#and a few weeks later i messaged them to say it was still stuck in my head

[insidekatmind]

The other woman~Jude Bellingham

Wearning: +18,smut, angst,cheating.

Request: yes!

It all started as a game, a way to have fun without complications. Jude had been your friend for years, but for a few months, your friendship had taken a different turn. No promises, no strings attached. Just the pleasure of being together when you both felt like it.

Yet, things were no longer that simple.

You’re sitting on a black leather couch in an exclusive club in Madrid, a glass of wine between your fingers. The place is crowded, the music vibrating in the air, but your attention is fixed on them. Jude and Ashlyn.

She laughs, leaning on his arm, her sparkling eyes fixed only on him. Jude smiles at her, whispers something in her ear, and you feel an inexplicable pang in your stomach.

"You’re torturing yourself," Maya, your best friend, says, casting you an inquisitive look.

"I’m not doing anything," you reply, bringing the glass to your lips.

"Yeah, except staring at him like you’re about to rip him from her arms with just the force of your thoughts."

You grimace. "He’s free to be with whoever he wants."

Maya sighs. "And you? You’re free to be with whoever you want, but you’re not. Have you ever wondered why?"

You avoid her question and look away from Jude, but it’s too late. His eyes meet yours. His smile fades for a moment, as if he’s sensed your discomfort. Then Ashlyn pulls him back to her, and he turns, leaving you with a sense of emptiness.

Later, as you’re heading home, you feel your phone vibrate. It’s a message from Jude.

"Wait for me outside. I’m coming."

Your heart races, but you pretend not to care. It doesn’t take long for him to arrive in his black car, the window rolled down.

"Get in," he says, with that voice that makes you tremble inside.

You bite your lip, then obey. There’s a heavy silence in the car.

"What happened earlier?" you ask, crossing your arms.

He clenches his jaw. "You should tell me. You seemed... different."

You huff. "Why? Because you were looking at me while you were with her?"

Jude parks the car on the side of the road, then turns to you. "Because I can’t help but look at you."

Your breath catches in your throat. "Jude, you shouldn’t say these things."

He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. "Then tell me it doesn’t mean anything. Tell me we can keep doing what we’re doing without anyone getting hurt."

You feel a lump tighten in your throat. "I can’t say that."

His gaze softens. "I knew it."

Weeks pass, and every moment with him becomes more intense, harder to ignore. But he’s still with Ashlyn, and you’re stuck in limbo.

One evening, while you’re in his apartment, you confront him.

"Jude, tell me the truth. What do you want from me?"

He looks at you for a long moment, then moves closer, brushing your face with his fingers. "I want you. I’ve always wanted you. But I’m afraid of ruining everything."

You hold your breath. "And what about Ashlyn?"

He lowers his gaze. "It’s not right for her. I know. But I’m afraid to admit what I feel for you."

You pull away, shaking your head. "You have to choose, Jude. Because I don’t want to be the hidden option in the shadows anymore."

Silence. Then, finally, a whisper.

"I choose you."

And this time, when he kisses you, it’s no longer a game. It’s real.

You return the kiss passionately, straddling him. Jude moans into the kiss, his hands gripping your hips tightly.

"God, I've wanted you for so long..." he murmurs, his lips moving to your neck.

You feel a shiver down your spine as his tongue trails over your skin, his touch igniting a fire within you. You kiss him hungrily, your hands exploring his abs over his shirt.

"Jude..." you gasp, your body pressed against his, "I want you so much."He groans, pulling you even closer, his body pressed against yours.

"You have no idea how badly I want you," he murmurs, his voice hoarse with desire. "I've been trying to resist, but it's impossible when you're like this."

He kisses you again, his lips hot and demanding, his tongue teasing yours.With trembling hands, you begin to unbutton his shirt, wanting to feel his skin against yours. Jude helps you, eagerly discarding the fabric and revealing his toned chest. You run your fingers over his abs, relishing in the way his muscles flex beneath your touch.

His hands grip your thighs, his fingers digging into your flesh as he pulls you even closer. He kisses your jawline, then your earlobe, his breath hot against your ear.

"I can't get enough of you," he whispers, his voice ragged with desire. "I've tried to deny it, but I can't anymore. I need you."You tangle your fingers in his hair as he kisses your collarbone, his lips leaving a trail of fire on your skin. You arch your back, pressing yourself against him, your body trembling with need.

"Jude, please," you gasp, "Take me."

You and Jude quickly undressed and then let him enter you while you held on to the car seat behind him. Jude groans and buries his head in the middle of your breast. “Always so tight,” he moaned.

You started riding him while moaning. "So big" you muttered and Jude squeezed your ass as he helped you ride him. "That's right, take it like this" Jude moaned. With every movement, waves of pleasure wash over you, making your body tingle all over. You look at him, seeing the desire in his eyes, how he bites his lip as he watches you ride him.

You look at him with pure desire and kiss him. His fingers dig into your hips, guiding your movements, as he kisses you back hungrily. He breaks the kiss and looks at you, his gaze full of intensity.

"You drive me crazy," he says, his voice low and rough. "No one else has ever made me feel like this."

“Mine” you moaned riding him while sucking his lip.

"All yours" he agrees, his hands gripping your waist tightly. "Only yours."

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, kissing and nipping at your skin as you move against him.

"I don't want anyone else," he growls, his tone possessive. "You're mine."It's as if a fire is burning within you, each touch and movement bringing you closer to the edge. Your moans fill the car, blending with Jude's deep, guttural sounds.You move frantically, seeking release. You're so close, your body quivering with anticipation. "Don't stop" you pant, your forehead pressed against his.

He growls in response, his grip on you tightening. "I won't," he promises, his eyes never leaving yours. "I'm right here with you."Your breath hitches as you feel the heat building, your body on the brink of exploding. "That's it, let go" he coaxes, his voice a rough whisper. "Come for me."

And then it hits you, a wave of pleasure more intense than anything you've ever experienced washes over you, stars exploding behind your closed eyes. You cling to him more.Jude holds you close, his own release following close behind. His arms tighten around you, his face buried in your shoulder. For a moment, everything feels so real, so perfect. But as the echoes of pleasure fade, reality comes crashing back in.After catching your breath, you disentangle yourselves, pulling on clothes in silence. Jude looks out the window, avoiding your gaze. The silence is heavy, laden with unspoken words and uncertain feelings.

You break the silence first. "What now?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jude runs a hand through his hair, still not looking at you. "I don't know," he mutters."Is this just a fling for you?" you press on, needing to know where you stand.

He hesitates, his expression conflicted. "It's more than that," he admits. "But... I can't just leave Ashlyn."

A weight settles in your chest, the familiar ache of being someone's secret.“You said you chose me,” you whispered hurt.

Jude's shoulders sag, the guilt evident in his face. "I did choose you," he reiterates, his voice heavy with conflicting emotions. "But it's not as simple as just walking away from her. There's history, there's loyalty... and... I don't want to hurt her."You get up from him and get dressed quickly. "So you hurt me" you said and unlock the car. "I don't deserve this" you say getting out of the car.

Jude follows you, his face a mix of remorse and desperation. "Wait, please." He grabs your arm, holding you back. "You know I don't want to hurt you. It's just... complicated."

"No, I'm tired. You don't want to choose and I'm done being second choice," you muttered and walked away.

[bunny-jpeg]

small military things - 141

"what is the comfort item the men of task force 141 keep close to remind them of the most important thing in their life, you." - starring: john price, simon riley, kyle garrick and john mactavish

a/n: was this inspired? yes. inspired by what? you can probably guess..

captain john price: call him an old romantic, but he keeps a photo of you in his helmet. tucked away in the straps, out of sight but still in his mind. you were always n his mind, while he laid in the uncomfortable cot, he thought about your sugary voice and the sweetness between your legs. he thought of home, how you were probably tucked away in bed. while he wasn't there to protect you, he knew that he was keeping the world safe and therefore you safe. the love of his life! it was of you smiling, that time you went to the zoo and the keeper put a large snake across your shoulders. you were laughing, a reminder to price that he had to do everything he could to keep the laughter coming. seeing that beautiful smile. but it also burned something fierce in the captain, a need for his missus. just make sure to send another printed out picture of you in your next care package because his other one, well, got a ruined.

lieutenant simon riley: he gifted you patches from his military gear. they were old, frayed at the edges. a sign of well worn material. he didn't need to wear "riley" across his chest anymore while on base. but you, you were the mrs. riley! if anyone should have it, it was you. and in return you gifted him a small bear plush. officer bear was the name that you gave it, even though simon explained that officer wasn't a very high rank, but he still took the toy. he never owned stuffed animals, the ones in his home were yours. but officer bear was a nice comfort item on base. he stayed there when simon left for a mission (safer that way). however, simon had to put the stuffed toy in the closet while he masturbated. but he did touch himself to thoughts of you cuddled up with the plush toy once he came home, the brown bear's soft head stuck between your breasts while you cuddled with it. soon simon thought about his big head between your soft breasts. how many more days was it till lt. riley and officer bear got to go home to the missus?

sergeant kyle garrick: he would say his little military thing was that he slept with your old university hoodie as a pillow case when he was on base. the worn fabric, the wear and tear around the cuffs of the sleeves from how well loved it had been. the brick red coloured fabric up against his cheek while he slept - memories of you. however, he had another article of clothing that he kept in his tactical vest. it wasn't from university, but rather your wedding night - thin cotton panties that you wore on your wedding night. pastel blue that held precious memories of the lovely, stunning mrs. garrick. however it was hard to clean when 141 does their laundry, everything is put together, so it was rather up against his face rather than around his cock when he gets a few quiet of moments for stress relief.

sergeant john mactavish: things have moved a long way since the second world war, now john can simply text you, every little thought that comes into his mind. some days he cannot text; trainings, missions, flights, etc. but when he got his phone back, the cracked screen with the flimsy scotland themed case (that you bought him), he was texting you. maybe some of those messages would make the likes of price look away out of modesty, but for the most part john behaved. but you had woken up to hi waxing poetically about how much he wanted to eat you out when he got home - only weeks till he got to have the sweetest fruit of the highlands once more. - he wanted to eat you out. he always tried to egg you on to tease him i situations where he couldn't jerk off. he loved the rush of your dirty talk over text! and he could save it for later, your dirty text continued to be the subject of his sexual fantasies after he retired and got to have your sweet pussy every night.

[maxlarens]

hi lilli!! i heard angst and i came running, how about searching for each other in crowded rooms, finding each other everywhere with logan or oscar, whoever sparks the most inspo, but plot twist—not being able to be together for some reason (the why is totally up to you, feel free to ignore if this isn't your cup of tea). thank u thank u <3

kait!!! hello!!! thank u for sending this in!!! im gonna do oscar 😁 it genuinely hurt my feelings SO BADLY to not have them make up at the end of this. so i sympathise with everyone that im about to make sad it was a bad time for me too❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

It's familiar, this feeling.

The squeeze of your chest, the grieving, panicking thing climbing up your throat. You've been feeling it a lot lately, every time you catch a glimpse of someone with hair the same colour as Oscar's; wearing clothes you swear that he has; a person with the same shoulders, the same gait.

You've been seeing him everywhere. You just think you have. Monaco is small… not that small apparently.

When it had first happened, at the beginning of summer break, you’d half expected to be back together within a week. For Oscar to message you and half-beg to talk to you again. In your dreams, you’d both come grovelling back to each other, apologising for cruel words, making amends for various mistakes. Then you would kiss him and you’d tell him how much you love him and things would get better.

Instead, you’ve spent weeks of your summer break totally and utterly miserable. Missing Oscar like a phantom limb. You reach for him, he’s not there. You go to text him, find a thread of messages discussing the logistics of returning the other’s belongings.

You sit in your flat and you watch the Lord of the Rings trilogy twice in a row twenty two hours and forty-four minutes because it doesn’t remind you of Oscar and it occupies your time in a way nothing else can right now. You cry until your eyes are puffy and you write in a diary you’ve never touched before, because it needs to go somewhere. The feeling stuck in your throat needs to be written down said out loud and you can’t say it to Oscar, who you would usually tell everything, because he needs “distance from you right now”.

Briefly, you convince yourself that “right now”, indicates that there still might be a later for the two of you. That this thing between you that’s fallen to pieces might one day be salvaged. In the quiet moments of Lord of the Rings you spiral down a rabbit hole of ways to get Oscar back, pathetic fantasies of how you might convince him to talk to you again. Then Arwen says, “I would rather share one lifetime with you than face all the ages of this world alone” and you cry for two hours straight.

You sob, your face in your pillow and you think that was supposed to me! That was supposed to be us! And maybe it wasn’t, maybe you’re not an elven maiden giving up her immortality for a mere man, but you love Oscar. You wanted to spend the rest of your life with Oscar. And now… now…

Well—

It is the waiting that’s the worst.

No texts, no calls. Lando sends you a few, but you can’t bear to hold a conversation with him, knowing he’s playing both sides. And anyway, you’re just thinking about Oscar. Is he there? Is he reading your texts? Seeing the pathetic selfies of you on your couch in days-old PJs? Is he staring at your stagnant text thread just like you are? Has he blocked you?

Your every waking thought is consumed by him. You drag yourself out of the apartment for coffee down the street and you wonder what he’s doing. Has he been rotting at home like you? More than likely he’s been doing things. Playing padel with Lando, going out for lunch, training at the gym, FaceTiming his family.

You feel sick to you stomach. You can list on one hand the activities that you’ve done since Oscar broke up with you at the beginning of the month:

Sleeping, crying, watching Lord of the Rings, ordering takeout, training because you have to. Going for coffee had been a big step out of your current comfort zone. You’re wearing pants that aren’t sweatpants… you’d even showered properly for fuckssake.

You got your most noise-cancelling headphones on, blasting sad Taylor Swift (who you don’t even like. It’s just something to fill the void) and staring down the barista so you can lip-read if they’re saying your name or the words Large Oat Latte. And then—

Then. The barista is mouthing Oscar and your stomach lurches as the exact object of your ire temporary depression walks to the counter. You try to convince yourself it’s not him, you keep seeing him places but it’s never really him. But it is, that’s his burgundy shirt, his swoop of hair, his knobbly little ankles.

You release a ragged breath that you hope isn’t too loud. You duck your head, try to avoid his gaze as he turns, pretending that you haven’t seen him. Try to look occupied by your phone though you’ve only had time to open to your home screen. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, you blink furiously, trying your best not to fall apart in this coffee shop.

At least he’s not with someone else, you think as a tightness crawls up your throat to settle at the base of your tongue. But he looks happy, he looks fine, he looks better than you feel right now. God, what if he’s better off without you? What does it mean that you don’t seem to better off without him?

There’s something wet sliding down your left cheek and then you see Nike trainers entering your vision, still directed firmly downward. Someone puts a hand on your shoulder— you don’t jump but it’s a near thing. You reach up to slip your headphones off, wiping the tear discreetly as you go. Then you look up and it’s him, it’s Oscar.

He’s holding out a paper cup labeled, Oat Latte and smiling at you tightly.

“They were calling your name,” he says by way of explanation.

“Right,” your voice is shaky, weak, “Thanks.”

He nods, you take the coffee, careful not to touch his hand. You’re trying to swallow down the lump in your throat that’s rising rising trying to claw its way out of your mouth. You blink away the tears filling the corners of your eyes. You can’t look at him.

You’re looking up at the ceiling instead, biting the inside of your mouth. Breathing in and out, in and out.

He says your name, and then, “Do you want to talk?”

You feel like a tonne of bricks has just hit your chest. Knocking the wind out of you. Tears, hot and wet, are slipping down your cheeks. You can’t speak, you turn around and leave the coffee shop without saying anything because surely you’ll just start crying if you open your mouth. Oscar finds you again across the road, in a dark cobbled alleyway. The heel of your hand is pressed to the middle of your chest, you’re hiccuping, trying to stifle heavy sobs that you’d much prefer to let out in the privacy of your own apartment.

“Hey,” he says, gathering you into his arms before you can push him away, “It’s okay.”

You whine, collapsing into his chest, face pressing into his shoulder, “No, it’s not.”

You cry loudly, trying fruitlessly to keep the sobs in. Oscar’s hand rubs comforting circles into your back, which makes it better until you realise it’s Oscar, which makes it immediately worse. You stay there a while. Until your eyes are puffy and your throat sore.

“Better?”, Oscar asks, the crease between his eyebrows prominent.

You sigh tiredly, shrug, “Sure.”

Your coffee is cold now, your chest feels void, hollow.

You shake your head before Oscar can say anything further, before you’re set off on another fucking pathetic crying fit in the arms of your ex-boyfriend, “I can’t talk, Oscar. I really can’t.”

“Okay,” he says, nodding and swallowing some lump in his own throat.

You bite down hard on your tongue. Turn to leave the dark alley to go home, your back prickling with Oscar’s wet brown-eyed stare on you. He lets you leave. You spend the ten minute walk wiping tears before they fall and itching to run back, to kiss him, to pour all the emotion in your chest into some physical action.

There’s an awful grieving ache in your chest that’s carving out your insides and when you check your phone after walking in the door there’s a text from Oscar that reads:

I miss you. I’d really like to talk to you soon.

not sure if it was weird but the lord of the rings Mentions were kinda about how you’re in such a fragile state during a breakup that something as irrelevant to your break up at lord of the rings will make you cry for hours for no real reason. (and not to expose myself but after a break up i did watch the lotr trilogy two times in a row. told my friends and got a text from one of them asking if i was depressed 😭 like yes… temporarily alright)

send me a prompt/req + driver and i'll write something. pls check if my requests are open first 💖

[captainreecejames]

Just Friends || MV1 Oneshot

part of the my ex is a footballer series [masterlist] [my ex series masterlist] [max smau]

pairings max verstappen x reader with some ex!ben chilwell x reader in the smau part, danielle campbell is the faceclaim but reader is not described in this part so imagine however

word count 5.2k

warnings talks about depression, injuries and blood dealing with hands, hospitals and medical stuff, mentions of jos verstappen, cursing, angst and fluff, not proofread so probably shitty writing and mistakes

notes this took longer than I initially imagined because i was stuck on how to get it started, but after a good nights sleep and words of encouragement from @coff33andb00ks I got this puppy started. This fic includes Adrian Newey as the point red bull person so I could avoid horner and max as an almost dog dad because I'm a dog person. It starts in the middle of the 2022 season and goes through the 2023 season. If there is enough interest, I might continue to write these two together because I really enjoyed it and there is more to explore.

songs to listen to while reading you're losing me-taylor swift / so long, london-taylor swift / same mistakes-one direction / lose you to love me-selena gomez

You met Max on accident, according to you. When you talked to your father about it years later, you would learn it was no accident. 

><

He was golfing with Adrian Newey and more coworkers but had forgotten his wallet, so he asked you to drop it off.

Now you knew he worked at Red Bull, so really it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that you would eventually meet Max Verstappen, but you walked into the country club expecting to meet some older man, not the reigning Formula 1 world champion. 

How'd Max know who to approach? Your father had shown him a picture of you so he would know who to look for. While you were searching the lobby, Max had come up to you, saying your name.

You had plenty of experience meeting famous people, even one’s who knew your name before meeting (perks of dating a football star) but it was still a shock. 

The meeting consisted of shy words and you fumbling around your bag for your father’s wallet and that’s it. No matter how much experience you had with famous athletes, it would still be weird meeting them. You wouldn’t see Max again for a few weeks, he was busy with races and staying in Monaco.

The next time would be at the base, once again you were dropping something off for your dad. This time it was lunch that he just insisted he needed, not whatever was being served in the cafe that day. 

You stood in the lobby, waiting for your father to get out of a meeting, admiring the trophies on display when Max came up to you. 

He will argue in the future that you admiring his trophies made him interested, and that he wasn’t over a little bragging if it got the attention of a pretty girl. That argument ignores the scheming that your father and Adrian had done, from complaining about your lack of interest in the sport to complaining about you needing to get out more. (Your lack of interest in the sport wasn’t true, just that you preferred Ferrari over the local team.)

So with the subliminal messaging from your father, Max was interested in you.

“I thought you didn’t really like the sport,” he said coming to stand at your side. 

You jumped slightly, not expecting anyone to approach you. “Why would you think that?”

“Your father.” You turn to him with a confused face and Max decided to clarify. “He talks about you a lot.”

“Oh, well, I wouldn’t listen to half of what he says.”

“Really? Even when he talks about the chassis?” His words are teasing and you think he’s flirting with you.

“Maybe that you can listen to.” You shrug, turning back to the cabinet. “He’s really just jealous that I prefer Ferrari.” 

Of fucking course, the Italian team. “A fan of Leclerc?” You can hear the bitterness in his voice and it shocks you a little how quickly he changes his mood.

“He’s okay,” you shrug again. Max thinks that your nonchalantness is annoying, why can’t you just admit you find Charles hot and move on.

(Hidden in the stairwell, Adrian and your father are a little nervous. They can tell that this isn’t going as well as hoped.)

“Schumacher has been my favorite, but I think of the current drivers its Vettel.” Now Max realizes that the two of you are standing in front of Sebastian’s 2010 championship trophy, and he feels a little embarrassed he didn’t realize sooner. “I’m a little bitter he didn’t win the championship with Ferrari.”

There are more “chance” meetings, but the conversation flows much easier now. Like the dinner at Adrian Newey’s house and after, when he has to give you a ride back to your new place because your parents don’t want to leave yet. Or the time when it’s suggested that you give him a ride to Luton airport because it’s on your way to London. Or even the holiday party at the end of the year where he has to give you a ride again because you’re tipsy and shouldn’t drive. 

It’s the airport drive when you both realize that you’re being set up by Adrian and your father, which causes a lot of awkwardness between the both of you during your goodbyes.

You go back home a few days later and scold your father for the set up. You don’t need another relationship right now, you tell him. He says he knows, but Max makes you happy in a way he hasn’t seen in years and that makes him happy. Your mother reminds him that you need to be happy without a man first and he says he’ll give up the endeavors to push you on to Max. If Adrian happens to come up with any more ideas that's not his fault, the man is a genius afterall.

The holiday party is more of an accident than anything, your father and mother leave much earlier than you, and so you are stuck with Max to drive you home.

He complained about the hotel he was staying at, so you offer him some time in your apartment to get away from fancy places and he takes you up on it. And now that you're home, it does’t seem like a bad idea to have another drink, just to take the edge off of having Max in your place. 

“Would you like another drink?” you offer while making your own gin and tonic. He stares around at the quiet kitchen, taking in the place that feels very you. “Or perhaps some tea?” He shakes his head no, eyes catching a picture of you hugging Ben. It’s an old picture, from when Leicester City won the league and you’ve only recently dug it out of the box it was sitting in. 

“I thought you were single,” he says, picking up the picture to examine it closer.

“I am,” you answer, turning around from the counter to look at him. You’re about to ask him where the question came from when you see what’s in his hands. “That’s from 2016, when Leicester City won the league.” Max nods like he understands, but he doesn’t.

“Who’s this?” he points to Ben.

“Ben Chilwell.” Maybe if you’re just vague enough, he’ll drop it. He doesn’t.

“Okay,” he draws it out. “Who is he to you?”

Not much of anything anymore, is what you want to say. You settle for something vague again. “A friend.”

“Looks like more than a friend.” Is Max trying to provoke you or something? He can tell you’re growing frustrated with him and it makes him feel guilty. “Sorry, I just, don’t know much about your life before here.”

You sigh, deciding that alcohol probably isn’t the best drink for now. You move to the kettle next to the stove, opting for tea to help calm you down. 

“Ben and I dated until a couple months ago, I moved back home right after we broke up.” He nods along with your story and you continue the tea making process. “Ben and I were childhood sweethearts, together since we were like 14 years old. So that makes,” it takes you a minute to do the math in your head, “12 years together.” You don’t turn to see what Max’s face looks like. A lot of people during your relationship with Ben were in awe of how long you were together, but there were some who thought it was silly and childish. Who stayed with someone they were dating since 14? (Apparently not you.)

You thought it was romantic up until a few months before the break up. Childhood sweethearts, best friends to lovers, boy next door, all tropes you loved in books and you were living it in real life! Until it wasn’t. Until you moved in the middle of a pandemic to a new city with no support system and became depressed. Until Ben needed support you and you couldn’t make yourself see that giving him everything was leaving you with nothing. 

It took an intervention from your parents to see that you were depressed, and an offhand comment about marriage from Ben to see that the relationship wouldn’t go anywhere new.

“What happened?”

“He didn’t want to marry me.”

><

“I’m just not sure I’m want to marry her, yet,” Ben says to the group. There’s a pause before he says yet, like someone made a face and he’s trying to placate them.

What the fuck? you want to ask. You want to scream it, really, because what the fuck does he mean by that? You’ve been together for over ten years, he’s said since Leicester that he only wants you, for the rest of his life. And now... now he doesn’t know? How the fuck do you not know? How can he not know? It makes you angry, the most emotion you’ve felt in probably months and it’s anger at your boyfriend.

Your grip on your glass is tightening, turning your knuckles white with the force and you worry the glass will shatter in your hand.

It does, but you don’t feel it. You don’t hear the glass shattering in your hand or on the floor, don't feel the splash of ice, gin, and tonic on your legs.

What you feel is something akin to clarity, because you’ve been living in a fog for months, probably the two years you’ve been in London and now you know how Ben feels. If he doesn’t want to marry you now, he probably won’t ever want it.

It takes your friend coming over and putting a hand on your shoulder for you to realize that something is physically wrong. That your hand is bleeding from glass cuts and you’re standing in a puddle of water and alcohol and some blood.

Emma says your name a little louder to grab your attention and now people are staring at you, wondering what’s caused the glass to shatter in your hand. She ignores them, pulling you across the room so she can take care of you.

Unfortunately, the glass is too deep and you have to be taken to an emergency room, where the nurses and doctors fuss over your hand. They ask you questions about how it happened, you explain that a glass shattered in your hands. They're suspicion is eased when Emma corroborates your story. It's soon after that you're allowed to go home.

All this time, Ben hasn’t come running into the room desperate to find you, and that reminds you why you’re here in the first place. Because Ben isn’t sure he wants to marry you.

><

“That’s how you got the scars on your hand?” Max is gentle when he takes your hand in his, holding it so delicately like you might break. You nod, but don’t pull away from him. His touch is soft and it makes you feel something you haven’t felt in a while. His hand turns so you can see the own scar on his hand. “I got this one from Jimmy, my cat.” He lets you run a finger over the scratch on the back of his hand. You run your hand over it one more time and Max get’s goosebumps from your touch.

You look up at him from your hands, your eyes roaming his face and seeing how sincere he is. It makes you nervous. 

You pull your hands back, stepping away to grab a mug for your tea and busy your hands with something besides his own.

Max can see you close off on him, but the story isn’t over yet. “What happened after the hospital?”

><

“Are you going to tell me why this happened?” Emma asks finally, walking with you out of the ED. She’s stayed the whole time, occasionally popping out to call your other friends and update them on the situation. 

It’s on the tip of your tongue to tell her, but you know what she’ll say: 'break up with him already, it’s not going anywhere and you’re obviously hurting over this. '

It’s not what you want to hear, you love Ben so much because you’ve always loved him, he’s all you’ve ever known and it used to be so good, so you know it can go back to being good.

It has to. You need it to. 

So you try to laugh it off, say that your grip is much stronger than you thought and that there must have been a hairline fracture in the glass.

But Emma doesn’t buy it. She lets you try to joke your way out of this, lets you laugh uncomfortably as she stares at you, and then pulls you to a halt at the corner. Your uneasy smile falls and you sigh. You know better than to try and hide this from her. 

“Ben said something,” it’s a whisper, like the quieter you say it makes it hurt less. She waits for you to continue, knowing that you’ll explain if she doesn’t push too hard. You take a deep breath, hoping that the air will do something, anything to make it easier to say out loud. “He’s not sure if he wants to marry me.” You hold the pause like he did, adding the yet in a pointed tone. With how much Ben has hurt you, you still want to spare him the criticism. You love him.

Emma immediately goes off, like you know she would, so you tune it out. It’s nothing you haven’t heard in the last year. 

The traffic light turns green, and you begin your walk back to the carpark, looking around the spaces to find your friend's car.

“YN!” another voice shouts. It’s Ben. 

He’s jogging to you across the lot, eyes a little wide like he’s been panicking for a while. “Why didn’t you grab me before leaving?” He means to direct the question to Emma, but he’s looking at you and you feel like he’s blaming you. “I was looking for you across the house until someone finally told me that you left for the emergency department. I was worried sick.” He looks it, you think. He does care. He wouldn’t look like that if he didn’t care. “You weren’t answering your phone, and-“ he cuts himself off as he stares at your hand. “What the hell happened?”

Oh- he doesn’t know. 

“She heard you,” Emma answers. You want to stop her, explain for yourself so you can just go home and sleep.

“What?” Ben asks, confusion across his face for a second before he realizes. You heard him. You heard him. “You weren’t meant to hear that.”

That’s his excuse?

“That’s your excuse?” Emma takes the words from of your mouth, but not the anger from your body, you clench your bandaged hand, wincing when it pulls at the stitches. Ben is still looking at you, but you’re unable to read him. “She wasn’t meant to fucking hear that?” Her voice is shrill and it grates on you because of a headache, but you know she means well. “You know what, fuck you Ben Chilwell! Go fucking rot in ditch!” With that she pulls you away from him, rushing the two of you towards her car so she can drive you to her home.

><

“That’s his excuse?” Max’s tone is just like Emma’s on that night and still you want to defend Ben. Your relationship is long over with the footballer, but that doesn’t mean you don’t love him. 

“I was a mess then,” you tell him, pouring your water into the cup, “I wouldn’t want to marry me either.”

“But he loved you, and you don’t say something like that about someone you love.” Max looks angry next to you, and that scares you even more. Not because of his anger, but because he clearly cares so much and you’re not sure if you deserve it. 

“Listen to me,” Max grabs your arms, pulling you to face him in your small kitchen. “Friends, boyfriends, people who love you-“ (Do his hands squeeze you harder on friends or boyfriends?) “They don’t talk about you like that behind your back. And also they notice when you’re gone, when you’re hurt, when you aren’t’ yourself.”

“But he was also hurting,” there are tears in your eyes from his words because you believe them, but also you still love Ben.

“And so were you, clearly. Yet you could tell something was wrong with him and he couldn’t see it in you?” Max has known you for only a few months, and has spent even less time physically with you, but he sees you and the way your brain works so clearly and that’s really scary. He must see something in your eyes because then he backs off, taking a step away to put distance between your bodies and space to breathe.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, “I didn’t mean to get so intense.” You shake your head, trying to put away the thoughts of his beautiful blue eyes staring into your own. “Just sometimes, I really want people to know that they deserve better.”

“No, it’s okay.” You pull the tea bag out of the water, looking down for the tiny plate to leave it on. “You’re not the first person to say that to me and you probably won’t be the last.” He nods, watching you spoon sugar into the tea. “But thank you for saying that, sometimes," you pause, "sometimes, it’s good to be reminded.”

><

Your friendship grows from there, but it doesn’t evolve into anything romantic. You’re clearly still healing from Ben and no matter how much he thinks about you while he’s in Monaco or off at a race, you need time.

So instead your flat becomes his base when he’s needed at the factory. He can leave clothes and toiletries at your place without worry, he can sneak a nice home cooked meal from you or your parents when he’s there, and he doesn’t have to deal with shitty hotel mattresses. (Even though it’s a Five Star hotel.)

He meets your friends when a girls night overlaps with some sim testing. They really like him and can see that his awkward charm has pulled you in.

You meet Danny Ric at the beginning of the 2023 season, when Red Bull decides to make him their reserve driver, and the two of you are like two peas in a pod. (On the plane back to Monaco Danny asks him when he’s finally going to ask you out.)

(Max shakes his head and tells him that you two are just friends, because that’s what you need. Just friends.)

Max invites you to the Monaco Grand Prix, but you decline, not interested in the media scrutiny that comes with that particular race. You say yes to the Spanish Grand Prix in Barcelona, but after he peaks at the invite list he tells you it’s probably not the best idea. You agree with him when you finally get him to tell you why you're uninvited. The Silverstone Grand Prix is during a girls trip, and with how busy it gets, you both drop the subject for a while. 

When Max clinches his third championship in Qatar you finally decide that you need to go to a race. The next one is in Texas, but it doesn’t work with your schedule so you get the passes for Mexico.

><

The Mexican Grand Prix is the perfect race to join. It’s Checo’s home race, so the focus is on him instead of Max. You stand to the back of the garage, hiding from view on Friday and Saturday. Occasionally you’ll talk with some engineers you’ve met before or share a few minutes with Adrian, but most of the time is in hiding Max’s drivers room with him. 

Most of Sunday is spent talking with the stars in the garage, explaining why you’re here and how you know people. You avoid any interviews with Sky Sports, knowing that somehow they’ll bring up Ben and Chelsea’s current run of form, something that you just can’t deal with. 

So you stay in the back of the garage, celebrate the podium in the back of the crowd and don’t wait up for Max to finish media duties, instead heading back to the hotel. It hurts to hide yourself away, you want to be the first to congratulate him on a win, or comfort him after a loss. But it’s for the best, you try convince yourself. You're just friends.

Max isn’t bitter about the decision at all. Being noticed at this race is a beacon to all fans that you are something to someone, and no matter how much he maybe wants that to be true, you’re just friends. Besides you have dinner with him and a few of the drivers and their own significant others, so really what more could he ask for?

After the season is over he’s back in Milton Keynes to finish up some things before heading out to start his holidays. Most of them will be spent with his family in Belgium or in Monaco, so he is determined to at least spend a day with you before leaving. He wasn’t planning on it being at a dog shelter.

><

“I think I want a dog,” you had told him while in Mexico. You’d spent a year alone in the flat (not counting Max practically moving in when he was needed at HQ) and things were too quiet for you. 

“Okay.” You were relaxing in his driver’s room before Free Practice 2. You’re both on the couch, him with an iPad going over some data and you with your feet up on his lap researching shelters on your phone. The domesticity of it all was frustrating.

“Are you allergic to dogs?” you ask. You know about Jimmy and Sassy back in Monaco, and he really doesn’t seem like dog person at all, but his opinion on this matters to you. His opinion on the most mundane and trivial things now matter to you. He doesn’t pay rent and so he doesn’t get the final say on anything, but if it makes life easier in Milton Keynes, you want to know what he thinks.

“No, I just prefer cats.” You nod, scrolling through the shelter’s website, looking at dogs and trying to decide which one looks like it needs love the most. “Lewis knows a lot about dogs, you can ask him about it.” It’s hard to get the sentence out, because Lewis having a say in something about your life just isn’t right. 

You shake your head no. “Lewis Hamilton doesn’t sleep in my spare bedroom.” It’s the same argument you make every time you suggest changing something in flat, and while it annoys him that you won’t take any money to pay for small stuff, it still makes him smile. 

“What do you think about this one?” you show him a picture of a Jack Russell Terrier, coincidentally named George. 

“If you get him you need to change his name.”

“Why?” You ask in fake offense. “I think he looks very much like a George.” But you move on anyway, terriers are too active for your lifestyle, you wouldn’t be able to give him the love he deserves. 

You keep on scrolling, feet still in his lap, him still looking through his iPad. You gasp suddenly, pushing yourself up and moving your legs so you can sit on them, much closer to Max. “Look!” you shove your screen in his face. “They just rescued a corgi with puppies! I love corgis!” He can see the excitement in your face and knows that he won’t ever say no to you if you look like that again. 

You pull your phone back, reading through the description quickly. “We are keeping Mama and puppies together for a few weeks to ensure health, puppies will be available for adoption in December. Please register interest.” You're pulling out your laptop to send an email when you're done.

Later that night, when you’re trying to sleep you admire how he let you rant about this dog that you’re getting. You love how he always indulges you on topics about your flat; you love that he’ll watch a shitty tv show with you and listen to you rant about the characters. You love that when you ask him questions about racing he answers with so much sincerity and interest that you can’t help but want to know more. You love so much about him that you think you might love him. 

No, you know you love him.

><

That’s how you got here, with Max at a shelter picking up a tiny corgi. Max has been carrying the collar and leash and necessary paperwork as you play with the small dog, contagious laughter falling from your lips.

“Think I should name him Charles, what do you think?” You look up from the ground, eyes so bright and happy. The smile on your face is teasing, but he misses the name because it hits him.

He’s in love with you.

He’s unable to answer you with his sudden realization, because the only words he can think of are “I love you” or long strings of curse words. 

You think he doesn’t like your joke and try to back track right away. “I’m kidding, obviously. I’m not gonna name him Charles.” Still Max only stares. “Is everything okay?” You stand up, still holding the puppy in your hands. “I promise I’m not going to name him Charles, but I’m sorry for the joke.” The puppy barks in your arms, snapping Max out of his trance. “What do you need, little one?” You ask the dog, momentarily forgetting Max’s presence. That’s what he needs, just a few seconds of you not looking at him to get his thoughts in line. He can’t be in love with you, because you don’t need a boyfriend. Just friends. 

Except he can be in love with you. Because you make him smile all the time, because you offered your spare bedroom to him so he didn’t have to deal with a shitty hotel mattress, because you send him pictures of cats you meet on the street, and let him over explain when you have questions about races. You deal with his mood swings when Jos contacts him. (It’s more than just dealing. You comfort and distract and do anything he needs.)

And maybe you do need just a friend still, but he can still love you.

It takes 20 minutes for you to finish up the paperwork for the shelter, which Max spends playing with the dog and he decides maybe he could be a your dog person. 

The ride back to your place is short, your minds replaying the same moment when you asked him what you should name the little puppy sleeping in the back. You feel bad, like you've insulted him; he’s trying to come up with a way to tell you what he’s realized.

Nothing happens that night, and nothing happens when he leaves for Monaco the next morning. 

Texts between the two of you comprise of pictures of Denny the corgi, Jimmy and Sassy the cats, and updates on how people liked their presents. It feels off, but you have no idea how to make it feel right.

On December 30th, you plan to catch your flight to Nice, but your father gets into an accident and you can’t leave your mom to deal with everything on your own. You say sorry to Max repeatedly, tell him to wish everyone there a Happy New Year and focus back on the quiet life with Denny. 

On December 31st, you wake up to the smell of coffee and toast. It’s alarming because no one else is here, so why does it smell like breakfast?

You push open the door cautiously, forgetting for a moment that Denny is there, so he sneaks out the tiny crack. “Denny! No!” you whisper-shout, hurrying after the little guy, all regard for your own safety lost. You find him in the arms of Max, licking his face and wiggling his butt with untamed excitement. “Max?”

“Hi, schatje.” His smile is almost enough to distract you from the fact that he is here. You approach the two slowly, grabbing Denny from his arms to put him down. 

“What are you doing here?” Denny paws at you, reminding you that he needs to go out and do his business. 

Max ignores your question, instead pushing a mug of coffee into your hands. “Take this, I’ll take Denny outside.” He grabs Denny from the floor again, making his way to the front where you have his leash hanging up. “Be right back, schatje.” You can only nod at him, watching the two walk out of the front door.

They’re back in two minutes, enough time for you to put out Denny’s breakfast and drink some of your coffee in peace, trying to wrap your mind around the fact that Max is here. The door opens and Denny comes rushing in, Max close behind. He hangs up the leash with his keys, then turns back to you with a smile.

Max takes his own mug, leaning his back against the counter to watch you. “Why are you here?” you ask again. 

“You said you couldn’t come to Monaco for New Year’s, so I thought I’d come here.” He says it so casually it irritates you. “Plus, I can take some work off of you or your mom when dealing with your Dad.”

Oh, he’s being sweet. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Yeah, but I want to help someone I love.” He says that so casually it catches you off guard. Thank god you didn’t have anything in your mouth or you would have definitely spit it out.

He smirks over his cup, watching you splutter for an answer to his simple confession. “You… you love me?” He nods then puts his mug down. A few steps over to you and he grabs the one in your hands, putting that down next to his own. With his other hand he moves to cup the back of your neck, pulling you closer to him. You want to ask what he’s doing, try to stop this before it can even start, but Max is determined. (You’re grateful for that.)

There’s almost no space left between the two of you, just enough really for him to be able to look at your face while he asks if this is okay. A gulp, a breath, and a nod later he’s dipping his head down to yours, closing the distance, and kissing you. 

Your eyes close instantly. Your hands travel to their own accord, reaching up to lock around his neck and keep him close. Your ears ring for some odd reason and your nose can only smell coffee. You can taste red bull on his lips and you wonder how long he's been up.

The kiss is soft and slow and over before you really have a chance to appreciate it.

You open your eyes to see him, his lips spread in a wide smile that has you blushing. “Been waiting to do that for a while.” That has you blush even deeper, but he doesn’t let you dip your head to hide it. “Seriously, schatje. I love you.”

“I love you too.” It’s a whisper, but he doesn’t miss it with how close you are. But even if he had missed it, you’ll say it so many more times in the future that people get sick of it.

[writtenbyan-aries]

Matt jealous over a colleague/classmate from college, like actually showing how upset he is over it, being moody and whatnot, mean even, and all that could only lead to rough make up sex. Maybe before jumping to his moody state he was already a bit insecure and anxious and this was just the straw that broke the camels back.

∶ Summary: anon sums it up

∶ Warnings: smut, jealous!Matt, kissing, rough unprotected sex, fluffy filth

∶ Word Count: 4.2k

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

The sound of your professor blabbing could put you to sleep.

You weren’t feeling class today, at all. You were kicking your own ass for not skipping like you originally wanted to.

You blink, snapping yourself from your thoughts, “Shit.” You lean over to Matt, “What did he say?”

“We’re having a test on this next Thursday.”

“Thursday?” You ask and he nods, “Yeah, are you okay? You look exhausted.” He raises his fingers from the table, “I don’t mean in a bad way, you just-“

“No, I am.” You laugh quietly, “I was up redoing my notes for Greenly’s class because I spilt my coffee all over them.” You let out a sigh, “I only wrote down what I could read, and since he doesn’t like computers in his classroom for whatever fucking reason, I’m screwed.”

Matt chuckles, “I can let you borrow mine, if you want?”

You tilt your head, “Oh yes, please. That would be awesome. Thank you.” You reach up, gently squeezing his shoulder as you turn to face forward again.

A few minutes later, Matt slides a dark blue notebook over to you. You look down at it, then over at him with a smile, “Thank you.”

He gives you a nod, “Welcome.”

A little bit later, the professor claps his hands together, “So for this semester’s final, I have decided that I’m going to have you guys do a project.”

A unified groan echoes from all the students and he laughs, “I know, I know. But it’s going to be a PowerPoint. On any of the topics we discussed over the last few weeks, and you guys can have a partner.”

“At least we don’t have to do it all alone, you know.” Matt mumbles and you nod, “Yeah, right?”

“Partners need to be picked and sent to me by five p.m tomorrow.“

An instant message pops up in the bottom right corner of your computer screen, Nash Trevors: I already sent a message to Winder that we’re partners, hope that’s cool with you.

You lean forward, typing on the keys, Y/n Y/l/n: As long as you promise to actually do something this time.

“So, y/n.” Matt turns towards you, “Do you have a partner yet? Or, one in mind?” He pushes up his glasses as you turn towards him, closing your laptop, “Yeah, Nash already sent in that I’m his partner.”

“He didn’t even ask you?” Matt furrows his brows, “He shouldn’t have just made that choice for you, he never does anything himself. It’s always the person that’s stuck with him.”

You shrug, “It’s fine, I like doing PowerPoints, so it’s not really a loss, I guess.”

Matt doesn’t say anything right away, he just packs up his lap top, “That’s still not fair to you.” He stands up, letting out a sigh, “Good luck.”

You watch as he walks away before turning around. You grab his notebook that he left and stack it on top of your books.

“Hey partner.” Nash smirks as he stands down in front of you, “Do you have a topic in mind?”

“Do you?” You glance up at him and he shrugs, “Maybe we can figure that one out over dinner?”

You scoff, “This isn’t a ploy for you to get into my pants, Nash. I’m not just some girl who will fall and kiss the ground you walk on.” You tuck your laptop into its case and he laughs, “Oh come on, that’s not why I picked you as my partner. You’re smart and organized.”

“Mhm.” You roll your eyes and stand up, “Meet me at the cafe in two hours and we can start. I need to rewrite my notes first.”

“Cafe. Two hours. You got it.” He gives you a thumbs up and you laugh, shaking your head as you walk away.

As you make your way out of the classroom, all you can think about is why Matt didn’t wait for you like he usually does, and why he was acting kind of weird.

Was he mad that I already had a partner, you think, did he not like Nash?

You bump into someone as you’re lost in your thoughts, “Sorry, I-“ you point, “Nick, hey. Have you seen your brother?”

“Which one?” He laughs, “Chris is still sleeping, and Matt was on his way back to the dorm I think. He didn’t say much, actually, he didn’t say anything at all.”

“Oh, okay.” You nod and Nick tilts his head, “What’s up?”

“Nothing, I was just going to tell him that I’ll have his notes back to him in an hour or so. He kinda ran out of class a lot faster than usual. I’ll just text him.”

He nods, “Okay, are those notes for Greenly?”

“How’d you know?” You laugh, and Nick rolls his eyes, “Please, he’s the only teacher on campus that hates technology.”

“He is a weird one.” You smile, “I gotta go. I’ll see you later.” He nods and you walk away, making your way to the cafe.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

You let out a sigh, flexing your hand after dropping your pen onto your notebook. You were so used to typing, taking actual notes sucked even worse than usual.

You lean over, tapping your phone to see if Matt had answered, but still no word from him.

Something was off about earlier.

The bells on the door sound loudly as the door is flung open. You’re greeted with a cheesy smile of Nash, who makes his way over to you, “Look at that, on time.”

“Barely.” You mumble, closing the notebook in front of you. Nash reaches over, “M. Sturniolo.” He laughs as he shakes his head, “What are you doing with this nerd’s notebook.”

You snatch the notebook from his hands, “Don’t call him that. Matt is actually really smart.”

“What, do you have some sort of soft spots for the dorky ones? I thought I knew you better than that, y/l/n.”

“Are you here to guess what I’m in to, or work on the final?” You stare at him, letting out a sigh, “Actually, don’t answer that. Let’s just work on this stupid thing.”

He laughs, pulling his laptop from his backpack, “Can you do that shared thing? Where I can see what you do on the PowerPoint on my screen and what I do on yours?”

“Yeah. Give me a second.” You click a few times, tap the keys and point to his laptop, “I sent it to you, just click on it and you should be good.”

Your eyes scan down over your list of topics scribbled down on the paper beside your computer, “We can do the artful mysteries one? We can look at famous artwork and we can each write down what we think it means before figuring out what it actually is about?”

Nash thinks for a moment, “Is that the easiest one?”

You sigh and lean back and he laughs, “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. That one is fine. I’ll start looking up famous art works right now.”

You look up, straightening up when you see Matt walk in. You smile at him as he looks over, but his face stays the same. He looks away, walking up to the counter.

You furrow your brows, slowly looking down at your computer. Your eyes move to his notebook, “I’ll be right back.” You grab the book and stand up to make your way over to him, “Hey, Matt.”

He looks over at you, moving his eyes down to his notebook in your hands, “Are you done with that?”

“Yeah, I texted you. Thanks again for-“

“Here’s your coffee.” The barista smiles and he nods, taking it, “Thanks.” He takes his notebook, looks over at Nash who’s sitting with your stuff, “Thanks.”

“Matt, wait.” You step back as he walks away and he doesn’t stop, he exits the coffee shop, leaving you to feel slightly embarrassed.

You swallow, making your way back to table, “I think we’re done. Just send me whatever pictures you want.”

“Hey, wait. We’re just-“

You cut Nash off, “I gotta go.” You quickly gather up all of your things and rush out of the cafe. You make your way to your dorm, not stopping for anything.

After an hour of contemplating, you sat down on your bed, and picked up your phone to text Matt, Hey, can we talk about earlier today?

He responds rather quickly, What is there to talk about?

Your brows furrow in confusion, did he not think anything was wrong? You tilt your head as you type, You seemed a little irritated with me today after class and at the cafe. I just wanted to apologize if I did anything wrong, and hopefully find out what exactly I did.

You see the bubbles pop up, disappear, then pop up again before disappearing. A few second later, his text comes through, I’m good. You’re good. Everything is good. I gotta work on this project.

You didn’t feel like everything was good, but you weren’t going to push, Okay, see you in class. Thanks again for the notes.

You set your phone down and another next comes through, but it wasn’t Matt, it was Nash, Are these good enough? Attached, is five art photos.

You literally just saved the first five photos you seen on Google. He texts back instantly, I’ll have to find different ones tomorrow then. I have a party to get to.

You scoff, It’s a fucking Wednesday night, dude. Are you serious?

I would never joke about a kegger, y/l/n. We can work on it tomorrow after class, okay? I promise.

You roll your eyes at his message, already accepting the fact that you were doing this alone, K. You toss your phone down and get to looking up different paintings.

After an hour of picking and placing them on each painting on its own slide, you take a break. You check your phone, letting out a sigh when you didn’t see anything from who you really wanted to hear from.

You and Matt met at the beginning of your guy’s sophomore year. He was one of those rare guys you find on a college campus.

He didn’t go to parties on Wednesday nights. He focused on his school work, and he was rarely ever late to, or even skipped class. He was someone you genuinely enjoyed hanging out with, or even sitting through a class with.

That’s why you liked him.

He was really sweet, and you guys seemed to click almost instantly. A part of you felt like he was more into getting through school than he was at finding a girlfriend, so you kept your feelings to yourself.

You wanted to ask him if he wanted to study for the test next Thursday, but with how your previous interaction went, you had a feeling to just let it go, ask him tomorrow in class.

You went back to working on the PowerPoint before you ended up passing out.

Your alarm woke you up.

You groaned as you pushed yourself up from the bed, making your way to the shower before going back to get ready for the day.

Still nothing from Matt, which again, is weird. He usually always makes sure you’re up on time.

As you walk out of your room, you smile as a girl passes by and your phone dings. You bring it up and groan quietly as you see a text from Nash, Good job on the PowerPoint, partner. Want to meet after class? I’m not coming in today, super hungover.

“Of course.” You let out a sigh and tap the screen, Figures. You hit send and make your way to class.

As you walk in, you look around, smiling slightly when you see Matt is sitting down in his seat. You walk up the steps, making your way over, “Hey.”

He nods, keeping his eyes on his phone, “Hey.”

You sit down, opening up your computer, “Thanks again for the um, notes.” He looks over at you, letting out a sigh as he sits up, “Yeah, no problem.” He looks around, “What? No project partner today? Thought he’d be all over you to get it done.”

“Uh, no.” You shake your head, “He is, hungover. Apparently he had a kegger last night that he couldn’t miss, so.”

“Mm.” Matt raises his brows and scoffs, “Figures.”

As soon as you go to speak, your professor walks in and starts talking, and the next hour feels like it drags by.

Matt didn’t really talk to you, when he did, he was to answer your questions about the work, and they were usually one or two words. He didn’t joke around, or laugh at stuff he normally would laugh at.

“Hey.” You lean over, “When class is over, do you want to get an early lunch or something?”

“Can’t. Nick needs help studying for his test later.”

“Okay. Um, speaking of test, do you want to study at all within the next week for next test for us?” You look at him and he shrugs, “I’ll let you know.” He stands up, packing up his things, “Good luck with Nash.”

You laugh slightly, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just, you know. Good luck. With Nash.” He shrugs, “I don’t know, I gotta go.” He walks away and you squint, trying to wrap your brain around what just happened, “Okay?”

Matt usually never turns down an invitation to study with you. There actually wasn’t ever a time he said no, you’ve studied with both him and Nick before, so now things were really weird.

You shake your head and slowly gather your things. You pull your phone from your pocket and text Nash, I’m heading to the cafe if you want to meet me there.

You got no response from Nash the whole way to the cafe. You weren’t banking on him coming, he was probably passed out or had his head in the toilet, discarding last nights keg contents.

As soon as you sit down, your phone goes off with a text from him. At this point, his name alone just pissed you off.

I’m coming, sorry. I fell asleep, can you order me a latte. Extra espresso? I’ll pay you back.

He wasn’t going to pay you back, but you didn’t care. You wanted him to focus and actually help you with this, so you went up and ordered the coffee.

He walked through the door as soon as they came out and he jogs up, “You’re a life saver, fucking hell.” He takes his cup and chugs a few sips, “Thanks.” He motions, “Shall we?”

You scoff, walking by him and sitting down, “I just need what you think these paintings are about, and then tonight I’ll just research their actual meanings.”

“Okay. Cool.” He sits down, scooting over to look at your computer screen. You lean away, “don’t you have your own?”

He looks down beside him, “Forgot my backpack, oops.”

You roll your eyes, pushing your computer towards him, “Here.” He leans over, “Sorry, was I in your personal bubble?”

“Just. Shut up and tell me what you think.” You grab your pen and he raises his brows, “Meow. What’s up with you? Boyfriend troubles?”

“He’s not..” you sigh, “My boyfriend. Just- can you please focus on something other than someone else’s potential business?”

“Fine. Fine.” His eyes scan down over the picture, “Okay. What’s this one?” He points and you pinch the bridge of your nose, “The School of Athens.”

“Okay.” He clears his throat, “The School of Athens.. to me.. looks like a bunch of people gathered around to celebrate something important, I guess?”

You sigh as you jot down his answer, “I mean, I’ll give that to you, it’s not that far off.”

“Really!? Sweet!” He claps his hands together, “Oh this is easy.”

You manage to make it through your project time in one piece, you might have lost a few brain cells listening to Nash explain how to do a keg stand, but other than that, it really could have been worse.

“Okay. I’ll add these into the slides when I get back to my dorm. Then I’ll add in mine and the real meaning behind them, and then we’re finished.” You stand up, shutting your laptop.

“That was easy.” Nash laughs, “Is there anything else I can do?”

“No.” You shake your head, sliding your books from the table, “You did enough. I’ll take it from here.”

“You’re the best partner. Thank you.”

You roll your eyes, “Uh huh.” You grab your coffee and leave.

A little while later, as you’re clicking away on your keys, you notice your phone light up. As soon as you look over, the incoming call screen vanishes and you pick it up.

A text from Matt comes through right away, Sorry didn’t mean to call you. You press your lips together and answer, it’s okay.

You set your phone back down and it dings, then dings again, and again, all back to back. You pick it up, reading down over Matt’s texts.

Fuck it

Yeah I did

I wanna talk to you

His incoming call fills the screen, and you answer instantly, “Hey.”

“Hey.”

You stay silent as you wait for him to speak. He lets out a sigh, “I’m sorry I’ve been such an asshole. You don’t deserve that. I’m just-“ he pauses, “I don’t- fuck, okay.”

He takes a deep breath, “I guess what I’m trying to say, is that I’m jealous.”

“You’re jealous? Over what, Matt?” You ask, sitting up as you slide your laptop from your lap.

“You and.. Nash.”

“Matt.” You bite your lip, “There’s nothing going on between Nash and I. He only picked me so he didn’t have to the PowerPoint, and I didn’t change it, because one, I thought it would be easy to just do it myself, and two.” You pause, smirking as the words slip from your lips, “You didn’t ask me to be yours.”

“I was going to, but then you said you had Nash, and I just- this jealous rage took over and it pissed me off, I’m not going to lie. It pissed me off that he was going to see you, be around you, I-“

“He isn’t you, Matt.” You felt your blood rush to your cheeks, but a sudden feeling of relief washed over you,“He isn’t you.”

“What are you doing right now?”

“I’m on the phone with you.”

He chuckles, “Right, yeah. Do you want to, I don’t know, maybe study?”

You pull your lip between your teeth and silently celebrate, “Yeah, yeah. I’d like that.”

“Good, because-“

There’s a knock on your door and you can hear Matt laugh from the other side and through the phone, “I’m already here.”

You hang up and get up from your bed. You walk over and open the door, pulling him in by his arm. You turn to face him as you close and lock the door, and he closes the space with his lips on yours.

“Fuck, I’ve wanted to do that forever.” His thumbs rub over your cheeks, and he leans in to press his lips to yours once more.

You slide your hands up his chest, working to undo each of the little white buttons that’s keeping his blue, plaid print top closed.

“Prove to me how sorry you am.” You look up at him with a smirk and he nods, “I can do that.” He smirks, reaching down to pull your shirt up over your head.

His eyes scan over your bare chest and he lifts a brow, “Did you know I was coming over?”

“I was hoping you would.” You walk over to the bed and he follows, his body lying over yours as his lips move against yours in a slow, heated sync.

His hand slides up your side, stopping to grip and kneed your boob. He smirks against your lips as you let out a small moan. He kisses down your neck, “You sound so pretty.”

You smile, arching your back as he twists your nipple between his thumb and pointer, “Fuck.”

He kisses down your chest, moving down your body, “I need these off.” He looks up at you and you nod eagerly. He pulls your sweats and panties down your thighs, biting his lip as his eyes lock onto your cunt.

You spread your legs, watching as he leans in.

You gasp as his tongue presses flat to your clit, rolling your hips as he laps at it, “M-Matt-“ your hand flies down to tangle his hair around your fingers, “Fuck, yes.”

He tilts his head down, tongue sliding up and down your needy opening. He groans against you, tightening his grip on his thighs.

There was something hot about Matt eating you out with his glasses still on, him in glasses is something that literally lit a fire inside of you.

He looks so fucking good.

He pulls away, a string of saliva connecting between you and his lips, “You taste so fucking good.” He groans as he leans back in, his tongue pushing as deep into you as he can get it.

You whine out, slapping your free hand to your mouth to muffle your moans, the walls were paper thin in this place.

“mm, fuck.” You gasp, eyes screwing shut as you pull his hair, “Fuck.” You gasp out as your hand goes to meet your other, pulling him into your more as you roll your hips, “S-so close, fuck, m’gonna cum.”

Matt groans against you, sending just the right amount of vibrations through you to get you over that ledge.

Your thighs twitch around his head, tightening as he guides you through your high.

Your grip loosens as your legs relax. Your chest rising and falling quickly as you watch him crawl up your body to plant his lips on yours.

You moan at the taste of yourself on his lips, sliding your hands up his chest to push his shirt down over his shoulders. You drag your nails back down his chest, causing his breathing to shudder.

You stop at the top of his jeans, undoing the button and pushing the zipper down, “I need you.”

He pushes himself up, reaching up to take his glasses off, but you stop him, “No, leave them on please. I think it’s hot.” You bite your lip as his hands slowly move away from the frame, a smirk toying with his lips.

He pushes his jeans down, tilting his head as he pushes his boxers down and you glance up at him as he slowly leans down.

You pull him in for a kiss, spreading your legs wider as the tip of his cock runs up and down between your soaked folds.

You both gasp as he slips on, moans rolling from both or your lips as he slowly pushes in further.

“Fuck.” He grunts, “Feels so good.”

Your nails sink into his shoulders and your legs tighten around his waist, “M-move please.” Your eyes roll back as he complies, pulling out and thrusting in deeper.

He quickly gets into a rhythm, thrusting in and out at a medium pace.

“H-harder.” You gasp, moaning out as he bites and sucks marks into the skin of your neck, “Please.”

His thrusts pick up, moving into a hard, punishable pace, “That what you wanted, baby?” He groans, “Fuck, you’re so wet.”

You whine out, nodding your head as your eyes roll back. Your back lifts from the bed and you moan out loudly.

The bed moves forward, slamming against the wall with each of his thrusts, but neither of you cared.

You didn’t care about anything but each other.

“So close.” You whine, “F-fuck, don’t stop.”

He moans as your nails sink in and drag across his back, “Fuck, that’s it.” He crashes his lips into yours, “Come for me, baby.”

You moan into his mouth, walls squeezing around him as he pulls you closer and closer to another orgasm, “Fuckfuckfuck.” You slide a hand up, tugging his hair as you come undone.

“Fuck, that’s it.” He slides his hand up to your throat, squeezing slightly as he keeps the current pace of his thrusts steady, “M’gonna cum.” He groans loudly, “Fuck, fuck.”

He slides his hand away from your neck, pressing it into the bed by your head as he pulls out, cum spilling onto your waist.

You stare up at the ceiling, chest rising and falling quickly as you come down from your high.

Matt sits up, looking around for something to clean up with, “Do you- nevermind.” He gets off the bed, bending down to pick up a towel and he comes back over, “Was that a good enough apology?”

You sit up slightly, smirking as you watch him wipe off your waist, “I mean, yeah, but maybe we can do it again just-“

Matt crashes his lips onto yours, “Say no more, baby.”

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Thank you so much for reading! I love you all tremendously! Catch you in the next one! 🖤

Likes and reblogs are majorly appreciated!

[sapphire-writes]

Season’s Greetings

summary: You call Aemond to cheer him up during finals.

pairing: modern!Aemond x Reader

can also be read as an Our Last Summer universe oneshot

warnings: 18+/NSFW/MDNI - smut, dirty talk, phone sex shenanagins, sort of exhibitionism, masturbation, mutual masturbation, language

word count: 1.7k

note: oh CUM all ye faithful for I have written another smutty little fic! appreciate all of you who stuck around despite my writer's block! happy holidays and a slutty new year!!!

link to other stories from me!

To be notified when I post something new, be sure to follow @sapphire-writes-updates & turn notifications on 💙

divider credit @/strangergraphics

Citedal University is uncharacteristically quiet this late at night as half the campus has returned home for the holiday break. The last few students who were unlucky enough to have a final scheduled at the end of the week remain hunched over their textbooks; scattered throughout the library and other rooms throughout campus.

Aemond Targaryen currently sits in a secluded corner of the library, a steaming cup of tea next to the stack of textbooks he’s been pondering for the past few hours. He’s one of the only students left at this hour, if not the only student—tucked away in the back corner of the second floor where he's unlikely to be bothered. 

He removes the blue light glasses that rest on his nose, rubbing his temples trying to relieve the dull throbbing that had begun behind his eyes. The sound of soft jazz reverberates through his airpods as he closes his eyes. He needs to stop soon or the pain will get worse. But Aemond has never been one to back down from anything just because of a little pain. 

He’d kept his phone on do not disturb for the majority of his study session, but took the chance now to glance at any missed text messages. Though it’s been months of dating, he still feels a warmth spread through his chest seeing who has texted him.

There’s no message in response. Aemond watches as three dots pop up then disappear. Pursing his lips he waits. A moment later a picture appears instead. 

It's his girlfriend.

Not just his girlfriend. His girlfriend in his bedroom in King’s Landing. In bed.

In his bed. 

Aemond sits up straighter, a shiver rolling down his spine right to the base of his cock. It’s been almost two months since he’s seen her, not since the end of October had they been able to connect in person. A mix of classes, internships, and other obligations had simply gotten in the way. The anticipation of an uninterrupted Christmas holiday had been all Aemond could focus on.

Aemond pauses his music, calling her. She answers after the first ring as though she’d been waiting in anticipation for his call.

“Hello?”

“Baby.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be studying?”

Aemond’s mouth goes dry at the flirtatious tone, the soft feigned confusion at his call.

“I am, yeah,” he agrees, sitting back in his chair, the wood groaning as he does so, “Till someone distracted me.”

“Oh no,” she says, and Aemond closes his eyes, picturing the perfect pout that’s undoubtedly on her face, “How very rude. Distracting Aemond Targaryen from his studies.”

“A paper, actually,” he playfully corrects, “On the relationship between faith and reason during the wars of conquest.”

She moans at that, long and exaggerated. 

“Gods I love it when you talk nerdy,” she teases, voice rough, “It’s very sexy.”

Aemond bites his lip, shaking his head slightly and glancing around him. The library is silent apart from when he speaks, he hasn’t seen another student in a few hours. 

“Are you alone?” he asks.

“Mhmm,” she confirms, “Everyone’s gone to bed. It’s very late, after all.”

“I’m surprised you’re still up.”

“I was missing you.”

“I miss you too baby,” he says, closing his laptop and removing his blue light glasses, resting them on top, “I can’t wait to see you.”

“Yeah?” She says, “It’s been so long. Too long really.”

“I agree.”

“It’s been painful, without you,” she says with a sigh, “I ache for you, Aem.”

His heartbeat speeds up at that. He lowers his voice even more before continuing to speak.

“Yeah?”

“Mhmm,” she murmurs, “Right now especially. Gods I wish you were here next to me. In bed.”

Aemond takes another glance around him, wetting his lips. No one’s here, he’s sure of it. 

“What would you want me to do?” he asks, swallowing hard.

“Well first, I’d like you to kiss me,” she begins, the smirk evident in her voice, “I miss that mouth of yours. In more ways than one.”

“Cheeky,” he comments, and is rewarded with a giggle.

“I’d want you to kiss me,” she continues, her voice low, “Kiss me everywhere. My neck, my breasts.”

“Fuck me,” Aemond curses, long fingers tapping on the table. 

“I could if only you were here. I’m so wet Aem,” she purrs into the receiver, “I’m wearing that set you bought me. You remember?” He’s so hard he can’t stand it; paper forgotten he starts to palm himself through his jeans to relieve some of the immense pressure. “The red bralette…the matching panties.”

“Fucking hell,” he stifles a moan.

“Helaena put me in the guest room,” she continues, “But I couldn’t stop thinking about you. So I came in here instead, I hope you don’t mind.” Her tone is teasing, he can practically hear her smile. 

Aemond squeezes his eyes shut as her breathy voice continues,  “Remember our first time?” she hums, recalling the memory. “You ate my pussy so well Aem. So slow, and soft. Just the way you know I like it. Gods, that tongue of yours,” her words turn into a groan, “No one has ever made me feel like you do.”

“Baby,” he murmurs, “You’re fucking driving me crazy.”

“I just miss you. I miss your hands, baby. Your fingers especially.”

“Yeah?”

 “Mhmm. The way you hold me…squeeze me. How they feel inside of me.”

“Fuck.”

“Gods…..mine don’t feel as good.”

“Are you touching yourself right now?”

“Mhmm.”

“Fucking hells. Listen to me.”

A soft giggle emits from the other line. “Okay.”

“Are you fingering yourself, baby?”

“Mhmm.”

“How many?”

“Just two.”

“Oh, baby. You need to add another finger for me.”

“It’s too much.”

“Touch that pretty little clit for me, and add another finger. Gotta get you ready for me baby.”

He waits for her to do so, listening to every pant and moan she exhales. Palming himself through his jeans is no longer enough. Aemond reaches for his zipper and slowly, agonizingly slow, he pulls it down to free his cock. 

He moves quickly, releasing himself from his boxer briefs and fisting his cock firmly in his hand. His underwear is wet with precum as he tugs himself hurriedly. They’ll have to be quick. There’s no way in hells he can get caught like this. 

“Fuck. I’m so full.”

“That’s my good girl. How’s that feel?” he keeps his voice low as he asks, keeping his hand moving at a steady pace. 

“It’s so good. Not as good as you.”

His cock is pulsating in his grip, twitching at the sound of her words.

“I’ll be there soon.”

“Please hurry,” she whines, “I need you so badly.”

“Oh, baby. When I get there you have no idea how much trouble you’re in.”

The line goes silent for a moment and Aemond can’t help the smirk that appears on his face. He can picture the scene on the other end of the phone so perfectly; her so close to the edge, pretty face scrunched up in pleasure. Eyes widening with surprise as he takes control. 

“What?”

“You think you can call me, distract me during finals, touch yourself in my bed, and go unpunished?” he clicks his tongue, “You’ve been a very naughty girl.”

“Aemond…”

“I can’t have a naughty girlfriend, now can I?” he asks, keeping his tone light; the underlying threat of what’s to come when he gets home all he needs. 

“No.”

“And you respond so well when you’re taught a lesson, don’t you?”

He hears her inhale a shaky breath and his cock twitches in his hand. Tightening his fist he strokes himself faster.

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes sir,” she practically purrs.

Aemond muffles a groan, the familiar tightening at the base of his spine growing stronger as he jerks himself off. 

“You close baby? I know that pretty little pussy must be desperate to cum right now. Gods I wish it were your perfect cunt wrapped around my cock right now. Or that pretty mouth of yours.”

He hears her whine, can picture her spread out on his bed—his bed, while he’s so far away.

“Gods Aem, I’m so close.”

“Yeah? Me too baby, me too. Go on and come pretty girl, I wanna hear it. Let me hear my perfect girl fall apart.”

He can tell when she does, her breathing more labored, those pretty moans elongating into a desperate cry. He can picture it perfectly, her falling apart because of him as she had done hundreds of times. His girl, all his. 

“Oh that’s it, baby, just like that, that’s a good girl,” he praises her through it, almost unable to stop himself. It’s only a moment later he’s spilling himself on his hand, struggling to muffle the moan that escapes him.

The line is silent for a moment before he hears the rustle of movement, followed by a giggle.

“Seven hells woman,” Aemond says, reaching for the box of tissues that are thankfully placed on the table, undoubtedly meant for tearful students. 

“You enjoy yourself?”

“You’ll be the death of me,” Aemond grumbles, quickly cleaning himself up and zipping his jeans.

“And in the library of all places,” she says, followed by a soft tutting sound, “You’re a bad bad boy, Aemond Targareyn.”

Aemond smirks, slightly shaking his head at that. 

“I miss you,” he admits, feeling a familiar ache in his chest.

“I miss you too baby,” she tells him, voice full with emotion, “So hurry back to me.”

Aemond closes his textbooks and laptop, preparing to leave.

“Just one more,” he assures her, “And then I’m all yours.”

She happily hums at that, “You’re always mine.”

“Very true,” he agrees, grabbing his bag, “It’s late, I should let you go. I’ll see you tomorrow night?”

“I’ll be waiting,” she assures him, “Right here, in this position if you’d like.”

“I’d say just how I���d like you but I’m in public.”

“What’s stopping you? You just jerked off in a library.”

Aemond barks out a laugh as he continues to leave, making his way out of the warmth of the library and into the cold. It’s begun to snow, a soft dusting illuminated by the lamps that light up campus. 

“I love you,” he tells her. 

“I love you too. Good luck on your final.”

One more final. And then he’s home. And then he’s with her. How it has been since last summer, and how it always should be. 

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated but never expected

[gotta-winwin]

the ex | c.sc

⭐ starring: choi seungcheol 💌 genre: angst, comfort | wc: 1.2k 

💬 preview: both you and seungcheol grapple with the reality of your relationship and the aftermath of it.

cw/tw: ex!seungcheol, mentions of depression and feeling stuck in time, themes of regret, the inability to save each other, a bit of seungcheol bashing (just a tad), alternate povs, light swearing

🪽fic rating: pg13  ☁️ masterlist & a/n: the whole theme of this event collection are stories inspired by my own personal experiences with people. this one is : the ex. the biggest thanks to tara (@diamonddaze01 ) for betaing this piece... i love you so much <3

now playing: the ex's playlist

this is an addition to remember them…?, a celebration event for svt’s 10th anniversary. 

The longer you stay, the deeper it hurts. 

At least, that’s what Seungcheol had thought at first. Ever since he laid eyes on you, there had been a countdown. To what, he hadn’t known, yet the clock continued to tick towards something. 

The relationship had been a quick, burning rocket shooting into the sky before unceremoniously bursting into flames above the ocean. The timeline of it all had barely lasted a few months, and yet, Seungcheol still found himself mourning it, ten months later. 

Seungcheol repeats to himself that you’re not really gone. Not really. That all if it had just been a blip in his universe. He pretends he never tore your soul open and left you there, bleeding on the sidewalk. 

You sit alone at your local cafe, nursing a cup of iced coffee, the ice cubes swirling in your drink. You stare at Seungcheol’s apartment down the street and you pretend you’re not still confused about it all. 

Because even when you were sleeping next to him in bed, Seungcheol had never really let you in at all. 

“Tell me something real.” You had asked, tracing shapes on his arm. “Tell me something true.” 

He hummed, but he refused to meet your eyes. “Why?”

“I’ve told you so much about me.” And it was true. You had told him all your haunts, all your fears, your regrets. Had it been too much to expect him to do the same? 

He says a few words about his family back at home and goes quiet again. 

You’re scared to ask for more. 

Ten months later, you’re proud of how far you’ve come. You can barely remember the inflections and tones of his voice now, how he used to prefer calling you baby instead of your actual name. The image of him hovering above you in bed still reeks like his scent on your bedsheets late at night, but you expect it always will. 

After all, there are some leftovers you can never get rid of. 

Seungcheol figures it’d bring you great joy if you knew how much you still haunted him. 

He spends most of his nights staring at your old messages on his phone, rereading the memories of when you were both still in love. 

He avoids his friends when they call. You never liked them much anyways. 

“Can you come see me tomorrow?” Your voice crackles over the phone. “I miss you.” 

He remembers how his eyes were more concentrated on the game in front of him. “I can’t. Busy tomorrow. Next week, okay?” 

“Okay.”

His friends yell his name and he mutters a quick goodbye before ending the call. 

He remembers how he had told his friends he loved you because you were the easiest girlfriend to keep happy. He feels like throwing up. 

You pass his apartment again on your way to therapy. It’s inevitable, he lives in the middle of town, and although your heart no longer revolves around the area, your life still does. 

You stare at his apartment unit’s balcony as the bus rolls to a stop at the red light, and you’re suddenly hit with the realization that you had never once fought him for anything. 

There’s a lot of things you regret about Seungcheol, but never telling him how much he had hurt you was the biggest regret of them all. 

You remember the first and only time you had ever asked him for something. 

“Hey. I really need you to make more time for me. It’s really annoying that we’re dating and you only contact me once every 16 hours. Or how we only ever go to your apartment for ‘dates.’ How when I get there you don’t even speak to me.”

You remember sending the text with shaky hands. 

You waited for 12 hours before his response came. 

“Sorry. I’m working through a lot. I didn’t want to tell you but I haven’t been in a great mental space lately.” 

You know it shouldn't have, but his answer pissed you off. You were quietly rotting on the inside, and yet you still found time to love him. Why couldn’t he? You remember reading too much into the text. How he couldn’t even bother to type out the I’m of ‘I’m sorry.’ 

That was the biggest catalyst, you guessed. You had always read too much into things— thought too much. And Seungcheol had never really thought at all. 

You know now that the two of you were doomed from the first place. Two wrongs couldn’t make a right. Two shattered people barely had enough energy to patch themselves up, let alone fix someone else.

Seungcheol remembers how you left. Silently, like you were the entire time he had known you. 

“Hey. I think we’re better off as friends. I’m in no place to be in a relationship right now.” A simple text. Even at the end of it all, you were still taking the blame. 

“I agree.” He had sent back. “I’ll always be here if you need me.” It had sounded more like a courtesy than something he had actually meant. 

It’s funny. Seungcheol could remember every little insignificant detail about the time he had known you. Yet he still couldn’t remember the last time he had seen you. 

He picks up another bottle of rum and pours himself a glass. It burns as he forces himself to swallow it down. Perhaps it was Karma's sense of humor, for the taste of alcohol also reminded him of you. How you hated it whenever he drank. The look on your face when he had opened his fridge for food and revealed the rows of whiskey sitting on the shelf. 

You had always said he’d drink himself to death if he could. He had ignored it then, and he ignores it now. 

After all, he’s drinking bottled love now. 

You imagine meeting him in the grocery store ten years down the line. The thought of it doesn’t make you want to throw up and die anymore. 

You find yourself sincerely hoping he gets everything he has ever wanted. You pray he’ll grow up to fix himself– to achieve that dream he had drowned within him with alcohol and cigarette smoke. 

You still can’t tell how Seungcheol had contributed to your character development. Maybe he didn’t. But he did teach you exactly how not to be loved, and he also taught you to fight for the love you deserve. 

You see him hovering in your mind when you tell your boyfriend you want to see him more often. You see yourself erasing him when your boyfriend agrees and tells you he’ll appreciate it if you let him know about stuff like this in the future. Because those who love you would never make you feel as if you were too much. 

Seungcheol had you at your lowest. And you supposed there’s a bit of wretched beauty in that. 

author’s note:

a letter to the boy behind this story, 

hi k,

i really do hope you’re better now. that whatever demons you were fighting when you were holding me have long since been dispelled. i have empathy for you in my heart but you really were a shit person to love.

and maybe i didn’t really love you. maybe i latched onto the only person who would give me any type of affection at my weakest moment. maybe. but i still tried to love you. 

so, despite the fact that i can still feel your weight on me some nights in bed, i’ve forgotten you. thank fucking god. 

i hear you’re somewhere in california now. good. i remember when that used to be both our goals. how we always said you’d direct the films for the scripts i’ve written. i’m glad that didn’t happen. but i’m glad its still your dream and i’m glad you got it. 

and i have a lot to be bitter and angry with you about, but i rest easy knowing i’m nothing like the girl you knew, and that if we crossed past each other in the street, i’d walk away with zero weight on my chest while you’d turn your head and wonder what it’d be like walking next to me at my best.  and “i’ll always be here if you need me,” please, don’t make me laugh. you were barely there for me when you loved me.

[hauntedhokage]

Leaving anonymous love notes for you to find + Sae Itoshi from Silver's prompt list

You left the door to your office unlocked, since as the team's social media manager you didn't really have anything confidential to lock up, but you think that was about to change. For the last week you'd come in to find some note left somewhere on your desk for you to find, each one containing a sweet message - but not knowing who they came from made you a bit uncomfortable.

The first just telling you that you looked beautiful the day before.

The second a note that you always looked beautiful, but he loved how you looked in the team's jersey.

The third a reminder to stay hydrated, left with a couple bottles of your favorite brand of water (you didn't even know how anyone knew something like that)

The fourth, fifth, and sixth also came with gifts. A couple small boxes of snacks and a little plaque that said 'best instagram photographer', both making you a bit emotional at how much this guy thought about you.

Today's message was left on a sticky note stuck to your monitor, wishing that they could ask you out on a date but fearing that their reputation would have you declining to protect yourself from that reputation. The handwriting is neat, font small to ensure it would fit on the sticky note, and you tuck it away in a folder that had the other seven. The handwriting was consistent, and the words felt much too genuine for it to be the team messing with you because they thought they were funny.

But you do watch them all closely throughout the day, getting to mess with them during their practices and team meetings giving you the opportunity for closer interactions that you used to gauge whether they were acting differently towards you. Unfortunately the only thing out of place was the fact that Sae actually stopped to entertain the meme you were recording content for.

"Why do you have this picture?"

"I'm trying to get your autograph." Your response gets a snort from the midfielder, but he accepts your sharpie and takes the picture from your hands. It's old, Sae had to have been around five or six kicking around a soccer ball. "Your mom was excited to send it to me. Think I might frame it."

His reaction wasn't as outwardly amused or embarrassed as the other guys you'd ambushed that day, but the fact that you'd gotten any reaction from him at all made your day. He was cute when he smiled, you wished you could see more of that from him.

"I'll see you later, I'm sure," he states, handing the picture back to you before adjusting his bag on his shoulder. "I'm looking forward to it."

"Yeah," you murmur, watching in surprise as he walks away from you to get to the locker room.

You end up working late, usually being out of the stadium before the team finished their practice, but you wanted to get your next few videos edited so you could relax and respond to funny comments for the rest of the week. It takes you some deliberation, but you do decide to lock your office to see what your admirer would do next without being able to steal your stationery.

Sae is coming down the hall when you leave, something that wasn't surprising since he was notorious for practicing later than the rest of the team. Most of the team had popped in to say goodnight, a couple asking if you needed someone to hang out and make sure you made it home, and you happily wave them off with a promise to see them in the morning. But not Sae, and that was because he was leaving now. There's a paper in his hand, and he looks surprised to see you leaving as he approached.

"You're still here?"

"Yeah," you say with a shrug, turning the key to lock the door and meeting his gaze to see the obvious question. "Someone is using my papers and stuff to leave me love notes, I don't hate it but I'm trying to get them to reveal themselves."

You just aren't ready to get your answer when Sae takes the paper in his hand and slides it under your door. He doesn't say anything, just tilts his head in a silent invitation that you can't help but accept. He was so weird, but you were into it.

"Does this mean I can get you on a livestream?"

"Don't push it."

[2kverrr]

SAM GIDDINGS || Dating Headcanons

UNTIL DAWN || 2k Words

sam had 0 time for drama, especially including that of her own friends'. And being one of emily davis' closest friends basically encased your life in her drama.

you didn't feel as close with sam as you were with the group. but you felt most drawn to her, her maturity, her nurture, her kindness. more or less everything your friends lacked.

she's kickass, not scared to put someone in their place, something you never quite found the confidence to do.

she hates fishing, loves gardening, tolerates publicly accessible nature reserves, enjoys outdoor activities, despises zoos and you're not so sure how you know all of this.

you doubt she knows a single thing about you. it's weird - you can be friends with the top dogs and have some sort of silly superiority over people, yet nobody really knows you.

you and sam had spoken numerous times before, each you could remember were rather enjoyable. the two of you got on really well, but it was rare either of you could get any time alone

that was until you were approximately 4 weeks away from winter break.

"for fuck's sake em, just call him." you groan, your left hand massaging the bridge of your nose, but the girl straight out refused aggressively shoving her hands onto her hips and socking her head, yelling, "how many times do i have to tell you. i? am. not. wanting. i. am. wanted. a girl like me doesn't chase after people, they cha-" "emily i'm going to leave you with your problem, since it is yours, not mine. see you at lunch." and with that, you head out of the girls' bathroom and out into the busy corridor.

you catch a glimpse of sam leaning against a locker, scrolling through her phone. There’s an ease in her posture that draws you in despite the weight of your worries - well emily's. “hey, everything okay?” sam looks up, her hazel eyes sharp and assessing. it’s both intimidating and comforting at the same time. you take a breath, trying to shake off the frustration of the last few minutes. “just another day in the life of emily,” you say with a half-hearted chuckle, hoping to lighten the mood. sam arches an eyebrow, not buying the attempt at humour.

"mike? is she still hung up over him?" she asks, her voice laced with understanding. you nod, with a deep sigh and an eye roll. "well, at least you're not like that, that's what I like about you." but you're too caught up in staring at her moving mouth to actually respond, before you know it she's waving her hand in front of your face, "huh- sorry, what were you saying?" she giggles, picking up the books from her locker and beginning to make her leave, "I'll see you around."

that interaction definitely stuck with you, or maybe it didn't, but the fact that you continued to think about it for the rest of the day is a big giveaway.

you're almost certain the corner of your eye spotted a suspicious emily briefly witness the interaction and watch you stare giddings down as she walked away, but that's a conversation for later.

after that talk with the blonde, you both found yourselves in more situations on your own, bumping into each other in the hallway, finding yourselves bored at parties, fixing your makeup in the bathroom mirror and seeing a certain hazel-eyes blonde behind you.

the week of receiving the message from josh, you and sam became really close, almost replacing emily in some way. besides, emily was now happily married off to matt, a sweet boy, not the sharpest tool in the box though.

you'd manage to persuade her to let you give her a lift to josh's mountain getaway, despite her refusal she ended up in your passenger seat feeding you mints as you drive.

you get out of your car and begin to lug bags out, placing them on the floor, sam is busy checking out her surroundings quite contently. but she swiftly turns around to face you, "hey, i wanted to tell you something," you raise your head curiously along with a quirked eyebrow, "i know we've been hanging out a lot lately," she continued, her voice dropping to a more conspiratorial tone. "but it feels different, doesn't it? like, we've really clicked, and I really like it - so please expect me to follow you around like a puppy dog... i still can't look at all the guys the same after last year." her eyebrows furrow. you sigh softly, the gears in your mind turning as you contemplated her words, "i get it sam, i like it too," you smirk, ", now am i taking both of our bags up or are you gonna' lend a hand?" she chuckles, her tension breaking as a playful glimmer replaces her earlier seriousness. "ugh - i really thought i'd get away with that." "i'll take them up for you. just lead the way," you nod, "this place really freaks me out."

settling in was a bit of a cofuffle, sam bagsied our rooms and had already called dibs on a bath.

you'd barely made it up the mountain with yours and her bags before she'd waltzed in, beckoning you to hurry up. don't even start on the wall you had to hop.

"guys, guys, hold your horses. we can't get comfy yet - generators, boilers and locks. i've sent mike and jess off to the generator outdoors, em and matt are... um- somewhere," josh takes a long scan for the couple that weren't present, ", right! sam's bath, boiler's downstairs, switch it on then you can have your beloved bath." she firmly places her hands on her hips and tilts her head, "you think i know how to work those kin-" you're quick to cut her off, "i'll go, can't be that hard." shrugging your shoulders. "that's the spirit, amigo!" the dark-haired boy cheers, fussing up your hair. of course sam's protests began, and again you managed to butt in. "look, i know what i'm doing, trust me.” you say, trying to keep the tension in the room from rising. “it should be pretty straightforward. i'll check for the spark plug first—if it’s clean, just give it a gentle pull. worst-case, i might have to troubleshoot a bit more," there's a bit of a silence, confusion mostly, "yeah, um- my dad's a plumber.” you didn't exactly understand half the words you'd just said but if it gave you a chance at impressing sam, it was so worth it. she slowly smiles, "impressive..." biting her lip, looking you up and down with newfound admiration. "who knew you had all these hidden talents?" she teases, eyes sparkling with mischief. "maybe you can teach me a thing or two about plumbing after this bath fiasco." the playful banter felt like a breath of fresh air amidst the clamour of everyone scurrying around and arguing, and you couldn’t help but swell with pride. “alright, let’s see if I can live up to the expectation,” you reply, trying to sound more confident than you felt. josh looks between the two of you, a devious grin slowly forming on my face, "is this- oh wow. this- this is great!" he turns around, presumably going to find chris and ash, you do the same, not at all looking forward to seeing this 20 year boiler in all it's glory.

fortunately, the boiler hadn't frozen over completely.

the basement was eerie enough, never mind all of the creepy shit happening around you: screams, shouts, smashes. something wasn't right.

like any stereotypical horror movie, you walk right into the danger to find out what was going on."

and as always, you were right. josh's basement was fucked up, led to some sort of mine, where you soon found a battered and bruised mike, stumbling his way through the caved area. his ankle didn't look so good, but he didn't complain

the next half hour you were trying to navigate your way, the poor guy was traumatised, jess had disappeared, dead or alive? not a single clue.

there's apparently somebody or something out there with her and they're in the mines, you're baffled to say the least, but you stayed put.

all until a scream was heard, female, it was far yet so close.

"mike! what was that noise?" the two of you pause your movements, and prick your heads up, faint cries could be heard and the occasional, "anyone! help!" you knew that voice, almost naturally you race over the source of the noise, struggling to find a door, "where's jess? is it her? oh, please say it's her." mike whiles up against the wall while you attempt to barge your way in. "sam! i'm here, mike too. i'm coming in." “almost there!” you shout back to mike, who is still positioned by the flimsy beam of light your flashlights provide. he looks torn between helping you and staying on guard, eyes darting nervously around the oppressive shadows. the urgency in your efforts intensifies, and you feel your fingers digging into the rough surface of the door. it shifts slightly, just enough to give you hope, and with one last shove, it creaks open. you stumble inside, breathless, and immediately the air feels thicker, charged with an unsettling energy. "fuck sam! what the fuck happened?" the girl was tied up in a chair, nothing but a towel. whoever did this must've been fucked in the head, sick. you take a cautious step forward, your eyes zeroing in on the girl’s wide, terrified gaze. “you’re alright now,” you whisper reassuringly, though your own insides are knotting up at the sight. "oh my god, you're here... i- he chased me! th- then-" the blonde leans forwards into you once you complete untying her ankle bounds, sore red marks forming over her pale skin. her arms completely wrap around you, she's freezing. sliding off your hoodie and body warmer, you begin to wrap them around the girl. "-sam, it's okay. you can explain everything later. you safe now we-" but before you can finish your sentence, the girl leans in, connecting your lips in a kiss, short and sweet due to their being a third presence in the room. as your lips part, you both freeze, momentarily caught off guard by the sudden surge of intimacy in the midst of chaos. sam's eyes are wide with surprise, glistening with unshed tears, but there’s a flicker of gratitude behind her fear. you clear your throat, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks, but the urgency of the situation quickly pulls you back to reality. "i thought you were dead, y/n.”

after all police interrogation had been completed, those who survived were wasting away. josh dead. matt dead. jess dead. sam and yourself isolated yourselves from the rest.

after sam almost sacrificed herself to save you, you made an oath to yourself that you're forever indebted to her.

you were in love - even amongst the sick and twisted events that you two had to go through.

you both didn't go out as much anymore, your previous party-girl lifestyle completely left behind.

instead you both settled on movie nights or cooking sessions.

you immediately expanded her music taste, she's a great girl but her music taste could definitely do with some improving.

rock climbing dates, kayaking, surfing (which you absolutely smashed - sam could barely stand up on the bored)

sam always managed to convince you to go camping with her, bribing you with all sorts, despite your hatred for bugs.

she's the most peaceful sleeper, she looks like and angel when fast asleep. you're both early birds, which meant you really enjoy spening the morning in bed just admiring one another.

every month or so you'll pay a visit to the friends you lost together, paying respects. hell even josh - sam calls him mentally ill, whereas you call him batshit crazy. but he was your friend, one of our closest, you're still unsure to this day why you were apart of his cruel game but you couldn't keep dwelling on the past so you came to forgive him.

it's even rare to see the friends that made it out alive, you knew chris and ash moved away together, forgetting all that had happened. the last you heard off of mike was "i'm igniting some old flames - definitely going for drinks soon?"

it'd been 3 months and you never went to see him.

you and sam assumed that old flame is emily, your once best friend who you hadn't spoken to since before the disaster.

[sheriffaxolotl]

Off the Ledge (Chapter 2) Abby Anderson x Reader

Jump back! ⇐ ┈┈ Return to the start ┈┈ ⇒ Jump forward!

Tags: Slow burn, parkour, attempt at humor, compulsory heterosexuality, coming out Wordcount: 6.6k

Summary:

You knew better than to fall. But Abby was gravity.

A few weeks later.

The summons comes early.

Your elbow-deep in fixing one of the busted rooftop nets that you use for demonstrations when someone calls your name from below—short, clipped, and far too casual to mean anything good. You wipe your hands on your jacket and peer over the edge to see a soldier pointing back toward the main building. “Isaac wants to see you. Now.”

You don’t say anything. Just nod and start the climb down.

That kind of message doesn’t come with small talk.

 By the time you’re walking the echoing halls of the main building, your stomach’s coiled tight. This sort of thing always means one of two things: you’ve done something right, or you’ve fucked up and just haven’t heard about it yet. And Isaac... Isaac doesn’t usually deal in praise.

The walk feels longer than it is. When you reach the hallway that leads to the elevator, you spot a man slouched in a chair by the open doors. He looks up at the sound of your boots on concrete.

“Oi, took you long enough,” Ben grumbles, standing and stretching with a groan. “Swear I sent Archie like an hour ago to find you.”

“Or maybe you’re finally starting to lose track of time, sitting around.” You step past him into the lift. “Now, can I?” you ask, nodding at the buttons—and the foot he’s got wedged in the door.

“Yeah, yeah... little smartass.” He mutters it under his breath, pulling his foot back.

The elevator ride’s short, but your stomach doesn’t come with you. By the time the doors open on the top level, your heart feels like it’s still stuck somewhere down below.

You stop outside the office door, knuckles hovering midair. Deep breath. Inhale. Exhale.

Then, a knock.

“Come in,” his voice calls—steady, unreadable.

You push the door open. Isaac’s behind the desk, sleeves rolled to his elbows, a half-finished report in front of him. He doesn’t look up right away. That’s part of it—the way he lets silence do the talking. Makes you feel like you’ve already done something wrong.

“Mason and the others’ll be here in a minute,” he says finally, eyes flicking to yours. “Sit.”

You sit. Try not to fidget.

You do. Shoulders back. Chin up. You’ve been through this enough to know posture counts, even if the nerves in your gut haven’t caught up.

Isaac sets the report down and folds his hands over it. “We’ve got new blood. Salt Lake group.”

You nod. They’ve kept quiet, mostly, but you’ve caught glimpses of the lot of them around base. Especially her.

You’ve talked in passing. The rooftop party settled a friendly connection between you and the Salt Lake crew. After speaking to Abby for a few more moments that night, you’d eventually been introduced to Manny, Nora, and Mel. All of them were nice enough, and you had no problem with any of them. Yet.

“I want you and your team to take them out on patrol,” Isaac says. “Routine route, but I want eyes on the new ones. I want to know how they move. What they’re good at. What they’re bad at.”

You swallow, but nod again. “You want me to test them.”

“I want you to see if they’ve got the instincts,” he replies. “Scouts need more than aim and muscle. They need to read the ground before it shifts. Think quick. Work smart. You’ve always had that.”

You nod slowly, biting back the instinct to ask why you.

But you know the answer.

You’re young—barely seventeen—but you've already built a reputation. Not loud or flashy, but steady. Reliable. You move different. Fast. Smart. Like someone who’s always two steps ahead, not because you’re fearless, but because you know how it feels to lose ground.

You weren’t supposed to survive. Not because you were weak—but because you were scared.

You were born into this. Into a world already broken. Where silence was safety, and hesitation could be the last thing you did. And you were never brave, not at first. You clung to walls while others climbed rooftops. Froze when others charged ahead. You cried the first time you saw someone torn apart—not because it shocked you, but because it didn’t. Because death was normal, and that terrified you more than anything.

But fear taught you to listen. To move light. To stay alert. You survived because you paid attention, and over time, fear sharpened into instinct. It shaped you.

You weren’t supposed to make it. But you did.

And that earned you something—respect, or at least attention. People look at you and see the kind of grit that runs in the blood. Same potential your parents had, they say. Scouts. Runners. People who knew how to move, how to lead.

You’re still learning, still getting stronger—but you’ve got the eyes for it. The instincts. And Isaac knows that.

So when he gives you this assignment, it isn’t just about testing them. He’s testing you too. 

“Your parents were naturals. They could see threats before they happened. You’ve got the same thing. Maybe sharper.”

The mention of your parents’ hits like a cold draft through a broken window. You nod but say nothing.

He lets that sit.

“I want you to keep close to all three of them. Abby, Owen, Manny. See who might have potential. Who could take the lead if we needed more advanced movement out there—rooftops, gaps, fences. Not everyone can do what you do. I want to know who might.”

You nod again, tighter this time. It’s not just Abby. But her name still hangs heavier than the others.

Isaac leans back, studying you with that steady, unreadable look. “I trust you to be honest.”

You meet his gaze. “I will.”

A knock at the door breaks the moment.

“Right on time,” Isaac says.

The door opens, and your team filters in—Mason, Dana, and Kell. Familiar faces, steady hands. You’ve run patrols with them more times than you can count, the kind of people who know how to move without needing a thousand words to explain it.

Mason gives you a small nod as he passes. Dana raises a brow like she’s already sizing up what kind of day it’s going to be. Kell, quiet as ever, stands with arms folded, waiting for orders.

Isaac doesn’t waste time.

“This is a routine patrol,” he starts, tone sharp but even. “East perimeter, sweep and report. Nothing fancy. But we’re adding three new heads to the group.”

He doesn’t say names yet, but your team shifts slightly at the mention—aware, alert.

“They’re the group that came from Salt Lake. You’ve probably seen them around. Abby, Owen, Manny. This’ll be their first time out with us, so don’t get comfortable. They’re not proven.”

Mason huffs softly under his breath, and you shoot him a quick glance. He straightens, lips pressed into a thin line.

“I want them tested,” Isaac continues. “Push them. Not recklessly—but enough to see how they handle pressure. You know what I’m looking for.” 

You do. All of you do. 

“Stick to formation until you get a feel for them. Let them show you what they’ve got. If they trip, let ’em trip. If they shine, remember that. I want a report from each of you by end of day.”

Isaac’s gaze flicks toward you. “You take point.”

You nod. “Got it.”

“Good.” He gestures toward the door. “Split up. Get your people. Gear up. Meet at the west gate.”

You file out with the others, the hall outside buzzing with low morning noise. The kind of quiet that still feels like it could turn on a dime.

Mason nudges you with his elbow once you’re out of earshot. “So we’re babysitting?”

You shrug. “We’re testing.”

Dana grins. “Same thing.”

Kell doesn’t say anything, just breaks off toward the barracks with a lazy wave.

You head the opposite direction. Toward the makeshift gym, if your guess is right.

If Abby’s anywhere, it’s probably there.

Mason is at your side, the rest trailing behind with the kind of half-alert pace only seasoned patrol teams carry. You make your way through the compound, passing a few half-familiar faces and the buzz of early morning drills. 

You’re headed toward the stadium’s main floor, cutting past clusters of soldiers and civilians alike, the organized chaos of WLF life carrying on around you. Dana and Kell split off from Mason and you to collect Manny and Owen, while Mason automatically tags along with you to get Abby.

Your route takes you near the gym, tucked into a section of the stadium in an oval sized room. You stop at one of the windows that wrap around the room and pause, drawn in without really meaning to be.

Abby’s there. Alone, mostly. The gym surprisingly bare currently. Most soilders on patrol or in the mess hall at this time. One or two others spot her, give her a nod, but she doesn’t engage. Her focus is laser tight. Controlled. You watch as she runs drills—pushups, pull-ups, burpees—working through a routine with a kind of relentless rhythm that reminds you more of storm tides than soldiers. She's not just moving for the sake of it. She's training. Building. Preparing.

You’ve seen people work out before. Most do it to stay ready, to look tough, to pass time. Abby moves like someone who’s becoming. Like she’s got something to prove—maybe to herself more than anyone else.

“She’s always here,” Mason says, joining your side, sipping from his canteen. “Early morning. Late night. Sometimes both.”

You nod, not quite sure why that does something to your chest. “Yeah. I noticed.”

“You grab her, and I’ll see you at the west gate.” Mason says with a small wave of his hand as he heads off, most likely to grab something last minute.

You step through the gym doors and the scent hits you first—sweat, rubber, chalk, that tang of effort soaked into every wall.  

Abby’s at the far side, working the battle ropes like she’s punishing the floor for something. Muscles taut, expression locked in that dead-serious focus she always seems to carry. Her small braid bobs with the rhythm of each motion, sweat glinting on her arms and neck under the overhead lights. It’s hard not to stare. Harder not to think about the way your stomach twists when you do.

You hesitate for a second, then start crossing the gym, weaving between benches and racks like you’ve done this a hundred times, like your pulse isn’t picking up with every step. You stop just a few feet from her, waiting until the ropes slow and drop with a final thud.

“Hey,” you call out when you’re close enough. Not loud—just enough to break through her focus without startling her.

Abby glances over, wiping her face with her towel. She doesn’t smile, not exactly, but there’s a soft recognition in her eyes. “Hey. What’s up?”

You nod once, businesslike. “Patrol. You, me, Owen, Manny. West gate in ten.”

She grabs her water bottle, expression unreadable. “Didn’t know we were scheduled.”

“Last minute shift. Standard sweep,” you say with a shrug. “Just procedure.”

That earns you a small nod. No questions. She tosses her towel over her shoulder. “I’ll grab my gear.”

“West gate,” you repeat, stepping back toward the door. She nods once more and heads off, muscles still taut with motion.

As she disappears down the corridor, you exhale—low and steady—and push the door open, the chill air from the tunnel brushing against your face.

You let the door swing shut behind you with a soft clang, the metal echoing faintly in the corridor as your boots carry you back toward the open concourse. Light slices through the high stadium windows, catching dust in the air, and for a moment, everything feels like it’s holding its breath.

You’re definitely not thinking about Abby. Not the way her shoulders flexed. Not how she didn’t flinch when you asked her to come. Definitely not that.

. ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁જ⁀➴. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁ ݁

Mason’s already waiting near the west gate with the others, sipping from his canteen like he’s got nowhere better to be. He flashes you a crooked grin when he spots you.

“That took a while,” he says, slipping the bar into a pouch on his vest. “She make you do pushups first?”

You snort. “Nah. Just had to pry her out of her own personal training montage.”

Mason laughs. “Yeah, she’s intense. Like, scary intense. But in a cool way.”

“Mmhm,” you say, too casually. Maybe a little too quickly.

He raises a brow at you, teasing. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’ve got that look.”

“What look?”

“The look you get when you’re trying really hard not to have a look.”

You roll your eyes and elbow him. “I’ve got a face, Mason. Let me use it.”

He grins but lets it go—mercifully. Kell just chuckles from nearby, adjusting the strap on his pack. “Better hope she’s not faster than you,” he mutters, mostly to himself.

You don’t respond. You’re too busy checking your gear and pretending your heart didn’t skip a beat at the mention of her.

It’s fine. Everything is totally fine. You’re seventeen. You’re cool. You’re dating a boy. You definitely don’t feel like some middle-school idiot every time Abby does literally anything.

Mason slings his pack over one shoulder and leans in a bit. “She meeting us here?”

“Yeah,” you say, clearing your throat. “Told her west gate. She’s grabbing her gear.”

“Alright,” he says with a shrug. “Let’s roll out when they get here.”

You nod, then glance toward the tunnel again. Abby’s still not in sight.

You’re fine. Totally fine.

Just another patrol. With your boyfriend. And the girl who might actually kill you with a single glance.

Or worse—make you feel things.

You’re doomed.

. ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁જ⁀➴. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁ ݁

Owen’s the first to appear, jogging up with that easy grin he always seems to wear, like nothing in the world could possibly go wrong when he’s around. He’s got a rifle slung across his back and a half-eaten protein bar in his hand.

“Hope I’m not late,” he says between chews, mouth half-full. “Abby made me promise I wouldn’t ditch her. So technically, I’m early.”

“You’re technically chewing like a cow,” Mason replies dryly, though he offers a friendly nod. “Glad you made it.”

You smirk but stay quiet, eyes flicking toward the tunnel again. Just in time.

Abby rounds the corner at a light jog, already in gear and wiping sweat from her brow. She doesn’t say much when she arrives, just gives a brisk nod and adjusts the strap on her backpack.

She’s calm. Focused. Like she didn’t just kill herself training and now plans to go right back out into the field.

You feel that tiny buzz under your skin again.

Manny brings up the rear, predictably a few minutes behind, his hair still damp like he just rolled out of the shower. He carries himself with easy swagger, tossing a smirk at Mason and then at you. “So… this the cool patrol?”

“No vehicles,” Mason says, without missing a beat. “All foot. If that’s a problem, turn around now.”

Manny raises his hands in surrender. “I was just asking. Damn.”

Mason steps forward, gesturing to the rest of the team. “Alright, listen up. This is Dana”—he nods to the girl tying her boot laces, a sharp-eyed brunette with a long knife strapped to her thigh—“and Kell”—a tall guy with a quiet demeanor and a hunting bow slung over one shoulder, who gives a small wave. Both are clearly a few years older than you or Mason. Technically, they’re the adults of this group.

“They’re part of our scout rotation. We don’t ride. We move fast, low, and try to be smart. We know the rooftops, alleys, gaps, tunnels—if it can be climbed, we’ve climbed it. If it can be jumped, we’ve jumped it.”

You feel a flicker of pride. It’s not showboating. It’s just facts. Your team’s good at what they do.

Mason continues, glancing at the Salt Lake trio. “This ain’t a hazing. We want to see what you can do. If you can keep up, great. If not, we adjust.”

Owen raises a brow, but nods. Manny looks like he’s already working out how to make it look easy. Abby just says nothing—eyes forward, jaw set.

Mason looks to you. “You’re up. Lead the way.”

You tighten the straps on your pack and turn toward the crumbling stairwell that leads out toward the street. “Let’s move.”

As your boots start to echo off the old concrete, you hear footsteps fall in behind you—Abby’s heavier tread unmistakable to your ears.

You tell yourself not to glance back.

You glance back.

She’s already watching.

You clear your throat and focus forward, taking the first steps up the metal stairs. The metal door groans on its hinges as Dana shoves it open, and the city opens up around you—blinding sunlight, the distant hum of wind through skeletal buildings, the quiet crunch of gravel beneath your boots.

Mason calls formation with a simple hand gesture. You lead. Abby’s group falls in just behind yours, with Kell sweeping the rear.

The patrol starts easy. The route loops around the outer perimeter—one you’ve run a dozen times. You hop a low fence and drop into an alley slick with last night’s rain, boots skidding just enough to test your balance.

Owen whistles low as he follows. “How long you guys been doing it this way?”

“Years,” Dana says, not bothering to look back. “Rigs are loud. Roads are bottlenecks. This way we have less of a chance of fucking up.”

Manny mutters, “Speak for yourself,” just before barely catching himself on a ledge.

The alley dead-ends at a rusted fire escape. The bottom half of the ladder is long gone, collapsed in a storm or torn down years ago. The first platform hovers just above reach.

Mason jogs up beside you, nods toward the ledge. “Go on. Jump up.”

“How do you expect her to—” Owen starts, but cuts himself off when you vault up onto a large, overturned bin and leap cleanly, hands catching the edge of the lowest platform. You muscle yourself up and swing onto the fire escape without missing a beat.

“Well, shit,” Manny mumbles under his breath.

You glance down, motioning again. “Bin’s stable enough. Just don’t slip.”

Owen goes first. He’s a little slow, his foot slipping as he pushes off, but he recovers fast and hauls himself up with a grunt. “This is definitely not what I thought ‘patrol’ meant.”

Manny’s next. He takes a second to stretch like he’s prepping for a track meet, then makes the jump with surprising ease, even if he slams his shin on the edge. “Ow. Cool. I’m fine.”

Then Abby steps up to the bin.

You clock it immediately—the slight shift in her jaw, the tension lining her shoulders. She looks up at the height of the platform, the fire escape stretching far above, and her breath comes a little tighter than before.

You recognize that pause. It’s not about strength.

It’s distance.

It’s height.

Still, she jumps. Catches the edge hard, gritting her teeth as she scrambles up. No help. No complaints. She just does it.

You’re impressed. You shouldn’t be. But you are.

Mason climbs up just after her and joins you on the landing. He nudges you lightly. “Your head’s not in the game,” he teases under his breath, not unkind.

You shrug, dry. “Still waiting for you to catch up.”

“You wound me.”

Kell and Dana bring up the rear, scanning the path behind for stragglers or threats. Once everyone’s steady on the narrow metal platform, you motion upward.

“Two more levels. Then we hit the roof. Watch your step—the last flight’s missing a bolt, so stay light on your right side. Don’t grab the rail, it gives.”

You move first, climbing with ease, muscle memory guiding each step. The others follow, slower. Abby brings up the middle, and you keep half an eye on her. She’s not faltering, but you can see the way her breath changes as she gets higher. Focused. Controlled. The fear’s there, but it’s buried under grit.

She makes it to the roof without a word.

You all do.

 You reach the top of the fire escape and swing over the ledge, boots hitting rooftop gravel with a crunch. The city stretches out around you, layered in rust and ash and stubborn weeds growing through concrete cracks.

The others pull up one by one, slower but not struggling. Abby’s the last up, chest rising and falling with controlled breaths as she steadies herself. She doesn’t look down, but you catch the tightness in her jaw.

You turn toward the group and gesture out across the surrounding rooftops.

“This is how we run patrol,” you say, voice level. “It’s not just about covering ground. It’s about seeing first. Getting higher up gives us the advantage—lets us check things out before they become problems.”

Owen squints at the streets below. “Like spotting infected?”

“Exactly,” you nod. “And hostiles. We call anything in on the radio, mark it for clean-up, or—if it’s a lone runner or straggler—we handle it ourselves.”

Dana chimes in, “Only if it’s safe. High chance, low risk. Otherwise, we report and move.”

“It’s not about picking fights,” you finish. “It’s about staying smart. A step ahead.”

They’re listening. Even Manny, who’s trying not to look winded. Abby’s eyes stay on you, serious. Not judging—just taking everything in, like she’s filing every word away.

You turn back toward the next rooftop. It’s a short gap—maybe five feet, no lower than a story down. You've done it a hundred times, but you still pause at the edge out of habit. You crouch low, test the flex of your legs, the grip of your boots.

The wind picks up slightly, brushing at your collar. The city below murmurs with distant noise—faint creaks, echoing caws, a animal calling somewhere too far to see.

You don’t look back.

“Follow my lead,” you say. And then—

You run.

You leap.

And for a second, the sky catches you.

Your boots slam the other side with practiced ease, gravel shifting beneath you but not enough to throw you off. You straighten smoothly, turning just in time to see the others reacting.

Mason lands next, less graceful but just as fast. He offers you a look—half impressed, half annoyed. “Showoff.”

You smirk. “Someone’s gotta keep the bar high.”

Owen hesitates at the edge, eyebrows raised. “Y’all do this for fun?”

Dana snorts behind him. “This is the fun part.”

Owen takes a few quick steps back, builds momentum, and makes the jump with an awkward thud of boots. He stumbles forward a little, arms windmilling, but catches himself.

“Still alive!” he calls, grinning.

“Barely,” Kell mutters, landing behind him a second later.

Manny goes next with more confidence, muttering a “fuck this” under his breath before sailing over, hitting the rooftop with a bit more grace than expected. He brushes off his knees like he meant to make it look rough.

Then there’s Abby.

She stands at the edge of the rooftop, boots planted, arms tense at her sides. You see the way her shoulders shift—subtle, but enough. She’s not breathing as steady anymore.

Her eyes flick to the gap, then down.

Just for a second.

But that second says a lot.

“Abby,” Mason says gently from her side, “take a few steps back. Get some speed behind it. You’ll be fine.”

She doesn’t move.

You’ve seen her face focused, determined, fire in her eyes while training alone in the gym. This isn’t that. This is tighter, more uncertain.

Owen steps up beside her. “Hey, you good?”

“I’m fine,” Abby says quickly, too quickly. But her feet stay rooted.

The wind picks up a little, and you see it—how her fingers twitch slightly. How her jaw locks.

You’ve seen people hesitate before. Most of them are green. Scared of getting hurt.

You call over softly, “You don’t have to jump it.”

She looks up at you, eyes narrowing—not angry, but searching. Like you’re speaking a truth she doesn’t want to hear.

“It’s not about guts,” you continue. “It’s about knowing your limits. No one’s gonna fault you for waiting. We’ve got another way down if you need it.”

She doesn’t answer. Just steps back from the ledge, jaw tight.

Manny calls over to her. “It’s your first time out with the monkey squad,” he jokes. “They’ve got their weird rooftop cult. You’re allowed to walk like a normal person.”

She gives a huff—half a laugh, half a breath she didn’t know she needed.

“Alright,” Mason says, clapping his hands once. “Alternate route it is. We’ll regroup at the next block.”

Mason catches your attention at the mention of your name. “Alright, let’s break it up. You, me, Owen, and Manny—stick to the rooftops. Dana, Kell, you’re with Abby.”

 Abby gives a tight nod, but she’s not quite looking at anyone. Her gaze is fixed on something ahead, her jaw still set. You’re not sure if it’s frustration or just determination, but she doesn’t argue.

Dana and Kell exchange a glance, both giving Abby a silent but supportive nod. “We’ll meet you guys at the block,” Dana says, her voice steady as she leads Abby and Kell off toward the fire escape.

Mason slings his pack up higher. “Alright, team. Let’s move. Keep your distance, keep your eyes sharp, and if something looks wrong, you’re calling it out.”

Owen cracks his knuckles, a grin creeping onto his face. “You guys never get tired of this, huh?”

You give him a sidelong glance. “Not a chance. You’ll get the hang of it. Most of the jumps we'll be taking are small, anything you can't handle, we can take another route.”

Manny scoffs lightly, stepping up beside you. “He’s got the attitude for it. Not sure about the rest.”

Owen shoots him a mock glare, but there’s no real malice behind it.

You start up again, crossing to the next building edge with the same precision you’ve practiced a thousand times.

The rooftops stretch out before you, a maze of fire escapes, loose bricks, and gaps between buildings. You know the city, the rooftops, like you know your own skin. The others? They’re just learning to move as part of it.

Mason leads you forward, always calm, always steady. Owen’s footsteps behind you aren’t as light as they should be, but that’s to be expected. He’ll get better. Maybe. This might not be his thing.

Manny, however, seems to really have the hang of it.

As you leap from one building to the next, you glance over your shoulder, watching the city stretch out behind you. Abby’s group is taking the alternate route now—Dana leading the way with Kell keeping an eye on Abby, guiding her through the fire escape.

The rest of the team falls into rhythm as you all move forward, the gaps between the rooftops now stretching out into the distance.

By the time you make it to the block, the sun has climbed higher, glinting off shattered windows and rusted pipes. You duck beneath a metal overhang, heart still steady from the final sprint across a collapsed skybridge, and scan the empty street below. All clear.

Manny lands beside you with a soft thud, grinning like he just beat a game. “That was fun,” he says, tugging off one of his gloves to flex his fingers. “Didn’t think rooftops would be my thing, but—eh, I get it now. You feel kinda invincible up here.”

You offer a short nod. “You’re quick. Good instincts.”

“Don’t tell Mason that,” he jokes, “Don’t want him to think he has competition.”

You snort under your breath.

Mason joins a moment later, pausing to scan the horizon before giving a thumbs-up. “You held your own,” he says to Manny, then glances toward Owen, who’s the last to climb up, breathing a little harder than the rest of you. He’s trying to play it off, but his shoulders are tense, and there’s a fresh scuff on his elbow.

“That sucked,” Owen mutters, dragging the back of his hand across his brow. “Like, in a humbling way.”

You suppress a smirk. “It’s not for everyone.”

Manny claps him on the shoulder. “At least you didn’t fall through that roof back there.”

Owen groans. “Don’t remind me. That bird was not dead, by the way.”

“Sure wasn’t,” Mason adds, clearly amused.

You hear footsteps below before Abby, Dana, and Kell appear around the far side of the block. They move as a tight unit, Dana in the lead with her rifle slung low and Kell bringing up the rear. Abby looks… better. Calmer. Grounded again now that her boots are back on solid pavement.

She doesn’t say anything at first, just gives a small nod as they approach.

Mason meets them halfway, offering a quick debrief. “No activity. Quiet run. How’d the ground route go?”

“Uneventful,” Dana says. “Saw some movement, just a runner stuck behind debris. No threat.”

Kell jerks his chin toward Abby. “She did alright.”

Abby folds her arms, clearly still frustrated. “I slowed us down.”

“No, you adapted,” Dana corrects evenly. “Heights aren’t for everyone. You kept your head. That counts.”

You keep your face neutral, though you catch Abby’s eyes flick toward you for a second—just a flicker—and then back to the street. She’s embarrassed. Not humiliated, but definitely not pleased with herself. You recognize the look.

Mason nods. “Good to know. This is why we test like this. Not about winning, just figuring out what works.”

“Yeah,” Owen says, stretching his arms. “Next time I’m voting for bikes.”

Everyone laughs, the tension easing just enough to feel like a team again.

You scan the rooftops behind you once more before turning to Mason. “We heading back?”

“Yeah,” he confirms. “Clean loop. Let’s move.”

As the group starts down the road, Abby falls into step behind Dana, quiet but steady. Manny walks beside you, humming a tune under his breath. And Owen? Still muttering about birds.

All in all, not a bad first run. For most of them.

. ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁જ⁀➴. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁ ݁

The group moves in a loose formation as you head back toward the stadium, boots crunching on loose gravel and weeds cracking through the pavement. The mood’s lighter now—an early patrol that didn’t go sideways is a small blessing in this world, and everyone seems to feel it.

You fall in a few paces behind Mason and Manny, letting your legs move on autopilot as your eyes drift ahead. That’s when you notice it.

Owen’s walking next to Abby, a little too close—not in a bad way, just… familiar. His hand brushes her lower back as they step over a crumbled curb, and he doesn’t move it right away. Just a brief touch, but enough to say he’s done it before. Enough to say this isn’t new.

Abby doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t lean into it either. Just keeps walking, arms crossed over her chest like she’s still thinking through every second of that rooftop moment.

Still, your brain—traitor that it is—files it away. The way his voice softens when he talks to her. The easy smile he gives her when she finally says something back. You can’t hear the words, but the rhythm of it is different than when he talks to the rest of you. There’s a give and take, a kind of comfort you recognize but don’t get to feel right now.

You don’t let it show. You don’t even blink. Just adjust your gear and keep walking like everything’s cool and totally fine.

Manny’s voice cuts through your thoughts. “Y’know,” he says casually, “you really do make that whole rooftop thing look easy. Like you were born bouncing off bricks.”

You snort, grateful for the distraction. “Guess that makes you a natural.”

He grins. “Hell yeah, I am.”

But as you glance up again, eyes flicking toward Abby—her braid catching in the breeze, Owen still walking just that little bit too close—you feel that stupid flutter again. Not the dangerous kind. The dumb kind. The kind that has no business existing when you’re seventeen, on patrol, and definitely supposed to be focused on literally anything else.

You focus on the road instead. On the way the weeds have started creeping up the fence lines. On the distant caw of a crow.

Just ignore it. That’s the plan. Keep moving. Don’t trip on the sidewalk. Don’t look again.

You’re fine. Everything’s fine.

 However, the moment you see movement out of the corner of your eye—Abby laughing at something Owen said, her hand brushing his arm like it wasn’t a big deal—you glance over again.

Only to catch your boot on a chunk of broken concrete.

You stumble, arms flailing just enough to feel the sting of embarrassment more than any real danger. Your foot skids out, and you have to catch yourself with a hand on a nearby fence post to keep from fully eating shit.

Manny lets out a bark of laughter behind you. “Damn, you okay?”

Mason turns, brow raised. “What happened? Trip over your ego?”

“I tripped over the ground,” you mutter, already brushing yourself off like nothing happened.

Owen looks over, half-concerned, half amused. “That was graceful.”

“Thanks,” you say, voice dry as dust. “I’ve been working on my floor routine.”

And then—quietly, from just behind Owen—Abby speaks up. “You good?”

It’s not teasing. Just… flat concern, plain and honest.

You blink.

That shouldn’t make your chest feel like it’s doing somersaults. It really shouldn’t. But there it is.

You nod—maybe a little too quickly. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

Her eyes linger on you for a second longer than necessary, like she’s not quite convinced, before she turns her attention back to the street ahead.

You don’t look back at her, but you feel it. That weird, heat-prickled awareness in your skin like you’ve been caught doing something embarrassing in front of someone who matters more than they’re supposed to.

Mason sidles up beside you again, lowering his voice. “So... not your best landing.”

You shoot him a look. “You’re not funny.”

He shrugs, grinning. “No, but I am observant.”

You groan. “Don’t start.”

He hums thoughtfully, like he’s filing something away for later.

Great.

The stadium’s gate finally comes into view, and you pick up the pace, eager to get inside and scrub the moment from your brain like it never happened.

You don’t glance back again.

...But you definitely feel her eyes linger just a second longer.

The gates to the stadium yawn open as the patrol returns, boots scuffing over concrete and gravel. There's the familiar hum of background chatter, people unloading gear, checking weapons, greeting others on shift. The scent of rust, sweat, and distant food wafts in from the concourse. Another patrol, done and dusted.

Everyone starts peeling off in different directions—Mason gives your shoulder a squeeze before heading toward the armory, Owen muttering something about showering before chow as Manny follows with a low whistle, clearly satisfied with the morning’s work.

Abby lingers behind Dana and Kell, quieter than usual. She's still got that same tightness in her shoulders, like her skin’s too small for her body.

You hesitate, then call out before she disappears down the inner corridor. “Hey—Abby. Hold up.”

She stops and turns, brows drawn just a little. “Yeah?”

You step closer, eyes flicking briefly to make sure no one else is hanging around. “Just wanted to ask... earlier. On the roof. That moment—you hesitated.”

She doesn’t respond at first, jaw shifting slightly. But then, with a breath that sounds more like surrender than irritation, she nods. “Yeah. Heights aren’t my thing.”

You nod slowly. “Right. I thought maybe. Just… wanted to check in. It’s different, what we do. Not everyone likes being up that high.”

Abby shrugs one shoulder, but it’s tight, guarded. “I can handle it.”

“I know,” you say, and you mean it. “But you don’t have to prove anything. Just trying to make sure no one’s in over their head—literally.”

Her gaze flickers to yours, searching for something. You’re not sure what, but it makes you want to keep talking. Or maybe just… stay.

“I’ve been doing this since I could run,” you add, a little softer. “But if you ever want to try it again—without pressure—I wouldn’t mind going with you. Just us.”

There’s a pause. She doesn’t smile, exactly, but something shifts behind her eyes—less tension, more thought.

“Maybe,” she says, voice quiet. “We’ll see.”

You give her a nod and start to turn, trying to walk off casual.

But your heart’s thudding like an idiot. Because “maybe” didn’t sound like a no. And the way she looked at you, just for a second… didn’t feel like just “thanks for checking in.”

You keep walking, trying not to grin.

Cool. Totally cool.

But that offer? It never came up again.

Life kept moving. Patrols, drills, debriefs. You trained. You joked. You tried to be normal around her, even when your heart didn’t get the memo.

You told yourself not to read into it. Not to make it more than it was.

Weeks passed. Enough time that the offer to her out for another try started to feel like a half-dream. Like something imagined in the quiet lull between danger and duty.

Then Owen asked Abby out.

It was somewhere between the unloading of packs and the fading heat of adrenaline—just a casual thing, a half-joke dressed up as bravery, followed by a laugh and a look that lingered a second too long.

She didn’t say no.

And you? You ended up watching it happen like someone had hit pause on the air in your lungs. You ended up nodding like it didn’t mean anything. Like it didn’t sink its teeth into that soft spot you hadn’t even realized was growing.

You ended up in the rec room later, playing cards with Dana and Kell, smiling at the right times, laughing too loud. Mason dropped in and ruffled your hair like always, oblivious and sweet, and you tried not to feel like a traitor for not feeling the same anymore.

You ended up in your bunk that night staring at the ceiling, trying not to think about the way Abby had looked at you on the rooftop. Like she’d seen something. Like she’d been about to say something.

You ended up alone with the quiet thought:

Maybe “we’ll see” meant something else after all.

Maybe it was just too late. . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁જ⁀➴. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁ ݁

Notes:

I never said this would be a happy fic, did I? 😅 I think Abby’s around 16 in the first game, but I’ve aged the characters up a year just to make the time skip and everything else sit better. Mostly, though, I just wanted an excuse to write about what it really feels like to have a crush—and to feel completely, hopelessly out of your depth. 🫠 Also, I just watched episode 2 of The Last of Us show and I am bursting with feelings. About the show. About this fic. About Abby. I need someone to yap with—urgently. Also, chapter 3 is written. I just want to read over it and make some adjustments before I post! But I'm excited with how this is coming along!

Tag list: @half-of-a-gay

[nexility-sims]

𝗧𝗔𝗞𝗘 𝗧𝗪𝗢 (𝟭/?)   |   NAKAWE & CANARIS, USPANA, 1992

Renzo returned her calls belatedly. He was not someone who checked the answering machine; the indifferent prerecorded message a missed caller would hear was sincere, including his offhand claim that he only had such a device because it was "cool." Or, it had been.  [continued below ↓]

🅝🅞🅣🅔🅢 - 1) to be explicit, the whole premise of this is "how does the au diverge from canon," so ... this is how. [some series of Spoilers] happened, and this is the aftermath. thrilling, huh. 2) gotta listen to "kashmir" by LZ to get the Full Effect™ & 3) i phoned in much of this bc i got tired of tinkering and just wanted to share it already !!!!! so. wish i had more to say, but it's 3:30am and, well, Inquiring Minds can and do inquire. thanks for following me on these many meandering and highly unnecessary side quests ♥️

𝟭𝟵𝟵𝟰 🅐🅤 ‣ gameplay \ prev \ next

He started to encounter them more often in the mid-eighties, although his first exposure was much earlier. Mrs. Portnoy had owned one. He took no notice of it on the occasions she invited him inside for iced tea while she pulled crisp bills from her purse only to give him her most beat up nickels and dimes. It was on an illicit visit, after she ran to her car with rollers still intact to run some emergency errand, that he learned what it was. Loudly, a man’s gruff voice boomed into the living room as he examined the china cabinet. He sprung away so fast that he crashed into the cabinet’s open door, rattling the whole thing and its fragile contents. His heart raced and his cheeks burned as he faced the room. Instead, he caught the end of the message: her long-absent husband had an update about their divorce proceedings. Renzo’s whole body deflated as he relaxed. For his trouble, he saw it only fit to walk off with something. Mrs. Portnoy’s porcelain trinkets were useless, so he nicked more of her Valium instead. She kept her pills loose in a candy bowl like his mother did, after all. 

Years later, he spent more time in offices or with people who would have such a novelty in their home. Its possibilities became evident to him by happenstance when he called a woman at the number she had printed on a cocktail napkin and tucked into his jeans. A message played after it rang for some time. Her voice was light and clear as she said, “Why don’t you fuck off and die?” His brow knit hard for a few beats, then she concluded, “Joking! That’s to cull the salesmen and losers. Leave a message if you aren’t one.” His message was a burst of laughter. When he met her at a Chateau Marmont function earlier that week, she was a prim redheaded event coordinator. He might have expected that gag from the other number on his list. Later that same night, he met a shaggy-haired makeup artist after she had shouted to compliment his eyelashes over the din of whatever group was playing the Troubadour at the time. Of course, when he moved on to that number, still faintly visible on his forearm just below the snake curled there, her message was brief. Delphie stuck to the basics, so he hung up without saying a word and decided to try Diane again.

Missed calls from Leonor piled up then eventually stopped, and she only left one message for him. He heard that one in real time as if it were a haunting from the ether, not a mechanical recording tethered to the corporeal world. Of course, that was likely how she meant it. Without greeting, she began, ‘I need to talk to you. I know you’re there, so can’t you just listen for a few minutes? What’s wrong with you anyway? Don’t you get tired of being... If I could shake you or just—Ugh!’  Whatever anger she began with evaporated with a loud sigh. Resignation dampened her second attempt as she mused, ‘I don’t understand you. Are you a real person, Renzo? I’m going to wake up in a few days and really not know if I dreamed you up. That’s how I feel. If I was going to torture myself, that’s what I would do. I only want to wrap my arms around you, but there’s nothing to hold. How many of us are there, huh?’ Silence. He turned his head as if she, the ghost from nowhere, would be there to see. Then, her voice rose again to conclude, ‘Call me later, okay? I’m still high right now, but I’ll be sad later and so will you.’ 

The media presence outside his address ramped up in an abrupt way in the midst of these frequent then ceased calls. He was always incensed when they crowded and hounded, but those days were remarkable. His routine had not changed. To the extent that it had, the change was a shrinking. His world got smaller. Most of it was his own doing; before the attention finally drove him out of Nakawe, he isolated himself at home. The clamor on the street managed to penetrate the foliage and force its way inside the guesthouse. When he cranked up the volume of whatever recorded racket was already shaking the walls from within, some of the vultures became emboldened enough to skulk around in the yard. What did they make of the place? he wondered at one point. Every curtain was drawn. Even in the dead of night, no lights came on. Noise poured out all the while—music looped on end, the same tracks over and over again, guitar riffs and echoing vocals to answer the chorus of cameraman taunts angling to lure him out in a photogenic rage.

He could see them from the bedroom windows, but he spent most of his time laid out on the opposite side of the bed. With his back to them and his mind elsewhere, some forty-eight hours passed before he emerged and came to appreciate the storm that had developed around him. Even then, there wasn’t any anger. He wouldn’t go outside and shout at them. He wouldn’t hurl anything from the upstairs windows—no crashing punctuation on a shouted threat to, ‘Get the hell out of here!’ Instead, he changed the record, made black coffee to accompany a stale pastry, and stretched out on the couch. The conversation pit kept him from view even as a few took advantage of the portal wall that separated the living room from the backyard. 

With what lucidity he had, he decided to leave town. The actual getaway would be the hardest part. Where would he go? Canaris felt right. He dreamed of collapsing on the beach and giving himself over to the waves there—all of them, the all-encompassing rushes of euphoria and the enveloping saltwater with its foam and grit. It proved easier said than done. He did force his way out to a waiting car without hitting anyone, and he did wake up in Canaris sometime later, but his attempt to get lost in the surf ended with a terrible, desperate gasping fit. There was nothing soothing about drowning. It was so dissatisfying that he locked himself in a pitch black hotel bathroom until the sensations faded from memory. When he decided to try again, their unwanted recollection prompted him to wander the streets of Canaris’s urban sister city instead. 

He eventually passed a record store casting neon light onto the street and, noticing the throng of young people loitering outside, thought of Leonor with unexpected clarity. It was barely a week since their last conversation, but he remembered her like a figure from a past life. 

Inside the nearby phone booth, he struggled to dial her number. It wasn’t his memory that failed him so much as the way his fingers refused to land where he meant. Finally, he bested his own clumsy impatience only to grow even more exasperated when the hard won ringing gave way to her best professional tone. Her prerecorded message was basic and straightforward, but he knew better these days than to judge it as somehow representative of anything at all. He had barely uttered a quiet greeting when the phone clicked again and her usual voice piped up, breathless, ‘Oh, finally!’ 

His stomach dropped into his boots, and he leaned, heavy and weary, against the glass pane of the telephone booth. With his cheek against its cool surface, his eyelids fluttering with exhaustion. ‘I got in some trouble,’ she told him. He swallowed hard but said nothing. ‘Nothing permanent. Never mind. I just … Are you home? Can I come by?’ 

While she put forth those tentative questions, he was lowering himself to the ground with all the care of a glass-boned geriatric and fumbling around his pockets for a cigarette. The pack was empty when he grasped it. Worse than bad news, that was a bad sign. Leonor listened to the muffled sounds of movement, silent and waiting, until he gave up and set to flickering his lighter on and off instead. ‘I’m not home,’  he said. ‘I’m not going back home.’ 

‘Today?’

‘Period.’

More silence. He watched the flame grow and whisper away with each motion of his thumb. As she spoke, he kept his gaze trained on it. 

‘You’re leaving? Is that it?’

There was nothing accusatory in her tone. If anything, she sounded to be on the verge of tears. That telltale sound pricked at something in him. She was waiting for a response. With a huff, he put away the lighter so as to press more of his exposed skin against the cool glass. To any passerby, it must have appeared strange, like some unseen force had shoved him into the booth and refused to let up. His expression remained placid. Even as he responded, knowing how she would receive it, his face was neutral, slack even. 

‘I was going to tell you—drop by your place, maybe.’ Was that true? He didn’t know. It had crossed his mind, at least, so it wasn’t a lie. ‘I’m leaving Canaris in two days. Going straight to the airport..’ 

Her soft “Oh,” may as well have been a hiccup. 

There was nothing left to say. He might have, in a better state, apologized for the surprise or proffered his rationale as a sign of goodwill. Tacking the other way, he knew she would have appreciated a subtle redirect to other things—why she was calling, whether she was okay, if she wanted to hop on a jet to Canaris for the night. Instead, the silence went on, although it distinctly didn’t drag. They were in a limbo of sorts where time didn’t exist. He had been floating for days. With just the subdued sound of her voice, it was as if she had simply waded out to join him. Indeed, he couldn’t imagine what she was doing on her end of the line—the specifics, whether she was in her bed or, maybe, had carried the phone out to her balcony. As long as he didn’t hear the beginnings of a caustic meltdown, they stayed temple to temple, watching black clouds drift along a black sky.

He shifted himself, making noise to signal he was listening. She did the same. 

‘Will you …’ There was more noise, more movement—“I’m still here, don’t go!” the clattering and faint rustling said—and then another heavy sigh. She spat out her next question as if afraid it would lodge in her throat. Her tone was nakedly forthright or urgent or both as she asked, ‘Will you let me come with you?’

Now, troubled waters imperiled their floating. What could he say to that? His instinct was to bark, “No!” with all the impetuous exuberance of a child being forced to share. Instead, or because of that, he laughed. It was the same response in effect. If his reaction bothered her, she didn’t launch into a tirade or lash out. Any tears failed to amplify. She didn’t protest or interrupt to clarify and press her case. She didn’t say anything at all, but she also didn’t hang up. That must have become conspicuous, for his laughter dried up as soon as he acknowledged that she was just sitting there, silent except for her soft breaths, waiting for him to take her seriously. Quietened, he took his time readjusting and wrestling with the unwieldy cord of the telephone. His body was heavy, his skin felt clammy and tacky like cling film, and a familiar throbbing in his head surfaced as the fit of laughter left dull, unwelcome sobriety in its wake.  

‘What are you talking about?’ he moaned. ‘Don’t you know what I’m saying?’ 

She couldn’t, he feared. If she did, wouldn’t she be on the edge of hysteria, if not plunging headfirst into it? She couldn’t handle being unable to get him on the line for a few days, so how would she fare if he was gone—hours and flights away, starting over beyond reach, awash in new people and new experiences, engulfed by another world unopened to her? She wouldn’t allow it. Or, there would be kicking and screaming. He might leave, but it would be with scabs due to scar. Still, this is what he was promising. “Leaving” was not about any destination; there was no afterward or subsequence to elaborate, to plan, to suggest as a hazy someday rendezvous. It was the final goodbye by another name or, at best, the preamble to it. 

“Do it with your eyes wide open,” she had once asked while they lay together in the backyard he no longer considered his, if he ever had. The tenderness touched him. Even in the moment, he was struck by her maturity and her girlishness. They were inextricable contradictions. Like the horizon was noteworthy as a meeting place, so, too, were the moments when her age meant something to him. It was brave of her to feel herself in the palm of his hand—to feel such intimate fear of being dropped or crushed or tossed out like a pesky houseguest—and to nonetheless face the necessity that it be named. ‘See? I can say it,’ she had seemed to announce, triumphant in a spiritless way. Only, she didn’t say it. It was, then and now, all euphemistic. It was a bridge built by planks of mutual understanding, beset by rotting spots where fear took hold, swaying and creaking. It was impossible to cross unless your eyes were squeezed tight. 

He realized as she did ultimately resort to explaining herself that she knew all too well what he was saying. In the time apart, when he left her dangling with no notice, she must have exhausted the possibilities in her own mind. It wasn’t a far-fetched or unlikely scenario. He could very plausibly have ignored her because he was busy executing his big escape from Uspana with single-minded focus. If he left the pills alone and reached for the powders, it was the kind of leap he could make with bewildering ease. That he was lost at sea within himself or rotting away unseen were options, too, but it wasn’t like her to sprout such concerns. Recent events might have been too fresh. Renzo was a fool in her mind, but he wasn’t stupid. Better yet, she was too peripheral in those scenarios; they weren’t tragedies she could enter and possess. So, she knew how he had landed in the country. Was it such a stretch to conclude his time there was always destined to be brief—just long enough to be a reprieve and just short enough to stay sweet? It wasn’t sweet anymore. She was there when it soured. She saw it with her own eyes and had tasted herself how terrible it could get. Something soured for him on the spot, and he could recall through the haze of past panic how that moment, the way he had looked through her as though she ceased to exist, had alarmed her most of all. 

They shared a peculiar strain of self-absorption, but it was a commonality that had made them compatible. She wouldn’t credit herself with souring anything, although she could acknowledge that she wasn’t sweet enough to avoid being a burden in her own way. That was what he told her most recently, in other words on another telephone call, when he insisted he couldn't take care of her. He wouldn’t. Wants and needs alike, they were hers to manage. He didn’t need her apologies or her concern, her affection or her support. What he needed was space—lots of it, urgently, firm and definite. ‘Dig a fucking hole and put me in it,’ he had begged. She should have known from that choice of metaphor, but there it was—if she buried him, the story became one of mourning and waiting cast as widowhood. That wasn’t the end. It paused until he rose from the dead, for her sake and by her demand. 

To him, that demand of his own was an act of preservation, but she must have heard only rejection. They had this conversation before his world shrunk. It was, in retrospect, a sign of care that he had called her to tell her these things before he took his big plunge into absence. She didn’t bristle at the idea that she must take care of herself. What made her cry was the insistence that she couldn’t join him on this nosedive into a new low. There would be no mourning, no widowhood, no curling around each other like roots under the weight of suffocating dirt. The phone had clicked abruptly on her end, but he only felt grateful that she spared him the live audio of her heart breaking. In truth, it hadn’t felt like a moment of finality to him. It could have been an improvised interlude from the start, but she had no patience to spare when asked for it. 

Renzo’s eyes were closed, and he didn’t interrupt her stream of quick, low murmuring until he had repositioned himself yet again, wedged in an awkward corner where his cheek and forehead touched the glass with the receiver tucked in against his neck. When he spoke, it was to admit, ‘I missed all of that, Nora. Say it again.’

That was fine, he figured. It would give her a moment to edit herself—to take back what she regretted conceding, emphasize what she truly meant, polish the parts that she hoped would be persuasive. He wanted to listen to her, to really understand, even if he felt the laughter bubbling up inside. It was hard to picture what she could say that would make it less absurd. He was trying to give her a purposeful if unceremonious goodbye, and she was turning it down as though it was negotiable. Yet, that was her whole point, he came to accept, slowly but then all at once, as his mind caught up with her words. 

‘I can’t be here anymore,’ she was saying. ‘What’s left for me? Maybe there was something—before, at first—but all I could do was ruin it. Born on a bad day.’ Here, she paused to chuckle. Renzo wanted to smile, not at the invocation of stars and fate so much as her small, wry acknowledgment that he would find it silly. Hers were silly convictions, but it was endearing in its unexpectedness. She was sensible, except for when she wasn’t. She was logical, blunt, inclined to pragmatism, except for when she wasn’t. She wasn’t foolish, except for when she was. 

‘It’s terrible,’ she continued. ‘I feel terrible. I only feel good when I’m with you, and now … I don’t even want to feel good. I just don’t want to feel alone. I can’t. Don’t you feel the same way?

That was tricky. He let his head loll, pressing against the receiver. 

‘I want to be alone,’ he retorted.

‘No … You don’t. Be honest. Don’t you want me there?’ 

He shook his head but could hear himself losing the argument. ‘It’s not good for us, Nora,’ he was saying. The whining lilt of it bothered him. He groaned, ‘Of course I fucking want you here, but we don’t get what we want. It’s not time for make-believe, okay? It’s not the time.’

She snapped, fast and adamant, ‘I know! I mean it, Renzo. Let me come with you. Can’t I start over, too? Am I allowed? I want to do it with you. If you don’t want me, fine, but don’t try to make this decision for me. Just say yes, or … .’ 

He waited, but she wouldn’t continue. ‘Or what?’

‘Say “yes” or just admit that you don’t love me like I love you.’ 

There it was. He sighed, grumbling, ‘I don’t want to talk about that.’ 

Now, she laughed. ‘That’s why it’s beautiful. We don’t have to. Yes or no, that’s all. Don’t think. Just tell me what to do.’ 

He pulled away from the glass altogether and dropped his head down between his knees. The coolness wasn’t soothing anymore, and he wanted to pretend, with the darkness and pressure on his head, that he was somewhere else. He wasn’t in a phone booth in Canaris, sitting on the grimy floor while passersby peered at him and wondered why he looked familiar. He wasn’t in the back room of The Den either. That was where he would otherwise be, laid out on the couch, rubbing chalky fingers cast in red light down his cheeks, across his lips, all along the rust flavored crevices of his gums as the noise of partying filtered, muted, through the walls. He couldn’t be alone like that anymore. He wasn’t at Leonor’s place either. There, he would be on her couch in front of massive windows big enough to capture the horizon but set far enough away to deprive her neighbors of any special views. Where he was in that moment was on an airplane, bound for New York, with a freshly lit cigarette in his hand. His other hand wasn’t free, though, because instead of grasping hard at a fistful of his own flat, unwashed hair, it was pinned to the armrest, intertwined with hers. 

At this fantasy, he wanted to scream. It would have been a primal, cracking, unsustainable kind of shouting—spewing up frustration but ultimately toothless. He let himself mutter a low, ‘Goddammit,’ instead, which he knew she would be straining to hear. Now, she had done it. She had him in a hold where the upper hand was hers. Was it in the crook of her slender arm? Better yet, was it where her strong, heated thighs replaced the half-hearted squeeze of his own cold hands against his head? She wouldn’t smell like hairspray and spandex and baby powder. She would smell like herself—warm spices and sex, something sweet like vanilla but earthier, rich and enveloping, pure unadulterated comfort. He could imagine the look on her face, too, while she waited for him to relax into capitulation. 

And, raising his head, he did. ‘If it’s what you want, but I’m not missing that fucking flight.’ 

Leonor laughed—perhaps with relief, perhaps at the empty threat, perhaps because she hadn’t truly expected to get her way. They fell quiet after that. For their own reflective reasons, they remained that way without issue until, finally, the public telephone began to demand additional coins he didn’t have to feed it.

TRANSCRIPT:

(LEONOR V.O.) I need to talk to you. I know you’re there, so can’t you just listen for a few minutes? What’s wrong with you anyway? Don’t you ever get tired of being so … If I could shake you or just—Ugh! [Leonor huffs]

(LEONOR V.O.)I don’t understand you. Are you a real person, Renzo? I’m going to wake up in a few days and really not know if I dreamed you up.

(LEONOR V.O.)That’s how I feel. If I was going to torture myself, that’s what I would do. I only want to wrap my arms around you, but there’s nothing to hold. How many of us are there, huh?

(LEONOR V.O.)Call me back, okay? I’m still high right now, but I’ll be sad later and so will you.

LEONOR | —I got in some trouble. Nothing permanent. Never mind. I just … Are you home? Can I come by?

RENZO | I’m not home. I’m not going back home. LEONOR | Today? RENZO | Period.

LEONOR | … You’re leaving? Is that it?

RENZO | I was going to tell you—drop by your place. I’m leaving Canaris in two days. Going straight to the airport.

LEONOR | Oh.

LEONOR | Will you … Will you let me come with you?

RENZO | What are you talking about? Do you know what I’m saying? [Leonor talking indistinctly]

RENZO | I missed all of that, Nora. Say it again. LEONOR | I can’t be here anymore. What’s left for me? Maybe there was something—before, at first—but all I could do was ruin it. Born on a bad day. [Chuckles]

LEONOR | It’s terrible, actually. I feel terrible. I only feel good when I’m with you, and now … I don’t even want to feel good. I just don’t want to feel alone. I can’t.

LEONOR | Don’t you feel the same way? RENZO | I want to be alone. LEONOR | No … You don’t. Be honest. Don’t you want me there? RENZO | It’s not good for us, Nora.

RENZO | Of course I fucking want you here, but we don’t get what we want. It’s not time for make-believe, okay? It’s not the time. LEONOR | I know! I mean it, Renzo. Let me come with you. Can’t I start over, too? Am I allowed? I want to do it with you. If you don’t want me, fine, but don’t try to make this decision for me. Just say yes, or … RENZO | Or what?

LEONOR | Say “yes” or admit that you don't love me like I love you. RENZO | I don't want to talk about that. LEONOR | That's why it's so beautiful. We don't have to. Yes or no, that's all. Don't think. Just tell me what to do.

RENZO | Goddammit.

RENZO | If it’s what you want, but I’m not missing that fucking flight.

[vernons-girl]

a shoulder to cry on | lee dokyeom

angst to fluff, wc:1.1k

Teamwork was never something that worked for you ever since high school. You always ended up being the one doing all the work because others were lazy and sugarcoating the situation saying you should do it since you were the smartest one amongst the group.

And unfortunately, this pattern followed you even at work years later. Indeed you and a few of your co-workers were supposed to work on a big advertisement project for you company and much to your dismay, your oh-so-dear colleagues left all the work to you, as usual.

And having to do all the work - because of course, you could not bring yourself to stand up against them - brought you so much stress that just living life was overwhelming in itself. After hours of working your ass off on this project, it was leading you nowhere, you could not get anything done like you wished you could. So you decided to take a quick shower and dress in warm comfy clothes before heading to what you now considered a safe place : your boyfriend’s studio.

The both of you were so busy and got up with work that you barely had the chance to see one another in the past couple of weeks, you knew he was working hard on his music, even if that meant staying up late at night in his studio to get that one beat done. So you knew that coming over to see him would probably mean having to see him work all night long but you didn’t care, you needed to see him and to be with him to feel a tiny bit better.

After a quick taxi ride, you found yourself in front of the building, you decided to send Dokyeom a quick text to alert him of your upcoming visite even though he had told you an infinite number of time that you could come by whenever you wanted to. He did not replied but saw your message; which means he was probably busy but still wanted you to know he acknowledged you.

You softly knocked on his studio door before entering the room, your new presence causing your boyfriend to turn his desk chair around to face you, smiling brightly and opening his arms as a silent call for a hug, to which you more than thankfully answered, crouching down a bit so you could rest your head on his shoulder, melting in his warm embrace.

“I missed you..” he mumbled in your hair, his hot breath tickling your ear as his words brought some comfort to your heart and soul.

“I missed you too” you said back, reluctantly pulling away from the hug only to place a chaste kiss on his lips, earning another smile between giggles from your sweet lover.

“I’ll be watching over you on the couch, okay ?” you said with a smile, wanting him to know you were here for him, cheering silently from afar.

“Come over there if you need anything, alright ?” Dokyeom replied, you nodded and made your way toward the small velvety couch at the back of his studio, ready to watch your significant other work his magic.

After a while, about an hour you guessed, you didn’t feel more relaxed like you thought you would, you felt like you were stuck in a bubble of anxiety that could explode at any moment and this moment came just because your ever so kind boyfriend turned to you to flash you a smile, attempting to check up on you but his smile quickly disappeared as you failed to hold your tears back from falling down your cheeks. The sight of his lover breaking down suddenly in front of him raised an alter in Dokyeom's brain and he quickly got up from his chair to join you on the couch and hold you tightly against him, placing your face against his chest so you could find comfort in his warmth and scent as well as hiding your crying face from him, not wanting to make things worse for any of you.

A few minutes that felt like hours, you finally looked up to Dokyeom, only to be met by a worried expression painted on his face even though his eyes had an endearing hint within them. You saw how wet his hoodie got from all your tears as you let go of the soft material you had been holding tightly in your fists. “I’m sorry I got your sweater all wet..” you said in between sobs, “I couldn’t care less about this baby. What I care the most about right now is you. Do you want to tell me what is wrong ?” his kind and caring nature has always been something that made you heart swell with happiness and love and in this moment, this is all you needed, you needed your lover’s support.

“It’s just work… We had that group work to do for the company, a big project that our boss is really looking forward to get back, and my co-workers well, they left it all to me and I feel like it’s my fault for not standing up against them but all of this is just bringing me so much that I can’t even do anything right anymore and everything is just -”

- Hey baby slow down” Dokyeom softly said, cutting you in the middle of your rant. “You know, I understand how it is, I know how you are but you should not kill yourself working hard like this. Take a break, send an email to your boss to tell him about the situation and you will take it from here again, okay ?”, you nodded silently, “Now let’s just relax and forget about everything else. It’s just you and I, alright ?” he said reassuringly.

“Yes, it’s just you and I.” you repeated, looking up to him as he leaned in to kiss you gently, taking your breath as well as your worries away.

This is how you ended up cuddling up with him on his desk chair, your chest pressed tightly against his, your face nuzzled in the crook of his neck, feeling the softness of his skin against your, his delicate and home-like scent feeling your senses and he lovingly caressed your back while placing a few kisses on the top of your head with his upcoming songs playing in the background to keep you two in that little bubble you formed around you, shielding you from the outside world, you didn’t need anything else than this, your boyfriend and his music being the only things feeling like home and comfort.

[al-the-remix]

TikTok Chef!Buck AU: several sentences sunday (or something like that)

I'm close to finishing the fic I've been working on so I finally felt like I could write a little something based off this headcannon without feeling too guilty about it, lol. 2k of mostly crack, please enjoy.

It all starts when Tommy’s stuck on his couch for a week with a sprained knee. He wishes he could claim it happened doing something heroic–or at the very least badass–but in truth it was the result of letting his ego get the best of him at the squat rack. 

Lucy stops by a few times to keep him company, which really means letting herself in unannounced with her spare key, eating all the leftovers in his fridge, and offering an unsolicited running critique of whatever show he’s watching. Today it was Below Deck reruns. 

“If I ever decide to take a vacation on a boat, tackle me, this shit does not look worth it.”

“You really don’t have to be here you know,” Tommy says, leaning over to grab some chips from the near-empty bag she was cradling before they were all gone. He’d been looking forward to eating those for dinner and feeling sorry for himself. 

Lucy just snorts. “Please, if I wasn’t here you’d already be up to something ill advised. I caught you looking up deck chair patterns earlier, power tools don’t go well with injuries, Tommy, even if it’s only carpentry.”

Well, she had him there. 

At least she had the decency to order them Chinese take out for dinner so he wouldn’t have to Instacart a can of soup or something equally pathetic. 

Before she left she made a grabby hand at him. “Give me your phone.”

“Why?” Tommy asks, already suspicious. 

She met his suspicion with boredom. “Don’t ask stupid questions, just do it.”

Rolling his eyes, he hands it over, giving into her whim, and maybe he should find it a little more unsettling that she already seems to know his password off by heart. 

She clicks around for long enough that Tommy starts getting nervous: what was the last text message he sent? Was it embarrassing? Were all his nudes still in that locked folder? Did she know the password for that too? Just when he was going to start asking questions she tosses his phone back. “Here, this should keep you entertained for a while,” she explains as he scrambles to catch it. “My niece wastes hours of her life on this crap.”

“Such ringing endorsement,” Tomy grumbles, she’s downloaded some kind of video app onto his phone. TikTok. Perfect. He’d heard of that one, apparently it was single handedly ruining a whole generation’s attention span and the Chinese government was using it to spy on the inner lives of teenagers with stupid haircuts and a critical lack of social skills. 

“Are you sure you didn’t just give me some kind of virus?” Tommy asks, clicking around the home page arbitrarily, the UI didn’t make a lick of sense. 

“Har, har. You were always good at picking up new skills, I’m sure you’ll figure this out in no time. I have faith in you,” she says, clapping him hard enough on the shoulder to make him wince. 

He finds his profile page by total mistake. His username reads: benchedcockwrangler.

“How do I change this?” he asks, waving his phone at her as she makes for the door. 

“You don’t,” she says, without looking back. “Don’t stay up on that thing all night, it will ruin your sleep schedule!”

Tommy winces as the front door slams and sighs. He’ll figure out how to change it later. After all, beggars can’t be choosers and three days into his mandatory medical leave he’s already so bored he’s ready to stab his eyes out with hot pokers just to mix it up a bit. 

He scrolls through the app, and based on most of what he sees he finds himself unable to justify its existence in the first place. It feels like every video he watches drags him into a deeper alternate universe where everyone’s wholeheartedly competing for the top of the podium at the Darwin Awards. 

There’s a woman digging tunnels under her apartment that Tommy is positive are not up to code (that’s a call just waiting to happen); and two young ladies mixing cocktails of a concerning hue and variety at random local establishments (not necessarily anything that would warrant a trip to the ER but potentially a health code violation); and what seems like an ungodly number of men hosting podcasts (Tommy is pretty sure that even during his darkest days rotting in the closet he had a better batting average picking up women than any of these bozos.)

Tommy’s eyes start to glaze over as he scrolls past comedians, and political commentators, and people reviewing romance novels, and–how has it already been forty minutes?

He’s about ready to give up and throw his phone across the room and leave it there until Lucy shows up tomorrow and he can make her delete it off his phone, when catchy music, an arm roped with muscle, and a criminally tight shirt sleeve catches his attention. 

It’s some kind of cooking video and his first impression is: how is anyone supposed to understand what’s going on with edits that fast? His second impression is: hot man. Man hot.

Soon his brain is catching up with his eyes, kickstarting like a toddler being exposed to sugar for the first time. 

Cooking might be a generous description for what’s going on here. The man is obviously skilled, but the main focus of the video seems to be how hot he looks in an apron (very) and whether it’s possible to bring half a peach to completion by finger blasting the pit out of it (not like, whether or not you should pre-bake your tart crust to achieve an ideal texture). 

Tommy has to watch it twice just to fully absorb everything that’s going on. He’s making some kind of deconstructed peach crumble topped with an obscene amount of whipped cream and steak with fries that looks fancier than anything Tommy’s ever eaten at a restaurant. 

Half way through the video the man wipes down the worktop shirtless with a cloth sudsy enough to make Tommy’s mouth go instantly dry then suddenly wet enough he’s forced to swallow. 

He clicks through to ChefFirehose’s profile just to, you know, get a better sample size. Tommy’s not above letting himself be manipulated by a man with biceps like melons and a cute smile. 

His profile description reads: LA resident, self-taught, putting out fires and saving lives in my spare time. Just here to give the food the appreciation it deserves. Let me show off for you 😉.

Tommy thinks this guy must be new to town, because living nearly a decade even in a city as sprawling and overcrowded as LA, he doesn’t know how he could miss running into this guy on the job. There was no way he wouldn’t remember a guy this hot even through turnouts, a helmet, and smeared in a thick layer of soot.

He starts working his way back through ChefFirehose’s videos, and some are admittedly a little less chaotic than the rest, but all of them are just tongue-and-cheek enough that Tommy feels confident he’s just one in close to a million people in on a joke and not enabling someone’s very real personality disorder. 

He’s stuck somewhere between disbelief and admiration. He definitely wouldn't have the balls to post this on the internet for everyone to see and so obviously thirst over. He braves the comment section on a few of the videos and it’s just a litany of horned-up men and women trying their best to make ChefFirehose laugh, or get in his pants, or both. He replies to almost all of his comments with either a smirking emoji or acting deliberately oblivious when someone tries to bait him into giving up the bit. Tommy finds him funny and maybe a little more endearing than he should after ten videos. 

Tommy can’t really blame them for trying to shoot their shot so shamelessly. ChefFirehose’s wardrobe consists of polos plastered so tight to his skin that Tommy was mildly concerned about restricted blood circulation, dress shirts buttoned dangerously low, and slacks that wrap snugly around miles of long, toned leg. 

Those weren’t Tommy’s favorite looks though. No, every so often a video would start and he’s be dressed down in soft looking sweatpants, a baseball cap pushed on backwards plastering his auburn curls to his forehead, and a white tank top–or if Tommy was really lucky, no shirt at all (sometimes not even the apron which Tommy had mixed feelings about...), his muscled arms and shoulders on full display. He’s got tattoos decorating his forearms that Tommy can’t quite make out, a collection of fine lines on pale skin like thin ribbons of chocolate drizzled over a crape. 

Those videos are most often breakfast related and ChefFirehose is barefoot in his kitchen, the warm sunlight casting his face in gold. He paints such an enticing tableau it’s all too easy for Tommy’s brain to plop himself right down in that scene, imagination running wild. He can so easily picture what it would be like: in that kitchen, feeling the warm cast of sun on his face and getting to watch built, handsome man make him breakfast with that flirty confidence of his. 

Tommy bookmarks a video of him making an omelet, the way he handles the eggs making Tommy blush like he’s a schoolgirl and not a man pushing forty. He feels less guilty about getting hard over it on the sofa surrounded by takeout containers than he probably should.  

The screen goes suddenly black and Tommy’s faced with his own reflection in the finger smudged screen, chin rolls and all. Fuck. He reaches for his charger. God, his life was depressing at the moment, and apparently he really needs to get laid.

So yeah, by the time his two weeks of recovery are up he’s feeling a little stir crazy in an entirely different way than before. He’s never been more glad to get back to work, put some of this weirdness behind him and get some much needed distance from his phone.

That’s only part of the reason why he doesn’t even think twice when Howie calls him for a favor. A big favor. And that was only the first of many surprises the universe had in store for him, apparently.

Even fully clothed in his LFD uniform Tommy recognises him. Evan. Evan, Evan, Evan, (Tommy repeats over and over in his head until it drowns out every other name Tommy’s assigned him the past few weeks: slutty egg guy, ChefBigDick, totally off limits boyfriend material–just to name a few).

“So you’re the guy who’s gonna fly us into a hurricane.” Evan sounds a little breathless, like maybe he jogged all the way here, and Tommy chalks it up to the high that accompanies stealing government property. “Chim said you were the best pilot he knows and good in a pinch, but I still thought there was no way anyone that good would agree to something this crazy.”

Tommy’s definitely starting to feel a little crazy. Evan’s still shaking his hand. His grip is solid, his fingers long and nimble, surprisingly soft against this palm (he must really lather on the hand lotion) and Tommy can’t stop thinking about all the talented things he knows they can do. 

 “That’s me. Though I’m pretty sure I’m just the only pilot Howie knows who's in town at the moment.” 

“You look good to me–capable, I mean.” Evan gives him a solid smack on the shoulder with his free hand. His mouth does something funny like he's trying to hold back the sheer force of his excitement by his teeth. “Solid.”

His eyes are even bigger and brighter in person, smile softer, even taller than Tommy presumed. Howie’s giving them a weird look from over Evan’s shoulder. The other man with them, Eddie, isn’t paying them any attention, checking out the other helicopters parked on the apron instead, and Tommy forces himself to pull his hand out of Evan’s warm grip. 

Tommy clears his throat. “Good to know. I’ll show you guys the bird we’ll be taking. I've got her all gassed up and ready to go.”

He just met his (internet) celebrity crush and the man of his dreams, and now Tommy was going to get him killed in one of the most spectacular ways imaginable. It seems like they’re all headed for the Darwin Awards this time.

[satureja13]

The Meteorites in a (coco) nutshell

In this chapter, the meteorites play a bigger role again and since it's already one and a half years ago since the Boys found them, I thought I'd make a quick heads-up in chronological order:

The Boys found the meteorites at the Invisible Farm in Chestnut Ridge. Martha, the owner, told them the impact caused the farm to become invisible. (She had the valid hunch that supernatural creatures could be able to see the farm and she was right. And so she hired the Boys as ranch hands.)

The meteorites reacted and started to glow whenever Vlad or Ji Ho were near. Kiyoshi meditated near the meteorites to find out more and he could hear Martha's horses (they had completely vanished after the impact) and Sai had the idea to let Ji Ho and Vlad do their 'bond magic' (when Vlad and Ji Ho concentrate and touch/woohoo, 'bond magic' happens) to enhance the reaction and find out if the meteorites could help them to rescue the horses.

There was something happening between Ji Ho and Vlad but they didn't notice any other effects - and no horses. But when Jeb went jogging the next day, he found a portal! So there was an effect, just somewhere else ^^' They went through the portal one after the other but they all ended up in different places in the Otherworld. To the places where each of them found a horse. (The links to how they found the horses are in my pinned post -> here)

Martha's goats, who joined them, were able to engage a magical link between them and the horses and shared their form with the horses so they (who were quite happy in the Otherworld) agreed to return to the mundane world every now and then. Later, Martha agreed to leave the Horses and the goats (she was quite happy to get rid of the goats ^^') with the Boys because she was so thankful they brought back the farm. (That's where the Little Goats come from and how the horses joined the Boys.)

So there we learned that the meteorites were capable of sending the Boys to the Otherworld. Rubyn was eager to research the meteorites and made some tests to explore further applications for them. Only supernaturals are able to travel to the Otherworld and only for a short amount of time, so these meteorites could be of great value for the Boys.

Helping Rubyn with the research, Ji Ho found an entry about a certain Professor Callahan who predicted the crash of a meteorite pair in Chestnut Ridge over a hundred years ago! They found out that the last whereabouts of Professor Callahan were in Selvadorada and so the Boys and Rubyn went on an expedition to find out more. After a few weeks and many riddles, they discovered a huge cave with a ship!

There were pedestals for the meteorites! One on the ship and one in the cave ö.ö So even though Future Jeb warned them to separate, (in a message they found at a temple (where they also found Tiny Can)) they decided to place the meteorites on the pedestals. Vlad, Jeb, Saiwa, Tiny Can and Jack went on the Ship with Vlad's meteorite and Ji Ho and Rubyn stayed in the cave with Ji Ho's. (Kiyoshi was still in the tree by then).

The ship teleported the four of them to another cave in Otherworld's Tomarang, where they later fixer-upped the run down lot above the cave into their crappy happy home.

With Vlad being stuck in the Otherworld, the Vampires in the mundane world thought it would be a good opportunity to claim unprotected Ji Ho for themselves. Vlad sensed the danger through the bond and he and Jeb left the Otherworld to rescue him - and got lost... (They only had one of the meteorites and couldn't teleport without the other so Jeb had used his ability to travel between worlds. It was worth a try...)

Vlad had left his meteorite with Jack and Sai should Rubyn find a way to bring them back, and really, suddenly it started to glow! They brought it down to the ship to try their luck - and it took them to Britechester, where Ji Ho and Rubyn waited for them! They'd set up the pedestals from the cave in Selvadorada! (They united with Jeb and Vlad at Ji Ho and Caleb's wedding but that's another story ^^')

Later, Rubyn invented smaller devices with pieces of the meteorites in them to enable the Boys to travel to the Otherworld and back without the pedestals. Kiyoshi had joined them again a few days before and so they could travel all together back to their home in the Otherworld!

A few months later, Greg pimped their TukTuk with pieces of Rubyn's devices and the meteorites so they could travel comfortable from the Otherworld to the mundane worlds.

While helping Rubyn with her research for the teleport devices, Jack found a strange book in the old library in Windenburg.

It was called 'Escape from Batuu' and it told the story of Val and Jino. These two lovers, who swore each other everlasting love and even promised to find and love each other in their next lives, had to leave Batuu, got hunted by the First Order and experienced thrilling space adventures with their friends - hence the book.

After Val and Jino lived a very happy life full of love, they eventually died of old age, and their friends shot their urns into space, where they continued their journey together. Eons later, their urnes had transformed into meteorites. They crashed down at a farm in Chestnut Ridge the very day Vlad and Ji Ho met for the first time at Choongang Highschool in Copperdale end of July 2022... ö.Ö'

[nvxzaa]

── .✦ Summer coffee

Masterlist

Pairing : no¡idol!Kim Seungmin x oc

Word : 3k

Genre : fluff

Warning : none

Second week of August.

The sun is beating down hard, even at the end of the day. The air is heavy and sticky, and the ice cubes are melting in the glasses they're preparing at the counter. The café idles, customers preferring the air-conditioning of their homes to the scorching streets.

Sohane ties her hair into a quick bun, strands stuck to the nape of her neck. Seungmin watches her secretly, a discreet smile on his lips. He's gotten used to this little silent game between them: the glances they exchange when no one's looking, the hands that brush against each other just a little too long, the silences that mean everything.

They haven't made anything official. They haven't even talked about it. But since that night, everything has been different. She leans on him a little more. He looks for her without even thinking about it. They're not together, not really, but there's something palpable. Real.

That day, Minji and Daeho took the afternoon off. The café is almost empty. Two customers remain in a corner, one with a laptop, the other with a book.

- Are you hot?" he asks in a low voice, approaching the counter where she is wiping a glass.

She bellows, fanning herself with an order pad.

- I feel like I'm melting. Literally.

- Come on," he says, giving her a knowing look. I've got an idea.

A few minutes later, the two of them are at the back of the café, where the fan is strongest, sitting on two small stools with a large bottle of iced water between them. They don't say much at first. Just sighs, shared breaths.

Then she turns her head to him.

- Are you still thinking about that night?

He turns his eyes slowly towards her. His gaze is frank, honest, almost tranquil.

- All the time," he replies. And not just that night. About you. To us. To what it could become... if we gave it time.

She stares at him for a long moment, then looks down, smiling a little, almost sadly.

- I'm afraid," she admits. That it'll blow up in our faces if we go too fast.

- Then we won't go fast," he says simply. We'll take it slow. One day at a time.

She nods, then puts her hand on his, there on his knee, in a tender, almost shy gesture.

- You're patient, Seungmin.

- Only with you.

She laughs softly, raises her eyes to his. Their eyes meet, and for a moment he thinks she's going to kiss him. But she simply moves closer, her shoulder against his, and whispers:

- Stay like that, okay? Steady. Gentle. Unhurried.

He gently clasps his fingers around hers.

- I promise.

And at that very moment, as the fan creaks a little above them and the heat seems to pause just to give them a moment's respite, Seungmin knows they're building something. Slowly, but solidly.

Sunday, August 17th. Day of rest.

Seungmin hadn't planned anything. It was supposed to be a classic day: lie in, listen to music, maybe take a walk around town with Chan if he called. But when he saw Sohane's message on his phone, everything took a different turn.

Are you busy today?

Simple. No frills. It takes him exactly thirty seconds to answer.

Where shall I wait for you?

And that's how he found himself with Sohane clinging to his arm, in Hongdae, where the alleyways are still a little lively despite the heat.

- You're making an effort with your clothes, aren't you," she teases as she joins him.

- You too," he replies, his eyes gliding over her light summer dress. I like it, it's a change from the apron.

She nudges him, then leads him through the streets.

They do nothing out of the ordinary. They eat ice cream as they walk. They stop at a bookshop where she spends too much time in the empty notebook aisle. He buys her a ridiculous fan with pandas on it, saying "it'll go well with your personality". She replies that he's lucky she doesn't leave him alone with his dubious tastes.

But despite the teasing, everything is simple. Smooth.

Later, they sit on a quiet terrace, a little out of the way, with two fresh lemonades between them.

- You know this is the first time we've spent a whole day together without coffee," she remarks.

- And you haven't run away yet," he replies, falsely impressed. You're braver than I thought.

She smiles, then adds more softly:

- I like it. Being with you... like this.

He watches her for a moment, then leans back a little more on the table.

- I like it too. You're like... the break in my chaos. When I'm with you, I don't have to think about the image, the rhythm, what people expect.

She lowers her eyes a little, touched. Then raises them again, serious.

- And what are you going to do when your vacation's over?

He understands what she means. He knows that this moment out of time, this fragile "we", won't always fit into a daily routine filled with lights, fans and responsibilities.

But he answers simply:

- I'm trying to deserve a sequel.

She looks at him for a long moment, then steps forward slightly. Her shoulder brushes against his under the small wooden table. And in an almost imperceptible breath, she murmurs:

- I just hope we can keep up. Because I don't want it to be just a summer.

He nods gently. He's not promising anything. But his hand reaches for hers under the table, and she doesn't let go.

The sun slowly declines, casting an orange light on the brick facades. The streets begin to empty, leaving a strange calm hovering over the neighborhood. They walk side by side, in no real hurry, their shadows lengthening on the sidewalk.

Sohane finally stops in front of a small closed store, the blinds already down.

- Do you realize that we haven't done anything "special" today, but that this might be my favorite day of the summer?

Seungmin smiles gently, slipping her hands into her pockets.

- Maybe that's what's special. That it's simple.

She looks at him for a moment, then looks down slightly, as if hesitating. But finally she says:

- Do you want to come up? I don't want the day to end just yet.

He stares at her for a second. Not to read between the lines. Just to make sure she really means it.

- I don't mind," he replies simply.

By midday the next day, Sohane was already regretting her outfit as soon as she set foot on the street. It's a hot day, and her white pleated skirt with long-sleeved grey crop top doesn't look that out of place on the street... but on the job, she feels every glance.

Beside her, Seungmin reassures her with a simple glance, saying nothing. He sees her unease. He senses how small she makes herself out to be. And even though she tries to pretend everything's fine, she's squeezing her purse strap a little too tightly.

When they arrive at the café, Minji is already leaning against the counter, Daeho bent over the coffee machine, concentrating.

- Hi latecomers," Minji says in her usual mocking tone.

- It's lunchtime, not late," replies Seungmin.

Sohane gives them a shy smile, but her hands betray her discomfort. She runs a hand over her skirt as if to make sure it's firmly in place. She hates this feeling of being "too much".

Just then, the manager arrives, his badge barely attached, coffee in hand.

He stares at her for barely two seconds before blurting out, loudly, as if speaking into an imaginary microphone:

- Sohane, this isn't a fashion show. Don't you want to work in a bar or a nightclub while we're at it?

An awkward silence falls. Daeho looks away, Minji frowns and Seungmin freezes.

Sohane doesn't answer. She remains frozen, her heart pounding against her ribs. She takes it in. But barely a minute later, as she goes to retrieve her apron from the back, the tears come suddenly, without warning. She doesn't know if it's the humiliation, the stress, or the feeling of being exposed. But it's there.

She hides in a corner, her back to the others, wipes her eyes with her fingertips, hoping no one will see her.

But Seungmin is already there. He followed, silent.

- Sohane...

She shakes her head, eyes shining, without turning around.

- I'm too sensitive, I know. It's ridiculous.

- No. What's ridiculous is that you have to hear this kind of stuff for a bloody outfit.

He approaches gently, puts his hand against her back, gently, as if he didn't want to break her further.

- You were beautiful. Elegant. And you've got nothing to justify it.

She inhales slowly, trying to recompose herself, lips pursed.

- I just don't want everyone to think I'm trying to make a point...

- Anyone who thinks that doesn't know you. I know who you are.

Silence. Then she finally turns back to him, her eyes red.

- I just want to have a nice day. Without having to apologize for existing.

He nods.

- Then we'll make it a good day. And next time, I'll answer him.

A shy corner of a smile appears on his face despite the tears.

She wipes her cheeks and blows:

- Okay. But you're buying me dessert tonight.

- It's a deal.

The rest of the day seems a little lighter after their conversation, even if the morning's humiliation remains in the background, like a discreet shadow. Sohane concentrates on her tasks, finding a form of comfort in routine, while keeping a furtive eye on Seungmin from time to time. He's there, always by her side, watching out for her well-being, and she's beginning to feel that this friendship, stronger than she thought, could really sustain her.

At the end of the day, as they close the café, Seungmin gives her a knowing look.

- Dessert, right?

Sohane nods, smiling more naturally this time, a little mischievously. They pass the counter, where Minji and Daeho greet them with a cheerful "See you tomorrow".

Outside, evening has fallen. The warm light of the street lamp illuminates the streets, and the air is fresher. Seungmin leads her to a quiet café a few blocks away. The place is quiet, with just a few customers, but the atmosphere is pleasant.

They sit down at a table by the window. Sohane takes a moment to look out, his gaze lost in the streets, before returning his attention to Seungmin. He offers her a small smile as he waits for her to choose her dessert.

- So, what do you want? It's all on me.

She nods and thinks for a moment, then points to a melting chocolate cake.

- It looks perfect, thank you.

Seungmin orders with a smile, then, once the waiter has left, stares back at her, a more serious look on his face.

- You know, I've been... thinking about what the manager said this morning. It wasn't fair to you, not at all. But it hurts me to see you like this. You deserve better.

Sohane looks down, touched by his sincerity. She gives him a shy smile.

- Thank you, Seungmin. I really do.

The conversation between Sohane and Seungmin drags on, light-hearted at first. They talk about everything and nothing, the little anecdotes of their day, their strangest customers, Minji's zany comments. Seungmin does an exaggerated imitation of the manager, trying to reproduce his deep, authoritative voice, which makes Sohane burst out laughing. The atmosphere becomes increasingly relaxed, giving way to a soothing silence.

Then, at one point, as Seungmin takes a bite of her dessert, he looks at her over the cup of coffee he's holding.

- You know, you're really the kind of person who doesn't say anything when things aren't going well, aren't you?

Sohane stares at him, slightly taken aback.

- I don't mind keeping it to myself. I can handle it, you know. It's just... sometimes I don't want to make it complicated.

- Yeah, I can see that, but... it's not really the best way. One day, you're going to lose it and it's going to be a mess, do you really want that?

She rolls her eyes, amused by his tone.

- Don't worry, I can handle it. Besides... it's not like I'm on my own, is it?

Seungmin frowns, feigning puzzlement.

- Oh, so you recognize that I'm here for you, eh? Not just a passing "friend".

She laughs softly, shaking her head.

- Of course you're here. Even if you are sometimes a little too insistent.

- Insistent? Me? Never," he replied with a look of mock shock. I'm just... a thoughtful friend. That's all I am.

She raises her eyebrows, smirking.

- A "thoughtful friend", eh? You mean a "friend who wants me to confide in you, even when I'm not ready"?

- Exactly, but then... that's the nature of friends, isn't it? They're there for the good times and the bad.

Sohane sighs, an amused look in her eyes.

- Well, you're right. You're... not that insufferable.

- Not "so" insufferable, I'm downright irresistible.

She bursts out laughing, shaking her head.

- Your self-confidence is incredible.

Seungmin smiles, her eyes shining with a mischievousness that doesn't escape Sohane.

- Well, that's what makes me the best friend you could ever have.

A short silence falls between them. Sohane hesitates for a moment, then takes a deep breath.

- You're not like the others, you know. It's not easy to let myself go like that, but... with you, I feel a little less... guarded.

Seungmin looks at her, serious now, but without pressure.

- You know, you don't have to keep everything to yourself. I'm not here to judge you.

She looks down, touched. Then, a little more shyly:

- I know... it's just... I find it complicated sometimes. But you... you're... you always know what to say to make me smile.

Seungmin smiled gently, a little more sincerely this time.

- You're not so hard to understand, you know. And I like it when you smile. It makes everything seem simpler.

She looks at him, her eyes a little softer now.

- So, what do we do? Are we just friends, or...?

Seungmin stares at her for a moment, as if thinking. Then he shrugs, with a falsely detached air.

- Well, we can always try not to be just friends. I mean... if you feel like it.

She looks at him, a smile gently emerging on her lips, a gleam of amusement in her eyes.

- Really? Are you serious?

He looks at her, a little more serious, a corner of a smile that never leaves him.

- Yeah, I'm serious. Because frankly... I feel like we'd have fucked each other up by now if we were just friends. No ?

Sohane laughs, shaking her head, before answering with a knowing smile.

- All right, all right. But if we do this, you're in charge of desserts for the rest of the year.

Seungmin bursts out laughing, raising her hands in victory.

- It's a deal.

And, with a slight sigh of relief, she lets go of the simplicity of the moment, their relationship taking a natural turn, as if it had all been obvious all along, but they just needed to admit it.

A few days later, daily life had returned to normal, but something had changed. It's not obvious to others, but it's there between them. Glances that last a little longer. Smiles that are a little softer. A hand brushed against, like a habit beginning to form.

Sohane and Seungmin didn't say anything at work. They didn't have to. They savor this fragile beginning, this something new they don't want to spoil with too many words.

That morning, they arrived at the café almost at the same time. Minji sees them pass through the door a few seconds apart and squints.

- You haven't moved in together yet, have you?

Seungmin chuckles.

- Wow, Minji, you skipped three chapters there.

- Hm. Weird timing, though... she sighs, watching them out of the corner of her eye.

Sohane doesn't answer, but a discreet smile creeps across her face as she slips on her apron. She still feels her heart lighten every time he's around. It's different, but it's sweet. Simple.

In a corner of the café, during a quiet moment, Seungmin approaches her as she cleans a table. He helps her without saying anything at first, then, in a breath:

- You know I've been wanting to kiss you all day?

She flinches slightly, surprised by his deep voice nearby, then slowly turns her head towards him, a smile emerging despite herself.

- We're at work, Min.

- I didn't say I was going to do it. I just said I wanted to.

He steps back with a satisfied look, leaving her blushing in her corner.

The rest of the day passes between orders, exchanging smiles and discreet gestures. But in the evening, as the café closes, Seungmin hands her his jacket without a word as she looks for hers.

- It's cold, and you always forget yours.

She slips it on silently, touched, then, as they come out together, she naturally slips against him.

- I like it like this," she whispers.

- How do you like it?

- You. I like it like this. Like this. It doesn't have to be a big deal. Just... existing next to you is good.

He looks at her, a tender smile at the corner of his lips.

- Are you coming to my place tonight?

She nods without hesitation.

- Only if you've got hot chocolate.

- I do. And marshmallows.

She laughs, and he puts his arm around her shoulders, pulling her gently against him as they walk into the cool night. Nothing is rushed. Nothing is perfect. But it's sweet. And for once, it's enough.

—> Next part

[pink-sparkly-witch]

The One That Got Away - Chapter Sixteen

Warnings: language, angst.

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x Female Reader

Word count: 2.2k

A/N: I didn’t have a beta for this, so all mistakes are mine.

You can catch up here!

 My Masterlist AO3    Ko-Fi

Another three weeks had passed, and Y/N willed their bad luck wouldn’t strike again tonight. Their last attempt at a second date saw her bedridden with the flu and doubly miserable at another failed attempt to rekindle a relationship with Dean. He had been understanding and told her to rest and drink plenty of fluids, but she knew he must be just as frustrated as she was that Lady Luck seemed to have abandoned all hope on their second chance.

Today though, Y/N felt fit and healthy, Dean wasn’t on shift, and she was spending hers in an empty office catching up on paperwork and overtime claims. She’d instructed her staff to only disturb her if it was absolutely necessary. If things finally went their way, neither should be stuck or injured at work this time, and that thought gave her hope that this would finally be it.

Dean was full of nervous energy and decided the best way to use it up was to give Baby a long overdue tune-up, clean and polish. It was perfect timing, too, because then she would be looking her best when he took Y/N out to the fanciest restaurant Lawrence had to offer, and by the time he was finished, he’d be a few hours closer to his date with Y/N; it was a win-win.

He wasn’t surprised she’d gotten sick and had to cancel last time. The whole day fate hadn’t been working in his favour, so when her text came through, it was the cherry on top of what had been a really fucking shitty day. When he called her later to see how she was, she sounded dreadful, and he’d immediately offered to come over and look after her. Y/N declined, saying all that would achieve was him getting sick too, and then their date would have to be postponed for even longer.

Knowing Y/N was working today made him a little apprehensive that something would crop up at the last second and force another rain check. Still, he was trying to keep that niggling thought buried. And so, with a coffee-filled travel mug, Dean made his way outside with his tools and got to work sprucing up his second best girl.

Her message came in at 4pm.

Y/NCheck the news. I’m so sorry, De xx

Dean closed his eyes in frustration and huffed loudly at their atrocious luck. Turning on the news, he watched the aftermath of an overturned lorry on the freeway, blocking the road in both directions and multiple vehicles colliding with it or other vehicles.

“So far,” the news anchor reported, “there have been five fatalities and over twenty people with injuries of varying severity, and several people are still trapped in their vehicles. Emergency workers are doing all they can to free them, with relief crews being called in to assist.

“Meanwhile, Lawrence Memorial Hospital is nearing its emergency patient capacity and has set up an outdoor triage area for the walking wounded, keeping the hospital building free for those with more serious injuries that need attending to.”

His cell rang shortly after, and Dean was only briefly disappointed that it wasn’t Y/N. He knew she’d be swamped, and he probably wouldn’t hear from her until everyone from the accident had been treated. Still, he had a sliver of hope that it might’ve been her.

“Bobby, I just saw the news,” Dean answered the call.

“So you know why I’m calling?” Bobby said, his question rhetorical. “I’m sorry to ask you to work when you’re supposed to have plans tonight…”

“It’s fine. Y/N’s on shift and already sent me a text cancelling. It’ll be all hands on deck at the hospital, so I might as well come in. At least it’ll stop me from drowning my sorrows,” Dean chuckled sadly.

“I’m sorry, Dean. I’m sure you’ll get that date soon,” Bobby replied, but right now, that wasn’t much comfort to the younger man.

“I’m starting to think we should just cut our losses. Maybe something’s trying to tell us something,” Dean scoffed.

“Dean-”

“I’m on my way. I’ll be there in ten,” Dean cut in, not feeling in the mood to hear another person say how perfect they were for each other when the simple task of going on a date seemed impossible.

It would be a long night, but at least he’d have work to keep him from spiralling down the self-depreciation hole he usually did when Y/N had to cancel plans.

With all trapped persons rescued and the accident site secured by police and awaiting cleanup, Dean’s Firehouse had been posted to the triage area at the hospital to help wherever possible. They were giving first aid, handing out food and water, and checking up on patients in the hospital on behalf of concerned family and friends who were outside waiting for news of their loved ones.

He’d even got to speak to Y/N briefly a few times, and those little moments of light in what was otherwise a dark situation had kept his spirits up. And now that the last few patients were being treated, he finally felt he could breathe easier. Maybe, he’d even be able to convince Y/N to go for a bite to eat before they both went home and slept.

Trawling through the hospital’s hallways, Dean’s only focus was finding the nurse who was slowly taking hold of his heart again and taking up most of his thoughts since coming back to town. He almost missed her as he turned another corner and walked down another corridor.

Stepping back to the room he’d just passed, Dean paused at the window, praying he was wrong and that the woman sitting on the floor, arms crossed over her legs and head on her knees, wasn’t Y/N. Opening the door and quietly stepping into the room, his heart ached at the realisation that it was her and that the usually strong and kept-together nurse was in tears.

“Hey, Princess, what’s the matter?” Dean asked, making his way over and crouching in front of her. Y/N looked at him, eyes red and puffy, her cheeks wet with tears, and he threw all caution to the wind as he sat beside her, pulled her into his lap, and wrapped his arms around her.

They remained embraced on the floor for a while before Y/N’s tears stopped, and she’d stopped gasping in shallow breaths between her heartwrenching sobs. Dean was at a loss on what to do at first, but then he remembered that this was Y/N. His Y/N. And though she was stronger than she looked and more capable than people gave her credit for, sometimes the only way she could process her emotions was to cry.

“Sorry, I needed that,” Y/N eventually spoke and wiped at her eyes. “Days like this, when we lose so many people, never get easier to process. Sometimes I just need a little time to cry it all out.”

“No need to explain to me, Princess. I’ve known you my whole life, and I know that if you don’t let it out now, it’ll eat away at you and eventually consume you. I’ll always be here to ground you whenever you feel like that, alright?”

“Thank, De,” she sniffled and smiled softly at him. “I suppose we should get back out there, huh?”

“In a few minutes. The last patients are being treated, and Ellen, Jody, and Bobby have called a staff briefing at 5am. We’ve got a little time to calm you down some more,” Dean kissed her forehead and smiled, wrapping his arms around her a little tighter and pulling her into his body a little closer.

After urging everyone who’d gathered for the briefing in the hospital canteen to have something to eat before they went home, Dr Ellen Harvelle, Charge Nurse Rowena Macleod, Sheriff Jody Mills, and Fire Chief Bobby Singer thanked their staff for the exceptional job they’d all done in the face of such tragedy and dismissed them from their duties. Reserve police officers and firefighters had started their shifts early to allow those who’d worked all night to go home and rest.

The doctors, nurses and hospital staff who’d been on shift when the accident happened or been called in as backup would be relieved by those who’d either volunteered to stay and work a double shift or agreed to come in on a rest day.

Dean got to have breakfast with Y/N after all, but they were joined by Benny, Bobby, and Jody. He couldn’t complain, though, as he saw the smile come back to Y/N’s face as she talked to Jody and playfully rolled her eyes at Benny’s southern charm and blatant flirting. Dean didn’t rise to the Cajun’s bait, knowing that was exactly what he wanted.

“Now, I know you’re a workaholic, Y/N, but please tell me you didn’t volunteer to stay on?” Uncle Bobby asked with the stern look that never made her listen to him when she was a child and certainly wouldn’t make her listen to him now.

“No, I didn’t. I’ve been working for…” Y/N glanced at the fob watch attached to her scrub top pocket, “twenty-three and half hours. If I stay any longer, I would be endangering the patients, particularly because I haven’t had a break, let alone any sleep.”

“Good. You look like death warmed up,” Bobby stated before shovelling a forkful of scrambled eggs into his mouth.

“Yeah…” Y/N sighed and rubbed a hand down her face. “I feel like it too.”

“Go home, honey, before you fall asleep at the table!” Jody chuckled, and Y/N responded with a lopsided smile before grabbing the empty plate and used cutlery and standing from her seat.

“Alright, I’m going! Uncle Bobby, Jody, I’ll see you Sunday. Benny, it was nice to see you again,” she smiled tiredly at the blue-eyed man.

“You too, cher. Take care of yourself, you hear?” Benny winked at her before digging back into his breakfast.

Dean stood and lifted his used dishes and walked with her to place them on the counter, which was home to all the used crockery. “You doing okay, Y/N?”

“Yeah, nothing a hot shower and a decent sleep won’t fix,” she smiled.

“Alright. Call me later, once you’ve had some sleep?” Dean asked with a raised brow.

“Of course,” she smiled. “I hope you’re going home to get some sleep too?”

“Yeah, we’ll probably have another debrief back at the firehouse, then, I am going home and crawling straight into bed,” he chuckled at her smile of approval and with a final farewell, Y/N left the hospital canteen, grabbed her purse from her locker and went home to sleep.

Waking up hours later when the sun had gone down, Y/N lay in bed trying to process everything that had happened the past few days. It was always tragic when they lost a patient, and serious incidents like yesterday were awful and never got easier to deal with. In moments like this, it was easier to think of the tens of patients they saved than the six they had lost.

The next thing to cross her mind was Dean. Y/N had been glad he was posted at the hospital because she was really starting to miss him. The first couple of times they couldn’t go on their date, she’d still been able to see him, but she hadn’t seen him in twelve days because she’d been so ill with flu, and she didn’t want Dean to see her like that. Sure, it might have been extremely vain of her to think that way, but she felt it was too soon to be at her absolute worst with him.

Y/N was also disappointed that things kept coming up. Granted, neither of them had chosen what happened to stall progress on their budding relationship. No one could’ve predicted her father would die right after their first date and put any thought of another date onto the back burner for weeks.

Neither of them could’ve guessed that Jess would need to finish work early and Y/N would need to be the one to take her shift, nor could Dean or her have done anything to stop Cas from getting injured on a call. And there was no way either could have foreseen what happened yesterday, resulting in them having to work.

Suddenly, she had an overwhelming pang in her chest and a strong urge to be with him, to say to hell with the fates, dates, plans, and schedules. She just needed to be with him. Needed him.

Knowing Dean wouldn’t be working after pulling an all-night shift, Y/N threw the bed covers off her body and showered. She was going to go over. Who needed a date anyway? She and Dean had been on hundreds of those and, she hoped, would go on hundreds more.

This was no longer about want for Y/N. It was about need.

Next Chapter >>

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