#all of the times i’ve been watching you all these years

[razrbladekiss]

CRAVE | Joel Miller

SUMMARY: there’s only one thing that joel craves, and it isn’t the mental fucking torture of an overly stubborn twenty-something teasing him ‘til he’s blue in the face. and balls.

PAIRING: dbf!joel miller x afab!reader. legal unspecified age gap.

WARNINGS: MINORS DNI, 18+ CONTENT BELOW THE CUT. alcohol consumption. pervy old man joel. reader’s dad (i’ve named him sorrrry) is there before joel gets pervy. some religious themes and also descriptions of religion in a negative light (this is MY experience with christianity, if you do not agree then please don’t read), no explicit smut but descriptions of what joel wants to do to youuuu so: mentions of piv, cock-riding, oral f!receiving, choking if you squint, dirty talk asf, joel being cocky which leads to his cock being sad and alone. reader is cunty. not proof-read ‘cus, once again, i’m a lazy bitch and i don’t have time for that. enjoy. 🫶🏻

An end to craving is an end to suffering.

Today’s last stream of sunlight fulgurates through the branches of your father’s prized Texas Ash, hitting perfectly the dime-sized crucifix situated comfortably between two pert tits sheathed in sheer black cotton.

Joel tries not to stare, but it’s impossible. He’s been watching you all fucking night. Every time you get up, he’s been glued to your ass. Whenever you lean over, Joel can’t seem to pry his eyes away from your cleavage. The more he’s been drinking, the more brazen he’s been with his stolen glances.

When your father rambles about some work-related spiel—and you’re sitting so innocently across the way—he can’t help affixing his eyes to the swell of your breasts. Wondering what it’d be like to touch, and grope, and suck on them.

Your mother was right about him. For all of the years that she knew Joel while your parents were together, she’d always say that he was trouble. A good-for-nothing, splenetic, perverted old-man who was but a bad influence. And you never noticed, never cared. You always thought that he was a great friend, and a stand-up guy.

Until today. Until you saw him scrutinizing your form—in front of your dad—you had a lot more respect for Joel. But now you realize that your mother was right. He is a perv. But—fuck—do you love that.

You’re not sure what you enjoy more—disrespecting your insane Catholic mother, or knowing that Joel is undressing you with his eyes—but you can’t help yourself feeding into his fantasy.

“Daddy?” Your father hums, not entirely bothered by the fact that you’ve just interrupted his conversation. He smiles. “Do you want another beer?”

“Please, hon.” He hands you his empty bottle, mumbling something about how he was going to get himself one and that you don’t need to. But you insist.

The blanket over your thighs is being discarded, hiking your dress up with it. Joel gets a glimpse of your lace panties that he likes to imagine you wore just for him, and shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

Bare, supple skin is on display as you get up from the deck chair. You turn to him with a prurient twinkle in your eye, and ask if he wants a drink too. “Yeah, another won’t hurt. I’m already pretty—“ he hiccups, “pretty far gone, anyway.”

Dad laughs while you saunter to the cooler and make a big show of bending over, completely unaware of the way Joel is trying to conjure up a plan to get you alone tonight. But then…

“Same ‘ere, bud.” He laughs before he’s nodding toward Joel. “Stay the night, if ‘ya wanna. I mean, you’re in no fit state to drive—none of us are—and I got a spare bedroom.”

His nose scrunches up, as if to decline, before you’re turning around with two unopened beers and a small bottle of wine. Your hand wraps around the neck almost romantically, leaving very little to his imagination.

“Yeah, you might as well stay, Miller.” You put down the beers on the table, still holding firmly the Merlot. “I’m stayin’. I got nowhere to be in the mornin’, and dad bought breakfast stuff.”

Two brown eyes are latched to each of yours, and you feel beads of perspiration roll through the valley of your breasts. Despite the evening cooling down, you’re stifling beneath his unyielding gaze.

“Alright, I’ll stay.” Joel concedes. He takes his can and cracks it open, lifting it up to cheers your father. “S’long as you’re makin’ me breakfast, Gary.”

Dad salutes and you smile, sinking into the purple cushion with a satisfied hum. You ogle Joel, biting fiercely the skin of your bottom lip. And it doesn’t go unnoticed.

Joel swigs his beer—letting your dad drunkenly ramble—and doesn’t take his eyes off of you. Wondering how he’s going to make you pay for torturing him like this.

But this hadn’t been your intention when Joel showed up to watch the Cowboys v Browns game this afternoon. In fact, him staying past nine o’clock was completely unintentional and if it weren’t for your dad pumping him full of Coors and Old Milwaukee, he’d be fast asleep at this very moment.

He supposes that he doesn’t mind, being here. Especially because he’s buzzed—still able to speak and think coherently, which is surprising—and gets to spend some rare time with you. Even if it is with your dad.

You watch them converse—the way that friends do—admiring how patient Joel is with him despite him being a little bit too inebriated for his own good. He’s the kind of friend that your old man needs; understanding, forbearing. And it baffles you that they’ve not known one another for longer than seven years, but surmise that they’d definitely be best friends in every other timeline because they just work so well.

But it’s the thought of them being friends—brothers—that urges feelings of unease. Trepidation. Gary’ll have a cow if he finds out the way that his so called buddy has been making googly eyes at his little girl’s titties for the last eight hours.

Joel senses the shift in attitude—you’re not teasing him now—and turns the topic of conversation to you. Dad doesn’t mind, though. Never minds talking to—or about—his kid.

“What made you stay in with us oldies tonight, huh?”

Wine is being swiveled around the glass before you take it back in one swig. A grimace flits over your features, but they both catch it.

“Didn’t feel like hittin’ the bars.” Candidly, you say. It’s refreshing. “Can’t be dealin’ with pervy old men tryna touch me.”

Less refreshing.

Joel’s blood runs cold, and you smirk. He swallows thickly the liquid acrimony bubbling from the chasms of his throat. He wants to screw that stupid grin off of your face—stuff his cock straight between those plush lips and throat fuck you ‘til you’re crying and gasping for air.

He just nods instead of saying anything.

“I’ll kill anyone that touches you.” Dad says, not sensing Joel’s sudden frigid state. “Seriously. ‘Specially if it’s an old fuckin’ degenerate asshole—“

“Alright, Gary.” You halt the hate train, pouring the last few dregs of wine into your glass. “No need to get all protective. No old coot is comin’ anywhere near me.”

You look directly at Joel when you say; “old men can’t do what guys my age can, anyway.”

Dad grimaces. Joel scoffs. You can’t help smiling, feeling very proud of yourself.

“Y’know, you’re still my kid? And hearing this shit is nasty.” Your father tells you around a burp, and realizes that this might be the time to call it a night.

He’s never been able to handle his alcohol, especially after being married to your psychotic beer-loathing, hymn-signing, prayer-group-leading, holier-than-though moronic fucking mother.

He lets himself get too drunk too fast, now. Ever since she went back to Kansas—which was totally code for I fucked the priest and got extradited from the church—he’s really let his hair down, and you’d be lying if you said this version of your old man wasn’t the very best. Because he’s living his life the way that he wants to, now.

It’s nice.

“It might be nasty, but ‘least you don’t have to worry about me bringing home a man your age. Or even worse; older.”

Gary gets to his feet—knees clicking and cracking as he does so—and nods. “‘Spose that’s true, kid.”

Joel. Is. So. Fucking. Pissed.

As you say your goodnights—and put on a few lights so that your dad doesn’t trip over his own feet—Joel is mentally counting down the minutes until he gets you alone on this damn patio. He’s determined to make you regret the few little comments that you’ve made tonight.

“Don’t stay up too late. Y’know how cranky ‘ya get with no sleep.” Dad reminds you. “You too, Miller.”

You hum your response, lifting your empty glass and indicating that you’ll be retiring to your room soon, too.

“Night dad.”

“Night, pumpkin.” He turns to Joel. “Make sure she ain’t up too late.”

He nods and shifts his gaze to you, eyes darkening. “Yessir. I’ll put her to sleep.”

Your father grunts and slides the patio door to close. Leaving his daughter and best friend alone together might be the biggest mistake that he’s ever going to make.

Joel watches him intently behind the glass door, heeding him stumble across the tile. He might be about to rearrange your guts, but he at least wants to be courteous.

Your legs squeeze together, for the only sound you hear is the reverberation of Joel’s I’ll put her to sleep in that sexy, beer-slick tone.

He sees it.

“She makin’ ‘ya squirm?”

You blink at him. “I beg your pardon?”

“Your pussy.” Joel—as candid as ever—elaborates. “Is she flutterin’ ‘cus ‘a me?”

The fallout of a chemical bomb would be much more appealing than having to look Joel in the eye after such a lewd statement.

“Don’t worry if so. I have that effect on the ladies.”

“Makin’ yourself sound like a slut, Miller.” Coolly, you respond. Your hand is reaching for a can of beer, twining fingertips around the base while another pulls the tab.

Two eyes screw shut when a spritz of alcohol is flushing over your face, neck and chest. Droplets of Bud trickle between those perfect tits that Joel’s eyes have almost burned fucking holes into; forcing even the horniest man on planet earth to render himself utterly speechless.

You trail a finger through the valley of your breasts, collecting the sticky liquid before you’re putting it straight into your mouth; sucking it clean. Your eyes are locked on Joel’s.

“What? Cat got your tongue?”

Slowly, he shakes his head. The sight before him is truly one to behold; his friend’s sweet daughter with her fingers between her tits out in the patio. Nobody’d ever believe him if he told them this. Joel probably wouldn’t even fucking believe himself.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t ’ya?” Is what he says in response. He’s quick witted, you’ll give him that. “My tongue stuck in your pretty little pussy—“

Heat flashes over you.

“You’re fucking vile.”

“Ain’t that the way it’s meant’a be?” He lurches forward, and your eyes travel to the small opening of his shirt’s midsection that highlights perfectly the fact that he hasn’t a base layer beneath the flannel.

You see a small patch of hair; brown, and gray and seems a little fuzzy. It’s a sudden reminder that this man is a smidge too old for you. But you can’t find it in yourself to care very much.

“Don’t think so.” Trying to out-douche him, you respond. Joel’s thick fingers are twined together, hands resting over the peaks of his knees. “Think youre meant’a have some kinda respect for me. Y’know, as my dad’s buddy, ‘n all.”

Joel snorts a laugh.

“I’d have respect for ‘ya, but the way that peachy fuckin’ ass was in the air when ‘ya bent over the cooler tells me that daddy’s ’lil girl is more of a slut than me.”

Your jaw rolls. Reaction: gauged.

He inches nearer to you; slimy grin plastered across rough, rugged features. “Only pullin’ your leg, hon. I know you’re no slut. Too much of a prissy bitch—“

“Oh, really?” Irked, you spit.

Joel nods. Pushing at your buttons has never been much of a difficult feat. It’s something that he quite enjoys, actually.

“Mhm, yeah.” The man is leaning backwards in his chair, now. Arms folded behind his head; hands pressed against his dark curls. “Gonna have to prove that you ain’t like your mama.”

Your blood boils. And then it runs cold.

“Don’t gotta prove shit to you.” You defend. Very defensively.

“No, that’s right. Don’t gotta do nothin’, kiddo.”

You see the outline of his dick as it stiffens within the confines of his dark, navy-denim jeans. He’s actually getting off on this.

“Unless you want to—“

“Nah, I’m good.” You’re leaning back, now, lifting your legs to sit criss cross applesauce. The barely-covering-your-crotch sheer fabric of your thong catches his eye; a glint of something wicked flickers through them as he clears his throat.

If you’re playing the long game, then so is he. He can out-stubborn anybody.

“So I’ve heard.” He jabs, insinuating that you’re a prude. Again. “Can prove ‘em all wrong, if ‘ya wanna.”

It’s killing him, this. It’s torture. But he’s strong. Ish.

You shake your head, reaching for your almost-empty can of beer. You’re taking another long pull, making a dramatic show of tilting your head back and puffing out your chest as you do so. His lips purse.

“I’m good.” You tell him again with a syrupy smile. “Rather we just talk. Y’know—be civilized, ‘n all.”

His arms are moving to the sides of his deck chair, now. Joel’s tongue runs along his bottom lip. He gives a quick bob of his head.

“Yeah, we can talk.” His eyes zone in on your pussy; the engorged wet patch situated on the part of fabric that kind-of clothes your cunt. His mouth waters. “But what’ll we talk about, baby girl?”

Another surge of pleasure oozes out from between your thighs, turning what was once a purple thong into a jet-black one. Joel doesn’t mind, though. The sight is sweet; it’s prurient, in some sick way.

“Hm.” You pretend to think, all the while spreading your legs a little bit more. He sees perfectly the outline of your folds as fabric hugs and highlights the inner workings of your beautiful anatomy. “Why don’t we start with what you’re thinkin’ about, Mr. Miller?”

A weakness of his, that is. You referring to him as Mr. Miller has always gotten him hot. It’s innocent, almost. It’s like that’d been engrained into your brain by the god-fearing fruit-loop that brought you up, and you can’t quit saying it in these situations.

“Oh, doll. Not sure you’ll wanna hear what I’m thinkin’ of.” His tone is rough, now. Like 180 grit sandpaper against the wooden walls inside of your fucking brain. You hum.

Mentally, Joel’s cock is spearing open the tight hole between your legs; making you scream his name. He’s thrusting his prick up into your cervix while you ride him like he’s the last cowboy on earth, desperate to feel a kind of pleasure that no man your age could ever bestow upon you.

In his head, he’s picturing your crucifix dangling in his face while you’re pleasuring yourself on his length; glistening with sweat, and cum, and Sierra Nevada. Howling at his girth, speechless at the size of him.

He wants nothing more than to wrap a hand around the base of your throat and fuck you into next week; feeling damp walls contract and seize around his cock—

“No.” You snap him back to reality; halting his train of thought. “No, you can tell me. I’m a big girl, I can take it.”

Oh, I’m fuckin’ sure she can.

“Fine.” He clears his throat. “Just thinkin’ of stufin’ that warm ‘lil cunt with my big ‘ol cock, ‘s’all.”

“Oh, is that all?” Your tone is teasing.

Joel does not like to be teased.

“If you’d shut your fuckin’ mouth, I’d be able to finish.”

In a moment of pure, unapologetic submission, you nod. The skin of your bottom lip is getting fucking gnawed at by your teeth in an attempt to conceal a moan.

It works. Kind of.

“What was I sayin’…” He strives to recall his last few words; and then he remembers. “Oh, yeah. Stretchin’ out that cute pussy ‘a yours.”

That cute pussy ‘a yours, is twitching. Fuck that, it’s pulsating.

“And you’re so sure of that? You being able to stretch me out, I mean.”

“Dead sure, angel face.” He quips. “I know for a damn fact that you’d be havin’ trouble takin’ my fat cock all in one go; be cryin’ for everyone to hear.”

Through long, thick lashes, you stare at him.

“You’d be seein’ stars; and not just the ones above us right now.”

You look up to the sky and hope to alleviate some of the mental pain being bestowed upon you right now. Which is entirely your own doing, of course.

Joel shifts in his seat so that he’s a little bit more sunken, able to heed clearly the sickly sweetness blanketing the chair you’re on.

“I’ll eat your pussy, too.”

Your attention is snapped back down to Joel, now. Your brows raise.

“Suck your soul right out from between your legs.”

“Oh, Joel.” You moan, a little. He lets his eyes shut for a brief moment, only to open them again to find you taking off your panties.

It’s like Christmas fucking day, this.

“I’d love for you to take me right here; fill me up on one ‘a the sunloungers.” You’re getting off your chair, and Joel’s heart is starting to pound within the chasms of his chest.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

You’re walking toward him; thong in hand. Fingers wreathed through soaked purple cotton.

“Can’t think of anything that’ll bring me more pleasure than you fuckin’ me ‘til I’m crying. Or gasping for air.”

“You ‘n me both, beautiful.”

You smile. You give Joel your underwear, before you’re running your fingers through his hair and he’s letting a hand glide up the meat of your thigh and beneath your skirt.

“Just a shame, ain’t it.”

“What’s a shame, sugar?”

The feeling of his fingertips—calloused and covered in rough skin—is almost orgasmic. But you’re stronger than what he is. So you pull yourself away from his hold, and begin to feel an unwavering sense of need. You shirk it, though.

You’re leaning into him now, breasts pressed against his shoulder, lips touching the shell of his ear. Goosebumps prickle over his neck and you assume that they’re making their way down south, too.

“Huh?” He says to get your attention, for you still haven’t answered. “What’s a shame?”

Fingertips trace over broad shoulders enveloped in soft, warm flannel. You’re leaning closer; hot breath on his skin. Your lips part to whisper:

“If daddy ever found out about this, he’d kill ‘ya.”

“Baby—“

You’re taking the panties from his hand, and tucking them into the breast pocket of his shirt. Fighting a blush—feeling very proud of yourself—your face remains straight.

You tap at his chest and walk away, but not before throwing a “night, Miller” over your shoulder.

Joel looks down at the ground, presently wallowing in some sort of self-pity. But then remembers the visible effect that his words had—and the way he looked at—you, and he can’t fight the stupid fucking grin pushing its way onto his face.

He might’ve just experienced blue-balls at his big age, but to see you submit to his gaze was absolutely worth it.

He just hopes you’ll never tell a soul about his dirty-talk. He has a reputation to uphold, these days.

[starsjulia]

baby fever // alexia putellas

a/n : maybe it’s because i’m ovulating, but i feel like im having withdrawals from my child (i don’t have a child)

warnings : none!!

“Alexia,” you said, flopping onto the couch dramatically, your phone clutched in one hand. “Look at this baby. Look. Isn’t this proof we should have one?”

She glanced up from her iPad, one brow raised. “That’s the fifth baby you’ve shown me today.”

“Because they’re soooo cute! And we could have one!” You shoved the phone under her nose, showing her a TikTok of a giggling infant in a tiny onesie. “Imagine our baby. They’d have your eyes, my—”

Alexia cut you off with an amused smirk. “We’ve talked about this, cariño.”

“No, you’ve talked about logistics,” you shot back, sitting cross-legged beside her. “I’ve talked about how I want a baby, like, yesterday.”

She sighed, setting the iPad down. “I’m not saying no. I’m saying it’s a big decision. And with everything we have going on—your work, my schedule—it’s not the right time.”

“Then I’ll carry!” you declared, your voice rising with excitement. “You can keep playing, and I’ll do all the hard parts. It’s perfect!”

Alexia blinked at you, her eyes narrowing slightly. “You’ve… really thought about this, haven’t you?”

“For months,” you said earnestly, grabbing her hand. “I don’t care about logistics or timing. I just know I want to do this with you.”

Her gaze softened, but there was still hesitation. “I’m not against it, amor. I just want to make sure we’re ready. Both of us.”

You groaned, flopping backward into her lap. “If you won’t listen to me, I’ll get backup.”

Alexia frowned. “What does that mean?”



————————

It meant enlisting Mapi and Ingrid.

“Finally!” Mapi said when you brought up your idea at training. She threw her hands in the air dramatically. “I’ve been telling Alexia for years she needs to let loose a little. Having a baby is perfect.”

“Right?” you said, clutching Mapi’s arm. “Imagine her as a mamá. So nurturing, so responsible—”

“And terrifying,” Mapi added, smirking. “Disciplining kids with that captain energy? Iconic.”

Ingrid chimed in from beside her. “Honestly, we’re on board. Do it, and we’ll be the godparents.”

“You’d have to fight Mariona for it,” you teased.

Mapi scoffed, draping an arm over Ingrid’s shoulder. “Please. I’m already the cool tía. It’s a done deal.”

Ingrid smiled softly, giving you a nudge. “Besides, we think you’re for perfect carrying the baby. You’re already glowing just talking about it.”

“You get it,” you said dramatically, pointing at Ingrid like she’d solved world hunger. “Why can’t Alexia see it?”

“Oh, she does,” Mapi said knowingly. “She’s just pretending to be logical about it. She’ll come around. Trust me.”

—————————

The breakthrough came at a team barbecue, thanks to Ingrid and Mapi’s nephew, little Liam, who’d stolen your heart the moment you met him.

“You’re so perfect,” you cooed, holding him close as he gurgled in your arms. “The cutest baby ever.”

Across the yard, Alexia watched you from a distance. Mapi elbowed her lightly, smirking. “You’re staring, capi. You look like you’re about to cry.”

“I’m not crying,” Alexia muttered, though her gaze softened as she watched you bounce Liam gently.

“You’re thinking about it, though,” Ingrid said, stepping up beside them.

Alexia sighed. “It’s not that I don’t want to. I just—”

“You’re overthinking,” Mapi interrupted. “Classic Alexia. Look, you’re already a leader. A protector. It’s who you are. Being a mom? You’d be incredible. And (Y/N)? She’s ready. You can see it in her face.”

Alexia didn’t answer, but her thoughtful expression spoke volumes.

Later, as you cradled Liam, Alexia finally approached.

“Look at him,” you said, smiling as Liam giggled and reached for her. “He’s perfect. And soon, he’ll have a little friend. Isn’t that right, Ale?”

Alexia raised a brow. “What?”

“Our baby!” you explained, beaming. “He’s gonna have a friend, and they’ll grow up together, and it’ll be so cute.”

Alexia reached out hesitantly, letting Liam grab her finger. She froze, visibly melting at the tiny hand gripping hers. Mapi and Ingrid exchanged smug looks from across the yard.

Alexia sighed, her voice quiet. “You’re really not letting this go, are you?”

“Not a chance,” you said, grinning. “Come on, Ale. Let’s do it. I’ll carry, you’ll be the hot football mum, and Mapi and Ingrid are already fighting to be the godparents.”

“We’re winning,” Mapi called from nearby, raising a beer.

Alexia laughed softly, shaking her head. “Fine.”

Your eyes widened. “Wait. Fine?”

“Yes,” she said, smiling at your stunned expression. “But we’re doing this properly. No rushing.”

“Whatever you say, mamá,” you teased, setting Liam in his stroller before throwing your arms around her. “Let’s go make a baby!”

“That’s… not how it works,” she said, pulling back slightly.

“Oh, right,” you said, blushing. “I knew that.”

Her laughter was warm as she leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. “I can’t wait to see you glowing, amor. And for the record… Mapi and Ingrid are not automatically the godparents.”

“We’ll see about that!” Mapi shouted, earning another laugh from both of you.

As Alexia’s hand rested gently on your stomach, you knew everything was about to change. But for the first time, it felt like a change you were both ready for.

[frannyzooey]

Sun Drenched

Marcus Acacius x f!reader

Rating: E

a/n: a little something I wrote after the premiere of the trailer — enjoy while I work on some other things! ❤️

—

Marcus’s fingers drum on the table, his eyes drifting over the wood. His gaze is unfocused, every color and fine line blending together, his mind distant from the talk of battle around the room. 

The whorls remind him of your curves, the ones he left draped in his sheets. 

The slow rise and fall of your breathing, your bare chest on display. He plays with the curve of your breast, reveling in the petal soft skin: fingertips circling your peaked nipple, his thumb skating over the plump weight. Bending to give it a kiss, the skin feels like velvet under his lips. A butterfly’s wings, delicate and achingly soft. 

Your fingers run through his curls on a soothing loop, his scruffed cheek resting over your heart. His touch dancing along the inside of your thigh, the bend of your knee, the sloped indent of your waist. 

Sated and spent, every sense satisfied. 

Touch, taste, smell, all nourished for the time being. 

You hum, and he listens, closing his eyes. 

“General Acacius?”

His name brings him back to the present, a table of men staring at him. 

“Hm?”

Some chuckle, some barely hide their impatience. 

“Looks like his mind is elsewhere.”

“Between his lover’s legs, more like.”

“Can you blame the man? He’s been away for almost a year.”

His smile is tired, but good natured. He holds his hand up, silencing their comments.  

“My apologies. Please, continue.”

They do, Marcus trying his hardest to focus on the plans they have laid before him, the training suggestions, the maps. Everything plotted, everyone with an opinion to voice. They fight across the table; old men and young.

“Do you have to go?”

He turns, thumbing at a mark you’ve left on his bare chest while riding him this morning. 

“I can’t neglect my duty to Rome,” he says, drinking deeply from a cup of wine. 

“And what about your duty to me?” you tease, pulling your naked leg out from under the sheets. Your hand drifts down along the inside of your thigh, and he stops his search for a tunic, watching. You skim it higher, and then higher still and his eyes darken when you slip it under the sheets between your legs, just out of sight. 

“I think I’ve more than satisfied that,” he replies, abandoning his search for clothing. Climbing up onto the bed to join you, he takes your ankle in his hand, bringing it to his mouth for a kiss. His lips drift higher, his grin pressing into your leg at the giggle you let out when he tugs the sheet from your body. 

Settling heavy and warm on top of you, his mouth immediately seeks your own. 

His voice is heard above the rest in the end. Plans settled for the day, he stands from the table, rubbing at the stiffness in his lower back from years spent in the training yard, sitting in a saddle, sleeping on the ground. The men shake his hand one at a time as they file out of the room, and he follows, walking out into the courtyard. 

The sun shines down on his face, and he tilts it upwards, soaking in all he can before he’s summoned again. A council with the emperors is next, the future of Rome to be decided. More old men sitting around on their pompous asses to decide the fates of both himself, and the men that fight beside him. 

Passing the training yard, the men shout their greetings to him as he passes. He molded so many of them, took them from their cradles into manhood, taught them how to be worthy of protecting one of the greatest cities in the world.  He pauses, watching, the clang of swords melting into the background. 

You buck underneath him, your bare skin flush with his own, your hands splayed across his chest with a shove. As hard as you can, you try to budge him, and he grins above you. 

“You can do better than that, my love,” he teases. Still, he lets up a fraction and you use your weight to roll him onto his back, your thighs straddling his hips. Your breasts bounce with the movement, and his mouth waters. 

“It’s not fair,” you complain, slightly breathless, your pretty pout making him thicken underneath you. “You’re so much stronger than me.” A mischievous glint dances in your eyes. ���Maybe I should wander down to the training yard. See if grappling with those men makes me any better.”

Your fingers entwine with his, and he takes advantage of your momentary distraction to let you catch your breath – and then he lunges. Sitting up with a cinch, he pins your hands behind your back and tips you backwards into the bedding, trapping your arms. You laugh and fight back, trying hard to ignore the stiff weight of his cock as it brushes between your legs. 

“Why, when you have the best one in your bed already?”

You try to dodge him, rolling to the side to see if you can escape the bed, and he snatches you back into place, his strong arm banding across your stomach. Faster than you can react, he’s pinned you face down into the sheets, and his knees force your legs open, his hand wrapping firmly around your plush hips to jerk them up. 

Breathless and hard won, he lines up and shoves himself forward, fucking his victory into you.  

Stuck longer than he would have liked in councils this afternoon, he feared they would turn into a dinner invitation. The emperors were fond of drawn out, elaborate affairs, tables of food and wine, pleasantries exchanged with the secret intents hidden beneath smiles. 

He walks with a purposeful stride and a stern expression, one he’s practiced among the years. It’s a commanding gait he hopes will deter anyone from stopping him for an idle chat. He’s had enough of Rome’s business for today. 

“General Acacius.”

A guard greets him as he passes, the man snapping into a rigid stance.

“Is she in there?” Marcus asks. 

“She hasn’t left all day, sir. Just like you asked.”

Marcus nods, rounding the corner to his private chambers. Opening the door, he’s greeted with silence. 

It’s a peaceful silence, the room drenched in the sunlight of the late afternoon, the lingering smell of the rich oil you use on your skin in the air, the curtains to his balcony billowing in the breeze. It’s there where he finds you, fast asleep on a chaise. A book open and laid flat across your chest, he admires the softness of your profile for a moment. 

Long lashes, plump lips, beautiful, soft skin – and completely naked, underneath your thin robe. 

He carefully takes a seat and you stir at the shadow that overtakes you, giving him a gentle, lazy smile in greeting. 

“You’re back.”

“Finally,” he says, lifting the book from your chest. He gives it a glance, flipping through the pages for a moment before setting it down. “Is this how you spent the day?” he teases warmly. “Lazing in the sun?”

You roll onto your side, your robe sliding open with the movement. His eyes drop to the exposed juncture between your thighs before slowly drifting upwards: the soft curve of your belly peeking through the folds of fabric, the plane of your chest awash in sunlight. Your skin looks freshly oiled and warm, and he longs to press his face against it. 

Instead, he leans in for a kiss. 

“You told me not to leave, sir.” You murmur the words against his lips, your hand slipping over the curve of his bare thigh, sliding up underneath the hem of his tunic. “So I didn’t.”

He hums, pulling back with a lick of his lips. His eyes make a hooded, dark circuit down your naked body only to slowly crawl back up. 

“Did you have a good day, my pet?”

The endearment is one that he knows you like, the implication that you exist only for his leisure and pleasure. If only you knew it was actually the other way around, that you held the leash of the world’s most feared general. 

“I did. I’d hoped you’d join me for dinner,” you smile, bringing his attention back to your face. 

“And what’s for dinner?” he asks, his voice dropping into a low, raspy tone. His hand slides up the inside of your thigh, cupping you wholly between your legs. “This?”

His fingers press against your damp curls, searching, exploring. His hold tightens, and you suck in a breath before melting into the chaise. 

“If you wish,” you sigh, letting your legs fall open. 

He does. He’s been waiting all day to settle between your plush thighs, to be wrapped in the warm embrace of your body. So much softness, after a life spent so hard. The way he stirs for you makes him feel like a young man again; it’s constant, his wanting. He shifts to his knees, the stone digging into his skin. 

The sun catches the chestnut hidden in his curls when he bends for a taste of your sweet cunt, and you brush through the soft locks, twirling them around your finger. Every lap of his tongue makes you lazy and warm with arousal, until his nicked hand splays across the inside of your thigh to open you wider – and then the heat that he’s been stoking turns into a bright flame, his tongue flicking faster and faster. 

“Marcus,” you moan, your thighs tensing around his scruffed cheeks. 

With a suck, he pushes you over the edge. And when he pulls back, another flame licks hot through you at the sight of his glistening chin. 

Status and wealth, lands and glory. Respected and feared, a place of honor in the Roman Empire. 

All of it at your feet, lapping at your cunt. 

He stands, stripping himself of his tunic, his sandals. Your own robe discarded on the ground, he kneels on the chaise and the body that he’s molded over the years both in the training yard and in battle is bare and firm, your fingers stretching out to brush through the dark hair that collects beneath his navel. His stomach is a soft curve, his cock heavy between his thighs, and you drift your touch down, wrapping your hold around it and giving it a tug. Hard and aching just for you, he groans as you explore the velvet skin, the sound rumbling from deep within his chest. 

Stopping, you pull him down to join you and he lines up, pushing himself inside. 

He fucks like he’ll never be able to stop. 

Like he didn’t know if he’d ever have the chance again. 

Like every push inside is a claim, like every kiss is a mark he’s branding on your skin. 

The silver at his temples and that dusts the corners of his jaw are indicators of his age, and he fucks with the same experience it would imply. 

He fucks like he fights; ruthless and hard. With his hand wrapped around the curve of your shoulder, to keep you underneath him. With your leg hitched high over his hip to force himself deeper.

He’s insatiable; your cunt sore, and yet begging for more. 

Sweat slicks across his back, the sun of the fading day beating down upon it. He sits back on his heels, and brings you with him, and then you’re both drenched in the light. Your arms wound tight around his broad shoulders, his arms keeping you in place on his lap. 

His mouth lingers against your own, labored breathing passed between the two of you and he fucks until you cry out his name into the sky, your own on his lips shortly after. 

Then he lays with you, entwined, until dusk dims the sky. 

The warm breeze skims across your flushed skin, and he stands, walking back into his room. 

Admiring his bare ass and strong back, you watch him call to a guard for dinner – and then close your eyes, stretching with content.

[v1sexual]

Gym buddy Vi ! Head-canons + small blurb 𖦹

sfw & nsfw ! nsfw under the cut !

note :

this is lowkey ass guys im not even gonna lie :,) i haven’t written for a year so im really rusty 🫡 anyways ,, hope u guys enjoy ! (my asks are open as well <3)

𖦹

sfw !

Gymbuddy Vi! Who you always had teeny tiny crush on after seeing her absolutely go nuts on one of the punching bags.

Gymbuddy Vi! Whose first encounter with you was when she saw you deadlifting and noticed your form was a bit off so she decided to walk up to you and give you a couple of pointers.

Gymbuddy Vi! Who you found out lived in the same apartment complex as you.

Gymbuddy Vi! Who always helped you out at the gym. Whether it’s spotting, helping you with weights, or motivating you to do another rep.

Gymbuddy Vi! Who agreed to teach you a bit of kickboxing when you begged her to, after watching her totally wreck the punching bag.

Gymbuddy Vi! Who texts you if you’re going to the gym then waits for you outside your door, and drops you off at your door after the gym session.

Gymbuddy Vi! Who brings you pre-workout, protein shakes, or an energy drink everytime you go the gym.

Gymbuddy Vi! Who was totally not looking at how your ass looked in those cute mini biker shorts.

nsfw !

Gymbuddy Vi! Who can’t help but gawk at your breasts that one time you decided to change right in front of her. Her eyes focused on your chest as you wiped the sweat with your shirt.

Gymbuddy Vi! Who only took her eyes off you when you cleared your throat, you raised an eyebrow at her. An amused look present at your face.

Gymbuddy Vi! Who apologized and pulled a crappy excuse out her ass and started changing.

Gymbuddy Vi! Whose eyes found its way back to you, and boy was she surprised to see you bent over slipping your gym short off revealing the pink thong you wore underneath.

Gymbuddy Vi! Who was lowkey disappointed when you immediately put some sweatpants on.

𖦹

“You alright vi?” you called out, still in your sports bra. Vi hummed, slowly peeling her eyes off you. She took her shirt off, your eyes went wide as you got a clear view of the tattoo on her back.

“I didn’t know your back tattoo was that big,” you called out, slipping a hoodie on. Vi turned her head towards you, “Wanna see it up close?” she teased.

You shrugged and started walking towards her. “Can I touch you?” You asked, Vi raised an eyebrow and you immediately stumbled on your words. “I meant your back- I just wanted to take a closer peak at the tattoo. The design just looked really-“

Vi lets out an amused laugh and turned her back on you, “Go ahead shortcake. I don’t mind.”

Rolling your eyes, you placed your hand on her back. Gently tracing the intricate pattern of her back tattoo. As an art major, you’ve always loved seeing unique designs be it on canvas, digital art, or tattoos. Tattoos are what piques your interest the most though, you loved how all tattoo designs are personal, you loved how the intricate pattern of ink on a person’s skin tells a story.

Vi lets out a low groan which pulled you from your thoughts, you quickly took your hand off her back.

“Sorry,” you murmured. Eyes still fixed on Vi’s back. Vi turned to look at you, her cheeks flushed and goosebumps littered her skin. “It’s alright shortcake, I didn’t mind.”

You and Vi stared at each other for what felt like forever, and the next thing you know you were pinned against the lockers. Vi’s face a couple inches away from yours. You could feel her breath on your lips, her eyes never left yours as she slowly leans in.

When Vi’s lips met yours you were caught off guard. You expected her kiss to be hard and rough, but instead her lips moved softly against yours. Her hands resting on your waist as you wrapped your arms around her neck.

“I’ve been waiting forever to do that,” Vi whispered against your lips as you broke from the kiss. You gave her a cheeky smile, “Took you long enough.”

Your lips met again, but this time the kiss was harder. Vi slipped her hands inside your jacket, feeling the soft skin of your stomach. You let your head rest against the locker when Vi buried her head in your neck. She started leaving trails of small soft kisses on your skin as her hands rest just below the strap of your bra.

“Can I—“ Before Vi could even finish her sentence, the locker room door slammed open. She immediately stepped back and quickly put on a shirt just before a couple of girl entered the room. They didn’t pay you two any mind and started gathering their things.

Vi quickly grabbed both of your gym bags, her free hand clasped yours as she leads you out of the locker room. “How about we continue this at home?” She whispered, leaning down to your ear level. You rolled your eyes playfully and hummed in response, as you two walked hand in hand towards your apartment.

[theemporium]

[3.6k] sometimes home is a place. sometimes it's a person. sometimes it's a bench that holds more memories than mat can fully handle, memories that are slipping through his fingers.

based on 'coney island' by taylor swift for the eras tour hockey fic challenge created by @comphy-and-cozy and @wyattjohnston!!

.

Present – November 2024 

Never in his life had Mat Barzal felt as pathetic as he did sitting on that bench in Coney Island.

It was cold as fuck, for one, which should have been expected on a day in late November in New York. The temperature was likely below freezing, the chill was starting to seep into his bones, and the jacket he had haphazardly thrown on was doing little to battle the weather.

Yet, it was barely a blip on his radar as the last few weeks properly washed over him. 

Despite the holiday season, there were (thankfully) not many people around to see Mat in all his pathetic and embarrassing glory. Most people were probably sane inside their warm homes, enjoying dinner with the people they cherish the most. It felt stupid to be envious of a city full of people but that is exactly what he was.

Because as Mat sat on that bench, staring out at the near empty beach, he felt like he was choking. 

On his feelings. On his memories. On his bitter resentment that, once upon a time, he was like those people.

That Mat used to have a warm home where he ate dinner with someone he fucking loved and cherished more than anyone or anything else in the world, but now he had lost that person. 

That he didn’t know where his person was or what they were doing, but they were doing much better than him as he sat on the same fucking bench where he first met them.

Where he first met you. 

…

August 2021

“You insist on this every year!” 

“Because it’s fun every year!” 

“And yet you still get pissy when you get beaten by a carnival game.”

Mat glared at him from over his shoulder, not faltering in his steps as he shot his cackling friend a look. “It doesn’t beat me—”

Beau snorted, giving the boy a fond shove as he pushed his way through the crowd to catch up until they were shoulder-to-shoulder again. “Dude, it’s a stupid game that you try every single time. And you fail every time.” 

“It’s rigged,” Mat huffed.

“Yeah, that’s the whole fucking point,” Beau deadpanned. “They are all rigged.”

“But I’ve beaten them all,” Mat whined, sounding young and bratty. “The ring toss is rigged more. It’s made to torture one’s mind—”

“Your mind.”

“—until they are driven insane and haunted by those stupid rings,” he continued to grumble, muttering an apology after he almost walked straight into a lady pushing a stroller.

“All for an arcade ring,” Beau mused, shaking his head. “Dude, you need to let it go.” 

Mat turned to glare at the boy. “No. I have won every single one of these stupid games. I am gonna win this one too.”

Beau opened his mouth. “Mat, dude—”

“And I am gonna get that stupid ring and I will wear it every single day of my—” 

The noise that left his mouth cut him short, something between a scream and squeak of surprise as he found his body hitting someone else instead of the clear path down the pier like he had assumed. He managed to stay on his feet, considering he was a six foot hockey player whose job revolved around being slammed into by other six foot hockey players. 

His victim? Not so much.

“Fuck.” 

It came out like a wheezed, as though the person was winded. Mat quickly spun around, the apologies already leaving his lips as he offered his hand out before he even took a look at the person he accidentally knocked over. And when he did, the apologies died on his tongue as he stared at you, his expression stuck between awe and something else that Beau would spend the better part of the next few years teasing him for.

“Do you even watch where you are going?” 

“Yeah,” Mat replied dumbly, staring at you like he was lost in a daze.

“Clearly not,” you murmured but still took his hand, giving him an odd look when it took longer than a few seconds before he realised and helped you up.

“I’m Mat,” he blurted out before he even let go of your hand. “And I’m sorry.” 

Your lips twitched. “I accept your apology, Mat.” 

“And your name?” He asked, not even trying to be subtle about it (if Beau’s snort was anything to go by). 

Mat feld winded himself when you smiled as you told him your name. 

…

February 2022

“So, let me get this straight.” 

“I am tired of repeating myself.”

“You’re taking her out on Valentine’s Day—”

“Not for Valentine’s Day!”

“Yeah, sorry, my bad. You are taking your friend who you are desperately in love with out on Valentine's Day. How silly of me to take that the wrong way.” 

Mat rolled his eyes, even if Beau couldn’t currently see him. He tucked his free hand into his jacket pocket, the other one curled around his phone as his eyes continued to wander over the pink and red decorations dotted all over the place. It made his nose scrunch up.

“It was the only day we both had free,” Mat insisted, his cheeks tinting pink for a whole different reason other than the cold, nipping weather of winter in New York. 

“No denial about the ‘in love’ part.” 

“Shut up,” he gritted through clenched teeth, as if anyone else could hear Beau except him.

“It’s just a little pathetic—”

“I didn’t ask,” Mat deadpanned, trying to ignore how hot his face now felt. “I don’t even know why I called you.”

“Because you needed a pep talk to finally make a move.” 

“I’m hanging up now,” Mat grumbled, ignoring whatever protests he received on the other side as he quickly pressed the red button before shoving his phone into his pocket with a huff. He was so lost in muttering to himself under his breath that he hadn’t noticed you approaching.

“Woah,” you laughed, hands up in mock defence at the way he jumped out of his skin. “You good?” 

“Yeah, I just—” He waved it off, an easy and genuine smile on his lips as he took in the way you were bundled up, an Islanders scarf around your neck. “Ready to have your ass kicked?” 

Your lips twitched. “Ready to cry over the ring toss again?” 

He did not, in fact, cry over the ring toss but he was undoubtedly grumpy by the time the two of you settled down on one of the benches looking out towards the beach, huffing as he took an aggressive bite from the pretzel that definitely didn’t fit his diet plan.

“C’mon,” you laughed, nudging your shoulder against his. “It’s just a game.” 

“It’s a stupid game,” Mat retorted.

“Beau was right, you take it way too seriously,” you commented, playful and lighthearted with a gleam in your eyes. Like you were so unaware that the comfort you shared with his friends made his chest tighten in the best way possible.

“You have a little—” He cut himself off, gesturing to the side of your lip.

Your brows furrowed, your thumb attempting to swipe the brown sugar away just to miss completely. “Did I get it?” 

“No, I—here, let me,” Mat murmured, reaching over to gently swipe the brown sugar away. But his thumb lingered, his eyes locked on your lips before glancing up at you. He waited for you to pull away but you just stared back.

For a moment, Mat wondered if you were going to suddenly pull away and pretend the small moment never happened.

For a moment, Mat’s stomach dropped at the thought this would be as far as he got with you.

And then you were leaning forward, your lips pressed against his and the pretzels long forgotten.

His body reacted faster than his brain did, kissing you back as the sweet taste of cinnamon and sugar overwhelmed him. The pretzel was left on the bench between you, his hands cupping your face as he sunk into the kiss, as he sunk into your embrace.

And only when you pulled back to smile at him did his brain seem to realise what had just happened. 

And only then did he grin right back at you. 

…

May 2022 

“God, hockey is brutal.”

Mat paused, raising his brows. “Just realised that?”

“Sorry, I know you didn’t want to talk about hockey after—” You cut yourself off, wincing a little as you stood in his kitchen, just dressed in one of his shirts (ironically, an Islanders one with the number thirteen above your heart) with a mug of coffee in hand. “Ignore me. Watch the eggs don’t burn.” 

Mat snorted. “What has made you realise hockey is so brutal?” 

“Just kinda thinking about it,” you shrugged, your gaze on the rim of your mug rather than his face. It made him frown a little. “Like, I know it’s a part of the sport but, fuck, all it takes is one bad hit and—”

“Woah, hey,” Mat’s frown deepened as he reached for you, the stove turned off, the eggs forgotten and his hand reaching to place the coffee mug on the counter. He took your face in his hands, his thumbs smoothing over the apples of your cheeks. 

“Sorry,” you laughed, but it sounded a bit wet and weak to his ears. He tilted your head up, his lips pressed together when he noticed how glossy your eyes were. “I guess I just never realised how brutal the sport was until I met you. And you guys play through so many injuries and I know your season is over now but the idea of you pushing yourself even more is just—”

“Come back home with me.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Come back home with me for the summer,” Mat repeated, a soft smile on his lips. 

You blinked again, your confusion only growing. “Did you not just hear me—” 

“I did,” Mat interrupted, nodding his head with the look of adoration still written plainly across his face. “And all I could think was, ‘wow, how lucky am I to have this amazing girl care about me so much’ and I just…I am lucky. So lucky. And I wanna show other people how lucky I am. I want to show my family how lucky I am.”

Your face softened. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Mat murmured. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you whispered before leaning in, a soft and lingering kiss left on his lips before you pulled back. “And I’m lucky you care about me too.” 

“I’m really glad I bumped into you that day in Coney Island,” Mat confessed, something warm and comforting bubbling in his stomach at the sight of your smile. 

“Yeah, me too,” you hummed, a glint of mischief in your eyes. “And I love you even if you can’t win the ring toss—”

Mat groaned, his head dropping to the crook of your neck. “Don’t ruin the moment.”

…

March 2023

“You don’t have to hide it from me.”

Mat blinked, his thoughts torn away from him as he turned to find you settling down onto the bench next to him, two pretzels in your hand. He murmured a small ‘thanks’ as he took one of the pretzels from you, staring at the sugary cinnamon sticks with little appetite. 

“Hide what?” Mat asked. 

“Mat,” you said his name in a way that made his chest tighten, so soft and gentle, like he was some scared animal you were slowly approaching. “Baby, I know you miss him. You don’t have to pretend.” 

His eyes dropped back to the pretzel in his hands. 

Because it was true. He did miss Beau. He missed Beau more than he cared to admit. And it was stupid because he knew this was how hockey worked, he had friends traded and sent away multiple times before. It was a part of the sport. 

But he just didn’t think it would ever hurt this bad, even weeks after the trade had happened. His focus should have been the season and the playoffs approaching. He should have been focused on the team. 

But every time he went on the ice, he couldn’t help but feel like a part of him was missing when he lifted his head and didn’t see Beau there, ready to accept his pass.

“There was this small part of me that just thought—” Mat paused, letting out a heavy sigh. “That we would be on the same team forever, you know? That it would always be me and him. That we would win the Cup together and…yeah.”

“I know,” you whispered, soft and soothing as you placed your head on his shoulder and let him lean his head against yours. “You never know. You two will find your way back to each other.”

His lips twitched into a sad smile. “Maybe.”

“You were always meant to find each other in this life,” you told him, sounding so sincere and genuine over the distant cheers and screams and buzzing noise of the amusement park behind you. “Just because you don’t live minutes away anymore, doesn’t mean that ends. He is always gonna be there for you, just like I am.”

Mat pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “Thank you.”

“Always, Mat. Always.” 

…

July 2023

“Home, sweet home!”

Mat winced a little as his voice echoed through the empty apartment, the walls bare and the place a little dusty. But it was yours and it made it perfect, it made the keys in his hand feel heavier and more special than his last set. 

“Fuck, we have so much to unpack,” you commented but you sounded happy. You both did, despite the state of exhaustion the last few days left you, attempting to pack up both of your apartments and moving into your new shared place. 

“That is a later problem,” Mat waved you off, reaching towards you so he could wind his arms around your waist and pull you closer. “We have a mattress and takeout menus, what else do we need?” 

“Preferably some sheets,” you teased, not even attempting to pull yourself out of his hold. You were content exactly where you were. “I’m, like, ninety percent sure you put them in the wrong box.”

“Blame the pretty one,” Mat huffed, cackling when you playfully pinched his hip. “Kidding, baby, you’re obviously the pretty one in the relationship.”

“We can both be pretty,” you rolled your eyes before laying your head on his chest, smiling when you felt him lean his chin on top. “Can’t wait to make this place ours.” 

“It’s gonna be so pretty so it can match us,” Mat murmured, grinning when you laughed in response. 

“It looks so plain right now, it’s freaky,” you commented, half-hearted with no real heaviness to your words. It would take a few days for you both to make it feel homely and you were looking forward to it. 

But Mat was already untangling himself from your hold, grinning as he began tugging you towards the kitchen. “We can put our first proper decoration up!” 

Your brows furrowed together in confusion. “What? But the boxes are—” 

You cut yourself off as you watched Mat reach into the pocket of his sweatpants, grinning widely as he pulled out a small magenet and slapped it on the middle of the very bland fridge. He looked at the magnet with great pride before turning to you, his smile only growing.

You let out a laugh at the sight of the Coney Island magnet on the fridge. “Perfect.”

“Our first home,” Mat grinned, pulling you back in so he could smack a kiss on your lips. “The first of many.”

“I’m not moving for at least another few years,” you joked, smiling against his lips. “This whole thing was exhausting.” 

“As long as it’s with you, I don’t really care.”

…

January 2024

“I need your help.” 

“Oh god, what have you done?” 

Mat frowned at his phone for a moment, forgetting about the bundling nerves that had left him on edge for the last week. He was sure you were starting to pick up on it, even if you hadn’t mentioned as much—thankfully. But after a week of waiting, he finally had the perfect opportunity to call his sister whilst you were out of the house. 

“I have done nothing. Yet.” 

His sister sighed. “Mathew—”

“No full names needed,” he murmured, his cheeks burning as he leaned back against the couch, staring at the ceiling with determination that was quickly dwindling the longer the call went on. “I just…I need your help.”

“With?” 

“A ring.” 

His frown deepened when Liana laughed. “If this is about that arcade game Beau told me about—”

“What? No,” he sighed, his blush only deepening. “I need help picking a ring. A real ring. An engagement ring.”

His sister was silent for a few moments before she spoke. “Holy shit. You’re really gonna do it?” 

Mat couldn’t even bite back his smile. “I want to. This summer, maybe. But I need a ring and I was thinking you could help while we’re up for All Stars and—” 

“Sold. Done. I’m not letting you pick an ugly ring for my future sister-in-law.”

“She might still say no,” Mat reminded her, even if his stomach twisted uncomfortably at the thought. 

“Of course she won’t,” Liana retorted, sounding so confident that Mat almost wanted to believe her wholeheartedly. “Especially if you let me help pick a ring.” 

Mat pressed his lips together. “I really want to find the perfect ring.” 

“We will. She is going to love it, Mat. She is going to say yes.” 

“Good,” he murmured, grinning. “Because she’s it for me. She’s the only person I wanna give a ring to.”

“You’re such a sap.”

“Shut up.”

…

October 2024

He couldn’t even remember what started the argument. 

If he was being honest, the tension had been brewing for a while. It had been a combination of things and none of them had made the atmosphere around the apartment much better. Small, silly things that shouldn’t have been that bad but felt like the end of the world as they were thrown at you both, one after the other.

Mat knew it was bad.

He just didn’t think it was this bad.

It felt like the two of you had been at it for hours, and maybe you had. He couldn’t tell anymore, he didn’t know if it had been minutes or hours the two of you had stood on opposite sides of the living room, yelling and screaming and crying. It all felt too much, like it was getting bigger and bigger, just waiting to pop. 

And then it fucking did. 

“I-I can’t do this anymore.” 

And Mat felt like a deflating balloon, the air escaping his lungs as he found himself staring at you, his mouth unable to voice any of the thoughts he wanted to say.

“Maybe,” you let out a bitter laugh, pained and hurt and weak. “Maybe we just aren’t forever, Mat. Maybe you’re not ready to let anything but hockey be your forever.” 

And you were wrong. 

Deep down, Mat knew you were wrong and his brain was screaming for him to tell you just how wrong you were. Because the fight had escalated and spun out of control and he should have grabbed the wheel with both hands to stabilise you both.

But he was hurt and he was petty and he felt his mouth saying the exact opposite of how he felt. 

“Maybe you’re right.” 

The way your whole body deflated and your face fell would haunt his nightmares for nights to come, along with the sound of the apartment door slamming shut as you left and never looked back. 

…

Present – November 2024 

Once upon a time, the biggest challenge Coney Island provided him was the damn ring toss game. It had been like that for years. 

But now, he sat on the bench, the plastic ring between his fingers feeling as heavy as the other ring in his pocket. He didn’t feel victorious, he didn’t feel anything but emptiness. Because neither ring meant anything when he was here alone, when he had failed to give you both.

The ring toss was barely a challenge compared to returning to this damn bench almost every day since he had pulled from the lineup with an injury that just felt like a mockery on top of everything else. 

But he did it. He came back every single day because it hurt and he deserved it. He deserved to sit there and think about just what he lost. Because he had no idea where you were, he hadn’t heard a single word from you—not even Beau would tell him if he had heard from you.

Mat had let pride and something else just as stupid get in the way of his forever.

The least he could do was bear the cold, winter weather on that stupid bench until his fingers were too damn numb to hold the stupid arcade ring. 

The least he could do was spend the rest of his days wondering if there was a universe where things were different, where he still had you, where he was able to see you one more time.

The least he could do was let his own thoughts about losing you forever haunt him. 

The least he could do was hope the universe would give him one more fucking chance to fix everything with you, to at least give you the stupid arcade ring he once promised he would win for you.

The least he could do was apologise for not making you his centrefold like he knew you deserved.

Mat stared down at the phone in his hand, pressing your contact before he could talk himself out of it. He had to try. For you, for him, for the forever he knew you two could have. 

He had to try. 

Ring. Ring. Ring.

“Hello?”

.

[lunaritex]

𓏲࣪ ִֶָ ︎ִֶָ UNDER THE GLOVES 𖤐. — lee heeseung.

(๑>◡<๑) ৎ୭ lee heeseung + fem! reader co-workers to lovers office romance reader is part of the finance department brief appearances of the other members 𐙚 warning fighting, blood, violence, tooth-rotting fluff, confession, one kiss scene, someone save riki . . !? & 3930 — navigation

note. i like office romance and why not write something for the CFO aka lee heeseung haha... @riekiss

You let out a long and exhausted sigh, rubbing your temples as you looked away from the blinding screen of your computer. Hours had passed and you were still trying to figure out the solution for the problem you had encountered since eight in the morning. One glance at the time on the bottom right of the screen tells you it was close to five, which means you had wasted nearly the entire day wrecking your brain over a problem. You were tempted to slam your head against the desk, hoping the pain could make your brain cells come back to life. 

I need a break. 

Rubbing your eyes, you stood up and left your desk, heading to the pantry area to make a cup of much-needed coffee for yourself. You halted in your tracks when you realize someone was there before you. It was none other than the Chief Financial Officer of your company; Lee Heeseung. You remembered meeting him for the first time, back when you were still a newbie half a year ago. You remembered how you were practically trembling when your name was called and how you were instructed to see him in his office. 

Heeseung was not an intimidating person. You have seen how he interacts with his friends; Jay and Sunghoon. Both men were from different departments but they always had their lunch together and sometimes went drinking with other people who you do not recognize. However, a part of you finds him hard to talk to and if preferred, you would rather avoid him at all costs. You were not sure why you were acting this way. Perhaps it was due to your shyness or perhaps, it could be something more. 

“Oh, hi (Name), did you come here to catch a breather too?” Heeseung’s voice snapped you out of your trance. You blinked and saw your fellow co-worker leaning against the counter with a cup of freshly-brewed coffee held in his left hand. 

“Uh,” you opened and closed your mouth before regaining your composure, “yeah, I’ve been staring at the same sheet since morning and I’m nowhere done,” you sighed, entering the pantry to make a cup of coffee. 

The man gave you a sympathetic look as he took a sip from the paper cup. “That sounds rough, but I don’t mind helping you out. That is, if you don’t mind, of course.” 

You blinked, “A-Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to waste your time-” 

He dismissively waved off your response with his hand, “Nah, don’t worry about it. Besides, I don’t think helping a colleague out can be considered as wasting someone’s time. The sooner we get this done and over with, the sooner we can go home.” 

You knew he had a fair point with that and you ended up agreeing. The both of you returned to your desk and you watched as Heeseung sat on your chair, pulling himself forward to get a clearer look at the screen. You, on the other hand, stood behind him on his left, leaning against the wall that separates you from the other people seated around you. Since you were hidden from his view, this grants you the rare opportunity to stare at him.

It was with no doubt that Heeseung is attractive and you had seen how many women tried to woo him, be it during or after working hours. He is a gentleman who knows how to treat women right and not to mention, he is kind-hearted, friendly and the list goes on. Your eyes slowly trailed down his cheek outline and that was when you noticed it. 

A faint, tiny cut etched across his cheek, barely noticeable unless you looked closely. It was not the first time you had spotted something like this. A couple of weeks ago, it had been a bruise on his forearm, the yellowing edges suggesting it was healing. Before that, a small cut on his knuckles he brushed off as "nothing important." Each time, Heeseung had given you a vague response, quickly changing the subject or flashing his easygoing smile to disarm your curiosity. But this time, the suspicion gnawed at you a little harder.

Your gaze lingered on the faded mark, your mind racing with possibilities. Where did he keep getting these injuries? And why did he always seem so intent on hiding the truth behind them? As he straightened up and glanced at you with that ever-casual grin, you quickly looked away, pretending to focus on the computer screen. But the question had already planted itself firmly in your mind: What was Lee Heeseung hiding?

“...and that’s it. You just need to save it and you’re done for the day.” 

Heeseung’s voice snapped you back to reality. Blinking, you realized he had finished explaining and was looking at you expectantly. You felt embarrassed at how you were not listening to a single word he had said and you awkwardly cleared your throat. He sighed and light-heartedly rolled his eyes. 

“You weren’t listening, were you?” He questioned. 

“Uh, well,” you opened and closed your mouth, resembling a fish. The other chuckled and you regained your composure, feeling your ears heating up, “Sorry, I was lost in my own thoughts.” 

“It’s fine, I’m sure you must be tired. You can leave early if you want,” he proposed and you were about to protest but you were silenced when he raised his hand, stopping you as if he knew what you wanted to say. 

“And before you say anything, I insist. I’m your superior and the last thing I want is to find out one of my colleagues is forced to work overtime on a Friday. You should go home and rest,” his eyes softened, concern seeping into his voice. 

You ended up obeying him and you left the office, heading to the carpark where your car was parked. Once you got in and closed the door behind you, you let out an exhausted sigh as you leaned back into the seat, closing your eyes for a brief moment before reopening them. You started the engine, hearing the vehicle purring to life before driving home.

~ 

The second time you bumped into Heeseung was when you were trying to fix the printer. All you wanted was to print a few documents that you needed to compile together for the meeting today but just to your luck, the papers were stuck halfway. You sighed, kicking the printer in hopes of getting it to work despite knowing your attempt was futile. 

“(Name), why are you kicking the printer?” 

Jumping, you swirled around to see your superior looking at you, amused. You sheepishly scratched the back of your neck. “The papers I printed are stuck and I think the printer’s spoiled,” you replied, moving to the side when he drew closer. 

Heeseung hums, eyes focused on the machine. “Is that so? Let me take a look to see if I can help you with that.” 

“But-” You zipped your lips when he shot you a look and you allowed him to do as he pleased. 

He crouched near the printer, rolling his sleeves up as he fiddled with its inner mechanics, trying to resolve the problem. The soft glow of the overhead lights casts a gentle shadow across his face. As he shifts slightly, something catches your eye—a faint purplish mark peeking out along his jawline, just below his cheekbone.

Your brows furrow, the sight stirring a mix of curiosity and concern. It was not the first time you have noticed marks like this, and the coincidence feels too uncanny to ignore. This time however, you were determined to get answers. You cross your arms and step closer, tilting your head as you speak. 

“Heeseung,” you say, your tone carrying a hint of softness but also unmistakable firmness, “what happened to your jaw?”

Heeseung pauses, his fingers freezing mid-adjustment as if caught off guard. Slowly, he straightens up, brushing his hands off on his pants. His gaze flickers to you for a brief moment before darting away, his usual confidence replaced with a quiet hesitance.

“Oh, this?” He reaches up to touch the mark casually, almost as if just noticing it himself. A small, sheepish chuckle escaped his lips. “It’s nothing, really. I probably bumped into something—clumsy as always.”

But the way he avoids meeting your eyes, the slight delay in his response, feels off. You narrow your gaze, stepping a bit closer, determined not to let the matter drop so easily. 

“You bumped into something? Again?” you press, folding your arms tighter. “Heeseung, you’ve had a lot of these ‘accidents’ lately. What’s really going on?”

For a moment, he opens his mouth to respond, but then he hesitates, letting out a soft sigh. He scratches the back of his neck, his usual easy going demeanor faltering. “Look, it’s nothing serious, okay?” he finally says, his voice quieter now, almost defensive. “Just... drop it, alright?”

You frowned, getting annoyed with how he kept dodging your questioning but he had already left without saying another word. You remained where you were, watching his retreating figure until he was out of your sight. Sighing, you approached the printer and you noticed the documents you needed had been fully ejected from the printer. You grumbled a string of curses under your breath as you snatched them away, storming back to your seat and slammed it down on your desk. 

Bam! 

The sudden sound startled the people around you. Some gave you annoyed looks while some were curious, wondering what had happened to ruin your mood. Riki, who sat on your left, leaned back so his head was popping out. 

“You good?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. 

You looked at him and sighed, “No, I’m this close to losing my mind.” 

Your friend only flashed you a sympathetic look before returning to his task at hand. You took a sip of your now cold coffee, rearranged the documents and got back to work. 

Fine, if that’s how you want to play then two people can play that game. I’ll make sure I find out what you’re hiding, if that’s the last thing I do, Lee Heeseung. 

~

The rest of the week passed in a blink of an eye and it was finally Friday, much to your relief. It is a weekly routine for you to eat and drink with your small group of friends; Sunoo, Jungwon and Riki. The four of you graduated from the same college and to say you were surprised to see familiar faces in your company would be an understatement. You had finished packing, waiting for Riki who was ready to send his final email for the day before logging off. 

“So, where are we going tonight?” You asked, leaning back in your chair as you idly swayed side to side, legs outstretched before you. 

“Oh right, I forgot to tell you but there’s been a change of plans,” Riki answered, shutting down his laptop as he closes it before shoving it into his work bag. You stared at him, bemused and he continued, “Jungwon has invited us somewhere and we’re going there now.” 

You owlishly blinked your eyes. “Like right now?” 

“Yes right now,” Riki nodded, rising to his full height and dragged you out of your office. One moment you found yourself seated in his car and the very next moment, you found yourself standing before a pair of closed metal doors. 

The air was thick with the scent of sweat and adrenaline as you and Riki stepped cautiously into the dimly lit building. The door creaked shut behind you, its sound swallowed by the cacophony of voices and the rhythmic thud of gloves hitting flesh. Inside, the room was a stark contrast to the desolate streets outside.

It was alive—crowded with people of all kinds, from spectators yelling over the noise to fighters warming up in corners. Dim fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting an eerie glow over the chaotic scene. At the heart of it all was the boxing ring, its ropes frayed and canvas stained with years of battles fought and won.

As you tried to take it all in, your gaze wandered to the center of the ring. A match was already underway, the sound of rapid punches echoing through the room. It was not until the fighter ducked to avoid a hit, his sweat-dampened hair catching the light, that your breath caught in your throat.

It couldn’t be.

But it was.

Lee Heeseung—your superior, the same person who always seemed composed and meticulous at work—was in the middle of an intensive match. His usual buttoned-up demeanor was gone, replaced by a raw, almost primal intensity. His movements were sharp and calculated, each strike delivered with precision. Yet, even as he landed a clean hit on his opponent, his jawline bore faint bruises you now understood all too well.

“What the hell is he doing here?” you murmured, more to yourself than to Riki. 

You could not tear your eyes away from him, observing his movement as he delivers a final blow to his opponent, effectively knocking him out. The crowd went wild, cheering and yelling at the top of their lungs when Heeseung was announced as the winner. You saw how his eyes scanned the crowd and your heart stopped when they landed on you. He was stunned, not expecting to see you here and you looked away. 

The noise and heat of the boxing gym became too much, clawing at your chest like a vice. You turned abruptly, heart pounding, and pushed your way through the crowd. The voices around you blurred into a muffled roar as you stumbled out into the open, the cool night air hitting you like a slap to the face.

You kept walking, your steps uneven and aimless. The distant hum of streetlights and the faint echo of your own breathing filled the void left by the gym’s chaos. You didn’t know where you were going; you just needed to get away—to put as much distance as possible between yourself and the suffocating scene you’d just witnessed. But then, a sudden tug at your wrist stopped you in your tracks. Your body jerked backward slightly, and instinctively, you turned, your heart leaping to your throat.

It was Heeseung.

He stood there, chest rising and falling as he caught his breath, his face partially shadowed by the dim streetlights. Sweat clung to his skin, and his knuckles were faintly red—either from the match or the cold, you were not sure. His expression was unreadable, his dark eyes searching yours with an intensity that made you freeze.

“Why are you running?” he asked, his voice low and steady, but there was a crack in it—something vulnerable, almost desperate.

You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out. The raw image of him in that ring—fighting with a kind of ferocity you didn’t think he was capable of—flashed in your mind, and a knot of emotion tightened in your chest.

“I—” You looked away, shaking your head as you tried to find the words. “I couldn’t... I just needed to get out of there. I didn’t know you—” You stopped, your voice trembling. “Why didn’t you tell me, Heeseung?”

His grip on your wrist loosened slightly, though he did not let go. “Because it’s not something I wanted you to know,” he admitted, his tone quiet but firm. “This... this part of me—it’s messy. Complicated.”

“Complicated?” you repeated, your voice rising in disbelief. “You’re risking your health, your safety, and for what? To keep it a secret?”

Heeseung’s jaw tightened, the flicker of defensiveness crossing his face. “It’s not about keeping it a secret,” he said sharply, then paused, exhaling slowly. “It’s... it’s how I deal with things. It’s something I need.”

You stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in. The Heeseung you thought you knew—the calm, collected superior—felt like a stranger in that moment. And yet, there was something raw, something achingly human in his vulnerability that you couldn’t ignore.

“But why didn’t you let me in?” you asked softly, your voice breaking. “You didn’t have to go through this alone.”

His gaze softened, and for a moment, he looked as though he might say something—something real. But instead, he let out a soft, bitter laugh and looked away. “Because I didn’t want you to see this side of me,” he murmured, almost to himself. Then his eyes met yours again, and there was something in them—guilt, maybe regret. “I didn’t want you to think less of me.”

Your frustration bubbled over, and you yanked your wrist free from his grasp, stepping back to put some space between you. The cold air stung your cheeks, but it was nothing compared to the sting of his words. 

“Think less of you?” you repeated, incredulous. “Are you serious right now, Heeseung? You’re out here throwing punches like your life depends on it, shutting people out, and you think that’s what would make me think less of you?” 

Heeseung flinched slightly at your tone, but you did not care. The words poured out before you could stop them, each one fueled by the flood of emotions you had been holding back. 

“You’re supposed to be this confident, composed guy who always has it together, but you’re human! You’re allowed to have flaws, to struggle, to need help! God, do you think I care if you’re messy or complicated?” 

“(Name)-” 

“I care about you, okay? I care about you so much that seeing you in that ring—seeing you like that—hurt more than I can even explain! And the fact that you didn’t trust me enough to let me in, to tell me what you were going through, makes me feel like I’m nothing more than just some... some coworker to you!”

You froze the moment the words left your mouth, realizing too late what you’d just said. The confession hung in the air, raw and unfiltered, as the world seemed to go silent around you. Heeseung’s eyes widened slightly, the shock evident on his face. His lips parted as if to say something, but no words came. For a moment, the only sound was the faint hum of the streetlights and the distant buzz of the gym behind you.

“I—” you started, suddenly panicking, the weight of your vulnerability crashing down on you. “I didn’t mean—”

“Wait,” Heeseung cut you off, his voice soft but urgent as he stepped closer. His expression had shifted, the vulnerability you’d seen before now mixed with something else—something you couldn’t quite place.

“You... care about me?” he asked, his tone careful, as if testing the words.

Your heart raced, and you felt the heat creeping up your neck. You wanted to deny it, to brush it off, but the look in his eyes stopped you. It was a look that made you feel exposed but also strangely safe, like he was seeing all of you—the good, the bad, and everything in between—and wasn’t pulling away.

“Yes,” you admitted quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I do.”

Heeseung lets out a shaky breath, running a hand through his damp hair as a small smile tugged at his lips. “I don’t know how to say this right,” he began, his voice softer now, filled with hesitation. “But you’re... so much more to me than I think you realize. I’ve been scared—scared of what you’d think if you saw this side of me. Scared you’d look at me differently.”

Your chest tightened, but this time, it was not with frustration or hurt. It was something warmer, something that melted away the tension from before.

“I don’t care about that, Heeseung,” you said softly, your voice steady now. “I care about you. All of you. Messy, complicated, whatever. None of that changes how I feel.”

Heeseung blinked, his expression a mix of awe and relief, as if hearing those words for the first time lifted some invisible weight off his shoulders. His lips quirked into a small, genuine smile, one that reached his tired eyes.

“Why are you always so... amazing?” he muttered, almost to himself, as his hand hesitated in the space between you. Slowly, he raised it, brushing a strand of hair away from your face, his touch so gentle it made your heart flutter.

You let out a small laugh, feeling the tension dissolve into something light and tender. “Amazing? Says the guy who just beat someone to a pulp in a boxing ring.”

Heeseung chuckled, the sound soft and warm. “Yeah, well, that guy didn’t make me feel like my heart was going to explode every time I looked at him.”

Your cheeks burned at his words, and you playfully shoved his shoulder. “You’re such a dork, Lee Heeseung.”

“And you’re stuck with me now,” he teased, his grin widening, though his voice carried a hint of sincerity. The banter melted into silence as the both of you stood under the streetlights, the night air no longer feeling so cold. Then, as if drawn by some invisible force, Heeseung took another step closer, closing the gap between you.

“Can I...” He hesitated, his gaze flickering to your lips before meeting your eyes again. “Can I kiss you?”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you didn’t hesitate. “You better.”

A soft laugh escaped him before he leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that was equal parts gentle and fervent, like he’d been holding back for far too long. The world around you disappeared entirely, leaving only the warmth of his touch and the rapid beat of your heart. When you finally pulled away, Heeseung rested his forehead against yours, his smile so soft and tender it made your knees weak.

“I’m really glad you care about me,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin.

You grinned, your fingers lightly tracing the edge of his jawline. “I always will.”

~ 

The first person to find out about your relationship was Riki. The poor guy had gone to the pantry after coming to work at nine in the morning, only to drop his tumbler when he saw you and Heeseung making out in a public space. The horrified screech he let out made the both of you pulled away from one another, startled by his sudden appearance. You tried to pat down your hair but it was futile as Riki had unfortunately witnessed the whole scene. 

“Wait, Riki-” You called out. 

“Oh, Jungwon owns me lunch now,” he cackles like a maniac, bending down to pick up his tumbler. He was about to walk away when he turned to you. “Oh and congrats on your relationship but for God’s Sake, please do that nasty shit somewhere else.”

“RIKI!” You yelled, face turning as red as a tomato as he ran away while laughing. You sighed, turning to your superior who is also now your boyfriend, only to find him poorly hiding his laughter. 

“I didn’t know this is funny to you,” you deadpanned. 

“Sorry,” Heeseung coughs, running a hand through his unkempt hair. “Well, now that the cat’s out of the bag, how about we grab dinner tonight?” “Are you asking me out on a date?” You cocked your head to the side, grinning. 

“And what if it is?” He copies your action, resting one hand on your waist. 

“Then I accept but you’re paying, of course,” you replied, leaning in to press a kiss on the corner of his lips. 

“Anything for you.”

[yamumsyadadd]

the forgotten girl (1)

posted this originally on my old account. will be posting twice weekly :)

Emily Scott, sister of legendary lionesses Jill Scott, has died at the age of 21. Wife Amelia Scott-Higgins in intensive care. 

Police have confirmed that Emily Scott was murdered in her family home over the weekend, her wife, Matilda’s star Amelia Scott-Higgins is in intensive care after sustaining life threatening injuries. 

Waking up in a hospital bed, wrapped in bandages and in heaps of pain was not exactly how I expected my day to go but here we are. I don’t remember much. I remember going home after training, I stopped to get dinner, chicken carbonara and garlic bread from our favourite Italian restaurant and then flowers from the corner stand that Emily was obsessed with. I was already late so who cares if I was a little extra late. 

I remember the front gate being open, which is never normally the case, I remember the front door being unlocked but closed, again not normal but sometimes Em is in a rush when she gets home. As I took my shoes and coat off and wandered down the hallway, I didn’t notice the guy standing behind the door, or the guy on the couch, or Emily in the back room tied to a chair. I didn’t notice any of it. The only thing I noticed before it went black was the two wine glasses, one tipped over and smashed, the other full. 

Chelsea FC superstar, Amelia Scott-Higgins has QUIT mid season. 

CLICK TO READ MORE….

Where is football superstar Amelia Scott-Higgins?

Moving to Barcelona was the best thing I could’ve done. No one knows me,no one knows what happened or who Emily was. I am invisible. As soon as I could, I quit, left England, deleted all my social media and changed my number. 

The rehab was incredibly hard. That’s to be expected considering I have multiple stab wounds to my stomach, my leg cut up, bruises covering every part of my body. I was still me though. Maybe not on the surface but deep down I was. I missed Emily everyday, I missed our life together, I miss the little things. 

My apartment was empty. Nothing on the walls, plain furniture, it looked more like a show house than something someone would actually lived in. It didn’t bother me, it made my brain have to work less. All I did was rehab, surf and doom scroll. I came across the Manuelas instagram page, a gay bar in Barcelona. From what I’ve heard it’s incredibly popular but I’ve never been. They had a shirt available, “lesbian services”, after inquiring they allowed for me to pick it up. 

I was meeting someone called Olga, slightly worried as I had no idea who she was, I let it play out. 

“Hola! Are you Amelia?” 

“Hola, yes I am.” 

“Perfect! I’m Olga! Let me take you inside and you can get whatever you want. They said you’ve paid so you can get anything.” 

Stickers, hats, shirts, they had it all. I grabbed one of everything and then had a chat with Olga. 

“You’re not around here are you? Your Catalan and Spanish is good but the accent is a bit weird.” 

“Oh nah. I’m Australian. Lived in London for a few years but I’m here now.” 

“Oh wow! How long have you lived here?”

“3 years now. It’s beautiful. I don’t get out much but I’m trying to get out more.”

“What do you do for work? If you don’t mind me asking?” 

“Uh um, I used to play -“ 

“Amelia? Is that you?” Keira Walsh and Lucy Bronze. Right in front of me. I haven’t seen them for 3 years, purposely ignoring all of them and essentially falling off the face of the earth. 

“Amelia! What are you doing here? Give me a hug!” 

“Hey guys. Long time so see.” This is not what I wanted. More and more people started surrounding us. 

“Holy shit. That’s Amelia Scott-Higgins! She’s been MIA for so long. I miss watching her” the short one with dimples tried to whisper, it didn’t work. 

“Dude she used to be so good. What happened?” Her taller companion asked next. 

“That’s enough you two. She has ears and can hear you idiots.” Alexia Putellas. 2 time Ballon d’or and 2 time pain in my ass. “Hola Amelia. How are you?” 

“Fine thanks Alexia. And you?” 

“How do you all know each other? I am very confused here.” Olga spoke up. 

“Mil used to play for-“ Alexia started to say

“We are old friends!” This is why I don’t leave my house. 

“I need to go. I have things to do. Olga thank you so much for all this. If I owe any money let me know. Alexia, girls, it was nice to see you. Good luck this season.” Turning as quickly as I could to escape. 

“Milly, wait.”

“Kei, don’t. I’m fine. Everything is fine.”

“Please can I have your number or something? It’s been 3 years and you disappeared.” 

“Give me your phone and I’ll put it in. I’m not good at replying. Bye Kei.” 

3 years since I stepped foot in England, 3 years since I buried my wife. 3 years since I’d spoken to my friends. 4 years since Emily died. 4 years since I played football, 4 years since I felt normal. 

[hyukascampfire]

𝑯EART 𝑊ORM ⸺ hueningkai ℘˒´ˎ˗

  ⨾𓍢ִ໋ ˒˒ 𝚑𝔢art𝚠𝔬rm

[𝑛]. a relationship or friendship that you can't get out of your head, which you thought had faded long ago but is still somehow alive and unfinished, like an abandoned campsite whose smoldering embers still have the power to start a forest fire.

⸺ listen to the playlist .ᐟ ‧˚

〝﹙ 📼 ﹚“I was just... wondering,” you say, blood roaring. "Well, Yeonjun wants me to come over to his place this weekend, and... I’ve never...” Sucking in a quick breath, you just spit it out to get it over with, “Would you be my first kiss, Kai?”  ˛ ､､

wc ➛ 17.9k

𝔭airings childhood bsf!kai x reader (lowkey soulmates?) ⤷ ft. asshole!yeonjun x reader

𝒢 ‎; smut ˒ angst ˒ some fantasy

𝔴arnings angst, family issues, fingering, jealousy (i’m sorry i just love ts), yeonjun really is an asshole, orgasm denial, thigh fucking, unprotected sex (they're stupid!), strength kink a lil bit, breeding kink, possessiveness, cream pie, choking... i think that's all, lmk if i missed any

✎୭ ashlynn's note omg. this was such a fun palate cleanser to write. this wasn't supposed to be as big as it is, but it just kept getting bigger and bigger, and i got super into the story. this kai is SOOOO!! yeah. i’m so nervous posting this because i’ve only ever posted TSFAWC, but…. here you areee (^^;; this is not proofread, so if you see a mistake... give me a sec. i'll get to it. hehe

Though you fan your hand furiously over your face, the little breezes washing over your clammy skin are not enough. The air is thick and heavy with summer’s heat. So thick that you almost feel it each time you swallow. It’s better than just letting yourself melt away, though. The cushion at your back doesn’t help much. It holds your warmth and returns it to you the longer you sit slumped back into it. You suffer it though—you’ve gone too sluggish to move.  

You let a leg dangle over the arm of a chair, watching a hopeful moth dance in the light of the buzzing porch light overhead. It flutters frantically in it, making a grand fight to reach that false moonlight, only to drop away when it realizes that it’s being burnt. You watch it rinse and repeat, relentless and sure, for who knows how long. It’s no special moth—no luna moth or the ones with the pretty pink wings—but the light falls down on it and colors it a pleasant stardust silver.  

You delight in letting your conscious brain turn off to watch it. It lets you forget the sweltering under your skin, and also that Kai had drug you out here. His dad gives him shit when he plays inside, but it’s way too hot to be out here. Isn’t it supposed to cool off after the sun goes down? It doesn’t feel like it. The deep acoustics are drowned out each time a car whirrs by. Playing outside should be the best option, but you and Kai live right on a busy road.  

When the roar of some car going ten miles over the speed limit doesn’t obscure his playing, though, you admire the intricacy of it. His fingers work up and down the neck, jumping frets that you imagine would be impossible to anybody without those long fingers of his. You had always been a loud supporter of his playing, even way back when the most he could play were simple chords, but you became especially so when a few years back he put a guitar in your hands and tried teaching you. Even with his fingers guiding yours, it was quick to learn that the effortlessness with which Kai handles the instrument is hard earned.  

He practices on the acoustic guitar, but that’s not his domain. With houses just a dash across the street from each other, Kai had grown up at your home more than he had at his own. So vividly, you remember the stars in his eyes when he’d listen to your dad’s music. Metallica, The Smashing Pumpkins, Linkin Park, any of it. He had fallen in love with it a long time ago. Your whole life you knew that it was only a matter of time before he was in his own band, chasing his dreams with a boundless mind and an indelible vision of himself on stage. How had that time come so soon, though? You don’t know if the notebooks full of inky lyrics that live wherever he deems inspiration might hit him make you proud or nervous. He’s making good on his dazzling aspirations, and you? 

You speak finally into the air, cutting through heat waves and his music and the night. “Isn’t it weird that we’re not going back to school after this summer?” 

He doesn’t have to even stop playing to answer you. Playing comes to him as a second nature. “Kinda,” he answers, brown eyes flitting up to you. “But it’s not like you won’t be back to it in September. College is the same shit.” 

The leg you’d been dangling and bouncing pauses. That’s right; you’re supposed to be going to that college you’d chosen because it was only a three-hour drive away from here. You pluck at the seat’s threadbare fabric, and the moth, still there, becomes oh-so-interesting once again. When his playing stops, you drop your head back with a cushioned thud and a groan that you wrangle in your throat. 

“Why are you acting like that?” he says, voice gone sharp like accusation. He doesn’t even know the truth, but he’s known you too long.

Can’t you just keep secrets for yourself, sometimes?

Kai, arms clad in a well-loved hoodie even in this dreadful weather, lays the guitar down. You maintain your silence. “Seriously, what?” 

Some secrets have timers, though. This one could only last you until about September, or even August when he realizes that you’re not preparing to return to school. A controlled sigh from your chest isn’t enough to soothe the nerves that sparks. “Nothing.” 

“Secrets, huh?” Kai says. When you do finally look to him, black spikes of hair frame his eyes and the accusation in them. 

It’s a simple poke, but it gets under your skin as sharp as any thorn might. It’s not like you don’t keep secrets from him, and you’re sure he keeps some from you too. But those are the little kinds, the inconsequential ones—like I ate already when asked why you’re not eating or like Yeah, I’m fine when it’s been a bad day. You don’t hide this kind of stuff from each other. Usually, you’d run over to his place to tell him whatever’s bothering you. Why not, when he’s known even the worst details of your life for almost the entirety of it? You’ve been holding this one close to your chest since somewhere around the end of senior year, though. The longer you let it fester, the worse your nervousness snowballs. “C’mon, Kai. Let’s not do this. Can you keep playing?” 

He doesn’t like that, of course. But you watch recognition dawn over his chocolate brown eyes, helpless to stop it. “You’re not going,” he says. It’s not a question nor a suspicion, it’s a bone-dry fact.  

Well. There that goes. You want to tear every hair on your head right out. Why had you even thought you’d keep him in the dark about it? When he’s not out in some garage making music, you two are together. The conversation was going to stroll by at some point; this was only inevitable. His disappointment radiates off him in waves and blisters you. He hasn’t even said anything yet, but you know exactly what he thinks of it. It’s why you kept it from him in the first place.  

Your silence is enough confirmation for him. “Why?” he says. “I thought you were excited to move out.” 

Wincing, you nod slowly. You were. Even went through the whole application process, along with most other kids your age. Ultimately, you never went through with declaring a college. You don’t exactly know why, but somewhere weaseled down in the shadowy recesses of your soul, you know. Taking those steps, the massive and terrifying ones from adolescence into adulthood, meant agreeing that this form of your life was over. It meant that at some point, you’d be moving away from here to where living your days away in Kai’s room would not be a choice. Everybody has to do it eventually, you know that. Kai’s music gig could take off any day, too. He’s going to make it happen. And then what? All this stalling and wishing on just a bit more time would mean nothing, he’d be off and chasing that dream. As excited as you are for it to finally become reality for him, there’s a nasty bitterness that’s budded in your chest, infecting your person.  

Can’t things just stay like this? 

“I was,” you say. It comes out of your mouth heavy.  

“Then why aren’t you going?” he says. Crickets, never seen but always heard, sing their song into the night’s darkness. “You didn’t get rejected. You’re too smart for that.” 

An ache sits heavily somewhere near the center of your chest, maybe over your heart. All those good grades, nights spent bent over a desk and AP paperwork—you’re wasting it. You shake your head. “No... just...” It’s an effort to dress your thoughts in a way that might appease him. A quiet moment stretches with your thinking before you continue, “I don’t know what I want to do.” 

He doesn’t like that, the yellow wash of the overhead light dancing over his taut lips and hard eyes. “Don’t know what you want to do?” he says, bringing his legs up onto the seat to crisscross them. He wears his favorite jeans. They’re heel-bitten and baggy enough over his legs that he can wear them around the house without any bother. “You’ve wanted to be an artist your whole life. You know exactly what you want to do.” 

Your chest only seems to ache harder. When the both of you were only young and hopeful, you both had big dreams. Kai was going to be the face of a metal band, and you were going to be an artist. A painter, potter, sculptor, even doing animation for those big companies like Dreamworks and Disney. You wanted any of it, just as long as you were doing art. You’d even promised him that you’d do the cover art for his albums with interlocked pinkies and flushed, hopeful cheeks. That passion and love wasn’t gone from you, it blazed strong in your veins. This blaze wasn’t the kind that kept you warm and excited to push forward into life, though. It had morphed into something that scalded you when you got too close or started imagining yourself pursuing its call. It’s a taunting silvery glow, no longer a guiding north star. Taunting words of family members stamped down on that hope hard. When you were little, it was said lighthearted and in passing. The older you got, though, the more serious their faces became. They wouldn’t say it outright perhaps, but you hear what they think well enough. Art is a dead-end career.  

Shifting in your seat, you tell him, “I don’t know.” 

“What do you mean?” Kai says. “There are good colleges for that.” 

“I just... don’t know.” 

Shaking his head, he tells you, “But you love it.” 

You do. In its every form, you love creating. But loving it doesn’t mean that it’s right for you, or that you should trust your future in its hands. “I think I can do it in my own time,” you say, finally pushing yourself upright from the cushion. “Don’t wanna kill the passion by doing it for a living, you know?” 

He thinks on that for a moment. “If you love it, you should do it,” he says. 

An awful frustration bubbles in your chest. Kai has always had a clear life path, the steps ahead of him set in stone and waiting for him to follow in them. It’s hard for him to see why you might not want to do the same. There’s nothing that makes you as happy as the fact that he has it all figured out, that he knows just where he’s going and that he’s so incredible at it that he doesn’t have to worry about meeting the requirements, but your path seems obscured and untrodden. Punctuating a deep, resonant sigh, you say, “It’s not that easy, Kai.” 

“If you’re not doing that, then what are you going to do? Are you just going to settle for a nine-to-five?” he says full of accusation, the tapping on his knees gone still.  

A dry laugh, you say, “Maybe I’ll marry a super rich guy and just do my art for a living. No nine-to-five.” 

His face flashes. He’d always been a bit reserved, especially around others, but he bared his emotions freely around you. You hold them dearly to your chest and made sure to do your best to make good on that trust. He says, “You’re more than some guy’s housewife.” 

Cheeks radiating in the heat, you snort. “I know, dork. I’m a rockstar’s best friend. It’s my personal favorite achievement.”  

His face sours when you reach out and pinch hard at his cheek, but he doesn’t pull away or brush you off. The skin there is warmed and clammy. Really, the two of you should go meet the cool AC inside before you suffer heat stroke. But this moment feels so nice—your shoulders feel tons lighter without something to hide. If you had it your way, things would stay like this forever. Just the two of you, sat here like you have so many times before, just taking for granted the time you’ve got together.  

His mouth opens to banter, probably something about how he’s not a rockstar yet or to get you back for calling him a dork. Wingbeat and sterling dashes about your face send the image into a blur, though. You’re a quick mess of limbs and a whipping head, as if it’ll chase the thing away from you. 

“Seriously?” Kai says. You’d climbed halfway over him, elbows digging into him and knee doing a number on his thigh. “It’s a moth. You’re not scared of moths.” 

Lingering for a few moments later to ensure the flying thing was nowhere on you or around you, you hold back a laugh before you climb off him and fix your hair with undignified tucks behind your ears. “He was in my face,” you say around a laugh, because you know it was a bit too much. Nobody likes wings in their ears and spindly legs in their face, though, and you’re in no control of what you do when anything with six legs tries and get too friendly. Even moths.  

“You just wanted me to protect you,” he says. A sarcastic, shit-eating smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.  

“Oh,” you scoff, batting your eyelashes and clasping your hands together all saccharine-sweet. “Yes, Romeo, won’t you kill that bug for me? This girl’s heart just can’t take it!” 

Kai’s nose crinkles, and the playful light twists into a glare. “Nasty.” 

“That’s how you sounded,” you say. “I only reacted accordingly.” Laughing, you kick your legs out over his lap and sprawl back out. He takes the guitar back into his hands. 

As much as you want to escape the mugginess, you’ll survive it for just a little while longer—if only with the force of an indulgent heart. The eternal moments are those you allow to linger.  

⚝⭒ 

Some things, you forget when you’re older. Maybe it’s time’s hand, eroding memories down and stuffing more in the longer you live to experience them. But also maybe because they’re the sort of things you can’t say in the adult world without a laugh in the face and a look from down their noses.  

This memory is one of those forgotten things. It’s moth-bitten and dusty, something you one day folded up in a moving box and decided to never revisit. 

You’d been down at the creek. Kai and you had spent so many summer days there. It wasn’t too far from home, just past the filbert trees and into the shallow neck of the backwoods, but there you were out of sight and free to get up to nothing good. It was a wonder your mom ever let you do it. Kai’s dad didn’t care too much where he went or what he did, but your mom dug her claws in deep. You like to think that she imagined you two would have each other, if anything ever happened. 

Usually, you’d be there holding your jeans up from the stream and Kai would be letting his jeans go dark with it. The bite of water was nice as it washed over warm skin. Fun was a simple thing to find, then. You dug your fingers into the mudbanks and tossed stones way too big to be throwing at each other, just because you two remembered how much the adults hated it when you did. Then, you’d drag tired limbs home avoiding sweetgum tree spikes that had fallen to the ground and dug splinters out from your feet.  

This day, you had been in the blackberry bushes. It was maybe late July or early August, and they’d gotten heavy on their branches. You’d waited until the smell of them, summer-warmed, was sweet and cloying in the air to pick them. With buckets in your hands, you plucked only the fattest berries from their bunches. Your fingers were stained a delightful purple and perhaps a bit thorn raw, but you didn’t mind much then. You plucked for hours, and it was dusk before you could catch it. Dinner was no doubt waiting for you back home. 

“There’s a bunch over here,” Kai had said. He reached a long boyish arm, still awkward and lanky with puberty, up high for ripe bush. You finished off picking before climbing around thick branches sticking out to take a peek. A bunch, there was. 

When you went to drop a handful of them into your bucket, Kai hissed. He’d been snagged by a vicious looking branch, those ones as thick as a finger with thorns to match and you’d warn each other tongue-in-cheek to watch out for that one. He’d worn those ridiculous shorts that day, the ones that looked half pants half shorts with how long and baggy they were, and the claws of the bush had jumped at the opportunity. At first the scrapes were white, but then red blood crawled out and down his leg.  

“Kai,” you said, some parts chiding and some parts just wondering how he’d managed that. You surveyed his leg for a bit, and then determined that he should wash his leg off in the stream. He walked there strong, but of course you noticed the hobble beneath his acting. When you squatted down into the dry grass and cupped water to wash off his leg, you laughed. 

“What?” he had said, holding the shorts up. You covered your laugh with a hand, but it erupted past your palm. You remember the glare on his face very well.  

You still laughed. “You’re stupid,” you had told him. 

“I didn’t see it,” he said. “I tripped over it because it was sticking out.” 

That time when you brought your hands to catch some water, there was a twinkle in its surface. You didn’t notice it for a second. The creek moved fast and you could see a lot of things in its reflection. When it lingered, that’s when your brows furrowed. It seemed to twirl, dancing around like alive over the stones. 

The sound of Kai’s voice remains with you. “Hey,” he had said, strong to call your attention but also wavered with uncertainty. 

When you looked up, there was silver dust dancing around you. 

It was fluffy and whorling, fine silver stardust. It’d moved weightless in the air, as though it barely existed. In the center of it were a few moths. They seemed to be made of sterling powder just as the dust was, and they glowed against dusk’s backdrop. If your memory serves you right, there had been a sweet hymn of coos from them. They beckoned you. Summer’s heat felt lighter, and so did your chest. You wondered where they had wanted you to go. 

Almost afraid that if you spoke they might have fluttered away, you whispered soft and low to Kai. “What is that?” He was stood frozen there, pant leg still scrunched up in his fist. Stardust glowed soft in his brown eyes while he took it all in, you remember. It wasn’t a scared frozen. You weren’t scared, either—rather, it was as if that lightness had found its way into the core of your being and brushed over it with mending hands. 

He whispered back, “I don’t know.” How could he have known? It was absurd. 

Those whisps had beckoned you, flowing toward the deeper woods. The soft moths, their murmuring brushing up against your ears, seemed to wait for you to follow. You remember a pull, soft tendrils wrapping themselves around your heart and the yearning it planted there.  

But there was also this reluctance, a bone-deep answering that had told you: No. You’re not ready. 

“Kai, I wanna go,” you told him. 

You didn’t even need to tell him twice. Berry buckets forgotten; the journey home was a stranger one. When your dad asked why you returned from berry picking emptier handed than you had left the house, Kai and you only shared a look. You pair kept that evening at the creek hidden so well that it became more forgotten than shared secret.  

⚝⭒ 

Once, you had been the type of girl that loved being around family. Some of your favorite days of your life were spent in this living room, T.V. roaring over bouncing conversation. Some of those nights ended in rosy cheeks and laughs, and some ended with words thrown angry like fireworks. You never knew which you’d be getting, but you endured the fear of not knowing because it was a simple love—the basic kind built with biology into you the moment your infant skin touched your mother’s. You endured it because eventually, sleep washed away the bad taste left in your mouth and you forgave them quick, sometimes quicker than you ought to, and things would go on as if it hadn’t even happened. You endured it because you could handle its burden, if only to feel the warmth you feel when it’s a good day.  

Kai was always there—his dad was hardly home, so he found family in yours. When you were younger, you’d been embarrassed he was there for caustic, spitted words and intimate fights. Now, you’re just grateful for his shoulder.  

So, yes. Once, you had loved being around your family. But things feel tenser now, nights spent all together less frequent and when they do happen, they’re tainted by a strange air. You think that this strangeness is new, but an awful worry also makes you think that it’d always been there, that you only feel it now because you’ve grown into your adult mind. A hollow ache stakes its claim in your chest, declaring that it won’t leave until you find that youthful ignorance and joy once more. You think that it might stay there forever. 

Bare feet bounding down the stairs, you make a rare appearance downstairs. The cupboard is only half open to make way for a snack raid before your mom’s voice cuts through the air. You know quickly just by the look on her face that you should’ve stayed upstairs. 

“Hey,” she says, gathering laundry into a basket. “You’ve been applying to jobs?” 

With an anxious belly, you tell her, “Yeah. A few. They’re not really, like, ideal, but I sent applications.” You don’t remember when it got hard to look into your mother’s eyes, but you can’t bring yourself to do so now.  

“Not ideal?” she says. “It’s not like you can be picky. Mcdonalds or wherever, I don’t care, you’re going to need to get a job if you’re staying here.” 

“I know. I applied,” you reiterate around a mumble. You close the cabinets, not so interested in a snack anymore. “I just... I don’t know, ma. I don’t want to do that for a living, going between those sorts of jobs.” 

Face hard and abrasive against the truth you bare, she does that awful taunting smile that makes you feel small. Stupid. “You’re not going to college, so that’s what it’s gonna be. You can’t sit up there and draw for a living. You’ve gotta get into the real world, get some real experience.”  

There’s a burst of hurt in your chest, dazzling and gnawing. She’s getting closer to saying how she really feels about your dreams out loud every day. Your face burns and so do your eyes, knot thick in your throat. “Yeah, okay. Got it,” you say, nodding. You’re at the front door before you even know it, slipping on shoes and fighting the greatest internal battle to will back tears. She’d use those against you, no doubt about it. “I’m going to Kai’s,” you throw over your shoulder.  

Whatever she barks back at you, you’re glad you don’t hear. Bells on some old Christmas decoration hung on the door that had yet to be taken down, even into summer, jingle and wash it away for you. 

Kai’s brows shoot up when he opens the door to your face crumpling. You’d done so well at damming it up, but the wall cracks and the water crashes through once you see him. If it were anybody else, you’d feel icky and attention seeking, but you’d held Kai to your chest through gut-wrenching sobs as much as he’s done it for you. Without question, he takes you into his arms, warm hand running up and down your back. The warm soothing is so familiar. You melt right into it.  

He keeps you there for a long moment. Then, his chest rumbles as he tells you, “Come on.” The walk through the AC to his bedroom is nice. Having a house like Kai’s to come to where it can just be you is nice, too. You step around the mess of clothes and scattered belongings on his floor like you have a muscle-memory roadmap of his room. Boxsprings creak and hard mattress welcome you back home. His room is dark as always, a night-dweller you call him. The array of peeling band posters plastered over walls you two had painted blue some years ago, when it’d been his favorite color, don’t help to lighten it up. He keeps a low lamplight on.  

“She never listens to me,” you say, crying gone to occasional sniffles from your chest. You rest your cheek on your bent knee. 

“I know,” he says. “But at least she cares about you. Pays attention to you.” His voice is soft and deep and right next to you. Always right next to you, there for you even when you might not appreciate it as you should.  

His dad cares too little what he does, and yours care too much. The grass is always greener on the other side, you know it. Still, you hold a fantasy where you’re able to do teenager stuff. Where you’d allow yourself to do bad things, because you weren’t so intent on painting yourself with their will. You two hold eyes for a long moment, your twinkling ones caught in that steady brown. “I just want to get away. Be my own person.” Your words are muffled in the softness of your skin. 

“You had the chance to do it,” Kai says, hand playing with your fingers. “But you didn’t.” 

Holding your legs closer, you lick your lips. What do you say to that? Would it ever be the time to tell him that you did it because you think that your soul is pathetically intertwined with his, and that it might snuff your lifeforce out to even try pursuing life without him? Without this? How do you tell him that you’re so frozen and unwilling to pursue any sort of future because it means accepting that this chapter is over? You clutch childhood to your chest like a wild animal guarding scarce food; you refuse. You refuse to acknowledge its end.  

“Kai,” is all you say, trembled and thick. It’s not just your mother’s words that dig at you and tear to shreds the last bits of what dreaming you had left in you, but so many other reality checks too. This isn’t the first time you’ve heard those sorts of words, urging you forward. You can only dig your heel into the ground for so long before you’re swept away in time’s ruthless, endless moving.  

He understands. Lifting your face with warm fingers against your cheeks, he says, “Hey. How about we go get ice cream, or something?” 

Ice cream does sound nice. “Dairy Queen?” 

Smirk tugged over his mouth, he says, “Yes, Dairy Queen. A blizzard. C’mon, let’s go.” Sliding off the bed, he offers you an urging hand up. 

But you falter. “I don’t know if we can. She’s mad at me. I don’t think she’ll let me go.” 

“Let you go?” he says, eyes narrowed. “She doesn’t have to let you go. You’re an adult now, you go if you want to.” He offers his hand to you again. 

It’s so him, freely going wherever he ordain it. The bullheadedness is very him, as well. Always the devil on your shoulder, he was the root of any rebellious thing you’ve ever done. He could never understand your apprehension, or why getting in trouble was such an awful thing to you. “I have to ask to get money.” 

Brows pinching, he says, “You think I’m not gonna pay for you? You don’t need them to give you money, I’ll pay. I’ll take care of it.” He drags you up from the bed this time. “Live a little. Do you want to go?” 

It was never the punishments or the getting in trouble that you were scared of, though. Disappointment was a scarier word than grounded. Sneaking out and those sorts of things, it’s not like you had angel wings at your back and never considered them. It’s that you are deeply, utterly terrified of changing how they look at you. You begin to tell him, “I do, but—” 

He cuts you off, adamant. “Then do it. Let’s go. If you want to go, then go,” he says. “At some point, your life needs to become your own. It’s not sneaking out when you’re graduated and eighteen years old, it’s going wherever the hell you want. You’ve... You’re gonna end up stuck here, in this town, forever. You don’t deserve that.” 

That sounds like both the best and the worst thing you’ve ever heard. You take his hand.  

⚝⭒ 

Your frozen fingers nurse your ice cream. The cup itself is cold, but the Dairy Queen on your side of town is always thirty degrees below what it should be. It’d always been that way. Even way back when you two couldn’t drive, you’d get dropped off here to escape the melting weather and get a frozen treat with a handful of dollars. Each time, you’d start off sagging with the relief of summer’s weight off your shoulders and left the place shivering and sugar-mouthed.  

It’s really only you two in here. You crinkle your nose when he takes a spoonful. “Out of all the flavors...” 

Unbothered and no doubt expecting you to say it, he offers you a flat, “You get your flavor, I get mine.” He makes a point of taking an extra-long bite. His lips linger around the red plastic of the spoon and his brows rest high in silent challenge.  

The corners of your lips twitch up. “Hmm. Well. I just have a hard time believing that Oreo... or, like, brownie fudge, is right there, and you actually want M&M. I don’t get how M&M your favorite.” A familiar banter falls over your tongues. Your heart buzzes and your cheeks radiate. This is the first you’ve done this all summer, and it’ll be weaning off into fall soon. Any other summer, you would’ve been here on all the hottest days. You hate that Kai’s been so busy with his music; you hate that you can hear the resounding ticks of the clock counting down your time. You also hate that the stubborn depths of you still believe that if you freeze yourself here in stasis that the world will relent and stop along with you. 

You look over the sharp lines of Kai’s jawline as it feathers with his chewing, and the broadness of his shoulders where his jacket stretches around it, and the starkness of his collarbones against his chest and the bobbing of his adam’s apple when he swallows. No, time doesn’t stop. Some of him remains the same, though. In it, you see the boy that had love creeping up on you so long ago, with all its aching and all its hope. That freckle on the column of his neck, the bump in his nose leading down to the button tip that beckons your lips to steal a quick kiss.  

And, those lips. They’re as soft as ever around the discontented grimace he pulls. “M&M isn’t my favorite.” 

With a pursed mouth and patronizing brows arched over your eyes, you say, “Oh, huh. That’s funny, because if my memory serves me right, it’s the only flavor you’ve ordered for the past... six years.”  

Kai husks a laugh at that. “That’s because they haven’t had my favorite for years,” he tells you, scooping up the final bit and then pushing it off to the side. “It was a blizzard of the month that they discontinued. The blackberry cheesecake one. I made peace with it, though. It lives on in my heart.” He grins, arms crossed over his chest and his back settled into the booth seat to let you finish your cup.  

“Blackberry cheesecake,” you say, voice made taunting. Your nod is slow and taunting, too. “Well, forget M&Ms.Why would blackberry cheesecake be your favorite? Ever?” 

His face falters, a moment where something flows over his eyes as if reliving a memory in a few short seconds. Then, he shrugs. “It just is.” 

You roll your eyes. “Whatever,” you laugh. “Maybe my palate is unrefined.” Imagining the tarte fruit in purple swirls of ice cream, you’re taken back to a humid July day and the scent of churned mud.  

The strange memory unfolds itself quick. As if it were waiting for you to find wherever it’d hidden itself away. With a sharp gasp, you say, “Oh my god, Kai. Do you remember that one day? That weird stuff we saw down at the creek?” 

He nods. “Yeah. I was just thinking of that the other day, actually...” 

Less interested in finishing your cup now, you let the spoon rest. “What?” you say, the word peaking in the middle. That day hadn’t crossed your mind once since it’d happened. “How weird is that?” 

Scoffing a laugh, he says, “Weird, yeah. Just as strange as two kids high on fermented berries.” 

That draws a breathy laugh from you. “Is that what you think it was?” you ask him with knitted brows. The berries had been fresh, and you two had popped plenty into your mouth. But no doubt, you’d have spat them right back out if they were that ripe. “I mean, we saw the same thing.” 

“It happens to animals all the time. Squirrells, and stuff.” He lends you a gallic shrug. “We just freaked ourselves out. Like that one time you said you saw the shape of something in the dark and we freaked out. And it was clothes.”  

Well, hallucinating, in tandem, a glowing mist because you two by chance ate fermented berries is a very long shot. However nonchalant he acts about it, he seems to have thought long and hard about it. Enough to reason it away with some far cry explanation. Would you have even been able to get drunk off a handful of fermented berries? And, god, you’re really sure that you’d have noticed. That taste isn’t really one you just don’t notice.  

Whatever. Maybe you were just drunk idiots. That’s a lot easier to swallow, anyway. 

“Okay, but you saw that. Did it not look sinister?” you say. With your spoon back in your hand, you punctuate the sentence pointing it at him. “You freaked out with me, too.”  

An unsatisfied scowl on his lips, he steals a spoonful of your dessert. You don’t even swat him away—your phone buzzes in your pocket. 

Catching sight of who’s calling, you share a long look with Kai. It’s funny, how fast those three white letters scramble you up. When you hesitate to answer, Kai tells you, “Answer.” 

You hope she can’t tell you’re not at Kai’s by the refrigerators’ dull buzzing. It’s an effort to tussle that invasive worry back. You’re at Dairy Queen. Getting ice cream with the boy she’s known since childhood. She should clutch her hands and thank the sky that you’re here, not out in some nasty frat house like you could be. You thumb the green button. 

Her voice comes through the speaker crackled and asking you to run over to do a quick dish load. For a heartbeat you consider telling her that you will and then start rushing home. Instead, you fork out the truth through resistant lips. 

The hangup tone sits heavy on the air between you and Kai. Having listened to the whole thing on speaker, he says, “What was so hard about that? The world didn’t end, did it?” 

The plush of your lip takes a hard gnawing. No, it hadn’t. “I know she’s not going to get mad at me for just going here,” you say as you rest your elbows onto the table. “It’s that they’re supporting me right now. I still live under their roof. The more I go around and insist I can do whatever I want, they’ll start reminding me of it.” 

His face drawn, he lets his mouth twitch to one side. “Yeah,” he muses. “I never thought yours would be the type to kick you out.” 

Kai’s dad had started threating him with getting kicked out years ago, when he first started telling him that he wanted to do music. How many times had he let reluctant tears flow into your shoulder over it? Because music wasn’t a real job? Back then, you’d whispered in his ears that he’d become everything he’d dreamed of and more as your fingers carded through shaggy locks of hair.  

“I don’t know,” you say, humming it out noncommittally. “Is your dad still... y’know?” 

Nodding slowly, his eyes tell. “Yeah. Always.” 

“Because you’re taking the band seriously, now?” you ask.  

“Probably. I don’t give a shit what he thinks about it. If I’m just his goddamn problem, I’ll give him what he wants soon enough.” His eyes blaze with promise of it.  

It takes a bit out of you to not wince. Kai living anywhere but in the house across from yours is wrong. “I don’t think he necessarily wants that, Kai...” You take his hand in your icy ones, the urge to reach out to him thinly veiled under the guise of searching out warmth. He’d always run warmer than you—your personal heater. “It’s probably because he can see that you’re doing it for real. Not just saying it anymore.” 

“Yeah, well,” he spits, “I can’t fucking wait to see what he’ll say to me when I make it. That piece of shit, though, he wouldn’t even care. It’s not like he ever gave a shit about me enough for it to matter.” 

But, it matters to you, you want to tell him. You understand his need to throw it all in his face. Though. “Is that one label going to sign you? The one you were talking about?” 

His tongue darts out to wet dry lips. “They haven’t yet. I don’t know. But I don’t need that money to get out of here, I’ve been working on it.” 

“They will,” you say. “But, where would you go? Not too far?” You try and keep it light and playful, even as your heart aches. 

“Come with me,” he says. It’s painfully blunt, as if it were that simple. “Let’s go get and apartment; you and me.” 

“Kai...” you say. “You don’t have to drag me along because you feel bad.” 

The idea doesn’t sound half bad, though.  

“What?” His face tightens, as if somewhere under the surface your words had scraped somewhere tender. “You don’t have to stay here forever. Please. I want... I want you to come with me. You wouldn’t have to even tell them; just bring all your stuff and go together. We could do it together. Like we said we would.”  

“We were like, five. Everybody tries to pretend running away at five,” you deadpan. It’s a washy attempt at lightening things back up. 

Living with him, moving out together, should feel like everything you’ve ever wanted. And, maybe it is. But, he’s not asking you to live with him the way you want him to. Not in the way that your aching heart wishes he would.  

Kai doesn’t share the laugh you give him. “Yeah, okay,” he says, leaning into the table.  

Perhaps you should consider the potent disappointment he’s terribly masking with a face of indifference, though. 

⚝⭒ 

Slowly, the knots in your belly have worked themselves out. When Kai had dropped you off, they’d been so awful that you felt borderline sick. You sat the whole ride there in his old beat-up truck picking at your nails and rambling to him. He listened to you the whole time. And then when it was time to walk in, it had least felt a little easier to do so with his eyes on you, watching to make sure you made it in safely. 

You’d gotten a job. It’s not too bad, folding clothes out on display. It would be nice if they kept the lights a bit brighter, but you’ll get used it eventually, you hope. 

Most of your coworkers are around your age, but the one showing you the ropes... your heart had fluttered. 

“You’ll get it,” Yeonjun says. The smile you find on his lips once he straightens up from placing product on a display is smooth and smug. Sleek strands of black hair fall over his eyes. You fluster under his gaze.  

With arms crossed over your chest you say, “Yeah, probably.” You reach into the cardboard box for stock to practice on. 

“Where’d you work before this?” he asks, leaning back into a wall to watch you. Suddenly, you make sloppier work of your folding. “Your first retail job?” 

Some obnoxious pop song falls down from the speakers over the store. Nobody’s in here yet, thankfully; you’ve got some time to try and get a handle on everything. “No, this is my first job. I was so nervous walking in.” 

Interest catches in his eyes. It encourages that smooth smile on his lips further. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll show you the reins.” 

Your mind stalls. The suggestive, sly flicker to it—are you looking too much into it? Maybe that’s just how guys like Yeonjun act. It’s hard to pretend that you don’t see how he’s looking at you, though. It has your belly twisted up in fluttery knots. It’s not like you hadn’t had your share of his type. But, for some reason you’d rather not address, he’s got your heart thumping in your chest. 

He laughs at your fifth attempt to fold up the shirt. When he takes it from you to help, he smells of musk and vetiver. “You going to college near here?” he continues.  

“Nah, just doing this, I guess,” you answer, watching him fold it up to try and soak it up.  

“Really? Why not?” he hums, crossing his arms about his chest. “You seem like a smart girl.” 

Buffering, your blood buzzes in your veins and your cheeks burn. “Dunno. Not really sure what to do. Are you in college?” 

“Nah. I’m trying to figure things out, too.” 

The both of you pop your heads up when the bell rings to announce the arrival of a customer.  

“Yeah,” you say, eyeing him. He’s a few years older than you, no doubt, and yet his life hasn’t fallen apart because he’s not done anything grand yet.  

Time’s hand around your neck loosens. Just a little bit.  

⚝⭒ 

You sit crisscrossed on top of Kai’s bedsheets. He’d thrown the windows open because the AC died, but it’s no help. The hot air wafting about the room sits heavy on your skin. You’d dressed in as little material as possible to let it breathe, bare thighs clad in a pair of loose shorts and a thin tank top, but it’s still miserable. 

Perhaps you two should be going over to yours, but you haven’t had time alone with him for a few weeks now. You hate this busier life, where you struggle to make room for this. 

Your new job isn’t so awful, though. Especially with Yeonjun there. A bout of nerves flows up through your stomach. That reminds you. 

Sitting up a bit straighter, you consider not doing it. In fact, you really shouldn’t. But your mouth moves before you can put a stopper on it. 

“Hey, Kai,” you say. The thickness in your throat makes you believe that your heart’s jumped up into it, caught. God, what are you doing? The unsure waver in your words has you regretting. 

His eyes flicker up to yours. He hums out a, “Huh?” 

No, this is wrong. You mess with the thin cotton strap of your tank top where it’d slipped down. “Never mind,” you tell him, trying to shrug it off.  

That piques his interest. “No, what?” His brow pinches.  

You lick your lips and shake your head. “Nothing, never mind. Really.” 

His eyes search you from where he sits up against the wall. “Tell me,” he demands. 

Really, you shouldn’t have said it in the first place. It was a ridiculous idea. But now you know he’s not going to let it go. And, ridiculously, you say it. “I was just... wondering,” you say, blood roaring. "Well, Yeonjun wants me to come over to his place this weekend, and... I’ve never...” Sucking in a quick breath, you just spit it out to get it over with, “Would you be my first kiss, Kai?” 

Insects buzz outside as he looks at you, frozen in spot. You reject the urge to dart away or throw up. You’re honestly just as shaken as him. But really, who else could you trust with something like that? You don’t want Yeonjun to be disappointed if he kisses you, or to seem inexperienced to him. 

And, perhaps, the hopelessly in love part of you hopes to at least feel his lips on yours at least once. If you’re going to be alone forever in your longing, you just wish that you can have this. 

“What?” Kai says. He looks rattled.  

Of course, he’s shocked. You shift. “Forget I said that,” you tell him, unable to meet his gaze.  

String-roughened fingers wrap around your upper arm. “I didn’t say anything,” he says, voice strained and face less shock-fallen and more darkened. “But... I mean, you want me to teach you to kiss for some other guy.” He spits out the last bit as if bitter in his mouth.  

“You don’t have to do it,” you say. “I just... thought that I might ask you to do it. I don’t know, I’m sorry I said it. I’ll just wing it or something.” His room’s grown ten degrees hotter, if that was possible. Especially where you feel his eyes on your face.  

Almost imperceptibly, his hand tightens around you. He swallows hard. “You want to learn how to kiss?” he says. “Fine. I’ll teach you.” 

In a heart-stopping moment, your eyes snap to his. Brown and familiar, they hold you with an intensity that turns your limbs into jelly. The air is stifling. “What... do I do?” you ask when the silence becomes too heavy.  

A muscle feathers in his jaw, reflected in the low light of his room. It’s quick and so easy to miss, but it tells you everything you need to know about how this is making him feel. How much disbelief he’s in. “Come here,” he says, stilted around the absolute absurdity of it. He pats on his lap. 

You make a hesitant crawl across the bed toward him. It seems as though your elbows might buckle beneath your weight, but you make it despite the odds. A fog settles over your brain when you rest your hands on his shoulders and bring your legs to straddle his lap. 

But you shove it back; you want to live and breathe every last second of this. No matter how unbelievable or blistering it is.  

Breaths fan out over your face. It’s seizing your mind like undiluted liquor. “Where do I put my hands?” you ask him. It’s breathless, the air stolen right from your lungs though your mouths haven’t even touched.  

“There is fine,” he says. His words sound breathless, too. The weight of his touch on you as he runs his own up to support your back is unsure. “And then...” he says. It falls out on your mouth slowly, and then he’s taking your lips onto his. 

The walls melt away, sound does too. All that is real is the taste of his lips and how they move against you. Your lips start tentative, but you try his mouth movements yourself. It feels like a timid dance—it feels like deep, deep down, finally everything is right. That mist, thick and blinding, falls back over you. 

Something changes. Something in it, where you two meet, changes. He becomes hungry. Softly locked lips turn biting and nipping, shaky breaths exhaled slow through your nose. His hands on your back become surer, and one even ventures off to grab your chin. The other holds you to his chest, melded together despite the intense smoke and flame rolling off your bodies. You wonder if he can feel your heart beating a mess there. 

Reluctance paints you both when you pull back. You’re panting deep drinks of air. It’s hard to think; your mind’s run off and sits just out of reach. Licking your messy lips, stained with illicitness, you can only manage to brush your fingers against it to form words. “How... was that?” you say, searching his eyes. You find his pupils blown so wide that they consume the warm brown. You’re ready to jump out of your skin with that look pointed at you.  

Kai doesn’t answer, though. He slams your mouths back together as if starved by just the brief moment you’d parted for air. Nips on your bottom lip and emboldened hands—he moves like roaring water through a dam. A dam that he’d worked hard to fortify, and yet, at a crack it’s all falling down. Fingertips digging through the fabric of your shorts down to your soft hips, his chest rumbles. You feel it reflected in your core, electricity charging there and shooting up your spine and down your thighs. 

You kiss him for all the times you wish you would’ve, but didn’t. The slight rolls of your hips down onto him come easy. You love how it has him making a sound into your mouth and taking the fat beneath his fingers harder into his hands. He helps you. 

He drops his head into your neck. Your head swims for air and he has you shuddering with just the brushing of his nose against the column of your neck. The walls of his room spin around you. “Kai,” you whine, every bit of friction his jeans provide, even clothed as you are, just enough to rile you but not to give you what you need. 

“God,” he growls, thumbs hooking under your waistband. “You always fucking run around dressed in nothing,” he says, letting his fingers linger like a suggestion of undressing you. “Did you do it on purpose? Expect to make me crazy, knowing I couldn’t touch you?” 

And, in those words, it seems that he steals every last bit of breath from you. How often had you gone braless or worn something like this around him? Laid here, in his bed, like that? 

Grown tired of your fruitless grinding, he brings a hand down to support your lower back and says, “Turn around.” 

Though you explode with the prospect of what he might be intending to do or what’s next, if you’re really going to do this, you do so in a flash of eager limbs. His chest is solid against your back, you melt against the feeling of it. He’d become such a man lately, filled out, and you watched it happen. It was hard for your eyes not to catch on muscle-corded forearms while he picked at strings or to not appreciate the timbred rumble of his voice when you’d feel it come from his chest. How could it not do things to you? Now, he’s dragging your shorts down your legs and you’re in disbelief.  

“Fuck,” he breaths out. His fingers find your panties soaked through. “So, you’re the type to get dripping wet.” 

An embarrassed blush decorates your cheeks. Kai drags his index finger in circles around your clit through the fabric as if enamored with how much of a mess you’d made of it. Your hips twitch every time he rolls right over it. It’s strange how he’s got your body acting on its own volition with his touches. Even stranger that it’s your best friend doing it. “Sorry,” you tell him, wavering.  

He continues those terribly slow circles. “Sorry?” he says, chin on your shoulder. He’s got you wrapped up in him, with nowhere to go but to melt back into him and let his fingers work. Free hand on one of your inner thighs digging divots into the plushness there to hold it still, he tells you, “It’s nothing to be sorry about. It’s hot as fuck. You’re so excited for me to touch you, huh?” 

The words wreak havoc on you, feeding the flame that has your belly twisted up tight and the ignition point between your thighs pounding. To hear them coming from him, reserved Kai, has you digging your fingers into his forearm to prove that it’s real. You’d never have imagined him being so... filthy. You imagine him behind falsely nonchalant eyes, devouring you with a perverted mind all the times you’d spent innocently sitting together in this room.  

Your cheeks squish beneath his fingers as he takes your face and turns it to him. He wants to make sure you’re look at him as he asks you, “Do you want me to finger you?” 

Like a record, your brain skips. Between the blunt, lewd question and his hand on you, it’s in overload. How could ask something like that so simply? Stunned as you are, of course you want him to. You want him to do anything to you. You nod.  

Every last nerve and neuron in your system, just below the skin, cry out when his fingers slow down to nothing. “Hmm?” he says, ignoring the chasing of your hips and the opening of your thighs to invite him into paying your poor pussy the attention he’d ripped from it. He wants to hear you say it.  

About ten minutes ago, you lost your mind. It does not return to you now. “I want you to,” you say, chest beating in tandem with your cunt. 

“You want me to, right? Not some dumbass you met a week ago, huh?” he says. “Because you know that this is what it’s meant to be. Me, doing these things to you. Not some twenty-five-year-old piece of shit. He doesn’t deserve you, baby. Understand?” 

His fingers slider under your panties. Dumb brained and cognition gone muddled, you nod. All you can really think about is the moment his fingers slide over you. Fire licks up your lower belly and your insides as he brushes calloused finger tips finally right against your clit. 

Puffed breaths of a scoff raise goosebumps over your skin. “Teach you to kiss so that you can go over there and get his hands on you,” he says, middle two fingertips prodding at your entrance. “As if you were ever anybody’s but mine. You’d come crawling back to me, baby, because it was always meant to be us. He could never satisfy you.” 

His words might alarm you or have you asking questions if he hadn’t pushed his fingers into you and begun curling them with strong, pointed presses, pulling soft mewls and hums from you until he finds a spot that twists up your insides. Even through the palm you press over your mouth, your moans come out more like wavering grunts and croaks. Your thighs quiver and twitch, threatening to snap closed against your own will with each. Only your feet stay planted to the mattress. Like a cone of soft serve under the sun’s blistering attention, you melt down him. Just his frame keeps you upright. 

“Right there, huh?” he says. The smirk on his mouth filters his words into something taunting. “That’s where you like it.” It’s like he’s learning your body step by step, fulfilling all the questions he’d been forced to only guess at before this.  

“Uh-huh.” It comes out whiny and cracks in the middle, but you can’t find even an ounce of you to care right now. If this moment had been a long spiral, a fall from grace, down into a dark pit of forgotten inhibitions, you’ve just hit the bottom. Cheeks blazing cherry blossom pink and with your fingers curling into his pant leg, you don’t doubt that you are a picturesque mess. The kind of mess that’s beautiful because it’s dirty. Your teeth are not gentle on your plush bottom lip. It stings, tugged back and bitten and still a bit swollen with kisses. Perhaps you taste the tang of metal on it, but you pay it no mind. 

Kai redoubles his efforts. Now that he knows exactly how to play you, he’s fucking you on his fingers without mercy. The sounds coming from your cunt were wet, but now they’re different— nasty squelching. The only noises coupling with your pathetic keening. Forget anchoring yourself on his thigh, forget muffling your sounds. Instead, your hands fly to encircle his flexing forearm. Under your nails, angry red crescents dig into the muscle there. What had been a languid, building pleasure suddenly becomes everything. Your breaths run away from you, and you chase them frantically. Deep down in your core, the muscles spasm and rage against his fingers. “H—oh god,” you groan. Even the muscles in your thighs and tummy tighten up. 

“So whiny...” Kai mumbles, voice taut with the effort of eroding you down into pure, blinding-white pleasure. 

And then, in a swoop of mercy, your belly tightens. You hover here, on the precipice of something so consuming and voracious that your muscles and bones reject it, and yet your heart sings. Your eyes and cheeks and lungs and belly burn, the flame charring the edges of you in a beckon. You answer its call. Kai doesn’t mind the snapping of your legs shut around his arm, nor does your bucking or shaking deter him. He just holds you through it, arm like a metal bar around your waist. He’s everywhere, in this moment—the smell of him, leather and utterly familiar, his mouth dusting hot kisses over your skin, his fingers guiding you through orgasm. Where you’d gone silent in the initial crash of it, you devolve into mewls and grunts as you come down.  

He holds you even as you slump against him boneless. Afterglow simmers in your veins and has your brain all lethargic and lazy. Neither of you speak for a while, your pulse thumping a rhythm. His breaths rise and fall against you; it grounds you in this moment where you feel all spacey and gone. You become aware again of how disgustingly sweltering it is in his room, your skin sheened. 

That brainless bliss only lasts you for so long, though. When rational mind returns to you, no matter how you wish it wouldn’t, you’re hit in the chest with regret so hard it knocks the wind out of you. 

How will anything ever be the same after what you’d just done? Stricken still by the thought, you barely register him pulling his fingers out of you. After all your worrying about making sure no wedge comes between you two, look what you’ve gone and done. No; nothing ever will be the same again.  

⚝⭒ 

A couple of weeks ago, you ruined the one friendship you were supposed to have forever. It presses down heavy one you while you sit sprawled out on Yeonjun’s couch, his arm around your shoulder. His phone casts a glow over his features with all the lights out. 

It doesn’t smell like home. He, pressed against your side, doesn’t smell like home.  

Some stupid movie that he’d picked out, yet somehow you’ve ended up the only one still watching it, weaves a hum into the quiet of his apartment. Tangy hurt wells up in your throat. Even the moments when you and Kai would sit in mutual silence on your phones never felt like this. This is different.  

You haven’t seen Kai since that night. He’s been busy getting ready to move out, and you’ve been here most days. How fast all of it had changed. You wish you’d feel whiplashed, left empty, by the drifting that you’d been so terrified of. But you don’t. It’s just been you, locked on land, watching him being taken away by the ocean’s tide with no way to change its course. You tried and screamed to call him back, but now your voice has gone hoarse.  

And instead of watching him go, you choose to look elsewhere. It’s all you can do to protect yourself from the hurt. 

“Hey,” Yeonjun says, finally addressing you rather than whoever’s he’s got in his phone. “Did you bring anything to change into?”  

“I brought stuff to sleep in,” you say, eyeing him. You know that’s not why he’s asking. If it came down to it, you could just steal something from him and pull it on. He means going out clothes. Your jaw tightens. “But nothing nice. Why?” 

He stretches his arms behind his head in a flaunt of long arms and tanned muscle. Hours spent at the gym lent him those; you appreciate the look of it with a watering mouth. Kai had earned his build by hours spent outside with your dad, because his own could care less, helping him fix up cars and vehicles of all ridiculous sorts. You remember when Kai had first gotten his truck—junk on wheels, honestly—he’d spent so much of summer out there getting it running. And, well... the sun-kissed bronze of his skin and frame that came with it, you had no qualms with. 

But those memories only sit heavy in your chest as you’re sat here beside Yeonjun. You banish them elsewhere; you need to let him drift off. If you can’t have each other, and your feelings won’t permit just being friends, then you have to. You want him to do amazing things, and you fear that it’s your presence in his life that will interrupt that. As much as your feelings are real, they are selfish. You, your unsure direction and all your dead weight, should let him go. Because you love him. 

“The guys want to come over,” he tells you, pushing off from the couch. “You should probably into change into something less showy.” 

Less showy. Your mouth drops into a scoff of disbelief, looking down. A pair of shorts and a shirt, showy? You have to laugh, or else you’ll succumb to the strange embarrassment crawling at the back of your skull. What’s he trying to say? Is that what he thinks of you? “What’s that supposed to mean?” you say, face tilted up to him in a twist of distaste. “I’m wearing something comfy.” 

He shrugs, hands shoved into the pockets of his black sweats. “Don’t want to give them the wrong idea about you, that’s all, baby. They’re guys; I just want to protect you.” 

“No,” you say, the word falling out in a barked laugh. “Why would you even be bringing over dudes that you think will look at me like that? Why are you even friends with people that you think are gonna make moves on your girlfriend?” He holds a hand out to you, but your hands stay right where they are: crossed solidly over your chest. 

Throwing that hand up in audacious exasperation, he gives you a look that makes you feel small and petulant—like you’re throwing an overblown fit. And, maybe you are. You should probably just do it; him seeing you as some overbearing or high maintenance girl has that embarrassment flaring like wildfire that’s found dry brush. “C’mon, baby,” he says, a lazy smile on his mouth that gets under your skin. “Let’s just have an easy night. Don’t make it a big deal.” 

Let’s just have an easy night. As if you’re the one ruining the night. Something snarky tries to seize your tongue, but you hold it down. “I thought it would be just us. We wanted to watch the movie together, Yeonjun. Can’t you wait to hang out with your friends? Let’s enjoy our time together; you’ve got your shift tomorrow.” 

“My fucking god,” he groans, running a hand through his hair furiously. “You’re needy, you know that? The neediest I’ve ever had to put up with. I don’t put up with needy, baby. Can’t you just chill out a little? My last didn’t mind when I’d have friends over.” 

Your eyes burn. Your cheeks burn. He’d been with plenty of other girls before you; that, you’re well aware of. It’s been a corrosive source of self-doubt for you. You don’t want that title: the neediest he’s ever had. Don’t want him to think of you as some prude that won’t let him have fun. Just... hearing him bring up the other girls he’d been with before you stings and leaves welts no different from a slap in the face. Feelings of inadequacy shackle you and have you saying, “Fine. I’m gonna borrow some of your clothes.” 

Heavy resentment blooms on your skin where he bends down and presses kisses to your cheek, and then mouth, and then down your neck. “Thank you, baby.” 

And, where those ugly, wilted flowers of it bloom, you hear echoes of something. Something that tells you that Kai wouldn’t treat you like this. But you’ve made your bed, decided to do it yourself, and now you’ve got to lay on it. 

⚝⭒ 

The frat parties are the worst kind of social outing that Yeonjun insists upon. The smaller kinds, more intimate gathering with just his closer friends, you tolerate much easier. You’re not fond of the circles he chooses. Breathing in thick, smoked-out air surrounded by alcohol-coated breaths is not your type of fun night. Somehow, you end up doing that more than date nights. But that’s better than being here. The base rumbles up through your feet and makes your stomach sick, and it reeks of grinding bodies and body odor, and condensation coats your fingers from the red solo cup as full as when you’d first gotten it. 

But, still, you come along. Not every time, but when you don’t, you lay in his bed sickening yourself with images of what he might be doing here. How pathetic is it to attend parties with your boyfriend because you fear that otherwise, he might stick his tongue down the throats of other girls? 

You’re looking for him right now, awkward and left alone. He’d promised to stick around; you had begged him to. That was pathetic, too. You know that you put up with too much. If he loved you, or honestly even liked you, you two would be in the thick of the throngs dancing or off somewhere talking with others. Together. The frantic skimming and weeding of your eyes through the blur of faces is not right. That’s not how he should make you feel. It’s not how Kai would make you feel. 

Well, Kai would never have you here in the first place. 

Venturing out from your little corner, you sift between the bodies of people have a hell of a lot better time than you. Drunken, some you bounce off of like bumper carts. You press your palm over the round face of your cup to spare the floor from spillage threatening to pour over the lip. It’s not like a splash from yours would matter much, though. The linoleum has already been made a fetor mess of dirt off shoes and the sticky sugar of liquor. Your shoes peel from it as you walk. God, what would your parents think of you being here? 

You peek around corners and eye big groups. He’s not in the kitchen when you look there, either. Your stomach feels sick in a knowing way—a gut feeling that doesn’t justify anger or tears just yet, but you know. Right in the center of your chest, you know. 

It’s in some room that you find him. Sat on the floor along with a few faces you don’t know, he pulls from his bottle. And on his shoulder, he lets a girl with shining curls and pink cheeks rest her head. At your busting in on the intimate gathering, Yeonjun’s eyes slide to you. Recognition flashes over them and wars with bleary drunkenness. 

“Hey, baby,” he says. Their gazes all fall on you, but you can hardly see them through blurry eyes. 

The girl lifts her head from his shoulder. She’d caught the memo. 

“I think I’m gonna go.” You make it sound resigned, try to not let them see your shame, but your voice betrays you and crackles. Maybe it’s better to pretend it doesn’t feel like you’ve just been kicked in the stomach and left to reel against the force, but you can’t. You’re nowhere near shocked, nowhere near blindsided, but still you hurt. 

He follows you down the hall. “What’s your problem?” he says, the few, plain words mending and waving into a slurring. 

You’ve got one goal: get to the front door, away from the shitty music and him. His words, sharpened, fall off your skin despite his efforts. What good would fighting do you, anyway? It was always going to end up this way. This is just who he is, and he doesn’t give two shits enough about you to want to change that. 

“Baby, seriously? That made you this mad? I didn’t even fucking do anything. Stop being insecure,” he says. At the gritting of your teeth, he sees an opportunity and pounces on it. “You don’t need to be jealous. I don’t do jealous shit. We can dance, or something. Shit, I don’t know what you want! Just stop throwing a fit.” 

Didn’t do anything? You have to laugh. Maybe you didn’t walk in on him fucking someone else, but that’s not what this is about. Not even a little bit. You’ve checked out, and the fact that he thinks he can make you believe that it’s your fault this time only drives the killing stake in harder. 

Maybe you’re bitter. It claws at your insides—turns your face hot and screams in your face that you’ve been used. But beside it sits a sadness. Not the slow kind, but the quick sadness of hurt. Why hadn’t you been good enough for him to love you? To like you? You’d left behind Kai and rested your new life on Yeonjun’s shoulders. You’d wanted so badly for his approval, or for him to want you. You did your best to try and make this work out because you needed it to. You needed so desperately proof that you could fall in love with somebody else. But your best was not what Yeonjun was interested in.  

Pins and needles prick your skin as you step outside, like jumping into an ice bath. It shocks you out of dizziness. Words surge up and out in a flash flood like hard reality. You spin on him. “Jealous?” you say, choking out a scathing laugh. “The last thing I’d ever let myself suffer over you is jealousy. Get over yourself. I’m going, stay here if you want. I don’t care.” 

“How are you gonna do that, huh?” he says. The flickering yellow of the porchlight paints his features. The shadow of something fluttering around it cuts dark spots in the light, and then a small little moth comes down and jumps around in his face. He waves it off. “Gonna have bitch boy come pick you up? You can’t leech off him forever; he’s gonna get sick of picking up another man’s girlfriend.” It seems like you walking in on that had sobered him up, but his breath still curls out onto your face with the reek of alcohol. “It’s not a big deal. You’re making this a bigger deal than it has to be. Do you not trust me?”  

“You are such a piece of shit,” you grit out. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Ever. I don’t know how I let this go on for so long.” You don’t like him having Kai in his mouth, don’t like him trying to act like you’re conflating things, and especially don’t like that face he’s making. As if you’re acting crazy and overblown. “No, I don’t trust you. You didn’t fuck her, but come on, Yeonjun. Seriously? You think I’m stupid, and I’m sick of it. You thought this would be easy because I didn’t have the experience you have, but I’m sorry. I don’t like being walked over.” 

“If you’re gonna be so goddamn jealous, then maybe we aren’t gonna work,” he says. 

That moth, floating light in the air, is right back in his face. Yeonjun takes two hands and smashes it between a clap of his hands. He shakes its flattened, broken body off his hand. Looking down at it laying there on top of dirt-caked concrete, you get this... feeling. A tickling around your person.  

“See if I care,” you snap, throat aching against the onslaught of emotion and held back tears.  

⚝⭒ 

Rivulets of raindrops dilute the tears on your cheeks. Your hair plasters to your face and your clothes to your body.  

For a week, you’d went about it all as if it hadn’t happened. And then you came here.  

It’d not been this rainy when you first got down to the creek—just a gentle trickle, really. You hadn’t been crying then, either. But, watching the water work at babbling over stone, you let yourself feel it. Here, where you’d had so many good memories. You’ve gone and tainted it, now. But for whatever reason, you’d just wanted to be here. Arms curled around yourself and fingers digging into drenched sleeves, you don’t wipe away the tears or cover the sounds of your crying. You let the stream hear it; it’ll sweep it right up and down the way. Somewhere far off, where you don’t have to feel it anymore. 

You realize that, usually, you’d be over at Kai’s right now. The fact that his room was not the first place you thought you could go to anymore is a punch to the gut. You drop your face into your hands and cry harder. Really, you’ve got to stop doing that to yourself. Thinking of sad things—putting your hurt under the microscope to see it closer. It’d be easier to just fold it up and tell yourself that it’ll pass, and that relationships end all the time. 

It’s not him that you cry over. Well, maybe some of it is. Rather, it’s that you have absolutely no idea where you’re going. Where you are. Finally, you’d built yourself a raft to get off the shore and go out to sea, because that’s what you’re supposed to do, and it’s breaking apart right beneath you. And, stranded and alone in the water, you’ve got no way to get back to shore to build yourself another raft. You’re stranded, and the scariest bit is that you’re doing it all alone. You weren’t supposed to do this alone. You two made promises back then. 

You suppose that a promise is one of those things you were supposed to leave faith in back on shore. 

The raindrops are heavy over you. The fall of it roars against the ground, a torrent downpour. It’s not coupled with whipping wind or flashes of lightning—just straight, still falling. It’s a somber feeling no different from the gnawing in your chest. 

Like chimes, there’s a distant, gentle sound. Maybe water falling over creek rock, but it’s more like suggestion. A sweet sound that you shouldn’t even be able to hear over the rest of it, it’s as if it’s right in your ear. A whisper.  

You fix your blurry eyes with a wet sleeve. Rain falls right back into its place, but you see it: a silvery, whimsy haze. And the moths. They jump and call you, this time. Their glow bounces off the rainy mist against the grey of night’s arrival. Then, all you can hear is the whispering. Where you stand frozen, your feet beg to move. To follow them. 

So you do. 

Their entourage of moondust trails them where they go, wrapping you up and weaving between raindrop and space. You don’t worry where they’ll take you, or even try to wrap your head around this happening again. You just follow, mind glossed over and entranced with how beautiful it is. When you’d seen them before, it’d made you uneasy. Mostly because it looked so unearthly and unbelievable. But this time you just follow. 

A far-off voice, one oh-so-familiar, peaks through the haze. It’s not enough to stop you, but then you hear it again, louder and closer. 

You blink a few times. Once to break away the fog, and then twice to focus your eyes on Kai stood in front of you. His hair lays in wet spikes over his eyes and beads rain trace the planes of his face. He’s as soaked as you. 

“Kai?” you say. Looking around you, you’ve ended up somewhere in the field between your houses and the creek. But you’ve got no recollection of walking here. Whatever that mist is, sentient or not, had swept you here.  

His voice is strained, but you appreciate hearing it. “Break up with him,” he tells you. 

In his eyes, as you search them, there’s stardust glowing like reflection. Your face twists up. “What?” you say, breath a puff of smoke ahead of you. Summer had come and gotten away from you so fast, and now it’s gone all cold again. 

“Break up with him,” he echos, face solemn. He looks ruffled. 

“Why?” you ask, “And why are you out here?” 

“Because I’m moving out today, and I think I deserve to at least see you before I go.” His eyes look over you. “And... your dad said you went down to the creek.” 

He’s moving out today, and you had no idea. And really, it’s your fault. You’d driven that wedge between the two of you. “I did break up with him.” 

Downpour fills his quiet for a few moments, his face swirling with emotion like the clouds above you. He nods. “Good.” 

There are a few more long minutes between you; just you two searching each other's faces, antsy to say so much that it bunches up in your chests and stalls. It’s what a summer of longing does to you. Even with Yeonjun, even trying to slowly chip away the stitching that had connected the two of you at the hip, you were helpless to stop the gnawing of the love you bear for him. Even just seeing him now, you feel those threads mending back up. God, why does it have to be so hard? 

He just looks at you. For a few beats, he just looks at you. There are so many questions in his eyes. They flit across and turn over, but all he settles on is, “Why?” 

There’s so much you want to tell him. Words pile up to the top, some threatening to spill over. But you know that if you tell him some of it, just to make up for all the time you’d missed out on together, it’ll all come crashing out. And you don’t think you want him to know just how much you accepted, the way you let yourself get treated. So, you shake your head and say, “It doesn’t matter.” 

Kai looks like he wants to push that issue, but whatever look he finds on your face deters him. “Come with me,” he pleads. “I want you to come with me.” 

Your throat tightens. Curling your arms around yourself harder, the rain only coming down on you harder, you say, “Kai, I want to. I want to. I just... I don’t want to freeload off you, because you’re doing great things, and I’m just...” Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, but they’re already as soaked as the rest of you. “I’m just going nowhere. And I don’t want to be a burden, or ever be the reason that you can’t do what you dream of. If staying here means that you become everything that you’re destined to do, then I’m happy with that, Kai. I am.” 

He shakes his head, stumbling toward you. “No, no you don’t get it,” he says, frantically taking your shoulders into big hands. Under his touch, every taut muscle goes slack. You melt. “You don’t get it. You are the music. Every single song is about you. Every single fucking song is about you. I want you to come with me, please. I love you, I have always loved you, and I will always love you, and I thought you’d loved me too, and I don’t want to do this alone. I can’t do it alone.” 

He loves you. Kai loves you. The enormity of it rumbles the ground where you stand on legs you fear might just give in. You flex your fingers to combat the tears pricking your eyes. It doesn’t work; they brim and well up, spilling down over your cheeks. “What?” you say, voice softly breaking. “Kai, I didn’t...” 

“And just when I thought I finally had you, you left me,” he says, throwing a hand up beside him in a big gesture. “You left me! I woke up thinking you’d be there, and that maybe you loved me too, and you had left me. And then you threw me away for some piece of shit, and you stopped coming around.” His chest heaves for breaths. 

Your face contorts. That night, the one where you two had slipped up, you’d fallen asleep curled up against his chest on undiluted contentment. When you woke up, you had panicked. You thought he’d wake up and pretend it hadn’t happened, or he’d be uncomfortable, or even be disgusted and regretting. You couldn’t handle that, so you slipped out before he woke up. It’d been an attempt to protect your tender heart, but looking at the twitching of his lip now, you begin to think it’s the most selfish thing you’ve ever done. He thinks you used him and left him. Your stomach twists. Voice thick, you say, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I left you, Kai. I thought you didn’t... I thought you didn’t see me that way. I was scared. I’m sorry I hurt you.” 

Brows knitted together, he says, “Thought I didn’t love you?” His hand cups your cheek, warm against the soft frozen skin he finds there. “I’ve... I’ve dreamed of you almost every night of my life. In my sleep, I see you, and you’re happy and glowing, and that damn... mist is all around you. I couldn’t get away from you even in my sleep.” 

Darting between his eyes, soft and reflecting your face back to you, it’s hard to breathe. Kai’s dreamt of you; he’s as sickly in love with you as you are him. Thunder claps, and the ground shakes, and the heavens open up above you, the trumpets belt, and you two are in love. Somewhere deep in your center, you feel it—your soul nodding yes. 

The mist. You know exactly what he’s talking about. “I saw it. That stuff, those moths. The stuff we saw back then.” 

“I did too,” he says, wet spikes of hair bouncing with a nod. “Not that long ago. It was the first time I saw it out of a dream since that day.” 

Back then, you two had only budding, innocent love for each other. Things hadn’t become mangled and lost to confused hearts or expectations. When they’d appeared to you, you hadn’t needed it. This time, you’d followed it. And it had led you here—somehow had led you right to the very spot you needed to so that every last piece might fall into place. For this moment to happen. You know why it did. 

“I’ll go with you, Kai. I’ll go wherever you go; I love you. I’ve loved you since forever,” you say, each and every word massive and lovely on your tongue. “I’m sorry I didn’t say it earlier.” 

So unlike the last times your mouth had met, he brings his mouth to yours with a dazzling clarity. No longer is it confused kisses; he locks his lips against yours with the urgency of so many years being unable to. Kai’s hands cradle your wet cheeks, hold you so tenderly into his kiss. His touch grounds you, makes the moment real. You melt into him—your fingers curled into his shirt as if holding him there so that he won’t disappear like something of an incorporeal dream. He sighs through his nose, kissing you harder. Even if it all were fake and this was nothing more than a feverish figment of your imagination, you think you could die happy just knowing this once. 

But it is utterly real, and utterly yours. You kiss him harder, too. 

When your lungs start to burn and plead for breath, you two pull away from each other. Your eyes flutter open to capture his. Warm and brown and the same ones you’ve stared into so many times before, but not like this, you sink into them. He runs his thumb over your cheek as he sinks into yours. His tongue darts out to lick lips painted with you. In the inches between you, space no longer feels heavy or charged with grievances. Every last unsaid thing had been answered. 

“I have my stuff up in the truck,” he says, breaths soft. Brown eyes dart around your face. “I’ll help you add your stuff to it.” 

You shudder out a breath. Add your stuff to it. A nervous energy settles down over you, but it doesn’t seem so bad if you’re doing it with him. Together.  

“Okay,” you whisper, a balmy secret just like the ones you used to share in small, giggly voices so many years ago. “Okay.” 

⚝⭒ 

Shivers seize you like jittering bones, all wrapped up in a blanket. The velour cushion seats beneath you have soaked up water and become damp, but Kai’s got the heater blasting. You wind around back roads, headlights illuminating the way ahead of you. Stray droplets whip in them, but nothing much. Isn’t it funny how the rain had just stopped like that? That’s just how the weather is, out here. You wonder how the weather might act wherever you’re headed. 

Your teeth chatter as if your jaw had its own will. The two of you had the windows down thinking that the wind might dry you off, but all it’s done is lap at your bitten cheeks. You reach down for the handle to crank it up. You’ve got a long drive ahead of you—either you’ll eventually dry off, or you can pull off at a rest area to change in a bathroom. The wet clothes are really not helping. 

With an arm up on the steering wheel, Kai turns his attention on you. You know that smile. “Cold?” he asks, eyes darting between your face and the road. With the hand he’s not got working the steering wheel, he runs fingers over your thigh. Soft, gentle massages, yes. The number it does on your core is absurd. Each mindless digging into your thighs and brush of his thumb, sparks sputter there. You’ve sat here, right in his passenger seat, so many times before. Day trips up to the lake, the one he’d joined your family camping at for so many summers, all the times he’d driven you to school in this truck, and even just a quick run down to a convenience store for a late-night snack. You’d deemed it your seat. But never once had you sat in it like this. Your heart does a flip. All those times you’d wish he’d reach over and do just this—a small gesture that would’ve been so big then. And it’s your reality, now.  

“Freezing,” you say. A brush of his fingers nearer the apex of your thighs sends you pressing them together and shifting in your seat. “But not everybody runs as hot as you, though, so.” 

His eyes catch the movement in just the split second he looked over to you. “Huh,” he says. He turns to look at you, his gaze flickering with something anew. Something that you’d only ever seen once before. “Is that it?” 

It’s hard to swallow. His fingers brush higher, and higher, feather-dustings of calloused fingertips that sends tingles shooting up your spine at the slightest suggestion of where he’s headed. “Yes,” you say, feigning indignance to cover the shiver that threatens to overtake you. When his fingertips dance at the waistband of your bottoms, it does so anyway. “Kai,” you say, blood hot in your veins. “You’re...driving.” 

His eyebrows pinch into a taunting furrow. “I am,” he says, nodding. “Don’t worry about it, baby. I’ve got us.” 

And he does; fingers slipping under the band of both your bottoms and your panties, he doesn’t even tear his eyes off the road. He’d driven these roads so much, you think he might be able to do it asleep. Even drawing a mewl from you with a brush over your clit, he doesn’t look away more than a quick glimpse at your pinkened cheeks. 

Two fingers dragging up your folds, right over the source of the mess. “You get excited so easily, huh?” he hums. “You like it when I play with you.” 

When he presses those fingers at your entrance, you can’t help but be taken back to that night. It echoes and reverberates through you. Long fingers, strong and punctual brushes against the sweet spot—he was criminally good with his fingers. Playing guitar did more for him than just music. He seemed to know exactly how to utilize those roughened fingers and trained flicks. Your muscles flicker as he abandons your hole for more brushes at your bud.  

Those teasing, sly touches turn to something more serious. His fingers roll over your clit, slow but enough to have you sighing and rolling your hips against the seat belt. But last time had gone just like this, him touching you and receiving nothing. He should feel good, too. “Shouldn’t you pull over?” you sigh, muscles taut. Your breaths come out shuddering and half-controlled, interrupted by the tightness that each delicious swirl provokes. The door takes the brunt of your grip, white-knuckling the interior. 

He laughs, a husky sound that is tinder to fire. He knows what you mean. “Maybe,” he says. “But I think I’m enjoying this plenty. I think I want to see you cum on my fingers again.” 

Fingers pinching and flicking faster, you grow breathy and whiny, hips rolling against the seatbelt and back into the seat. Your muscles, all the way down your thighs and deep in your belly, jump and twitch each time his fingers run over your clit in just the right spot—that tender spot that’s so good that it teeters on overwhelming. The kind that makes you hiss and then want more. “Shit, Kai,” you whine. “Right—there, keep going."  

He doesn’t answer with any teasing words. No, he just doubles down right at that angle and pressure, leaned back into his seat and driving as if he wasn’t fingers-deep in your panties right now. His sculpted profile at total ease—it does something for you. A delicious tightness curls its fingers over your center, promising a sugary ecstasy that you can’t help but chase. Bucking into his hands as best you can, you go quiet. Right there—right there, you feel it. The cusp. Your fingers brush over it, clenching around nothing and squeezing your thighs tight around him. Every last drop of blood in your body reaches for it, singing and dancing through your veins and making you dizzy. 

And then he stops. Your mouth drops open, whiplashed and helpless to its slipping away from you. You whittle your gaze into something sharp and turn to him. “What—why?” you complain. The tide slips further and further and further back, but you still taste sea salt on your tongue. Frustration sets in its place as you feel it go. Seriously, you’d been right there. “You’re so mean.” 

He slows and then with the clicking of the turn signal, he’s off the road and pulling the truck into park on a little secluded side road. Where the headlines pierce the pitch black, nothing but gravel and field surrounds you. He doesn’t kill the engine, instead pulling his hand free from you. 

Your heart, still stuttering with your lost orgasm, kicks back to life as he smears your slick over your mouth, dragging it over your lips and then taking his thumb to run it right over the plush of your mouth. “Am I?” he says, fingers taking your chin to meet your eyes with his. Endless hunger, pupils so blown that his eyes look black, pins you. “I don’t think you’ve seen mean yet, baby.” 

Darting your tongue out to clean your lips, you look at him through your eyelashes. “Show it to me, then.” 

Something dark passes over his face. It has your skeleton jumping out of your body. Then, he says, “Is that what you want? You want mean?” 

Brain gone to mush that can only really think about him touching you, a slow nod is all you can manage. 

The engine’s hum prevails for some long, thick seconds. And then, he tilts his head in a gesture. “Get in the back.” 

Holy shit. You want to sit there frozen in an overwhelming sort of excitement, but his seatbelt clicks undone and you’re set into motion. In a flurry of giggles and clumsy limbs, you climb up over the center console and into the backseat. He slips out of the front seat, not bothering to even kill the engine. 

The door beside you opens in a swirl of cold wind. In nothing more than a blink, a strong hand has both your wrists pinned to the cushions and your back flush against it. Nose-to-nose, his breath hot over your face. “I’ve got plenty of ideas as to how I can warm you up.” 

You appreciate each other’s faces for a beat more, you looking up at him big-eyed and waiting. Kai breaks the moment to attack your neck in a procession of bites and kisses. Your mouth falls into a silent sound. 

“You know,” he says, free hand working your pants off. His eyes are trained on you, though. “I thought about doing this to you all summer. Touching you again.” He moves on to your top, pushing the fabric up until your chest is freed, clad in soft cotton. He eats the sight up. You want to reach down and cup the back of his head or feel his hair between your fingers as he presses his mouth against the soft beginning of your cleavage, but he’s got your wrists firmly planted. So much so, that you wonder exactly how he’s got you so secure with just one hand. Kai is strong, but maybe you hadn’t seen just how strong. Your skin aches under the purple bites he decorates you in. The sight of him—face in your chest and marking you up so lazily—has your teeth abusing your bottom lip. Whatever sounds you might make otherwise would be embarrassing. Kai lifts his eyes to you. “And I think you thought of me, too. Didn’t you?” 

“Oh, god, yes,” you say, writhing beneath him. He’s going so slow. You want him all over you. “So much.” 

He likes that. He takes your pebbled nipple into his mouth through the fabric. Soft grazes of teeth and sucks, you’re burning all over. When he pulls back, he’s left you dark wet patches when the bra had only just dried against your body heat. “Good,” he rasps, taking his big hands demanding and hungry over your torso. They swallow your frame up, soothing skin but lighting it aflame all the same. “Good girl.” 

You never thought just words could unravel you, but those did the job. Not a gasp, nor a sucking in of breath—no, you go silent and brainless, fumbling for rational thought. 

The dropping of your jaw has Kai delighted. “You’re so pretty,” he says. In a swift and powerful hoist, he’s tugging you down the cushions toward him with greedy fingers. He’s got your thighs pressed up to your chest. You’re bent right in half. 

Out of breath, you huff out, “You too.” 

A quick laugh falls from his mouth, lips pulled into a smug tilt. He nips at your calf up by his face. “So sweet, it almost makes me feel bad for what I’m about to do to you.” Reaching down for your panties, he pulls back on the suffocating press for only enough time to drag them up your legs. Those get discarded somewhere on the floor. Who cares about that right now, though? All you can register is the metallic clinking of his belt being undone. It’s got your nervous system twisting up. 

And, those words. Electricity shoots bolts of pure, sizzling revery into your core. What I’m about to do to you. You imagine a great deal of things that he might mean, but still, you think that none could hold a candle against the promise his voice held in saying it. 

Kai presses his body to your thighs and hooks your calves over his shoulders, and it all becomes real. The press of his heavy cock to your folds, the digging of his fingers into your outer thighs, his pretty eyes sparkling with something feral. As real as it gets—more real than anything you’ve ever felt in the entirety of your life. Your hands find perch flattened to his broad chest. 

The position leaving you two no option but to look right into each other, he holds your gaze and begins slow drags of his hot length up and down your slit. Tantalizing, awful, awful drags. When his tip nudges your eager clit, you jolt. And then he does it again. And again. 

“Kai,” you mewl. A press against your hole has you hopeful, and he lingers there for a moment, but doesn’t give it to you. Can’t he just fuck you? You’ve never been more pitifully in need of something in your life. 

“Shh.” His ruts get more daring, smearing your slick up onto your belly. “Take it.” 

You wiggle your toes in the air and make passes at arching yourself into him in search of better friction. He’s got you pressed so suffocatingly into the seat that it does absolutely nothing for you. In fact, he holds your harder and changes tack so that your thighs press together. At the very apex of them, his weeping cock slips through the seam. 

Pressing his cheek into your calf, he watches you. Every gasp and shaky inhale, he watches. It spurs his rutting on, sticky sounds and pants eating up the air. Your nails claw at his hands as, finally, a knot tightens in your core. 

“Yes, please,” you breathe. He fucks your thighs harder. Faster. Every nudge at your clit and hole becomes euphoric. “Kai, baby—I’m gonna—” 

Just as furiously easy as last time, he rips it all away from you. The rushing away of the buzzing and promise of shaking thighs—he takes it from you again. It brings prickling tears to your eyes. “Kai?” you hiss. “Again?” 

His eyes aren’t playful. He pulls your calves back over his shoulders, handling your hips into a better position to press his cock right at your entrance as if you weigh nothing. Face utterly straight, he says, “I don’t think you deserve it, do you? Not after what you did with Yeonjun.” 

A swallow goes down your throat hard. He presses himself just a bit harder into you. Not in yet, but right there. 

When he does begin sliding in, the stretch of it... You cling to him and squirm between him and the warm cushions behind you. Each inch is a heady feeling, all the way up to the hilt of him. He shudders a controlled breath. “You’re so fucking tight, though,” he grits out. “Did he not fuck you right?” 

Slaps of skin bounce off the car interior and between your bodies. He starts off at a brutal pace; you know it’s meant to make your brain go foggy. Squeezing your eyes closed, you manage, “I... didn’t fuck him.” It comes out strangled, voice bouncing as he fucks you into the car seat. 

Thumb tugging your bottom lip down and then dipping into your mouth, he watches the show of your ecstasy down to every last detail. “Yeah?” he says, voice shaking and almost desperate. “Always thinking of me, huh? Such a good little princess. You know exactly where your heart belongs.”  

You want to answer him, even just with a whine or moan. You try to. But with his thumb pressing down on your tongue, enough to pin it to the floor of your mouth, it’s not gonna happen. He tastes salty in your mouth. 

His truck consists of his grunts and whines, and your taut groans for some moments that seem to stretch forever. The planes of his groin grind against your clit when he delivers occasional pointed rolls, but mostly it’s just an animalistic, feverish dancing of your two sweaty bodies, holds growing more frantic the closer you get.  

Thumb wet with saliva; he frees your mouth. The hand trails slowly down your face and your chin, brushing feather touches, until he finds your neck. 

Your eyes fly open, wide. He pressed his fingers into your neck—no real pressure yet, he looks at you through damp strands of dangling hair and says, “Want my fingers around your neck?” His thumb brushes over the buzzing pulse point there. 

“Yes,” you grit out, body bouncing and back raw with friction against the coarse cushion’s surface. Your breath stutters, your mind stutters. Even your blinks stutter, eyelids too lazy to keep up. “Please.” 

The pressure of his fingers there—it frightens you and has you tightening around him at the same time. But you would trust nobody more with your life than Kai. 

He presses his cheek to your calf to indulge in the sight of you like this: underneath him, folded in two, nowhere to go but to take his pistoning hips, cheeks blazing, and his fingers pressed into your windpipe. If the way he becomes sloppier and more desperate in his tempo has anything to say for it, it does something for him. 

“Gonna be my pretty little girlfriend, huh?” he says. His voice is tight—so is your belly. You’re both so close. Hopefully, this time he’ll let you cum. “Take you to every show; show you off to everybody. Fuck.” 

Brain like static and swimming with a pinched flow of oxygen, you slur your words. “You’re—hah—gonna have other girls all over you.” 

The taunting, split-second raise of his brows flips your belly. You tighten him again. If he keeps hitting that spot, tip ramming into the soft spot deep inside you that he’d taken such delicate care of finding last time, you’re going to burst into sparkling flame and firework. He growls, “Well, I’ll just have to knock you up so that they know I’m yours, huh?” 

Holy shit. You like the sound of that. Your nails dig into his wrist around your neck, but you cry out a pitchy, “Yes!” 

“Oh, you like that?” Kai releases your throat to take both your hips. You gulp for air, finding nothing but the thick air of sex and humid breaths, at the opportunity. He’s ramming into you like he’s found a purpose. “Isn’t this the perfect position to do it? Get you pregnant?” 

With every last bit of brain power you’ve got, teetering on the edge excruciatingly close to salvation, you groan a long, hoarse sound. “Fuck, yes! Please, Kai, inside—” A hot trail of tears roll down your temples. 

It’s all he’s got to hear to still inside you. His growl rumbles deep in his chest, holding you in place and filling you with his hot cum deep in your cunt. That feeling, coupled with his short grinds against your clit as he fucks his seed deeper, takes your soul by sinful claws and crumbles it down into nothing. You burst into a shaking, whimpering peak, sucking your lips into your mouth to bare through the sheer twisting of your insides and the flame that consumes up your thighs and cunt. 

He falls on you heavy, face in your neck. Warm kisses against your clammy skin meld with your slow floating down, the two of you a beautiful, nasty picture of fucked out. He stays right inside you—the absolute stillness of him, you think he has no plans of pulling out any time soon. His long fingers card through your sweaty locks of hair. 

Finally, he presses himself off you. You get a glimpse of the window behind him—fogged up and filthy with your affairs. Anybody to see the truck from the outside would know exactly what went on inside, but right now, you don’t care. Not one bit. Your panted breaths drag in nothing but musk and thick, hot air. The drumbeat in your chest tells you that, despite how you feel ripped straight from your body, you are very much still alive. More alive than ever. 

“Warm?” he says, pushing sticky hair off his forehead. He’s a mess, too. His hair is ruffled with your touch, his clothes rumpled the same, beads of sweat rolling down the planes of his cheeks and neck, and his eyes a lazy smolder. As much as he looks like sex personified, a soft smile twitches at his lips. 

You snort. You can’t help but feel giddy, here with him. You’re with him. Nothing has ever felt more right. Unplugged when he pulls out of you, your mess trickles down onto the seat below you. “Yeah,” you say. “Very.” 

Warm is not enough to begin to describe how you feel. In your ears, you hear whisperings. Soft and gentle. Perhaps it was divine intervention, or the fates lending you their word, or maybe just rational thought. It says: 

Home. You are home. 

✎୭ ashlynn's note how do we feel about this pair? i really didn't mean for this to get so long, but i ended up RLLY liking their chemistry. i had to do their story justice. also, i finished this with kai as a guitarist and then his drummer performance came out... hmm.

﹙🏷️ ﹚@lvrs-street2mmorrow , @soohashits , @f4iryfever , @arcturus444 , @linqed , @serenityism00 , @immelissaaa , @luv4cheol , @lickingan0rchid , @20-cms , @hhoneylix , @beestvng , @hyucktapes , @bewitchless , @prince-jjae , @blankliving , @yaoizee , @stormy1408 , @missychief1404 , if your tag isn't working, check the mentions part of your settings!

[purifiedclitoris69]

Breaking point

a/n: Finally got to the nat version of silent comfort. It’s a little short tbh so sorry about that. hope you enjoy!

pairings: Natasha Romanoff x supersoldier reader

warnings: violence

You’d been with the Avengers for almost a year now, and in that time, you’d managed to carve out a space for yourself on the team. Sure, being the former Hydra experiment wasn’t exactly the most inviting introduction, but you didn’t let that define you. It wasn’t who you were anymore. You were the team’s go-to for a laugh, always cracking jokes, lightening the mood, and making it easier for everyone to handle the high-stakes pressure of their lives. What you didn’t talk about, though, was your past. Not because anyone had told you not to, but because you didn’t want to relive it.

Especially not now, when things were starting to feel... normal.

Normal was spending late nights on the couch with Natasha, arguing over which movie to watch but never finishing them because you’d get caught up in teasing each other. Normal was training together and catching her smiling at you when she thought you weren’t looking. Normal was her throwing playful jabs about how you talked too much, only to call you out on being unusually quiet when something was bothering you.

You weren’t sure when things had shifted, but somewhere along the way, the time you spent with her had become the highlight of your day. And judging by the way she always seemed to find excuses to stay close, you thought maybe—just maybe—she felt the same way.

Neither of you had said anything yet, though. It was comfortable, whatever this was, and you didn’t want to ruin it.

--------------------------------------------------------

The quinjet hummed softly as the team prepared for the mission. Hydra remnants were regrouping, and the team had been sent to intercept a high-level target.

You were double-checking your gear when Natasha sauntered over, a sly smile already playing on her lips.

"You know," she said, leaning casually against the wall beside you, "I’ve noticed you spend an awful lot of time fussing over that utility belt. Got a secret stash of candy in there or something?"

You snorted, pulling a strap tighter. "Jealous I don’t share my snacks with you, Romanoff?"

"Please," she shot back, tilting her head. "If I wanted candy, I’d just take it," she shrugged her shoulders, "I always get what I want."

You glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? I’d like to see you try."

She stepped closer, her green eyes glinting with mischief. "Careful, or I might have to prove it."

You chuckled, shaking your head. "You’re all talk."

"Am I?" She reached out, her fingers brushing the edge of your belt, and for a split second, your heart skipped a beat. But instead of taking anything, she smirked and stepped back, clearly enjoying the way you were watching her.

"Tease," you muttered, pretending to focus on your gear again.

"You make it too easy," she quipped, crossing her arms.

Before you could come up with a comeback, Steve’s voice cut through the moment. "Gear up. We’re heading out in five."

Natasha straightened but didn’t move immediately. Instead, she leaned in just enough for only you to hear. "Try to keep up out there, rookie."

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the grin spreading across your face. "Try not to get distracted, Romanoff."

She laughed softly as she walked away, the sound lingering in the air long after she was gone.

--------------------------------------------------------

Though successful the mission had been thoroughly chaotic, to say the least. Things had been going smoothly until Natasha went off-script.

You hadn’t even known what was happening at first. One second, you were covering her six, and the next, she was gone, chasing intel Fury and Maria Hill had deemed critical. It left you in a tight spot, trying to hold your ground without her, and you’d taken a few hits you shouldn’t have.

By the time the mission wrapped, you were sore, bruised, and too exhausted to joke around like you usually would. The tension on the jet ride back to the compound was thick, everyone keenly aware that Steve was seething.

The hanger was suffocatingly tense as the quinjet’s ramp descended with a mechanical hiss, and everyone piled out, the weight of the mission hanging heavily in the air. Conversations were sparse—exhaustion mingled with the unspoken tension. You were still catching your breath, the fight replaying in your mind, when Steve’s voice broke the silence.

“Romanoff, we need to talk.”

You glanced at Natasha, who was walking beside you. Her jaw tightened, but she didn’t stop, striding toward the hangar floor like she hadn’t heard him.

“Natasha.” Steve’s voice carried more force this time.

She stopped, turning around slowly, her face calm but her eyes sharp. “What?”

Steve’s expression was stony as he marched toward her. “What the hell was that back there?”

“The part where we got the job done?” Natasha shot back, her voice icy.

“The part where you ignored orders and jeopardized the team,” he countered, standing toe-to-toe with her now.

You stepped closer instinctively, but for now, you stayed silent, your fists clenching at your sides.

“I didn’t jeopardize anyone,” Natasha said, crossing her arms. “I prioritized the bigger picture. Fury and Maria needed that intel, and I got it.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed. “Fury and Hill aren’t the ones in the field. We are. And when you decide their priorities are more important than this team, you’re not just making a bad call—you’re making a selfish one.”

Natasha’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn’t look away. “I made a call that benefited everyone in the long run. You might not like it, but it worked.”

“Did it?” Steve snapped, gesturing toward you. “Because they almost didn’t make it out thanks to you.”

Your chest tightened as his words hit. “That’s not fair, Steve,” you said, stepping in now.

He turned on you, his voice rising. “It is fair. You wouldn’t have been in that position if she hadn’t dragged you into her little side mission.”

“That’s enough,” you said, your voice low.

But Steve ignored you, his focus still on Natasha. “You know, it’s always the same with you. You play both sides, keep everyone guessing. It worked for you in the Red Room, maybe even with S.H.I.E.L.D., but here? That doesn’t fly. We’re supposed to be a team, but you’re still looking out for yourself first.”

The mention of the Red Room made your blood run cold. You saw the flicker of something in Natasha’s expression—a crack in her armor.

“Watch your mouth,” you said, stepping in front of her now, your voice dangerously calm, as you met Captain America eye level.

Steve’s gaze snapped to you, his frustration redirected. “Stay out of this.”

“No,” you said firmly. “You don’t get to talk to her like that.”

“Or what?” Steve challenged, jaw tightened, his temper bubbling over as took a step closer, eyes blazing with anger.

The moment he moved, you acted. Your hand shot out, gripping his wrist and twisting with precision. With a sharp pivot of your hips, you flipped him over your shoulder. The impact reverberated through the hangar as Steve crashed into a nearby crate, shattering it into splinters.

The hangar went silent, the sound of the crash echoing in the vast space.

Steve was already scrambling to his feet, his eyes blazing with disbelief and fury. Bucky intercepted him, gripping his shoulder and holding him back

“Steve, don’t,” Bucky said, his voice firm but calm.

Natasha was in front of you before you could react, her hands pressing against your chest as she pushed you back. “Enough,” she said, her voice low but forceful.

You froze, the reality of what you’d just done hitting you like a freight train.

You glanced around the hangar, catching the wide-eyed stares of your teammates. The expressions on their faces weren’t just shocked—they were scared. Of you.

Your gaze landed on Natasha last. Her green eyes were glassy, her brows furrowed with confusion and something that looked too much like hurt.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered, your voice barely audible. Then you turned and walked away, your boots echoing in the silence of the hangar as you disappeared into the compound.

--------------------------------------------------------

The rooftop felt like the only place you could breathe. The cool night air bit at your skin as you sat on the ledge, your hands gripping the metal railing.

What the hell had you done? You’d spent so long trying to prove you weren’t the weapon Hydra made you, but one moment of anger had torn that facade apart.

“Hell of a move back there.”

You didn’t have to look to know it was Natasha. Her voice was light, but there was an edge of something else—concern, maybe.

“Didn’t mean to wreck the crate,” you muttered, still staring out at the city lights.

She walked over, her steps soft, and leaned against the railing beside you. “The crate’s fine. Steve, on the other hand…”

You huffed a humorless laugh. “Yeah, bet he’s thrilled.”

She didn’t respond immediately, just studied you with that piercing gaze of hers. “Why’d you do it? he was right, I left you out there."

You sighed, finally meeting her eyes. "I would've been fine Tasha, and I know you know that," you looked down to your lap, "besides I couldn’t stand the way he was talking to you. Like you haven’t done more for this team than anyone.”Her expression softened, and for a moment, the world felt a little less heavy. “I don’t care about your past, Nat,” you said quietly. “And I’ll be damned if I let anyone throw it in your face.”

Her lips curved into a faint smile as she reached out, her hand brushing yours. “You’re not who they made you either, you know.”

You looked at her, and for the first time all day, you felt like maybe you hadn’t completely lost yourself.

Her voice dropped to a whisper. “You don’t have to fight for me," her gaze dropping to your lips as you both began to lean in, " but thank you for doing it anyway," her breath fanned across you. Before you could reply, she leaned in, her lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was well over do. Her lips were soft against yours, warm and grouding in a way that made everything fade away.

When she pulled back, she smiled—a real, genuine smile. “Now let’s go figure out how to apologize to Steve.”

You groaned, but for the first time that night, you felt like everything might just be okay.

[vvinirl]

toji. f

you were sitting in the living room of your home, playing with megumi as you tried to get him to say ‘mama’

toji sat on the couch nearby, watching the two of you intently. he was never found on the idea of having kids, even before your arranged marriage, he never wanted kids because that was the only reason he was marrying you for. not for love, but for the sole purpose of you giving birth to a child, a male heir at that

but over the few months you both were together, he fell for you more and more, he didn’t expect it but your energy and your overall personality drew him closer to you. and when you finally got pregnant, he fell for you even more, and he got more relaxed and comfortable with the idea of having a child now that he was with someone he actually cared for and loved

he leaned back in the couch as he watched you and megumi, chuckling to himself as he shook his head

“come on gumi, say mama” you held him up on his feet as you moved him around, playfully making him dance

megumi cooed and babbled as he looked up at you, curiosity in his eyes as his tiny hands reached out towards you, gripping onto your shirt

however he still didn’t manage to say his first words, the only sounds coming from him was his adorable baby gibberish

“maaaamaaaa” you repeat again, slowly saying it as you tired to sound it out for him

you brought megumi closer since he was trying to reach out for you as he touched your face

after a few more tries his little mouth opened and he said in the most adorable baby voice, “ma-ma..”

you gasped, a wide smile on your face as you shrieked in happiness, hugging megumi instantly

“he said it toji! he said mama” you looked at him, the most amazing expression on your face, he thought

he couldn’t help but smile at the sweetness of the moment, the sound of megumi’s little voice saying his first words filled him with warmth

“say it again gumi, say it for daddy. say mama” you held up megumi in front of toji as he came closer, sitting next to you on the carpeted floor where you and megumi were

“da..da” megumi said and then after a small pause, “da..da-daddy”

“oh my god!” you happily exclaimed again, surprised that you didn’t even have to teach him to say ‘daddy’, he said it on his own

“that’s right, i’m your daddy” toji smugly said as megumi’s tiny arms reached out for him. you handed megumi to him as you playfully rolled your eyes

“can’t believe he said daddy with only one try but i’ve been teaching him to say mama for weeks”

toji laughed at your statement, shifting megumi instantly his arms so he could put his arms around your shoulders

“hey don’t take it personal baby, maybe he just loves me more”

“yeah okay” you playfully rolled your eyes again as you leaned into his touch

but toji felt weird when you did, as if you weren’t touching him but you were?

it felt as if your presence wasn’t there or it was slowly fading

“toji..” you called out his name softly and he just hummed in response as he played with megumi, his eyes not leaving the baby

“toji..” you said again but this time your voice felt fainter.. like it was fading away again

“yes baby?” toji turned to look at you but you were gone then suddenly he felt the feeling of megumi in his arms vanished

he looked down to see that megumi was gone. he begin to look around frantically, his heart starting to beat faster as he called for you over and over again

but yet again.. it was all a dream

toji sat up in his bed as he woke up in a cold sweat, the memories coming back to him again, reminding him once again of what he lost

you died a few years ago from a sorcerer killer who was after your family and the only way to get to them was you

that day was unexpected and toji couldn’t do anything about it because he was away on a mission

your death left him in a spiral of despair, grief and vengeance. it led him to push away the only person that was left in his life, megumi

pushed him away to the point where he gave up on his only son, gave him up and left him to be adopted by someone else

even after finding the person that killed you, toji still didn’t feel that relief he was chasing, then he became what he too himself hated most, a sorcerer killer

the dream was so vivid, so real. he could still feel your presence, could still smell your scent but when he reached out to hold you, pull your closer, there was nothing there but empty sheets and coldness

he missed you, missed the family that was gone but now that was gone too, along with megumi and the last chance of a happy and peaceful life

~~~~~~

a/n: i’m still working on another toji fic but this one just came to mind and i decided to write it 😭😭

[whytheylosttheirminds]

Don't Call Me Kid - Chapter 8 (part two)

(Rafe Cameron x Reader series, 6.2k words)

series summary: You'd had a crush on Rafe Cameron since you were six years old, but he friend zoned you at every turn. Once shy and insecure, you found new confidence and self-love after high school. When your high school friends go on a reunion beach trip, Rafe finally sees what he lost, but he isn't going to give you up without a fight.

tropes: unrequited crush, glow up, she fell first/he fell harder

series content: some angst, eventual fluff, slow burn, tomfoolery and shenanigans, drinking, fem!reader has occasional insecurity and body image issues

⇢ series masterlist

A blood curdling shriek rang through the house, jolting Carter from her restless dreams.

She sat straight up in bed, heart racing as she looked around the dark room, head so heavy she could barely remember where she was or how she got there.

In her hungover mental fog, she pieced it together slowly. She was at the beach house, in her room, it was early, she drank so much last night and Topper said -

“OH MY GOD!” 

Another sharp scream came from downstairs, and her heart rate spiked all over again. She pulled the fluffy comforter around her shoulders and hurried out of the room, quiet on the stairs as she nervously approached the source of all the commotion.

When she saw what was inducing Sabrina’s shock, she doubled back, hiding around the corner so they couldn’t see her. Her stomach churned with bitter loathing, and something else even more nauseating…

She dropped the blanket and rushed to the half-bath off the house’s entryway, doubled over the toilet bowl as last night’s poor choices continued to haunt her.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄

Rafe drove faster than he had before your interrupted rendezvous, seeming not to want to drag this adventure out anymore. You eyed him nervously from the passenger seat, searching for words that weren’t coming to you. 

Tongue tied and exhausted was not how you wanted to begin this…whatever this was between you. Rafe had given you words, so many of them, back on the beach and all he asked in return was a simple yes or no.

Are you my girl?

No four words had ever felt so heavy. The shitty part was, you wanted to say yes. At the sound of his breathless question every cell in your body was screaming yes! I’m your girl! I’ve always been your girl! 

But then there was that pesky piece of self preservation that cemented itself in your heart all those years ago and didn’t plan to give up any time soon. 

He looked so disappointed when you couldn’t give him a quick and easy answer, his chest now deflated and shoulders sunken as he drove the rest of the route home. Despite your lingering hesitation, you felt like you needed to give him something, needed to lift the frown that was settled on the lips you had tasted so many times this morning.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled.

“For what?” He asked.

“I’m…slow,” you began, “it takes me a while, y’know? To find the words. I’m not like you, I don’t know how you came up with that speech in less than a minute.”

Rafe laughed, confusing you.

“What?”

“You think I came up with that speech in a minute?” He chuckled, “I’ve been practicing it every day since senior year of high school.”

Your heart clenched at the endearing thought of him in front of the mirror, driving to class, taking a shower all while rehearsing what he’d say if you ever gave him the chance.

“Oh,” you tucked your hair behind your ear.

It was infuriating, your complete inability to get a grip on your own thoughts and feelings around him. It had always been this way. You were well-spoken and sound-minded, until this one person was in your atmosphere, his presence your own personal kryptonite.

To be fair to yourself, it wasn’t just your own weakness for him that had caused you to build such high walls. When you were kids, he sometimes made you feel this way on purpose. He used to have fun watching you get flustered, just the right amount of flirting to send you into a tizzy, only to leave you spinning like a top with no one to stop you.

You truly tried to leave the past behind, burying it somewhere back in the sand on the beach. You reminded yourself that the Rafe of your memories was not the one sitting next to you right now. But that might just be the problem, because at least you knew that Rafe, you knew exactly what he would do next.

If he grabbed your hand, you knew he was about to drop it. If he said something sweet, you knew he was about to say something passive aggressive. If he acted like he loved you, you knew he was about to act like he’d never met you a day in his life.

But this Rafe, this new one, was completely unpredictable. Wild and dangerous in his apparent affection for you. How were you supposed to know what he did next wasn’t going to hurt? He was right about what he said on the jet ski - you won’t know until you give him the chance. Easier said than done.

“You don’t have to say anything right now,” he offered after you’d been quiet for a long time.

“This week has just been…” trying to come up with one word to describe it felt like a futile task.

“Overwhelming?” Rafe tried to help.

“Surprising,” you countered. “I’ve never been good with surprises.”

“You like to know what’s coming next,” he nodded, once again displaying a deep knowledge of you that you never knew he possessed.

Like he could read your mind, his arm stretched across the small divide and his palm, warm and soft, settled on your thigh, a single soothing stroke to let you know he’s still here, he’s still yours. The feeling of his skin touching yours was like aloe vera directly on the burn.

With a grateful smile, you leaned back in the seat and took a deep breath as he steered you home.

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Carter padded down the hall, stopping three separate times, trying to decide if she should just go back to her own room. But the sight of her frantic texts to you still saying “delivered” and not “read” was too concerning to ignore.

She opened Topper’s door without knocking.

He was sitting up against his headboard, typing feverishly on his phone. At the sight of her, he clutched his duvet cover, pulling it up higher over his nearly naked body.

“Have you ever heard of knocking?” 

“Please, like I haven’t seen it all before. Like I didn’t see it yesterday,” she rolled her eyes.

“Oh okay, so you do remember. Based on the way you were acting last night I thought maybe you’d forgotten we’d ever been together,” he snipped at her.

“I don’t want to talk about last night,” she waved him off, dismissing his complaints flippantly, “are you aware of what’s happening downstairs right now? Of who is happening downstairs right now?”

“Yes, I saw her pull up,” he returned his attention to his phone and his frenzied typing.

Outside his cracked open door, Carter heard Kelce, Tom, and a few others come barreling up the stairs, chatting about the recent arrival.

“Be so fucking for real, did you invite her?” Carter said, attempting to lower her voice.

“I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this but you do this thing where you think you’re whispering and you’re actually not,” Topper informed her.

“Topper…”

“No, I didn’t invite her.,” he answered. “Actually I was about to ask if you did.”

“Why the fuck would I do that? I hate her.”

“Wow alright, hate's a strong word, Carter, maybe calm down a little.”

Ever since their knock-down-drag-out at the club last night, the arguing that was usually playful and lighthearted had an edge of actual bitterness to it.

“First of all, if you ever tell me to ‘calm down’ again, I’m going full Lorena Bobbitt on your ass. Second of all, you need to go down there and tell her to leave,” she flicked her hair behind her shoulder and held her chin up as she bossed him around. He hated that despite how mad at her he was, he fucking loved it.

“How does that job possibly fall on me?” He scoffed.

“Aren’t you Mr. Team Rafe-and-my-sister? Don’t you want to get rid of the reason they stopped talking in the first place?” She reasoned.

“I’m not gonna tell her she can’t be here,” he shut her down. “It’s not my house, and it’s really none of my business. Or yours.”

Her eyes narrowed at him, “oh yeah? Then who are you texting so much over there?”

“I’m just giving him a head’s up,” he shrugged. “She should probably know too.”

“And you’re just assuming they’re together?” She snarled.

“Puh-lease,” he rolled his eyes, “did you see them at the club last night? There’s no way they didn’t hook up.”

She wouldn’t accept it, couldn’t, even though she knew somewhere deep in her gut that he was probably right. 

When Rafe still didn’t answer any of his texts, Topper sighed heavily, “fuck it, I don’t care if I’m cockblocking, I’m calling him.”

Before he could dial, the house shook with the slam of the front door. Carter and Topper hurried out to the hall and hesitated at the top of the steps. Your lone voice carried up to them, talking to no one in particular as you muttered, “un-fucking-belivable.”

Carter actually did whisper this time, “I think it might be too late for that…”

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The feeling of Rafe’s hand, warm and steady on your thigh, as he drove the rest of the route home was so nice and comforting, you let yourself slip into the possibility that this could actually be it. Maybe you really could just leave the past behind you, maybe you really had finally found each other and it could just be simple like this.

But your fantasy didn’t last long.

Rafe parked in the spot across the street that you had taken Carter’s car from a few hours ago. Even when he turned the key and cut the engine, he didn’t remove his hand from your leg. 

“You ready?” He sighed.

“For what?” You questioned, eyeing him curiously, his face serious as he looked down at the site of his hand on your skin.

He shook his head like he didn’t know the answer himself, “reality, I guess.”

You placed your hand over his, smirking at the sight of your fingers encompassing each other’s, wanting so much more from these hands and truly believing you’d have all the time in the world to enjoy them. 

“Bring it on,” you gave him a small smile.

“He leaned across the center console and dropped a deep kiss to your lips, causing you to sigh into his mouth. All the times you imagined kissing him, you never thought such a rough-around-the-edges guy would have such soft lips. You felt like you might be able to spend forever with them on your skin.

When he finally pulled away, you reached for the handle of your door, beginning to open it, but Rafe reached across your body and pulled it shut again.

“What are you doing?” You asked in surprise.

He smiled that perfect, dimpled grin of his, “extra credit.”

You giggled as he hurried to climb out of the driver’s side, hurrying around to your door and opening it with a chivalrous flair.

“Wow,” you beamed, accepting his hand as he helped you down from the tall vehicle. “You weren’t kidding about trying to be a gentleman.”

“For you, I’ll be anything,” he flirted.

Despite your best efforts not to, you blushed, the red hue on your cheeks deepening when Rafe kept your hand in his, intertwining his fingers with yours as you walked back to the house. It was the first time he’d held your hand out in the open like this, where anyone could look out from the windows of the beach house and see the two of you together. It was foreign to you, his public display of affection, and yet it felt so right. You couldn’t help but wish it hadn’t taken this long.

“Can I ask you something?” You said quietly.

“Anything,” he squeezed your hand assuringly. 

“Why didn’t we do this a long time ago?” 

Rafe’s face fell slightly, watching his feet as they made less and less forward progress on the sidewalk, until he came to a full stop. The question was mostly meant to be lighthearted, a tease really, but his solemn reaction made your stomach twist with concern.

“I…” he started, voice unsteady, not meeting your eyeline, “I don’t know if I should tell you this but -”

You never knew what he wasn’t supposed to tell you, because before he could, a sickeningly familiar voice called out from the front porch.

“Hey guys!”

Head snapping toward the sound, you looked up, and there she was, as stunning as ever in that same signature everything-you’re-not-ness. 

Cassie Bryant.

Her face was adorned with a glistening smile, yours was noticeably not. Everything in you sunk, including the corners of your lips, completely unable to hide the way your heart dropped six feet under the ground at the sight of her.

She was somehow even more golden and glowing now than she was back then. Glossy blonde hair flowing down her back like a waterfall of silk. Her perfect, blemish free skin glowed in the early morning light. Her big, round Disney Princess eyes quickly found Rafe and flicked over your joined hands, clocking the way they were folded together in unmistakable intimacy.

It happened so quickly, and yet it felt like years worth of hurt and heartache compacted into one small moment. 

At the sight of Cassie on the porch, Rafe dropped your hand.

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Surely, any minute now, a camera crew would pop out from the bushes and announce that you were being Punk’d.

Or maybe it’d be the Mythbusters:

The myth? That you can actually heal from your childhood trauma with just four years of painstaking hard work. Well, we’re about to prove that all of that can be unraveled in the span of 72 hours! Also, we will be using your heart as our crash test dummy. Myth busted!

You didn’t look over at Rafe, couldn’t bear to watch the way he pulled his body away from yours, ever-so-slightly, almost imperceptibly. But you could feel it all the same, and you were sure she could too. 

Before Cassie could say anything else, the front door opened behind her, Sabrina stepping out of the house and taking in the unfolding scene on the lawn.

“Oh shit,” she laughed, “this is awkward!”

It’s like her main goal in life was to find new and creative ways to make your bad moments worse.

“Is it?” Cassie asked, seemingly unaware of the cause of Sabrina’s laughter. “We were just saying hi.”

She caught your eye as she said it, a polite but knowing smile on her lips. You realized with shock that she absolutely knew what was happening and was trying to make you feel better about it. You should just be grateful for the unexpected kindness, but something in you was suspicious. The Cassie you knew would’ve jumped at the chance to embarrass you, and she would’ve loved the way Rafe was treating you like you had the plague.

Plus, her taking pity on you, acknowledging the way Rafe had just hurt you, was somehow worse than her just being mean to you. You’d rather she go back to that.

“Y’all having a good trip?” She asked you and Rafe when the silence had lasted just a little too long.

You looked to Rafe, waiting for him to answer, begging him silently to say something that indicated that you were in fact having a good trip…together.

But he just said, “it’s been cool. Weather’s shit, though.”

“Yeah that’s what Sab told me, but I got a few days off my internship so I thought I’d come hang with y’all,” she said, eyes on you as she spoke, like she owed you an explanation.

“Well, welcome, then,” you smiled a polite smile that didn’t meet your eyes.

“You ready?” Sabrina asked, linking arms with Cassie, thick as thieves. 

“We’re going into town for some brunch if you guys want to join,” Cassie offered.

“That’s okay, I need to check on Carter,” you declined, all eyes turning to Rafe for his response.

“Uh yeah, I’m good here, th-thanks,” he stuttered, so awkward and shaky, a completely different person from the guy who was delivering monologues and sweeping you off your feet just a few hours ago.

Cassie just smiled politely once more as Sabrina pulled her into the car. As they drove off, you stood wordlessly with Rafe on the front walk, your chest completely hollow. You mustered some nerve and finally looked at him, head tilted, a completely unamused smile tugging your lips.

“Weather’s shit?” You repeated his words back to him.

“Look…” he began but didn’t finish the thought.

You just laughed humorlessly, shaking your head at him as you stormed off toward the house. Rafe stood frozen for a moment, kicking himself mentally and begging his brain to catch up with the moment, finally rushing off after you, but not able to before you slammed the door in his face.

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Carter and Topper exchanged nervous glances at the sound of you stomping into the house. 

They slowly and quietly settled on the top step, sitting forward to listen in as the front door opened and closed again, Rafe’s voice echoing through the house.

“Wait…” he said, following after you as you marched further into the house toward the kitchen.

You didn’t stop, “No, go ahead, you should go to brunch with her. Don’t let me keep you from a good time.”

“Wait, let’s just talk,” he pleaded.

“I’m too tired, Rafe,” you rejected him. “I can’t do this right now.”

“So you’re not even gonna let me explain?”

At the top of the steps, Carter and Topper simultaneously held their breath as they listened, both jumping as Kelce’s voice startled them, “what are we listening to?”

“Shhh,” Carter waved her hand at him, motioning for him to shut up.

Kelce plopped himself between them on the top step, shuffling a bit so they’d make room for him. He listened in, picking up your and Rafe’s raised voices quickly.

“Oh shit,” he barely whispered, “trouble in paradise already?”

“Dude shut up,” Topper cut him off.

Soon, Maddie, Tom and Jack joined the little huddle on the top step, each cluing in on the source of the entertainment in their own disruptive way before being shushed by the group and eventually sitting. You continued your argument with Rafe, completely unaware you were performing in front of a live studio audience.

“You don’t need to explain,” you told him, trudging down the front hall toward the kitchen. “I know exactly what just happened because it’s happened a thousand times before. What I don’t know is why I’m even surprised.”

“Come on,” he caught up to you, stopping you in your tracks as his large frame rounded you. “It is not the same as it used to be.”

“It’s exactly the same,” you side-stepped him, walking into the kitchen and dropping Carter’s keys on the counter. “I mean jesus Rafe, it’s the same fucking person! I can’t believe I’m here again, it’s like I’m having a nightmare where I’m back in high school. Next thing you know I’m gonna walk into homeroom and I realize I’m completely naked.”

“Sounds more like a dream to me,” he smirked, trying to flirt.

You just blinked back at him, your sharp eyes cutting straight through his head.

“Do you think this is funny?”

His smirk dropped, snatched right off his lips by your ice cold tone. Good. You’d been waiting years to wipe that shit eating grin off his face. 

Something new was rising in your chest, knocking out the embarrassment and sadness with a closed fist, a fury long buried coming back with a vengeance.

“I thought all that shit was behind us, over and done.” Rafe reached out towards you but you stopped him with your own rough grip, lowering his hand away from you and dropping it like he’d dropped yours.

“Oh, it’s fucking done alright, so fucking done,” you spat.

 “You’re really gonna let ten stupid seconds ruin everything that’s happened between us? You’re not even gonna give me the benefit of the doubt. You really think that little of me?”

“It’s literally only been two hours, and you’ve already lied to me once and pushed me away the second someone saw us. And you wonder why I'm having a hard time saying yes to being with you? It’s because I fucking can’t trust you, Rafe!”

“I don’t know what else I can do to show you I’m different,” he threw his hands up in exasperation. “This is so fucking unfair.”

“Are you being fucking serious right now?” You stepped towards him as you snapped at him. “You’re actually pissed at me?”

“Yeah, I am!” 

“Why?”

“Because I lost my best friend!”

Everyone on the top of the stairs winced, air sucked from the room when Rafe raised his voice at you. For all his flaws and mistreatment, he had never raised his voice at you before.

“Oh shit,” Kelce whispered.

“Shhh!” Carter and Maddie hushed him in unison, everyone leaning in a little closer to hear how you’d react. But you said nothing. They couldn’t see the widening of your eyes, jaw locked tight as you gave him space to follow up on his outburst.

“Do you really think it didn’t hurt me when you just up and stopped talking to me back then?” He took the space you gave him and slowly unpacked the hurt feelings he’d buried for years. “I know I was a dick, I shouldn’t have taken advantage of how you felt about me, I shouldn’t have strung you along. But when that shit went down senior year and you just ghosted me, I wanted to talk to you and make it right. I tried, but you blocked me out, you went from talking to me every day to radio silence without giving me a single explanation. That fucking hurt. And you’re doing the exact same thing now, not even giving me a chance to explain things. So yeah, I am a little pissed. I’m pissed that you’re just gonna throw it all away again over nothing.”

He waited for your response with baited breath, prepared for you to yell, or cry, or do something. But you gave him nothing, mouth closed in a tight line as you turned on your heel and walked further into the kitchen, lifting the coffee pot from its home and filling it in the sink.

He watched your back as you scooped the grounds into the filter and turned on the machine. Minutes passed and you remained silent, hands on the counter, looking out the big window towards the ocean while the coffee brewed one drop at a time.

Finally, after eight cups had dripped into the pot, you spoke.

“How was prom, by the way?” You turned to face him, the edge of the marble countertop digging into your waist as you leaned back against it, hands crossed in hostility over your chest. “I never asked.”

Rafe’s gaze fell from you almost instantly. He didn’t have to ask why you were bringing this up, the ‘hell hath no fury’ look on your face dragging the memory forth from its carefully hidden spot in the back of his brain. Nothing made him feel like a jackass quite like that memory, and based on the mocking curve at the corner of your lips, you knew it.

The memory used to keep you up at night. 

For a full year after it happened, it was like a fire poker bent into the shape of regret and shame was branding your heart over and over. 

Now, the burn was healed over, still calloused and red at the edges, but you’d done your best to cover the scar tissue in the healing balms of self-love and lots and lots of therapy. Still, it was the moment in your life you were the least proud of.

You’d thought it was gonna be you. Really, earnestly, completely delusionally, you believed when he asked for your help with his grand prom-posal that it was all a playful ruse to ask you to be his date. You stayed up all night, decorating three different poster boards with glitter glue so he could pick the one he liked best. You bought out all the battery-powered candles at Michael’s - he said he’d pay you back, he never did. You waited with him in the park until the sun set, giddy with the hope that he’d drop the ruse and pop the question any minute.

“What will you do if ‘she’ says no?” You attempted to flirt.

“I guess I’d just have to take you.”

Every muscle in his body flinched at the memory and the white hot regret he felt every time it replayed in his head.

The kid who said those words was such an asshole. Standing here in the kitchen, looking down at you, the love of his goddamn life, and facing the possibility that he might lose you for good, he wanted to ring the idiot’s neck.

Because he hadn’t asked you. He made you watch while he asked her. And he didn’t even give you a ride home from the park.

Fuck, he wouldn’t forgive himself if he was you, either.

Rafe felt about two feet tall, looking back at you with absolutely nothing to say. He was relieved for a second when you opened your mouth to speak first, until he heard the words.

“You don’t understand. The voice in the back of my head, the one I’ve spent years trying to silence, the one that tells me I’m not enough, that I’ll never be enough…it’s your voice, Rafe.”

He grasped desperately for a reply, but there were no words in the English language that made that statement any less devastating.

“Maybe that’s not fair,” you continued before he could come up with anything, “but I don’t think I have control over that. I don’t know how to undo it, if it can be undone. So those ten seconds that just happened out there? They’re  not nothing to me. When you dropped my hand at the sight of her, I felt like I was that stupid teenage girl again, giving my whole heart to the one person who knows how to break it. Blind and foolish and desperate for you to notice her. I don’t like that girl.”

You made it through the whole speech with a steady voice, up until the last sentence. Your voice cracked on those words, your heart doing the same as you pictured your younger self. The one who would sit on her bed for hours, rereading the texts she sent him and praying he’d reply.

Thinking about that version of yourself, you weren’t sure if you wanted to hug her or slap her. Surely, she’d hit you right back if she saw what you were doing now, potentially pushing away the boy she loved more than anything, finally having him within your grasp and letting him slip right through.

At the top of the stairs, unbeknownst to you, Carter was picturing that girl, too. She would roll her eyes at you back then, using sarcastic comments like “are you sure Rafe even knows how to read?” to mask her truer concern; that he could but he wouldn’t, and the heart you wore on your sleeve would end up crushed again. Even now, she couldn’t protect it, couldn’t save it from reaching out to this boy who did nothing but break it.

Frustration welled inside her, the absolute powerlessness to put an end to this cycle that hurts you feeling like a dark cloud over her head. The anger manifested into hot, watery tears gathering on her lash line. Without permission, one slipped through, rolling down her cheek slowly.

Topper caught the whole thing, and despite their fight and his resolve to freeze her out until she apologized, he couldn’t stop his hand from reaching out and stroking her cheek softly, wiping the tear away with a gentle swipe of his thumb.

They shared a look so full of unspoken words and tender emotions that they almost forgot about the conversation in the kitchen, until Rafe’s voice cut through the moment and pulled them from their silent reconciliation.

“Are you okay?” He asked you after you’d been silent for nearly a minute, trying desperately to compose yourself.

“Yes, that's all just a lot. I’m processing,” you sniffled.

“Take your time,” he said, pulling out one of the high back stools from the counter and motioning for you to sit in it.

Your body was so exhausted, even your stubborn anger at him couldn’t stop you from accepting the offer. You slumped on the plush stool, folding your arms on the counter and resting your chin on them.

“How do you like your eggs?” Rafe asked.

“Is that a pick-up line?” 

“Nope, just a question,” he said as he opened the high cupboard and pulled out a frying pan.

You tried to remind yourself you should reject his offer to feed you, you should storm out, you should tell him where he can put his frying pan…but you were hungry. And so tired.

“Sunny side up,” you answered.

He nodded and got to work cooking you breakfast, eggs and bacon sizzling on the stove, Rafe close by with a spatula in hand, silent as he stirred and flipped. You rested your head on your folded arms, eyes half-closed and brain sleepy, watching him. 

If you blocked out the last twenty minutes, you could pretend this morning was your real life, could let yourself imagine it really was all this simple and pleasant and sweet; he’d cook you breakfast, you’d make him coffee, and you’d kiss until the sun rose.

At the top of the stairs, Kelce stood and started descending, before Carter reached up and grabbed his arm.

“What are you doing?” She whispered.

“I’m hungry!” He whined.

“You can’t go down there,” Maddie scolded him, “give them some space.”

“Are we just gonna stay up here all day?” Tom complained as he and Jack stood to join Kelce’s crusade into the kitchen.

“Everybody sit down!” Topper whisper-yelled. “Give them five fucking minutes, you’ll all survive. You can fuck off back to your rooms if you want but no one’s going down there.”

Carter couldn’t help the heart eyes she made at him, surprised and delighted by his show of aggression in your defense.

Kelce groaned as he backed back down, Tom rolling his eyes and throwing his hands up as he trudged down the hall back to his room, Jack following with a huff.

“Kelce, I have a granola bar in my purse, c’mon,” Maddie offered, leading him towards her own door.

Alone again, Topper and Carter looked at each other for a long, quiet moment.

“I’m sorry,” she mouthed.

“I know,” he mouthed back.

She scooted towards him, nuzzling into his side as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, kissing her temple.

Downstairs, Rafe was done with your meal, scooping it onto a plate and sliding it to you across the counter.

“Thank you,” you sat up and began nibbling at a slice of bacon.

Rafe took the stool next to you with his own plate of food. You sat in silence for a while, only the sound of forks scraping against porcelain and the occasional “can you pass the salt?” between you.

Between bites, you rested your head on your arm again, nearly falling asleep.

“I’m so tired,” you mumbled sleepily.

“It’s been a long twenty-four hours,” Rafe agreed, taking a sip of his coffee.

“That’s an understatement,” you snorted, sitting up again and finishing the last bite of your eggs.

“What about…the next twenty-four hours?” He asked quietly.

You took a deep breath, the smile falling from your face as you considered the question underneath his question. You didn’t answer him right away, hopping down from the stool and collecting your plate and his, carrying them to the sink. Rafe was quick behind you, arm reaching around and pulling the dishes from your hands to lay them in the sink. His hand rested on your waist, turning you to face him, pulling you in. Reluctantly, and without returned tenderness, you let him.

“Rafe, I can’t…” you said sadly.

“Please just talk to me,” he pleaded, hands running up your arms and resting on your shoulders. You shook your head, blinking away fresh tears as you pulled away from him.

“It hurts too much, Rafe,” your voice cracked. “As great as the last few days have been, you can’t see that being close to you hurts me. I worked so hard to get over you. So this isn’t me throwing it all away, this is me protecting myself. Protecting what I’ve spent years rebuilding.”

“So what, that's it then? You’re just gonna go back to school and pretend this never happened?” The pain in his voice was palpable, and you cursed the part of you that wanted to reach out and make him feel better.

“I don’t know, Rafe,” a small tear slipped through, gliding slowly down your cheek.

“You’re just gonna stop talking to me, stop thinking about me?” He continued desperately.

You looked up at him finally, searching his face, nodding sadly.

“I’ve done it before.”

Hurt flashed in his crystal blue eyes, flinching like your words had burned him. “You didn’t…you don’t…think about me?”

“No,” you told him honestly, another tear joining the one before it. “Never. Because if I let myself think about you, I would’ve fallen apart. I’m not strong enough, I would’ve run to you, and every time I did that before, you’d let me down.”

“What about yesterday? What about this morning? Just think about the beach, everything was so good, it can be that way now…”

He reached out and cupped the side of your face, thumb brushing over the tears as he pulled you in toward him, kissing you out of sheer desperation. Like maybe if you tasted his lips, it’d transport you both back in time, back to the beach, back when he’d done and said everything right. 

You allowed him to take you there for just a second, before the incident on the front walk flashed in your mind again, the pain of rejection like a knife to your gut. You pulled away from him quickly, side stepping him and moving to the other side of the kitchen, creating as much distance between you as possible.

“No, no, you can’t just kiss me and act like what just happened with Cassie didn’t happen,” you shook your head rapidly, wiping your tear stained streaks with the backs of your hands. “I can’t do this right now, I need some time to think.”

It required fighting every impulse he had, but he didn’t push, didn’t close the space between you, didn’t try to regain the control he was so used to having. He just sighed deeply and nodded, eyes low.

“Okay, well let me know when you’re done…thinking.”

With one last longing look at you, he stepped away to the basement steps, stopping at the top and turning halfway toward you.

“Oh and that girl? The one who gave me her heart? For what it’s worth, I like her. Always have.”

With that, he was gone, the door clicking softly behind him.

Carter and Topper could hear you approach the bottom of the steps. Carter stood first, fully ready to greet you and grill you on everything that had happened since you last spoke. Topper could see all her questions and comments written on her face. He grabbed her hand and squeezed gently, stopping her before she marched down the stairs towards you. She looked at him in surprise but understood quickly as he gave her a slight shake of his head, whispering, “give her some space.”

Reluctantly, she nodded, allowing him to lead her quietly down the hall and into his room.

Your footsteps were heavy on the stairs, body aching. Your brain was so fried you couldn’t even pick one thing from the morning to focus on, like the part of your brain that processes events was temporarily out of order. So you stopped trying to think and just let your feet carry you to your bed, crawling under the covers in your clothes, falling quickly into a restless slumber.

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In your dreams, you were back in the kitchen with him, shoulder to shoulder in comfortable silence as you did the dishes together. Rafe washed and you dried. 

Only, it wasn’t the beach house kitchen, it was one you’d never been in before. And in that dream-state way of knowing something you don’t actually know, you were sure it was a kitchen the two of you shared, sometime in the distant, unwritten future.

(to be continued)

a/n: I'm so sorry, I had to do it.......also the prom thing may or may not be based on a true story and I may or may not have cried writing it....

also I’m sick and tired so I didn’t edit much sorry for typos! I’ll proofread again tomorrow 😘

please note: the taglist for this series is closed. For updates when I post, follow @whytheylosttheirminds-works and turn on notifs <3

[padfootagain]

Love in Verses (XXX)

Chapter 30: ‘You liked me well enough in black; I make you a gift of these objects’

Hi! Here is a new chapter! Some shopping for our lovebirds that turns into Andrew fighting for his life…

I hope you like this chapter! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 3322

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

Here are my black clothes

I think now it is better to love no one than to love you. Here are my black clothes, the tired nightgowns and robes fraying in many places. Why should they hand useless as though I were going naked? You liked me well enough in black; I make you a gift of these objects. You will want to touch them with your mouth, run your fingers through the thin tender underthings and I will not need them in my new life.

Louise Glück, The First Five Book of Poems

The tailor was posh but undoubtedly talented. Then again, it was a tailor, posh was to be expected.

It was the old type of tailor, the one you saw in movies, the type that hid a secret passage to the secret service. Wooden walls covered with wooden shelves and clothes, wooden tiles on the floor, large corduroy armchairs. You walked in feeling like you didn’t belong there, like you should never have come in the first place.

Frank spotted you instantly when you walked in. You hadn’t seen each other in a few weeks, there were times when you missed him. There were times when you didn’t think of him at all… what a strange feeling… he was always in your thoughts for years…

You wished Andrew was there with you. You wondered if his classes were going well this morning, you wanted to make him a coffee and chat instead of working…

“Y/N!” Frank beamed at you, crossing the room to give you a hug. “I’ve missed you! We’ve spent too long apart!”

“Missed you too. You look well! Are you ready to choose your suit?”

“I’m so nervous,” he admitted with an uncomfortable laugh.

“It’ll be just fine.”

You said hello to Frank’s friends and family members gathered in the shop. Only a few people, including the three best men.

The tailor came in a few minutes later, started taking care of his clients. You remained quiet while the group was splitting its attention between Frank’s suit and his best men’ clothes.

The plan was simple. You had to give him terrible advice. You had to ruin the suit, make him look ridiculous. Something that Sam would hate.

That was the only way to weaken the wedding with today’s activity.

You waited patiently, watched Frank try suits on. Every piece of garment shattered your heart.

You should have been the one discovering the suit on your wedding day. You should have been the one he talked about now, asking if you would like that colour on him, hoping you would find him handsome.

He was. He was handsome. So fucking much. You wanted to shout, to claw your eyes out of their sockets with the pain of it. He was so handsome, and you should have never been here. Instead of seeing him try on all these suits, you should have been the bride hiding her dress from him. But you weren’t. You were just the friend he was turning his attention to now, asking for an advice.

And you couldn’t do it. Couldn’t ruin this for him. You were too kind-hearted for that, or perhaps, you were simply too much in pain.

You struggled to put a smile on your face.

“I think navy blue is better than green on you.”

“You think?” he asked, looking at the two shades.

“It matches your eyes better. Makes them pop.”

He smiled, bright and excited.

Had he ever smiled like this thinking of your wedding? Of marrying you?

“Thank you, Y/N. You’re always right with those things.”

“Because I pay attention.”

Your answer held more meaning than it seemed, but he didn’t notice. He never did. Not when it was you.

And you wanted revenge now. You wanted him to regret you. You wanted him to see that you were enough, that you were always enough, that Sam wasn’t better than you… even if you didn’t really believe it. Frank had chosen Sam. Andrew had been in love with her, and now that he was starting to move on, it was to be with a woman who wasn’t you.

You excused yourself, looked for the bathroom. The moment you turned the lock on your door, the tears were let free.

You looked so sad when you came back.

It was almost noon when you stepped in the office, Andrew had been waiting for you to eat his lunch. He didn’t have classes for the rest of the day, and neither did you. He was relieved about it, you clearly needed some help.

“How did it go?” he asked as you closed the door behind you.

You didn’t answer at first, instead you took the time to take off your coat, let yourself fall in your office chair and throw your head back towards the ceiling. You let out a dramatic moan, Andrew chuckled at the sound.

“That bad, huh? Did you make him choose something terrible to wear?”

You didn’t answer.

“Let me guess… you saw him in there, it broke your heart, but you didn’t lie and helped him look stunning for his wedding day.”

“How do you know? That’s exactly what happened.”

“I know you. You’re too kind to do something so mean and selfish. Hiding a few bottles of champagne is one thing, making your ex look like a fool on the most important day of his life is another.”

“I’m so pathetic. I feel so… pathetic…”

“You’re not. You’re just heartbroken.”

“Same bloody thing.”

“What can I do?”

You looked at him then, tears in your eyes and looking so sad… so damn sad…

But then you looked angry instead, wrath burning through your gaze and Andrew shuddered at the sight.

You looked gorgeous like this, despite your eyes reddened with tears. Fierce was a good look on you, it had always been…

“I’m going to make him regret me so fucking much he’ll beg to get me back.”

He raised an eyebrow, surprised by your determination.

“And how do we do that?”

“By making me look so fucking good he’ll have nightmares about leaving me.”

Andrew’s heart skipped a beat. His words came out in a whisper you didn’t hear.

“You’re always gorgeous, Y/N…”

“We’re going to this party they’re throwing two weeks before the wedding. So… in…”

“Two weeks.”

“Yeah… in two weeks. God, I can’t believe it’s the end of April already. Exams will be back in no time.”

“Don’t mention that…” Andrew winced. “Besides, we’ll have to go through the conference first…”

“Did you have an answer for that by the way?”

Andrew smiled.

“Main speaker on the second day. Forty-minutes presentation.”

“That’s awesome, Andy! Congrats!”

“I’m going to hate every second of it.”

“You’ll be brilliant.”

“We’ll need to rehearse your presentation too.”

“Yes, thank you for helping me.”

“Don’t mention it. We’re a team.”

You exchanged a tender smile, one that reached gratefulness for more than professional support.

“Anyway, I’m going to go shopping after work,” you declared. “I’ll buy the most gorgeous dress for that party. And Frank will be at my fucking feet.”

Andrew chuckled at that.

“Alright, good plan.”

“Actually… can I be insufferable and ask for your help?”

“Pardon me? My help? I don’t know anything about dresses…”

“You’re a man. You know what men like. Actually, you know what? We could go now. Be back before two and work this afternoon.”

“Now?”

“Now.”

“Okay…”

Andrew gathered his things in a hurry, let you babble away while you exited the office. He didn’t mention the way your voice was shaking from time to time, how your eyes still glistened with withheld tears.

He didn’t mention any of it. He merely drove you to the shop you liked.

Andrew didn’t know what to do while you browsed through expensive dresses, selected a few, asked for his opinion. He didn’t really have any. He had no idea what he was supposed to do to make you smile again, to make you happy, to make you feel as beautiful as you truly were…

You walked in a fitting room with five different dresses to try on. There weren’t many people in the shop at this hour, only an old woman with her grand-daughter were looking for a dress for the young woman. The elder lady started chatting casually with Andrew while they both waited in front of the cabins.

“Your girlfriend is looking for a dress for a special occasion?” she asked, and Andrew fiercely blushed.

“Oh… no, she’s not… we’re not… She’s not my girlfriend.”

She gave him a look, one that annoyed him a lot.

“Right… I see…”

Andrew ignored her, her grand-daughter showing her a dress the perfect excuse not to answer.

And then he heard you calling his name in a quiet voice…

His heart didn’t just skip a few beats, it stopped altogether. Butterflies didn’t cut it, these were fireworks in his stomach.

You were standing there in an emerald dress that fell across your calves, a low cut on your cleavage that made his wildest fantasies about you seem mild.

“What do you think? I like this one.”

You turned around to show him the back, or rather, the absence of clothing on the backless dress.

Andrew couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think…

You were so… so…

“How do I look?”

You were so… so…

“…Breathtaking.”

You blinked up at him. And he tried to hide his reaction, but he couldn’t. He must have looked stunned, a deer in headlights, and he couldn’t help it. You were so…

“…Perfect.”

You raised a surprised eyebrow, a shy smile forming on your lips.

He wanted to kiss you so badly. He wanted to touch the skin of your back the dress revealed. He wanted to run his fingers along your cleavage. He wanted to tear that gorgeous dress off you…

He cleared his throat, averted his eyes so he would stop staring at you.

“Yeah… that’s… a good one.”

“I have another I like, hang on.”

He nodded, unable to look at you. He could feel warmth spreading through his body, but he would never survive the humiliation of getting a boner in the middle of a shop because you were trying dresses on…

“Not your girlfriend, huh?”

Andrew turned to the stranger, the old woman giving him a knowing smile.

“You’d better make her your girlfriend, before it’s too late.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No, of course not.”

She heaved a sigh, looking at the closed curtain of the fitting room where her grand-daughter had disappeared.

“My husband looked at me like that, you know? The way you look at her. And I can only hope my grand-child will find someone who will look at her like that, too.”

“Like what?”

“Like she is the most beautiful thing on this earth.”

She stared right into his eyes.

“The way you must be looked at when you are loved.”

Andrew struggled to swallow, looked away, fiercely blushing.

Christ, he was a desperate case. And if a stranger could notice his feelings for you, surely everyone had… what would you say if you noticed? Would you push him away? Would you break his heart?

You walked out of your cabin again, wearing a black dress this time. And Andrew tried to hide it better this time, but you looked divine. It fitted your curves perfectly, it made your body look like sin…

“What about this one?” you asked, turning around, and Andrew hated himself for being unable to stop himself from staring at your arse.

“Yeah… that’s a good one too,” he nodded, clearing his throat.

“Which one do you prefer?”

“I… I don’t know…”

“Come on! I like both. I don’t know which one to pick. What’s your favourite?”

He struggled to control his breathing, to slow down his heart.

“I… erm… I really liked the green one.”

“The green one?”

“Yeah, it… you’re gorgeous in this dress too though.”

He heard you clearing your throat too.

“Right… the green dress it is, then.”

“Yeah… okay… grand… erm, like… good…”

“Thanks, Andy.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Christ, please, don’t mention it…

“I’ll get changed real quick.”

He hummed as he nodded, still unable to look at you.

By his side, the elderly lady chuckled, and Andrew wanted to dissolve into nothing, a puddle on the ground, to simply be atomised into thin air…

You bought the dress, Andrew drove you back to Trinity in relative silence. He was too busy picturing you in these dresses again, too busy trying not to picture you in these dresses again.

When you walked back to your office though, it was obvious that you were still sad. That search for a semblance of power over a situation you couldn’t control was gone again. He let out a long exhale through his nose as he looked at you sitting behind your desk. He crossed the room, avoiding the lamp hanging from the ceiling, and gave you a soft smile.

“You’re alright, Y/N?”

You shook your head.

“I’m sorry… I just… I can’t get over it.”

“It’s okay. You’re upset, that’s all.”

“Seeing him like this… wearing these suits… he should have been wearing them for me…”

“I know. I know, Y/N.”

“I want my life back.”

“But you have one. You have one now. You don’t need him in it.”

“I feel like I need him. I feel like I… like I just messed everything up.”

“You didn’t. You didn’t mess anything up. None of this is your fault.”

“If he chose her, then I must be lacking something…”

“You’re not. Trust me, you’re not lacking anything. It’s his loss if he can’t see what’s right in front of him.”

You looked up at him, surprised by the sudden harshness of his tone.

“You don’t need him, Y/N… you… you could have better than him. You… he’s not… He’s not even paying attention to you.”

“What do you mean?”

“He doesn’t really care. I think he’s a little too selfish for that.”

He shook his head.

“I see you with him, you know? You’re not yourself. You’re not… babbling away about cinema, or literature, or art or this recipe you’ve just tried or… it’s like you just shut down. And you listen, and then you make a tiny summary of all the things you wanted to say… but you’re so fucking smart. You’re so fucking interesting. You’re… you shouldn’t be with someone who doesn’t care about what you have to say. And he fucking broke your heart! Why do you still want him? Why…?”

Why do you still want him, instead of me?

But he didn’t say it. He stopped, and closed his fists tightly.

Andrew was growing annoyed, angry even. And of course you noticed, he reckoned he was doing a pretty bad job at hiding his true feelings.

“Y/N… Frank… I’m not saying he’s a bad person, but…”

“But?”

“But he doesn’t deserve you.”

You raised an eyebrow, visibly unimpressed.

“Really? Why not? It’s not like I’m anything special, anyway.”

Andrew frowned hard.

“Are you listening to yourself?!” he asked with something aghast in his voice, a genuine incomprehension that surprised you. “You’re… you’re amazing. You deserve so much better than him! You deserve to be treated with respect, to have someone who actually pays attention to you, who cares about you, who listens to you when you’re talking about your passions, who’s not going to disregard what you’re saying simply because they disagree…”

But you interrupted him with a scoff.

“Perfection doesn’t exist, Andy. I’ve learned as much in life. I don’t have a choice but to settle for less than that.”

“There’s a difference between accepting someone’s faults and flaws and setting the bar so low it’s actually buried underground…”

“You’re one to talk! You’re still in love with Samantha despite how she hurt you, despite the fact that she doesn’t give two shites about your poetry or your work, about the fact that she won’t make a single fucking effort for you…”

“Who says I’m still in love with her?”

You raised a surprised eyebrow, and you were genuinely taken aback this time, Andrew could tell.

“You’re not?” you asked, your tone quieter, Andrew guessed that it was a side-effect of your surprise.

“No, I’m not. I’ve learnt my lesson. I want to move on. I… I’m moving on.”

“Wow… that’s… good… That’s really grand, Andy. Is it… because of that woman you mentioned?”

Andrew’s heart sped up, he could feel himself panicking, he closed and opened his fists multiple times in an attempt to slow down his breathing.

“I… I mean… kind of…”

“Kind of?”

“I…”

He took a deep breath, gathering his courage.

“I want to be with her. I… I just… I haven’t told her yet.”

“Why not? You should ask her on a date.”

But he shook his head.

“She won’t say yes. I know her, she won’t go on a date with me, not for now. Besides… It’s too soon… for me too, I mean. I need to put Sam behind me for good, before I can try to be with her.”

You stared at him with a blank expression… or rather, not blank. The opposite. Like you felt something but tried to show the opposite reaction. The result was unreadable to him.

“I’m glad you’re moving on.”

But your tone was flat, and you didn’t seem happy at all.

“Thanks,” Andrew answered anyway.

You heaved a tired sigh.

“Please, don’t judge me with Frank. I… you don’t understand.”

Andrew sighed too, let the air out through gritted teeth.

“No, you’re right. I don’t understand. I mean… I do. I do understand the process of grieving for a life that wasn’t fully yours to begin with, but you thought would belong to you. But that’s the thing, Y/N. You need to start grieving now. You can’t remain stuck there forever. You… You deserve to be happy. You deserve better than that. Don’t do that to yourself. Especially not for someone like him. We deserve better than this, Y/N.”

You stared at him now, tears in your eyes, a sight he wished he could banish forever. He would take all of your pain away if he could, he would suffer it in your stead.

“It’s not that easy, Andy,” you shook your head, taking a step back.

“It could be. It could be, Y/N…”

“I’ve loved him for so long…”

Andrew slowly nodded.

“You could love again, with a little bit of time. He… he doesn’t care about you, Y/N. He doesn’t… listen when you talk. He acts like he does, but he doesn’t. He’s not interested in what makes you happy…”

“Neither is Sam with you.”

“I know. I know, and I don’t want that anymore.”

“But I want Frank.”

Your voice was shaking, it didn’t sound either earnest nor convincing. Still, hearing the words broke Andrew’s heart.

After everything… how could you still want Frank… why couldn’t you want him instead?

Could you… could you ever want him?

Andrew closed his fists tightly, until he could feel the sharp pain of his nails digging crescent marks into his palm. Perhaps you would never want him. Maybe it wasn’t just about Frank, maybe it was about him… maybe he was simply… not your type, not attractive to you, not good enough.

He let out a long, painful exhale through his nose.

“Would that make you happy?” he genuinely asked, voice quiet, deeper than usual, but softer than before as well. “Is that what will make you happy?”

You stared at him for a moment, then clenched your jaw. When you answered, he couldn’t read in your eyes whether or not you were telling the truth. Maybe you were lying… against all odds, he hoped you were lying.

“Yes.”

One word, breathed out, it was enough to break his heart.

Slowly, Andrew nodded.

“Alright, we’ll do it then. We’ll go to that stupid party. We’ll make him jealous. We’ll make him see what he’s losing by choosing Sam over you. If it’s what it takes for you to be happy… As long as it makes you happy.”

“Thank you.”

He stared at you as you walked back to your desk, sat before your computer, looked at the screen.

He turned around, blinking tears away, stood in front of the window behind his desk.

As long as it would make you happy…

[thebennsofdallas]

WWDITS S6 - What we thought we knew vs. what we know now

I’ve been struggling to string some words together about this season thus far. I think, with the exception the episode where Laszlo was forced to relive the abuse of his father, every episode has been wonderful. But two episodes I keep rewatching — Nandor’s Army and March Madness. Because in those two episodes, much was revealed about all these characters. We’re learning that these vampires care, about each other and other things, too. But this season, Nandor has especially been laid bare. No subtext, no wordplay, no wink and a nod.

Hey, Nandor? All those feelings you hide so poorly and hate so much? Too bad, buddy, they are coming out and they are gushing all over the place, like a recklessly pierced vein. Better get a towel because it’s gonna be fucking messy.

The first big thing we’ve learned in Nandor’s Army is how devastated Nandor was about losing the janitor job. So much so that the poor guy went a little mad. For over 700 years, Nandor has survived enumerable hardships and setbacks but Guillermo rejecting him is the thing that ruins him. 

Nandor only took the job at Cannon Capital to be close to Guillermo, to watch over him as he had been doing for 15 years. And that was the second thing we learned about Nandor. He perceived that he had been protecting Guillermo. “Raising him” were his exact words. And once Guillermo decided against being a vampire and separated himself from the vampire world, Nandor felt abandoned. He lost his purpose and in doing so, he lost his mind.

The confrontation between Nandor and Guillermo in the husk of the Hancock and Sons factory was the most honest they’ve ever had. Usually, it’s Guillermo who makes himself vulnerable and Nandor who pretends like he doesn’t care. That night, though, their pent up feelings came spilling out, from both sides. That night, Nandor caved but stay tuned because I don’t think that argument is done yet.

Because, then, in March Madness, the truth bombshell dropped. The foundation of and the motivation for the dumb, sometimes cruel shit Nandor has done is finally revealed.

Nandor knows he’s going to lose Guillermo. He is painfully aware of it. For most of their time together, Guillermo believed that all he wanted was to be a vampire. It was his dream from childhood, as Nandor heard umpteen times. But when it finally happened, in the fucked up manner which no one saw coming, Nandor was gutted by the betrayal. But still, he was willing to turn backflips to make sure Guillermo got what he wanted.

But once he did, once Guillermo chose to go back to being a human, Nandor’s future with Guillermo — or what he thought was their future — was gone.

Nandor was always careful about putting the affection he has for Guillermo on display. He kept that under wraps and rarely allowed himself to let it show. He ignored the tenderness he has for Guillermo and judging from solely from his behavior, it seemed like Nandor was just a big, selfish jerk.

But surprise, surprise, it turns out that Nandor is not so much a deeply delusional asshole as he is a secret soft-hearted sap in self-protect mode. Because Nandor knows Guillermo is human and Nandor knows that humans get hurt and eventually die. In 760 years as a vampire, this is what he knows. He tells Laszlo there’s nothing special about humans. They will leave so a vampire is a fool to get attached to them.

Oh, really? Well, sorry, Mr. Supreme Viceroy/Warlord, you’re too late. That train has already left the station. we know that’s bullshit because whenever Guillermo leaves him, Nandor is totally lost. Through the Djinn and Marwa, we know that Nandor doesn’t know what he would do without Guillermo.

You can run. You can run far because you have those awesome long legs but you can’t hide anymore, big guy. The truth is out. The die is cast.

Nandor. You’re a dead man.

[gyorouis]

𐙚 CHARMED & TWISTED - KTH.

— for a second, he looks like he's about to say something, but then he shakes his head, a faint smirk on lips. "look, just focus on the work. i'm not here to babysit."

genre: enemies to friends to lovers (whatever)

pairing: senior!taehyun x afab!reader

warning: hmm, idk... words (?) lmk if i forgot anything!

wordcount: 10.6k

now playing: lola amour — fallen ୨ৎ

you’ve always admired the photography club from afar, watching the members wander around campus with their cameras slung over their shoulders, capturing moments of beauty in the most ordinary of places. this semester, you finally decide to join. after all, it’s your second year, and you’re determined to push yourself out of your comfort zone. photography has always been something you were passionate about, so why not give it a try?

the first meeting is held in a small classroom tucked away in the art building. you arrive early, scanning the room filled with posters of famous photographers and their work. the air smells faintly of ink and aged paper, adding to your nervous excitement.

as people start filing in, a tall figure catches your attention—taehyun. he’s the club’s vice president, two years older than you, and practically a legend on campus. effortlessly cool, he strolls in with a confident stride, his camera slung casually around his neck. his easy smile and warm greetings charm the room, but when his gaze sweeps over you, his expression changes, if only for a moment.

you brush it off, assuming he didn’t see you clearly, but there’s a part of you that wonders.

the meeting progresses, and you’re introduced to the club representative, who enthusiastically welcomes new members and explains the semester’s projects. your attention drifts back to taehyun, who’s leaning against a desk, laughing easily with a group of girls near the front. his dimples deepen with each smile, giving him a laid-back charm that seems completely genuine.

eventually, it’s time for introductions. when you stand up, you feel the weight of his gaze. “hi, i’m y/n. this is my first semester in the club. i’ve always loved photography, so i’m really excited to learn from all of you.”

when you glance over, taehyun’s face is oddly neutral, almost cold, unlike the friendly smile he’s given everyone else. your stomach twists uncomfortably as you sit back down.

after the meeting, you muster up the courage to approach him. “hey, taehyun, right? i’ve heard a lot about you. i’m really excited to be a part of the club.”

he looks up from his camera, his expression tightening as he nods curtly. “yeah, welcome.”

the conversation feels stilted, but you push on. “do you have any tips for someone just starting out? i’m kind of nervous about keeping up with everyone.” 

he barely glances at you. “just… practice,” he says, in a tone so dismissive it feels almost like an insult. “you’ll get better.”

“right… thanks,” you reply, your smile faltering.

as you walk away, you can’t help but glance over your shoulder. he’s already back to laughing with another group, his smile warm and easy. it stings, but you’re determined to shake it off. maybe he’s just naturally distant with new people, you reason.

then the representative announces the semester project groups, and fate decides to toy with you. you’re assigned to taehyun’s group. the president claps him on the back. “taehyun, help this group come up with a concept for their project. guide them.”

taehyun nods, flashing the president a smile. but when his eyes meet yours, that warmth disappears, replaced by an unreadable stare.

the first group meeting only solidifies your frustration. while he’s relaxed and encouraging with the others, tossing out ideas and giving thoughtful feedback, he’s standoffish with you, offering only clipped responses. when you suggest a potential theme, he doesn’t even look up, simply muttering, “we’ll see.”

by the end of the meeting, your patience snaps. you linger as he packs up his camera, determined to get some answers.

“did i do something to offend you?” you ask, forcing your voice to stay calm.

he raises an eyebrow, clearly caught off guard. “what?”

“it’s just… you seem friendly with everyone else, but with me…” you pause, searching for the right words. “it’s like you don’t even want me in the group.”

he sighs, adjusting his camera strap. “it’s nothing personal.”

“then what is it?” you press, refusing to let him off the hook so easily.

for a second, he looks like he’s about to say something, but then he shakes his head, a faint smirk on his lips. “look, just focus on the work. i’m not here to babysit.”

you open your mouth to retort, but he walks away, leaving you fuming.

over the next few weeks, the tension only worsens. taehyun is attentive and encouraging with the rest of the group, but with you, he’s almost dismissive, barely acknowledging your presence. it’s maddening.

during a group meeting, he discusses lighting techniques with another member, patiently explaining the finer details. when you ask a question about camera settings, he glances at you, almost bored. “you can google it,” he says.

“oh, thanks for the insightful advice,” you mutter sarcastically, unable to hide your irritation.

he raises an eyebrow, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “problem?”

“only that you seem to think i’m not worth your time,” you snap.

he leans back, crossing his arms. “maybe i just don’t have time for people who expect to be spoon-fed.”

you grit your teeth, determined not to let him see how much he’s getting under your skin. “noted. i’ll be sure to stay out of your way.”

“good,” he says smoothly, smirking. “it’ll make things easier for both of us.”

despite his attitude, you can’t help but notice the way he lingers in your thoughts. as much as he irritates you, you find yourself watching him during club activities, taking note of how he interacts with others, how he positions himself for the perfect shot. there’s something about the way he sees the world through his camera that’s mesmerizing.

one day, while reviewing some photos in the club room, you catch him watching you. he quickly averts his gaze, but you’ve already seen the flicker of something in his expression—something that isn’t annoyance.

before you can question it, he speaks up, voice back to its usual edge. “if you’re done staring, maybe you could focus on the composition instead of just the exposure.”

“oh, i’m sorry,” you shoot back, holding up the camera. “maybe i’ll just copy the ‘legendary’ taehyun.”

“wouldn’t be the worst idea,” he says, smirking. “though i doubt you could keep up.”

a flush rises to your cheeks. “you’re seriously unbearable.”

“and yet,” he murmurs, leaning in closer, his gaze challenging, “you’re still here.”

his proximity sends a shiver down your spine, but you refuse to let him see you waver. “yeah, because i care about the project, not because i enjoy your company.”

“funny,” he says, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “because you look like you’re enjoying this.”

your heart races as he steps back, leaving you flustered and, frustratingly, intrigued. whatever strange animosity lies between you two, it’s only getting stronger, and despite yourself, you’re drawn to it—drawn to him in a way you can’t quite explain, even if it annoys you to no end.

as weeks pass, the strange tension between you and taehyun only seems to grow. every club meeting follows the same pattern: he’s friendly and helpful with everyone else, offering tips on lighting, sharing his best shots, laughing along with jokes. he even shows others his photos, pointing out the details he likes, encouraging them to try new techniques. but with you, there’s still that wall, like you’re the last person he wants around.

it’s infuriating.

one afternoon, after a particularly chilly exchange with taehyun, you find yourself in the campus café with hana. she’s sipping on an iced latte, watching you with her usual keen interest as you vent.

“i just don’t get it,” you say, stirring your coffee a little too aggressively. “he’s so... normal with everyone else, but with me, it’s like i don’t even exist half the time.”

hana raises an eyebrow, her lips curving into a smirk. “maybe he’s got a little crush on you.”

you let out a laugh, rolling your eyes. “taehyun? having a crush on me? please. he practically runs in the other direction every time i’m around.”

“think about it,” hana insists, leaning in. “he’s cool and collected with everyone else, right? but with you, he’s all weird and distant. it could totally be his way of hiding how he feels.”

you shake your head, though her words stir something in you. “but why would he act like that? if he liked me, wouldn’t he just... i don’t know, be nice?”

“you’d be surprised,” hana says, giving you a knowing look. “some people have no idea how to act around someone they like. maybe he’s trying to keep you at arm’s length because he doesn’t know what else to do.”

you scoff, though a small flicker of curiosity sparks in your mind. “you think he’s avoiding me because he likes me?”

hana shrugs. “could be. or he’s just a jerk. but there’s only one way to find out.” she winks. “test him.”

“test him?” you repeat, raising an eyebrow. “how?”

“you know, catch him off guard,” she suggests. “say something unexpected. see if he reacts. you’ll know if he’s just being weird with you or if there’s something else going on.”

the idea lingers in your mind long after you leave the café, even as you try to push it away. why would taehyun, the effortlessly confident vice president of the photography club, act strange around you for any reason other than irritation? but a tiny part of you wonders if hana is onto something.

the next club meeting, you decide to put hana’s theory to the test. it’s a typical afternoon, everyone gathered in the clubroom, chatting and reviewing each other’s work. taehyun, as usual, is in his element, showing one of the new members how to adjust their aperture for a softer background.

you watch him for a moment, summoning the courage to interrupt.

“taehyun,” you say, stepping forward and forcing yourself to meet his gaze directly.

he glances at you, his expression unreadable. “yeah?”

“i was wondering if you could help me with something,” you say, trying to keep your tone light. “you’re the expert, after all.”

his brow arches, a flicker of surprise flashing across his face. “oh, really?” he asks, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “and here i thought you didn’t need my help.”

you shrug, feeling a spark of satisfaction at his reaction. “guess i’m full of surprises.”

taehyun stares at you for a second longer than necessary, and you could swear there’s a hint of something in his eyes—hesitation, maybe. then he clears his throat and gestures to the camera in your hands. “what is it you need help with?”

“well, i was struggling to get the right lighting for a portrait shot,” you say, holding up the camera. “thought maybe the great taehyun could give me some pointers.”

he narrows his eyes, a slight smirk playing on his lips. “flattery won’t get you very far.”

“oh, please,” you say with a roll of your eyes, feeling more confident. “just show me what i’m doing wrong.”

he steps closer, and your pulse quickens despite yourself. he adjusts the settings on your camera, his fingers brushing yours briefly, and you’re painfully aware of the way your heart races at the contact.

“see,” he says, his voice lower, “it’s about getting the right balance between the shadows and highlights. you were just a bit too heavy on the contrast.”

you nod, trying to focus on his words, but it’s difficult with the way he’s standing so close. “got it,” you mumble.

“think you can handle that?” he asks, his tone teasing as he hands the camera back to you.

“oh, please,” you say, mimicking his earlier words. “flattery won’t get you very far.”

he chuckles, the sound soft and unexpectedly warm. “maybe you’re not as hopeless as i thought.”

“wow, that’s probably the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” you shoot back, feigning shock.

taehyun rolls his eyes, but there’s a hint of a smile. “don’t get used to it.”

after the meeting, hana is waiting outside the clubroom, her eyes lighting up when she sees you. “so? did you do it?”

you sigh, falling into step beside her. “i tried. i don’t know if it really got us anywhere, but he actually... helped me. willingly. and i think he might’ve almost smiled.”

hana grins. “see? he’s totally into you.”

“i still don’t buy it,” you say, though your heart betrays you, thudding a little harder at the thought.

over the next few days, you keep up with your plan, occasionally catching taehyun off guard, asking for his help or making casual conversation. he starts to loosen up, but there’s always that underlying tension, like both of you are playing a game you can’t quite figure out.

one afternoon, while you’re packing up after a club activity, he stops by your side, clearing his throat awkwardly. “hey.”

you glance up, surprised to see him lingering. “yeah?”

“i, uh... noticed some of your photos from last week,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “they were actually pretty good.”

you blink, taken aback by the unexpected compliment. “oh. thanks.”

“i mean,” he continues, looking almost embarrassed, “they’re not perfect, but... you’re getting better.”

you can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips. “high praise coming from you.”

he lets out a soft laugh, glancing away. “don’t let it go to your head.”

the thing taehyun hadn’t anticipated was just how difficult it would be to ignore you. it started innocently enough, with casual glances across the library or quick glances when you weren’t looking. he told himself he was just curious about you, about this person who seemed so different from everyone else he knew.

but that small, nagging curiosity grew into something more. he remembers it vividly—last semester, late at night in the library. he’d been buried under stacks of papers, the weight of finals pressing down on him. then, he looked up and saw you at a table nearby, your face illuminated by the soft glow of your laptop. you looked... serene. completely absorbed in whatever you were reading. he found himself watching you longer than he should have, memorizing the way you unconsciously chewed on the end of your pen, how you’d furrow your brow whenever you didn’t understand something. and then, without warning, you looked up and met his gaze.

caught off guard, taehyun had immediately glanced down at his notes, pretending he hadn’t just been staring. his heart had raced embarrassingly fast, and he mentally scolded himself. it was ridiculous. he barely knew you. so he kept his distance, convinced it would pass.

but it hadn’t. every club meeting, every casual encounter, every time he saw you laugh with friends or discuss a new idea in a way that lit up your entire face, he found himself drawn to you all over again.

and now, with the two of you working closer in the club, avoiding you was becoming... impossible.

one afternoon, after the meeting has wrapped up, taehyun finds himself standing by the door, glancing over at you as you gather your things. he tells himself to walk away, to ignore the urge to talk to you. but instead, he clears his throat.

“hey.”

you glance up, surprised, and he notices the way your eyes soften slightly. “yeah?”

“i, uh...” he falters, feeling his usual confidence abandon him. “i wanted to ask... how did you come up with that concept for the photo series? the one with the shadows and reflections?”

your face lights up, the way it always does when you’re talking about something you care about. “oh! it was kind of spontaneous, actually. i saw this old building downtown with these intricate windows, and the way the sunlight hit them just... i don’t know, it felt like it told a story.”

he nods, captivated not only by your words but by the energy in your expression. “that’s... impressive. i never would’ve thought of it like that.”

you raise an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “really? i thought the great taehyun had thought of everything.”

he chuckles, a little self-conscious. “guess you’re full of surprises.”

for a moment, there’s a comfortable silence between you two, and he’s painfully aware of how close he’s standing. he wants to say more, to maybe even reach out and brush that stray strand of hair behind your ear, but instead, he clears his throat, stepping back.

“well, i should get going,” he says, his voice a little strained. “see you next meeting?”

you nod, your gaze lingering on him. “yeah... see you.”

taehyun walks away, feeling his heart race, wondering why he can’t just act normal around you. later that evening, as he scrolls through his phone, he stumbles upon a photo you posted of the city at night. the caption reads, “finding stories in the smallest places.”

without thinking, he likes the post, and his finger hovers over the screen, tempted to comment. he types out a message, something casual like, “great shot. didn’t know you were into cityscapes.” but he deletes it just as quickly, feeling stupid for overthinking a simple compliment.

the next day, you and taehyun cross paths on campus. he’s deep in conversation with a couple of his friends, but when he spots you, he instinctively freezes, his words trailing off. his friends, beomgyu and kai, notice immediately.

“yo, taehyun,” beomgyu says with a smirk, nudging him. “you good?”

taehyun clears his throat, trying to play it cool. “yeah, just... thought i saw someone.”

kai follows his gaze, grinning when he spots you. “ah, it’s her.”

“you mean y/n?” beomgyu asks, raising an eyebrow. “why do you get all weird whenever she’s around?”

“i don’t get weird,” taehyun protests, but the heat rising in his cheeks betrays him. “just... forget it.”

beomgyu and kai exchange glances, both clearly amused. “dude, just go talk to her,” kai says, giving taehyun a shove in your direction. “it’s not that hard.”

taehyun grumbles under his breath but reluctantly approaches you, ignoring the way his friends snicker behind him. when he reaches you, he tries to play it casual, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“hey,” he says, his voice sounding more strained than he intended. “what’s up?”

you blink, clearly not expecting him to approach. “uh, just heading to my next class. you?”

“same,” he lies, hoping you don’t notice his friends watching from a distance.

you nod, a hint of a smile on your lips. “well... see you around?”

“yeah,” he mumbles, mentally cursing himself for not saying something more interesting. as he watches you walk away, he glances over his shoulder at beomgyu and kai, who are practically in tears from laughing.

“wow,” beomgyu says between laughs, “smooth, man. real smooth.”

taehyun scowls. “shut up.”

over the next few days, his friends’ teasing becomes a regular occurrence, and it only fuels his internal struggle. he tries to keep his distance from you, to ignore the way his heart beats faster whenever you’re near, but it’s like fighting a losing battle.

one afternoon, after a particularly stressful class, he heads to the library to unwind. he’s flipping through a book on photography techniques when he hears a familiar voice nearby. looking up, he sees you sitting at a table, intently reading.

before he can talk himself out of it, he walks over. “mind if i sit?”

you glance up, surprise flashing across your face before you nod. “sure.”

he takes the seat across from you, feeling oddly self-conscious. “what are you reading?”

“oh, it’s just some history book,” you say, holding it up. “nothing too exciting.”

he quirks an eyebrow. “you like history?”

“i mean, yeah,” you reply, sounding a little defensive. “there’s a lot to learn from the past. plus, it helps with storytelling in photography—finding patterns, understanding context.”

he nods, impressed. “never thought about it that way. guess i still have a lot to learn.”

you smile, and he can’t help but feel a warmth spread through him at the sight. the two of you fall into an easy conversation, discussing your favorite books and stories behind some of your photos. he realizes, with a pang, that he genuinely enjoys talking to you, that being close to you feels... natural.

the conversation stretches on, and it’s only when the library’s closing announcement comes on that he realizes how much time has passed.

“guess we should go,” you say, standing up and gathering your things.

“yeah,” he says, reluctantly getting to his feet. “it was... nice, talking to you.”

you look at him, a softness in your gaze. “yeah. maybe we could do this again sometime?”

he’s stunned for a moment but manages a nod. “yeah. i’d like that.”

as you walk away, he feels a strange mix of regret and relief. keeping his distance was supposed to protect both of you, but now he’s not so sure. maybe, just maybe, this was worth taking a chance on.

you shrugged off the thoughts of taehyun being interested in you. after all, what matters now is that you guys have became friends? probably. maybe this was just how he made friends, how he interacted with people. you had convinced yourself that there was nothing more to it, even if a part of you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was... different.

the moments you spent with him, working together on photography projects, were unexpected. you’d never imagined being so comfortable around taehyun—someone you had once thought was nothing more than an arrogant vice president. but now, as you spent hours together, trying to capture the perfect shot or giving each other tips on lighting, you found yourself actually enjoying his company. he had a way of making you laugh when you were frustrated, a quiet encouragement that helped you push past your own doubts.

sometimes, you’d catch him looking at you with an expression you couldn’t quite read. maybe it was admiration, or maybe it was something else. but every time you tried to understand it, your mind would race, and you’d push the thought aside. things were better this way, right? just friends.

but then, park jongsung joined the club.

you remembered the first time you met him. he had introduced himself with a wide, easygoing smile, and when he mentioned that he was from your hometown, you felt an instant connection. it was like finding a little piece of home in this campus full of strangers. after a few days of casual chats, you found yourself laughing more around him, the shared memories of your hometown providing an easy bridge between the two of you.

"so, do you still go to that café by the river? i swear they have the best waffles," jongsung had said one afternoon as you both flipped through your photos, trying to figure out the next project.

you smiled, happy to talk about something so familiar. "yeah, i miss it actually. we should go sometime."

from then on, you and jongsung spent more time together. whether it was wandering the campus, looking for new photo opportunities, or just grabbing coffee, you felt like you’d found someone who understood you. you were surprised by how quickly you clicked, how natural it felt to talk to him. and yet, as you grew closer to jongsung, you couldn’t help but notice something strange.

taehyun had started pulling away.

it was subtle at first. he stopped showing up to some of the photography sessions you had together, the ones where you’d normally ask each other to model for one another. when he did come, he seemed distant, almost like he was forcing himself to be there. the casual banter you used to share had faded, replaced with awkward silences that hung in the air between you two.

you couldn't help but feel confused. hadn’t things been going so well before? you’d been working together so often, laughing at stupid jokes, even venturing to a new café together one afternoon to try some bizarrely named coffee drink. but now, taehyun was barely around, and when he was, he kept his distance. you could almost feel a wall growing between you two, and you had no idea why.

one afternoon, as you were discussing a new photography idea with jongsung, taehyun passed by the table. you glanced up, and for a second, you thought you saw something flicker in his eyes—something that made your stomach drop. he paused just long enough for you to notice, but then he quickly walked away, his back rigid.

“what’s going on with taehyun?” jongsung asked, his voice low as he noticed your gaze lingering on taehyun’s retreating figure.

you shrugged, trying to act casual. “i don’t know. he’s been acting weird lately.”

jongsung raised an eyebrow. “you sure? seems like he’s been avoiding you. and honestly, i don’t think it’s just about photography. he used to hang around you a lot, right?”

you bit your lip, not wanting to admit that you had been thinking the same thing. “maybe... maybe it’s nothing. he probably just got busy.”

but deep down, you knew it wasn’t just about being busy. taehyun had always made time for you, even when he was drowning in responsibilities. this sudden distance didn’t make sense.

a few days later, taehyun’s behavior only became more apparent. during a group project meeting, he barely contributed, his responses short and curt. you caught his eye a couple of times, hoping to catch his usual playful smile, but it never came. instead, he seemed preoccupied, his gaze drifting off into the distance. even when you tried to catch his attention with a lighthearted comment, it fell flat. his only response was a stiff nod.

after the meeting, you tried to stop him as he gathered his things. “taehyun, hey—can we talk for a second?”

he turned to you, his expression unreadable. “about what?”

you hesitated, suddenly unsure of what you wanted to say. “i... i don't know. you’ve just been acting weird lately, and i don’t get it.”

his gaze shifted to the side, like he was avoiding looking directly at you. “maybe i’ve just been busy.”

“busy? with what? you used to be the first one to show up to our meetings,” you said, your voice rising just a little with frustration. “we used to talk all the time. what's going on?”

taehyun paused, a flicker of something crossing his face before he answered, his voice quieter now. “maybe i’m just tired. i’ll see you around.”

and with that, he walked away.

you stood there, feeling like someone had knocked the wind out of you. you were left standing in the middle of the hallway, feeling both confused and hurt. what had just happened? taehyun was slipping away, and you didn’t know why.

jongsung, who had been watching from a distance, approached you cautiously. “hey... i don’t know what’s going on, but i think you should talk to him. if you’re worried about something.”

you nodded, but in the pit of your stomach, you knew that the conversation would have to happen soon, whether you were ready for it or not. because right now, it felt like the space between you and taehyun was widening more and more with every passing day, and no matter how hard you tried to ignore it, the question kept repeating in your head: why was taehyun pulling away?

the next few days felt like a blur. you tried to focus on your work, on your photography, but your thoughts kept drifting back to taehyun. you found yourself watching him more than you should have, trying to decipher the coldness that had replaced his usual warmth. each time you saw him, a knot would form in your chest, but every time you tried to confront him, the words just wouldn’t come.

it wasn’t until a week later that you caught him alone in the library. he was sitting at a table, headphones on, completely absorbed in his work. you hesitated, heart racing, but finally, you walked up to him.

“taehyun,” you said softly, and he looked up, surprised.

“hey,” he said, taking off his headphones. “what’s up?”

you took a deep breath. “i need to ask you something. why have you been avoiding me?”

taehyun’s expression faltered for a moment, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “i’m not avoiding you,” he said quickly, but the way he said it didn’t convince you.

“yes, you are,” you said firmly, your voice steady despite the storm in your chest. “it’s been going on for weeks. ever since jongsung joined the club. i don’t know what’s going on, but it’s like you don’t want to be around me anymore.”

taehyun looked away, his jaw tightening. you could see the conflict in his eyes, the silent struggle he was going through.

and then, for the first time in weeks, taehyun spoke, his voice low, barely above a whisper.

“maybe it’s because i’m... jealous.”

“what?” you asked, barely catching what you had just said.

taehyun stood up abruptly, his eyes avoiding yours. “nothing,” he muttered, grabbing his things in a hurry, clearly trying to escape the conversation.

“wait, no, what did you say?” you shot up from your seat, your voice rising before you could stop yourself.

he didn’t answer. instead, he walked quickly toward the exit, and you followed instinctively, unable to let it go.

“great,” you muttered under your breath, your frustration growing. “this is just like when i was fresh in the club—pushing me around, avoiding me for no reason.”

the librarian, who had been watching the interaction with a disapproving eye, shushed you sharply.

you froze, immediately feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. “sorry,” you muttered, but it was too late. the awkwardness lingered in the air.

once the librarian returned to their desk, you rolled your eyes, exasperated. you crossed your arms over your chest, watching taehyun's retreating figure. if this is how he wants it to be, then fine. let it be.

the next few days were a mess.

taehyun and you had completely slipped back into the routine of barely speaking. when you did exchange words, they were clipped, almost hostile. the small conversations you had during club meetings felt strained, like every word was carefully selected to avoid any real connection. and every time he looked at you, it felt like he was trying to pretend you didn’t exist, or worse, like you were the last person he wanted to see.

it was frustrating. maddening.

you would sit across from him in club meetings, pretending to be absorbed in your work, while the tension simmered between you. whenever you spoke, it was as if you had to hold back everything you wanted to say, every insult, every sharp retort that begged to be released.

one afternoon, during a club meeting, the silence between you two was thick enough to cut through. everyone was focused on the tasks at hand, but the second you exchanged a glance with taehyun, everything shifted. his eyes met yours for a brief moment, and you caught that look—the one that said he was done with you. done with whatever had been between you.

“hey, could you pass me the camera?” you asked, trying to sound casual as you reached for the equipment, hoping he wouldn’t refuse, hoping that maybe, just maybe, things could still be normal.

taehyun didn’t respond immediately, his gaze lingering on his phone for a moment too long. when he finally looked up, his expression was unreadable. “it’s right there,” he said, pointing toward the camera on the table without moving an inch.

you froze, your frustration boiling up. right there? you were clearly reaching for it, but instead of handing it over, he dismissed you like you weren’t even worth the effort.

“right,” you muttered under your breath, reaching for the camera yourself, the tension in your muscles growing with every second.

the rest of the meeting went on in a similarly tense silence. every word that came out of your mouth felt like it had to be calculated, as if he would pounce on any slight mistake. and sure enough, the moment you spoke again, taehyun was there, his comment sharp and cutting.

“maybe if you spent less time looking for drama, you’d actually get the work done right,” he remarked offhandedly, his tone mocking.

your blood boiled. “oh, sorry. i didn’t realize you were the authority on how to get things done,” you shot back, the sarcasm in your voice cutting deep.

“you’re always looking for a fight,” he muttered, not even bothering to look at you this time. “I’m just saying, focus on the project. it’s not like we have all day to babysit you.”

you clenched your fists, trying to hold back the urge to snap at him, but you couldn’t. not anymore. “you know, maybe i wouldn’t need babysitting if you weren’t always trying to make everything about yourself.”

taehyun’s head snapped toward you, his expression darkening. “what’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, his voice low, dangerous.

“it means everything you do is always about proving how much better you are than everyone else,” you said, standing up now, unable to keep your voice steady. “it’s always ‘taehyun this’ and ‘taehyun that.’”

he stood up as well, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. “maybe if you put in half the effort I do, you wouldn’t feel so left behind.”

your chest tightened. “left behind?” you repeated, incredulous. “you’ve been ignoring me on purpose, taehyun. don’t act like it’s about effort.”

“oh, so now i’m the villain?” taehyun sneered, taking a step toward you. “maybe you just don’t get it. you think this is high school, where we’re supposed to be in constant competition with each other, huh? well, newsflash, it’s not. I’m done trying to cater to your drama.”

your heart pounded in your chest, and the words slipped out before you could stop them. “maybe i’m just done with you. for good.”

taehyun paused, his eyes narrowing as he tried to process your words. “is that supposed to hurt? because it doesn’t.”

the coldness in his voice stung more than you cared to admit, but you refused to back down. “good. because i don’t care. go ahead, do your thing. you’re so good at it.”

“you think you know everything about me?” he sneered, stepping even closer now. “you don’t have a clue.”

“and i don’t want one,” you shot back, your voice a mix of anger and hurt. “you’re exhausting.”

you turned away, your hands shaking slightly, and you could feel the weight of his stare burning into your back. but you didn’t look back. you couldn’t.

the atmosphere was tense again at the next club meeting. the small banter you and taehyun had been sharing in the past few weeks was gone, replaced by the usual coldness. you were discussing a new project when taehyun made another unnecessary comment about your work. it was the same thing every time lately: he had to say something, anything, to get under your skin.

“you’re still overexposing the photos,” he said with a casual shrug, glancing at your camera settings.

“oh, really? thank you for the critique, taehyun,” you shot back, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “i didn’t realize i had an expert on photography sitting across from me.”

taehyun rolled his eyes, clearly annoyed. “i’m just trying to help, but if you want to keep messing up your settings, go ahead.”

“maybe i’ll just start messing up all the settings on purpose so you can feel better about yourself,” you muttered, not caring if he heard you.

“oh, please, you’re not that creative,” he snapped, leaning back in his chair. “if you actually put some thought into it, maybe you wouldn’t need me to fix everything.”

you narrowed your eyes, feeling the heat rise in your chest. “you know what, taehyun? i don’t need you for anything. i can handle it.”

“clearly,” taehyun said, raising an eyebrow and glancing at the camera in your hands. “it’s not like you’ve gotten anywhere without my help.”

beomgyu, who had been sitting quietly nearby, smirked at the scene unfolding before him. “wow, so much tension. you two should really just admit it and get it over with.”

“what?” you and taehyun both said in unison, clearly not expecting that response.

“admit what?” you asked, your tone dripping with confusion and irritation.

“that you’re both clearly interested in each other but are too stubborn to admit it,” beomgyu said with a smirk, leaning back in his chair as if he were just making an observation. “or is that just me?”

you and taehyun exchanged a sharp glance. “shut up, beomgyu,” you both muttered simultaneously.

“you know, you really should just get together already,” beomgyu teased, nudging yeonjun, who was seated next to him. “we can all tell there’s something between you two.”

yeonjun shrugged, his voice lighthearted. “yeah, it’s like watching a soap opera. seriously, just kiss already, save us the trouble.”

taehyun’s face turned red, and he stood up abruptly, his voice tight with frustration. “this is ridiculous.”

beomgyu snickered, clearly enjoying the chaos he was causing. “what’s the matter, taehyun? you don’t like being called out on your crush? or maybe you don’t want her to know how pathetic you are?”

you couldn’t help but scoff. “pathetic? really? you’ve got some nerve.”

beomgyu gave you a playful glance, then turned back to taehyun. “yeah, taehyun, i thought you were the perfect guy. but here you are, avoiding the obvious.”

“shut up, beomgyu!” taehyun snapped, his face flushed with embarrassment. “this has nothing to do with that.”

“well, i thought you got close to her?” soobin called from across the room, smirking as he overheard. “wasn't that the plan? thought you two were getting along.”

taehyun’s gaze flickered toward you, where you were showing jongsung some of the photos you took two days ago. he clenched his jaw, eyes narrowing. “yeah, well, that didn’t exactly work out, did it?”

you glanced up just in time to catch the look he was giving you, and the frustration boiled up inside you. “no, because you made it not work,” you muttered under your breath.

“looks like jongsung’s getting a lot of your attention now,” soobin teased, nodding towards you and jongsung, who were laughing over a photo you’d taken. “what happened, taehyun? was she just another project for you?”

taehyun didn’t respond, but his hands balled into fists as he stared at you. “you call me pathetic, when you are one?” beomgyu suddenly added, leaning over the table and addressing both of you. “seriously, all of you are a mess. if you two keep playing these games, you’ll just end up hurting each other more than you already have.”

taehyun opened his mouth, ready to snap something back at beomgyu, but he stopped himself. instead, he just muttered something incoherent under his breath and stormed out of the room, his footsteps echoing down the hall.

the rest of the group fell silent, unsure of how to respond. beomgyu looked at yeonjun, who shrugged nonchalantly, and then they both turned to you.

“well, that was fun,” yeonjun said, smirking. “i guess we’re just waiting for the drama to unfold now.”

you let out a frustrated sigh. “you guys have no idea what you're talking about.”

“really?” beomgyu raised an eyebrow. “because it’s obvious to everyone but you two.”

you glared at him, but instead of responding, you stood up, grabbed your camera, and left the room in silence. the last thing you needed was to be around anyone who thought they had all the answers. especially not when the one person who could make you feel like everything was normal again was making everything feel like a mess.

as you walked down the hallway, you couldn’t shake the feeling that taehyun was the one person who had the power to make you feel completely insane, and yet, you still couldn’t get him out of your head.

it was a rare moment of peace in the student lounge when you found yourself there, trying to unwind after a long day. the soft hum of the air conditioning and the low chatter of students around you seemed like a world away, and for the first time in days, you thought maybe things would settle. but fate had other plans.

as you walked over to the coffee pot, ready to grab the last bit of the warm brew, you saw him there—taehyun, standing by the counter. the same, infuriatingly perfect taehyun who seemed to be everywhere you went lately. you didn't think much of it at first, just a simple coincidence, right?

but when you reached for the handle at the same time, your fingers brushed his.

you froze. something in the air shifted, thick with the tension that had been simmering between you for weeks. he didn't pull back, but neither did you. there was a beat of silence, and then you both tugged at the pot, trying to claim it for yourselves.

“do you always have to be around when something’s mine?” you snapped, your grip tightening on the coffee pot, as if the act of holding it would somehow give you control over the situation.

taehyun's eyes narrowed, lips pressing into a thin line. he said nothing for a moment, just studying you, before he finally spoke, his voice calm but edged with irritation. “what are you talking about? it’s just coffee.”

“yeah, well, it seems like everything is just yours lately,” you shot back, sarcasm dripping from your voice as you glared at him. “coffee, the spotlight, the club meetings—you name it.”

he scoffed, rolling his eyes. “are you seriously starting this again? you’re still on about that? we’re not in high school anymore.”

you stepped closer, your voice low but heated. “oh, I know,” you bit out, staring up at him, “but for some reason, every time things seem to get fine between us, you just pull away, like i’m not even worth your time anymore.”

taehyun's jaw clenched, and for a moment, you thought he might just walk away, but he didn't. instead, he leaned in slightly, his voice sharper than before. “you’ve always been the one who thinks everything’s a competition, haven’t you?”

your heart thudded in your chest, the frustration building with every word. “you’re one to talk,” you hissed, not backing down. “what, did you think i wouldn’t notice how you’ve been acting? pretending like i don’t exist when jongsung shows up? making me feel like i’m the one doing something wrong when you’re the one who changed.”

“don’t make this about me,” he said, voice cutting through the air like a knife, harsh and final. “maybe i’m just tired of dealing with you. maybe it’s you who’s making everything harder than it needs to be.”

“me?” you laughed bitterly, feeling the sting of his words like a slap. “are you seriously blaming me right now? you’re the one who keeps pushing me away every time we get close. every time Ii think we might actually be friends, you act like i’m nothing.”

taehyun's exhale was sharp, his hand rubbing his temples like he was trying to ward off a headache. "it’s not about you. i never said you were nothing. just... forget it, alright?"

“forget it?” you stared at him, wide-eyed in disbelief. “do you hear yourself right now? you can’t just forget this. i’m not some passing thing for you to get over whenever you feel like it.”

his eyes flickered with something—was it guilt? regret? but then it was gone, replaced by that same hard, unreadable expression. “you’re impossible,” he muttered, voice low. “you never listen, always making everything into a bigger deal than it actually is.”

you felt your anger rise like a fire in your chest, the frustration boiling over. “you think I’m impossible? you’ve been shutting me out for weeks. so tell me—what is it, taehyun? are you mad because i’m spending time with jongsung? or is it something else?”

taehyun’s gaze darkened, and he took a step toward you, his presence suddenly overwhelming, dangerous even. “maybe I am mad,” he said, his voice rising now, each word coming out like a punch. “maybe I am jealous, okay? jealous of how easy it is for him to get close to you while i’m stuck pretending i don’t care.”

the silence that followed was deafening. the words hung in the air, thick and heavy.

“jealous?” you repeated, the laugh that escaped your lips was bitter, almost hollow. “you’re jealous? that’s why you’ve been acting like a jerk? are you seriously telling me that after all this time?”

taehyun’s face hardened, his eyes flashing with something raw. “yeah, that’s exactly what i’m saying. but you wouldn’t understand, would you?”

the sting of his words hit you harder than you expected. it was like a punch to the gut, making your breath catch in your throat. “so, this is how it ends, huh?” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “we’re back to being enemies again.”

taehyun’s expression faltered for a moment, the walls he’d built up around himself cracking just slightly. he ran a hand through his hair, exhaling deeply, looking almost defeated. “maybe. maybe this is just how it’s supposed to be.”

you swallowed hard, trying to ignore the tightness in your chest, the overwhelming weight of his words. shaking your head, you scoffed bitterly. “fine. if that’s what you want, taehyun. I can’t keep pretending everything’s fine when it’s not.”

without waiting for his response, you turned on your heel, the sound of your footsteps echoing through the quiet lounge. each step felt like it was pulling you farther away from him—farther away from the mess you had both created. and yet, as you walked out of the room, the unspoken words between you felt like a knot in your throat, a weight that wouldn’t lift, no matter how far you went.

the tension in soobin’s room was palpable, like an invisible force pressing down on everyone. the soft hum of the television was the only sound that filled the space, but even that felt like an afterthought in the midst of the conversation.

“you're literally out of your mind,” beomgyu said, staring at taehyun like he'd just confessed to committing a crime. his voice was full of disbelief, the kind of tone you’d use to scold someone who’d done something completely irrational.

“you fucking idiot, you really said that?” yeonjun chimed in, shaking his head, his expression somewhere between annoyance and amusement. he was slouched across soobin’s bed, his arms crossed as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

soobin, who had been quieter than usual, finally spoke up, his voice tinged with an odd mix of sympathy and exasperation. “she's got a point for calling you a jerk.”

taehyun shifted uncomfortably, his eyes on the floor, unable to meet anyone’s gaze. the shame from the argument earlier that day was still fresh on him. but it wasn’t just that. there was a gnawing frustration, a feeling that he’d screwed up in a way that was far worse than any of them could understand. “yeah, well, i didn't mean to... it just... happened,” he muttered, sounding like he was trying to justify his actions, but knowing deep down that there was no excuse for how he'd handled things.

beomgyu, ever the blunt one, added, “you are so great when it comes to giving us advice, yet you messed up yours.” his tone was teasing, but there was a bite to it, like he was calling out taehyun for being the only one who couldn’t take his own damn advice.

taehyun ran a hand through his hair, frustration mounting. he sank into the chair by soobin’s desk, ignoring the way his friends were looking at him like he was an idiot. “i don’t know what happened,” he admitted, his voice quieter this time, almost to himself. “it’s just... she gets under my skin. i thought i could figure it out, but when I’m around her... everything just feels wrong. i don’t know how to make it right.”

the silence in the room grew heavier. soobin watched him for a moment before speaking, his usual calm demeanor now tinged with something else, something more serious. “you messed up big time, tyun,” he said softly. “but the thing is, you're not the only one who's made a mess of things. you’ve been too busy trying to play the role of the perfect guy—while you’ve been pushing her away. you can’t fix things if you don’t admit that you messed up.”

beomgyu snorted, “honestly, it’s like you’ve been waiting for someone to just shove a mirror in front of your face and make you see what you’ve been doing.”

taehyun froze. the words hit him harder than expected. that was exactly it. everything about you—your voice, your laugh, the way you challenged him, the way you got so damn close without even realizing it—it made him nervous in a way he couldn’t explain. but it wasn’t just nerves. it was this all-consuming feeling that made it impossible to ignore anymore.

he had tried to push you away, to bury the way you made his heart race when you were near. the way your scent lingered in his mind long after you left. the way you made him feel like a damn fool just because you existed.

“fuck,” he muttered, running his hands over his face. “i don’t know what to do with myself anymore.”

yeonjun shrugged, looking at him with a mixture of amusement and sympathy. “maybe the first step is actually telling her how you feel. you never know—she might feel the same way. but you’re never going to know if you keep pretending everything’s fine when it’s not.”

taehyun let out a frustrated sigh. “yeah, well, it’s not that simple.”

soobin’s voice cut through the tension like a knife. “maybe it’s not. but you’ll never get anywhere if you keep hiding behind all this... bullshit.” his eyes met taehyun’s, steady and unwavering. “just go talk to her, hyun. don’t let this be the thing you regret.”

taehyun slumped back in his chair, his thoughts swirling in a thousand different directions. how had everything gotten so complicated? why had he let it get this far?

he could feel his heart pounding in his chest. you were more than just a rival now—you were someone who made him feel things he couldn’t control. and he didn’t know what that meant, or what he was supposed to do about it, but he couldn’t keep running from it anymore.

“god, i’m an idiot,” he whispered to himself, the weight of his own words sinking in.

the days following taehyun’s breakdown were tense, to say the least. the atmosphere between him and you was thick with unspoken words, neither of you willing to take the first step. taehyun spent his time in a haze, going through the motions of class and meetings, but the weight of what he had said to you—the hurt in your eyes when he walked away—lingered like a bruise he couldn’t escape. every time he saw you, it felt like a reminder of how badly he’d screwed things up.

the student lounge, where everything had started, became a place he couldn’t bear to visit. every corner of the campus reminded him of the argument, the way you’d walked away, and the silence that followed. he couldn’t stand it.

but despite the tension, taehyun couldn’t bring himself to fix things. not yet. because to fix it, he’d have to admit something to himself that he wasn’t ready for. he had to admit that he liked you. more than just as a rival, more than as someone he wanted to beat or outshine. you had gotten under his skin in a way no one else ever had. you had made him nervous, made him feel things he couldn’t control. and that scared him more than he cared to admit.

meanwhile, you had thrown yourself into your work. school, student council meetings, and spending time with your friends were your distractions. but no matter how hard you tried to ignore it, the thought of taehyun kept creeping into your mind. his words—his confession of jealousy—kept replaying in your head, over and over. you didn’t want to believe it, but deep down, you knew. something was off between the two of you, and the longer you ignored it, the worse it became. you tried to push it away, but you knew there was only so much you could do before you would have to face it. face him.

it wasn’t until another council meeting that things finally came to a head.

the room was quieter than usual as the group discussed the upcoming project. taehyun sat across from you, his eyes flicking between the papers in front of him and you. it was impossible not to feel the tension between the two of you, even with beomgyu and yeonjun sitting beside him, laughing and chatting like everything was normal. but nothing felt normal. not anymore.

you could feel taehyun’s gaze on you, but you refused to look up. not yet. not until you were ready. you couldn’t help but think of how everything had gotten so complicated between the two of you. what had started as a simple rivalry had turned into something far messier than either of you had expected.

when the meeting ended, everyone started to pack up their things. taehyun lingered by the door, his eyes still on you. his jaw was tense, his lips pressed into a thin line as he tried to figure out how to approach you without sounding like an idiot.

you glanced up, catching his gaze for the briefest moment before quickly looking away. your heart was pounding in your chest, but you forced yourself to stay calm. you couldn’t let him see how much he still affected you. not now.

“so,” taehyun began, his voice quiet but firm. “we need to talk.”

you stiffened, your body going rigid at his words. you knew this conversation was coming, but you hadn’t expected it to be so soon. or maybe you had hoped it wouldn’t come at all. because deep down, you were scared. scared that the things you had been ignoring for so long would finally come to light and shatter everything.

you didn’t say anything at first, just nodded curtly and stood up from your seat. “we don’t have to talk. we’ve been through this already, taehyun.”

his brow furrowed, the frustration evident in his expression. “no. not like this. not like before. i—”

“you what?” you cut him off, finally meeting his gaze. your voice was sharp, but there was a tremor in it that betrayed your emotions. “you messed up, taehyun. you pushed me away when you should’ve said something. when you should’ve just... been honest.”

the words hung heavy in the air. you could see him struggling, his fingers twitching like he was trying to hold onto something, to make this right.

“yeah, I know,” he said, his voice low. “i know i messed up. but it’s not that simple. i didn’t... i didn’t mean for it to happen this way. i didn’t mean to push you away.”

you laughed bitterly, the sound escaping before you could stop it. “but you did. you’ve been doing it for weeks, taehyun. every time i thought we might actually get somewhere, you shut me out. and for what? because i spent time with jongsung?”

he flinched, and you saw the regret flicker in his eyes. “no, it’s not just that,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “it’s because every time you’re around, i... i get so damn nervous. it’s like everything about you drives me crazy in a way i can’t explain. I didn’t want to admit it, but i can’t keep pretending it’s not there.”

you stared at him, your heart hammering in your chest. this was it. the truth you had been waiting to hear. but now that it was out in the open, you didn’t know how to respond. it was too much. too much to process all at once.

“you’re... you’re saying this now?” you asked, your voice breaking.

he nodded, taking a tentative step toward you. “yeah. i’ve been an idiot. i shouldn’t have pushed you away. i should’ve said something sooner. i just didn’t know how. i didn’t know how to handle it.”

there was a long silence between you two, a moment where neither of you knew what to do next. the world seemed to slow down, and everything else—the noise from outside the room, the bustling hallways—faded into the background. it was just the two of you, standing there in this charged space, both of you tangled up in feelings you didn’t know how to untangle.

finally, you broke the silence. “so, what now?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

taehyun’s gaze softened, and for the first time in weeks, there was a hint of vulnerability in his eyes. “i don’t know,” he admitted. “but i want to try. i want to fix this. i don’t want to keep pretending like everything’s fine when it’s not.”

you took a deep breath, your heart still racing as you considered his words. you had been so angry, so frustrated with him. but maybe, just maybe, this was the first step toward something better. something real.

“maybe we can start by being honest with each other,” you said softly, your voice trembling slightly. ”no more games. no more pretending. just... the truth.”

taehyun nodded, a small, uncertain smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “yeah. that sounds good.”

but even as the words hung in the air, both of you knew that this wasn’t the end. not yet. the tension between you still simmered, the unresolved feelings still swirling in the space between you. but there was a shift. something had changed.

and in that moment, as taehyun took another step closer, his gaze locking with yours, you both realized that this wasn’t the easy solution. it wasn’t the perfect ending. but it was a start. a start to something neither of you had expected.

the future was uncertain, and there were still so many things left unsaid. but as you stood there, facing each other, you knew one thing for sure: you weren’t finished with each other yet. and maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

the world outside the room continued to move, but for now, it didn’t matter. all that mattered was what happened next. what you and taehyun would do with the truth you had finally found.

and in the end, maybe that was the only thing you could control. the next step.

but where it would lead? neither of you knew.

“so…” you started, voice teasing, knowing exactly what you were doing to him. “you like me? like that much it makes you nervous?”

taehyun froze for a second, his eyes widening before he quickly caught himself. a soft laugh escaped his lips, but his eyes betrayed him—there was something deeper there, something that hadn’t changed, no matter how much time had passed.

“seriously?” he muttered, shaking his head in mock disbelief. “now of all times?”

you raised an eyebrow, taking a playful step closer. “oh, c’mon. you can’t expect me not to say it. after all these years… still makes you nervous, huh?”

taehyun leaned against the bar, eyes momentarily darting to the side before meeting your gaze again. “what do you want me to say? that you’re right?” his voice was light, but there was an undertone of something more—something familiar. something between you both that still hadn’t quite gone away.

you grinned, arms crossed. “honestly? yeah, i do. i mean, we’re not exactly strangers anymore. i think you can admit it now, don’t you?” you whispered, flashing the small diamond ring in your finger.

he rolled his eyes but couldn't stop the smile tugging at his lips. “you’re insufferable, you know that?” he teased, the sarcasm not hiding the affection in his tone. “always making me feel like i’m still that guy from way back when.”

“and you’re still the same guy i thought was impossible to talk to. but hey, look at us now,” you said with a smile, stepping in just a bit closer. “you’re nervous, but you’re not running away. progress, huh?”

taehyun let out a low, defeated laugh, shaking his head again. “guess so. but don’t think i’m letting you win this one.”

“win? i thought we were past that.” you couldn’t hide the playful grin spreading across your face. “unless... you're saying you don’t still get nervous around me?”

taehyun’s gaze softened. “i never said that,” he admitted quietly, his voice lower now, more genuine. “i guess... i guess some things never change, huh?”

you felt your heart skip a beat at the shift in his tone. you weren’t sure where this new side of taehyun had come from, but you couldn’t deny how much you liked it. how much you liked him.

“maybe some things,” you said softly, meeting his gaze fully. “but i think we’re better now. less about the games and more about... figuring things out.”

taehyun leaned in just slightly, his voice almost a whisper. “yeah, maybe. you were right about one thing, though.”

you tilted your head, waiting for him to continue.

“you’ve definitely made me more nervous. more than i’d like to admit,” he said, the corners of his mouth lifting into a crooked smile.

before you could respond, yeonjun, ever the interrupter, appeared beside you, clapping a hand on taehyun’s shoulder.

“taehyun! stop avoiding me, man!” yeonjun grinned, clearly enjoying the moment.

you chuckled and pulled away, but not before giving taehyun a soft nudge. “guess i’ll leave you to your adoring kittens,” you teased, your voice playful. “i’ll just be with hana for a while,” you whispers planting a soft kiss on his cheeks.

taehyun returned to the table with the guys, his footsteps light but his mind still lingering on you. you were out chatting with some of the alumni club members, and for a brief moment, everything felt easy again. but then, the lights in the venue dimmed, the hum of conversation dying down into a quiet murmur. there was a noticeable shift in the air, the kind of tension that came just before something unforgettable was about to happen.

a scoff echoed from the stage, and the boys at the table exchanged knowing glances. they knew that sound all too well.

“he's really singing tonight?” soobin asked, eyebrows raised in disbelief.

“what do we expect with our popstar,” yeonjun added with a laugh, leaning back in his chair, clearly amused by the sudden attention drawn to the stage.

meanwhile, hueningkai sat behind a guitar on the stage, his hands resting lightly on the instrument. he took a deep breath, steadying himself before he began to tune the strings. his gaze swept across the venue, his eyes searching the crowd for something, or rather, someone. when his eyes finally landed on you, there it was—the smile that never quite left his face whenever he saw you.

his fingers began to move on their own, slowly strumming the first notes of the song. as the melody registered in his ears, the memories came flooding back, just like they always did whenever he played this song. it was like a time machine—one strum of the guitar, and he was transported back to a moment, a memory that had been tucked away for so long.

gyo's note: finally, i’ve managed to post the taehyun update for the alumni homecoming. phew, schoolwork and hospital paperwork have been nonstop lately (yes, i’m a student nurse hehe). hopefully, once our finals and grand case presentation are done, i can get back to regular posting. i’ll also try to start writing the series i’ve been planning for yeonjun and soobin. stay tuned, okay? thank you for always waiting patiently. if you made it to this part, thank you so much for reading. you will be loved, xoxo!

✮ 2024 gyorouis, all rights reserved.

[sturniolocafe]

star shopping

summary: making music has been chris' passion for years, but is that passion enough to keep you to stay? (based off star shopping by lil peep) pairing: rapper!chris x feminine!reader warnings: angst, talks of depression, weed use, arguing a note from lilah 𐙚: hey so i'm sorry for this. (lowercase intended!)

chris sighed, throwing a green celtics cap over his hair and sliding on his sneakers. he knew you were going to have something to say about this, but right now, he couldn’t risk the loss of this new beat. he’d been hitting a wall with making his beats fit his lyrics for weeks now, hence why he was getting ready to go meet with his producer at 11:30 pm, spurred on by the “dude, i swear to god i just hit the fucking jackpot” text.

you raised your brows as you stepped out of the bathroom, towel on your head and plush robe wrapped around your body. “where are you going?” you asked, watching as chris grabbed his wallet and keys. 

“they need me in the studio,” he mumbled. “i’ll be back in the morning.”

“whatever.” you hummed coolly, brushing past your boyfriend (if you could even call him that) to get to your vanity. 

“c’mon baby, don’t be mad. this is the one.” chris insisted, trying to smooth things over. 

“i’m not mad,” you said flatly, smoothing your moisturizer over your skin. “just go. i’ll probably be gone for work when you get back, so i’ll see you tomorrow evening.”

“baby,” chris practically begged, standing near your vanity, but not in your space so he didn’t upset you. “i know i fuck up. i know that i haven’t been a good boyfriend lately. i know you probably don’t want to end up with me, but i love you. you are so much more than gorgeous to me. i want to be with you for the rest of my life. please don’t doubt how much i love you.”

“chris, not tonight. just go.”

“i know i’m not worth your time right now; trust me, i know that. but i also know that i can work on it if you give me time. i can make this album and then we’ll be set, baby, i swear. just let me work on it.”

“you’ve been saying that.” you pointed out, trying to swallow the lump in your throat at the brunette’s words. 

“you’re losing your patience, and i don’t blame you.”

“chris!” you sighed, unintentionally slamming your eye cream down on the vanity. “i’ve been waiting for you to work on it for over two years. two whole rotations around the sun. i believe in you and i believe in your art, but i feel like i’m waiting for something that won’t come. it’s not paying our bills!

chris bit his lip, knowing you had a point. art couldn’t be rushed, but he had been in the process of writing this album for over two years, all while you single handedly paid the bills. the only time that the two of you truly had a connection was when you had sex. you’d look into chris’ deep blue eyes, allowing your hormones to take over and make you feel like maybe everything was okay, despite the fact that you two only had about one true conversation per week. 

“i know.” he mumbled quietly. 

“maybe,” your voice trembled as you began to argue. “maybe my friends are right. maybe i should break up with you. i can’t keep doing this, chris. i’ve worked my ass off to make sure we’re taken care of, and the way you pay me back is by leaving at almost midnight? seriously?”

“ma, you know i’m gonna make it happen one day,” chris pleaded. “as soon as this album comes out, i’m taking you overseas. we’ll go wherever you want, baby. we can smoke and stay in luxury hotels and-” chris was cut off when you interrupted him. 

“that’s what you want, chris. not me. i don’t give a fuck about weed or being overseas. all i want is for this, for us, to be a partnership.” you said, tears rolling down your cheeks. 

for some reason, despite what your instincts were telling you, you didn’t protest when chris pulled you into a hug, burying his nose in your freshly washed hair. “i’m sorry, baby. i know i’m nothing like what you or your family or anyone else wants me to be. but at the end of the day, i would give up my life for you. you’ve given up yours for me. you’ve taken care of me during my bad days, you’ve supported me through everything. i understand if you don’t want to anymore.”

“chris…” you croaked out, voice thick with tears. “i love you, i do love you. i just…miss you. i feel like you’re never home. i miss us.”

the brunette felt like he’d just received a blow to the gut. how could he have been so caught up in some dumb album that he had ignored the most important thing in his life? “i know, baby. i am so, so sorry. i…” chris pulled out his phone, fingers flying over the screen, before he shoved the device back into his pocket. “i’m yours for the rest of the night. shoutout to everyone making my beats, but you’re more important. music’s what helped me when i fell to pieces, so now it’s my turn to do that for you.”

you simply nodded into his chest, not quite forgiving him, but not having the chance to argue anymore either. you didn’t even protest under chris grabbed your hips, lifting you off the vanity stool and carrying you to the door that led from your master bedroom to the balcony of your chicago apartment. like any large city, lights were still aglow on the tall skyscrapers and traffic honked below you, but by some miracle, you could faintly see the stars in the velvety blue nighttime sky.  

“all of those stars have a reason they’re here,” chris mumbled. “i hope i find that reason for me…for us.”

you hummed quietly against in his chest in your robe. things weren’t okay right now, they probably wouldn’t be for a long time, but you were too exhausted to argue. you knew chris loved you, you knew you loved him, but you also knew that you couldn’t spend the rest of your life waiting around for what he might do. 

a/n: yeoWCH....thank you for reading bbys!

[katiascraft]

“26” | CL16 ᡣ𐭩.ᐟ

Parings: charles leclerc x ex!singer!reader

Summary: the world didn’t know you and Charles broke up a few months ago. it was until you haven’t been to any gp people started speculating. he finds some one new. Makes his dream com true. And you write an album about him reveling how you broke up and why.

“If it doesn’t go away by the time I’m 30 then I made a mistake and I’ll tell you I’m sorry”

Now playing: “21” by Gracie Abrams.

warnings: smau and that’s it tbh :)

author’s note: idk if this makes sense but I hope it does lol. Don’t forget to like, comment or reblog! And follow me so we can be friends :3 (and drink mate together!)

MASTERLIST

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yourusername made a post

liked by yourbff, taylorswift, shawnmendes, and 1,345,789 others

yourusername: guess it’s just me, myself and music 🐰 (new tunes coming soon)

view more comments

user89: queeennnn can’t wait!!!

charlesmylove: why isn’t charles liking y/n stuff anymore 😭

↳ user976: RIGHT that’s what I’ve noticed

↳ user435: girl don’t start being delusional prob Charles doesn’t use social media

↳ user21: I have the feeling they broke up

sabrinacarpenter: they are not ready for what’s coming 🤓

↳ yourusername: 🤫

shawnmendes: gonna be album of the year

lilyhme: prettiest girl in town now can be mine 💍

↳ yourusername: yours forever my love 💍

↳ charlesstan: WHAT DO YOU MEAN NOW WHAT

↳ user0923: guess she knows things we don’t

↳ y/nxtaylor: spill the tea sis 😭

↳ alexalbon: why you always wanna date your friends???

↳ lilymhe: they’re pretty

↳ alexalbon: and I’m not??? I AM YOUR BOYFRIEND

↳ georgerussel: love watching drama 🍿

↳ y/nstan: WHAT DO YOU KNOW?!

── .✦

#charles and #y/n are trending on twitter

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f1gossipofficial made a post

liked by user57, user1, y/nstan, charlesiloveu and others.

f1gossipofficial: rumors has it that our fave couple on the grid isn’t couple anymore! 💔 Ferrari driver Charles Leclerc was seen out and about with a mistery girl. The source confirmed it wasn’t y/n. Y/n was seen arriving to New York last Monday. The fan that met her told us she said in a conversation she’s been living there since last year! Guess they broken up late last year and kept it a secret! What do we thing about all of this????

view more comments

user34: WHAT THIS IS THE WORST DAY OF MY LIFE THEY LOOKED LIKE END GAME 😭😭😭

charlesstan: I’m dead

user975: tbh I didn’t like her for him

y/nstan: I liked Charles sm this is so sad

user0863: now I need y/n new music I NEED TO KNOW

user87: new music coming >>>> new break up song about Charles 😭

usrr12: who is that mistery girl? We need a further investigation

��� f1gossipofficial: on it baby 🕵️

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yourusername uploaded a story

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charlesleclerc uploaded a story

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charlesleclerc made a post

liked by user572, yourusername, carlossainz55 and others.

charlesleclerc: WE FINALLY MADE IT! I won my home gp for the first time, wow! Thank you everyone, ferrari, the fans. Everyone. This was my dream and I can’t believe this is actually reality. So thrilled! This is for you dad, wish you were here to see it. Let’s celebrate and then focus on the next race! 💪🏻

view more comments

user86: he is so proud of you I promise 😭😭😭

charstan: congrats prince!! ✨

y/nstan: why is my woman on the likes ????

↳ user32: THATS WHAT I THOUGHT FIRST INTERACTION IN QLMOST A YEAR

carlossainz55: congrats hermano !!!!

landonorris: what a race mate!

lewishamilton: finally!! 👑

user678: so happy for you charlieeeee

arthurleclerc: ❤️❤️❤️

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you text your producer and best friend

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yourusername made a post

liked by user679, yourbff, sabrinacarpenter, charlesleclerc and 1,432,568 others

yourusername: here to finally tell you that my first single “26” for my next album is out!!! Made this album from the deep end of my heart. Hope you like it as much as I love it (and help me get through). link in bio 🧸

view more comments

yourbff: the most beautiful and saddest song I’ve ever heard 😭

lilymhe: GIRL I’m sobbing wtf

user256: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

User998: she really said let’s spill the tea

↳ user895: but i never thought it would be LIKE THIS 😭

landonorris: congrats @/yourusername !! On repeat for the rest of the month at least

↳ georgerussel: babygirl

georgerussel: thanks for the tea y/n! Beautiful song from a beautiful soul ❤️ we miss you

↳ yourusername: I miss you too 💔

↳ carlossainz55: wish you could come back some time again :(

shawnmendes: I cried I sobbed I screamed I died

sabrinacarpenter: the best artist of all time iloveu bestie ❤️‍🩹

User673: CHARLES LIKED 😭😭😭😭

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── .✦ FIN

Hope you liked it guys 💌 if you have any ideas my inbox is open so send your requests!