you apart.

Because the way he spoke to you before, is exactly the way his father used to speak to him.

– But yeah. Sure. I’m the stalker. I’m the crazy one. – He laughs bitterly, shaking his head. – You’re so fucking worried about me following you, but you don’t care that you’re running straight to him! – His eyes flash with something sharp, something dark. – You think he gives a shit about you? You think Rafe fucking Cameron isn’t watching your every move, waiting for you to fuck up so he can sink his claws in? Like Barry did? – He steps forward, voice lowering like he’s telling you some ugly secret.

Your heart jumps in your chest at the mention. JJ knows this is a low blow. – You don’t know anything about Barry and me.

– I know he hurt you. – He’s almost pleading. – He hurt you because you were with him, when you should’ve been with me.

– JJ—

– I did this to protect you. Let me protect you. Like you protected me.

There it is. The flip.

You feel like you might faint.

JJ exhales shakily, his fingers flexing like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands anymore. The anger is fizzling out, but what’s left is somehow worse—smaller. He looks at you, really looks at you, and suddenly it’s like all the fight drains out of him.

– I can’t keep doing this. – His voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper. He shakes his head, eyes flickering away like he’s embarrassed, like you’ve just torn him down completely. – I don’t—I don’t know how else to prove it to you. How else to make you see that I just wanted to keep you safe.

His shoulders drop. He looks exhausted.

– But you don’t believe me. You won’t ever fucking believe me, will you? – He laughs, but it’s hollow, broken. – It doesn’t matter what I do. Doesn’t matter that I would literally die for you—Jesus Christ, I would, and you don’t even fucking see it. I’d do anything for you, and you’re just standing there, looking at me like I’m a fucking monster.

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out.

– I mean—fuck, what am I supposed to do? Huh? – His voice cracks. His eyes are glassy now, but he swipes a hand over his face before anything can fall. – You want me to apologize? I will. You want me to beg? Fine. – He laughs breathlessly, shoulders shaking as he sinks down onto the curb like his body just gave up. – I’ll fucking beg.

Your stomach twists.

– Just— he exhales, hands clinging to your hips. – Can we go home? – His voice is so quiet now, so defeated. – Please. I don’t wanna fight anymore. I don’t wanna—fuck, I don’t even care. Just let me take you home. That’s all I want.

He looks up at you, and for the first time tonight, he looks fragile. Worn down. Like he’s carrying something too heavy for him, and the only thing keeping him from collapsing is you.

And God help you, part of you wants to believe him.

– JJ. – Your voice is sharp, but your hands are shaking. – This isn’t about that—this isn’t about you wanting to take me home. This is about what you did—

– I know! – he cuts in, his breath coming too fast, too uneven. His hands fist in his hair, like he’s trying to hold himself together by sheer force. – I know, okay? I fucked up, I fucking know— He stumbles over his own words, gasping, like the weight of it is physically pressing down on him. – But I can’t—

His voice breaks.

– I can’t lose you over this. Over Rafe fucking Cameron and his bullshit.

The air between you shifts. Something inside him just collapses.

– Please. – His chest is heaving, his eyes wet, his whole body trembling like he’s about to snap. – I don’t—I don’t know how to make you stay. I don’t know how to fix this. – His voice cracks again, and this time, his knees buckle.

You barely have time to react before he’s falling into you, grabbing fistfuls of your clothes, his breath hitching against your belly. His whole body is shaking.

– I’m sorry. – His words spill out in a frantic, broken rush. – I’m so fucking sorry. Please—please don’t go. Just—just let me take you home, baby, please—

His arms tighten around you, like if he holds on hard enough, he can force you to stay. And God, you shouldn’t. You should push him away, make him listen, make him answer for this.

But he’s crying.

JJ Maybank—loud, reckless, impossible JJ—is sobbing into you like a little kid, like he’s breaking apart right in front of you.

You inhale shakily, your hands hovering before you finally give in, falling before him on the ground, wrapping your arms around him, pressing your cheek against his hair.

– It’s okay, – you whisper, even though it isn’t. Even though nothing is.

But it’s all he wants to hear.

JJ exhales sharply, his whole body collapsing into yours with something like relief. – Don’t leave me.

– I won’t.

And maybe you mean it.

Maybe that’s the scariest part.

You let him fall apart against you, his body wracked with silent tremors as he clings to you like a lifeline. His breath is uneven, ragged, hot against your skin, and his fingers fist into your top, desperate, like letting go isn’t an option. He presses closer, his whole body sinking into yours, like he’s trying to disappear inside you, like that’s the only place he might be safe.

And you let him. You hold him as his shoulders shake, as he fights to keep from outright sobbing, as the weight of whatever broke him presses down so hard you swear you can feel it, too. He’s unraveling in your arms, piece by piece, like he’s been holding himself together for so long that the second you touched him, he lost the strength to keep pretending.

So you kiss the top of his head, soft but steady, and something in him shifts.

JJ exhales, a long, shuddering breath against your skin, like you’ve reached inside him and pulled all that tension from his chest. His body, wound so tightly, begins to loosen—his grip on you eases, but only enough for his hands to smooth over your back instead of clutching desperately. He leans into you now not just from pain, but from something quieter, something softer.

You feel it in the way his breathing slows, in the way the tremors start to fade as your fingers trace slow circles over his back. His arms tighten around you again, but it’s different this time—not frantic, not desperate. Just… needing you. Needing to be here, against you, in your warmth, in this small, quiet moment where he can finally let go.

His face stays buried in the crook of your neck, and when he speaks, his voice is hoarse but steady.

– I’m sorry, – He murmurs, again and again, lips moving against your skin.

You shake your head slightly, your fingers still stroking his back. – It’s okay.

And maybe for him, it actually is. Maybe just for a moment, with your hands in his hair and his body wrapped around yours, he feels something like peace. He doesn’t let go—not yet. He holds on, reveling in the comfort you offer, pressing into you like he never wants to leave. Like you’re the first real breath of air he’s had in a long time.

You stay like that, until the silence grows too heavy and you sigh. – We should go.

JJ doesn’t argue. He pulls back slowly, blinking, his eyes still red-rimmed but calmer, softer. His fingers linger at your waist before he finally steps up, exhaling like he’s reluctant to leave the space you created for him.

The drive is quiet, with him pulling your arms tighter around him everytime he gets the chance. You don’t protest. For a moment it's almost comforting, sitting on the back of his bike, without a word being spoken between you. But the feeling sits there, in your chest, that shiver you got when you realized he’s been following you.

It's not just caution.

It's not strangeness.

It's fear. A real, tangible fear of what he did, of what he can still do. Of what he might have continued doing had you not realized it. —It curls up around your throat, that fear. Pressing against your windpipe. You almost struggle to breathe.— You remain there, arms fastened around him as he slows down, pulling the brakes just before your house, even when he finally stops.

JJ leans back into you, breathing deep, clutching your hand to his chest, his body completely relaxed against yours. You’re still wondering. Mind still running.

How long had he followed you for?

Had he been trailing you? Close behind, just out of reach, or had he stared at your location, waiting, watching you without seeing you?

You don’t know which is worse.

– John B’s with Sarah tonight. – JJ mumbles, his head thrown back against your shoulder, the ends of his hair tickling your face. – I saw him sneak out. He’s probably gonna sleep there. – You hum, not really sure of what to say. – Pope and Kie are gone too. – His thumb brushes over the back of your hand slowly, his voice growing deeper, lower. – It’s just the two of us now.

You don’t say anything.

You don’t know what to say.

JJ looks back as you throw your leg over the other side of the bike, and climb down. He still clings to your hand like he’s got you on a leash: you have to remain there as he pulls the key from the ignition, as he sets his things in the top-box, as he leans back against the seat, pulling you in for a kiss.

You meet his mouth briefly, close-lipped, his fingers interlocking with yours as he pulls you in for another, and another, and one more. – I missed this. – He whispers, eyes barely open, already leaning in again.

– It’s been two days. – You remind him, but JJ only laughs.

– Two too many.

You don’t resist when he pulls you closer. His hands find your hips, sliding beneath the waistband of your jeans, calloused fingers pressing into the small of your back like he’s trying to mold you against him. He kisses you again—deeper, messier, his breath warm and tinged with something desperate.

JJ doesn’t just want this. He needs it.

That's what you like about him. He takes like he can’t get enough. He begs, and he grasps and he clings and he needs you like he needs air to breathe.

His hands are restless, traveling up your ribs, down your waist, over your thighs, like he’s trying to make up for lost time, like touching you might steady him, might ground him. But it doesn’t. The more he touches you, the more insatiable he gets. He’s humming against your lips, sighing into your touch, a little frantic, a little unsteady.

You pull him inside, but JJ can’t seem to break the kiss. He takes your hands to the hem of his shirt, tugging impatiently, his lips dragging from your mouth to your jaw to your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your skin between whispered pleas.

– Touch me, – he breathes, his voice cracking like the weight of everything is still right there, lingering beneath the surface.

Your fingers slip into his hair, threading through the strands, and JJ shudders. He melts against you, knees almost buckling as he exhales a sharp, shaky breath.

– Fuck, – he mumbles, almost laughing, giddy and drunk on your touch. He’s clinging to you now, pressing his body into yours, murmuring against your lips, deeper, please, until you give in, kissing him the way he wants. The way he needs.

He moans softly, hands gripping your waist, pushing your top up just to feel your skin against his palms. He’s lost in this, lost in you, smiling against your mouth in that dazed, breathless way, like nothing else exists beyond the way your body fits against his.

Like everything is fine.

Even it isn’t, not really.

You lead him to your room, kicking the door behind you as he falls back on the bed, tearing his shirt off of him as if it were burning. He doesn’t even give you the time to think before he’s pulling you on top of him.

You try to guide him through the motions, letting his hands explore, letting him pull you closer, letting him bury his face in your neck, all while your mind is somewhere else. Detached. Floating.

Because underneath it all—beneath the heat of his mouth and the weight of his body and the way he pleads for you like you’re the only thing keeping him from falling apart—there’s that feeling.

That cold, creeping thing at the back of your mind.

That fear.

It wraps around your throat, pressing tight, squeezing, reminding you of what he did. Of how long he must have followed you, watching, waiting, just out of reach.

Of how much worse it could’ve been if you hadn’t noticed.

JJ doesn’t see it. He doesn’t feel it. He only sees you, only feels your hands, your lips, the comfort he’s so desperate to take from you.

– I missed this, – he murmurs again, voice slurring slightly, hands still moving, still searching. – Fuck, baby I missed this so much.

You swallow hard, exhaling slowly, before finally answering.

– I know.

And you let him keep touching you, let him revel in this, let him have this, because maybe if he does, he’ll calm down. Maybe if he does, you’ll feel safe again.

JJ exhales against your skin, his body completely unwound, pliant beneath your hands. – Take it off. – He groans, hands shaking against his breeches. – Take it off of me, baby. Please. I just want you to be on me. I need it. Please.

You don’t need to be told twice.

He watches, almost breathless while you strip him bare, moaning at every touch, hips bucking every time you brush against him.

That doesn’t last long though.

It isn’t enough that just your hands are on him. So he drags you onto his dick, still clothed, and he grinds himself into you, eyes rolling back.

There’s something raw about the way he touches you—like he’s savoring every inch, like he’ll be going through withdrawal unless he doesn’t hold on tight enough. His fingers dig into your sides as he pulls your hips into his, his laugh breathy, almost delirious.

– God, I fucking love this, – he mutters against your shoulder, his hands slipping beneath your top, his thumbs brushing lazy circles over your skin.

This.

Not you—this.

The warmth. The closeness. The way you let him touch you, take what he needs. – You love this too, right baby? Your hips— He moans, head thrown back when you roll your hips against his cock, the fabric of your jeans giving just the friction he needs to work himself up. – You're so fucking good at this.

You squeeze your eyes shut as he kisses up your throat, his lips tracing familiar paths, his breath hot and unsteady. He hums when you card your fingers through his hair again, pressing into your touch like he’s melting from the inside out.

He's getting wilder, humping you with this reckless abandon he never seems to shake off. But you can see him unraveling. Just the friction isn't scratching the itch.

He needs more.

– Take it off, baby. Please. Please. – he sighs, voice catching, eyes blown out. – Fuck, give it to me. Just ride me.

You hesitate. Your fingers still against the nape of his neck. The sounds he makes, strangled, anguished. Like he’s going mad.

You actually hear him whine when you lift your hips, and his hand flies down to palm himself while he watches you pull the jeans down.

He tilts his head up, catching your mouth again, dragging you deeper into him. His hands slide down, gripping the backs of your thighs, pulling you closer until he's practically in you.

But you don’t let him sink in just yet.

It's more fun when you drag it out.

When you move against him, teasing him, watching him twitch and moan and plead with nothing but the wetness, the softness, the warmth.

There’s a slow, creeping sickness curling in your stomach.

Because you’re leading this. Because you know what he needs, and you’re not quite giving it to him. Because you’re letting him press closer, letting him unravel, letting him forget—for just a little while—that anything is wrong at all.

And a part of you wants to forget too.

It feels good.

It doesn’t matter what he did, what he would do, because he needs you. He can’t get enough of you. He won't leave.

– Please. Please. – He repeats it like a mantra, writhing beneath you, clutching you so fucking tight. His hips go rogue, bucking wildly. – Please let me fuck you. I need to fuck you. Please. Fuck, I can't take this anymore!

The laughter that falls from your lips almost seems to stoke the flames.

He groans out loud when tip pushes into you, and for a second, his entire body just collapses against yours, heavy, needy.

Then his hands slip under your bra again, tugging at the fabric, his breath hot and desperate against your skin.

– Let me see you, – he murmurs, voice thick, rough. – G-Go ahead, baby. I need you to move. Please.

You pull back slightly, meeting his gaze. His pupils are blown wide, his lips kiss-swollen, his expression open in a way that makes you ache.

JJ wants you. That much is obvious.

But more than that—he wants to disappear into you.

To sink into your warmth, your touch, your body, and let it drown out whatever’s eating him alive from the inside.

Your stomach twists.

His fingers have long stopped tracing slow patterns against your ribs, now he's bruising you, nails digging in, shaking, waiting. Pleading.

You could give him what he wants. It would be easy. So, so easy.

But for the first time since this started, you wonder if you should. – And who said you deserve that, JJ?

– Huh?

– Because with the way you talked to me before, I don’t think you do. – You move, just slightly, and he folds, back arching. – I think you’re gonna have to convince me.

– Please. Baby, please.

– You think I'm pathetic. – You tsk, your hips rolling so slow his eyes flutter when they roll back. – I'm not the one who’s begging, though.

– Please! – He's screaming now, and you’re moving faster. The bed creaking beneath you. – I need it! Faster, baby. Faster!

He's splayed out, a puppet with the strings cut loose, yet he's anything but relaxed. You can feel him tensing, hands fisting the sheets so tight his knuckles have gone white.

He screams.

Almost yelping when you start going at the pace you know he likes. And it still isn't enough. He still grabs your hips, pulling you closer, and closer, again and again, banging against that soft spot within you like it's the only thing that can relieve him from this torture.

And you let him.

You ride him like a bronco, as if he’s trying to fuck you off instead of closer. As if he isn't begging for it. Screaming for it. – MORE, BABY, PLEASE!

You want more too.

At some point you lost yourself in trying to punish him, and it started to feel good. You're biting him, teeth dragging against the skin at the crook of his neck, the spot that always makes him shudder, that always makes him writhe.

Your nails have mapped half his body over.

He's red. —His face, his eyes, his lips, his scratches.— He’s gasping. Shaking. His whole body trembling, his eyes rolling back. You can’t even make sense of what he's saying anymore.

The only thing that leaves his mouth are these incoherent pleas, these oohs and aahs that make you laugh, humming to yourself as you ride into your orgasm, feeling him fall apart.

– F-uck, fuck! Don’t stop! Feels so fucking good baby, so fucking good! – He pushes it in faster, but it's still not enough. He needs more, he was going mad! Grabs you by the waist, tosses you on the bed, rutting like a wild dog, head thrown back, eyes rolling upwards. – Fuck! Fuck! Feel s-feel so fucking good!

All that was heard was your laughter, the pleased little gasps that escape your mouth as he fills you up over and over and over again, animalistic and heaving, laughing as well, but out of his mind, completely overwhelmed by the pleasure, by the building release. He crashes against you, once, twice, getting careless. But by then he couldn’t hold it in. More! More! is all you heard from him.

And then you felt it.

His body shudders all over again, still rutting like his life would end. – God. God! I need to cum— fuck! I need— I need— Keep going! Don’t fucking stop baby, don— FUCK! FUCK!

You felt him coat your walls, white, hot, and endless. By then, you were shaking as well, the waves of your own climax washing over you as you arch against him.

He collapses over you, trembling and crying as he smiles, moaning your name in that shaky, adoring voice, eyes clinging to you in utter joy as he pumped lazily, through your climax and his, he still needed more of you. – It won-won’t stop. Fuck, there’s so m-much of it. – Laughter. Yours, his.

Your mind is blank.

He's heavy, heaving, still inside you.

JJ's breathing is ragged, each exhale a shaky whisper as he remains, still there, still trembling with the aftershocks. His hands wander aimlessly across the sheets, his body warm and heavy, as though he's been consumed entirely. His eyes are half-lidded, unfocused, and a soft whimper escapes him as he reaches for your hand.

– Baby... can you...? – His voice is slurred, broken, as if he’s still caught between the pleasure and the exhaustion of it all. His hand gently tugs at your wrist, his fingers brushing against your skin. – Just... touch me. Please... softly.

There was that, too.

He was always sweeter when he was done.

You give a soft, reassuring smile, your fingers gently grazing his messy hair, pushing the strands out of his face, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead, lingering for a moment before you speak in the same soft, soothing tone. – I’m here, JJ. I got you.

He hums in response, his eyes fluttering closed, a content sigh escaping his lips as you run your fingers through his hair, the action slow and comforting. – I’m... Fuck— Laughter buzzes against your skin as he presses his lips on you again. – I'm never getting used to this... I’m not used to this, – he mumbles between shaky breaths, his hand coming to rest on your arm, the weight of his touch grounding him. – Feels... too good. I need you to... keep me close. Just... just a little longer.

You hate the way your heart skips.

But you love the way he says it.

The way his voice brushes against your skin when he pleads, so softly, so sweetly. Like he could never do you harm.

You shift slightly, pulling him into your chest, the warmth of his body a constant reassurance. His hand rests over your heart, the frantic pace of his pulse now slowing, but his face is still pinched with that lingering tension, a mix of exhaustion and need for reassurance. He lets out a soft groan as you press your lips to his temple, whispering, – I’m right here. You’re okay.

His breath evens out, and as the minutes pass, you keep stroking his hair and kissing his head, each kiss lighter than the last, until his body relaxes fully, his grip on you loosens. – Love you.

You feel yourself tense up.

It’s not the first time he says it.

But it might be the first time you know he doesn’t mean it.

Still you smile down at him anyway, pressing another gentle kiss to his forehead before whispering back, – Sure you do, baby. Go to sleep, okay?

He doesn’t need much encouragement.

JJ's never been easy to tire out, but when he does, it's immediate. His ear is pressed to your chest, to your heart, and you wonder what kind of dreams he’ll be having with that soundtrack, but it doesn't take long for his breath to even out.

The house is quiet.

Completely so.

And though you're glad John wasn't there to hear it, laying there, without his snoring to lull you into even halfway into reality only means that it crashes against you like a bucket of cold water a soon as JJ is out.

The day dawns on you, as it has done several times, but still the loathing blooms in your chest and spreads through your body faster than your mind can process.

You're broke.

You're jobless.

The girl you thought was your best friend is a snake.

The boy that's sleeping on you is a stalker.

Your best prospect right now is famously the most spoiled and volatile person on the island. That, because your best friend, the person that could actually get you out of this, has faded away after abandoning you, and you have no idea if he’ll even come back.

What's funny is that this is the thought that hurts you most —Not that you're unemployed, that your now previous boss could ruin you forever, that your relationship with only family member is as unstable as your financial situation, or that the people you thought you could trust don’t care about you— that Barry is gone.

Something he has been plenty of times before.

You lie there in the stillness, the weight of JJ's body pressing against yours. The sheets feel too warm, too much, a world you can’t find a way into. JJ’s steady breathing is a lullaby of sorts, pulling you toward the edge of exhaustion, but it’s not enough to quiet the thoughts tumbling relentlessly in your head.

Barry's absence gnaws at you —You know he’s not gone forever, not really. Or at least you hope so. He’s done this before, pulled away just long enough for you to convince yourself it doesn’t matter. And yet, it hurts like it does. Like it’s different this time.

You turn your head to glance at him—JJ, still sleeping soundly, unaware. His face is soft, the usual edge to his features dulled by exhaustion, but even now, with him so vulnerable in your arms, you feel the invisible distance between you grow. He’s a comfort, but only in the way a warm blanket can make you feel safe when the storm is too loud. And it is too loud. So loud you can barely breathe through it.

Your fingers trace patterns along his skin, but it’s absent, mechanical—the world outside the room, the boy in your arms, the life that’s slipping from your fingers, and the ghost that won’t stop haunting you, and you don't even know why.

Barry.

You know, deep down, that it’s not about him being gone. It’s about the fact that, despite what JJ has just tried to convince you of, Barry actually is the one person that was there for you.

When your father went away, he celebrated with you. When he was declared missing, he comforted you, even if you said you didn't care. Even if you didn't even know you needed it.

And maybe that's the problem: He saw you better than you saw yourself. He knows you. Really knows you.

But does he now?

So much has changed in two days.

You can’t even tell yourself it was real anymore because everything you thought you knew about him, about you, is shifting—becoming something else you can’t identify.

There’s no way to put a name to it, though, is there? That dull ache you’ve learned to live with. Not quite loneliness, but not contentment, either. Just an empty space where hope used to live, and you're so used to it now that you don’t know what it would feel like to fill it.

You let your gaze fall to JJ again, watching the way his back rises and falls with the easy rhythm of sleep. Maybe this is it—this is what you have now. A boy who doesn’t even know what he’s asking for when he whispers his need into the quiet night. And you, too tired to push him away, too lost to turn to anything else. You can almost convince yourself it’s enough, and for a second, you do.

But then, Barry’s face flickers in your mind again, like a ghost.

You wonder, just for a moment, if you would’ve been able to say anything if he were here. If you would’ve told him how much you needed him to help you, how much you needed him to be here, not just physically, but with you in the way that only he ever did.

But he’s not here.

And you’re not sure when he will be again.

The buzz of your phone slices through the silence. You freeze. What's the likelihood that he would call you right then, when you needed him most?

You slide from under JJ, and he grumbles, hands reaching for you even deep into sleep, but you don’t see it. All you see is the unknown number flashing on your screen amidst the darkness, and your heart races as you bring the phone to your ear. – Bee? – The word falls from your lips almost fearfully. You don’t want to know where he's been, what he's doing, or how much of what he had to take to call you like this, in the middle of the night. But you’re impatient to hear his voice, you just want to know if he's okay. – Bee, is that you?

The line scratches softly, the familiar sound of skin whispering against the microphone echoing in-between the two phones. Your pulse thrums against your ear. – Not bee. – You finally hear. – Are, actually.

– “Are”? Barry, what are you talking about? What did you take?

– It’s not Barry, baby. – The edge of his words resounded even through the distance. Pleased, but not quite satisfied. – It’s Rafe.

You let go of a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding.

– Oh, “R”. Okay I got it.

He chuckles, a long, breathy noise. His breathing is heavy. – Did you put the cry-baby to sleep or is he still up whining?

JJ turns in his sleep. His arm, still lying, lax, over your lap shifts, and he pulls himself closer, brow brushing against your thigh. – JJ is… gone.

– Good. Thought I was gonna have to call CPS or some shit. – He scoffs, turning, in bed, you gather, since you hear the squeak of furniture.

– How considerate.

– Well, baby, I'm nothing if not considerate. – He hums. – What are you doing awake?

Regretting your life decisions, pondering the benefits of suicide. – Thinking of you. – It was meant to be a joke, but it didn’t sound like one as it slipped from your lips.

There's half a second of silence from him before you hear that laugh again, like you shocked him.

Rafe Cameron was shocked.

That's definitely a headline.

You can almost hear the smirk on his face. – I was thinking about you too, baby. What are you wearing?

You scoff, almost rolling your eyes. – Rafe.

He laughs again, even breathier. – Sorry. Was that too soon? – His bed creaks again. – You don’t seem like the kind of girl who needs a lot of foreplay.

– Hilarious.

– I was really hoping you'd give me a taste of what you’re wearing tomorrow, though.

You look down almost unconsciously. The only thing covering your skin is sweat. – Definitely not what I'm wearing right now. Unless you're hiring for a job other than personal chef.

Rafe’s quiet again. He moves around. You can hear him breathing. – Maybe I am. What kind of job are you thinking?

– Well, aren’t you the little hiring agency? Should've met you before. There’s some things on my resume I'm definitely not proud of. – He laughs with you now, though there's something strange in his tone. – Did you talk to your governess, or that other guy you said you didn't know the name of?

– Did. We'll be waiting for you.

– Well, you call and I come. – He laughs at the double-entendre, another noise escaping his lips. – What time should I be there?

– How's 10 AM sound?

– Perfect, Rafe. Thank you. Again, really. I can’t thank you enough.

�� You're welcome, baby. You really are. – He groans, the bed creaking. JJ moves around again, his head on your lap, hands around your knees, and he mumbles something unintelligible. – What was that?

– Sorry, uhm. Just… thinking out loud.

You swallow, but Rafe doesn’t miss a beat. – And what are you thinking about?

– About… What I'm gonna wear. – Improvising was never really your forte.

Rafe hums, a long stretch of the M, then something smaller, a sound you can't quite catch. – That skirt. – He sighs. – The blue pleated one.

You pause.

– What?

– It's pretty. – Is all he says, then a groan, or a purr. The phone falls on his pillow, you can hear it scratch against his skin as he moves. But the way he says it, as if he’s seen it a thousand times in the two days you've known each other, as if he can picture you wearing it right in front of him. – Fuck, baby. You’re so pretty.

The compliment grates at your ears.

How does he know your clothes?

You think of the skirt. Your blue pleated skirt. It's been ages since you've worn it. It's way too short. You’ve outgrown it a while ago. – What else, baby?

– Hm?

– What else are you wearing for me?

His bed creaks again, over and over, and he doesn’t say anything for a minute, he just sighs.

– I, uhm. I don’t know. – What even is this conversation?

– Far as I'm concerned you don't need to wear anything. You can come— He laughs, low and unsteady, a strangled “yeah” cutting through the word. – Come as you are.

You feel a trickle of repulse run down your back. You don’t wanna talk to him anymore. You don’t want to talk at all.

– Talk to me, baby. – He groans, again.

– I, uhm. – You kick the nightstand, the noise echoing loudly around your room. – Shit, uhm. Sorry, that's my brother. I'll see you tomorrow.

You kill the line before he can say anything else.

@chatgtfo @bitterdotcom @sassyvillaintrophy @xmayankax @bluethperson @coralblue35 @munsoncultedits @the-bitch-who-binges @im-julessssss

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kkai-zen · 2 days ago

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Hi! (please ignore this if you if you don’t like it) but if you feel comfortable, could you do childhood friend!ness x fem!reader. The idea is that they’re best friends but when ness joins bastard münchen he meets Kaiser (and because my entire personality is hating on him after chapter 289). He makes him isolate himself from his friends. As you can tell I want something really Angsty but with at least a happy ending. Other than what I said, you can do whatever you want with it and have a nice day. :)

hello!! thank you so much for the request, this one took me a while (ㅠ﹏ㅠ) hopefully ness isn't too ooc since i don't know him too well (guilty of being anime only lol), but i had a lot of fun planning the angst for this one and i hope you enjoy! 𓂃۶ৎ

as it was.

wc: 2.1k + childhood friend!reader x alexis ness + angst + implied happy ending + slight kaiser bashing + sfw

“Get out, you idiot!”

Slam!

Even as a child, you’d put together the happenings of the house next door. On most nights, you could peer through the kitchen window, standing on your tippy-toes, and watch the front door of the house slam shut. If you squinted, you could see the curled figure of a boy your age hovering by its porch.

He seems so lonely like this, you tilt your head. You wonder what he’s thinking about, what his parents are like, why he lays down on the grassy lawn and draws invisible pictures in the air.

Breath fogging the glass, you tap at the window loud enough for him to hear, and quietly trace a heart into the condensation. You can’t tell if he sees it.

“Time for bed, honey!” Your mother calls. Shooting a final, curious glance at the boy’s silhouette through your heart, you hop down the stairs to your bedroom.

It’s only a couple days later when you see him wandering around outside again. He still looks sad, doesn’t he? You pinch your eyebrows together.

“Mama! Can I go outside ’n play?”

“Sure, just don’t go too far!”

And before you know it, with some child-like excitement nipping at your heels, you run up to the boy.

“Hi! Would you like to play soccer with me?”

His name is Alexis Ness, you learn.

He’s got a wild imagination, even for a child, yapping to you for hours about magic and illusions and now, soccer. You two would spend entire days kicking around a ratty soccer ball in the front lawn of your house, even on the scant few days Ness didn’t get kicked out of his.

Sun, wind, rain, snow—a day didn’t go by without you and Ness laughing and bickering, chasing each other around in the grass stamped flat from months of play.

It wasn’t long before a year passed.

“Hey, Ness?” You squint up at the hot afternoon sun, hand shielding your eyes as you lay back on the cool grass.

“Huh?”

“Magic is real, isn’t it?”

“Course it is, dummy.”

You frown. “How d’ya know?”

He pauses, toying with the soccer ball in his lap. “Cuz of that feeling I get when I play soccer with you.”

You blink up at him with large eyes. “Feeling?”

“Yeah,” he states, almost as if it were some obvious, undeniable truth. “Y’know, my chest gets all funny and my heart makes these weird sounds and my cheeks get sore from smiling so much.” Ness squishes his face in his hands, and you giggle. “That’s what magic is to me.”

“Ness.”

“What?”

“I think I believe in magic, too.”

And he smiles at you—a real, wide grin that covers his whole face, and for a moment he shines brighter than the sun rays.

“Told ya so!”

The years slipped by quicker than you would’ve liked them to.

Subconsciously, you knew that you and Ness wouldn’t be together like this forever. It was only a matter of when it would happen, the dreaded day that he or you might vanish into adulthood, leaving behind the fond memories of flattened grass and soccer and magic.

You still remember when he told you, with that childlike sparkle in his eyes, that he would be leaving to join Bastard München’s U-20 team.

It was a snowy December day when he left, suitcase beside him, and you tried not to let him see the hot tears balancing on your lower lashes. You two were grown, you reminded yourself. You aren’t children anymore. This was always bound to happen.

So why are you clinging to him, your tears spilling onto his new Bastard München jacket, holding back sobs?

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” Ness whispers into your hair, hand on the back of your head and a sad smile on his lips.

You say nothing, squeezing your eyes shut.

“I won’t be gone forever, you know,” He reprimands gently, pulling your head off his chest. “Besides, won’t it be cool to see me on TV?” His smile is soft, and he wipes the tears from your cheeks with a warm finger. “Y-yeah,” you mumble, unable to meet his eyes.

Both of you are silent for a moment longer, before Ness tilts your head up to look at him. “Thank you for showing me what magic is.”

There’s a strange tension, a fire in his eyes, and your breath catches in your throat when he leans forward to press a delicate kiss to your lips.

And before you know it, he’s gone.

At first, the loneliness was bearable. You and Ness texted every day, every night, any moment he had a second to spare. It was enough to keep your sadness at bay, but it didn’t last long.

The change was gradual: the slow responses, the messages left on read, and then on delivered. At some point, days passed before a single text back. And one day, there were no more texts back.

You justified it to yourself over and over. He’s a professional athlete now. This is his career. Of course he’s busy.

A year ticks by without a single message.

And when you run into him in the middle of town one day, you feel part of your heart crack open.

“Ness? Is that you?”

He’s noticeably taller, face sharper, and his eyes look sunken with that childlike sparkle missing. He was different, as if something had swallowed up his vitality, leaving behind only a porcelain shell that looked down at you with empty eyes.

“Oh, it’s you.”

Ness barely noticed you.

“Y-you’re back? In town?” You stand there, heart sinking lower, and lower again when he looks at you, wearing a slender smile that doesn’t match his cold eyes.

“Yeah, I am, unfortunately.”

“You could’ve- I mean- just, texted me, at least?”

Your voice is trembling, and you’re not sure why. This is Ness, isn’t it? The boy you grew up with? Your best friend, and possibly even-

“What, am I your boyfriend or something?”

His voice is deceivingly gentle for his sharp words, and they hit you like a slap in the face. Your heart breaks a little more.

“It would’ve been nice to at least know. Y’know, as friends?” Your voice still trembles, but this time it’s more out of anger than fear or sadness.

“Friends?”

Ness looks at you, quiet smile still on his face, betraying no emotion. “I don’t need friends. I have my team- no, I have him.”

There’s no doubt in your mind that the him Ness means is Kaiser.

That blue-haired, rose-obsessed freak of a striker on Bastard München. You’ve seen all of Ness’s games multiple times, and you had to admit their chemistry was admirable. But even off the field, they’d been spotted together: after games, after practice, everywhere, with Ness trailing behind Kaiser like a puppy.

“So- so he means more to you than someone who’s been friends with you for your whole life?”

You can’t help the hurt and frustration that slips into your voice. But as soon as the words leave your lips, you regret it.

Ness’s eyes narrow, and chills run up your spine.

“Watch yourself. A nobody like you shouldn’t be insulting him.”

And what’s left of your composure splinters apart.

“Seriously, Ness? After all this time, you- he- ” you scramble for words, desperation and anger and fear gripping your throat. “We’ve been friends for years. Since we were children. Do you seriously not see me as a friend now?” Your hands close into fists. “For fuck’s sake, we grew up together!”

He stares down at you with that soft cold smile.

“Kaiser was right. You’re a distraction.”

You didn’t count the number of years that passed since then.

Life goes on, doesn’t it? But you never realized a life without Ness would be so miserable. Quietly turning off your TV when his games aired, scrolling past news about Bastard München, about anything soccer related—it was too much for you to bear.

It’s cold today, you quietly think, wrapping your scarf tighter around your neck as soft white petals of snow flutter over you. It doesn’t usually snow this early in the year.

With slow, deliberate steps, you dread the sight of your childhood home in the distance. It only reminds you of him, after all. Why’d you tell your parents you’d visit them?

But you see a faint silhouette in the distance, a hunched shadow hovering by the porch next door, and a wave of nostalgia drowns you: the foggy window, the heart, and the boy. It feels like a mirage, a trick of the light, but as you approach the house, it’s exactly who you wished yet dreaded to see the most standing there, tattered soccer ball at his feet.

“Ness?”

Your voice is faint, as if you’re talking to yourself and not the man standing there.

He doesn’t look real. Glowing in the cold light of the moon, snow frosts his hair, bags hanging under his eyes. He’s a ghost, an apparition, a figment of your desperate imagination. That’s what you think until he pulls you into a deep hug, and you feel the warmth of his skin on yours.

You stand there, frozen still, his arms wrapped around you for too long a time before he pulls away.

“I’m sorry.”

His voice has the same light, gentle quality it always had, but something about it is different this time.

In all those years, you’d never seen Ness like this. He was a ray of sun, beaming and glowing with warmth, and then he was ice, cold and sharp and crushing your heart into pieces with its vice.

But he was never this; haunted, trembling, almost as if he was about to splinter into pieces and out of existence.

“How many years has it been, Ness?” You whisper. He doesn’t answer.

“How many? Since you left me for Kaiser?” There’s no bitterness in your voice, only a silent resignation that’s met with snowflakes and a whistle of wind.

“I texted you. Every day for that whole year you were gone.” Your voice grows louder. “I watched every single one of your games on TV. I waited for you, every single day, hoping you would respond. And what did you do?”

What feels like a lifetime’s worth of anger suddenly swells inside you, threatening to overflow, and you jab a finger into his chest. “Nothing! You did fucking nothing, Ness. I- ” you choke.

“You left me, after making those empty promises. Not even a text back? Are you fucking serio-”

“‘I hope you’re doing well, Ness. I loved your assist in that last game, it was amazing.’”

You freeze.

“‘Take care of yourself, make sure to stay hydrated.’ ‘Look at this article I found! You and Kaiser really make a good pair LOL.’ ”

Ness takes a breath, and keeps going.

“‘Eat and sleep well, Ness!’ ‘Just got your jersey in the mail today!’ ‘Your form looks great, excited for your next game.’”

The words spill from his lips as if he’d been waiting his whole life to say them. And it’s several long, word-filled minutes later before he utters,

“‘Miss you lots, Ness. Come home soon.’ ”

You're speechless. “Are those…”

“Texts you’ve sent me. Every single one.” Ness says, his quiet voice hoarse. You say nothing, staring at him with shock. “I read them. All of them, a million times over and then again.” He reaches out to touch your hand.

“It was hard to respond because of him. Kaiser. Made me feel like you were a distraction, when-” Ness swallows. “When in reality, you were the reason I started playing soccer in the first place.”

His grip on your hand tightens the slightest bit. “I never forgot you. Not a single time. I only pretended not to because of pride and selfishness and a desire to please the wrong person.”

You look at him and for a moment, all you see is that lonely boy from a lifetime ago.

“I hurt you. But I- I promise you-” He clutches your hands to his chest, eyes filling with desperation. “I understand what I did, and it was wrong, and I fucked up, and I just- I regret ignoring you and treating you like that and- just, please, at least let me make it up to you.”

There are tears sliding down his face now, and your heart lodges in your throat.

“Will you let me back into your life? Even for just a moment?”

And you say nothing, quietly stepping back, pulling your hands out of his. You catch the way his breath stops, the way his body freezes, the way dread settles over his face when you pull away.

But instead of leaving, you bend over to pick up the soccer ball at his feet.

“Hey Ness?”

“…y-yes? What is it?”

You hold the worn ball out to him.

“Will you prove to me that magic exists again?”